November 2008

London

Stepping from the floo, Hermione brushed the dust from her work robes as she dropped her briefcase on the coffee table. Slipping her feet out of her kitten heels, she spread her toes as she stretched before shaking out her hands as if she was trying to shake off the day. Sighing heavily, she padded across to the kitchen and pulled a bottle of wine from the fridge. She poured a glass before wandering over to the floor to ceiling window that provided her with a panoramic view of the Thames, the lights twinkling as she gazed out over the city. On reflection, it had not been a good day.

Sipping her wine, she massaged the back of her neck, attempting to squeeze some of the tension out of her tight muscles. Shrugging off her robe she dropped it on the back of her chair, debating whether to order takeaway and have a bath or floo to Draco's study and try to talk him into staying. Her heart clenched as she remembered the way he had looked at her, but then she thought of Astoria and her desperate questioning. Something about the whole encounter troubled her in a vaguely intangible way that made her think of Ron. With a slight pang of guilt she realised she hadn't thought of Ron since she had come home from Rome and found that Harry had sent him back to Moscow.

Sighing again, Hermione crossed the room to her bedroom, going to her dresser. She pulled out a pair of yoga pants before shutting the draw and going to Ron's closet. Opening it she frowned at the mess where he had clearly just thrown his clothes in there. After several minutes rooting around, and a near black eye when his broom fell down from where it had been lodged above, she managed to locate the article of clothing she was looking for: his old Quidditch shirt.

An hour later she was showered, changed, and picking at Chinese. Now she thought about it, she didn't really feel hungry. Sighing, she shoved her chopsticks into the carton roughly, before shoving it to one side on the coffee table. She pulled her legs up under her, pulling the neck of the shirt up, inhaling the scent of his lingering cologne. Although Ron drove her mad sometimes, he was still her husband. Closing her eyes she inhaled once more, starting when the floo suddenly and unexpected roared to life. Her eyes snapped open, meeting Draco's, as he stepped from the fireplace. Hermione opened her mouth but, before she could speak, Harry stepped from the floo.

"What's going on? What's happened?" panic rising in her as she looked from Draco to Harry and back again.

"Nothing," Harry began, "Well, we had this letter and I just showed it to Draco…" Harry glanced at Draco before continuing. "It's from Pansy."

"Pansy?" Hermione echoed, frowning at Draco who was looking paler than usual.

"She is in trouble, it seems. The letter came to the Ministry, but it is apparently addressed to Draco."

Hermione took the parchment that Draco was holding out to her. With narrow eyes she scanned the short note.

"Why is she calling you Little Brother?" Hermione asked, confused.

Draco sighed, dropping down onto the couch beside her, taking the parchment. "I assume you are familiar with Hansel and Gretel? The original magical fairytale, I mean?" Draco glanced at her, seeing her nod.

"Of course. The tale is called Little Brother and Little Sister," she began. "It's the tale of two siblings who go into the forest at the request of their parents and end up being enticed into a cottage where the Devil lived with his wife and his minions."

Draco curled his lip. "See the parallel?" he asked dryly.

"Oh," Hermione breathed.

Draco turned to her, a sense of panic washing over him that made him look almost frantic. "You know, better than anyone," he swallowed hard. "You know that's how I felt. I had no choice in the path I was forced to take. By the time Pansy and I realised, it was too late."

Hermione placed a hand on his. "She called me Little Brother because her parents were my godparents, and mine were hers. When her mother died, she inherited a small cottage in Denmark; it was said to be the cottage that inspired the tale. Her father never knew it existed or that she had inherited it. If things had been different…" Draco's voice trailed off as he glanced up at Harry. "If you had not won, that was our plan. We would go to that cottage, as it was hidden. That is what the letter means. That is where she is."

"Well you know what you need to do then," Harry informed him with a shrug.

Draco let out a wry chuckle. "I can't, can I? I resigned."

Wordlessly, Harry reached into his pocket. Draco's eyes widened as Harry tossed his badge and wand on the coffee table.

"I don't accept your resignation and neither, I might add, does Kingsley." Harry flashed him a lopsided smile. Draco opened his mouth but Harry waved away whatever he was about to say. Harry glanced at Hermione who met his eyes, flushing slightly. He tilted his head to one side slightly, regarding her.

"Right, well, I best be off. The kids are staying at The Burrow tonight," he smirked at Draco as Hermione clamped her hands over her ears.

"Too much information," Hermione cried, squeezing her eyes shut as if that would make the images in her head disappear.

Hermione felt a hand clamp around her wrist as the floo roared, spiriting Harry away to his wife. She opened her eyes and met his, the emotion swimming in them as he lowered her hand from her face, stirring something in her.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, watching as he shook his head.

"No. You were right. I've been a total prat."

"Well I'm not going to argue with you there," she smiled, shoving him away playfully as he attempted to make her pay for her remark. He grabbed a cushion and smacked her with it but she snatched it from him, amusement sparkling in her eyes, her breathing rapid as they sized each other up for a moment. Finally they both let out the chuckles they had been holding in, Hermione blushing as she fluffed the pillow in her lap. She looked up as Draco dropped his head into his hands.

"You look exhausted," she noted.

Draco groaned. "You don't know the half of it. I didn't get any sleep last night."

"Please!" Hermione cried. "I don't want to hear about your sex life any more than I do Harry's!"

Draco scoffed. "You know that's not what I meant. My marriage isn't like that…"

"I don't want to know," Hermione muttered, her blush deepening.

Draco regarded her quizzically. "Since when?"

Hermione looked up at him, confused by his question.

"Since when do we not confide in each other?" he asked, his voice quiet, his tone unmistakable.

"Well… I mean… of course...just not that?" Hermione spluttered as Draco's eyebrow raised higher.

"What is with you?"

"Nothing," she rushed as Draco stared at her. Finally he gave up, leaning back against the couch, eyes closed.

"You really do look tired," she murmured causing Draco to open his eyes, turning his head towards her. She patted her cushion.

Draco started to move towards the cushion, pausing half-way there.

"I hate that shirt," he muttered with a scowl before dropping his head to the cushion, Hermione's hand going to his hair instinctively. She rolled her eyes silently.

"Remember when we got sent to Zurich?" Draco mumbled.

Hermione frowned. "When we had to oversee the transfer of the gallons from the Swiss Goblin bank?"

Draco hummed his reply. "Remember you got all in a tizz because your designer robes got soaked?"

Hermione scowled.

"A tantrum the likes of which I have only ever seen thrown by Pansy," Draco chuckled into the pillow.

"Where are you going with this trip down memory lane?" Hermione snarked.

Draco smiled into the cushion. "Your robes were apparently dry clean only so you wouldn't let me dry them and you had nothing to change into. Tut tut, Granger. Such bad planning."

Hermione flicked his ear, hard.

"Ow!" Draco complained rubbing his ear.

Silence fell over them both. Just when Hermione thought Draco had fallen asleep, he mumbled, "You looked better in my old Quidditch shirt."

Eyes snapping open, Draco jolted up but felt Hermione's hand press against his shoulder and she shushed him.

"Sorry," he mumbled. He squinted at his wristwatch. "How long was I asleep?"

"About an hour," came Hermione's quiet reply as Draco sat up, grinding his eyes with the heel of his hands.

"We should sort out travel arrangements," he stated as he stood up and padded over to the kitchen, grabbing a glass from the cupboard and turning on the tap.

Hermione grabbed her laptop and started clicking away. As Draco padded back from the kitchen, Hermione turned the laptop so he could see the map of Denmark she had pulled up.

"Where is the cottage?"

"There," he told her pointing to the small island of Vigelso in the middle of the Odense Fjord. Hermione narrowed her eyes. "Are you sure? It looks uninhabited."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Well of course it does. It's unplottable."

"Right," Hermione replied distractedly as she started tapping away. She looked across at Draco as he sat down. "You know that we have to treat this the same as any asset extraction mission don't you?"

"How long have I been an auror, Granger?" Draco replied sarcastically, his question clearly rhetorical.

Hermione sighed. "I'm just saying, I know that you will want to speak with her and I can understand that, but we still have to follow the usual protocol."

Draco narrowed his eyes as his jaw set, a muscle in his cheek twitching. "I am aware," he replied.

"Next flight is from Heathrow in five hours. I suggest you go home and get some sleep."

Draco shook his head before calling for his elf, Erwarth. "Doesn't seem much point in going home. I wouldn't be able to sleep anyway," he shrugged, before giving instructions to the elf.

Hermione padded over to the kitchen, making a pot of tea as Draco sat back down and pushed up the sleeves of his dress shirt, exposing his forearms. She tried to ignore the way the action made her tingle, Astoria's words ringing in her ears. The witch had clearly been looking for an ally but the casual way she spoke of the intimacy of her friendship with Draco made her uneasy. As she brought over the tea, Draco was peering into her discarded Chinese take-away container, frowning.

"Why did you order beef? You went off beef when we were in New York," he commented, referring to when they had been requested to escort Kingsley to a two week long United Nations summit in New York.

Hermione screwed up her nose. "Well eating that or pizza every night put me off. You really need to learn to cook," she complained, sitting down beside him.

"Me?" he cried, one eyebrow raised amusedly. "What about you?"

Hermione scoffed in response as she poured the tea.

"Anyway, you didn't answer my question," he replied, now picking at the lukewarm food with the chopsticks.

"What question?" Hermione mumbled, tapping away at her laptop.

"Why you ordered it," Draco replied with a nudge, gesturing to her top. "Same reason you're wearing this awful thing?"

Hermione bit her bottom lip, taking a steadying breath in through her nose. In the quiet of the apartment, Draco heard the change to her breathing and knew he had over stepped. Holding the carton with his right hand, he reached over with his left and squeezed her left shoulder.

"Come here," he whispered, tugging her towards him. She didn't put up more than a cursory resistance before turning into his chest as he wrapped his arm around her, casually switching the carton to his left hand ignoring the way his shirt dampened slightly.

"It's hard to cuddle and eat ya know," he whispered, mockingly.

Hermione let out a wry chuckle. "I do; Ron complains about the same dilemma," she started to pull away. "Food usually wins."

"Not tonight it doesn't," Draco whispered, chucking the carton back on the table, pressing a soft kiss to her forehead as she settled back down.