"So- Are you going to the ministry fundraiser tomorrow?" Glenn asks as he fiddles with the plastic wrapper on his bag of grapes.

Hermione hasn't expected this question and she's not at all sure how to respond. She chews on her BLT sandwich in thought.

Glenn is across from her as they sit in a cafè for lunch. They've had lunch together a few times now, usually quite pleasantly she might add. His crisp features are patient as he waits for her to respond.

"I'm not sure," she begins after a moment, and it's the truth, because with everything going on, she might need to work through it, "the case is taking everything over, I might not have the time."

Glenn smiles faintly as he pops a grape into his mouth.

"This case of yours is a fun killer," he replies, chewing briefly in-between, "you know you need to take breaks sometimes? You'll burn yourself out eventually."

His expression is half serious, half amused and Hermione feels herself returning the smile he's giving her.

"Of course, it's just really important we crack it soon," she pauses then to take a quick sip of her coffee.

"How is the case going, anyway?" He asks, another grape in his mouth.

She pauses then, because she's not sure how much she can divulge without it breaching the non-disclosure agreement of the case. Plus they'd been told explicitly by Kingsley and the others to keep everything under wraps until they knew what was going on for certain. Would cause a ruckus, cause too much panic if any of it got out into the wizarding community.

"Loads going on, really, too much to fully explain- but we're definitely on the precipice of something," she finally says, taking another bite of her sandwich.

Glenn looks thoughtful then, his brown eyes observing- observing her.

She feels the urge to squirm under the attention, but fights it off expertly and sits a bit straighter in her seat.

"Are you going to the fundraiser?" She asks, if only to break the blanket of silence that's settled between them.

His face perks up at this, the same slight smile returning to his features once more.

"Indeed I am," he says, voice sincere, "I'd been hoping you'd be planning to go so I could ask you to go with me, actually."

"Go with you?" She asks carefully, because she's definitely heard these lines before and knows exactly where it's going. These same lines from Ron when they'd just been friends and look how that catastrophe turned out. She realises that she doesn't like Glenn's tone one bit.

But perhaps she's getting ahead of herself- Ron's behaviour was his own, after all.

That doesn't mean things will go terribly wrong here, either.

She'd been mostly content until this point to keep their relationship platonic. Maybe she's just scared, worried of repeating the same ending that she'd experienced with Ron.

She's likely just overthinking everything-

"Yes, together," he explains and the words are exactly what she'd predicted he'd say. She takes a deep breath at the same time his cheeks begin to turn pink- the barest hint of a blush.

"As- well, sort of like a date," he continues and Hermione curses all the gods, the high heavens and Merlin for doing this to her. Why, why, why.

Why exactly at this moment, on this day, during this bloody week-

Everything's a mess, she's a mess, the case is a mess, and she really does not need additional turmoil to add to the pile.

Glenn looks sheepish and expectant as he waits for her reply.

Bugger.

"Well, I'm not sure I'm going unfortunately," she says, slowly, carefully.

"But if you do go…"

She begins to chew her lip, hates the idea of letting anyone down, hates the idea of losing this perfectly fine friendship they've got going on-

"I promised my friend I'd go with them," she says, not entirely a lie, "if I do go, that is." There, that sounds fine. A fine response.

"Was it Mr Malfoy?" He asks after a brief moment, and Hermione is well and truly thrown.

"What?" She says before she can even process his question, "no, it wasn't Malfoy."

She doesn't elaborate, and even though his question is entirely pointed, flecked with meaning, Glenn doesn't appear to be at all affronted. In fact his smile might have even increased in size, she can't be sure- she isn't exactly focused on keeping eye contact.

"Ah, I see," he says, voice chirpy, "I thought he might have asked you already."

A second comment within a few moments that has thrown her. What in Merlin's name-

"Asked me already?" She manages, attempting to cover the surprise on her features by holding her coffee mug up to her lips.

Glenn pops another grape into his mouth and then chews slowly, as of drawing the moment out.

"Yeah, I guess I mistook the way he looks at you-"

"Looks at me?" And her voice is definitely an octave higher now. The thrum of her heartbeat in her veins begins to thud heavily and her palms feel clammy.

Good grief.

The young man across from her chuckles, and she thinks it sounds light, almost refreshing- the complete opposite of how Malfoy laughs.

"He looks at you-", Glenn's voice drops an octave, as if he's about to share a secret, the blush across his cheeks rising to a brilliant red, "well, he looks at you as if you're something he'd like to take a bite out of- I couldn't help but wonder if there was something going on between-."

Of all of the things Hermione had thought he might say, of all the things she had calculated might leave his lips, this- this was not one of them. Not at all.

In fact, his words have her mouth agape, a blush of her own now well and truly on it's way to break her perfect composure.

"I- well, you must be seeing it wrong," she says, and her fumbled words are enough to set her jittering in her seat, "there's nothing of the sort between myself and Mal- Mr Malfoy."

She hides her face behind her cup again.

A bold faced lie.

And she's not at all sure why she'd done it- why she'd lied. Because who is she kidding? There is something between her and Malfoy, even if she's not really sure what that something is, she can't deny that it's still something.

Her mouth is working its way into a frown.

Hermione does not enjoy lying, not one bit. And yet this lie has been thrown right out of her mouth before she'd even had a chance to comprehend it. For what? For why?

She'll need to figure it out later- think about it, consider her feelings. Even if she's not sure she's entirely ready to do so.

"Good," Glenn says, and then he rushes to continue, "that means I've still got a shot, right?"

He smiles then, and Hermione doesn't reply. Because she has no idea what to respond.

Because she doesn't think that he has.

But on the other hand, perhaps the reason she's lied to him about herself and Malfoy is because she does like him too, perhaps Glenn would be better for her, more open with her.

Maybe it would be easy to figure out what they are, what they could be, as compared to this confusing mess with Malfoy.

Hermione doesn't know.

She hates not knowing.

"Have you found anyone who might be of interest?" She asks, gazing up at Malfoy.

The blonde leans back in his chair, posture half languid, half rigid- a contradiction in how his arms rest against the arms of the chair and the tension rippling across his shoulders. He takes a bite of his apple slice.

They've come to an agreement. Malfoy can eat his apples as long as he eats them in bite sized pieces. That way, he gets to eat the apples she brings him, and it isn't nearly as loud or obnoxious as biting into a full apple.

"There are a few names," he comments, pulling a few pieces of parchment from the file she'd given him.

"Are you sure you don't recognise any of them?" she asks, and he shoots her a scathing look which sets her to bristling across the table.

"No, Granger," he responds as though it's plainly obvious, "it's not as if any important information was ever divulged to me."

Hermione begins to comment, to explain her thought process, but Malfoy doesn't appear to be done yet.

"They- he may have been in my house, in the Manor, but I knew very little of the goings on," his tone is cutting, bitter, his hands gripping the file in his hands a little too firmly, "besides, most of these names are from before, from the first time he came to power."

It hasn't escaped Hermione's notice that Malfoy has so far refrained from uttering Voldimorts name- in any capacity. She wonders why, really rather wants to ask him, but now is most definitely not the time. In fact she's entirely sure he'd either flee or get intensely annoyed with her for asking, and so she reigns in her curiosity. Saves it for another time.

"So, these names- the ones of interest," she says, jutting her chin towards the file in his hands, a gesture for him to continue.

"Antonin Dolohov, for one," he says, voice low, "evaded capture several times, penchant for violence and immensely intelligent. I recall him once discussing a specific mutated snake he'd bred to- to him, and so it might be plausible he's involved."

Hermione hums in acknowledgement, biting her lower lip.

"Only issue with that one is the age, he might be too young to really have been involved in the research," she responds, thoughtful.

Malfoy pushes the folder and parchment onto the desk in one fluid movement.

"Well, there are a few others," he continues, sitting more upright in his chair, posture suddenly immaculate, "Nott Senior. he's played a brutal hand in all the Death Eaters misdeeds, wouldn't surprise me if he had a network on the outside of Azkaban doing his every bidding."

"That seems plausible, although I've heard they've increased security over there since last summer," she explains, tapping her quill against the table, "still, plausible."

Malfoy nods, sharp and quick, pulling one parchment from the top of the pile, and moving onto the next one. He pops another piece of apple into his mouth.

"The last one is Marlene Nelda, only because I feel like I've heard the name before-"

"Marlene? Nelda?" she repeats, if only because an overwhelming sense of alarm has overcome her.

Malfoy arches a single perfect eyebrow at her, but doesn't say anything to confirm or deny, just simply waits for her to continue. She's fumbling around in her bag now, pulling parchment and scrolls from it like there's no tomorrow, which is funny she thinks, with everything at stake.

At last, she whips a piece of parchment from her bag and smacks it onto the table between them.

Malfoy is watching her still, an expression on his face she can't quite place, and she wonders why. Maybe she looks crazy, right at this moment. She's sure her hair must be out of place, a gleam in her eyes.

"Wendell Nelda," she exclaims, hoping that Malfoy will catch on, and he seems to, as his eyes trail down to the parchment between them, widening just a fraction, just slightly.

"He worked on the veil research team," he says, an obscure strain to his voice.

She feels herself nodding, looking down at the parchment as well.

"We need to find out if Wendell Nelda and Marlene Nelda were related, they might even have been married, which could mean-"

"Which could mean that they were both Death Eaters, and then we've found our snake," Malfoy says, and the irony is not lost on either of them, as they both share a significant look.

"The only problem is that Wendell Nelda is listed as deceased," Hermione ponders, taking a large bite of her apple cider donut.

Malfoy appears thoughtful, slinking back into his chair.

"According to Potter's reports, Marlene was never located," he says, slowly, "she might still be out there, somewhere."

"So we've got one," she says, her brown eyes glancing at the parchment between them once more.

"We've got a suspect."

It's raining.

The kind of fine rain that almost looks like a mist in the air- that soaks you right through with ease.

That, if Hermione was currently outside, would have her hair frizzy and double its normal size within minutes.

She's entirely glad that she's indoors, curled up by her fireplace.

Such fine rain isn't abnormal, not for August, anyway.

The book in her lap isn't work related, and she's almost glad. As it is, she's spent every night since the start of the case working, and she desperately needs a break. Just a brief one, a few chapters of her new book and some herbal tea and she'll be as right as rain.

She might even tie some of the cases' loose ends up.

The idea has her joyous, and she turns the page of her book with practiced ease.

Unfortunately, that's when her doorbell sounds.

Her brown eyes shoot up towards the door, immediately on edge. She isn't expecting anyone, at least not through the front door. Ginny and Harry are due back today, but they wouldn't be ringing her doorbell, especially not in this weather.

Getting up carefully and padding over to the door, she takes a short, deep breath and peeks through the spyhole.

Only to be abruptly presented with the sight of Malfoy, absolutely drenched head to toe, standing on her doorstep. He looks intense, brows furrowed. If he's occluding right now, she can't tell. But his expression- his expression has her unlocking her door wandlessly, immediately, and flinging it open.

"Malfoy?" she says, and he doesn't react as the door is whipped open. In fact, he's already stepping inside, droplets of water splattering onto her floorboards as he does so.

"What-" Hermione begins, her voice rising an octave. But Malfoy turns to her quickly, expression neutral but infinitely intense. His pale blonde hair is plastered against his head from the rain, slick and wet, a sheen of moisture over his face, his cheekbones.

"They were married," he says, as if that's supposed to answer all of her questions.

Hermione feels a spark of anger rising in her veins, of contempt that he's just bloody shown up at her flat, unannounced and without a spec of a full explanation-

Her eyes widen a fraction as her brain catches up with her.

"You confirmed this- one hundred percent?" she asks quickly, moving to grab her work satchel. Water is pooling onto the floor where Malfoy stands.

"One hundred percent," he replies, shrugging off his jacket. He gestures with it, and then towards the hooks on the wall by her door, "I've double checked the archives and located their registered marriage."

Hermione nods at him, and he hangs up his jacket by the door, droplets of water spraying across her floor. She quickly cleans it up with her wand, and then casts a few drying charms onto his coat as Malfoy appears to be doing the same to himself.

His suit jacket was clearly no match for the rain, and his white shirt is plastered against his chest, his back, even as it begins to dry.

Traitorously, her eyes linger on the outline of his back, the broad muscles of his shoulders, the way his waist slightly pinches inwards towards his-

Malfoy turns around, then, and she quickly averts her gaze. Not the time.

Not. The. Time.

"That's not the only reason I'm here though," he explains, and she gestures for him to sit.

It's an odd sight, she thinks. Seeing Malfoy in her flat, her home.

His eyes scan the space briefly, roving over her couches, her armchair, her plants, all the way over her open plan kitchen, her large bookcase, and then, his eyes flick toward the other door- her bedroom door. It's only a second, but she's sure his gaze lingers on it.

She wonders what he's thinking, what he thinks of her space. Wonders if he feels uncomfortable. He most certainly doesn't look it. In fact, he looks both relaxed and intense at the same time, and her mind wanders right on back to the subject of him being here.

Malfoy doesn't sit.

"What's happened?" she asks, if only because he hasn't continued, hasn't explained his other reasoning for being here.

Can't help but think for less than half a second that perhaps he's not just here about work, about the case. That perhaps he's here for another reason, one that pertains directly to her, to them- to whatever it is that's going on between them.

It would explain his gaze towards her bedroom door, at least.

A blush is beginning to dust her cheeks, she knows- tries to tamp it down.

"They've located Norman Niphels," he says, and his grey eyes are on hers, observing as she moves towards the centre of her sitting room, to join him.

"Where?" she asks, quickly, sharply, "is he alive? Have they taken him into custody? Is he safe?"

The words are a rapid fire out of her mouth, her cheeks still alight. She's thankful for something else to focus on, something other than Malfoy who's currently standing in her living room, still half drenched from rain. Tall and muscular and-

"It's classified," he replies, and it's enough to still Hermione in her ministrations, "but he's been moved to a safe-house."

Really, she wants to object- to question why his whereabouts are classified, but she knows it's likely for the best. The less people know, the less likely his whereabouts will get into the wrong hands. Even if there's a chance, even if slight that his are the hands that have caused all of this.

"When will we be able to interrogate him?" she asks, pursing her lips.

Malfoy's face is stern as he casts another drying charm on his shirt, and Hermione finds a pang of disappointment at seeing his shirt drying further, the material becoming opaque once more.

"He's said he's willing to meet us, but that it has to be public," he responds, dragging a hand through his still-damp locks of hair, "Humphries has agreed, so they're arranging the meeting for tomorrow."

Hermione raises an eyebrow in question, and a slight smirk curves at Malfoy's lips.

"Where?" she asks, because he hasn't said, and she's feeling impatient, on the tips of her toes. Knows that this particular smirk of his is amusement, and she's desperate to know why.

He pulls a piece of parchment out of his shirt pocket and hands it to her. Their fingers brush, and it takes every ounce of willpower not to shiver at the contact, the warm, inviting feel of his skin on hers.

Hermione unfolds the piece of parchment, her brown eyes scanning it quickly.

And then her gaze is flicking to Malfoy, barely a step away now, and she opens her mouth to comment, to question yet again, but the blonde beats her to the punch, the smirk on his lips widening a fraction.

"Looks like I'll be going to that fundraiser, after all."

AN: Thank you for the reviews and the love on this story! Will likely be complete just under 25 chapters, maybe 20 depending on if I can fit everything in!