Chapter 51

Tuesday 18 March 2003: PM

"Theo – I'm so sorry about the ordeal you suffered tonight. I never for a moment believed you were involved with the roofie plot," Hermione earnestly declares, hoping her statement doesn't further upset the tired young man standing before her. Harry, Blaise, and Draco are talking animatedly on the other side of Blaise's office, while Wirey remains stubbornly attached to her right hand (though he has finally ceased his ardent smooching of it).

"Thank you, Hermione – I don't– I don't know what I would have done, if you hadn't showed up and saved the day," Theo soberly admits. "I'm at a loss to express what your faith really means to me… and of course, I'll pay you for your legal counsel–"

"Pshaw! Absolutely not," Hermione scoffs. "I'm highly insulted you even offered," she teases, using her free left hand to lightly squeeze Theo's shoulder.

"Listen, Theo… I want you to know how proud I am of you: it took a lot of courage to face the Veritaserum interrogation, especially considering how you suffered after being shoved in that cell. 'You've got moxie, kid' – as my dad likes to say," she grins.

Blushing a little, Theo drops his head to his chest and shyly looks up through his ruffled fringe of thick black curls. His Adam's apple bobs as he smiles candidly for the first time tonight. "Thanks, Hermione."

"May I give you a hug before you leave?" Hermione quietly requests. "Assuming Wirey lets go of my hand before the sun rises." She gently attempts to shake loose the appendage for the fifth or sixth time.

"Of course. Wirey – please let go of Hermione, before her cranky boyfriend zaps you," Theo instructs, nodding toward Draco; the haughty blond is craning his neck to glare inimically at the moustachioed house elf. Pouting, Wireceaster rubs his rubbery cheek against the back of Hermione's fingers before reluctantly releasing her.

"Fräulein Granger holds Wireceaster's throbbing heart in her hands forevermore: such beauty, such grace… Solch Kraft und Intelligenz! Wireceaster composes poems for die schönste Hexe – he recites at next meeting!" the infatuated sprite fervently promises, clasping together his knobbed elfish mitts and wiggling his prodigious ears for dramatic emphasis.

"Er – lovely." Hermione discreetly wipes the dampened back of her hand on the rear pocket of her jeans before gathering Theo in a careful hug. He holds the embrace for a few seconds, pulling away as he says, "We'd better go, before Draco completely loses his tenuous grasp on his rampant possessiveness… he's practically frothing at the mouth over there."

"Is that the polite version of, 'before Draco loses his shit'?" Hermione wryly murmurs.

"You said it, not me," Theo chuckles. He steps back, placing a guiding hand on Wirey's thick plaid old-fashioned nightshirt. Hermione idly wonders if the funny little elf has a matching nightcap that was lost in his haste to defend his master tonight.

"Come on, Wirey – bid goodnight to Hermione, and let's be on our way," Theo prompts.

Hermione prudently keeps her hands tucked behind her back as Wireceaster gushes, "Gute Nacht, meine Göttin. Wireceaster counts die Minuten til we meets again." Hermione thinks she hears his knees creak as he wobbles into the start of a deep bow: Theo cancels the gesture with a gentle yank to the elf's nightshirt.

"Blaise, we're ready to leave, mate," Theo calls to his friend, herding Wirey toward the fireplace. "Thanks again, Draco, Harry. 'Night."

Blaise busses a quick kiss to Hermione's cheek before he hurries to the other side of the senior house elf. "Harry – you'll lock the office behind you, please? Can't be too careful – as tonight has proven," Zabini grimly observes.

Harry gives a Muggle 'thumbs-up' gesture as Draco nods goodbye. A flash of green light signals the trio's Floo exit.

Draco crosses to Hermione, enveloping her in a delectably tight hug and peppering a series of sweet kisses to her frazzled hair before he speaks. "Ma petite – you are utterly incredible, do you know that? Are you positive you wish to resign from the Ministry? Based on tonight's performance, you would easily be the greatest Minister for Magic the Wizarding World has ever seen," he professes, unmistakable sincerity infusing his statement.

Flushing with quiet happiness at her boyfriend's compliment, Hermione smiles. "Thank you, Malfoy: but if tonight's shenanigans are any indicator, I'd be drowning in nincompoops and corrupt officialdom at every turn. And I really don't suffer fools gladly… or at all."

Turning her head sideways to address Harry, Hermione keeps her arms snugged around Draco as she straightforwardly points out, "Harry – you've got a mole in the Auror division; and no prizes for guessing his identity."

"Bones," Harry acknowledges, his mouth a harsh slash in his tired face. "Or if not Barry – someone in his team. There's no way they didn't intend to frame Theo and hang him out to dry," he growls. "Which begs the question – just how dark and deep is this conspiracy? I've been operating under the assumption it's a couple of depraved enthusiasts… but what if it's a whole underground network? Embedded in the Ministry, no less?! And as for the evidence–" he breaks off to scratch at his ears.

At least his poor hair has a small reprieve, Hermione thinks sadly. Watching her best friend agonize over his perceived failings makes her heart ache and her eyes well. She is surprised when Draco steps in.

"Potter – don't go flagellating yourself over this development. You were doing everything you legally could to sort out tonight's shambles, and you wasted no time rectifying the injustice done to Theo when you learned of his disorder. At least now you know which rocks to look beneath," Draco urges. He grins at Hermione's agape reaction.

"What? I give credit where it's due, you know," Draco defends his unexpected magnanimity.

"Of course you do," Hermione placates, tucking her head against his shoulder. "Draco's correct, Harry. You're not responsible for the actions of your colleagues," she stresses.

"Thanks, guys." Harry's shoulders slump defeatedly as he advises, "I'm going to call an emergency meeting here tonight with Head Auror Leopold Pritchard-Hawes and go through every shred of evidence and all the reports for Operation Acromantula. And we've yet to comb The Manifesto for clues – at least it's been safely deposited in the evidence locker, Faulkner confirmed that before he left."

"Harry – you look absolutely exhausted. Can't you catch a few hours' sleep first?" Hermione entreats.

"I'm alright, love. We need to get on top of this, and potentially charge Barry with collusion, or intentional hindering of the investigation. He'll definitely be held to account over his illegal treatment of a suspect in custody – the prick deliberately turned off the lights in Theo's holding cell! He'll bloody pay for his cruelties." Steel returns to Harry's spine as he stalks to Blaise's desk and scribbles down a note on a spare leaf of parchment.

"Go home, you two. Quick – before you start pawing at each other and I am forced to throw you out," Harry jokes. "Leave the sad bachelor to his one true love – his work."

"I think a certain beautiful brunette witch named for a pretty flower might have some beef with your last statement, Harry," Hermione cheekily ripostes. Draco's chest vibrates with his own chortles as Harry reddens and fumbles unnecessarily at his perfectly-positioned spectacles.

Hermione leans over Zabini's desk, grabbing a scrap of vellum and a pencil to scrawl down a hasty note of her own. "I'll magick this down to Mrs Sandore's office before we leave. I've decided to take tomorrow morning off work," she explains. "But I'll be in around noon, Harry – and I'd like a full briefing then, if you've time, of course." She sends the folded note on its way to Level Two with a graceful flick of her wand and a brief incantation.

"We'll be in then," Draco amends. "Don't pout, Granger – you owe me for not warning me about your mad– erm, madcap father's demand that I draw his caricature after our barbecue dinner tomorrow evening."

"First family dinner with the Grangers, eh?" Harry brightens, rubbing together his hands in gleeful anticipation. "Barney's going to have a field day grilling you over the barbecue, Malfoy… no one's good enough for his Little Wendy, of course," he sniggers.

"What – not even the Weas–Weasley?" Draco curiously enquires.

"Oh, hell no – Barney was suss on Ron for–"

"Harry! That's enough!" Hermione hisses, appalled at Harry's sudden overshare.

"Sorry, Hermione. Good luck, Malfoy." Harry appears shamefaced. Draco looks insufferably smug about the interrupted revelation.

"Malfoy – take me home to bed, or lose me forever," she paraphrases the line of dialogue from 'Top Gun' as she shuffles them toward Blaise's Floo.

"Eeww, gross," Harry groans, as he returns Hermione's wave and Draco's chin tip.

"And from one of my favourite movies, too," the Auror grumbles, as the couple toss in their green powder and disappear from sight.

"Blasphemy."


Wednesday 19 March 2003: AM

Careful not to spill a drop, Draco wafts the mug of steaming coffee beneath his sleeping sweetheart's nose. He grins as her nostrils twitch while she snuffles, "Mmphff… whaaaa?".

Perching on the side of the mattress beside her askew form, Draco pretends to take a sip from the white mug as Hermione's eyes snap open and narrow, lasering in on his mouth at the lip of the cup.

"Mine!" she jack-knifes upright, grabby hands flailing for the hot java.

Laughing outright now, Draco somehow manages to not spill a drop as he holds it off the bed and leans in to press a pecking kiss to Hermione's grumpy mouth. "Good morning, ma petite."

Her soft lips seek his again, clinging briefly before she breaks away to rumble, "Coffee?"

"Have at it, Granger," Draco guides the crockery into her greedy hands, smiling indulgently as she practically inhales a huge gulp. "I apologize for waking you, but it's almost eleven o'clock – we've slept away most of the morning," he informs, gently tucking a few wayward hickory-brown curls behind her ears lest them fall into the mug Hermione is cupping in both hands.

"But I wanted to spend more time with you," Hermione whines petulantly, between slurps of doctored espresso.

"We enjoyed each other's company last night, didn't we?" Draco is gratified by Hermione's pink flush as he alludes to their late return to the townhouse…

They'd emerged from the Floo to find Macdolas and Ruibby fast asleep in the sky blue beanbag, curled up in a classic spoon cuddle (with the television fuzzing silently on the sideboard)… fortunately, both elves had still been fully clothed.

Hermione had shushed Draco's instinctive tut-tut of reproof, bending over to awaken their slumbering Scottish steward with a gentle pat.

"Mac? We're home – it's just me and Draco, don't be alarmed," she'd soothed, as Macdolas had morphed from sleepy winsome imp to savage crocodile in a matter of milliseconds. Ruibby had woken when Mac's protective gnarly hands had tightened around her, sitting up to blink muzzily at the two humans.

"Master Theo is safe?" Mac had asked worriedly. "Her Grace Lady Granger frees Master Nott from unjust incarceration and the suspicion of wrongdoings?".

"She certainly did, Macdolas…. Nice of you to assume I played no part in the process, though," Draco had muttered the final phrase under his breath, further aggravated by his seneschal's indifferent shrug.

"Macdolas has the utmost faith in Her Grace Lady Granger's infinite powers of wisdom, strength, and persistence: Her Grace is the Brightest Witch in the Universe," he'd proudly emphasized.

"I've bad news for you, shrimpet – you have a fresh rival jockeying for the title of Number One Fan in the Elven Society for the Appreciation of Hermione Granger Club," Draco had taunted. "Wait until you meet Wireceaster: that slobbering little grot's already given you a run for your money in the fawning stakes."

"Malfoy – leave Wirey alone, he was quite charming… in an old-fashioned, Continental way," Hermione had chided. "And he didn't slobber… not intentionally, anyway."

"What is a 'slobbering Wirey'?" Macdolas had demanded, disgruntlement plain on his sleep-creased face. "Macdolas and Ruibby already appoint themselves founding members and co-Presidents of 'The Elven Society for the Appreciation of Her Grace Lady Hermione Jean Granger and Master Auror Harry James Potter, Sorcerers Extraordinaire and Saviours of the Wizarding World', besides!" he'd indignantly announced. Ruibby had solemnly nodded her agreement, her blonde head tucked beneath Macdolas's jutting chin.

"Merlin's mongrel Murtlaps – I was joking," Draco had choked out, around his helpless giggles. "What's next, badges? You'll want to find a catchy acronym… Hermione might be able to help you there," he'd gasped.

"It's sad how you think you're comical," Hermione had griped, clearly unimpressed with his sly mocking reference to 'S.P.E.W.'.

"Ignore Draco, please. Wirey is Theo's elderly house elf, he's very sweet. Mac – will you escort Ruibby home to the Manor? We're off to bed. Goodnight," she'd all but dragged Draco behind her as the house elves had yawned and nodded; the sound of their joint Apparation audible as they'd ascended the staircase.

"A ruddy elven fan club," Draco had bitched, even as Hermione had steered them into the ensuite bathroom and begun shedding their clothes in careless order. "They're all out of control – you must see that, Granger."

"Pfft. You're simply jealous you're not the subject of their adulation, my vain, pretty peacock," Hermione had jested, her agile fingers quickly unfastening the fly of his trousers and reefing the pants and fitted boxers to his ankles. "Kick off your shoes and socks and step clear. We're going to shower and go to bed – I'm knackered," she'd sighed.

Doing as she'd bidden, Draco had yanked his jumper and shirt over his head in one swift move and busied himself helping Hermione out of her attire. Despite his resolution to keep their interaction non-sexual, he hadn't been able to resist his hands lingering on her warm skin as he'd divested her of all outer wear and started on removing her bra and knickers.

"Malfoy… don't tantalize me," Hermione had groaned, her head dropping to her chest, eyes closing automatically as he'd trailed fine kisses along her shoulders, sweeping her hair to each side before bundling the curly mass into a loose knot and clumsily fixing it in place with the hair tie. Turning on the double showerheads and waiting until the water warmed sufficiently, Draco had led Hermione under the powerful twin sprays, careful not to wet her abundant chocolate mane.

"Let me l-lather you," he had stuttered, picking up her soap and gliding it over her passive form, his eyes drawn to the suds alternately hiding and revealing her beautiful skin. He'd sternly instructed his rather too-interested cock to stand down, instead focusing on taking care of his tired, brilliant witch. When Draco had finished soaping Hermione from head to toe, he'd simply gathered her to him, nestling her head against his shoulder as he'd swayed them beneath the steamy water and thoroughly relished the intimate moment.

His poor, fatigued lioness had been unusually docile in the circle of his arms, merely pressing occasional little kisses against his clavicle until he'd reluctantly decided that if they stayed under the water any longer, their skin would prune.

Hermione hadn't argued as he'd wrapped her in a fluffy navy bath sheet, patting her dry before lifting her into a bridal carry and walking the short distance back to their bedroom. He'd flipped back the bedding to place her underneath, hastily blotting himself with the dry ends of the towel before returning it to the bathroom with a flick of his wrist and muttered spell.

Slipping in beside her, Draco had gasped as her determined hand had reached for his semi-stiffened member. "Ma petite– you're spent– go to sleep, darling," he'd groaned, surprised by the strength of her hold as he'd failed to break her grip. The warm light of the bedside lamp had revealed the determined glint in his girlfriend's eye.

"I'm not that tired, mon chéri. Make love to me, Draco… please. I want to feel you inside me… I'll even let you do all the work," she'd teased, splaying her limbs in an exaggerated 'starfish' pose. "Let's enjoy some boring old 'vanilla missionary'… I promise you'll enjoy it."

He'd been utterly unable to resist her giggling offer, his energy levels rallying as he'd made a pretence at seeming reluctant. "Well… I suppose I could crawl on top and unenthusiastically let you have your wicked way with me…"

Thwap! A pillow to his face had soon followed, making them both laugh.

"I'm positive you can do better than that," Hermione had cajoled, grabbing at his hips and batting her eyelashes as he'd happily settled to lie flush against her luscious young body.

"But of course… if you'd really rather not…"

"No – no, my troops have regrouped," Draco had deadpanned, bending his head to drink deeply from her willing lips. His arms had borne the brunt of his weight, though Hermione had wrapped herself around him and urged him as close as he could get without crushing her outright.

The feeling of her soft sex rubbing languidly against his rigid rod had made his head spin. Hermione had set the quiet, paced tone of their joining, her hands trailing over his flexing back as their lips had unhurriedly explored each other's mouths.

"Hermione… tu m'émerveilles, tous les jours… watching you tonight, I was so proud of you," Draco had whispered, in between their lazy smooches and gentle front-to-front slides. "You have no idea how magnificent you are, do you?" he'd asked, feathering his mouth along her jawline and nuzzling at her earlobes.

"Magnificent?" she'd breathed, moving her hands down to cup his tautened buttocks.

"Mmmm… incredibly smart, and strong, and so sexy… I cannot believe how lucky I am…" Throat closing with emotion, Draco had channelled his feelings into a passionate kiss, the wild leaping of his heartbeat at odds with their languorous coupling.

"I'm the lucky one… my Draco," Hermione had bumped her legs a little wider, her face tilting to beam happily at him as he'd notched against her warm, wet entrance.

"Laisse-moi te montrer à quel point je t'adore, Hermione," Draco had implored, holding off on surging inside her heated flesh until she'd nodded eagerly.

They'd moaned in unison as he'd sank in deeply, sheathing himself to the hilt and panting softly as he'd dropped his forehead to hers and taken a moment to steady his racing pulse. He'd finally begun a silken back-and-forth slide into her slick channel when her impatient little undulations had become impossible to resist.

Watching Hermione's face all the while, Draco had taken pains to keep his thrusts measured and rhythmic, savouring every place that their bodies were joined: groin, limbs, and chest. Her soft budded nipples and ripe globes had felt almost unbearably delectable against his own harder skin and muscles.

Thinking of it now, Draco isn't surprised to realize he has no true idea of how long they spent moving together… it had somehow felt like a bubble in time and space, suspending them together in a pocket of physical rapture, tender bliss and the familiar merging of their magical cores.

Hermione had whimpered as she'd neared her climax, Draco right behind her. Words had been unnecessary as they'd stared into each other's wide eyes, sensation trading back and forth until Draco had been hard-pressed to comprehend the separation between their bodies, minds, and souls.

Ripples of pleasure had sent goosebumps across their skin, carnal pleasure gradually receding as heat and comfort… and quiet, unfettered joy had taken its place. Pupils blown wide, Draco had rolled them onto their sides, hugging Hermione tightly before resettling the bedding to cover them both.

"Goodnight, Draco… mon cœur," Hermione had curled up against him like a little cat, still smiling faintly.

He'd waited until he'd heard her breathing drop into deep sleep before he'd whispered, "Goodnight, Hermione… ma seul vrai amour."

As he now remembers his telling endearment of the night before, Draco hopes he isn't mirroring Hermione's shy blush. He hustles to change the subject before Hermione can pick up on his nerves and interrogate him as to the cause.

"Granger, regarding your decision to resign from the Ministry yesterday: has Headmistress McGonagall confirmed your appointment to Hogwarts teaching staff?" he queries, somehow keeping his heather grey eyes locked with Hermione's as the ivory sheet she has tucked around her lithe form gapes alluringly at her front when she lifts her free hand to cover a yawn.

"Oh, no, not yet… I decided that regardless of whether I'm appointed as the new Arithmancy Professor, I don't want to work at the Ministry anymore." She raises the mug to her mouth again, only to lower it before she takes another swig.

"Are you upset that I didn't discuss my decision with you beforehand? I apologize – that was thoughtless of me," she asks anxiously.

"No, ma petite: please don't fret. I thought perhaps that your new role had been confirmed… you're a shoo-in, of course," Draco confidently avers. "McGonagall would have signed the paperwork to seal the deal the moment you left her office."

He holds up a hand to halt her demurring protest. "No – I shan't countenance hearing any humility from you. Let me sing your praises – it's my right as your proud boyfriend, you know. Now, I have a few other discussion points for you, my sharp-witted little witch: when were you planning on telling me of your father's demands for a caricature? Apparently I must complete the best satirical sketch of my career tonight, if I'm to outdo his friend Richard's recent drawing," Draco razzes, as Hermione snickers.

"I completely forgot! Don't worry, it will be a cinch for you… being the incredibly gifted artist that I know you to be," she deliberately simpers, between giggles.

"Keep going," Draco sniffs, holding his patrician nose high as he makes a twirling motion with his left hand.

Putting aside her empty mug, Hermione wiggles closer, picking up his hand and stroking her thumb across the back. "Where do I begin? Hmmm… well, you're amazingly talented… terribly clever… witty… kind… supportive… altruistic… bilingual… ". Each adjective is punctuated with a butterfly-soft kiss to his knuckles.

"What else…? Let me think… generous… caring… disgustingly rich… handsome… sexy… yes, that's one of my particular favourites," she moves his hand to her velvety cheek, pressing her next kiss to his palm.

"I suppose that's an acceptable list of desirable attributes: though you've completely omitted any mention of my big dick," Draco delights in her burbling laughter at his crudity.

"I won't dignify that with a response," Hermione snips at last, winking lasciviously. "Are we all caught up? I need to get dressed and have something to eat," she begins to swing her bare legs out of the big bed.

"Two more things: why does your father call you 'Little Wendy'? And when he tells me "I'm watching you" – Draco repeats the odd forked-finger circular gesture Bernard Granger had threatened him with at the St Mungo's – "is there some special import behind it? I need to be as prepared as possible for this evening's… entertainment".

"Oh, Malfoy – come, help me pick out an outfit: I'll try to cover a few gaps in your woeful knowledge of strange Muggle mores…"


Wednesday 19 March 2003: PM

"Harry – you look like you haven't slept for three weeks!" Hermione is clearly aghast at her dear friend's sunken eyes and ashen complexion after Potter steps back from their hug.

"Yeah, we were up all night checking every single file note and piece of evidence on the case," Harry admits, taking off his spectacles to rub at his already-reddened green eyes. "I'll sleep the slumber of the just tonight, let me tell you!".

A broad, triumphant grin stretches across his weary face as he quietly crows, "We've had a breakthrough – well, two, actually. Finally caught up with that fool reporter who dragged Malfoy's reputation through the mud this morning; the moron fled his rented Barcelonian villa to flee home to his mother's house, if you can believe it. He's currently chewing down his grimy fingernails and singing like a canary in one of the interrogation rooms as we speak.'

"And we've got Barry Bones cold on accepting a heft bribe yesterday afternoon. Pritchard-Hawes served the warrant on Gringotts himself… Bones didn't even attempt to hide the sack of bloody Galleons, they were sitting smack-dab in the middle of his vault, for the love of lions," Harry shakes his head incredulously.

That pigeon-brained, blustering, bloated bastard.

Draco thinks he is the one growling aloud until Hermione snarls, "Where is he?! Has he been involved in this fell conspiracy all along? I'll goddamn EVISCERATE him!". Draco shares an alarmed look with Potter as he catches Hermione around the waist, holding her still before she can rush out the door to exact her gruesome revenge.

"Hermione – it's OK – please," Harry entreats. "I promise you – the Head Auror is entrusting this with my team alone. Gilmont, Faulkner, and I are handling this – Bones and Stibbons will pay dearly for their parts in this connivance. Try not to get agitated, love."

"Please, Granger… listen to Harry. You know he'll move heaven and earth to get to the bottom of this plot – and to see justice served. Let him do his job… without adding to his worries, hmmm?" Draco hopes his quiet observation will calm his angry witch. Or at the very least, give her pause for thought.

Both wizards breathe easier when Hermione closes her irate cocoa eyes and relaxes in Draco's hold. "Alright… I'm alright. You can release me now, Malfoy." She spins in his grasp, curling her arms around his neck to plant a firm yet affectionate kiss on his wary lips.

"Harry, I do trust you – implicitly. Of course I do," she asserts, turning again to address the black-haired Auror. "I know how hard you're working on solving this case, and keeping me from further danger," Hermione conveys her sincerity with a quick squeeze to Potter's forearm.

"I'm just so furious that either wickedness, greed, or all-out stupidity – hell, maybe a combination of all three! – have allowed these scumbags to endanger me, and my family and friends. If there's anything I can do to help, anything at all–"

"I hear you, Hermione. And of course – I pledge to keep you updated, and to enlist your help as required. Your safety is paramount, though, OK? That extends to your fiery Snake boyfriend," Harry grins, his usually affable mien losing its current harsh lines as he pokes gentle fun at Draco's quick temper.

I'm only feral when it comes to protecting Hermione. Draco bites back the defensive statement, not wanting to gift Potter any more ammunition. He twitches his upper lip in a faint sneer instead.

"Harry… do you believe anyone else in the Ministry is involved? What about Bones's Auror team?" Hermione presses.

"We're still checking them out, but Leopold – sorry, Head Auror Pritchard-Hawes – and I believe them to be innocent of actual collusion, albeit not too bright. They were following Bones's orders unquestioningly when they swooped on Nott House and arrested Theo last night," Harry expounds. "They will receive a formal warning, but no charges."

"And what of the reporter – Stibbons, is it? Has he identified the man (or men) who paid him to run that mud-slinging article?" Draco quizzes.

"He never dealt with the bloke face-to-face, but he kept surprisingly good file notes on the entirety of their interactions," Harry divulges. "With enough cross-referencing and our keen eyes across it – we'll get him."

"Thanks, Harry. I realize you're feeling as frustrated as we are… I have absolute faith in you," Hermione attests. "Right, Malfoy?" she nudges Draco for his added support.

"Right," he readily accedes. The slightly shocked look on Potter's face is worth overcoming any last reservations in solidly throwing his endorsement behind 'Lightning Bolt' again.

"Granger, are you ready to leave? I'll escort you back to your office, and Macdolas," Draco suggests. "Potter, you look like you're about ready to drop – maybe eat a sandwich before you faint, eh?".

"When we get back to my office, I'll send down Macdolas to the cafeteria to run you up some lunch, Harry. Draco will stick around until Mac delivers it, watches you consume it, and returns to us; so make sure you actually eat the food, please," Hermione affectionately threatens/scolds.

"Yeah, yeah. Thanks, love." Harry smiles and waves them out. "Stay in touch, please."

Back in Hermione's office, Draco barely waits for Macdolas to skip out merrily on an errand for his wizardly idols before he sits down in Hermione's creaky old office chair and scoops her onto his lap.

"Are you feeling better, sweetheart? Knowing that Potter is finally making some progress?" Draco carefully asks, jiggling Hermione up and down a little as she squeaks and coils her arms around his neck.

"Hey, stop that – you're ruining my professional image, you know," Hermione fusses at her skirt, ineffectually attempting to pull it back down over her shapely knees. "To answer your question – yes… knowing that things are beginning to fall apart for the 'villains' is satisfying… but I am living for the day when we can put all this mess behind us. I don't want to be afraid any more, Malfoy," she sighs, leaning her head against his shoulder.

"I'm scared – scared they are going to come after you… I don't know what I'd do, if– if I lost you," she rasps, burying her face against his neck and hiccoughing muffled sobs.

Kissing her heated forehead, Draco murmurs soothing vocables, despondent at her continued stress and suffering over the wretched situation.

"I understand, ma petite. But we're going to be fine, you and I: no, we're going to be spectacular – together," Draco underscores. "No one is going to part us ever again, Hermione. Or my name's not Draco Lucius Malfoy – or Jake Malloy," he smiles as he deliberately copies her tenacious assurance of the night before.

"Now… please give me a kiss, to help carry me through an afternoon without you… and to fortify me for the terrifying prospect of facing your father's dubious chilli traps; exhortations to allow an impromptu dental examination; and demands for unpaid caricature commissions tonight," Draco pleads.

His half-joking trepidation sparks a wan smile on his anxious girlfriend's face, before she circles back to his avowal.

"We'll be OK, Draco?". Her sad sienna eyes look to his steel ones for solace and certitude.

"I swear we will, Hermione."


German translations:

solche Kraft und Gehirne! – such strength and brains!

die schönste Hexe – the most beautiful witch.

French translations:

tu m'émerveilles, tous les jours – you enthrall me, every day.

Laisse-moi te montrer à quel point je t'adore – Let me show you how much I adore you.

ma seul vrai amour – my one true love.