~ Chapter Twenty-Five ~ The Third Saturday
As Hermione emerged from the green flames into Draco's sitting room, she barely had a chance to look around for him before there was a crack and Dilly appeared before her. She was reminiscent of Dobby, in the sense that many house elves looked similar, and she had the same long, pointed nose. Her eyes were dark brown and warm however, although just as large, and she was well dressed in a warm tea towel patterned with a green cross-hatch. Unlike Dobby, she was a little more restrained, although Hermione had now had sufficient experiences with her that some of the professional reservation had dropped.
"Hello, Miss!"
Hermione smiled. "Hello, Dilly. It's good to see you again. Thank you for taking care of my cases when we left the hotel."
"Not at all, Miss. Dilly was happy to help! My Master is in his study. He says Dilly is to show you in when you arrive. This way, Miss!"
Hermione followed the little elf as she tottered away through the house, leading her out towards the front hall, and then up the stairs. It was the first time Hermione had seen any of Draco's home by day, and the décor was exactly as she would have expected, knowing him as she now did.
It was a kind of minimalist opulence, with dark wood and slightly off-white walls that added a faint warmth. He had surprisingly avante garde paintings on the walls, almost certainly Muggle in origin, with the occasional wizarding landscape. It felt very much like an expensive show-home – everything exactly where it should be, no mess or clutter.
Dilly led her along the landing upstairs, and knocked on a door before entering. She bowed. "Miss Granger to see you, Master."
Draco was scribbling a note down, half turned towards the door, torn between greeting his guest and finishing the thought he had begun. "Thank you, Dilly. You may go."
Dilly bowed, and vanished with another crack.
Hermione glanced around the room. The study was surprisingly light, with large windows that faced out onto the street, and several desks and bookshelves against any wall with space. Unlike the corridors, this room felt more lived in and less sterile, although no less restrained in its décor with some fine Persian rugs on the floor and rich window hangings.
Draco was bent over the one table that faced the door, chair discarded, the papers from his work on the case covering the surface. He was in Muggle attire once more, but the most casual Hermione had ever seen – a pair of dark grey jeans, and what seemed to be a button down navy shirt, the sleeves rolled up, a black blazer draped over the chair.
Draco raised a hand towards her, still in his twisted position. "Just a…min…ute." He hurriedly scrawled down the last point, then turned around. "Hel…lo." The word got stuck in his throat on its way out.
Draco had never seen Hermione in a dress before the Yule Ball. The skirt and robes of the Hogwarts uniform hardly counted. She had never struck him much as a dress type of person. He had known that dresses suited her, but she had always been in glamorous ball-type gowns before. There was something particularly disarming about the delicate simplicity of the sundress she now wore.
Being Hermione Granger, she was, of course, wearing a cream coat over the top, a hat in hand, but that only served to complete the pastoral image.
"Hello, Draco."
"Um. Yes. Has anyone ever painted you before?" The words tumbled out before Draco had a chance to realise he was speaking them.
Hermione's face crinkled with a mixture of amusement and confusion. "Um?"
"Never mind," Draco said quickly. "Come to the kitchen and see what Dilly's organised for us." He moved forwards, grabbing his blazer and ushering her back the way she had just come before she had another opportunity to remark on his strange question.
They walked back down the staircase, and then down the main corridor towards the back of the house where there was an open plan kitchen with windows out onto a green garden that was somewhere between overgrown and carefully manicured. There was a glass breakfast room to the right, and what seemed to be a patio outside.
Dilly was at the kitchen island, fussing around a large hamper that sat on the bench, preparing the final touches.
"Dilly?"
Dilly looked up beaming at her Master's voice.
"Is it all ready?"
"Yes, sir. At once, sir." She finished placing the last wrapped items inside and shut the lid, grinning.
"Thank you, Dilly."
"I'm sure it will be wonderful," Hermione added.
Dilly nodded, and with a last smile, disappeared with a crack.
Draco turned to Hermione. "Ready for a stroll?"
The picnic was idyllic. The weather couldn't have been better than if they had planned it, and an excellent spot was free beneath a tall, spreading oak. Hermione laid out the picnic rug she had brought after surreptitiously checking there were no Muggles to see it appearing from her purse, slipping off her shoes, and Draco pulled out a number of plates and dishes that only a wizarding picnic basket could contain, including a magnum of champagne.
"Draco!"
"What?"
Hermione turned her wide eyes on him. "Don't you think it's a little obvious that all this couldn't fit in that?"
Draco raised an eyebrow. "And they won't notice the appearance of the rug?"
"That's different."
He shrugged. "It's not like any Muggles are going to come close enough to sticky beak."
"They might when they notice just how decadent we are."
Draco rolled his eyes, reaching for her hand on the rug. He lifted it to his lips, placing a lingering kiss on her bare skin. "We'll take that if it comes."
Hermione flushed, then blinked as there was a rustle from up the tree. She glanced up, squinting to see if she could spot a robin or a crow, but there was nothing.
I think the press have found us…
Mm. Or…
Yeah. Where's your wand?
Up my sleeve. Yours?
Good. It's…well, it's in a thigh holster if you must know.
Miss Granger…
Shush. Standard Ministry issue.
Hm. There are things I could say about that.
I know. Don't.
Very well. I shall just think them.
Focus!
I can multitask you know. I think it's someone from the press. Too clumsy for the murderer.
Hm.
I know you think so too.
Rude.
Well. I don't know you do, as you're in my head, but I can guess.
Hm. I will…accept that. Still. Don't get complacent.
Am I ever?
Frequently.
Hermione released her hand and busied herself with uncovering the dishes, marshalling her thoughts and focusing on acting as naturally as possible. Even if it was just some journalist up the tree, they still had to be impeccable in their performance, and even she had to admit to herself that she was beginning to find Draco a distraction from the real reason they were there. Her reminder had been as much for her as for him, but even so, he seemed to have taken note.
Dilly had outdone herself with their picnic. It was more like being at a reception for a ball or some grand Ministry event than any picnic Hermione had ever been on. There were canapes of every sort, all easily bite sized and incredibly moreish.
It was hard to fully commit to the act of oblivious lovebirds with the potential threat of a killer over their heads, but they kept something akin to a toe in the water of each other's minds as they continued with the performance, trading observations and reactions as they chatted and laughed and fed one another morsels, toasting their relationship on the rather good champagne.
Hermione eventually managed to convince Draco to remove his shoes, although he refused to go completely barefoot, and on the pretext of some slightly buzzed antics following the champagne they were able to scope out the area for any others lurking in the undergrowth.
Despite their misgivings however, nothing untoward occurred, and after several hours when they had eaten and drunk enough fit to burst, and even faked a nap curled up together on the rug, they had admitted defeat for the morning, packed up and returned to Draco's apartment to prepare for the next stage of their performance.
"Draco?" Hermione picked at a strand of grass that she had removed from her hair, leaning against the kitchen counter.
"Mm?"
"What if this doesn't work?"
Draco turned around, drying off his hands on a tea towel, and leant against the sink facing her, his expression unreadable, gaze sharp. "Do you want a comforting answer or a realistic one?"
"Realistic."
Draco sighed. "Then people die."
Hermione's mouth twisted.
"What is it?"
Hermione looked away, unable to meet his gaze. "I feel bad," she muttered. "It doesn't feel like we're really helping doing all this. It's too…it's too enjoyable."
Draco blinked, his brain stuck on her last word.
Hermione continued, too deep in her own thoughts to realise what she had said or the implications of it. "Maybe I'm just too used to things being hard and unpleasant. The War…well, I hardly need to tell you that it wasn't plain sailing. But being on the run with Harry and Ron was rough, and some of the things we did were…kind of amazing and ridiculous when I look back on them. And we weren't having a horrible time constantly, but it wasn't easy, and this…it feels almost like we're Nero."
"Playing the fiddle whilst Rome burned?"
"Yeah." Hermione was too caught up in her own misgivings to even be surprised that he understood the Muggle historical reference.
Draco approached slowly, eyes fixed on what little he could see of Hermione's face. She was closed off and upset and he wasn't sure what he could say that would help. There wasn't a great deal that was comforting about their situation. He had already run through the same thoughts himself a half dozen times before they even began the whole charade. He sighed, and leant against the bench beside her, looking at the floor. "I've thought the same things. I know what guilt is…and it's never a good thing. It's eaten me up from the inside in the past. Guilt…shame…" He twisted the family signet ring he wore on his index finger, eyes fixed on the play of light across the shaped metal.
"I'm not used to it."
"That's not a bad thing." Draco let out a huff of faint amusement, then glanced up to meet her gaze. "If you want the real, plain, unvarnished truth, I think there's probably very little chance of our charade actually achieving what we hope."
Hermione's eyes widened. "But it–"
"Was my idea. I know. And Potter knows this too, though I don't think he would admit it. It's a fool's hope that we achieve want we want with this. But it's the only thing we could do, short of sitting back twiddling our thumbs for the next murder. We just happen to be in a shitty position where the only cards we've got aren't that good, no matter how we spin it. At least doing this we have some slight chance that it works. We're not just fiddling. We're doing what we can, even if it isn't much."
Hermione nodded, sighing deeply. "You're right. It's just…weird. And difficult."
"Yeah." Draco's expression relaxed, a slight smirk curling the corner of his mouth.
Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "Why are you smirking?"
"You said I was right."
Hermione rolled her eyes, but smiled. "Ugh, you are ridiculous is what you are. Come on then, let's go couple shopping." She reached for his hand, grabbing it and leading him away to the floo. She paused in front of the fire, turning back before she stepped in to give him a genuine smile. "But thanks."
Hermione hardly dared open the papers the next morning.
She and Draco had had a pleasant afternoon parading around the shops in Diagon Alley, and he'd even followed her around the shelves of Flourish and Blotts for a couple of hours, watching her with an indulgent smirk, paying for a truly ridiculous number of books. They had been followed with whispers and a ripple of movement as faces turned in their direction everywhere they went, but nothing that could have passed for an attack.
The reporters had eventually discovered them in Diagon Alley, asking them to pose for photos outside the Rosa Lea Teabag teashop, drawing something of a crowd of spectators, all of them gawking the moment they had licence to because of the flashes of the cameras. Hermione had spent most of the time grumbling to Draco inside his head, but on the surface they had been all delighted smiles, and rewarded the reporters with all the cosiness of a happy couple.
In the evening they had gone to a well-known wizarding restaurant, and apart from a strange interaction with a beggar along the way, all had gone smoothly. It had made both of them nervous. The time was running out, and even though Draco's warning not to expect anything of their performance was in both of their minds, the sense that something had to happen, and was most likely to happen after nightfall was a constant niggle.
Hermione hadn't allowed herself to give voice to her concerns after they returned to Draco's apartment walking slowly and obviously down the street, but she could tell he had known what she was thinking even without the aid of Legilimency. Inside, he had forced her to sit down with a glass of firewhiskey before he allowed her to return home. Even then, when they had apparated to a nearby park and walked through the streets rather than using the floo, trying to give every last opportunity for an attack, their nerves were jangling as they both attempted to appear as nonchalant as possible even as each rustle of a tree branch or slam of a car door made them involuntarily twitch.
They had had an unnecessarily long goodbye on the porch, abstracted murmurs giving way to a long kiss and a hug, both of them tense and waiting for the moment when someone leapt out from the neighbour's bushes. But nothing had happened, and eventually Hermione had invited Draco in so he could leave via the floo, each of them sharing a glance filled with their shared reservations and anxieties.
Hermione had showered, attempting to drown her concerns under the gush and spray of the hot water, but there was nothing that could shift the stubborn doubt and fear that they had either not done enough, and someone, somewhere, had been murdered. Or else that the murderer was lying in wait either for her or Draco.
After she went to bed, she had been unable to settle for hours, wand under her pillow, tossing and turning until exhaustion had claimed her, her last thought the vague notion that things felt safer with Draco on the other side of the mattress.
Crookshanks leapt onto the empty chair beside Hermione, his large eyes appearing over the edge of the kitchen table, and turning from the paper to fix her with a glare.
"Don't look at me like that."
Hermione didn't need to take her gaze away from the rolled copy of the Prophet to see his face. She knew.
Crookshanks yowled.
"OK, OK!" Hermione reached for the string, tugging it open and peeking at the front page.
There were pictures of her and Draco all over it.
She grabbed the Prophet and tore through it, scanning each of the main pages.
Just her and Draco. Again and again.
She ripped through the rest, checking each page in turn.
No murders.
She sat back, not sure whether it was more relief or shock that was coursing through her body, then screamed as the fire roared in her living room, accompanied by the chime.
She hurried through and saw Draco, wide eyed on the hearth rug, wand out.
"Are you OK, I heard a scream?"
Hermione let out a breath. "I'm fine. Sorry." She blushed. "You startled me."
"Ah. You've seen the papers?"
"Yeah."
"Thoughts?"
Hermione shook her head, running her hands through her hair as Crookshanks came trotting in and leapt onto the arm of her couch, watching Draco intently, the tip of his tail flicking from side to side. "I don't know what to think. Have they finished? Is this just another change in the pattern? Why stop now?"
"We need to speak with Potter."
"Yea–"
The fire roared again before Hermione had finished, and Harry appeared.
"Herm–! Oh! You're here already. Good." Harry's eyes darted between them, the same emotions Draco and Hermione felt written across his face.
"We've seen the papers, Potter. We were just thinking we ought to talk."
"I'll make tea." Hermione turned, leading the men into the kitchen where Draco leant against the counter, Harry shifting and moving from spot to spot as the kettle boiled and the tea steeped.
"So." Hermione said once they each had a cup.
"So." Harry repeated. "We've done a thorough search and there are no suspicious deaths that could be linked to magical killers of any kind across the country."
Hermione felt a little held breath release, though her hands remained tight around her mug. "But?"
"But I don't think we can take the risk of complacency. They've changed their method and pattern before. This could just be another."
Draco and Hermione nodded soberly.
"So what of this?" Draco gestured between himself and Hermione, eyes fixed firmly on Potter. He had hardly slept the previous night, concerned that even within her home, Hermione would be the greater target for the murderer and debating back and forth whether he should have offered to stay on the couch.
Harry's brows knotted. "I think…if you're willing to continue, that the charade should go on. At least for the moment. We don't lose anything by it, apart from a bit of convenience, and if all we can do is research then at least it's not a severe impediment." He shot an anxious glance towards Hermione.
She nodded, reassuring Harry with a glance.
"If nothing else it distracts the public." Draco mused, nodding as well.
Harry nodded. "Exactly. Hysteria is the last thing we need now. And you can bet Skeeter and a few of the others will be whipping up a storm about Ministry incompetence with no murders today."
Hermione shook her head. "It's ridiculous. We're incompetent if we can't catch the murderer but the killings continue, and incompetent if we can't catch the murderer but the killings stop."
Draco shrugged. "That's the press for you. They'll twist it in whichever direction they need to get a story out that will whip up readers."
Harry nodded and ran a hand through his hair. It was already standing on end, spikes in every direction. "I'd better get back to the Ministry. What are your plans for today?"
Hermione sighed. "I hadn't really planned anything yet. I didn't know what Saturday might involve given...well. You know. But I do have research on the Marks to catch up on."
Harry nodded. "Right. Well, if anything comes up, I'll firecall you. Malfoy?"
"I'll help Hermione. Me being here will help keep up the charade too."
Harry nodded. "All right. See you both on Monday if nothing else comes up today." And with a last harassed glance, he rushed into the fire, disappearing with a roar.
Draco turned to Hermione after the last of the green flames settled and met her astonished expression. "What?"
"You don't need to be here for the charade. Surely you have your own things you'd rather attend to."
Draco raised his eyebrows. "And where else do you think a doting boyfriend would be on a Sunday? Especially after making headlines with his girlfriend? Not to mention the fact that I'm definitely not involved in the case as far as anyone else is aware."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Well when you put it like that. Come on, you might as well help me with this reversal research I've been trying to do." She turned to lead him upstairs to her study, then paused at the foot of the staircase, flicking her wand at the front windows. She caught Draco's questioning glance as she turned and began to walk upstairs. "It'll show the reporters moving images of us doing whatever, but it also gives the real us privacy. And it'll save us the effort of having to think up new ideas."
"I'm impressed."
"You'll be more impressed by the books I've found. You know the research into the light magic I've been doing?"
"Mmhm."
"I found some new texts. They're very old, so we've got to be careful when we handle them, but hopefully they might be the beginning of a new lead with that."
Draco nodded, keeping his reservations to himself, unwilling to douse her enthusiasm.
It was really nice to return to the tension of the case and managing that against the backdrop of the tumult of their feelings. This chapter was super focused on Hermione's emotions. Even though I think she's really a very pragmatic person (i.e. setting fire to a TEACHER'S robes to save a friend), I also think that she still has more need to actively process how she feels than Draco (who is also an extremely pragmatic person IMO and, ya know, much more used to just squashing his feelings). That said, I did enjoy putting in Draco's little brain fart when he blurted out some of his internal monologue by accident.
Because the story is now moving back into some really case heavy plot which requires a lot of thought for me to ensure I'm pulling all the threads through in the right place, and I don't really have much brain space or power leftover whilst I'm doing some really intensive work on my original novel, I'm afraid I'm going to have to spread out chapter updates a bit more. I will aim to try and do one every two months, but I apologise in advance if I'm not able to manage that and thank you for your patience.
I don't want this fic and the quality of the writing to suffer just because my focus is elsewhere, but I also want to try to continue to update whilst we're all handling lockdown, so we'll see what happy medium I'm able to strike. Ultimately, I would prefer to give you high quality chapters that are well thought out, but I will try to avoid a hiatus if I can.
That said, I hope you enjoyed this chapter!
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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