TW: Hermione gets attacked
She stood before the mirror, fingers trailing absently over the soft fabric of the deep green sweater she had chosen. The color brought out the flecks of hazel in her eyes, lending her a warmth that felt almost foreign these days. It had been too long since she had indulged in something as simple as a coffee date with Hermione—too long since they had sat across from each other and talked about life without the weight of tragedy pressing in from all sides.
For once, it wasn't about strategy, safety, or survival. It was just them.
A moment of normalcy.
She exhaled slowly, grounding herself in that thought. Normal felt like a fragile, fleeting thing lately, slipping through her fingers like sand no matter how tightly she tried to hold on. But today, she was determined to grasp it, even if only for an hour.
She fastened a delicate gold necklace around her throat, the metal cool against her skin, and reached for her mascara, swiping it on with practiced ease. Hermione would no doubt tease her for dressing up just for coffee, but Ginny didn't care. Looking put together wasn't about vanity—it was about control, about holding onto the illusion that she still had a firm grip on the pieces of her life that felt like they were crumbling beneath her feet.
When she was finally satisfied, she smoothed down the last of her flyaway hairs and took a step back, studying her reflection. The woman staring back at her looked composed. Polished. Even confident.
But just beneath the surface, hidden beneath the swipe of gloss and perfectly knotted cloak, was an exhaustion she hadn't yet given herself permission to feel. A weariness that sat in the hollow of her chest, lingering, waiting.
She blinked, breaking the thought before it could take root. Not today.
Grabbing her bag, she turned on her heel and strode toward the door, fastening her cloak with swift, decisive movements. The Ministry was bustling at this hour, but for once, she wasn't going there for anything more than coffee, laughter, and conversation.
And maybe, just maybe, to say out loud the things she had only dared to whisper in the quiet of her own thoughts.
She wasn't sure if she was ready to talk about Ron, about what it meant to live in a world where he no longer existed. But if there was anyone she could try to unravel the grief with, it was Hermione.
Today was about connection, about seeking solace in the one person who had always understood her, even when she couldn't quite put her feelings into words.
With a final deep breath, she stepped out into the world, ready—or at least willing—to try.
The moment she stepped into the Ministry's bustling atrium, a strange sensation crawled over her skin—something felt… off.
It wasn't anything obvious. The morning rush was as chaotic as ever, Ministry employees hurrying across the polished marble floors, their robes billowing behind them, parchment and case files clutched tightly in their hands. The golden light streaming from the enchanted ceiling reflected off the brass fixtures, casting warm hues across the grand hall. But despite the normalcy of it all, Ginny's instincts screamed at her.
She scanned the crowd, searching for Hermione's familiar silhouette—that sharp, purposeful stride, the usual stack of books tucked beneath her arm. Nothing.
Her frown deepened. Hermione was never late. If anything, she was the one waiting impatiently with her coffee already half gone by the time anyone else arrived.
Something was wrong.
Her stomach twisted as she made her way through the sea of Ministry workers, her boots clicking purposefully against the gleaming floor. The tension coiled in her gut, every step tightening it further.
When she caught sight of Pam, Hermione's ever-efficient assistant, a sliver of relief flickered inside her. If anyone knew where Hermione had gone, it would be Pam.
She forced an easy smile onto her face as she approached the desk, tilting her head. "Hello, doll," she greeted, keeping her tone light. "Any idea where Hermione is?"
Pam glanced up from the mountain of parchment she was sorting, her brow furrowing at the question.
"Mrs. Malfoy?" she echoed, her voice laced with mild confusion. "She hasn't come in today. Didn't leave a note or send word either, which…" She hesitated, her eyes flickering with concern. "Well, you know her. That's not normal."
Ginny's forced smile died in an instant.
Her stomach dropped.
She barely registered Pam's next words. The Ministry was loud—too loud—but all Ginny could hear was the sudden, racing thud-thud-thud of her own heartbeat.
Hermione never missed work. Never.
Even on her worst days, through exhaustion, injuries, and illness, Hermione would still manage to drag herself in, sending out notes at the very least.
But now, there was nothing.
No message. No sign. Just… silence.
Her fingers tightened around the strap of her bag, a tension building in her jaw as she swallowed hard.
"It is unusual," she murmured, more to herself than to Pam.
A flicker of discomfort passed over the assistant's face, as if she, too, sensed that something wasn't right.
Ginny forced out a quick, tight-lipped smile. "Alright, thanks, love. I'll go track her down."
She turned on her heel, her mind racing, her movements sharper now—more urgent. Each step felt heavier.
Her stomach knotted.
She knew she was being paranoid. Didn't she? Hermione was an adult, a capable woman. There were a dozen possible reasons why she hadn't shown up to work. Maybe she had taken the day off and simply forgotten to mention it. Maybe she was caught up in some urgent case. Maybe she was fine.
Maybe.
And yet—her gut told her otherwise.
Her fingers tapped anxiously against her thigh as she reached the lifts.
Click. Click. Click.
The repetitive sound filled the growing silence, mirroring the racing tempo of her thoughts.
The polished doors gleamed in front of her, their golden reflection shimmering slightly under the enchanted light, but she barely saw them.
She couldn't shake the feeling that this wasn't just a missed coffee date. That this was something else.
Something worse.
The uneasy prickling sensation crawled up her spine, lodging itself deep in her chest.
She pressed the button. The lift doors slid open.
Ginny stepped inside, inhaling sharply, trying to steady herself.
This was Hermione—her best friend, the woman who had stood beside her in the darkest moments of their lives.
If something had happened, Ginny would find her.
She would make sure everything was okay.
And if it wasn't?
She clenched her fists, jaw tightening.
Then, Merlin help whoever was responsible.
Her heart slammed against her ribs as she landed in the Malfoy penthouse, expecting the usual pristine elegance—maybe Hermione curled up with a book, or pacing with a stack of parchment in hand. But instead, chaos stretched before her like a crime scene.
The air was thick with something ominous, something wrong.
The living room was in shambles. Tables were overturned, papers scattered like fallen leaves, and shattered glass glistened on the floor like jagged stars. Curtains hung in torn disarray, and scorch marks marred the once-immaculate walls. The eerie silence pressed in on her, heavy and suffocating, the kind that followed destruction. The kind that reeked of violence.
A tremor ran through her fingers as she clutched her wand tighter, forcing herself to breathe, to think. But as her pulse roared in her ears and the sheer gravity of the scene settled in, panic surged, clawing at her throat.
She had to get out.
With a loud crack, she Apparated home.
"BLAISE!"
The moment Ginny's voice shattered the quiet, it carried through the house like a thunderclap. Raw. Desperate. Unhinged. The sheer force of her panic echoed in the air, a storm breaking loose inside her as she stumbled forward, her limbs shaky, her breaths coming in frantic, uneven gasps. She needed him. Now.
He appeared in an instant, stepping out from the shadows with his usual effortless grace, but there was nothing relaxed about him now. His dark eyes flashed, sharp with alarm, scanning her face—her trembling hands, the wide-eyed terror bleeding into her expression. He had never seen her like this before.
"What happened, baby?" His voice was low, controlled, but she could hear it—the razor-sharp edge of concern beneath the calm. His hands reached for her, steady and grounding, the way they always did.
She barely let him touch her before she grabbed him first, fingers digging into his arms as if anchoring herself to reality. "Oh, please, you have to help me!" she gasped, the words spilling out in a frantic, jumbled mess. "I was supposed to meet Hermione at the Ministry, but she never showed up, which was already weird, so I went to her place—and, Merlin, Blaise, it was destroyed. Completely wrecked. There was glass everywhere, furniture overturned—like a bloody explosion went off! And she's nowhere. She's gone."
His grip on her tightened instantly. Firm. Careful. Grounding. The only thing keeping her from falling apart right there in the middle of the room.
"Alright, breathe, baby. Just breathe."
He wasn't yelling. He wasn't panicking. His voice was a low anchor, threading through the chaos inside her chest, but she knew him and that edge of concern beneath his words? That dangerous flicker in his dark gaze? He was already thinking. Calculating. Preparing for war.
"We're going to find her." He said it with such certainty, such absolute finality, that something inside her clicked. "We're not going to lose our heads, okay? If Hermione's in trouble, we're getting her back."
Ginny nodded quickly, forcing herself to take a deep breath, to believe in his steadiness, in the unwavering certainty in his voice. She felt it settle over her like armor, hardening her spine, sharpening her resolve.
"Right. You're right," she whispered, her voice still shaky, but something about it was stronger now. "Let's—let's go."
She didn't need to say more.
His arm wrapped around her, solid and sure, his warmth pressing into her side.
A sharp crack echoed through the room as they disappeared into the night, vanishing into thin air.
~~~~~~
Agony. Blinding, soul-crushing agony.
It clawed through Draco's chest, a raw and unrelenting force that threatened to tear him apart. The room around him seemed to blur, his mind drowning in the suffocating weight of Ginny's frantic words.
Hermione was gone.
The sharp crack of Apparition split the silence, and in an instant, Blaise and Ginny materialized. Their faces were pale, their bodies taut with fear. Ginny stumbled forward, her breath ragged, her eyes wide and wild.
"Draco!" she gasped, her voice laced with terror. "Hermione—she was supposed to meet me, but she never showed. I went to your place, and—" she choked on the words, shaking her head. "Merlin, Draco, the living room—it's a wreck. Someone took her. She's gone!"
The world tilted. The air turned suffocating.
Draco's hands clenched into fists, his nails biting into his palms as his breath came in short, sharp bursts. A monstrous rage, dark and bottomless, coiled inside him, twisting around his ribcage like a serpent.
Blaise, standing rigid in the doorway, cocked a sleek, black pistol. The weight of it sat comfortably in his grip, his movements steady despite the storm raging beneath his cool exterior. His gaze met Draco's, a silent command passing between them.
Move. Now.
The chair scraped back violently as Draco surged to his feet, Theo right behind him, adrenaline burning hot through their veins.
Theo's voice cracked, thick with panic as he turned toward the fireplace. "Luna!" His hands trembled, but his voice was unyielding. "Get the safehouse ready. Now! Please, my Moon—I love you endlessly."
A second later, the flames roared to life, flickering with emerald intensity. Luna's voice came through, steady and unwavering despite the chaos unraveling around them. "I'm on it, my Sun. The safehouse will be ready. I love you beyond measure."
A deep, unspoken truth settled over them all. This wasn't just a rescue mission. This was war.
They weren't planning for survival. They were planning for carnage.
A reckoning loomed on the horizon, a storm of vengeance and blood.
And Death… Death would welcome them like an old friend.
~~~~~~
The Malfoy Penthouse, once a sanctuary of sleek modernity and impenetrable control, now lay in ruins. The polished marble floors bore the scars of chaos—shattered glass like frozen stars, overturned furniture, books scattered as if caught in a storm. The elegant haven Draco had meticulously curated was now an unrecognizable war zone.
Draco, Theo, Blaise, and Ginny moved through the wreckage in tense silence, each step tightening the noose of dread around Draco's chest. The suffocating weight of absence pressed down on him. Hermione wasn't here. But the destruction screamed her name.
Turning into the living room, his pulse hammered. His sharp gaze swept across the disarray, locking onto every detail, searching for the impossible—a trace of her.
The wedding vase lay in shards against the wall. The destruction wasn't random. It was calculated. It was personal.
"My love!" he called, his voice raw, reverberating through the cold emptiness. "Hermione, where are you?"
The silence that followed was a living, breathing nightmare.
Blaise stormed into the kitchen, ripping open drawers, yanking at cabinets. Frantic. Uncharacteristically shaken. "She could've left a note, something!" His voice was edged with desperation.
Ginny tore into the study, her hands trembling as she sifted through Hermione's desk. A cold, abandoned teacup sat beside scattered notes—nothing useful, just the echo of her presence.
Then, Pansy burst in. Heels clicking, voice sharp. "So what's the plan? Because standing around like headless hippogriffs isn't getting us anywhere."
Draco turned on her, his fury a barely contained wildfire. "You're not coming."
Pansy blinked. "Excuse me?"
"It's too dangerous." His voice was final, a razor's edge. "You're staying here."
Her eyes darkened with indignation. "Since when do you decide what's too dangerous for me?"
"Since now!" he snapped. "We don't have time for this, Pansy."
She crossed her arms, anger radiating from her like a spell about to break. "If you think I'm sitting on my ass while you all go charging into hell, you're out of your damn mind."
Ginny touched her arm, a quiet voice of reason. "Pans, we'll need you here. Keep the press off our backs. Handle things from the outside."
Pansy glared between them, her jaw tight. After a long, seething moment, she exhaled. "Fine." But the storm in her eyes promised she'd have her say later.
Theo had moved into the hallway, checking every possible hiding place. The bedrooms. The library. The linen closets. But the silence stretched on—oppressive, deafening.
Ginny's voice sliced through the tension. "Draco! Come here!"
Draco sprinted to her side. A glint of silver lay on the coffee table. A ribbon, frayed, delicate. His fingers brushed it, recognizing its texture. It was from the package Hermione had received earlier.
Theo, kneeling beside him, murmured, "It could've been a Portkey."
Blaise's breath hitched, his Italian accent thick with urgency. "Se l'hanno presa, dobbiamo trovarla. We have to find her. Now."
Ginny's gaze scoured the room. "Something has to tell us where it took her."
Theo bent low, his meticulous eyes scanning the floor. "Hermione wouldn't go quietly. There has to be a marker, something she left behind."
Suddenly, Ginny crouched by a shattered vase. "There's something here." Carefully, she sifted through the ceramic shards, extracting a crumpled slip of parchment.
Draco snatched it, reading aloud. "For the diamond in the world of gold."
The words hung like a death sentence.
Blaise's jaw tightened. "What the hell does that mean?"
Ginny's breath hitched. "It's Hermione—the 'Golden Girl.'"
Theo's sharp mind worked rapidly, pieces falling into place. "Draco, who in your world is connected to diamonds?"
Draco's stomach twisted with realization. "That wretched woman." His voice was venomous, filled with hate. "Karkaroff's trophy wife."
His fury ignited. He slammed his fist into the wall, rattling the entire room. "She's always dripping in diamonds, parading them like a damn queen. It was all an act. A façade. If she took Hermione, this is her way of telling me. She's playing games."
Ginny paled. "Are you saying... that Karkaroff's wife is behind this?"
His grey eyes darkened with a murderous certainty. "Yes."
Theo exhaled sharply. "If she left that note, she wants you to know where Hermione is. But why?"
"Because she's baiting me." His voice was eerily calm, the storm before destruction. "This isn't about diamonds. This is about power, about sending a message. Hermione is leverage."
Ginny's voice trembled with barely restrained fury. "Draco, this is because of your world, your business. She's in danger because of you!"
Blaise, though equally enraged, softened his tone. "Mia cara," he murmured to Ginny, a quiet apology in his words. "Our world is darker than you imagined. And people will do the unthinkable for control. But I swear to you, we will get her back."
Draco took a steadying breath, his hands still curled into fists. "If this is about reputation, power, and control—then she's keeping Hermione alive for a reason. And we're going to tear her world apart to get her back."
Ginny's eyes flashed with determination. "Draco, use the soul bond! Locate her!"
His jaw tightened. He whispered, "Uruz."
A holographic rune appeared before them, its soft pink glow pulsating like a heartbeat.
"Uruz, the mother of manifestation," he commanded, his voice steady and sharp. "Show me where Hermione Jane Granger-Malfoy is."
The rune whirled and flickered, shifting into an image. A dark dungeon. Stone walls, damp floors. And her—
Terrified. Broken. Screaming.
Draco's breath hitched. His entire body went stone-cold.
"Hold on, my love," he whispered, his voice hoarse with rage. "I'm coming."
He turned sharply. "Ginerva! Get Potter. We need a Portkey, now!"
Theo stepped forward, his gaze resolute. "There's no need."
Before anyone could react, Theo gathered them together. With a swift, effortless motion, he Apparated them directly to Nott Manor.
Arming for War
They landed in Theo's dimly lit basement. Cabinets lined the walls, filled with weapons.
He moved with precision, yanking open a drawer and retrieving sleek, black reading glasses. He adjusted them on his nose, scanning rapidly before shifting to another cabinet.
With a quick, sharp motion, he flung it open—revealing a vast arsenal.
Guns. Knives. Wands. Instruments of war.
Ginny gasped. "Merlin."
Theo grabbed a wand and a gleaming silver knife, spinning them expertly in his fingers. "We move now. Fast."
Blaise turned to Ginny, his dark eyes filled with an urgency that sent chills down her spine. "Mia cara," he murmured, his voice like a promise of war. "I need you. Your fire. Your fight. You must give everything tonight."
Ginny took a deep breath. Her hands curled into fists, her shoulders straightening.
She was done being a spectator. Tonight, she was a soldier.
With a determined gleam in her eyes, she kicked off her heels. With a flick of her wand, she summoned battle-ready clothes.
She met Blaise's gaze. "Let's burn them to the ground."
~~~~~~
She couldn't move.
Hermione lay sprawled on the cold, unforgiving floor, her body battered, her legs paralyzed. Every nerve in her body screamed in agony, the relentless pounding against her skull sending violent tremors of pain through her entire being.
She tried to scream, but the sound barely made it past her cracked lips—a choked, broken plea lost in the suffocating air. The room reeked of blood, sweat, and something darker, something sickly sweet and metallic that made her stomach lurch.
Behind her, Jelena Karkaroff crouched, her breath coming in short, amused huffs as she yanked Hermione's hair into a tight, merciless fist. The pain at her scalp was a white-hot burn, but worse was what came next—Jelena began stuffing it into her mouth, forcing it past her lips, down her throat.
Hermione gagged violently, her body convulsing as strands of her own hair lodged deep, cutting off her air. Suffocation. That's how she was going to die. Not in battle, not in a final, defiant act of heroism—but here, helpless, choking on her own hair at the hands of a monster.
No.
Her vision blurred, but she forced herself to focus—she wasn't going to die like this. She would not let this be her end.
Then, a deafening crack echoed through the room. The telltale sound of Apparition.
She barely had time to process it before gunfire exploded around her.
BANG. BANG. BANG.
The impact of bullets tore through the air, shredding flesh, splattering the walls with hot blood. Jelena jerked violently, her grip loosening, her body collapsing against Hermione's with a sickening thud. The pressure against her head vanished as the other woman hit the floor.
Hermione gasped, her throat raw, her lungs burning as she sucked in desperate gulps of air. The blood-matted strands of hair stuck to her lips, the taste of copper coating her tongue.
She barely managed to lift her head when she saw it—a blur of red, a hurricane of fury.
Ginny.
And she was still stabbing.
Through the haze of blood and pain, Hermione saw the blade flash, plunging into Jelena's already lifeless body over and over and over. Each thrust was pure rage, pure vengeance—Ginny's face twisted into something unrecognizable, her entire being consumed by unrelenting fury.
A scream ripped from Ginny's throat as she drove the knife into flesh again. Hermione saw the gleam of metal, saw how deep the blade sank, saw the spray of blood splatter across her best friend's arms, her chest, her face.
It was merciless. It was brutal.
It was justice.
A familiar scent filled Hermione's senses—aftershave mixed with the sharp bite of toothpaste. His scent. Draco.
Her body sagged, the fight finally leaving her as her mind began to slip into oblivion.
Ginny's muffled sobs, the distant sound of Draco barking orders, the ringing in her ears from the gunfire…
It all faded.
Then—darkness.