The Revenant (Part 2)
Hermione kept her eyes tightly closed as she waited for the world to spin off its axis. When she finally opened them, she was disappointed to find that the earth was still rotating in place, Anthony was still at her side with a shocked expression on his face, and Draco was still standing there watching both of their reactions with a satisfied smirk.
"Don't tell me she didn't tell you?" Draco asked sneeringly. "After all, communication is the foundation of a healthy marriage. Isn't that right, Mrs. Malfoy?"
"Shut up, Draco," Hermione snapped. She turned beseechingly towards Anthony. "Anthony, sweetheart, I'm so sorry but -"
"You said you were divorced," Anthony cut in, removing his arm from around her shoulders and taking a step away from her. "You told me you divorced him last year."
"I – I tried, really I did. It's just, there were…complications."
"Complications?"
"Ah, yes," Draco put in. "Wizarding law states that a woman can't obtain a divorce without her husband's permission. A bit archaic, I'll admit, but change happens slowly in the Wizarding world. Of course, there is that one exception to the rule…"
"Yes," Hermione said bitterly, giving Draco her fiercest glare. "If the husband is absent for a period of at least three years, the wife can end the marriage on grounds of abandonment…which is what I would have done next week if you hadn't shown up here again."
Anthony's pale blue eyes were flashing with fury, but it wasn't his anger that made her flinch. It was the mixture of pain and betrayal on his face. He backed slowly away from her, as if he couldn't tolerate her presence any longer, and the thought cut into her like a knife.
"What I don't understand," he said quietly, "is why my fiancée, the woman who I'm supposed to be able to trust above all others, found it necessary to keep such an important secret from me."
"Anthony, I'm so sorry. I -"
"Enough," he said, his voice cracking somewhat. "I can't listen to this right now. I – I love you, Hermione, but…I need some time to think. I'm going home." With that he stalked out of the room, letting the door slam shut behind him, and Hermione jumped at the sound, squeezing her eyes closed to trap the tears that threatened to spill over.
"Ah, well, the course of true love never did run smooth," Draco said cheerfully as he reached for another cigarette. Hermione slapped the cigarette out of his hand.
"How can you quote Shakespeare at a time like this?" she hissed.
"You always liked Shakespeare."
"Yes, but not when it's coming out of your vile mouth," she said venomously.
"You didn't always mind my vile mouth," he said with a suggestive grin.
Hermione clenched her hands into fists and stormed out of the room. Her tenuous grip on her patience was wearing thin, and somehow she didn't think killing her husband was the fastest way to advance her career. Because Draco had been right, of course. She did have her eye on the Minister of Magic position, and the last thing she needed was a murder conviction blotting her political image. Too bad she had given up being an Auror. At least then she had had a license to kill.
"Where are you going?" Draco asked, falling into step behind her as she breezed through the corridors on her way to the lift.
"Home," she responded curtly. She slipped into an empty lift, and to her dismay, he entered it with her.
"Oh, nice idea. I could use a good night's sleep."
Hermione eyed him warily.
"And where exactly will you be spending the night?" she asked.
"Home."
"You mean at your parents' house."
"No, I mean at our flat," he said lightly, rocking on the balls of his feet as the lift took them up to the main level of the Ministry. "You know, our beautiful flat overlooking the Thames? Merlin, I miss that view."
Hermione suddenly lunged forward and pressed a button on the control panel of the lift, freezing it in its ascent. Draco looked at her in surprise.
"What the hell -"
"Draco, you will not be spending tonight, or any other night, in my flat."
Draco leaned back against the wall of the lift and gave her a challenging look.
"The deed for that flat is still listed under my name, you know. So, despite what you may think, it is my flat. Technically, I could make you vacate it if I wanted to. Lucky for you, I'm more generous than that."
Hermione growled in frustration.
"I don't want you sleeping under the same roof as me!" she yelled.
"I can stay in the guest room."
"Your parents' manor has dozens of guest rooms! Stay in one of those!"
Hermione pressed the heels of her palms into her eyes, fighting the urge to burst into tears of exasperation. She didn't understand how, in a mere matter of hours, her life had gone spectacularly to hell. Another mysterious murder had occurred, her fiancé was furious with her, and her estranged husband was apparently trying to weasel his way back into her life. She couldn't imagine things getting any worse. When she finally removed her hands from her eyes, she saw that Draco was looking at her with an apologetic expression on his face – or as close to apologetic as a Malfoy could manage, in any case.
"Look," he said in a surprisingly gentle tone. "I don't want to be here anymore than you want me to be here. But if I'm going to help solve this case, it would be a lot easier if I just stayed with you at the flat. I promise that as soon as this case is solved, I'll sign the divorce papers, go back to where I came from, and let you move on with your life."
Hermione blinked at him in surprise, and wiped the tears from her cheeks.
"You…you would do that for me?" she asked. Draco smiled a small, tight smile that didn't reach his eyes.
"Sure. Consider it an early wedding present."
"Thank you," she whispered. "Do you…do you really think we can solve this case?"
"Of course we can," he said confidently. "There was never a case you and I couldn't solve when we worked on it together, remember? We were practically unstoppable before..."
Draco trailed off uncomfortably and Hermione nodded, shifting her gaze to the floor.
"Yes. Before." There was an awkward pause. Then she heaved a weary sigh and pressed the button on the control panel that sent the lift into motion once more. "I guess we should go home and get some rest. We have a long day ahead of us."
Draco nodded and folded his arms across his chest. She mirrored his posture on the opposite side of the lift, trying in that small space to put as much distance between them as humanly possible. Somehow, it still wasn't enough.
Draco awoke to the sound of pounding on the guestroom door.
"Draco!" barked Hermione from the other side of the door. "Draco, get your lazy arse out of bed! We're meeting George in less than an hour."
He could hear her stalk off in the direction of the kitchen, grumbling under her breath. He groaned and stretched lazily, trying to work the kinks out of his sore muscles. He wasn't used to sleeping on the guest bed, as comfortable as it was. Ironically, it was its luxuriousness that made him so uncomfortable. He was used to sleeping in tiny cots set up in tents or desert caves, not cozy rooms like he had once been accustomed to.
Finally, Draco managed to drag himself out of bed and shuffle into the kitchen, clad in nothing but his boxers. He suppressed a grin at Hermione's wide-eyed expression as she took in the sight of his half-nakedness. But before he could call her out on it, she cleared her throat and buried her nose in the latest edition of the Daily Prophet.
Draco rolled his eyes and went to pour himself a cup of coffee. When he opened a cabinet to retrieve the sugar, he frowned to find that it was not there.
"Hermione, where did you put the sugar?"
"Oh, I moved it. I keep it in the cabinet to the left of the stove now."
Draco opened the cabinet and pulled out the little canister of sugar.
"Why did you have to move it?" he asked. He began opening all the kitchen cabinets and drawers, only to find that everything, from the silverware to the fine china, had been relocated since he had last been there. "Why the hell did you rearrange everything?"
Hermione smacked her newspaper down on the table, and narrowly avoided putting her elbow in her cereal bowl in the process.
"Draco, why do you even care?"
"I don't," he grumbled, sitting across from her at the table and taking a sip of his coffee.
"You're a rotten liar, you know."
"Hermione, I honestly don't give a damn where you keep the sugar."
Hermione huffed impatiently.
"I'm not talking about that. You lied about being assigned to Goyle's case. I Flooed the head of your Special Ops Department this morning before you woke up."
Shit, Draco thought to himself. He had forgotten how thorough she was about these sorts of things. He should have known better than to underestimate her.
"I told you the truth," he said. "I was assigned to this case."
"No, you weren't," she argued. "Your superior officer told me that when he needed someone to investigate Goyle's death, you volunteered. You chose to come back. Now, what do you have to say for yourself?"
Draco drank his coffee, flicking his gaze up to her face in between sips. Her brown eyes narrowed shrewdly, and he knew that as usual, she wasn't going to back down easily.
"I told you, Hermione. Goyle was my best friend. I want to make sure his killer is brought to justice."
"You haven't spoken to Goyle in years."
"So?" Draco snapped back, beginning to lose his patience. "That doesn't erase all the things I've been through with him. It doesn't erase the past we've shared."
Hermione fell silent, and he knew exactly what she was thinking. It was one of the things he had always loved about her, how easy she was to read. Just like one of her beloved books, everything she thought or felt was written on her face as clearly as words on a page. He knew she was thinking about the possible dual meaning behind his words; that she was wondering if he was referring to their shared past as well.
Her eyes narrowed again, and Draco knew what she was about to do. He immediately erected his mental barriers, blocking her out. He had always been a skilled Occlumens, and now, after all these years of practice, it had become as much of a reflex as eating or breathing.
"Tut, tut, tut," he said, shaking his head. "Performing Legilimency over the breakfast table? Not very polite, love."
"Stop it."
"Stop what?"
"Stop calling me 'love'. You don't get to call me that anymore."
Draco sighed and leaned back in his chair, cradling his hot mug of coffee in both hands. How could he have forgotten how stubborn and bull-headed she could be sometimes? It was emotionally draining, almost to the point of causing physical exhaustion. Three years away from her had done nothing but lower his resistance to it, apparently.
"I don't understand it," he said, mostly to himself. "I don't know who would want to kill Goyle."
Hermione's expression softened somewhat.
"Millicent said he was in some sort of trouble," she said. "He couldn't find work, and he was trying to find a way to make money, to make ends meet. He was desperate…maybe desperate enough to start dealing illicit potions."
Draco took another sip of his coffee, and it scalded his throat, much like the burning sensation of guilt he was now experiencing.
"Not everyone has been as accepted in the post-war world as I've managed to be," he said quietly. "A lot of people who have former connections to Voldemort, like the Goyle family, have been shunned by the Wizarding community. If only he'd have asked me for help…"
Hermione shook her head.
"He wouldn't have come to you, even if he could have. I think he had more pride than either of us imagined. What happened to Goyle wasn't your fault, Draco." She studied him closely for a few moments before speaking again. "Where have you been all these years, anyway?"
"The Middle East, the Sudan, and just about every other place you can imagine."
"Doing what?"
"Working for the International Wizarding Terrorist Division. There are a lot of Muggle wars going on in those parts of the world, but the fighting between the wizards is ten times worse, and infinitely more destructive. The types of spells they come up with to use against each other…"
Draco shuddered at the memory of blood, singed flesh, and agonized screams.
"It must have been awful," Hermione murmured.
"Yes. It really makes you put your life in perspective, and realize all the things you take for granted."
"I see," she said cautiously.
Silence descended upon them once more, and Hermione propped her chin in her hand, diverting her attention back to her newspaper. With her head tilted at that angle, the morning light streaming in the kitchen window lit up her hair, making it a halo of gold-crested curls. Draco had forgotten how her hair captured the morning sun that way. Or maybe he had tried to forget it. With a shiver, he looked away, draining the rest of his coffee in one gulp. Then he rose to his feet.
"I'm taking a shower," he announced, and she made a noncommittal sound in reply.
As Draco shut the bathroom door behind him and started heating the water for his shower, he wondered if maybe it had been a bad idea to stay with Hermione, even for a few days. Their flat was one of the largest and most luxurious in London, but somehow it didn't seem big enough to house the two of them. Her presence unsettled him - overwhelmed him, even - and he found the need to put more walls, both physical and emotional, in between them. But somehow, it still wasn't enough.
As they walked down the bustling streets of Diagon Alley, Draco tried to avoid looking at the large diamond engagement ring on Hermione's left hand. It was hard not to notice it, however, when it was flashing so brilliantly in the morning sun.
"What did you do with your wedding ring?" he asked her suddenly.
"What?"
"My Great-Grandmother Malfoy's wedding band. What did you do with it?"
"Oh," she said distantly, pretending to be occupied with looking in the busy storefronts. "I, uh…sold it."
"You what? That ring has been in the Malfoy family for six generations! It's a priceless antique!"
"Well, not that priceless apparently," she said. "It fetched a very good price at the pawn shop."
Draco was so furious he stopped in his tracks, grabbing her by the elbow to keep her from continuing on without him. She glared up at him, but he could see the faintest trace of fear in her eyes, letting him know that she was anxious about his response to what she had done. Good.
"You had no right selling that ring," he said in a low voice. "It belonged to my family."
"I'm sorry," she said spitefully. "I didn't know it had a return policy for when your git of a husband decides to walk out on you."
"You're a real piece of work," he muttered releasing his grip on her arm. "Apparently you think anything that once belonged to me is now yours. The flat for example -"
"Where else was I supposed to live, Draco?"
"Well, why haven't you moved in with your fiancé?"
Hermione froze, and when she struggled to come up with a response, Draco leapt at the opportunity to exploit the chink in her armor.
"Rather strange, isn't it, choosing not to move in with the man you've decided to spend the rest of your life with? Not having second thoughts about Goldstein, are you?"
"Of course not!" Hermione spluttered, spinning around and continuing to walk in the direction of the Weasley joke shop. "I just think it's better to wait until after marriage before cohabiting."
"We lived together before we got married."
"Yes, and we certainly are poster children for a happy marriage, aren't we?" she said sarcastically. Draco fell silent. The woman did have a point, after all.
Before he knew it, Hermione was pushing open the door to Weasley Wizard Wheezes, and he was following her into the noisy, colorful shop. They made their way through the overflowing shelves and throngs of children, looking for the store's proprietor. Finally, Hermione spotted him helping a pair of teenage boys peruse a display of U-No-Poo.
"George!" she called out, waving to get his attention. The minute he spotted her, the red-head's freckly face broke out into a smile, and he stepped forward to wrap her in a big bear hug.
"Hermione, I'm so glad to see you!" George exclaimed, pulling away from her. When he noticed Draco standing behind her, his smile faltered. "And I see you've brought your not-so-better half with you. Ron told me the wanker was back in town."
"Pleasure to see you, too, Weasel-bee," Draco drawled, gracing him with his evilest Malfoy smirk.
"Behave yourself, or you can wait outside," Hermione warned him.
"I'm not a dog, Hermione."
"Could've fooled me," she muttered, as George led them to the backroom, calling out to one of his employees to keep an eye on the shop for him. Draco tried not to be disconcerted by the sly grin on the man's face as he gestured for the two of them to sit at a small table. Sure enough, as Draco sank into the seat that George had proffered him, a loud and very disgusting flatulent sound filled the room. Draco glowered as the red-head burst into laughter, and Hermione had to cover her mouth to hide her own giggling.
"Invisible whoopee cushion," George explained between chuckles. "One of our best-selling products."
"Right, well, if we could get back to the manner at hand…." Draco said, mentally adding George Weasley to his 'I-have-a-license-to-kill-and-one-of-these-days-I'm-going-to-use-it' list. He pulled the list of ingredients for the Morphuem potion out of the pocket of his robes and slid it across the table to George.
"Yeah, these are some of the same ingredients I use in my Patented Daydream Charms, all right," George said grimly after perusing the list. "Ron remembered correctly. Except we never make it this concentrated."
"What do you mean?" asked Hermione.
"Well, at these levels, the ingredients of the potion would definitely give the user some nasty side-effects and withdrawal symptoms. It's a dangerous concoction you have here. I certainly wouldn't want to get hooked on it."
Draco and Hermione raised their eyebrows at each other from across the table. Then Draco once more returned his focus to George.
"Have you had any disgruntled employees over the past couple years? Or anyone who might have stolen your recipe for the Patented Daydreams?"
George thoughtfully tapped his lips with one finger.
"Come to think of it, there was this one bloke," he said. "His name was Lenny Meachim. Kind of a shady little guy, but I was really short on help at the time, so I hired him anyway. I make all my employees sign a magical contract promising not to give away any of my trade secrets. If they do, their face breaks out in spots. Got the idea from you, Hermione, after what you did to Marietta Edgecomb for betraying the D.A. back at Hogwarts."
He gave Hermione a brief smile before continuing.
"So that happened to Lenny one day about a year ago, but he high-tailed it out of here before I could figure out how he broke his contract. It might have been him that gave away the secret recipe for the Patented Daydreams."
"You said this guy quit your shop about a year ago?" Draco repeated.
"Around the same time that the Morpheum potion appeared on the black market," Hermione mused. She raised her eyebrows at Draco. "Are you thinking what I'm thinking?"
Draco nodded.
"Locator Charm." He turned to face George once more. "Do you still have any of his personal affects? Anything he may have been in direct contact with on a regular basis?"
A few minutes later, George had returned to tending his shop, while Draco and Hermione stood huddled around the table in his backroom, a map spread across the uneven surface. Hermione had her wand in one hand, and a work apron in the other, which George said had belonged to Lenny Meachim and had not been used by anyone since. Draco only hoped that the garment still contained enough of the man's essence to allow the spell to work. He watched as Hermione deftly swirled the apron over the tip of her wand.
"Are you sure you don't want me to do it?" he asked her. "When was the last time you cast a Locator Charm?"
"I know what I'm doing, Draco," she huffed. She tossed the apron aside and waved her wand over the map, executing a complex series of wand movements. Draco couldn't help admiring her as she worked. She had always been a powerful and gifted witch. She murmured a series of incantations and smiled in triumph as a tiny glowing dot appeared on the map.
"Found him!" Hermione exclaimed. "Now what?"
"Now you go back to the Ministry to notify Potter and the rest of the Aurors. I'll go track down this Meachim fellow."
Hermione folded her arms across her chest and gave him a stubborn look.
"We'll send a Patronus to summon the Aurors. I'm coming with you."
"No way," Draco argued, though he knew it was about as effective as talking to a wall. "Things could get dangerous and you haven't been out in the field for awhile. You'll be more of a liability than help."
Hermione pocketed her wand, rolled up the map, and glared in his direction.
"Like it or not, Draco, I'm coming with you. Who else is going to have your back?"
Draco paused and looked at her appraisingly, taking in the sight of her flushed cheeks, her glowing eyes, and the jut of her chin. He grinned.
"Admit it," he said. "You miss this."
Hermione tensed, her eyes narrowing at his words.
"Wh-what do you mean?"
"You miss the hunt, the thrill of the chase. You can't get this sort of excitement from working in an office all day."
"Oh," she said, relaxing somewhat. "Yes, I suppose I do miss it."
Draco sighed, withdrew his wand, and wrapped his arm around her waist, ignoring her startled protests.
"All right," he said. "I suppose I'm stuck with you then."
And before she could weasel her way out of his grasp, Draco Disapparated both himself and his wife with a small pop!
Draco was right. Hermione did miss the thrill of the chase. She had felt the loss in the past several years since leaving her position as an Auror, but today, she truly realized what she had been missing. Besides, hunting down Lenny Meachim was a welcome distraction from the miserable turn her life had taken in the past twenty-four hours.
After Flooing Draco's boss that morning, she had attempted to contact Anthony, but found that he had disconnected his fireplace from the Floo network. She had then sent him an owl, only to have her letter returned unopened. She knew Anthony had a right to be angry with her, but how could he not allow her to explain herself and issue a proper apology?
Hermione shook her head to clear her thoughts. She needed to keep her mind free of distractions. It was one of the first things she had learned in Auror training, all those years ago. She glanced to her side, where Draco was keeping pace with her as they entered the rundown office building in Muggle London. His face was set in determination, and his hand was resting in front of the pocket that she knew contained his wand, ready to be drawn at a moment's notice. As much as she despised him at the moment, she couldn't help feeling a sense of comfort at his familiar, domineering presence. Despite the uncertainty of the situation they were about to walk into, she felt almost…safe.
Without speaking, the pair entered the main lobby of the office building, encountering a grey-haired woman at the front desk. She looked nervously back and forth between the two of them.
"C-can I help you?" she asked. Hermione flashed one of the London Police badges that the Ministry kept on hand for Muggle encounters like this.
"I'm Officer Hermione Granger," she introduced herself. "And this is Officer Malfoy. We've come to speak with one of your tenants – a Mr. Meachim. Does that name sound familiar to you?"
"Why yes," the elderly woman said. "He's an industrial researcher - we have a lot of those in this building. Strange fellow, but he and his coworkers keep to themselves mostly. Pay their rent on time. Is he in some sort of trouble with the law?"
Hermione and Draco shared a quick glance before Hermione addressed the landlady once more.
"I'm afraid so. Could you please tell us which floor his office is on?"
"Fourth floor," the woman replied. "Third office suite on the right."
"Thank you."
As Hermione and Draco rode the lift to the fourth floor, she noticed that he was staring at her intently.
"Since when did you go back to using your maiden name?" he asked.
"About a year after you left. Draco, do you really want to be having this conversation right now?"
"No, I suppose not," he grumbled.
The doors of the lift clanked open, and the two of them stepped out into the corridor, looking cautiously from side to side. There was no one in sight. They slowly advanced down the corridor until they stood outside the entrance to the third office suite on the right, just as the landlady had directed them.
"Do you sense it?" Hermione whispered.
"Yeah," he whispered back. "Muggle Repelling Charms. I think we're at the right place."
In unison, they both withdrew their wands, and Draco kicked in the door and entered the suite with Hermione close on his heels. What they discovered in the room beyond astonished them both. There was row upon row of lab tables, each covered with bubbling cauldrons, jars of potion ingredients, and tiny vials of blue potion which could only be Morpheum.
"What is it the Muggles say?" asked Draco. "Oh yeah…jackpot."
"Draco, watch out!" Hermione shouted. She shoved him aside just in time to dodge a curse that had been fired from a man crouching behind one of the tables. From the description George had given them, Hermione was certain the man was Lenny Meachim. And to her dismay, he did not appear to be alone.
"Shit!" Draco muttered, as curses shot around the room like fireworks. The two of them ducked down behind one of the tables, holding their wands at the ready. "Looks like there are at least a dozen of the bastards. Something tells me that the old lady sounded the alarm downstairs."
"So it would seem," Hermione said grimly. Then she tightened her grip on her wand. "I don't know about you, but I'm not going down without a fight."
Draco stared at her in exasperation, but she could have sworn he was struggling not to smile.
"You know I hate it when you speak Gryffindor," he said, and they both rose to their feet to enter the fray. Standing back to back, they moved in perfect synchronization, firing off spells to deflect their attackers. But Hermione had a feeling it wouldn't be enough. Despite her and Draco's combined skill, they were still vastly outnumbered.
Hermione ducked under Draco's elbow in order to fire a Stupefy at their nearest assailant. Her spell hit him square in the chest, causing him to tumble backwards over one of the lab tables. She winced and dodged to one side as one of their attackers retaliated and an errant spell shattered a jar of bubotuber pus, causing it to splatter everywhere.
"Just like old times, isn't it?" Draco called out to her, pausing to wipe the sweat off his brow. Hermione stole a quick glance in his direction, noting the way his cheeks were flushed, and his grey eyes sparkled with excitement. His apparent elation at the threat of death made her roll her eyes.
"This is why men have a shorter life expectancy than women," she muttered under her breath. Suddenly, her attention was diverted by the sound of heavy footsteps in the corridor. Her heart sank as she imagined the legions of fighters that had now arrived to swell the ranks of their enemy. Any chance of survival was about to evaporate. With a shuddering gasp, she pressed her backside more tightly against Draco's, seeking whatever comfort she could find in the contact.
Oh God, it couldn't end like this…
The door burst open, and to Hermione's immense relief, the first two men to enter the room, wands in hand, were Ron and Seamus Finnigan. Behind them was a group of Aurors who immediately dived into the fray.
"Thank goodness," Hermione murmured, as their adversaries quickly lost interest in her and Draco, and began focusing on the new arrivals instead. For just a moment, she let her guard down, turning to join the reinforcements. She was too distracted to notice the curse being fired in her direction.
"Hermione, get down!" Draco shouted, and in the blink of an eye, he was tackling her to the ground so that she narrowly missed getting struck with a Killing Curse. As she fell, the back of her head struck the floor hard enough to make her see spots. She blinked rapidly to clear them, and only then became aware of the fact that Draco was lying protectively on top of her, his grey eyes full of concern. But her vision was scattered and blurred, causing her to see him in triplicate.
"Are you all right? Hermione, answer me!"
"Get off!" she mumbled. "All three of you!"
Draco's brow lowered in concern, and he used one hand to gently cup the back of her head. When he withdrew his hand and found it covered with blood, he began calling frantically for a medic wizard. Hermione tried to shake her head in protest, but the movement only made her dizzier. So instead, she pushed at Draco's chest in an attempt to get his heavy weight off of her. She might as well have been pushing against a brick wall.
"Hermione, lie still," he ordered. "You're hurt, and there's still too much fighting going on to risk moving you."
Hermione closed her eyes against the sight of Draco's worried face and the intermittent flashes of light, as spells continued to lance across the room.
Didn't he understand that she couldn't stay here like this, with the hard heat of his body bearing down on hers? Didn't he realize that the smell of his sweat, and the sensation of having him pressed against her, was awakening memories that were better kept hidden in the recesses of her mind?
He shifted slightly, and she let out a soft moan, desperately hoping that he would interpret it as a moan of pain, and not pleasure at the way his groin was grinding against hers. It was insane, she knew, to be having such thoughts at a time like this. But then again, adrenaline had always been a potent aphrodisiac where the two of them were concerned…
Hermione flung open the door to the dingy hotel room, and half dragged, half carried Draco inside before slamming the door shut behind them and locking it with a wave of her wand. She watched as the Polyjuice Potion began to wear off, and Draco's temporarily black hair faded back to platinum blond. She knew that her own appearance was also returning to normal. But what was not normal was the massive amount of blood seeping through the front of Draco's shirt.
"Sectumsempra," he groaned. "Why's it always Sectumsempra?"
"Malfoy, shut up and lie down on the bed," she ordered, flinging one arm around his waist to steady him. He smirked in response.
"Trying to get me in bed?" he wheezed between gulping breaths. "Why Granger, you're making me blush."
Hermione rolled her eyes as she hauled him over to the rock-hard mattress in the center of the dimly lit room. Only he could manage to fire off sarcastic remarks at a time like this. As he collapsed on the bed, she frantically retrieved the med-kit she had shrunk and hidden in her purse. She still couldn't believe that they were alive. By all accounts, they should be dead, considering the carefully-laid trap they had stumbled into earlier that evening. But somehow they had survived... barely. And in Draco's case, that outcome was not yet certain.
As soon as they had managed to escape Dolohov and his cronies, Hermione had dragged an injured Draco to the nearest safe place she could find – a rundown hotel in southeast Moscow. At first, upon seeing Draco's disheveled and bloody appearance, the matron of the hotel had flat-out refused to give them a room. The stack of rubles Hermione had flung down on the counter quickly satisfied the woman, however. Now, Hermione's only goal was to ensure that Draco stayed alive long enough for them to make the long-distance Portkey journey back to England.
"G-Granger?" Draco gurgled weakly. Panic-stricken, Hermione rushed to his side and noticed for the first time that there was a trickle of blood coming out of his mouth. Without thinking, she leapt on the bed and straddled his waist, ripping open his shirt to reveal the deep, gaping wound in his chest.
"Shit!" she whispered as she waved her wand over the gash, trying to heal it. "Shit, shit, shit, shit, shit…"
"Language, Granger," Draco said faintly. Then his eyes rolled back into his head and he began to convulse violently.
"No!" Hermione cried out as she struggled to remain calm and finish closing his wound. Finally, the edges of the wound were knit closed, and there was nothing but a vivid pink streak cutting across his pale chest. But he had still suffered a lot of blood loss. He was so white - so unbelievably white - that even his lips were entirely devoid of color. With trembling hands, she dug a bottle of Blood-Replenishing Potion out of her kit and cradled his head in one arm, propping him up so that she could pour the potion into his mouth.
"Swallow, Malfoy!" she urged, giving him a gentle shake. "Swallow, damn it!"
At last he gulped down the potion, and with one last shuddering breath, he lay completely still. Hermione's heart pounded wildly against her ribcage, and tears streamed down her cheeks as she began to pound on his chest.
"Malfoy!" Hermione shouted. "Malfoy, say something!"
Suddenly, Draco gasped and coughed.
"Something," he croaked. Hermione didn't know whether to laugh with relief or berate him for his untimely joke. So she settled for slapping him soundly across the face.
"Ow!" he barked. "What the hell is the matter with you?"
"Draco Malfoy, don't you ever do that again! I thought you were dead!"
"Sorry to disappoint you," he grumbled, "but when I finally shuffle off this mortal coil, it won't be in a dump like this."
"'Shuffle off this mortal coil'? Malfoy, did you just quote Shakespeare?"
Draco rolled his eyes.
"Probably because I've heard you quote it at one time or another. For Merlin's sake, woman. I just had a near-death experience and you want to discuss Muggle literature."
Hermione chuckled as she rifled through her med-kit for a small jar of murtlap essence. She had to admire his ability to stay light-hearted after suffering such a life-threatening injury. She had a feeling that he was doing it as much for her sake as for his own, and that thought warmed her in a way that she couldn't explain if she tried.
"This should help with the pain," she said, as she began to smear the murtlap essence over his freshly-healed chest wound. "And prevent scarring."
She continued further down his chest, rubbing the healing potion into his wound until she reached the place where it ended, just above his naval. Then she noticed the blood soaking his left trouser leg and moved to unbutton his pants. Immediately, Draco's hands shot out to grasp her wrists, impeding her movement.
"Wh-what are you doing?" he asked breathlessly.
"Your leg is bleeding. I think you might have another cut there. I don't think it's as deep as the one on your chest, but I still need to heal it before it becomes infected."
Draco nodded and released her wrists, allowing her to continue unbuttoning his trousers. Wincing, he lifted his hips so that she could tug them off, baring his injured thigh. She felt her cheeks redden as she noticed the tenting of his silk boxers. Apparently he hadn't suffered that much blood loss after all. Still, it surprised her that he could be aroused by the situation…that he could be aroused by her.
Putting such discomfiting thoughts aside, Hermione waved her wand over the gash on Draco's inner thigh to heal it. Then she dipped her fingers in the jar of murtlap essence and tentatively began laving it over the wound. At her touch, every muscle in Draco's body tensed, and he fisted the bed sheets in both of his hands. Afraid that she was hurting him, Hermione paused to glance up at his face, but there was not a trace of pain in his eyes. Instead she was startled to find that they were dark with desire. She realized that she was still straddling Draco's hips, and that such a position was nothing short of wanton now that she was no longer in the process of saving his life. Nervously, she drew her hand away from Draco's quivering thigh.
"Um, I'm sure that you can do this yourself later on…" she said as she began to crawl off of him. But Draco was having none of it. He gripped her legs tightly just above the knees, effectively pinning her in place.
"Why did you save my life?" he asked in a gruff voice.
"Why did you save mine? That curse was intended for me."
Draco's lips quirked into the tiniest of grins.
"You're my partner. I'm supposed to have your back, remember?"
Hermione stared down at him in disbelief. It hardly seemed possible that Draco Malfoy had saved her life, and that he had considered her – a Muggle-born – worthy of even being saved. Before she could process this thought any further, however, Draco began to push up the skirt of her glittery black cocktail dress, his hands gliding higher and higher up her thighs. She gasped and bit her lip to hold back a moan of need. She knew it was only the adrenaline going to their heads. It wouldn't do to act on such base instincts…
"Malfoy -" she began, but before she could get the words out, he grasped her hips and flipped her around with a strength that she found surprising given his weakened state. He reversed their positions so that she was now lying on her back, and he was straddling her hips, gazing down at her with a look that was so scorching, it could have melted iron. His hands slid ever further up her thighs, nearing the one place that she both dreaded and longed for him to touch, and she felt the need to stop him before the situation spiraled out of control.
"Malfoy, this is a bad idea," she whispered. He chuckled and brought his mouth down to graze hers, ever so lightly, in a kiss that burned her lips like fire.
"You and I, in any combination, have always been a 'bad idea'. Probably always will be. Why fight it now?"
"S-stop," she gasped, as his hand grazed the lacy material of her panties. Draco's smirk faded and his eyes narrowed into two slits of molten silver.
"Tell me you don't want this, Granger."
"I d-don't want this," she stammered, even though she knew her body would betray the truth. Sure enough, he delved his fingers beneath her panties, dipping them into the moisture that had started to pool there.
"Liar," he growled triumphantly, and as he inserted first one finger, and then another, into her slick folds, she knew she was lost. She gripped his bare shoulders tightly, moaning with pleasure as he worked his fingers slowly in and out of her. He began peppering her neck with open-mouthed kisses, and after a few minutes of such exquisite torture, Hermione couldn't take anymore.
"Malfoy, please," she begged, tugging at his boxers in an attempt to remove them. He chuckled and flicked his tongue playfully across her pouting lips.
"Patience, love." Deftly, he twisted the hand that was still buried beneath the skirt of her dress, angling his wrist so that he could dart his thumb over her swollen nub. Hermione immediately fell apart, crying out as wave upon wave of pleasure crashed over her.
"Fuck," he hissed, as she clenched tightly around his fingers. Her climax seemed to break his fragile hold on his own self-control, and he removed his hand from beneath her dress, only to rip – literally rip – the flimsy garment off of her body. Another loud rip, and he had removed her panties as well. Then, in one fluid movement, he divested himself of his boxers and buried himself in her to the hilt.
Hermione gasped at the sudden invasion. She closed her eyes, feeling as if a million tiny lights were exploding behind her eyelids as Draco rocked his hips rhythmically against her own, prolonging her orgasm and driving her even higher, and oh god, oh god, oh god…
Draco groaned and buried his face in the crook of her neck.
"Hermione," he breathed, and the sound of her name on his lips made her toes curl. She had always hated her name, had always blamed her parents for not naming her something that people actually knew how to pronounce, but when Draco said her name aloud, it suddenly sounded like the most sensual, beautiful thing in the world.
"Say it again," she whispered, digging her fingernails into his back as another wave of pleasure washed over her. "Say my name again."
"Hermione," he gasped, and then repeated it like a sacred litany, in time with each of his thrusts. "Hermione, Hermione, Hermione…"
"Hermione? Hermione!"
"Malfoy, you idiot, get off her and let her breathe!"
Hermione heard a grunt as someone was shoved roughly aside, and she opened her eyes to find Draco, Ron, and the medic-wizard staring down at her in concern. Ron's face immediately spread into a relieved grin.
"Have a nice nap?" he asked. Hermione groaned and reached up to touch the back of her head. Her hair was still caked with blood, but the wound had apparently been healed by the medic while she was unconscious. All that remained was a bit of soreness.
"Lovely, thanks," she muttered, as her red-headed friend gently helped her to her feet. She turned to face Draco, whose worried expression had rapidly morphed into anger.
"Hermione, what the hell were you thinking?" he snarled. "You know better than to let your guard down in the middle of a fight like that!"
"Well I wouldn't have hurt my head if it weren't for you knocking me to the ground like a human bulldozer!" Hermione huffed. She knew that he had saved her life, and that she had been foolish to lower her defenses in the middle of battle, but his condescending attitude did nothing but raise her ire.
"If it weren't for me knocking you to the ground, you'd be dead!"
Hermione closed her eyes and took several deep, calming breaths. She refused to lose her temper over something this stupid. When she opened her eyes once more, she saw Seamus and another Auror standing off to the side, restraining a short, dark-haired man that she recognized as Lenny Meachim.
"You caught him!" she exclaimed. "What about the others?"
"One of them was killed in the fighting," said Ron. "And the others got away, unfortunately."
Hermione sighed in disappointment.
"Oh well, at least we have Meachim. We'd better take him back to the Ministry for questioning."
She picked up her wand from where it had fallen on the floor during the fray and prepared to Disapparate, all while avoiding her husband's piercing gaze. She didn't think he would attempt to read her thoughts, but she employed Occlumency just in case. The last thing she needed was for Draco to know what she had been thinking about while she was unconscious. It was bad enough that she had to know about it.
She wasn't supposed to still feel this way about him. She wasn't supposed to continue having this type of reaction when they came into physical contact…not after all this time. Her body was supposed to forget the phantom sensations of pleasure and the memory of what she used to feel when he held her in his arms…
"Hermione?" Ron asked worriedly. "Are you all right?"
"Never better," she replied with a shaky grin, and as she waved her wand to Disapparate back to the Ministry, she bemoaned how much more complicated her life had suddenly become.
And she had a feeling that it was only going to get worse.
A/N: The Locator Charm that Hermione uses was inspired by a similar spell in the Dramione fanfic "Where the Magic Is", by Argosy.
Shakespeare quotes cited in this chapter:
"The course of true love never did run smooth." (A Midsummer Night's Dream)
"Shuffle off this mortal coil." (Hamlet)