The Revenant (Part 1)
It was over.
He was alone and wand-less, and he had nowhere left to run. The narrow corridors of Knockturn Alley closed in all around him, trapping him in a dark, winding maze. Still, he ran onwards, frantically stumbling from one alleyway to another, cursing under his breath when he tripped and crashed into a rubbish bin.
The cruel laughter of his pursuer brought him abruptly back to his feet. He wiped the blood and sweat out of his eyes and turned another corner…only to come up against a chain-linked fence that was far too tall for him to climb. With a sob, he grasped the fence in his trembling hands and shook it, but it didn't budge. The rusty metal merely creaked in protest, and the sound was like a death rattle. Hearing the scrape of footsteps on the alley floor behind him, he turned to face his pursuer at last. The cold expression in the man's eyes told him that this time, there would be no mercy.
"Please d-don't," he begged, backing away until he was pressed up against the fence, with the steel links digging into his shoulder blades.
His assailant shook his head and held out his wand, pointing the stick of wood at his prey's heart.
"No, please!"
"Avada Kedavra!"
There was a flash of green, and then nothing but darkness.
"This is a disaster," Hermione moaned, "a complete and utter disaster."
"Um, Hermione?"
"Yes, Harry?"
"They're…table linens."
"Yeah," said Ron, "I thought you said this was some sort of emergency."
Hermione scowled at her two best friends from behind the mountain of satin tablecloths that had taken over her desk.
"This is an emergency," she insisted. "The wedding is in less than a month and I still have to decide whether to use lilac or mauve tablecloths for the reception."
The two men stared back at her in bewilderment.
"Are those tablecloths really supposed to be different colors?" asked Ron. "Because they look the same to me."
"And what the hell is mauve?" queried Harry.
Hermione buried her face in her hands.
"Just go, please," she mumbled. When they hesitated, she raised her head and glared at them. "Get out!"
Ron and Harry immediately scooted towards the door. In the process, they almost collided with Anthony Goldstein, who was on his way into Hermione's office.
"Good luck, mate," Ron said to a bemused Anthony. "You're going to need it. Even Lavender wasn't this crazy before our wedding."
Harry simply shook his head and clamped a sympathetic hand on Anthony's shoulder before he shuffled out into the hallway after his friend. Once they were alone, Anthony edged closer to Hermione's desk and stood at her elbow, watching as she studied the two tablecloths with an air of dismay.
"They're right," she muttered. "These tablecloths are the exact same color. I mean, I'm supposed to have been the brightest witch of our year. I can recite Merlin's Third Arithmantic Law backward in my sleep. I could tell you the fastest way to brew Veritaserum without reducing its potency. But apparently, I missed the lesson on how to tell the difference between lilac and mauve!"
She flung the linens back down on her desktop in exasperation.
"Hermione?" Anthony asked tentatively. "What's wrong?"
Hermione sighed and brushed a few stray curls out of her face.
"Nothing, it's just…this wedding," she said. "It's become more than I can handle. I feel like everyone is expecting it to be a complete failure. Everyone already thinks it's a joke: Witch Weekly's 'Bachelor of the Year' marrying plain old Hermione Granger. And if this wedding is anything less than perfect…"
Anthony shook his head and smiled at her – the smile that showed off each of his dimples to perfection.
"The wedding will be perfect, Hermione," he said as he rubbed her back reassuringly. "It'll be perfect because we'll both be there, surrounded by our family and friends, promising to spend the rest of our lives together. And there is absolutely nothing 'plain' about you."
He bent over to plant a kiss on the tip of Hermione's nose, and she couldn't help giving him a small smile in return.
"You're right," she said. "Maybe I am worrying about this too much. I think I need to take a break from wedding plans for the evening."
"Sweetheart, that's the best idea you've had all week," said Anthony. "Let's stay in tonight. What would you say to a relaxing, candlelit dinner for two?"
"Sounds perfect," Hermione replied with a grin. "Just let me finish up here and go back to my flat to freshen up first."
Anthony's picture-perfect smile faltered.
"Hermione, when are you going to sell your flat? We're getting married in three weeks, and you already spend more than half of your time at my place. Why not start moving your things in?"
Hermione lowered her eyes and made a show of folding and re-folding the satin tablecloths on her desktop.
"We've been over this before. You know I want everything to be official before we move in together." She glanced up at him with a pleading look in her brown eyes. "Please, Anthony. It's important to me."
Anthony sighed and ran a hand through his wavy blond hair.
"All right, if it's important to you, then I suppose I'll have to make do." He gave her a quick peck on the lips before making his way towards the door. "Meet me at my place in an hour for dinner?"
"I'll be there."
Anthony paused in the doorway and gave her a knowing look.
"And don't stay late doing paperwork again," he added.
"Okay, okay, I won't," Hermione promised, making a shooing motion with her hand. "Now, get out so I can finish up."
She gave her fiancé an innocent smile, to which he simply rolled his eyes and exited her office, leaving her alone at last. She shoved the pile of tablecloth samples aside, and pulled out a stack of papers that required her signature. As the youngest member of the Wizengamot, her days were filled with reading bill proposals and reviewing criminal cases before they went to trial. It seemed as if there was always someone or something that demanded her attention, but she liked it that way. She had always enjoyed being kept busy, especially by something as mentally stimulating as Wizarding Law.
Lately, however, she was beginning to feel a bit overwhelmed by it all. A recent string of murders had kept the Department of Magical Law Enforcement on its toes, and Harry – now Head of the Auror Office – frequently came to her for assistance. With a grim expression on her face, she leafed through the Auror reports for the most recent cases: Walden Macnair, Vincent Crabbe, Sr., the entire Avery family….Someone was systematically killing former Death Eaters, and the Ministry was no closer to finding the murderer than they had been six months ago.
Of course, it certainly didn't help that few people at the Ministry even cared about the murder of former Death Eaters.
Hermione sighed wearily and opened the top drawer of her desk to retrieve a fresh quill. In the process, her hand brushed against an elegant wooden box that was resting in the back corner of her drawer. Slowly, she withdrew the box, and without opening it, she studied its elegant carvings and the gilded gold "M" on its lid. She traced the curly lines of that letter with the tip of her finger, and then she abruptly put the box away and shoved the drawer closed.
No, she would not think about him. Not now, when she was so close to putting that chapter of her life behind her for good.
Hermione raised her left hand and watched as her two-karat diamond engagement ring flashed brilliantly. By all accounts, Anthony Goldstein was her perfect match. Yes, he was handsome and charming, but he was also loyal, supportive, and extremely intelligent (he had been sorted into Ravenclaw, after all). But Hermione still felt that something was missing. It was something intangible that lately, had kept her awake at night, wondering if she was about to make the biggest mistake of her life - no, make that the second biggest mistake of her life. She refused to think about the first.
Hermione put her papers and quill away, preparing to return home and get ready for her dinner date with Anthony. Harry and Ron reappeared in her doorway just as she was about to leave.
"I'm sorry boys, but I have to get going," she insisted, before either of them had an opportunity to speak. "I promised Anthony I wouldn't be late."
"Hermione, I think you'll want to take a look at this," said Harry, holding out a piece of parchment.
She took the paper from him and quietly scanned over the pertinent details in the document: 27-year-old male wizard murdered in Knockturn Alley, presumably with the Killing Curse, no known suspects at this time…
"Oh no, not another one," she said with a sigh.
This time, the victim was Gregory Goyle.
Knockturn Alley had a foul stench to it – a putrid mixture of garbage and grime, of evil and rot, which seemed to seep out of the pores of the ancient cobblestones and brick buildings. And tonight, another odor was layered on top of it, one that Hermione had become all too familiar with over the years: death.
Goyle's body lay at the base of a steel fence, with his beefy arms splayed at a bizarre angle, and his brown eyes staring emptily at the night sky. While Harry had gone to inform Goyle's family of his murder, Hermione and Ron were scanning the crime scene for clues.
"Awful, isn't it?" Ron murmured. "I mean, Goyle was always a tosser, but nobody deserves this…"
Hermione had to agree with Ron. Looking down at what remained of their former enemy, it was hard to conjure any hatred for him. Goyle looked smaller in death – as if he had shrunken from the hulking man he had been when he was alive. Her thoughts were interrupted by Dennis Creevey, who was photographing the scene.
"I'm all done, Hermione," Dennis said, waving his camera in the air. "I'll just take these photos back to the lab and get them developed for evidence."
"Thanks, Dennis," Hermione said with a smile. After he Disapparated, she crouched down beside Goyle's lifeless form and pulled on a pair of gloves to inspect his body. Other than a gash on his forehead, there were no obvious wounds, and it was clear by his awkward position that he had simply fallen where he stood. All signs definitely pointed to the Killing Curse as his cause of death.
"I don't understand it," she murmured. "Goyle doesn't fit the killer's pattern. He was never a Death Eater."
"He was as good as," said Ron. "We both know he sympathized with Voldemort's side during the war."
"Yes," Hermione conceded, "but something about it still doesn't feel right."
Ron shrugged and began to scan the surrounding area for clues, while she searched the pockets of Goyle's robes and slacks. She came up empty-handed.
"Our killer certainly does a good job of covering his tracks," she muttered.
"Not this time!" Ron said triumphantly, flourishing a tiny vial of blue liquid in his gloved hand. "Found this behind a rubbish bin a few meters from the body. Must have rolled out of his pocket when he hit the ground."
Hermione's heart raced as she carefully took the vial from Ron's outstretched hand and studied it in the dim light of the nearest streetlamp.
"It looks like some sort of potion," she mused, "but I don't recognize it at first glance."
"It seems vaguely familiar to me," said Ron. When Hermione raised her eyebrows at him, he added, "Don't ask me to taste test it for you, though."
"I wouldn't go wasting that potion on Weasley," said a drawling voice behind them. "Because you happen to be holding one of the newest, most valuable illicit substances in the Wizarding World."
Hermione's stomach seemed to drop into the region of her toes as she recognized that voice. Standing there at the entrance of the alleyway, with his pale hair flashing in the moonlight, was none other than Draco Malfoy.
"I don't care what sort of assignment you've been given, Malfoy! You don't belong here anymore!"
"Weasley, do you really think I'd have come back if I had any choice in the matter?" Draco retorted. "Special Auror Operations sent me because you lot are apparently incompetent when it comes to catching this killer –"
"We're doing the best we can!" Ron snarled. Harry had to put a restraining hand on his shoulder to keep him from lunging in Draco's direction. Hermione tuned them out, deciding to let Harry act as the referee. She hadn't been able to think clearly ever since Draco had arrived at the crime scene, and then accompanied them back to the Ministry. Ron had argued with him the entire time, but she had remained silent, choosing instead to sneak furtive glances in his direction. But even now, as he entered into a heated argument with Ron and Harry, she could feel Draco's eyes on her the entire time, making her shiver beneath the intensity of his gaze.
"Hermione, are you okay?" asked Dennis Creevey.
Hermione turned to give him a reassuring smile.
"I'm fine, thanks," she said. "Do you need any more help analyzing the potion?"
"No, it's almost finished," he said, giving his high-tech potion analyzer an affectionate pat. "Any minute now, and we'll know that potion's exact composition."
The little machine whirred productively, splitting the potion into its separate components, and Hermione couldn't help admiring Dennis's ingenuity in designing the device. The Ministry had given his family a sizeable sum of money as compensation for the death of his brother, Colin, during the war, and Dennis had immediately decided to use the money for the better good of the Wizarding world. He had joined the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and by combining Muggle and Wizarding technologies, had created several inventions that helped the Ministry track down criminals and keep the Aurors safe.
"I know how you feel, Ron, and believe me, I feel the same way," said Harry, causing Hermione to return her attention to their conversation. "But it seems we have no other choice. Malfoy will have to stick around and help us out on this case."
All three men looked sharply in Hermione's direction.
"Why is everyone looking at me?" she asked defensively. "It's not as if I have any say in the matter. You're the Head of the Auror Office, Harry. Just do what you have to do with Draco. I could care less."
Harry glanced back and forth between Hermione and Draco, his expression one of unease.
"All right," he said uncertainly. Then he turned to give Draco a fierce glare. "As for you, Malfoy, if you're going to be working with us again, you'll be doing so under my orders. You will not do anything without consulting with me first. You won't eat, breathe, or take a piss without asking my permission, is that clear?"
Draco's silver eyes narrowed, but Harry did not back down.
"Fine," he said through gritted teeth.
"Good," Harry muttered. Ron merely folded his arms across his chest and scowled, making it clear that he was by no means satisfied with this arrangement. Hermione, meanwhile, was doing everything in her power to avoid Draco's searching gaze. To say that one could cut the tension in the room with a knife would have been an understatement.
"Hey everyone, it's finished!" Dennis called out excitedly. He brandished a tiny slip of parchment that the potion analyzer had just printed out. "The potion analysis is finished."
Ron stepped forward to grasp the parchment from Dennis's hand, but before he could do so, Draco snatched it up instead. His brow furrowed as he read through the list of ingredients.
"I thought you said you knew what this potion was," Ron said derisively.
"I do," Draco retorted. "The Special Auror Operations Office has been investigating the trafficking of this potion for months. It emerged on the black market about a year ago, but so far, we haven't been able to get our hands on a sample of it."
"Huh. And you call us incompetent."
Harry rolled his eyes and snatched the parchment out of Draco's hands.
"All right, Malfoy, tell us what you know," he demanded.
"Not much, I'm afraid. We only know that it's extremely valuable and extremely potent. Apparently, it's called Morpheum."
"Morpheum?" Dennis repeated. "In reference to -"
"Morpheus, the Greek god of dreams," Draco cut in, scowling. "Believe it or not, Creevey, I'm not completely oblivious when it comes to ancient Muggle history."
Dennis's cheeks flushed, but before Hermione could berate Draco for his rude behavior, he returned to his discussion of the illicit potion.
"From the name of the potion, we assume that it creates some sort of dream or vision, most likely a pleasurable one, for it to be so addictive. But I've never seen that particular combination of ingredients before."
Harry's eyes widened as he looked at the list.
"Hermione, there's cocaine in this potion," he said quietly.
"Cocaine?" said Ron in confusion. "Isn't that some sort of Muggle beverage?"
"No, Ron," Hermione explained patiently, ignoring Draco's patronizing eye roll. "That's Coca-Cola. Cocaine is a Muggle drug. Quite clever of whoever designed this potion to include it, too. That would make it extremely addictive in nature."
"Oh," said Ron, leaning over Harry's shoulder to inspect the list. "Hey, I know what the rest of this potion is!"
Everyone stared at him in surprise. Ron knowing a potion that neither Draco nor Hermione could figure out was a rare occasion indeed.
"These are the same ingredients that George puts in his Patented Daydream Charms," he said triumphantly. "I recognize them from when I worked in his joke shop a few years ago. That's why the potion seemed so familiar to me, Hermione."
"A Weasley's Wizard Wheezes product?" Draco mused. "I always suspected your brother was a criminal, but marketing illegal potions…"
"My brother is not a criminal!" Ron roared, his face turning as red as his hair. "George would never make an illicit potion like this!"
Harry held up one hand in front of Ron, trying to calm him down.
"No one is accusing George here, Ron," he said seriously. "But we'll need to talk to him, nonetheless. I think it's clear that whoever is behind making this…Morpheum stuff is somehow involved in Goyle's murder, and possibly all the other murders as well."
Draco folded his arms across his chest and nodded curtly.
"I agree. We'll need to arrange a meeting with your brother, Weasley. First thing tomorrow morning."
"I don't take orders from you, ferret."
Harry sighed and ran his fingers through his black hair, making it stand up even more than usual. It was clear to Hermione that he had reached the point where he was just as frustrated with Ron as he was with Draco – if not more so.
"Ron, please Floo George and tell him that Hermione and Draco will be coming by to interview him tomorrow morning," said Harry. When Ron, Hermione and Draco opened their mouths to protest, he waved them all silent. "You two know more about potions that the rest of us. It wouldn't make sense for anyone else to go."
With one last withering look in Draco's direction, Ron stormed out of the room to notify his brother. Harry, meanwhile, turned his attention back to Draco.
"I need to go finish interviewing Goyle's wife," he said. "Malfoy, would you like to join me? I think she might need a friend right now."
"Millicent is here?" Draco asked in surprise. For a moment he hesitated, and then he shoved his hands in his pants pockets and shook his head. "No, she wouldn't want to see me. You go ahead."
"Hermione, will you be okay here by yourself with him?" Harry asked, ignoring Draco's scowl. "If you want me to stay…"
"I'll be fine," Hermione reassured him, speaking with more confidence than she felt. "I'm just going to help Dennis finish cleaning up, and then I'll go home for the night."
With a reluctant nod, Harry touched her shoulder briefly before leaving the room. Dennis, apparently unaware of the mounting tension in the room, continued to fiddle with the dials on his automated potion analyzer. It wasn't until he saw Draco's intent glare that he finally realized his presence was no longer wanted.
"Oh," he said nervously as he backed out of the room. "I'll just, uh, be going now."
Hermione's stomach clenched with anxiety as she watched Dennis exit the room in so much haste, he nearly collided with the doorframe. She was alone. With Draco Malfoy. Rather than give him the satisfaction of knowing how his presence affected her, she pretended to analyze the little vial of Morpheum, handling it with her gloved hands as if she thought it was the most fascinating thing she had ever seen. Draco leaned casually against the lab bench, pulling a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket and lighting one with his wand. He paused, and then withdrew another cigarette and held it out to her. She shook her head.
"I quit," she said brusquely.
"Did you?" he asked in mild surprise. "Well, good for you."
Draco put the unused cigarettes back in his pocket and stood there, blowing out puffs of smoke, almost as if his childhood friend had not just been murdered and found in possession of an illicit substance. Only someone who knew him as well as Hermione could tell that he was indeed affected by Goyle's death.
"You should have talked to Millicent," Hermione said quietly, swirling the vial of Morpheum to study its viscosity. "She just lost her husband. You're an old friend, and she could use your reassurance now."
Draco snorted and flicked a few ashes off the end of his cigarette.
"I see you still get too involved in your cases."
"And I see you are still an emotionally constipated bastard," she quipped. He laughed mirthlessly.
"Merlin, you haven't changed one bit. Do you really think I don't care about Goyle's death? Do you actually think I'm that heartless, Hermione?"
"Yes, maybe," she said. Then she sighed in resignation. "No, I don't think you're that heartless."
It would have been easier for her to think that he was without a heart. Maybe that would cast some light on his past actions. But the truth was that she knew Draco cared. She knew just how human he was, and that he experienced loss every bit as painfully as she did. As she watched him blow another stream of smoke into the air, she was assaulted with the memory of the last time Draco had lost a friend, so many years ago…
The grassy lawn of the Wizard cemetery was soggy beneath Hermione's simple black Mary Janes, and she could feel her feet sinking into the mud as she made her way between the mossy gravestones. Draco was sitting on a bench with his back to her, smoking his cigarette. He was hunched over, his usual aristocratic posture completely abandoned. There was something sad and broken about the man that made her feel an unexpected surge of pity for him. When she sat down next to him, he made no sign that he even noticed her arrival.
"It was a lovely ceremony," she said, breaking the awkward silence. "Well, as far as funerals go, I suppose."
Draco continued to smoke without responding. Hermione shifted uncomfortably on the cold stone bench and darted a look in his direction. His eyes were staring into the distance, seeing nothing.
"Harry tells me that you want to quit being an Auror," she said. Finally, Draco acknowledged her presence by turning to give her a perturbed glare.
"What the hell is it to you, Granger?"
She shrugged and held out her hand to him in a silent request for his cigarette. He handed it to her, watching as she took a drag and expertly released a mouthful of smoke. Then she handed it back to him, fully expecting him to express his disgust at having her contaminate the thing. To her surprise, he simply returned the cigarette to his mouth, putting his lips where hers had just been. Hermione shivered in the damp air and looked away, studying the fresh square of overturned earth that lay not far from where they sat.
"It wasn't your fault, you know."
"You don't know shit, Granger," Draco growled. He dropped the cigarette on the ground and stamped it out with his foot. "Blaise was my partner. I was supposed to have his back. If I had done my job properly, he wouldn't have been killed."
"You did do your job, Malfoy," Hermione argued. "You were out-numbered, and you were caught off-guard. It's amazing that you even survived the attack, rather than being killed like Blaise was. If Harry and the other Aurors had arrived any later…"
Draco's scowl only deepened at her words.
"Of course, holy Saint Potter. Where would I be without him?"
"Harry saved your life! And that wasn't the first time he's saved it, either. You could have the decency to be grateful."
Draco leapt abruptly to his feet and shoved his hands in his coat pockets, hunching his shoulders against the cold wind.
"Well, maybe it would have been better if he didn't save me," he said bitterly. Hermione raised her eyebrows and rose to stand beside him.
"I'm sorry you feel that way, Malfoy."
"I don't need your pity," he snarled.
"Good, because you don't have it," she said, causing him to turn and stare at her in surprise. "You've spent the last year helping us round up the rest of the Death Eaters, trying to prove that you're no longer the mindless bully you were in school, and so far you've succeeded in that task. You have a new life, Malfoy, and now, Blaise has given you a second chance to live that life, and you want to throw it away. So, no, I don't pity you."
Hermione folded her arms across her chest and frowned at him.
"You'd better improve your attitude before you come back to work," she told him, "or your new partner is not going to be pleased."
Draco's eyes widened.
"I have a new partner?" he asked. "Who?"
"Me."
Draco stared at her blankly for a few moments before he found the words to respond.
"You've got to be kidding me. Has Potter completely lost his mind? We'll kill each other!"
"Well I sincerely hope not," said Hermione, her lips twitching as she suppressed a grin at his expression. He looked as if he had been hit between the eyes with a rogue Bludger. "Now, I'm going to go back to the office to start planning our next course of action. If our sources are correct, Antonin Dolohov and your uncle Rololphus have escaped to Russia. It's going to require some tricky maneuvering to catch up to them again."
Draco continued to shake his head in disbelief as she walked away from him.
"You and I working together is a terrible idea," he grumbled. Hermione turned to face him once more.
"Of course it is," she said brightly. "It's only a matter of time before you get on my nerves and I have to hex you into oblivion. See you on Monday, Malfoy."
And with that she walked briskly away, but not so quickly that she missed the small smile playing at the corners of his mouth – the first genuine smile she had seen on his face in a very, very long time.
Hermione emerged from her reverie, and was faced with a modern-day Draco, lounging across the room from her with a cigarette dangling out of the corner of his mouth, and a guarded expression on his face. She watched as he circled the room, poking and prodding Dennis's various inventions.
"What the hell is this?" he asked, taking in the sight of a body suit stored in a glass case. The suit was made of a rippling silver material that seemed to give off a slight glow.
"It's an anti-Kedavra suit," Hermione replied.
"A what?"
"An anti-Kedavra suit. Dennis and I have been working to concentrate the Patronus charm into a material that an Auror can wear in order to block the Killing Curse. We've successfully tested it on rabbits and mice, but so far we haven't been able to find any human volunteers."
"Really?" Draco muttered sarcastically. "I can't imagine why not. What idiot made Creevey an Auror, anyway?"
"Harry did," she said testily, "and he's no idiot for doing so. Dennis is smart and thinks quickly on his feet. You know how much he helped us when it came to rounding up the last of the Death Eaters. If it weren't for his modified Wizard tracking devices, we never would have captured the Averys."
"Right. I hear Seamus Finnigan finally became an Auror, too. Tell me, how many times did he have to take the test before he stopped blowing things up by accident?"
"Is this why you came back?" Hermione said angrily. "To ridicule and belittle my friends?"
"That's not why I came back."
The serious expression on Draco's face made her heart beat a little faster. She quickly returned to her pretense of inspecting the vial of Morpheum.
"Oh?" she said softly, avoiding his eyes. "Then why did you come back?"
"Goyle was my best friend. You know that."
"I see," she replied, trying to hide her disappointment. Of course he hadn't come back for her. That would be ridiculous. She chewed her lower lip and wondered to herself: did she actually want him to have come back for her? She glanced up and saw that he was once more staring at her intently.
"So I hear you don't work as an Auror anymore," he said.
"No."
"You're a member of the Wizengamot now."
"Yes, I am."
"They say you're practically a shoe-in for the next Minister of Magic once Kingsley Shacklebolt retires."
"If so, that wouldn't be any of your business, would it?"
"Fuck," he muttered, extinguishing his cigarette. "I should have known you'd act this way."
"Well, what did you expect, Draco?"
"It's been three years," he said. "I thought that maybe -"
"You thought what? That I would have forgiven you by now? You left me, Draco. You didn't even leave me a note. You just woke up one morning and left. You don't deserve my forgiveness."
"I did too leave you a note!"
"You left me a piece of parchment with a bloody poem on it! And in no way did that little scrap of parchment include any explanation as to why you were leaving, or whether or not you would ever come back."
For the first time since he had arrived that evening, Draco looked unsettled. He paced back and forth, his black Auror robes fluttering around his ankles as he moved. Finally, he stopped an arm's length away from her, and Hermione felt that this was almost too close. She felt caged in by his overwhelming presence, as if the walls were suddenly closing in on them. Somehow, this small space wasn't big enough for both of them.
"I don't suppose," he said quietly, "if I apologized…"
"You're three years too late for an apology, Draco."
Hermione had had enough. She needed to get out of there, to get as far away from him as possible. She couldn't think clearly with him standing this close to her. Without another thought, she pulled off her latex gloves and threw them in the waste bin. Too late, she realized her mistake.
With lightning-fast reflexes, Draco lunged forward and grabbed her left wrist, staring down at the diamond ring that sparkled on her finger.
"What is this?" he asked in a tone that chilled her to the bone. When she didn't answer, he tightened his grip so that she winced, knowing he would leave bruise marks on her wrist. She had forgotten how strong he was. "Hermione, I'm not playing games. What the hell is this?"
"What does it look like?" she hissed. "It's an engagement ring. Now let me go; you're hurting me."
Draco relaxed his grip slightly, but only enough to alleviate the pain. His eyes were like grey thunderclouds bearing down upon her.
"You're engaged," he growled. "To who?"
"Why does it matter? Did you honestly think that I wouldn't move on without you? Did you think no one else could ever love me the way you failed to do?"
His eyes softened somewhat, and Hermione thought she saw a flicker of pain cross his face before he hardened his expression once more.
"Of course not," he said. "Just tell me who he is."
"Anthony Goldstein."
Draco laughed bitterly while Hermione struggled to release herself from his grip without success.
"That Witch Weekly pin-up boy? I would have thought you had better taste in men."
"Fuck you."
"You already have, love, many times," he drawled, tugging her playfully into his arms. "As I recall, it used to be one of your favorite pastimes."
Hermione tensed as she felt the heat of Draco's body pressed up against hers, felt his muscles ripple beneath the rough fabric of his robes. His scent was intoxicating – a strange mixture of his old, familiar cologne and something more foreign that smelled like desert sands, spices, and exotic lands. She looked up and noticed, for the first time, that his face was tan and weather-beaten. There were new lines around his eyes that hadn't been there before, and his chin and cheeks were lined with blond scruff. All he needed was a whip and a fedora, and he could be Indiana Jones. The strange thought made her smile in amusement. Unconsciously, he echoed her smile, wrapping his other arm around her torso to pull her even closer.
"See something you like?" he whispered. His arrogant comment aroused her anger once more.
"Yeah right!" she spat, pushing futilely at his broad chest in her struggle to get away.
"What's going on here?" said a male voice from the doorway. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, thinking that either Harry or Ron had come to her rescue. When she saw who was standing in the doorway, however, her heart sank.
"Anthony!" she squeaked. "Wh-what are you doing here?"
Her fiancé glared at Draco suspiciously, and due to the sudden distraction, Hermione was finally able to squirm out of his iron grip.
"I came looking for you," Anthony said, coming to stand at her side. "You said you would join me for dinner hours ago, and when you didn't show up, I got worried."
"I'm sorry. There was another murder, and I was helping Harry and Ron with the investigation. Draco and I were just…"
"Going over the evidence," Draco finished smoothly. Hermione nodded in mute agreement. Anthony, however, did not appear to be convinced.
"I see," he said, wrapping one arm possessively around her shoulders. Draco's eyes narrowed at the gesture, and Hermione began to feel concerned for her fiancé's safety. She had seen Draco give that look to Death Eaters before single-handedly taking them down with his wand. Anthony, however, did not seem so concerned, and to her surprise, he actually extended his hand for Draco to shake.
"I don't think we've ever been properly introduced," he said coolly. "I'm Anthony Goldstein, Hermione's fiancé."
As he accepted Anthony's handshake, Draco's lips spread into a slow smile that made Hermione close her eyes in anticipatory horror.
"I'm Draco Malfoy," he said, "her husband."