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Draco picked up the bottle and refilled his glass as the café door opened behind him. He turned and his eyes me the muddy brown ones of Hermione. He stared at her for a moment, and then gave a shrewd smile.
"Sit down," he said. "Have a drink. I saved my first one to have with you." Ginny saw Hermione as well and quickly exited through the back entrance.
"Not tonight," she said hurriedly.
"Especially tonight," he demanded.
She sat quietly in front of the empty glass and searched Draco's face. But her efforts proved to be unfruitful, for his expression was cold and impassive. "So why did you come to Casablanca?" he asked. "There are many other places."
"Believe me," she said. "I would have not come here if I knew you were here. I didn't know."
"It's funny- your voice is still the same. I can still hear you. 'Draco, I'll never leave you. I'll go with you anywhere.'"
"Please don't do this. I understand how you feel."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "You understand how I feel?" He gave a small laugh. "Do you know how long it's been?"
Hermione looked down. "No, I didn't count the days."
"Well I did. Every last one of them. Oh, and my personal favorite- the last one: A man standing in front of the Floo Network with a funny look on his face because his insides had just been kicked out." He took a swig of his drink.
"I want to tell you a story, Draco."
"What's the ending?" he asked.
"I really don't know..."
"Alright, tell it. An ending may come to you as you are."
"It's a story of a girl who came to Bristol from her home in London. And there she met a boy whom she had recently heard about. He opened up for her a beautiful world of knowledge and thoughts and ideals. Everything she ever knew or became was because of him. And she looked up to him and worshipped him with a feeling she supposed was love"
"Yes," Draco interrupted. "That's very pretty. I heard a story once; in fact, I've heard many in my time. 'Mister, I met a man once,' is how they always begin. I guess neither of our stories is very funny. Tell me- who was it that you left me for? Was it Potter, or were there others in between? Or are you not the kind that tells?"
Tears poured freely from Hermione's eyes as Draco struck his final blow. She stood up, and walked out of the café, slamming the door behind her.
Draco picked up the bottle, emptied it into his glass and took another drink.
Blaise looked up from his paperwork in the Ministry and smiled as he saw Harry Potter and Hermione Granger enter the office.
"Monsieur Potter," said Flint, standing up next to Blaise.
"Honored Flint," said Harry frankly.
"How was your night?" asked Blaise.
"We slept very well," said Harry. "Thank you."
"Strange, no one's supposed to sleep well in Casablanca," mused Blaise.
"It's nice to hear you are comfortable," said Flint slyly. "You may be staying here for quite some time."
"I don't understand," said Harry.
"Because of your actions, it is my duty to see that you stay in Casablanca."
"But whether you will succeed is debatable."
"Not at all- Zambini's signature is necessary for all exit visas." Flint turned to Blaise. "Do you believe Potter will receive and exit visa?"
"I'm afraid not," said Blaise. "My regrets, Monsieur," he added to Harry.
"Well, perhaps I shall like it in Casablanca," said Harry. "Is that all?"
"Well, there is one way you may obtain a visa..." said Flint.
"And that is?"
"You know the Liberator leaders in Cairo, Madrid, London, Dublin, and Paris."
"Even in Athens."
"Yes, even in Athens. Now, if you could just give me their names and exact whereabouts, you will be on the next plane to the Americas tomorrow and the honor of serving the Dark Lord."
Harry grimaced. "I was in a death camp for a year. That's enough honor for me. If I didn't give you their names there where you had more 'persuasive methods' for obtaining information, I certainly won't give you the names now. And even if I gave you the names and you killed them, thousands will rise to take their place."
"But no one will be able to take your place," prompted Flint.
"I'm sorry," said Harry. "I will not comply."
"Then I believe you will be staying in Casablanca indefinitely."
"So be it." Harry stood up.
"Oh, Monsieur," said Blaise. "You had an interest in speaking to Longbottom, correct? Did you have a message for him?"
Harry shrugged. "Nothing important. May I speak to him?"
"You'll find the conversation to be very one-sided," said Flint. "Longbottom is dead."
"Oh," said Harry, nodding. Hermione's eyes opened wide.
"Yes," said Blaise. "I was just making up the report right now. We can't decide if he committed suicide or died trying to escape."
Harry nodded and stood up. He took Hermione's had, said, "Good day, gentlemen," and walked out."
Draco leaned back in his chair and stared at Bill Weasley in the Silver Coin.
"You know," said Bill. "The news about Longbottom upsets me very much."
Draco smirked. "You're a hypocrite, Bill. You don't feel any sorrier for him than I do. And that isn't much."
Bill eyed him closely. "Of course you're right. What upsets me is that Longbottom is dead and those letters of transit are missing."
Draco shrugged. "No one knows where they are."
"If I could get my hands on those letters, I could make a fortune."
"So could I. I'm a poor businessman."
Bill grinned at Draco. "Draco, I'm going to put my cards on the table. I think you know where those letters are."
"Join the club. Zambini and Flint think they know where they are too. That's why I came over here- to give them a chance to ransack my Dragon's."
He glanced out the window and saw Hermione outside looking at the linen booth outside. "I'm sorry I can't stay any longer," said Draco. "I'll see you later, Weasley. I need to get a few things."
Bill gave a small wave and returned, slightly disappointed, to his drink.
"How did things go with Flint?" asked Hendrick.
"It's impossible for us to get a visa," said Harry.
"You may want to try talking to Bill Weasley."
"Weasley?"
"He almost has a monopoly over the entire black market. You'll find him in the Silver Coin."
"Thank you." Harry walked to the doorway of the Silver Coin, finding Draco Malfoy exiting the café.
"Afternoon," said Draco. "Weasley is the skinny gent wearing Armani."
"Thanks," said Harry, and he walked into the café.
Draco approached Hermione, who was looking at a lace tablecloth.
"Finest in Casablanca!" the salesman pitched. "Only 100 galleons!"
"You're being cheated," said Draco.
"Hello, Draco," she said.
"A friend of Draco?" said the salesman. "For friends of Draco, we have a special price- 50 galleons."
"I'm sorry I wasn't in the best condition to receive you last night," said Draco. "But you can tell me what you needed to now."
"I don't think I will, Draco."
"Oh! A special friend of Draco!" exclaimed the salesman. "For special friends of Draco we have a special price- 30 galleons."
"I'm really not interested..." she began.
"Hold on," said the salesman. "I'll get something I know you'll like." The little salesman bustled off, leaving Hermione and Draco alone.
"Well," said Draco. "I'm sober now. Why don't you tell me?"
"Last night I saw what had happened to you. The Draco I knew in Paris," she said. "He would have understood. But the man that looked at me with such hatred in his eyes. No- I don't think I will tell you. I'll be leaving Casablanca soon anyway. We knew so little about each other in Paris. We should remember those days and forget these in Casablanca."
"Did you leave because you knew what it would be like to live with me- running away from the police all the time?"
"You can believe that if you want."
"Well, I'm settled now. Walk up a flight in Dragon's, you'll find me there."
Hermione turned away, not saying anything.
"All the same," he said. "You'll lie to Potter too someday. You'll be there."
"No, Draco," she said, turning to face him. "You see, Harry Potter is my husband; and was, even when I knew you in Paris."
Hermione turned from him and walked to meet her husband in the Silver Coin.
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