Lover of the Light

Bleeding Out

Lover of the Light

Chapter Twenty: Bleeding Out

His view was that of a steaming cup of tea. He could see the tea-leaves accumulating at the bottom, forming into shapes and piles that he wanted to go all Professor Trelawney on in order to get some sense of clue. He would resort to Divination if he had to and then laugh at the irony of it if it brought all the answers to the things he needed clarity on.

She'd frown if she knew he contemplated on using tea-leaves to find her. She wouldn't believe it for a second that something as ridiculous and illogical as Divination could give them insight to her whereabouts—that made him smirk into the cup. She'd surely slap him beside the head, frown some more, and then go off on a rant about the lacking history of the Seer trade and how her rescuing was most definitely brought upon excellent sleuthing work.

He usually hated when she droned on and on, always on her quest to prove that she was most definitely right, but he knew that if he had her back, if for a single moment he could see her, be in her presence, he'd hear her all his life with no interruption at all.

"I can't believe it's been two weeks since they took 'Mione." Shifting Draco from his tragic musings of the Brightest Witch of the Age, the blonde's ears picked up the annoying mutter of Ron Weasley from across the room. "And we're nowhere near finding her."

"Very optimistic, Ron," grunted Potter at his redheaded sidekick. "The Aurors are trying."

Weasley furrowed his brows. "Since when do you trust the Ministry's capability? Two weeks and they haven't been able to find Hermione Granger? Something's off, mate."

"They're trying," repeated the Golden Boy. "I'm trying. Do you think I'd let them take this lightly, Ron? Kingsley, for that matter? Everyone's doing everything they can to find her!"

Weasley turned red as usual. Spineless git. "That's not what I meant, Harry. Honestly. I'm just...It's just frustrating."

"I know it's frustrating!" Potter stood from his seat and glared down at the Weasel. Draco felt like smirking again; Saint Potter lost his temper quicker than the crabbiest of women. How he managed to keep the Weasel King, Weaslette, and Hermione loyally by his side was beyond him. "I know how important this is!"

With a dramatic rolling of his eyes, Zabini snorted with distaste. "Oh, shut up." He stood up from his single armchair, zeroing his eyes on the two Gryffindors invading his headquarters. "My house is no place for squabbling like an old married couple. Sit down and shut up, or get out!"

Potter released his sidekick from his glare to turn it upon the dark-skinned Slytherin. "Well, why are we here? I doubt it really was for tea and pastries, Zabini."

"Trust me, Potter, that the only way I'd ever invite you to my property it'd be to feed you and Weasley to the guard dogs," the heir to the Zabini throne snapped. "My father requested you two here because the Minister has found a new lead on Hermione's case this morning. I don't know why'd he want to get you involved—being that the pair of you are complete dimwits—but alas, here the two of you are."

Draco did smirk again as he took a drink out of his teacup that was laced with a little more than relaxing herbs. Blaise loved the dramatics, had a natural flare for them, but he'd become less and less of a true Slytherin since his mother's passing and Hermione's influence in his life. Draco was well aware of the fact that Deon Zabini could care less for the Dynamic Duo's presence in regard to anything with his daughter's case. He didn't believe for a second that Potter, Weasley, or the combination of them could bring back his daughter. Blaise, however, seemed to have faith in the Gryffindors. He'd let it slip the day before that he grudgingly trusted the two with his sister's life, and he knew they'd die for her just as surely as they'd go to the end of the world to find her.