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Chapter 14: Micah

Draco's long strides pulled ahead of mine as we weaved through the corridors at St. Mungo's. Harry had asked me to meet him on the floor for magical maladies; where Pansy Parkinson was being treated. He didn't argue when Draco insisted on escorting me.

Harry sent Owl Post at six o'clock in the morning so that he could give his report. Now that Percy had been excused for bereavement, and the Minister was currently indisposed, Harry had been instructed to share his daily report with me and I would later brief the Minister himself because Harry would be officially off-duty. Normally, that type of acknowledgement from the Minister felt incredible. Right now, I just felt numb.

I was trying and failing not to think about Penny and Percy or what any of the Weasleys might be going through. Every time I closed my eyes, even for the tiniest instant, I kept picturing the last time I'd seen her. Penny had come with Percy to the Burrow, and amidst loud conversations and raucous laughter all around her, she sat in a corner and gently rocked her baby to sleep. Her expression had been filled with nothing but sweet adoration of her son. And now he would never know the kind heart of his mother. I pushed the memory out of my head, and promised myself that I would spend the entire afternoon with the Weasleys; it was the least I could do.

Harry and one of the new Aurors-in-training; a young woman that had just graduated Hogwarts within the month were talking with stern, terse phrases that was usual for Aurors on duty; all business. As we approached them, the fresh faced young witch nodded and turned on her heel, her dark navy robes trailing behind her.

"Good morning, Harry," I said. "How is she?"

Harry briefly glanced at Draco. "She'll be fine; two cracked ribs and a pretty bad bruise on her cheek, some memory tampering. Healer says she'll be released to her family's care by the end of the week."

Draco exhaled forcefully. I tried to remember that he and Pansy were friends, and I found myself reaching out to grab his hand in mine. Harry ignored him altogether.

"Peter Parkinson is positively livid, to put it mildly" said Harry. "He's been in her room since he got here last night and he keeps threatening to go to the papers with this. We're doing everything we can to prevent that. We can't let him. It will ruin the case and be an absolute disaster among the public."

"He won't, Harry. He's just upset. I'm sure that if you explain-"

Harry shook his head. "I've already tried explaining until I was literally blue in the face."

There was a pause.

"What are we supposed to do, then?" I asked.

"Let me talk to him," Draco said. "I've got an idea."

Getting Harry to allow Draco to speak privately with Peter Parkinson was like getting Snape to wear frilly robes. Miraculously, and likely of sheer exhaustion, he relented and Draco had gone into Pansy's room unsupervised.

Draco convinced Peter Parkinson not to take his story to the papers. I was certain that his decision had little to do with cooperating with the Ministry, and more do to with the fact that he did not want it known that his daughter was a member of a hate group. Parkinson threatened us with information, and apparently, we could threaten him right back. That was the kind of information that would not favor the Parkinson's when they had risked so much by sticking around after the war to rebuild.

By mid-morning, I had given the morning report to the Minister of Magic. Shacklebolt had been pleased that Peter Parkinson decided not to share his story with the press. We didn't tell him we'd nearly had to blackmail him into submission.

Pansy had given her official statement and account of her attack to the Aurors, and it had not been much. Someone had tampered with her memory, and left a messy job of it; the last thing she remembered was Apparating to her parents' home to meet her mother for breakfast.

Harry, Draco, and I decided to catch a late brunch. I hadn't been eating properly as of late and with all the healing my body had been going through, I needed the energy. The three of us got no further than the dining hall in St. Mungo's.

I eyed Harry as I sipped from my goblet of pumpkin juice. "So, Harry, how are you holding up?"

His emerald green eyes quickly glanced at the fruit bar, where Draco was piling his bowl high, then back to me.

"I don't know. All right, I suppose. I haven't really even had time to stop and think about it." He removed his glasses and rubbed his eyes as though all those thoughts suddenly came rushing into his line of vision.

"How's Gin?" I tried to keep my voice soft, and inviting. To let him know that even after all these years, he could still talk to me about anything.

"She's fine. It's Percy we're all worried about; Ron says he won't eat, doesn't sleep…Hasn't even looked at his son; Mrs. Weasley won't let Brian out of her sight."

Ron had taken a couple days off to be with his family, and checked in with Harry every few hours. I still had not really talked to Ron since that night in my hospital room. Merlin, that seemed like eons ago.

"Percy will be fine," I said. "He just has to grieve, but eventually, he'll remember his son and his job and all the other people who love him."

Harry opened his mouth to speak just as Draco returned to the table. Harry shot me a look that said, later, and stuffed a forkful of eggs in his mouth instead. Draco immediately began splitting his fruit with me by spooning strawberries, grapes and melon chunks onto my plate.

"I was thinking," he said, casually. "It's got to be Daphne Greengrass."

"What?" I asked.

Draco lowered his voice. "The killer-it's Daphne."

Harry looked at me, trying to communicate his impatience with Draco. Harry thought a Dark Artifacts Investigator had no business in a case like this one. In the past Harry might have just told Draco to piss off. I knew that it was because of me and my involvement with Draco that Harry refrained.

Instead he asked, in the same voice he might ask a toddler, "And how did you draw that conclusion?"

Draco, on the other hand, was not so courteous. He rolled his eyes. "Piss off, Potter. Hermione, do you remember that day you were spying on Daphne and I in Knockturn Alley, the day you and I talked in the library?"

"I was not spying on you," I tried to hide the blush I knew was staining my cheeks. "Yes, I remember the day I happened to see you talking."

Draco smirked but wisely refrained from any smart remarks. He suddenly looked uncomfortable. "Well, she was upset because I told her I wasn't interested in her—romantically speaking. You see, the previous evening, we sort of shared a kiss." He immediately looked to me.

I tried to keep a straight face. Though I had specifically asked him if there was anything between them, and he'd told me no, I still had no right to get upset. Who he kissed before he was anything to me, shouldn't matter now. It absolutely should not. More important things were happening.

"What's your point, Malfoy," said Harry.

Draco ignored Harry and continued, his stormy eyes locked on mine. "After the kiss, she told me she was in love with me." He glanced at Harry, no doubt wishing him anywhere but here. "I panicked and ran out. The next day, I felt like a bastard, she's been my friend since Hogwarts after all. So, I left the Quidditch game early and went back to her flat to apologize, except she didn't want an apology. Another argument started, when I tried to Apparate out of there, she grabbed my sleeve and that's what you saw Hermione, we argued in Knockturn Alley and I told her to leave me alone."

Well.

"Then when we were at the theater, Hermione, she gave me this." He slid a folded slip of parchment across the table to me.

Slowly, I picked it up and opened it. It said, BLOODTRAITOR, in dark, angry capital letters.

I read it several times before I spoke. "Why didn't you show this to me before now?"

"I didn't think it was necessary. I thought she was just being bitter about everything that happened and that I'd brought you along."

Harry raised his eyebrows, and his expression went from surprise to suspicion, and finally settled on disbelief.

"What?" Draco asked. That obviously was not the reaction he had expected.

"You brought Hermione on a group date with someone that professed their love for you?" Harry asked slowly. "How did you expect her to react, Malfoy?"

Draco's lips thinned. "That was never my intention. It was never like that."

"Draco," I said, trying my best to cast aside my annoyance with him at the moment. "This hardly means she is our killer. I'm not saying we should cross her from our suspect list, but I actually feel sorry for her now."

He snatched the note from my hand; classic Draco now making a full appearance. "Then you are a fool. If you want to waste your energy feeling sorry for some lunatic that wants you dead, then please, be my guest."

Draco abruptly stood and dropped enough money on the table to cover both of our meals. I glanced at Harry, who was trying not to laugh, and quickly followed Draco.

I had to jog to catch up to him. He was already halfway down the corridor to the lifts by the time I caught up to him.

"Draco wait. Wait." He stopped, but didn't turn around. I walked around to face him.

"What is the matter with you?" I asked.

He sneered. "You and Potter ganging up on me. I expect it from him, but not you-I didn't like it." He paused, and I could see the muscle jumping in his jaw. "I need you to take me seriously, Granger."

"No one was ganging up on you." I moved closer until I could see the lighter shades of gray in his eyes. He didn't move away. "Look, I'm sorry if you feel Harry is giving you a hard time, but I need you to realize that this isn't easy for him, either."

Draco rolled is eyes, but I kept talking. "Every one of us is inches from going round the bend. Regardless, we still have serious business to handle. If you think Daphne is our person, I'm not the one you need to convince; Harry is. I will always support you and take you seriously, but I can't do that if you storm out every time Harry or Ron says something that makes you angry. Come back and sit with us."

For a moment, I thought Draco was going to leave anyway, but after a few seconds, he grumbled and turned to go back to our table. But, I didn't let him get very far. I tightened my grip on his hand and pulled him back to me, and before he could argue, I lightly touched his lips to mine. He returned it, and before we ended up doing something inappropriate for where we were, I pulled away.

"Are you okay?" I asked, quietly.

He took a deep breath, and let it out through his nose. "I am now."

We walked back to our table.

The next couple of weeks passed without incident, and the night of the Ministry Ball was suddenly upon us. I decided to wear the silver robes, mostly because they were so completely extravagant and a girl would need that on the arm of Draco Malfoy.

The large crystal on the front nestled between my breasts and if I'd been as well endowed as Ginny, there would have been no way I could comfortably wear these robes in public. The shimmery material clung to my body in all the right places. I felt like royalty.

My hair was in a partial up-design with long ringlets down in the back. And just for effect, tiny white gems shown sparsely between the dark waves.

"You are a goddess."

I jumped and whirled around to see Draco arrogantly leaning against the door jamb of the guest bedroom where I had been getting dressed. I had almost trained myself not to frighten when he snuck up on me as he tended to do. But, any snarky comment I had froze like ice in my throat.

His exquisite black robes were tailored to perfection, creating an expensive, masculine silhouette. He wore a silver tie that matched my robes. His hair was neatly combed, without being overly styled. So smartly dressed, and all I could imagine were those robes tossed aside like a pile of rags as I kissed him from head to toe.

He sauntered into the room, his gaze lingering on the jewel at my exposed décolletage. As he drew nearer, my heart sped until I was almost certain he could hear the reaction I had to him. By the time he lifted a hand to brush several tendrils behind my shoulders, I could barely breathe. He smelled heavenly, too.

"I tried to coordinate," he said, quietly, smoothing his tie.

Say something. I swallowed. Anything.

"You look very handsome," I replied, brushing non-existent lint from his shoulders; my excuse to touch him. My words were inadequate, so I just stood there, waiting for him to speak.

"What's the matter?" he asked. "Are you nervous about your speech?"

I laughed. "It's not the speech, I've given them before."

"Then, what?"

"Not what," I said, "Who. It's you."

His brows immediately pulled into a tight frown. "What did I do?"

I shook my head, and several curls bounced onto my shoulders. "Nothing. You've done everything just right, actually." I took a deep breath. "I'm so-so lucky to be here with you, Draco. It's crazy, isn't it? I never thought…."

His face relaxed, and he cupped my face with his hands. "You remember what I told you, out on the balcony?" he asked. He waited for me to nod. "I meant it. Always"

"I want you to know something," I said. My heart beat furiously. "Before the papers start writing about us and our friends start in with their opinions of us, I want you to know that I am so thankful for you, and everything you've done. If it weren't for you, I probably wouldn't even be alive."

"You don't have to thank me for that, Hermione."

I nodded, the motion limited because his hands still cradled my face. "Yes, I do. And, I also want you to know that-that I love you, too. Always."

There, I'd said it. The seconds stretched on for a lifetime and I thought of a thousand different responses he might have. The room suddenly seemed to be the size of a hat box, and just as stuffy.

Draco stared at me, his face frozen and unblinking. The tiny frown appeared again and I got that feeling of deep scrutiny from the way he looked at me. My eyes reflexively flickered from his eyes to his lips, which were parted and blowing sweet-smelling puffs of air on my face. My heart stuttered mercilessly as I moved forward and kissed him.

He responded hungrily and trapped me against his chest and held on as though he wanted to climb inside my skin, and his life depended on it. I was on the guest bed without having remembered the transition, looking up into Draco lust clouded eyes. My robes parted of their on volition, and rode up my thighs until I could feel the sateen bedding caressing me from behind. Draco trailed open-mouthed kisses along the column of my throat. His hand cupped my breast; his thumb grazed my nipple and I shuddered.

Draco exhaled heavily through his nose and nipped my ear. My body flushed from head to toe, and as the heat between my legs grew hotter, I rotated my hips letting my legs fall open. Draco settled between them, just like he belonged there. His erection prodded into me, hot and heavy, even through the fabric of our robes.

I was dimly aware of a very timid voice in the back of my mind: If this went any further, we wouldn't make it to the ball tonight. "Draco," I moaned. This only encouraged him. He moved his mouth to lave at the exposed skin between my breasts. The pressure of his wet mouth set my skin on fire.

"Draco…we have to…God, we have to stop."

Finally, reluctantly, we pulled apart, breathless and trembling, and he hid his face in the curve of my neck and shoulder.

"We should go, or else we'll be late," I said.

He cursed, and kissed me one last time. "God, you're amazing."

The Ministry of Magic was located in an abandoned Muggle warehouse, and enchanted to accommodate anything the Ministry needed. So, when the Ministry needed a place to hold social functions, the Department of Event Planning and Social Affairs made it happen. Tonight, that place was the Ministry rooftop.

We didn't have to worry about Muggles; all the wards and charms that kept them from coming near the abandoned warehouse, also muted our music and shielded our lights so that it all blended in with normal London sights and sounds.

Glowing pixies fluttered around inside of colorful blown glass globes, and provided soft hued lighting. The rooftop was sheltered beneath a tent made from expensive looking draping material. It was beautiful enough that I barely noticed the side glances thrown at Draco and I.

I refused to sit with Draco's friends, so he conceded and sat with mine. Harry, Ginny, Neville, Luna, and Ron along with Draco and I completed our table. Everyone nodded politely at Draco, and though I could tell that at least two of them didn't mean it, it still made me happy that they'd tried.

I immediately noticed the absence of Ron's girlfriend, but as I hadn't seen or spoken with him properly in days, I wouldn't bring it up in front of everyone, especially if he didn't. Maybe she was sick. Or maybe, she was smart and avoided these damn Ministry functions like the plague.

Our table fell into awkward conversation. Neville talked about his classes, and Ginny talked about Lily. Ron was strangely quiet, and Luna was the only one able to keep any kind of conversation going with Draco. At the moment, they were having a rather serious conversation about the dwindling population of the Humplehorned Snowhog-which ironically carried no resemblance to a boar, but closer to a gazelle- in the Alps. I tried not to roll my eyes.

I grew increasingly anxious as my moment drew nearer. I was prepared, of course. I'd finally finished the speech earlier in the week and allowed a few days for it to simmer before coming back for the final revision. Draco had heard it countless times, and I almost felt bad…almost. I was only anxious because it was going to be me and my speech that reminded the smiling, slightly intoxicated faces of the Ministry and the upper crust of aristocracy of our grim reality: Innocent, Muggle-born women were dead.

I felt a warm hand close over my knee under the table, effectively halting the twitch of my knee.

"You're going to shred your napkin to pieces," Draco whispered in my ear.

His warm, sweet-smelling breath sent tiny jolts of something down my spine. I turned to meet his calm gaze, which was focused on my hands. I had nearly twisted the napkin into a ball and with a blush that I felt in my face, I tossed the napkin on the table. Draco began to caress my knee; alternating quick assuring squeezes with soft strokes. I calmed down and very subtly, he moved his hand higher, his fingertips brushing my inner thigh. Higher and higher he went and my heart sped with a cross between fear and desire. With a cautious glance around the table, I snapped my knees shut, trapping his fingers between my thighs. I speared my vegetables and fed myself with unnatural, jerky movements. Draco's attention eased one form of tension only to stir another. But I liked it. After several agonizing minutes, he cleared his throat, sipped from his water glass, and resumed eating as if nothing had happened.

I was embarrassed. And I was aroused. I knew curious fingers would find my body hot and ready for Draco and with that knowledge, I wanted nothing more than to skive off the ball, forget the speech, and burrow deep into Draco's bed with his scent all around and all through me. As I watched Kingsley Shacklebolt make his way to the podium, I knew my fantasy wasn't happening. My knee twitched.

Shacklebolt was a simple man; he needed no announcement. Frankly, his sheer size was enough, though he moved his six-and-a-half-foot frame with the grace of a dancer. The ambient sounds of conversation, expensive dishes clinking and haughty laughter died as his presence filled the tent like something tangible.

"Let us remember," he began, his deep voice booming. "…that even as we commemorate those lost to the war just five years ago, there are those that still endure injustice and inequality. Let us remember that it is our duty to protect ourselves and also our fellow magical brethren. Let us remember this, so that those who have died five years, five months or even five weeks ago, did not pass beyond the veil in vain." There was a heavy pause. "With that, I'd like to introduce Hermione Granger. Not only is she the brightest witch of her age, she is a survivor. In every sense of the word."

Shacklebolt lifted his arm, palm out as if to say voila. The only thing missing was the spotlight to fall upon me on queue. This was it. I stood, with more enthusiasm than I felt. Draco squeezed my hand for encouragement before he let me go. The applause died as I approached the podium, or maybe my hearing stopped working.

As I stared out at the crowd and into mostly familiar faces, an awful thought occurred to me: The killer could be here. Someone depraved enough to kill from hate could be here, looking back at me, commemorating the dead with a solemn expression. Even though the thought made me angry, I could do nothing but breath deeply and begin my speech.

It wasn't your garden variety speech. How often will I get the responsibility to remind people how terrifying, how cruel and how short life can be, while encouraging their faith in the Ministry? That although it seems someone had died each week, we had the situation under control? But it was over. Before I knew it, I reached the end of my attempt at uplifting. I had complete faith in Harry, Ron, Draco, and any other member of the Ministry dedicated to solving this case, but realistically, they were no closer to solving this crime than they had been on day one.

The crowd applauded and abruptly pulled me out of my thoughts. Shacklebolt came forward again and clapped a heavy hand on my shoulder. His normally hard-as-stone stare was a little softer with some emotion that I'd often seen in my father's eyes; pride.

"Excellent job, Ms. Granger." He shook my hand before sending me off the tiny stage. As I made my way back to our table, I got a prickling feeling between my shoulders. I ignored the feeling that I was being watched, because I was … by a room full of people.

I blamed the feeling on the sudden paranoid thought I'd had before my speech. I was not being watched.

I sat down at the table to a round of great-job-Hermione, and took comfort in the fact that Draco's hand on my knee eased some of my being-watched anxiety. I was being ridiculous. Shacklebolt took to the podium again and encouraged everyone to eat drink and dance. Our dishes vanished, only to be replaced with fresh ones filled with an assortment of mouth-watering treats.

This time the feeling descended on me again …not just watched, stalked.

"Hermione?"

I double-blinked and met Luna's wide, misty eyes and then noticed the entire table had turned their attention to me.

"You all right, Hermione?" Neville asked.

No. "Yes. I-excuse me." I pushed my chair back and ignored the bewildered exchange of looks. I didn't get very far before I felt Draco's firm grip on my bicep.

We stood in the middle of the floor. People were mingling and dancing all around us, but I felt as though we stood under a spotlight. Draco's piercing stare with those swirling stormy irises looked into me.

"What's the matter with you." It was not a question.

"Nothing, I just … need-"

And that's when I saw him. Detective Trotman sat at table looking terribly out of place among his cheerful table mates. His navy blue eyes almost seemed to burn bright as he watched me. That tingly feeling between my shoulders flared like a breeched security alarm.

Draco gently shook my arm. "Hermione, do we need to leave?" He began tugging me towards the exit before I could answer.

"I'm fine, I just need to use the ladies' room." I managed a weak smile that even I didn't believe. Draco let go of my arm, even though his sneer clearly said he knew he was being lied to. "I'm just flustered from giving the speech and I just need a few moments to compose myself."

From the corner of my eye, I saw another table with eyes just for us. He followed my gaze. Greg, Blaise, Daphne and a recovered Pansy all watched the exchange between Draco and I unashamed. I turned away before I focused on the empty chair next to Blaise. Lavender's chair.

"Why don't you go talk with them," I said. "They are your friends." Draco hesitated. "And besides, Daphne is there. Maybe you can get some inside information." He lifted a brow. "Forget that, then. I'll be back in ten minutes, I'm fine."

He finally took a step back. "Five minutes and then I'm coming after you."

Non-negotiable.

"Fine." And as I headed toward the exit, he turned in the direction of his former housemates.

Click-clack-click. The sound of my shoes was like thunder in the narrow stairwell leading down to the main level. Merlin, five minutes will have passed just on these sodding stairs. Suddenly, the prickling between my shoulders was back. I stopped and glanced back up the stairs.

"Hello?" Darkness. Silence.

I gathered the hem of my robes in my hand and picked up the pace. It was an eternity before I reached the landing and rushed through the doors and into the dimly lit Atrium. A hand grabbed my shoulder and whirled me around.

"Detective! You nearly scared me to death. What on earth are you doing following me?"

Detective Micah Trotman swayed on his feet and I reflexively reached out to steady him, though as he weighed nearly seventy-five pounds more than I did, I wasn't sure what I could do for him. Out of sheer will, I was able to get him over to the fountain and ignore the images of Penelope's body thrown over the edge like a gruesomely discarded doll.

He smelled like fire whiskey and cigars.

"Detective, is there someone here with you, perhaps I should-"

"I'm fine," he croaked. He sure didn't sound like it.

"I'm sure if I just-"

"I said I am fine."

I huffed. "Right, well, then I suppose I should be on my way."

As I turned to leave, his large hand grabbed my wrist. My hand was already on its way to unsheathe my wand, when I caught the look in his eyes. Such pain. I had never seen such pain in a man's eyes, though I could only imagine the kind of thing that could cause it, and I thought of Percy. I let him drag me back to sit next to him on the edge of the fountain.

He scrubbed his face with both hands and I waited for him to speak.

"You asked me about the-the murders of my wife and step daughters."

I waited for him to finish.

"They weren't step daughters to me. I loved them as though they were of me."

He directed his sad gaze to the shiny floor in front of us.

"My ex-wife hated the fact that I left her for a Muggle. Hated it. She sent letters to me for months. Begging, threatening, pleading…." His face screwed up in memory. "You see, we couldn't have children. So, the fact that this Muggle woman could bear magical children really messed with her." He tapped his index finger to his temple.

I knew where this was going. It was like watching a train wreck unfold; tragic and unbearable, but I couldn't look away.

"Do you … do you think that she had something to do with those murders, Detective?"

He ignored my question. "I've decided to quit. My job. Friday was my last day. You see once the Minister finds out what I'm about to tell you, I'll be fired anyway." He reached into his pocket and pulled out a picture. It was of him and a young woman with dark brown hair and the widest, child-like eyes I had ever seen. He grinned into the camera, while she gazed adoringly up at him. His ex-wife. He tapped the picture. "Days before-before my girls died, she sent me a letter detailing exactly what she was going to do. She outlined everything, how she was going to use some powdered flower root and lace their toys with poison and watched with glee as they burned to death.

"I didn't do anything. I thought it was just another ridiculous attempt to get my attention. The next day my youngest daughter and my wife were both dead. My oldest, Cynthia, was in a coma." A tear slid down his cheek and landed on the picture he held in his hand.

"When Cynthia died, I burst into my ex's house in barely contained rage. She had wisely fled. No trace of her. The only thing that ever proves she existed is this picture." He passed it to me and I folded it in my hand.

"Micah," I said softly. "Why are you telling me this?"

He turned to me and his handsome face was grim. "Because you asked me if I thought there was a connection between the way my family died and these current murders. I say yes. Charlotte, my ex-wife is more than capable and adept at glamour potions. God knows what else she has picked up in the last five years, but this has her name all over it."

It was like someone dumped a bucket of frigid ice water over my head. The chill went from the crown of my head all the way to my toes. Charlotte … Charlotte … Charlotte. I stared at the picture in my hands. Those eyes.

"I vowed to bring her to justice for my family, for my unborn child. Yes, my wife was pregnant. In five years I have not found her. It's like she disappeared from the face of the earth. Vanished."

I jumped up and it was weird how my first thought was of Draco. Surely five minutes had passed.

"I'm sorry, Detective," I said. "Thank you for the information. You have no idea how helpful this is."

He dropped his gaze to the floor. "Please find her for me. For my family. For my young."

I nodded and took off toward the direction of the stairwell. The door was silent as I all but burst through it. The sound of voices stopped me. A voice that sounded like … Draco. I squeezed Charlotte's picture in my hand and took each step up as quietly as possible.

Daphne's robes came into view first; bright and buttercup yellow. She was pressed right up against Draco, who was pressed between her body and the wall. Suddenly Daphne snaked her thin arms around Draco's neck and kissed him. I felt my heart when it cracked. A simple jagged line right down the middle. He didn't move, didn't speak, he didn't protest.

And just as though he knew I'd be there, he lifted his beautiful gray eyes, and looked right into mine.

AN: Sorry for the long wait. I will get the next chapter posted ASAP! Thank you to everyone that reviewed in the last chapter!