Chapter Text
The Golden Girl Experience
New and exclusively for Platinum Members of Vrij van Zonden, Amsterdam's premier Wizard's Club
Embark on an adventure so scorching, it should be forbidden!
The brochure which harboured these and other sinful words rested heavily in the inner breast pocket of Draco’s suit. His hand instinctively smoothed over it for what felt like the fourth time within ten minutes . He was dressed to the nines today, in a dark grey three-piece ensemble complete with a vest and coat—an armor meticulously chosen to shield him from the encroaching tendrils of anxiety.
He couldn’t risk not being taken seriously in a place like the DMLE. The office assistant's initial lack of cordiality, evident when she reluctantly relieved him of his overcoat and gestured towards one of the conference rooms, served as a stark reminder of the situation. Luckily the door stood ajar, providing him a swift escape into the room and sparing him from additional turned heads and scrutinising gazes.
After days of fear creeping through his every nerve he had finally convinced himself to do the sensible thing and report to the Aurors. To his surprise his decision drew an abundance of attention from the department, far more than he had initially hoped for.
Entering the Auror office as a former Death Eater wasn't exactly an everyday occurrence, especially for someone who hadn't exchanged words with the Boy Who Lived in nearly four years. Draco steeled himself for potential nasty words and revengeful hexes. He was there on a mission with only one objective - to reinstate his Sunday tradition.
Draco refrained from adjusting his suit jacket again when Harry Potter, now Head Auror of the department, stepped into the room, followed by none other than Ron Weasley. Draco had expected that Potter wouldn't agree to meet him without his deputy in tow. Draco had entertained the thought of bringing an ally himself, but his fervent desire to keep this matter under wraps had weighed out that option.
Potter at least initiated a handshake to greet him, but Weasley only eyed him up like a brooding bodyguard. Draco couldn’t have cared less. He wasn't there to make friends, he had more pressing matters at hand. Unfortunately he had been compelled to leave his wand behind with the secretary. Just as he was about to request Potter to cast a silencing charm, the familiar sensation of the spell enveloped the room. Weasley had executed the task without even moving his wand. Draco drew in a deep breath, mentally preparing for the impending exchange. His gaze returned to Potter, who, in comparison to Weasley, seemed to be making an effort to maintain a semblance of cordiality.
“Thank you for seeing me today. I am here to discuss the whereabouts of Hermione Granger.” Draco stated, keeping it impetuously direct, just as he had practiced. He observed the two men in front of him closely, searching for any shifts in their demeanour.
“What about them?” Potter inquired without blinking. His expression remained composed, other than Weasley, whose fingers started tapping subtly over his crossed arms.
“Let’s not bet around the bush, Potter. She is missing.” Draco declared, inwardly pleased that he had managed to say his childhood enemy's name without a hint of the former disdain.
Potter seemed to momentarily cease breathing, and Weasley's hand went rigid on the spot.
“What are you talking about?”
Draco didn’t bother to suppress a sigh.
“Has she not been missing?”
There was no verbal response, just a palpable tension as both of them resisted meeting each other's gaze.
“Okay.” He took a deep breath to prepare for what came next. “I might know where she is.”
The atmosphere in the room shifted abruptly. A swift movement from the side positioned Draco's nose at the pointy end of the red head's wand. Only Potter's arm extended between them like a flimsy shield. Draco silently cursed the secretary who had dared to smile when she's confiscating his own wand, citing it as a 'precaution'.
“What did you do to her?” Potter hissed but Weasley’s voice roared over it.
“I swear to Merlin, Malfoy! I will hex your butt off!”
Draco held his hands up in what he hoped resembled a peace offering.
He had wished for a different reaction, moreover an explanation for Granger's absence - a pregnancy perhaps, or an unsightly but harmless malady. Anything but this; not two powerful wizards overreacting to his statement. It only solidified his fears. “Please, would you think me so stupid to abduct someone like Granger and then waltz into your office admitting it?”
“Where is she?” Weasley bellowed and Potter's stony face crumbled.
“This is not helping, Ron. This might be the first lead after weeks.”
“Weeks?” Draco repeated, keeping his voice steady to avoid suspicion. “For how long has she been missing?” he asked before he could stop himself.
“Shouldn’t you tell us that?”
Draco wished for something to stuff Weasley's mouth with, but he directed his attention solely on Potter. His eyes looked tired and guarded, undoubtedly the result of exhaustive and disappointing attempt to find his best friend. Draco couldn’t blame him, yet he pushed aside an inkling of sympathy. He was there for business, not to share a vulnerable moment with two men he despise.
“Two months, almost.” Potter finally revealed, and Draco involuntarily sucked on his teeth. Two months was a long time. Too long. If the advertisement proved to be linked to Granger, she could have endured torment for several weeks already. Draco fervently hoped it wasn't a match, that she was somewhere safe instead.
“Where was she last seen?” Draco tried, but Potter’s features hardened once more.
“No, Malfoy. This isn’t how we play the game. I give you information, you give me information. Got it?”
“Fair enough.” Draco pressed through gritted teeth. His thoughts were already consumed by shadowy corridors of dubious establishments, one of which Granger might be behind, battered and bruised. His stomach churned. Nevertheless, there was no way around cooperating with the Aurors. He had let them in on it, and now he needed to release all the unpleasant details.
“My late father received a letter recently. It's an advertisement for a-” He halted and suppressed a cough. “an erotic club in Amsterdam that might lead to Granger’s whereabouts.” he stated. “The brochure is in my right breast pocket.” His hands were still in the air to demonstrate his harmlessness. “May I show it to you?” he punctuated, as Weasley's wand still bore painfully against Draco’s chest. Potter finally intervened, guiding Weasley away while murmuring calming words.
“You are disgusting.” Weasley spat at Draco, a venomous expression etched across his face.
“I am aware that my family has fallen into society's disgrace. But these days, I am not part of any more untoward circles than you are, Weasley. This club is known among purebloods for their rather nifty arrangements and all sorts of dark schemes. I inherited the membership from my father. I’ve checked the contracts." Draco retorted, attempting to bring some clarity to the situation.
“I already considered going there alone, but I think it’s better if you are part of this. Granger, in case it’s really her, needs protection. And I need…” he trailed off.
“Insurance.” Potter finished for him.
"You want to go there?"
Weasley's eyes widened.
Draco handed Potter the pamphlet and shifted his gaze downward, unwilling to be confronted with the shock that likely etched across their faces while reading.
"We can’t let him go in there!" Weasley breathed after a moment and tugged on Potter's shoulder. They turned around to continue in private. Draco’s face twitched, finding their hushed conversation more reminiscent of a comedy than a serious interrogation. But he cautioned himself to not take this lightly. He absolutely wanted to get to the front line of whatever this scheme would turn out to be, making it more or less his only condition.
His eyes still followed the two Aurors in front of him. He willed his whole demeanour not to betray an inner battle between escaping their presence and wanting to form closer alliances.
“…what if he takes her somewhere else on the spot and she runs through our fingers once more.” Weasley voiced in concern.
“We have to trust him, Ron. He’s our only connection to this club and we can’t simply storm an establishment of this dimension. Kingsley would never let us go through with it, especially if Hermione could be in danger.”
Draco thanked Merlin for Potter's analytical mind. He swiftly smoothed his features just in time for them to turn back and face him.
“What’s in it for you, then?” Weasley sneered, posing an uncomfortably valid question that Draco had already pondered before making his way to the DMLE.
“I want to be a better man than my father was.” Draco answered truthfully. If Weasley didn't inquire further, he would be off the hook.
“Are you sure you want to do this?” Potter asked, a hint of distrust crossing his face. “It will be very dangerous.”
“It’s not an emotional decision. Granger helped me stay out of Azkaban when the war ended. I owe her.”
A palpable silence stretched between them. Potter and Weasley hadn't shown up for him during his trials, a fact Draco understood and accepted. But Granger had been there, defending him at his hearing and, quite frankly, saving his arse.
When Potter spoke again, his voice was calm, almost mechanical: “Ron, please ask Kingsley to join us. We need to classify civilians who become involved in a case.”
The red-head gave him another cold, warning glance and sidestepped Draco's shoulder by mere centimeters as he exited. When the door closed behind him Draco inhaled deeply, savouring the now lighter air. An unsettling itch crawled beneath his skin.
“Malfoy.” Potter's voice cut through the newfound silence. Apparently he wasn’t finished with him yet. Draco met the intensity of a striking green gaze with his own cool grey eyes.
“How did you know that Hermione is missing?”
Draco considered. Revealing the depths of his feelings in front of her best friend didn't seem a good idea. It wasn't an outright obsession; he'd label it more as a hobby. A desire to delve into her intellect, to follow the intricate paths of her thoughts, to engage in hypothetical discussions about the beautifully crafted impressions from her latest literary indulgences, naturally intertwined with her unique worldview. All that on a weekly basis.
“She stopped releasing articles in the Daily Prophet. That's when I knew something was off.”