Chapter Ten: House Guests

They both staggered as they landed on the rain slicked cobblestones of a laneway, grasping onto one another to steady themselves. Hermione quickly disengaged herself from Malfoy, and turned, leading the way to the scene with hurried footsteps.

Draco looked around. They weren't in London anymore, but in the suburb of some town. The chill in the night air foretold the coming winter, and cast an extra pall of gloom over the scene.

"Where are we?"

"Little Whinging," Hermione answered without stopping or turning round. "This is where Harry grew up."

Draco regarded the semi-detached houses they passed as they turned onto a road named Magnolia Crescent. They were small, simple, not at all what he'd expected. Famous Harry Potter, growing up somewhere as mundane as here?

He hurried after Granger as she marched down the empty road, the tarmac glittering as the light from the lampposts reflected off the water, and together they turned into another alleyway. This one was much the same as that which they had arrived in – dark and empty, illuminated only by what little moonlight managed to filter down through the fringing of the homeowner to the left's wisteria along the top of the fence.

Granger led him forwards, and they seemed to pass through a shield of some sort, a hive of activity and lights suddenly revealed, bright enough to make them squint and wince.

Aurors guarded both ends of the alley, the one at their end standing aside to let them pass, and members of the Magical Forensics Squad hurried about, some taking photographs of the scene, their camera bulbs flashing brightly enough to blind them, others muttering incantations over the three bodies lying propped against the fence in the middle of the laneway. Draco had to do a double take to ensure they were actually bodies that he was looking at rather than simply blood-coated viscera. There was so much blood.

"Thank Merlin, you're here!" Harry breathed as they came to stop by his side. He looked like he'd aged at least a decade since they'd left work the previous day, and it was a wonder any of his hair was still attached to his head. He appeared to have run his hands through it so many times it was practically vertical.

"They struck a day early," Draco said numbly, his eyes still fixed on the mutilated corpses. Even with the Death Eaters, he had seen nothing like this. His time amongst the Dark Lord's followers had been largely sheltered, due in part, he assumed, to his mother's machinations. He had never felt so relieved to have been kept back from the real dirty work. Somehow, if he had known and used the spells that could do this to a body, it would have made now looking at the end result so much worse.

Harry nodded. "I've had the Squad check their work on our initial guys – they definitely died on Sunday night. The murderer's intentionally deviated from the previous pattern – they're trying to spook us."

Draco frowned. "What makes you so sure? We could be wrong about it being the same murderer – or they could just not care about the schedule anymore." The knot that had tightened in his stomach made his words harsh, but he meant them. How could they know anything now?

"The location." Harry replied firmly. "I was the only wizard living here, apart from one of my neighbours, but she was a squib. My cousin and I were attacked by Dementors that Umbridge sent after me in fifth year in this alley. It's supposed to get my attention. You'd have to be a hermit not to know I'm the one officially heading this case, and if they're as reckless and keen to make a grand entrance with their showmanship as we think – and if this doesn't bear that out then I'm not sure what would – then they're taunting us."

Draco nodded, the knot loosening its hold very slightly. He could see the sense in that.

"What's more, not many people knew the details of what happened that night. My trial wasn't publicised. Only those at the trial, and people I spoke to about it knew." Harry sighed. "Dumbledore and Sirius are dead, and no one I told would have shared that information. So it has to have come through either Umbridge or some member of the Wizengamot. And Umbridge is locked up."

Hermione's eyes were wide. "What about your cousin, Harry?"

Harry blew out a deep breath. "Already checked. He's safe – so are my uncle and aunt. And Mrs Figg. It was a wizarding connection."

They all exchanged weighty glances, hearts lifting despite the horrific scene surrounding them. This could be their first real lead. Hermione pulled out her wand twisting it in a complicated little gesture with an expression of intense concentration as she formed the magical reminder that was the wizarding version of a knot in one's handkerchief.

"And the victims?" Draco asked.

The trio moved closer to the bodies, trying not to step in the blood pooling darkly on the ground. It was difficult. The stuff had been splattered everywhere. More covered the fence the corpses leant against, startlingly bright splashes of red that looked fake under the white glare of the lighting spells, and was already congealing there and across the cobbles in a crimson puddle before them, collecting in the drainage channel that ran down the middle of the path.

The letters carved into the victim's chests were largely illegible for the moment, hidden by the sheer amount of blood and gore covering them, but as the forensics wizards took the last of their photographs, they cleared it away with sweeps of their wands, storing the blood in flasks, and revealing the letters and victim's faces for the first time. Two women, one man. Their expressions were almost impossible to look at.

"R, E, A," Harry murmured. "Similar to R.A.B., Hermione?"

Hermione twisted her mouth. "More likely it's a coincidence."

There was an intake of breath from Malfoy. "I know him."

Harry and Hermione stared at Malfoy then at the man in the middle. He was a plump, a good decade or so past middle age, his balding dark hair beginning to grey at the sides, and would have looked a pleasant man in life, if a little weak chinned. His eyes were wide in death, and his expression set in a rictus of agonising pain, mouth open with a long silent scream.

"Who?" Hermione asked softly.

"Mr Parkinson," Draco replied emotionlessly. "Pansy's father." He sighed deeply. "I'll have to tell her."

"I'm sorry, Malfoy," Harry murmured.

Draco nodded mutely. "He was a Death Eater, you know. Formerly. Only low ranking – I think he joined mainly to keep his family safe. He never really did much that I can remember. Of course, the blood prejudices still ran strongly in his family – Pansy picked them up…well, you know that. But he reformed very quickly after the Dark Lord died, although I'm not sure Pansy has changed so rapidly."

Harry nodded. "I visited him myself to ensure he was safe to be returned into public without supervision. He actually did very well in the re-education classes."

Hermione waved her wand at the bodies, conjuring three blankets that fell over the torso of each, restoring some decency to the women, as all three had had their shirts ripped open. The still busy forensics witches and wizards continued to work around them.

"And the others?" Malfoy's voice was hard, having taken on the particular forced quality he often used when viewing confronting crime scenes. Harry had gotten good at discerning it.

The one on the left was alarmingly similar in appearance to Hermione. Although she was perhaps a few years older, her hair just as wild and bushy, though damp with rain. The woman at the other end was middle aged with ashy blonde hair. Nothing obvious about either of their appearances seemed to tie them to Mr Parkinson.

Harry shook his head. "We don't know yet."

"Look at their arms." Hermione's voice shook with contained anger and outrage. The forensics wizards had moved on to examining the bodies for further signs of injury, starting with the arms and turning them over, revealing them for the first time.

Dark Marks had been seared into both forearms of each woman, and a second added to Mr Parkinson's right. Draco hissed as Harry swore.

"No respect," Hermione spat, blinking hard and shaking slightly, her hands balled in fists by her side, and the tip of her wand sparking.

The men looked sickened.

"At least we know they're put on against their will now," Draco said dully.

"But why?" Harry asked, dumbfounded.

Draco turned to him, his expression angry, eyes hard and bright. "They torture their victims to death, Potter. For answers, for punishment, for fun – it doesn't matter. It burns receiving the Mark; it's like having coals pressed to your skin until they sear the entire way through your body; you can feel your flesh burning, your bones cracking. The pain boils your blood until it feels like your heart is going to burst from the heat, and you reach a point where you really hope it might, just to make it stop. The moment it starts there's no stopping the process. Forcing it on someone without their consent is torture. It's one of the most disrespectful things you can do." He bit back a further sentence, the muscles in his jaw flickering from the tension he exerted, nostrils flaring as he fought for control. He turned back to the bodies. "The victims are all innocent," he muttered, then moved away.

"We need to stop this," Hermione whispered, her expression only sad now.

Harry nodded. He'd been wrong at the Little Hangleton graveyard. They weren't safe. No one was.


Hermione stayed up the rest of the night in Harry's office, redoubling her efforts to find a cure for the Mark. She couldn't stand the idea of the victims being buried with the slur of it on their bodies, and she had shouted at the morgue wizards when they protested her order to keep all the branded bodies under stasis spells when she had accompanied them back to the Ministry. The men had argued that the bodies would rot eventually in any case, the disfigured flesh degrading until it wasn't there to be seen, and that, really, no one would see it once the bodies were buried in any case. It had only been Draco appearing in time to restrain her that had prevented her from cursing the men into slugs.

Malfoy had been surprisingly understanding about the matter, glowering at the morgue wizards and threatening not to hold her back if the bodies were not treated as she wished, before guiding her over to Harry's personal lift and returning to the office, perhaps fearing she would make good on her threats if he left her alone, having arrived in the middle of her tirade.

Draco had left her settled behind her desk, almost buried in scrolls and books. He hadn't the heart to tell her she was wasting her time, because part of him agreed with her and very much hoped that she would succeed where he had failed. It came as a shock to him that he believed, without resent, that she of all people had the best chance of doing so. It didn't matter that bodies decomposed. It mattered that those people had been branded against their will with the mark of the Darkest wizard in history. And it was not right. But he also knew that hope was a callous feeling. It opened the doors to thoughts that would probably be dashed, and set the heart up for more disappointment than low expectations ever could. He had long since learned not to trust it.


Fury propelled Hermione through the night, but by next morning her energy was waning and deep purple smudges coloured beneath her bloodshot eyes.

Harry came in at half-past-six to find her doggedly squinting at the book she was nearly lying on, muttering furiously to herself. It went without saying that they would be working that weekend.

"One more sentence…one more line…one…more…word, Hermione!"

"Hermione?" Harry shook her by the shoulder, snapping her out of her trance.

"Harry?" she asked dazedly, her vision sliding in and out of focus.

"Please tell me you haven't been here all night."

Hermione blinked, her eyes feeling horribly dry, as did her mouth, then nodded, stopping quickly when it exacerbated the pounding of her head.

Harry sighed. "Right." He crossed to the filing cabinet, changing the keys to the third lock, and pulling out a drawer filled with potions. He picked through them, returning to her side with a bottle of Vitamix and a Girding Potion, pressing them into her hands. "If the case wasn't so urgent I would be sending you home to sleep," he scolded sternly.

Hermione shook her head, stopping to cradle it as her temples thudded with renewed abandon. "Can't sleep, Harry. Too important."

"Drink."

Hermione did. The potions went a long way to reducing some of her weariness, but her body could tell it was still fatigued, whatever she drank. She would pay for this later. "Right," she sat up straighter, her mind clear now. "What's the news?"

Harry cleared away the empty bottles, returning to his desk. "I'll just wait until–"

Malfoy strode in looking like he'd had only marginally more sleep than Hermione, and sat behind his desk.

"Right," Harry waved his wand at the papers in his bag, and they flew out, arranging and pinning themselves to the case board. "Mr Parkinson we already know about – his Ministry file corroborates Malfoy's information. His family have pure-blood ideals, and he was a low-ranking Death Eater, joining in the Second Wizarding War, but he quickly renounced Voldemort following his defeat, and has worked hard to earn Ministry trust. He successfully completed his Re-education Classes, and in fact became a guest speaker to help others still struggling with their views."

Hermione cast Malfoy a sympathetic glance, but his gaze was focused entirely on the board. They all knew he'd gone to break the news to Pansy last night. Neither she nor Harry knew how well Malfoy got along with Parkinson these days, but either way it would have been an awful experience. She sighed slightly. He was too stoic for his own good.

Harry continued. "The young woman was a Muggle-born, Olivia Harris, twenty-eight, and working in Flourish and Blotts with no Dark connections. She was the first witch in her family, and engaged to a Muggle man by the name of Edward Trenton. The Muggle Liaison office is taking care of notifying him and her family of her death."

Hermione sighed for the poor man, hoping he was aware of his fiancée's abilities. It would make it much harder to explain the absence of a body to bury, even if a suitably Muggle-safe story could be concocted to explain her murder.

"Because of this I want you to put extra protection spells on your home, Hermione," Harry eyed his friend sternly to make sure she took note of his order. "With Muggle-borns now officially targets, you need to up your wards." He turned to Malfoy. "The same applies to you and your parents."

Draco nodded curtly. His apartment and the Manor were already as well protected as possible, but he would still check the spells when he had time. There was no excuse for carelessness.

"We do not yet have information about the third woman." Harry frowned a little. "It's too soon yet for her to have appeared on missing persons lists, so we must wait it out. However, neither Mr Parkinson nor Miss Harris lived near Little Whinging. I have Aurors interviewing their families and friends to establish their usual routines and when they were last seen to ensure that where they were found was indeed not where they would usually be. If that is the case, the murderer is somehow taking their victims to their chosen locations. This raises the question of whether they are taken there by force or willingly. It is likely to be the former, as to a witch or wizard of this strength, the Imperius Curse would be a walk in the park. In the meantime–"

"Vare is Herm-own-ninny?! I demand to see her at vunce!"

The angry man's bellows, his Bulgarian accent thickened with anger, reached them barely seconds before Harry's office door was nearly broken down, and a furious and anxious Viktor Krum stood in the doorway. His dark eyes swept the room, and landed on Hermione.

"Herm-own-ninny! You are safe!" he crossed the room to her, ignoring the astonished Harry and a peeved Draco, taking her hands in his.

"Viktor!" Hermione gasped.

"I read about the Muggle-born voman killed in the papers this morning!" Krum explained before she could ask about his sudden appearance. "She sounded like you, and I thought – I thought–" he pulled her to her feet and wrapped his arms around her, hugging her tightly.

Hermione was barely visible over Krum's shoulder, but her co-workers watched as her slender hands came around to rest on his shoulder blades for a moment.

Draco felt something nasty begin to burn in his stomach but ignored the sensation, his glowering eyes fixed on the spectacle of the Bulgarian wrapped around Granger. The burn and the anger were unfamiliar, unexpected, but his mind was focused on considering which would be the best spell to send the man flying to be twisted around the nearest lamppost.

Hermione patted Viktor's back slightly, and he released her, although his hands remained on her shoulders, his dark eyes peering intently into hers as though to assure himself of her safety.

"I'm OK, Viktor. Honestly." She smiled widely at him, her cheeks flushed pink. His concern was touching. Even after she'd visited him in Bulgaria, and they'd decided – him somewhat reluctantly – that a long-distance relationship while she was in school wasn't ideal (not to mention Voldemort freshly returned and looming over the future), they'd remained close friends. Viktor had respected her decision completely, eventually realising that it really was for the best for him as well as her, and he'd never pushed her to reconsider it afterwards. But he was a staunch and caring friend, for all his reserved and brooding exterior.

Hermione had occasionally filled Harry in on their friendship, although they'd both seen fit to keep Ron largely in the dark about it until he'd met Isobel. Ginny would try to push Hermione towards the Quidditch star every now and then, cooing about how intelligent and brooding their kids could be – matchmaking attempts which Hermione always shot down in flames. She blamed Harry for getting engaged to Ginny – it had sent her head spinning on the idea that it was high time Hermione found her man, an idea that Hermione had firmly placed in the backseat of her priorities. It would happen when it happened.

"Are you certain?" Viktor was eyeing her wan complexion, his thick brows drawn together in a disapproving frown. "Vot is going on here? I keep reading about murders. I do not like it, Herm-own-ninny."

Hermione nodded. "I'll explain later – now's not the best time. Wait for me at my place; I'll come to you when I can, although it might be a while."

Krum nodded, his expression grim. "I don't need to be anyvare, there is no need to hurry."

Hermione smiled again at him, and Krum turned around, seemingly noticing the two men for the first time.

He stuck out his hand to Harry. "Potter."

Harry shook it with a nod and a strained smile. "Krum."

Viktor glanced at the wall of information. "You are in charge of this case. These murders."

Hermione glanced anxiously at Harry. His answer would determine how much she could tell Viktor later.

Harry nodded.

Krum lifted his chin in acknowledgement, turning his gaze to Draco, and his eyes narrowed in assessment. "You're a Malfoy," he said accusingly.

"Yes," Draco replied haughtily.

Krum's eyes flickered back to Hermione, and then to Harry, and back to her again. It was clear he was suddenly less all right with the idea of leaving her. "Be careful, Herm-own-ninny," he said seriously, glowering at Draco, and then he slouched out.

Hermione waited a few moments after the door had closed, then turned back to Harry and Draco.

"Sorry about that," she smiled weakly. "Viktor can get a bit protective after all that's happened." He really hadn't appreciated her dropping off the grid when she'd been hunting horcruxes with Harry and Ron. That had almost been another international incident in itself.

"Understandable," Harry replied, then returned to the case. "Now–"

Draco tuned out the rest of Potter said. There was a peculiar ringing in his ears, and anger surged around in him in accompaniment to that nasty burn that had begun when Krum had hugged Granger. It was like having violent food poisoning. He could feel his vitals clenched in the prickly hot grip of something beyond his control, but only let the flicker of his eyelid betray any acknowledgement of the sensation. He would have to mix himself a tonic when he returned home. Food poisoning now was not ideal. It must have been something he had in that Muggle restaurant – Dilly's cooking had never upset his stomach. He decided he didn't like the Bulgarian, no matter how good a Seeker he was. There was something not quite right about the man. Trust Granger to be a fool and see good where there was none.

"Malfoy?"

Draco jerked out of his sour reverie to see Potter staring expectantly at him. "What?" he snapped.

"I said, meanwhile, because we now know for certain that the murderer is targeting enemies and traitors to Voldemort, we need to start warning potential targets."

Draco cottoned on, distracted from the acidic swirl of sensation that had taken over his stomach. "I'll make up a list."

Harry nodded. "Excellent. We'll need to keep the warnings subtle though, so no public announcements to the press – you and I will go to see each person together. We don't want to start a panic, and we don't want the murderer to know how much we've guessed. We've been playing catch up this entire case, and I want us to try and get a head start on them, if possible."

Hermione nodded, biting her lip. "Look, Harry – do you mind if I go and see to Viktor?"

Harry shook his head, much to Draco's annoyance, smiling. "Go ahead. The work will be waiting for you when you get back. I know it seems impossible, but we've got to try and find a way of reversing the Mark – we won't know how vulnerable the Muggles are until then."

Hermione smiled in thanks, and rushed back out of the office.

Draco watched her leave with a distinct feeling of discontent, slamming things around on his desk unnecessarily, and grumpily taking a seat before he began to write out names for Potter with a vengeance. His quill tore at the parchment, despite its premium quality and thickness, and he scowled, dotting his i's so ferociously that the tip of his quill went right through to the blotter.

He'd already been in a bad mood from anxiety and lack of sleep, and to cap everything when he'd eventually returned home last night, after detouring to break the bad news to Pansy, a letter and been waiting from his parents. It had politely but coldly enquired why their evening had been so rudely disrupted, including the injunction that they expected to see him the next day for a full explanation. His mother and father united against him was more than Draco was prepared to deal with at the moment, and he knew they would ask more questions about exactly what he was doing for the Ministry – unwilling to be palmed off with surly remarks about being a consultant. Delaying the confrontation would only make it worse when it eventually occurred, however.

"Potter, my parents are going to want answers."

Harry glanced up from Hermione's research on blood magic, having elected to take over that area of the investigation to free her up for her work on the Mark. "How come?"

"I was at the opera with them last night with Granger arrived. They have questions."

Harry sighed, but nodded. "Answer them. Don't say more than necessary though – with defected Death Eaters targets for this killer, we don't want to mark them out even more amongst the rest."

Draco nodded. The burn of his irritation with Krum had begun to fade, and in its place a sense of anxiety for his parents' safety had arisen. There were not many defected Death Eaters about, and none as well publicised as his family. His father's recent release had made the papers, barely eclipsed by the news of the first set of murders, and he didn't doubt that his family would be on the list for the killer. He shifted in his seat, pulling a clean piece of parchment over and beginning to write a brief letter to his parents.


He'd just thrown it into the out tray for the morning post when a silvery mist darted through the ceiling and halted in the middle of the office, reforming into a sleek silver otter standing on its hind legs.

Draco stared at the patronus. Whatever else it did, it was a beautiful charm. A faint pang lanced through him at the knowledge that he would never be able to cast his own, but he shelved it, as was his habit.

"Harry, Malfoy! Come quickly!" Hermione's voice came urgent and flustered from the otter's mouth.

Harry was already on his feet, making for his fireplace. "We're coming," he called to the otter, which nodded and vanished. "Come on, Malfoy!"

Draco was hard on Potter's heels as Harry grasped an exorbitant fistful of Floo powder, throwing it into the fire in a glittering green shower and calling out Hermione's address before the pair of them ran into the roaring green flames.

They almost cannoned into her on the other side where she was pacing agitatedly back and forth in front of the fire in her front room.

"Harry!"

He seized her arms, eyes boring into hers briefly to ascertain her state before darting to assess the state of the room for indications of disturbance. All was calm. "What happened? Is everything OK?"

Draco stood behind him, wand drawn and raised as he surveyed the room.

"Yes, everything's fine – Viktor! Viktor knows who the men were!" her voice was high with excitement rather than fear, and she turned to the Bulgarian who had been sitting on her settee, gesturing for him to speak.

"What? Who?" Harry instantly sat in a spare armchair by the fire, his eyes fixed on Krum who was sitting on one end of the settee opposite the fireplace.

Draco reluctantly stowed his wand away, hovering by the fire, unsure. Granger's home seemed to be a cottage of some sort, with massive darkly stained exposed beams in the walls and high ceiling. It was odd being in such a small house, but it seemed to be comfortably furnished, and there were bookshelves everywhere against the whitewashed walls. Not so much that it felt cluttered, but enough for him to guess that she had amassed an impressive collection. Typical Granger.

He restrained himself from curling his lip at Krum's continued presence, and took the armchair on the other side of the hearth with an air of confident assurance, ignoring the glowing amber gaze of Granger's cat from behind the settee. He vaguely remembered seeing the squashed-faced moggy slinking around the Hogwarts grounds in third year. Ugly thing. Only Granger would choose to have a pet as hideous as that.

Krum sent Malfoy a baleful glance, but ignored his posturing. "I saw the report on their murders, but I did not think it vos important. They vere sympathisers of You Know Who – associates of Karkaroff," he spat the name of his former headmaster with disgust. "Ve met them on our vay over for the Trivizard Tournament, and they came over on the ship. They vere not actually Death Eaters, but they tried to recruit some of us on the vay." He glowered. "They said it vos a glorious task to cleanse the vorld of Muggle-borns." He actually spat this time, the expectoration sizzling in the fire. "They vere idiots, spineless and veak villed glory chasers. They talked of joining You Know Who's cause, but they vould never haff the courage to join. They vere, how you say? All talk and no pants?"

"All mouth and no trousers," Hermione amended with a slight smile.

"Yes. That." Krum affirmed seriously, not in the least put out by her correction. "Their deaths are no loss. I vouldn't haff mentioned it, but Herm-own-ninny had a file on them here ven I arrived and I saw it."

Harry sat back, letting out a long, slow breath, thinking. "You've been very helpful, Krum. Thank you."

Krum nodded shortly, looking back up to Hermione who had perched on the arm of the settee while he talked. She gave him a glowing look of gratitude, and his mouth twitched in a very faint smile. Then he was serious again. "Herm-own-ninny says she cannot tell me much about this case you are verking on, Potter," he said sullenly.

Harry shook his head. "Sorry."

Krum's jaw tightened. "Just catch the vitch or vizard doing it." His tone was grim, and his heavy brows had drawn together again. "I do not like the Dark Arts." His eyes flickered to Malfoy in the corner once, then he stood and left the room, one hand resting briefly on Hermione's as he passed.

Hermione tried to ignore the blush that had flushed her cheeks, and turned her eyes firmly on Harry, knowing that if she looked at Malfoy he'd probably give her a smug look and make some sort of deeply inappropriate comment. Ginny was enough. Malfoy would probably also make a comment about how poor her taste was. Ginny at least did her best to rationalise how Krum's hooked nose might be attractive, and that his duck-footedness and slouch really didn't detract from his overall looks. Not that looks really bothered Hermione, but Ginny was determined.

"So. What do you think, Harry?"

Harry nodded slowly. "Well, at least we know for certain who their targets are. It doesn't narrow down whether our murderer is a Death Eater or a new Dark witch or wizard, but we know who to protect. It's good progress, Hermione. The narrower we can get this the closer we are to catching them."

Hermione nodded gravely.

Crookshanks slunk out from behind the couch, purring as he rubbed against her shins, before padding over to greet Harry, bottlebrush tail upright behind him and waving with a lordly air. Draco decided he rather liked the creature, even if in appearance it was a hideous travesty of a feline.

Harry gave the imperious cat a friendly scratch behind the ears. "We'd best be getting back to the Ministry. Say thanks, again, to Krum for me. He's saved us some confusion. I daresay Kingsley will be having words with the Bulgarian Ministry over this."

Hermione smiled.

"Malfoy?" Harry was standing, looking expectantly at his co-worker. Malfoy seemed to be glued to his chair, locked in some internal discussion, his suit and robes creasing in all the right places and looking thoroughly out of place in Hermione's front room. He looked like he was posing for a wizarding-wear photoshoot, right down to the superior expression fixed on the doorway Krum had exited through.

Draco was considering exactly what was going to happen the moment he and Potter left Granger with Krum. He didn't doubt that they were in some sort of relationship, and that unsettled him for some reason. The idea of Krum and Granger together didn't seem right. What was more, he didn't like the look Granger had given Krum; the gratitude, the pride, the smile. His eyes had been fixed on her the entire time, cataloguing the changes in her expression, all but ignoring the content of the conversation they'd been called there for. That burn had come back, and if he hadn't been a Malfoy and able to control such unseemly urges, he would have been sick into the fire. He really did need to mix that stomach tonic. But there were other concerns of his mind – more important ones. Granger.

In his endeavour to relearn her boundaries, as he must do now they worked so closely together, she had become his object of study. They'd never spent much time at such close quarters in the past, and he'd never looked at her much further than to see a blemish and note the weaknesses that he could exploit, but now it came down to it, she had as rich a tapestry of visual and verbal cues as any other. More, probably. Hers came in subtle shades, like the faint blending of white into pastels, and noting them, understanding them, learning what they meant was like solving the puzzle of Granger. And he did not like this new piece that had come into play with Krum's arrival. He hadn't seen her look at anyone the way she had looked at Krum. What was more she blushed – she actually blushed – around the Bulgarian, and it made him uneasy, perturbed, although why he couldn't understand.

"Malfoy?" Harry repeated, a little louder this time.

Draco snapped out of his thoughts, turning a hooded gaze on Potter. "What?"

Harry said nothing, only frowned a little. "It's time to go."

Draco raised an eyebrow, questioning the advisability of Potter's suggestion with it. Potter, clearly a dullard when it came to the subtleties of body language, didn't seem to understand his message however, turning to Granger once more.

"We'll see you back at the office."

Hermione nodded, eyeing Draco. He was behaving oddly, or at least, more oddly than usual. It was normal for Malfoy to be close mouthed and impassive, but there was an extra intensity to his gaze today that was a little unnerving. Doubtless he had preoccupations of his own to deal with, especially after the encounter she'd had with his parents last night, not to mention having to speak to Pansy.

"Bye," she murmured.

Harry nodded, taking a pinch of Floo powder, and shouting for the Ministry.

Draco rose gracefully to his feet, and remained by the mantle for a few moments after Potter had disappeared, his eyes locked with Granger's, not entirely sure what he was trying to communicate.

There was a strident roow from his feet and he glanced down to see the cat seated there, staring up at him with an expression that was halfway between expectant condescension and assessment. Draco raised an eyebrow, returning the look. Inspected by a cat. Trust Granger to have a weird pet. He lifted his eyes to hers once more.

"Granger."

And then he was ducking until the lintel, the flames whipping him away.


I'M SO SORRY HOW LONG IT'S BEEN.
Long story short - assignment season happened, then Christmas and New Years I was away. But now I'm back! Happy New Year! And this is a chapter that I really enjoy.

DARK MARKS. Oooooh. Very curious to see what you all think of them and what they mean.

Also, I do have a soft spot for Krum respecting Hermione's desire not to be together, and still liking her, but just being a good friend. Even better than that though...Draco is jeaaaalousssss. Hehehehe. *rubs hands together evilly*
My favourite scene has to be when he has to leave Hermione's house at the end.

Anyway, hope you enjoyed it!

Please do review and/or favourite :) Tell me what you like or don't like :) Questions and speculations are always welcome :D As is incomprehensible flailing if that's what you go in for :)

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