The Revenant (Part 3)

When Hermione and the others returned to the Ministry, Ron and Seamus took the prisoner to be processed. Meanwhile, Draco and Hermione were greeted by a very weary and worried-looking Harry Potter.

"You missed all the fun, Potter!" Draco called out to him as he approached.

"Not really," Harry said grimly. "I don't suppose Ron had a chance to tell you, but there was plenty of 'fun' here at the Ministry this morning while you two were gone. Dennis was attacked. He's okay," he added quickly, in response to Hermione's horrified expression. "Just a few bumps and bruises. He was knocked unconscious while he was processing the evidence from Goyle's murder. While he was out of it, his attacker made off with all the evidence."

"I don't suppose Creevey managed to get a glimpse of the guy?" asked Draco. Harry shook his head.

"No, whoever it was snuck up on him from behind." Harry paused and stepped closer to Draco and Hermione, lowering his voice so that no one passing them in the hallway would overhear what he was about to say. "Access to this wing is restricted to members of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. No one but MLE personnel could have entered the evidence room and attacked Dennis. I don't think I need to explain what that means."

"Inside job," Hermione murmured, her stomach clenching with dread. "It seems we have a traitor in our midst."

"Anyone you suspect?" Draco asked Harry. Harry shook his head, and Hermione could detect a flash of anger and betrayal in his green eyes. She knew that Harry prided himself on the talented and loyal team of Aurors he had assembled, and that it probably broke his heart to think that one of them could have been responsible for Dennis's attack…and possibly even the string of murders that had been occurring over the past six months. She reached out and gripped his arm reassuringly.

"Harry, it might not have been an Auror that attacked Dennis. A number of people in the Department have access to this wing, including members of the Wizengamot, like myself. Don't worry, we'll find out who's behind this."

He gave her a feeble smile, but before he could make any other response, Seamus popped his head out of the interrogation room and into the hallway where Harry, Hermione, and Draco were conversing.

"You three coming?" he asked. "We're just about ready to start questioning Meachim."

Harry nodded and gestured for Hermione and Draco to follow him into the interrogation room. Ron was already there, standing with his arms folded over his chest as he watched the suspect through the magical two-way mirror.

Lenny Meachim was sitting at a large wooden table, staring straight at the mirror with a cold smirk plastered on his face. He had a round, pudgy face, and even from this far away, Hermione could see the pock-marked scars that marred it – remnants from the hex that George Weasley's magical contract had unleashed. However, while Hermione's hex for Dumbledore's Army had been designed to spell out the word "sneak" on the face of any traitor, the results of George's hex clearly spelled out the word "wanker".

"I hate to admit it, but for a man who makes toys for a living, George Weasley is a surprisingly clever wizard," murmured Draco, who had obviously just noticed the same thing.

"The man hasn't blinked once in the past five minutes," Ron muttered. "He's a shady bloke all right. I can't believe George ever let this guy work for him."

Harry, meanwhile, was leafing through the file that Seamus had just handed to him.

"Leonard Francis Meachim," he read aloud, "Thirty-two years old, left Hogwarts in 1992, both parents were killed by Death Eaters for not joining Voldemort's cause."

"Sounds like a pretty good motive for killing Death Eaters," Hermione mused. "Does he have any sort of criminal record?"

"Not much, except for…ah, here we go." Harry turned the page, his expression becoming triumphant as he read what was written on the next sheath of parchment in the file. "Last year there was a gathering outside the Ministry to protest the fact that several Death Eaters were being released on parole. Things got a bit out of hand, and Meachim was arrested for trying to physically intimidate Ministry officials."

Ron frowned.

"I don't remember the Aurors getting involved," he said. Harry shook his head in response.

"We wouldn't have been involved in his case. All he got charged with was a misdemeanor. They kept him in a holding cell overnight, fined him 100 galleons, and let him go the next day."

"A mere slap on the wrist," Draco muttered darkly. Harry gave him a tired look.

"Malfoy, if we incarcerated every person who protested the release of those Death Eaters, Azkaban would be overflowing with prisoners."

"Well, something tells me that Meachim has upped his game since then. Maybe he's gone from attending protests to committing murder."

Everyone turned to stare at the dark-haired man on the other side of the glass, who was glaring back at them as if he could sense their eyes on him.

"You may be right, Malfoy," Harry said grimly. "Let's see if we can get some answers out of him."

The group opened the door leading into the room where Meachim was waiting to be interrogated. His eyes flashed briefly when he saw Draco, but he otherwise expressed no emotion whatsoever.

As they entered the brightly-lit space, Harry handed the suspect's file back to Seamus, and Hermione noticed that Seamus's hand trembled slightly when he accepted it. She glanced up at his face and saw that it was much paler than usual, and there were dark circles beneath his eyes. While the rest of the group filed into the interrogation room, she hung back so that she could lean over and whisper to him without being overheard.

"Seamus, are you alright?" she asked. "You look exhausted." Seamus gave her a shaky smile.

"I'm fine, thanks, Hermione. Been a bit of a long day for all of us, hasn't it?"

Before Hermione could respond, Harry addressed Meachim for the first time, and both she and Seamus had their attention drawn back to the suspect once more.

"Mr. Meachim, do you know why you are here?" Harry asked. The nasty smirk on Meachim's face widened at this question.

"Why am I here? Is this an existential question, Mr. Potter?"

Harry's eyes narrowed somewhat, but he made no other sign that he was angered by the suspect's snide remark. Ron's face reddened however, and his hands curled into fists.

"That's enough cheek from you, Meachim," he snapped. "You're wanted for murdering five former Death Eaters, and some of their family members. If I were you, I'd watch my tongue."

"Ooh, how intimidating," the suspect drawled sarcastically. "Well if I did murder all those people, then I have nothing to worry about, do I? You'll just lock me up for a few years and then let me walk right out of the joint. That's what you Ministry folks like to do with murderers, right?"

His attention suddenly shifted from Harry to Draco, who was standing a little off to the side of the main group.

"When you think about it, some of those Death Eaters have it pretty damn good," Meachim continued, his eyes never leaving Draco. "Not only do you let them walk free, but you also let them keep their family fortunes, give them cozy little jobs at the Ministry…hell, some of you even marry the bastards."

His gaze flicked in Hermione's direction at these last words, and Draco moved closer to her, standing somewhat in front of her as if to shield her from the suspect's dark gaze. Hermione tried to ignore the pleasant warmth that suffused her body in response to Draco's protective stance.

"For once, I have to agree with Weasley," Draco said coolly. "You'd better be careful about what you say, Meachim."

The suspect leaned back lazily in the wooden chair he was sitting in, and did not seem the least bit intimidated by Draco's threat. Hermione was impressed by the suspect's apparent indifference, because the look Draco was currently giving the man could have withered leaves.

"If I were you, I'd be the one being careful," he said in a low, menacing tone that made goose bumps break out across Hermione's skin. "Your number is up, Malfoy. You and your rotten family have escaped justice for far too long."

"So that's it, is it?" Harry asked, trying to regain control of the discussion. "You killed all those Death Eaters because you thought the Ministry didn't give them the punishment they deserved."

"Of course they didn't get the punishment they deserved. But I didn't kill them."

"Then who did?" When the man made no response, Harry pressed him further. "Was it one of those wizards who escaped from the Morpheum brewing lab earlier this afternoon?"

Meachim scoffed at this, as if he found the mere idea offensive.

"Those idiots? They're nothing but mindless thugs and junkies - a means to an end. None of them have the power or intelligence that my master has. None of them would ever have the courage to pull off his mission."

"Who is your master, Meachim? And what exactly is his mission, beyond killing Death Eaters?"

When the suspect merely sneered at him, Harry turned impatiently to Seamus.

"Enough of this. Let's see if the Veritaserum will loosen his tongue."

Seamus withdrew a small vial of clear liquid from one of the inner pockets of his robes and passed it along to Harry. As he did so, Hermione noticed that Seamus's hand shook even harder now than it had before. She remembered that he was the newest Auror in the department, having only passed his examination nine months prior, and she realized that with his relative inexperience, the stress of the past couple days was probably overwhelming him. He watched anxiously as Harry and Ron worked together to force the truth-telling potion down the suspect's throat.

It didn't take long for the potency of the potion to become apparent. Meachim's black eyes grew glassy and unfocused, and his muscles slackened. Harry leaned forward in anticipation, each of his hands resting on the table standing between him and the suspect as he watched the Veritaserum take effect.

"Now then," he said, once he was sure the potion had worked its way into the suspect's system, "let's proceed with the questioning, shall we? First off, why was Gregory Goyle killed?"

"He was dealing Morpheum for my master, but he wanted out. He refused to complete a task that my master asked of him."

"What was that task?"

"I don't know," Meachim continued, his eyes staring off into space.

"Did your master order you to kill Goyle?"

"No."

"Then who did?"

"My master killed him himself," the man responded tonelessly.

"Meachim, who is your master?"

"I don't know."

Harry blinked in confusion, but recovered quickly.

"Why don't you know?"

"He wears a mask whenever we meet. I've never seen his face."

Hermione suppressed a groan of dismay. She had been afraid of this. Harry, too, looked unsettled by this revelation. If Meachim had never seen his master, then it was possible that they had just arrived at yet another dead end. Harry did not appear ready to give up, however.

"Has your master infiltrated the Ministry?" he asked. "Is someone in my department acting as his accomplice?"

"Yes."

"Who?"

Hermione's heart beat wildly in her chest as she waited for the suspect to divulge the traitor's identity. But while everyone else's attention was riveted to Meachim, she suddenly noticed that Seamus was as white as a sheet, with sweat trickling down his forehead and glistening on his upper lip. She grasped his arm and he jerked at her touch, staring at her with a startled expression on his pale face.

"Seamus?" Hermione asked urgently. "Seamus, are you ill?"

At that moment, Meachim opened his mouth to speak, the Veritaserum compelling him to issue a response to Harry's question. But no words came out. Instead, the only sound that issued from his throat was a strangled gurgle. To everyone's shock and amazement, the man's beefy hands shot up to his neck, making a motion that seemed to indicate he was choking. Harry finally lost control of his patience, and in his frustration, he brought both of his hands hammering down on the table.

"Meachim, who is the traitor?" he bellowed. "WHO IS IT?"

"Harry, he can't breathe!" Hermione shouted, as all thoughts of Seamus's illness were forgotten. Before anyone could stop her, she lunged around the table and started issuing a series of Anapneo spells in an attempt to open the suspect's airway, but without success. His face was beginning to turn blue, and she could see the whites of his eyes as they rolled back in his head. "Call a medic-wizard!" she yelled to no one in particular, even though she already realized the action would be futile.

Seamus, who seemed eager for an excuse to flee the room, immediately volunteered to retrieve the medic. Meanwhile, Hermione and Harry tried spell after spell to try to get Meachim to start breathing again. Hermione even resorted to performing non-magical CPR, but to no avail. By the time the medic-wizard arrived a few minutes later, the man was slumped over in his chair, completely motionless. The medic attempted a few more complicated reviving spells and read the suspect's vital signs. Then he shook his head gravely.

"There's nothing I can do," the older wizard proclaimed. "He's dead."

After he left the room, there were several tense moments as the group stood, stunned and speechless, around the lifeless body of their prisoner. That was until Ron finally spoke up and stated the obvious.

"Well, that was bloody inconvenient."

"Just as I suspected," Hermione announced, as she read the report generated by Dennis's potion analyzer. "Aufero Spirtus – one of the most potent poisons in the Wizarding World."

She sat down heavily in between Draco and Harry, whose eyes were tightly closed as he massaged his temples with his fingers. After a distraught Seamus had been sent home for the evening, and arrangements had been made for Meachim's body, Harry had pulled Draco, Hermione, and Ron into a conference room to discuss the ordeal. As Hermione slid the potion analysis report over to him, he glanced up.

"This sort of thing doesn't happen in the Auror office," he growled, his eyes flashing. "Suspects don't just drop dead during questioning. How could the poison have gotten into the Veritaserum in the first place?"

"You know the answer to that question, Potter," said Draco. "It was put there by someone who had access to the Department's potion supply – probably the same person who attacked Creevey earlier this morning."

"If only we'd thought to use a Bezoar to save Meachim!" Ron moaned. "That's how Harry saved my life when you almost poisoned me to death in Sixth Year, Malfoy."

"Weasley, I've told you a hundred times that that poisoned mead was never intended for you! Though I've often thought it's a shame it didn't succeed in finishing you off. Merlin knows I'd have been doing the world a favor."

"Shut up!" Hermione snapped, and both men fell silent, folding their arms across their chests and adopting sullen expressions. "Ron, using a Bezoar wouldn't have worked anyway. It will save someone from most poisons, but not all. Aufero Spiritus is too powerful. It causes rapid and irreversible asphyxiation, completely closing the victim's throat, so you couldn't get him to swallow a Bezoar, even if you tried."

"Well, one thing's for sure," Ron replied. "Someone clearly didn't want Meachim talking."

"That's the problem!" Harry spat in frustration. "We don't know the mastermind behind these murders, because Meachim has never seen his face. And we weren't able to find out who's the traitor in our department because he croaked before he could tell us. We're right back where we bloody started! We haven't made any progress whatsoever!"

The foursome was silent for a few moments, contemplating the dire situation. Finally, Hermione spoke up.

"Let's not focus on what we don't know. Think about what we do know. We now know for sure that the same person who is behind the marketing of the Morpheum potion is also behind the murders of the Death Eaters. He just killed someone using a very potent Aufero Spiritus poison, which takes months to brew, and requires rare ingredients that cost hundreds of galleons to obtain. So, obviously he has money, connections, and skill with brewing potions."

"And then there's the way he killed the Death Eaters," Ron put in. Draco looked at him sharply.

"How were they killed, exactly?"

Ron, Harry, and Hermione exchanged uncomfortable glances. When neither of her two friends spoke, Hermione took it upon herself to explain.

"Well, the Averys were burned alive in their home with Fiendfyre," she began, wringing her hands nervously in her lap. "Walden Macnair was…was beheaded, just as he used to execute animals for the Ministry. The Notts…from what we could gather, Sinclair Nott was forced to watch his wife and his son, Theodore, be tortured to death before he was killed in the same manner…"

She swallowed, unable to finish. But from the way that Draco's eyes fell closed, and his face grew even paler than usual, she decided that he had heard enough. The last case had been particularly hard for her to be involved in. Theodore Nott had always kept to himself, and was one of the few Slytherins who had never caused Hermione and her friends much trouble at Hogwarts. What had been done to him and his family was nothing short of barbaric. Hermione had had nightmares for weeks after investigating that gruesome crime scene.

"Macnair, Nott, Avery…all Death Eaters who had made parole and been released from Azkaban," Harry mused. "Like Meachim said, whoever's behind their deaths didn't think that justice had been served, and decided to take their punishment into his own hands."

"A vigilante," Ron added with a nod.

"No," Draco muttered. When his companions all turned to stare at him with raised eyebrows, he sighed and folded his hands on the table in front of him. He never took his eyes off his hands as he spoke. "This isn't about justice. It's about revenge."

"How do you know?" asked Hermione.

"Whoever this murderer is, he didn't just kill these people; he destroyed them. You don't go through the trouble of burning someone alive, or torturing them to death, unless you have the motivation to do so. And believe me when I say I know a thing or two about revenge."

Hermione glanced at Draco out of the corner of her eye, wondering if he was speaking about the terrorist wizards he had encountered in the past three years, or if he was speaking from his own personal experience.

"So what you're saying is that this murderer is someone who has a personal reason to seek revenge on the Death Eaters…someone who lost a friend or family member in the war?" Harry replied. "Well that could be almost anyone."

He took his glasses off and pinched the bridge of his nose between his thumb and forefinger, obviously trying to stifle the beginnings of a massive headache. Hermione knew how he felt. Her head still had a dull throbbing sensation from the injury she had received earlier that day.

"But why Goyle?" she murmured. "That particular murder doesn't fit the trend. He was never a Death Eater, and his father died in Azkaban a few years ago. Also, his death was different from the others – quick, painless, unelaborated. There must be a reason behind it."

"All I can say is that Goyle's murder is certainly the least convenient of the lot," Ron grumbled, "because if it weren't for him, you never would have come back, Malfoy."

Draco opened his mouth to make a sarcastic remark in reply, but Hermione stopped him by suddenly grasping his arm and sitting upright in her chair. Her eyes widened with dawning realization.

"Ron, you're brilliant!" she exclaimed. Ron looked at her with mingled confusion and pride, but Draco merely rolled his eyes.

"Well, I suppose there's a first time for everything," he muttered.

"No, listen," Hermione continued. "If Goyle hadn't been killed, you never would have come back, Draco. What if that was the point of his death? To lure you back to England?"

"That's insane."

"Hermione has a point, Malfoy," Harry cut in, his eyes narrowed in thought. "Maybe that was the task that Goyle refused to perform. Maybe he was supposed to send you a message or something, to make you come back. But he didn't want to do it, because he knew he would be putting you in danger."

"So the murderer decided to kill him instead," Hermione finished. "After all, it had the same effect. It did make you come back."

"But why bring me back to England?" Draco murmured. "For what purpose?"

Hermione sighed sadly and slid her hand up his sleeve, revealing his left forearm. There was Draco's Dark Mark, glaring back at them all. Over the years, Hermione had almost forgotten about it. It had always been there during their marriage - when she woke up in the morning with his arm wrapped around her waist, when she watched him dress and undress, when they made love… It was a part of him, and a part of him she had grown to accept. Now, however, his Dark Mark took on a new significance.

"I think you know his purpose, Draco," she said softly. "You heard what Meachim said: 'Your number is up, Malfoy.' I think your family is his next target."

A heavy silence settled over the room for a few moments, and Hermione thought she could detect just a flicker of fear in Draco's eyes as the implications of her statement washed over him. Her hand still rested on his arm, and without thinking, she gave it a brief, reassuring squeeze. The fear in his eyes was rapidly replaced with another emotion that made her heart rise into her throat, and she pulled her hand away from his arm.

"If that is the case," Draco said gruffly, his eyes never leaving Hermione's face, "if I am the killer's next target, then what do we do next?"

"I'll put your parents in protective custody," Harry replied. "They can stay in the Manor, but I'll have Aurors posted outside at all hours. In your case, it may be best if you leave; go back to where you came from, so that the killer can't find you again."

Immediately Draco swiveled his attention from Hermione to Harry.

"No," he said. "I may not have been sorted into Gryffindor, Potter, but I'm no coward. And if you think I'm going to leave England while my family is still in danger, then you're an even bigger idiot than I thought you were."

His silver-eyed gaze once more drifted in Hermione's direction, but she was the only one who seemed to notice this. Harry sighed again.

"I had a feeling you were going to say that. At least let me post a few Aurors outside your flat tonight."

"Not necessary," Draco said with a shake of his head. "The flat has enough wards to hold off an entire army of wizards. Hermione and I will be perfectly safe there."

Harry's expression became one of concern as he turned to Hermione.

"Are you sure you don't want to stay at Grimmauld Place with me and Ginny? You might be safer there…"

"I'm not going to let this madman drive me out of my own home," she said, sounding calmer than she truly felt. "I'll be fine."

She winced as the pounding in her head began to escalate from a dull throb to feeling as if someone was trying to crack open her skull with a jackhammer. She wished she could take some pain-relieving potion, but after learning that the Veritaserum they had administered to Meachim was contaminated, Harry had had all of the potions in the department's supply room confiscated and inspected for poison.

"Hermione, you're dead on your feet," said Harry. "You should go home and get some rest."

"We should all go home and get some rest," Ron interjected. "Harry, you've already gotten two Howlers from Ginny, and Lav warned me that if I was home late again, she wouldn't make dinner for me for a week."

Draco snorted derisively at this statement, but Hermione elbowed him in the ribs before he could say anything else.

"I hate to say it, but Weasley's right," Draco said, as he rubbed the place on his chest that Hermione had just bruised. "We could all do with some sleep."

Harry nodded reluctantly, and they all rose to leave. In her fatigue, Hermione wobbled somewhat as she stood, and Draco wrapped his arm around her waist to steady her. Reflexively, she pulled herself out of his grasp.

"I know how to walk, Draco," she muttered. Before he could say anything in reply, she breezed out of the room and made her way towards the lifts to the main level of the Ministry, where she could Floo home. She decided she was far too exhausted to even attempt Apparition without splinching herself. She could hear Draco's footsteps not far behind her, and she suddenly began to feel guilty for being so short with him, now and earlier that day when he had protected her during the skirmish at the Morpheum lab. He had saved her life, after all, and despite being a complete and utter prat, he did deserve at least some gratitude.

Hermione stopped in her tracks, and as soon as she did so, Draco paused as well. She turned to face him, trying to avoid direct eye contact as he stood there, watching her warily. It had never been easy for her to admit when she was wrong, even to him. Especially to him.

"Draco," she began.

"Hermione?" said a voice from further down the corridor. "Hermione, thank Merlin you're all right!"

Hermione and Draco both looked up to see Anthony Goldstein running towards them, his handsome face set in an expression of concern. At her side, she could feel Draco stiffen, and she fervently hoped that she would not be forced to prevent a skirmish between her husband and her fiancé. Maybe, just maybe, Draco would attempt to be civil. Though she wasn't about to get her hopes up.

"I've been so worried," Anthony gasped, trying to catch his breath once he reached them. "I just heard that you had been injured."

His eyes widened as he took in her appearance, and Hermione realized she must look a fright, with her hair still clumped with blood, and her robes dirtied and torn.

"I'm fine Anthony," she reassured him. "Just a little bump on the head. Nothing serious."

"For someone who sits behind a desk all day, it must be difficult to understand the dangers of actually doing a hard day's work in the field," Draco said dryly.

Well, Hermione thought to herself, as Anthony's face reddened with anger, so much for attempting to be civil.

"I fought in the Battle of Hogwarts, too, Malfoy," Anthony spat. "Perhaps you forgot? Oh, that's right - you were fighting on a different side, weren't you? How kind of you to remind us." Anthony's gaze shifted down to Draco's left arm, where his shirt sleeve was still rolled up and his Dark Mark visible.

Draco scowled and tucked his arm against his side, partially hiding the tattoo from view.

"Some people would do better to let go of their grudges," he growled.

Anthony stood up straighter, and Hermione hoped that he wouldn't try challenging Draco to a wizard's duel. As much as she admired Anthony, she knew that he stood no chance against Draco's prowess and skill with a wand.

"My parents were killed by filthy Death Eaters like you, Malfoy. So forgive me if I have a hard time 'letting go of my grudges'".

For a moment, Draco's fingers twitched in the direction of his wand. Then he curled his hand into a fist of self-restraint before turning to Hermione.

"I'm going back to the flat," he said in a tight voice. "I think it would best if I leave before I do something your fiancé will regret."

With one last murderous glare in Anthony's direction, he stormed off down the corridor, his black Auror robes fluttering ominously in his wake. Hermione was left alone with Anthony, who looked angrier than she had ever remembered seeing him.

"Malfoy is staying in your flat now? Hermione, what the hell is going on?"

Hermione closed her eyes and groaned. If her head started pounding any harder, she was certain it was going to explode. When she opened her eyes, Anthony's gaze had softened somewhat, and she could see, beneath his anger, the traces of hurt and betrayal.

"Anthony, I'm so sorry," she murmured. "But it is Draco's flat, and the amount of legal paperwork it would require for me to kick him out is…well, it's more than I can handle at the moment. Besides, he promised to sign the divorce papers once this case is solved."

"But Hermione, I still don't understand. Why are you even working on this case? This is Auror's work, and you stopped being an Auror over two years ago. Surely Harry can handle this case without you?"

"I have to help Harry find this murderer before the situation gets any worse," Hermione insisted. "He's already infiltrated the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and…." She paused, reluctant to share the next piece of information. "And we think Draco and his family might be the murderer's next target."

Anthony's jaw clenched at these words, and he laid his hands protectively on each of her shoulders.

"Then that settles it," he said in a determined voice. "You can stay at my place tonight. The further away you are from Malfoy, the safer you'll be."

Hermione shook her head and gently rested the palms of her hands against his broad chest.

"No, Anthony. I've had a long day, and all my things are back at my flat. I'll be more comfortable sleeping there tonight."

And, although she would never be able to admit it out loud, Hermione knew she would feel safer with Draco than she would with Anthony. While she was sure of Anthony's love for her, she was equally certain that Draco would never allow her to come to harm if he could help it. His heroic actions earlier that day were proof of this fact. At the pained expression on her fiancé's face, Hermione's throat tightened with guilt. She sighed and cupped his face in her hands.

"This will all be over soon, I promise. And then Draco will sign the divorce papers, and you and I can begin our life together."

"I know," Anthony murmured, drawing her into the circle of his arms and resting his chin on the top of her head. "I just don't want to lose you, Hermione."

The sadness in his voice made Hermione's heart ache. When he mentioned his fear of losing her, she thought it was because he was afraid of her being killed in action while she helped track down the murderer. What she didn't realize was that Anthony was instead staring anxiously in the direction that Draco had just departed.

Draco stood outside the bathroom door and scowled at the sound of Hermione's shower running. She had been in there for over half an hour now, and he knew there would be no hot water left by the time it was his turn to bathe. After his confrontation with Goldstein, he had returned to the flat and immediately begun adding a new layer of wards to the ones already in place. Hermione had arrived shortly thereafter, and without a word to Draco, she had disappeared into the bathroom, shutting and locking the door behind her. Now he stood there waiting for her to finish, as he processed and reprocessed the day's events.

He knew that at that particular moment, Hermione was doing the same thing. She had always done all her thinking in the shower; their high water bills had been a testament to that. This thought inadvertently brought forth images of Hermione standing beneath the faucet's spray, with the hot water sluicing between her breasts and down the curves of her body, and her wet curls plastered to her slender neck. Draco shivered and closed his eyes, trying to erase that appealing picture from his mind. With a sigh, he pressed his forehead against the bathroom door, wishing he could find the strength to apologize to her.

He knew it had been unfair of him to lose his temper with her after the attack at the Morpheum lab, but he hadn't been able to help himself. It angered him that she had let her guard down, and put herself in harm's way. When he had touched the back of her head and found the blood pooling there, he had immediately panicked. Even now, the thought of his hand, slick with her bright red blood, made his stomach churn.

He couldn't have her blood on his hands. Not again.

And yet, Draco hadn't been able to find the nerve to tell her how he really felt. It had always been difficult for him to open up to anyone…even Hermione. Especially Hermione.

Draco stepped out of his morning shower and reached for one of the fluffy white towels hanging on the rack. As he did so, he could smell the tantalizing scent of fresh-brewed coffee coming from the kitchen, and he smiled at the knowledge that Hermione was sitting at the breakfast table, waiting for him to join her.

It had been almost a year since that fateful night in Moscow, when Draco and Hermione had first given in to their feelings for each other. One night had quickly turned into another, and then another and another, until they had finally been forced to admit that maybe it was more than just the adrenaline going to their heads. Maybe they actually had genuine feelings for each other.

As he wrapped the towel around his waist, the steam in the bathroom began to clear, revealing something out of place on Draco's bathroom counter. It was a toothbrush – a small blue toothbrush, sitting in the holder next to his red one. With a frown, he picked up the toothbrush, opened the bathroom door, and padded out to the kitchen. Hermione was sitting at the table, with a coffee mug in one hand and the Daily Prophet in the other. When he entered the room, she graced him with a radiant smile, and for a moment, he almost forgot what he was going to confront her about.

"Good morning, love. Rodolphus Lestrange was spotted in Split, Croatia yesterday," she announced, waving her newspaper back and forth. Her brow furrowed at the conflicted expression on his face. "Don't worry, Draco, I'm sure we'll catch him soon. He can't run forever."

"I'm not worried about that," Draco said. He went to stand next to her, leaning against the kitchen table and holding the offending toiletry item for her to see. "Hermione, what is this?"

"It's a toothbrush, Draco. My parents tell me that particular brand is very good for removing tartar from hard-to-reach places…"

"I know what a toothbrush is," he said impatiently. "What I want to know is - what is yours doing in my toothbrush holder?"

"Draco, I spend every other night at your flat, so why would it bother you if I leave a few of my belongings here? Besides, you already have something of mine in your possession."

With a sly grin, she rose to her feet and withdrew an object that she had been hiding in her lap. It was a large, leather-bound book with dog-eared pages.

"And here I thought it was Ginny who stole my copy of 'The Complete Works of William Shakespeare'," she said teasingly. Draco flushed in embarrassment at being discovered.

"I-I was using it as a door stopper," he stammered.

"Oh, I'm sure. Is that why you have a bookmark in here?" Hermione flipped open the book at the place where he had marked it. "Ah, so you're reading Macbeth. A very good choice."

"Hermione –"

"Sh," she whispered, dropping the book on the table and pressing her finger against his lips to still them. "'Something wicked this way comes.'" Draco groaned as he felt her lips trace the shell of his ear and then make a tortuous path along the sensitive parts of his neck. Immediately, his arms went to wrap around her waist, almost as if they belonged there. And Draco was beginning to think that maybe they did.

"Hermione, stop trying to distract me," he said. She sighed and ceased the delicious things she was doing to his neck.

"Right. The toothbrush." She stepped closer to him, coming to stand in the space between his legs. "I know how hard it is for you to let people in, Draco. I just thought…maybe we can start slowly. I leave a few things here, like my toothbrush, a pair of panties…"

"The black, lacy ones?" Draco asked, grinning in spite of himself.

"Oh?" she said innocently. "You mean the ones I'm wearing right now?"

With a growl, Draco spun her around and pinned her against the table, his hands fumbling with the hem of her skirt. She moaned as his calloused fingers glided up the insides of her thighs.

"Draco, stop," she hissed, her hips bucking at his touch. "I promised Ginny I'd meet her for breakfast in ten minutes."

"Well, that's too bad, isn't it?" he said. "If you're late, it's your own damn fault for tempting me with your sexy knickers." She moaned again as he bent down to nibble her throat in retribution. But she pushed insistently against his chest.

"Draco, I have to go. Ginny and Harry's wedding is in less than two months, and she and I need to pick out the bridesmaid dresses."

Draco groaned in disappointment and finally released her from his grip.

"Damn Potter and his Weaselette. I'm tired of having my girlfriend stolen away for wedding planning."

"I'll make it up to you later," she promised, giving him a quick peck on the lips. Then she hesitantly reached out to grab her toothbrush, which he was still holding in his hand. But he drew it out of her reach.

"Your toothbrush can stay at my place," he said. "And your knickers. And you."

Her chocolate brown eyes widened in surprise as she realized the full meaning of his words.

"Draco, are you asking me to move in with you?"

"If I was, would you say yes?" he asked nervously. She grinned and flung herself into his arms, kissing every inch of him that she could reach.

"You'd better cut that out, or I might change my mind about letting you leave," he threatened, though he, too, was grinning like an idiot. She pulled away reluctantly, and then her smile suddenly faded into an expression of consternation.

"Are you sure this isn't a bad idea – us moving in together? What if we kill each other?"

"Well," he replied with a smirk, "I suppose there's always a chance I might shag you to death one of these days."

Hermione grinned.

"That's a risk I'm willing to take." She gave him one last peck on the lips and headed towards the front door of his flat – their flat. As she did so, he tried to picture her in a wedding gown, and oddly, the image didn't frighten him at all. In fact, he found it rather appealing. Maybe someday…

"Oh, I almost forgot!" Hermione said, pausing in the kitchen doorway. He watched, wide-eyed, as she lifted up her skirt and shimmied out of her black lace knickers. She tossed them to him, and with his lightning-fast Seeker reflexes, he caught them in midair. They were still warm with her body heat and slightly damp from her previous arousal.

"You did say my knickers could stay here, after all," she said. With a wink, she waltzed out of the room and left him standing there, laughing, with her toothbrush in one hand and her lacy black panties balled up in the other.

Draco opened his eyes, and found himself with his forehead still pressed against the bathroom door. The water had stopped running – for how long, he didn't know.

Had they really been that happy once? It didn't even seem possible now. There were so many years standing between them and that cloudless morning; walls had been erected, doors locked, windows shuttered. Draco frowned at the bathroom door that currently stood between him and Hermione. With grim determination, he withdrew his wand, unlocked the door, and swung it open.

His wife was standing there, lost in thought, as she stared at something that was sitting on the bathroom counter. But Draco couldn't say what it was. He was too busy noticing the fact that Hermione was completely, gloriously naked. As his eyes wandered hungrily over every dip and curve of her flushed, glistening body, she finally broke out of her reverie and noticed his presence in the bathroom doorway.

"AGGHHHH!" she shrieked, grabbing a towel and using it to shield herself from view. "What the hell are you doing in here?!"

"I wanted to take a shower," he said nonchalantly, stepping into the room with feigned indifference at the sight of her nudity. "That is, if there's any hot water left." He shrugged out of his bathrobe, and Hermione's cheeks burned as she averted her gaze.

"The door was locked for a reason, Draco."

"You needn't be so modest, love. It's not as if I haven't seen you naked hundreds of times before."

Draco bent down to turn the shower on, and she turned her back on him, still clutching her towel to her chest and trembling from the cold air hitting her wet skin. He stared at her dripping, shivering back for a few moments before speaking again.

"Hermione, about earlier today…I'm sorry. I shouldn't have lost my temper."

Her head twitched slightly in his direction, but she kept her back to him and said nothing. He sighed and continued.

"I'm sorry for bursting back into your life just when you were about to move on, and for potentially harming your relationship with Goldstein, even if he is a pretty boy and a ponce and I don't think he deserves you. And I'm sorry for putting you in danger…again. I'm sorry for coming back."

"Are you?" she whispered. She sounded almost disappointed. Draco hesitated, and his gaze on her bare back intensified to the point where he was surprised it didn't burn holes in her skin. "You'll probably be happy when this is all over," she said softly.

"Why?" he asked.

"Because then you can be free of me forever."

"Hermione," Draco said, but before he could get another word out, she had exited the bathroom and slammed the door shut behind her. Once she had left, he glanced over at the bathroom counter and finally noticed what she had been staring at when he first entered the room. It was his toothbrush, sitting in the holder next to hers, right where it always used to be.

He growled in frustration, ripped open the shower curtain, and stepped under the faucet. The hot water beat down on his back, easing the ache in his muscles, but it couldn't relieve the tension he had experienced in confronting Hermione. It also did nothing to relieve his painfully obvious arousal at having seen her naked body for the first time in three years. It was hard for him to decide what he wanted to do more: shag her brains out, or throttle her for being such a stubborn bint.

How could he tell her that he would never be free of her? Harder yet, how could he tell her that he had never wanted to be?

He took a few deep breaths in an attempt to calm himself, but it was no use. Hermione's feminine musk, and the fragrance of her apple-scented shampoo, was still carried by the steam from the shower, causing Draco's cock to twitch hopelessly in response. With a groan, he cursed his wife's delectable, untouchable body and cranked the faucet down to the coldest setting possible.

A/N: The name for the asphyxiating potion comes from the Latin words "Aufero" (meaning to steal, or take away) and "Spiritus" (meaning breath).

In the flashback, Hermione mentioned that Rodolphus Lestrange was spotted in Split, Croatia. This was a tribute to my beta, Dina, as this is her hometown.

Citation: "Something wicked this way comes." - William Shakespeare (Macbeth)