Disclaimer: The situations presented in this story are based on concepts and characters owned by J. K. Rowling and her publishers. I am not making any money off this story, nor will I ever.
Author's Notes: I'm sorry this chapter has taken so long. I think I actually "finished" it in July, but there were various delays. However, I'd like to thank those of you, who have faithfully followed it thus far despite the slow and infrequent updates. I do appreciate your feedback.
Chapter IX: On the trail
by Jenni
*****
Harry was not surprised by the lack of co-workers at the office. After their various fallings out with him, he supposed they'd be keeping their distance for a few days. Although, their lack of commitment to their work was a tad trying. Ron could rail all he wanted about not wanting to screw the business, but if that was the case then he ought to show up at the office.
He had also hoped that Hermione would be here so he could apologize, but he supposed she was at her flat, servicing Malfoy or whoever he was. After thinking on it long and hard during the night, Harry realized that it made no sense to let Hermione stay with a man he presumed to be an imposter. What if the phony Malfoy harmed her?
Shut up, he told himself. You made your decision. You're just looking for an excuse to go back on it.
So he forced himself to think of the matter at hand, which was the letter from Arthur Weasley regarding a missing museum artifact. The object was the 'Blossom Gem,' which had supposedly been one of Nicholas Flammel's first experiments. It didn't do anything particularly special other than turn sedimentary rocks into rose quartz, but it was of historical value. And it had enough magical qualities that it should never be handled by muggles.
Wishing Hermione was here, Harry contemplated the best way to start his research. If only Arthur had sent him the police reports, his task might have been much simpler. Who would want to take a useless rock like the 'Blossom Gem?'
*****
Hermione felt more despicable than Judas as she walked into the pub where she had told Ron to meet her. But it wasn't as if Draco knew, or Harry either. Still, this was cold comfort as she found Ron, looking almost as guilty from his seat in the back. Hermione caught his attention, and they both exchanged a smile before she began to navigate through the mire of tables and benches to where he sat.
"Hey," she greeted him as she approached.
"Hi," he answered. "How are you today?"
And they exchanged the usual pleasantries, happy to delay business to the last. But when the conversation turned to Quidditch, Hermione decided it was time for them to come to the point.
"So what's this lead?" Hermione asked with a sigh.
Ron halted in the middle of his diatribe on the ethics of Quidditch recruiting, and brought his hands together. He swallowed before starting. "On my date with Laura...the same night that Malfoy came back, I took her to a pub."
Hermione snorted. "You took her to a pub?"
"It was an accident!" he cried in defense. "Anyway, the interesting thing was that the owner said that there had been an investigation for illegal use of Auror magic on the grounds outside. That was two months ago, when Malfoy first disappeared." Then he paused.
"Yes?" she urged him on.
Ron pulled a few sloppily folded sheets of paper. "Ginny swiped these for me from her office. They're wand and spell readings from the scene. It appears that all the spells were cast by the same wand...but there are two types of magic being performed."
"What two types?" she asked, grabbing the papers and staring at them.
"I don't know," shrugged Ron, uncomfortably. "Ginny doesn't have a high-enough rank to gain access to the full reports, which are in a magically-secured cabinet. I'll come to that later. I suppose she would have found a way to get them for me if I'd begged, but that would compromise her job and, well, I just...there's another way."
Exasperated, Hermione set the papers down on the table. "There had better be. I told Draco I'd be back tonight and if I'm not..."
"What?" teased Ron, "He'll put you in the dog house?"
Hermione's lips thinned, and she said nothing. Truth be told she didn't know what he'd do. Although there had been a time when she trusted Draco implicitly, it no longer seemed so irrational to her that she feared him. It was not so much how he behaved as how she felt when she was near him. The previous night she had felt frightened by something inexplicable, and had awoken to the suffocating feeling of his arms pulling her too tightly against his body. Perhaps she might have tried a bit harder to escape, but she had felt almost paralyzed. As if she had just escaped from some great danger.
Ron, meanwhile, was still attempting to elicit a laugh from her. "Ok ok, I promise you I have a lead and you won't get in trouble with Draco. Just go home and tell him that you'll be with me tonight and...no wait, that doesn't sound like a good idea either..."
Hermione smiled despite herself. "You have such a high opinion of yourself, Ron Weasley. Someday some woman is going to knock you back a notch or two."
He looked at her earnestly for a second. "I sincerely hope so, Hermione. I sincerely hope so." But he couldn't hold it, and his face cracked into a broad grin.
*****
Harry had acquired several Muggle newspapers, most of which he had ripped apart in his search for some news of the Blossom Gem. Mr. Weasley had insisted in his letter that it was in Muggle territory somewhere, sold on the black-market. To the right Muggle, even a quill belonging to a Witch might be considered priceless. The Blossom Gem was useless in the magic community–nothing more than a glorified paperweight. But to a Muggle, it would be worth millions. Perhaps some greedy witch or warlock had pinched it.
The argument seemed logical enough, but Harry hadn't the slightest idea where he could begin his search. A jewelry magazine perhaps? He'd gotten ten of those, but hadn't looked at them yet.
He was sitting in a coffee shop in Muggle Bath, pouring over his collection of papers and magazines with such intensity that he was beginning to attract attention. He picked up the jewelry magazine that was on top of the pile, and flipped the pages anxiously.
A girl giggled at him from next to the table and heard her whisper to her friend, "No, look, he's getting married."
Confused, Harry took a glance at the cover of his reading material, to discover a gigantic diamond as the picture. He blushed red and got up, taking his magazines with him. However, on the way out, he was stopped.
"Sir," cried an annoyed waitress, "You haven't paid."
"Oh!" he exclaimed, and began to fumble in his pockets for the correct change. But to his dismay, he realized he had spent all his pound coins. After pulling out several galleons, and then hastily pushing them back into his pockets, he reached for his wallet in the back pocket. But while doing so, the magazines tumbled from his arms and into a disorganized heap on the floor. The apologetic waitress quickly stooped to pick them up, but after noticing both the coins and the massive quantity of jewelry magazines, she simply couldn't help herself. When she stood again, she was smiling. "My uncle owns a jewelry shop on Pulteney. It's a kind of antique shop, but if you show him your gold he'll give you anything you want for your girl."
Harry reddened. "Er...I don't have a..."
But the waitress interrupted him, misunderstanding his evasion. "It's ok," she said, "I know what you are. I saw your money."
He was so flustered that when he handed her the 5 pound note, he allowed her to keep the change.
*****
"You didn't tell me we were going to a Muggle DANCE club!" exclaimed an incredulous Hermione as Ron pulled her into the main floor. They had barely gotten in because Hermione, having been uninformed regarding the specifics, was wearing sleek business robes, which may have been fashionable in Hogsmeade, but in Muggle London, it looked as if she'd just stepped out of Cambridge. Ron had begged the bouncer. When that didn't work, Hermione used magic. Oh well, they'd receive a small fine, but it'd be worth it. Or so Ron had assured her.
And here they were in a nightclub with sweaty, bouncy..."scarlet" women.
Ron merely flashed her a grin. "Do I look all right?"
"Fabulous," she answered.
The plan was simple. Ron needed access to the police files at Ginny's office, but only the Chief Auror had the cabinet key. And this cabinet was charmed against unlocking spells. It was charmed against skeleton keys. There was no weakness in the cabinet, a precaution taken by the Ministry due to the level of corruption that had existed before the war when anyone could gain access to too much information. No weakness in the cabinet...but the Chief Auror on the other hand...
He would get into her apartment, find the key and copy it. Then he'd take the original and leave. By the time she figured it out, he would have gotten Ginny to swap the two. Somehow... Well, that was Ginny's problem.
Ron straightened his hair a bit. "Ok, she likes to frequent the dance floor, but the problem is that there are usually a million men surrounding her. So you..."
"Ron, I can't divert anyone in this outfit. I'll just stand by the bar."
"Right," he replied, reformulating. "Well, you won't see me until tomorrow, I suppose."
Hermione's eyes narrowed at his confident pronouncement, and she yanked him back by the sleeve of his shirt as he turned away from her. "You know you're a prat?"
Ron blushed a little, feeling strangely offended. Hermione clapped something into his hand. He looked down and blushed even redder. He had almost forgotten the key replicator. Hermione's expression was chastising. "Don't forget about business."
"Yes, mum," he answered.
"Go get her."
With a smirk, Ron wheedled his way through the gyrating mob, looking left and right for Donna. She was always here on Friday nights. He remembered Ginny complaining that the only thing her boss ever talked about on Mondays were her weekend conquests.
"It's just not something one should mention in the office!"
Ron shook his head. "I'm in a club with hundreds of scantily clad women, and I'm thinking about my sister?"
He continued to search the floor, but it was dark and the only light came from the strobe. Someone brushed his rear, and not in passing. The touch had lingered. Despite his experience, Ron felt embarrassed and refused to turn around. Until... "Hey there stranger."
Donna Peabody. Chief Auror of the 9th precinct. He turned.
"Weasley!?" she exclaimed. "No no no, I come here to escape business. You've got to leave."
He cocked his head to the side. "Who said anything about business?" But when she didn't hear him over the noise, he was forced to repeat himself. "WHO SAID ANYTHING ABOUT BUSINESS?" he screamed, knowing his line had been completely ruined by the funny face he'd had to make while shouting it.
Peabody's eyes rolled. "No one yet, but I know it's coming. Why else would you be in Muggle London on a Friday?"
He pointed in Hermione's direction, where she was just discernable through the crowd, staking awkwardly by the bar. "Taking my girl out for a spin."
"What?"
"TAKING MY GIRL OUT FOR A SPIN!"
"Please! Everyone knows she's Potter's girl."
Ron's eyebrows raised, then pulled his lips into a mock frown. "Ah yes. I've been denied love by my best friend. Do you feel at all empathetic now?"
"No," she replied flatly. "What do you want Weasley?"
"Honestly?"
"What?"
"HONESTLY!!!!?" What was she hard of hearing?! The music wasn't that loud.
Donna's eyes narrowed at him. "If you value your life."
Ron spoke, figuring she wouldn't hear whatever he said, "I could use a good shag."
*****
"I could use a good shag?!" cried Hermione. "What the Hell were you thinking?!"
They were standing in front of the toilets where it was quieter.
"Hey, you'd be surprised how many times that works," Ron defended himself weakly.
"God, we'd have been better off asking Ginny," she sighed.
"She doesn't have a key. Her rank isn't high enough. I told you this!"
"Well now what are we going to do?!" cried an utterly frustrated Hermione. "We need a key!"
Suddenly they heard a groan and found Donna Peabody staring at the both of them. It was obvious that she had been standing there a great while, attempting to decide what to do. Her eyes had been roaming indecisively over Ron's form, half disgusted, but half intrigued. However, she covered this up well.
"Not you again," she said with distaste and hastened to leave.
But Hermione's quick mind started up in overdrive. "Peabody!" she called after her.
"Yeah?" answered the Auror, turning around again.
"Next time, keep your hands off my man."
Ron gaped at her, even more when he felt Hermione clutching possessively at his arm. She looked up at him and winked quickly.
"Granger," began Donna, mortally offended, "I'll have you know he was all over me. And I don't blame him." She took a pointed glance at Hermione's robes.
"Oh yeah? Well who's he with now?" Hermione pressed herself full against Ron's body, even letting her hands roam over him as she sought to emphasize her claim as blatantly as possible.
Donna glared, "You, but only because I rejected him."
Hermione scoffed. "What, do you have eyes?"
"Yeah and they think you're an ice bitch!" retorted Donna, who not only had eyes, but had eyes which were now strongly resembling balls of fire. She was drunk. She was suggestible. She was spitting mad.
"Rooon!" whined Hermione, aggravating the Chief Auror even more. "How can you let her talk to me that way?"
Ron blushed furiously, still not completely sure where Hermione was going with this. They hadn't flirted like this since school, and well...had she gone completely nutters?!
"Forget it," Donna sneered. "I'm going."
Hermione smiled, let a moment or two pass and then tapped Ron on the back. "Ok, now go apologize for my behavior."
Catching on at last, Ron did as he was bidden, and found Donna stewing by the coat rack. "Hey, I truly am sorry about her. She gets that way when she's pissed. You know, can't handle Muggle beer...although she is a Muggle, but..."
"I see what you meant about a good shag."
"Come again?" Ron paused as Donna laughed.
"Exactly."
*****
As in all antique shops, the staleness of the air was noticeable as soon as one walked through the door. Harry stepped through the low doorway and unconsciously rubbed at his nose before descending the three uneven steps to the main level of the narrow store. The scene was innocent enough: most of the merchandise consisted of tables and lamps. A case of china was visible in the back of the store. Near the window sat a small pianoforte, collecting dust. Harry felt as if he should offer some advice to the proprietor, and suggest that he move the instrument away from the window where the sun might age it into worthlessness. But the proprietor was no where in sight. A little bell rested on the counter in the middle of the room, and he stepped forward to ring it.
The sound seemed too loud for the room. But within ten seconds, a jolly old man with gray hair and a well-clipped moustache appeared through a set of faded green curtains behind the counter. He smiled at Harry as if he had never seen a customer before. "Yes, can I help you?" he inquired.
Harry licked his lips and paused before he pulled a few galleons out from his pocket and set them on the counter.
The expression on the little salesman's round face grew brighter.
"Well!" said he, "I don't get many of your kind here, but I'm always pleased to have you."
"Is that so?" remarked Harry.
"Yes, you always bring such nice things."
Harry started inwardly, a million questions rushing into his mind. Which one would be best to ask?
"Has anyone brought you any gemstones?"
The man's face fell for a moment, but he recovered. "Well, no, not here, I'm afraid. I've got some nice necklaces if it's a lady you're trying to impress."
Harry made no response for a moment, trying to discern whether or not the man was lying. "It is a lady, but I'm afraid she'll only like a rock."
"The rock?" inquired the man, conspiratorially.
Harry smiled, knowingly. He felt that he was hot on the trail, and was almost certain that this man had the Blossom Gem in the back. "The rock" he was referring to must be it.
"Yes," answered Harry. "I do believe so."
"Ah yes, then I can help you. Just wait here and I'll go in the back."
Harry waited for five minutes, feeling especially proud of himself. But when the man reappeared, his face fell. The storekeeper was carrying a tray of engagement rings. Harry sighed, and the salesman, upon hearing this looked almost crestfallen.
"Not to your taste?" he set the tray down upon the counter none-too-gently and pulled a handkerchief from his back trouser pocket, which he used to wipe his forehead.
"I can't seem to please you warlocks lately. Well, my competitor always has something to your taste."
"Competitor?" asked Harry, suddenly very interested. "What does he sell?"
"Oh, mostly books, but if you're looking for rocks I've heard he swindled one of you people into giving him one for an old book. It's supposed to be a real beauty. It's not a ring though... More like a paperweight."
*****
Hermione couldn't help feeling a little lonely as she left the club, seeing happy couples entering and exiting. Couples that were literally plastered over each other and others who looked even more well-suited simply by the fact that they maintained a respectable distance. When she saw two Muggles give each other an all too friendly peck before getting into the taxi, Hermione recoiled out of reflex for such a public display. However, she had to admit to herself that she wasn't disgusted at all. She was intrigued. She was envious.
When she remembered a second later that Draco was waiting for her at home, she greeted the idea with a happy anxiety rather than pure trepidation. The incident the previous night was forgotten. In that moment she was able to convince herself that her reason for aiding Ron on his investigation (and it was his, not hers) was simply to prove to Narcissa and anyone else who might wonder that this was Draco Malfoy. He saw his piercing blue-gray eyes in her imagination, looking at her full of love. She remembered the feel of his hair in her hands. Hermione did not stop to think that the image in her mind was one of a young man wearing a woollen Auror's coat.
The moment of excitement didn't last long, but she managed to maintain her happiness at Draco's being waiting in her flat until she apparated there and found it empty.
She had chosen the stairwell outside the flat for her entry, not wanting to disturb Draco if he was sleeping. Her watch read 12:10. Mostly likely he was still awake, but one never knew. When she stepped through the door and entered the living room she only saw Crookshanks, and therefore deduced immediately that Draco had gone to bed. But the bedroom was empty as well. So were the two toilets, and she had passed the kitchen on the way to the bedroom so she knew that was empty.
Hermione was baffled. A note of fear crept over her as she realized how much she had wanted Draco to be there. Maybe he had left for good!
The dilemma of Narcissa's rejection and of Harry's wonderful kiss suddenly meant very little to her. She really did love Draco, and all the rest didn't matter. So what if he was acting a little strange? In time he would tell her what had happened to him. Or he would if he was still there. Maybe he had found out about Harry and had given up on her. Maybe she had ruined everything.
She felt dizzy, and so she looked absently for the chair as her mind began to collapse in on itself. She was vaguely aware of the soft cushion beneath her.
And then the door opened. She turned with such a feeling of gratitude shining from her face that it would have been impossible for a stranger to recognize her as the same woman she had been one minute prior. But her face fell immediately.
Draco had entered the room looking hurried, but otherwise well. His face and hands were covered in dirt, as were his robes. The bothersome scar on his cheek was there, meaning he had not performed his glamour, which by the way Hermione realized that she had never heard of before. But she was irritated to some degree by the sheepish expression he wore upon seeing her waiting in the living room. She couldn't explain this irritation. Why wasn't she happier to see him? It was all too confusing.
"How long have you been waiting?" he asked.
Hermione looked at her watch blankly. "10 minutes?"
He looked even more sheepish at this, and stammered, "Well, I was worried. I...uh went out to find you."
Hermione surveyed the state of his robes, as well as the muddy footprints he was leaving on her carpet. "Where?" she replied, with a clear edge to her voice. "In a mandrake pot?"
Draco's mouth crinkled downward at her tone, as if he was struggling not to say anything he would regret. Hermione knew that face well enough to want to avoid it. "Business took a little longer today," she quickly explained. Her tone was barely more peaceable, despite her attempts, and Draco's control cracked.
He snorted. "I can understand that seeing as I'm such a complicated person. It must be simply exhausting trying to find out my true identity."
Hermione flushed red, unable to deny it to save her life. But she wasn't embarrassed to have been found out. "No, I'm trying to find hard evidence that you are who you say you are," she said. When his eyebrows rose in that sarcastic way, she spat out her well-rehearsed justification. "I'm doing this because I know your mother is wrong."
"Then why didn't you tell me you were doing it?" he spat. "Why did you go behind my back?" Draco shook his head. "I saw your little note in the rubbish. Burnt into ash? Very secretive, Hermione. It doesn't seem the sort of thing a person would do for a legitimate investigation."
"You went through my rubbish!?" exclaimed Hermione. Her anger at being caught had been checked by a small tinge of guilt, but this invasion was somehow the final straw. She didn't like being held accountable by this man, and she didn't like it that his muddy feet were all over her carpet, and she didn't like that he somehow always made her feel wrong.
"Who cares if I did?!" he snarled. "I don't think it's very much to ask that you trust me."
"Oh that's just brilliant!" she cried. "You haven't explained anything about yourself! You haven't told me anything that I feel I can believe. So if I go to get answers another way, then I can't be blamed."
"Ah ha! So you DID go to get answers. My mother has nothing to do with all of this, and I just...I just don't understand. I can't tell you things, Hermione. I can't, and all I ask is that you trust my reasons. Why? WHY is that so difficult?"
There was a long silence as Hermione thought. Finally, her mouth opened. "I don't know..."
"You don't know why it's difficult?" His tone was mocking and spiteful, and Hermione's eyes narrowed.
"No, I don't know you."
In less than a second he was upon her. She wasn't sure how he had crossed the space between them. He was there, and then he was shaking her. The dirt and grime on his hands was smeared all over her clothes and face as he groped at her, and pulled her closer. When she struggled, he practically yanked her back into his arms. "Stop it!" she screamed, terrified both by his force and the fact that he was using it.
"I'm Draco!" he cried. "I'm Draco!" He pawed at her robes, placed his filthy hands upon her neck and gripped so tightly Hermione thought he was trying to kill her. But instead he roughly lifted her face so she was staring at him.
"Stop it!" she cried, desperately pulling at his robes because pushing didn't work. She pummeled his chest with her hands, but could not dislodge him. What was he doing?!
"Look at me, Hermione," he commanded. The pawing had stopped, but she was still trapped, still half suffocated in his grip.
"Get off!" she pushed him with all the force she could muster, but he barely budged an inch.
"DO IT!" he cried. "I won't hurt you, I promise. Just look at me and see. I am Draco!"
His hands were now in her robes, pulling her to him by the hips as she squirmed. Her arms were trapped under his in a vice grip. "Stop, please!"
She wrenched her right arm free, and scratched at his face. Right over the same cheek where he had the scar.
Her action brought their struggle to an immediate halt, and he released her as suddenly as he had seized her. Draco held his hand to his cheek in surprise; perhaps utter shock would be a better phrase. Though but a light scratch, Draco looked like a man whose heart had been wrenched from his chest. He might have opened his mouth to reply, but Hermione didn't care. She couldn't believe what he had tried to do!
While she had the chance, she had managed to pull her wand from her robes. She pointed it at her dumbstruck lover, and shouted, "Stupefy!"
**********