Readers! I know, I know, I haven't updated in several months. My life has been crazy. Every single time I try to sit down and write there seems to be some reason I can't. But hope you can find room in your hearts to forgive me and accept Chapter 6 of Moroccan Nights as a bargaining chip.
Dragonfires
Hermione sat down next to Harry, who was talking to Bill Weasley. Bill had done well since he had left Gringott's. The money made from his café, plus his endeavors in the black market had supported him, and the struggling Order of the Phoenix.
"Hello, Bill," she said. "It's nice to see you again."
"And you, Miss Hermione," he answered with a smile.
"Hermione," said Harry. "Bill is saying he may be able to just get one visa for you."
"No," she said. "We need two."
Bill stood up. "I think I'll give you two some time to talk about it." He left the couple alone and walked to greet the new customers entering his café.
"I don't want to leave you alone here," Hermione persisted. "If I leave, I don't know what would happen to you."
"Hermione, this may be the only chance for you to get out. I know Zambini will want to keep me here."
"Harry, if the situation was reversed, and I was the one that had to stay, would you take the visa?"
Harry was silent for a moment, and then answered, "Yes, I would."
Hermione smiled at him. "Then why didn't you leave me in Marseilles? Or in Oran when I was recovering from spell damage?"
Harry grinned at her. "You little rascal," he growled playfully. He kissed her briefly on the mouth.
"Come on" she said. "Bill is waiting for our answer." Harry nodded, and the two walked to where the tall man was standing. "I'm sorry," said Harry. "We're only interested in two visas."
"Then I hope you enjoy the rest of your stay in Casablanca," he said. Hermione and Harry started for the door. "Wait," he said. "Have you heard about the Death Eaters and the letters of transit?"
"Yes," said Harry.
"The letters were not found on Longbottom. I have reason to believe he may have left them with Draco. It's worth checking out."
"Thank you," said Harry. "I will."
With this, Harry clasped Hermione's hand and walked with her out of the café. "Bill!" a voice called out. Bill turned to face his wife, Fleur Delacour. "Do you really zink Draco will give zem ze letters?"
"Not a chance," he answered. "But I guess it is worth a shot."
That night, Harry and Hermione walked arm in arm into Dragon's and were personally met by the owner.
"Bonjour, Potters," he said, accenting on the plural sound.
"Hello," said Harry.
"Could we have a seat near the piano?" requested Hermione.
"And as far away from Honored Flint as possible," added Harry with a laugh.
Draco gestured to a waiter. "Table thirty, Jacques." He then said to Hermione, "I'll have Ginny play 'As Time Goes By.' I believe it is one of your favorite tunes."
"Thank you," she said dryly.
The couple walked to the table given to them as Draco walked to Ginny and told her to play the too familiar song. Ginny gave him a strange look, but changed her song from a snappy one to the requested music. Draco looked up and saw Blaise enter the club.
"Your boys find anything?" asked Draco when Blaise sat down.
"No. I told Flint you didn't have them, but he didn't believe me. So I told my men to be especially destructive while searching here. You know how that always impresses Death Eaters."
"Impressive or not, we had to rush cleaning so we could open tonight," Draco grumbled.
Blaise shrugged and took a last sip of Merlot. "Well, I'm off to the tables, Draco." Draco nodded in consent as Blaise turned to leave. Millicent came to pick up the bottle, but he stopped her.
"Leave it," he said, pouring himself a glass.
"You know," she said, "you're getting to be your best customer, Draco." Draco smirked and downed the wine.
"Malfoy," a voice said. Draco looked up in question. It had been a long time since anyone had called him by his last name- most knew him as Draco. Harry Potter stood over him. Draco raised his eyebrows in question.
"May I speak with you?" asked Harry. Draco nodded and gestured to the chair. "Do you have anywhere more private?"
Draco nodded. "My office," he said. Draco stood up and strolled into the room as Harry followed behind. "So what did you want to talk about? I hope it isn't the resistance movement."
Harry gave a small smile. "You know, Malfoy, after knowing you in Hogwarts, you always seemed to follow a certain pattern- the Slytherin pattern. But I've seen your record. Back in the Battle of Dumbledore, you worked as a curse breaker. In Ethiopia, in the Merperson Conflict, you stole medicine for the injured ministry workers."
"So?" said Draco.
"Isn't it interesting you tend to be on the side of the underdog?"
"I'm a mercenary. I was well paid on both occasions."
"I'm willing to make you an offer, and you will be paid well."
"For what?" Draco questioned, almost knowing the answer.
"The letters of transit," Harry confirmed. "It is the only way Hermione and I can leave Casablanca. I'm willing to make an offer of fifty-thousand galleons."
"It's a tempting offer, but they're not for sale," Draco said.
"I move my offer to seventy-five-thousand," Harry pushed.
"Harry, you can make it a million galleons or three, my answer will still be the same. No." Draco lit a fresh cigarette and inhaled the smoke.
"I don't understand," said Harry, his brow furrowing in confusion. "There must be some reason why you won't sell them to me."
"There is," said Draco frankly. "I suggest you ask your wife."
"What?"
"I said, 'Ask your wife.'"
"My wife?" said Harry, surprised.
From outside the office came the noise of loud male voices singing. The two men stepped out into the café and saw a Death Eater seated at Ginny's piano, playing a loud, staccato, spirited tune while the other Death Eaters accompanied him in song. Ginny caught Draco's eye and shrugged in apology at the lost piano.
The song was in Latin, the language of "purity," before the days of Muggle-born acceptance. Draco's father had insisted Draco learn Latin, but Draco had never found any use for it. Harry had never learned Latin except for those words used in spells, but in his work with the Liberators, he had learned the lyrics, which glorified Voldemort's noble cause and a return to the purity of the wizarding world. Harry gritted his teeth together and walked to Dragon's small jazz ensemble. Racking his brain, he told the musicians to play the first song that came into his head.
"Play the school's song!" he urged. "Play it!" The band looked questioningly at Draco, who paused, and then nodded.
Hogwarts, Hogwarts, hoggy warty Hogwarts,
Teach us something if you please.
The Death Eaters tried to combat Harry and the band, but they were soon drowned out by Dragon's patrons, who stood and sung along, a few taking the Weasley twins' tradition of singing in a slow funeral march.
Whether we be old and bald,
Or young with scabby knees,
Our heads could use some filling,
With some interesting stuff,
For now they're bare and full of air,
Dead flies and bits of fluff,
So teach us things worth knowing,
Bring back what we've forgot,
Just do your best, we'll do the rest
And learn until our brains rot.
After the funeral marchers were finished, the anthem ended and cheers erupted throughout the café. Some shouted "Viva la France!" in the spirit of their home and hugged their companions; others had cheers pouring down their cheeks. Harry was congratulated by a few members of the band.
Flint surveyed the scene, and stalked over to Blaise. "Zambini, I would suggest you shut down this café immediately."
"But why?" asked Blaise. "Everyone is having such a good time."
"Yes, too good of a time. Shut it down."
"But I have no reason to."
"Find one," ordered Flint.
Blaise sighed, and then pulled out his wand. He shot green and silver sparks into the air and shouted, "Everyone is to leave Dragon's immediately. This café is closed until further notice."
Draco, shock displayed plainly on his face, stalked to Blaise as protests filled the air. "Hey, what's the meaning of this?" he said angrily.
"I'm shocked, simply shocked, that there is gambling here!" said Blaise as Christopher ran out to meet the two men.
"Your winnings," said Christopher, handing Blaise a small bag of galleons.
"Ah, thank you," Blaise said softly, and then louder, "Come on now. Move along!"
Hermione stood in the middle of the confusion, looking for Harry, when Flint approached her.
"Miss Granger, after tonight's demonstration, I do not believe it is safe for Harry Potter to stay in Casablanca," he said.
"This morning you implied it would not be wise for him to leave Casablanca," she retorted.
"Then that leaves two options. One for him to leave Casablanca and to return with us to occupied France."
"Occupied France!" she gasped. "On what grounds?"
"I'm sure our Lord could find a very good reason."
"And the second option?"
"By now, Miss Granger," he said, smirking, "you have probably noticed that in Casablanca, human life is cheap."
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Dragonfires