The portkey dropped them just outside the gates of the Golden Sphinx, which swung open automatically at their arrival. Hermione looped her arm through Ron's and allowed him to lead her up the short path to the resort's front door. Their footsteps echoed in the cavernous lobby as they crossed to the registration desk. "Welcome to the Golden Sphinx," the girl behind the counter said brightly. "Can I take your name, please?"
"Of course. Reservation for Prewett," Ron replied, glancing around as the young witch looked them up. The decor was even more extravagant than he had expected, but the view to the ocean out the glass back wall of the hotel was gorgeous. There was a dimly lit bar to the left side of the lobby, and although it was still fairly early in the afternoon, it was full of patrons. The benefit of being on holiday, he supposed.
"Here you are," the girl at the desk said, handing over a pair of ornate keys attached to a miniature version of the two sphinxes out front. "The honeymoon suite."
"Owen," Hermione squealed, in a very un-Hermione-like voice, as her fingers tightened around his arm. "You didn't tell me we were staying in the honeymoon suite."
He glanced down at her with a smile, trying to cover his bewilderment; this was news to him too. "I wanted to surprise you, love."
"Brilliant," she returned through a smile that only Ron would recognize for the admonishment that it was.
"There's no apparition inside the hotel, but your suite has a private lift, just at the end of this hall here." The girl pointed to the right side of the lobby, and Ron could just make out the golden lift doors next to the plain white ones that must have led to the other floors. "Enjoy your stay."
Though it was obviously taking a great deal of restraint, Hermione waited until they were upstairs in their lavishly decorated accommodations, and Ron had completed all of his security spells—the ones that would detect things like magically enhanced listening devices, as well as the ones that would shield them from any external interference—before she rounded on him. "The honeymoon suite?" she demanded. "Don't you suppose that staying in this room might be a bit conspicuous?"
Ron shrugged, trying to ignore the over-the-top romance of the room as he opened his bag and began unpacking. "Robards set it up, reckon he knew what he was doing. We certainly have more privacy up here than in a regular room." The lift had actually opened up into a short hallway outside their room, and there were no other doors; it seemed as if they had the entire floor to themselves.
Hermione shot a glare at the enchanted pink confetti that danced around the ceiling but acknowledged, "I suppose that's true. Finite." The confetti froze in midair but didn't disappear, and Hermione sighed. Ron stifled a laugh as she crossed the room and opened up the double doors to the balcony, the gauzy curtains ruffling with the breeze she let in. "It really is beautiful here, though. Come over and have a look." She stepped onto the balcony without waiting for him, but he immediately abandoned his efforts to unpack in order to join her.
They both surveyed the busy beachfront below, standing together in comfortable silence. The resort certainly didn't seem like a place that was ripe for Death Eater activity, but Ron knew they wouldn't be here if it weren't. And the unlikely setting made for a perfect cover-up.
"It's early, yet," Hermione said, gathering her hair together in her hand to keep it from swirling in the wind. "What would you like to do? Hit the beach? Grab a drink?"
Ron shrugged. "What do you want to do?" he returned.
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Oh, don't do that," she scolded lightly.
"Do what? You're more on holiday than I am." Hermione waved a hand frantically to shush him and then pulled him back into the room and shut the doors, closing them behind the silencing charm Ron had placed on the room.
"It's not a holiday, Ron, and I'm not going to treat it as such."
He looked at her in bewilderment. "But you just said—"
"Yes, we should spend time on the beach, and meet the other tourists, and do what we need to do to blend in, but I'm well aware that we're here on official Auror business. And not being an Auror myself, I need to be especially focused. You brought me as your partner, Ron, and I…" She trailed off, and Ron looked at her curiously. She hadn't seemed at all nervous about coming on this mission, before they left, and he worried he'd said or done something to make her change her mind. "I don't want to let you down, that's all," she finished finally.
"Hermione," he sighed, stepping forward to wrap his arms around her. "You're the most brilliant witch I've ever met. I didn't ask you to come because you're my best friend. I asked you to come because you're the right person for this job. And if you don't believe me, do you really think we'd've gotten Robards' approval if that weren't true?"
"No, I know, but—"
"No buts," Ron interrupted, pulling back to look her in the eye. "I trust you. It's that simple." She took a deep breath, and he could tell he hadn't entirely assuaged her fears, but she nodded anyway. "Why don't we just relax for a bit?" he suggested. "We can unpack, get settled, and then maybe grab a drink before dinner?"
"Okay." She reached down and gently squeezed his hand. "Thanks."
Hermione seemed to relax as they settled into the suite, chatting to him about the cases she was working and flipping through the brochure of all the amenities the resort offered. Late in the afternoon, Ron ventured, "They'll start serving dinner in an hour or so. Reckon we ought to venture down to the bar?"
"Sure. I'll go get ready."
Once Hermione had disappeared into the bathroom, Ron walked over to the closet where they had hung everything up and pulled his shirt off over his head, tossing it in the general direction of his empty suitcase. He had just done the same with his jeans when Hermione emerged. "Forgot my—" She halted abruptly, and the denim barely missed her. "Toothbrush."
"Oh. Right." She hadn't moved, though, and Ron bit back a smirk as he realized she was staring at him, as he stood there wearing nothing but his pants. He knew being this close to her for two weeks was going to be a challenge for him, but he hadn't really thought that it might be the same for her. "Toothbrush?" he prompted her after a moment.
"Huh?" Hermione's gaze snapped up to meet his, and her cheeks immediately began to flush. "Right. My toothbrush. Of course. I'll just…" She quickly went to her bag, retrieved the toothbrush, and hurried back into the loo.
Ron had every intention of giving her some good-natured teasing about it, but when she returned again, the words died in his throat. She had swept her hair over one shoulder, leaving exposed the smooth skin of her neck, and she was wearing a deep red dress that clung tightly to her slim figure. He couldn't help his eyes roving over her, and she pulled anxiously at the fabric as she looked up at him and took in his expression. "It's too much, isn't it?" she fretted. "I wanted to get into the spirit of things, but I should—"
"No," Ron blurted, taking a step towards her to halt her movement toward the closet. "I mean...you look...er…"
Hermione smiled coyly at him and said, "We're both adults, Ron. You're allowed to tell me I look nice, if that's what you're thinking."
He snorted. "You look bloody gorgeous, but sure, we'll go with nice."
"Thank you." She smoothed an invisible wrinkle from the dress and then reached for her shoes, slipping into the heels and looking at him expectantly. "Shall we?"
Ron nodded and patted his pocket to make sure he had the room keys before he followed her out the door. He swallowed a groan as he saw for the first time the back of Hermione's dress—what little of it there was. The lace across her upper back and the uncovered expanse of skin at her lower back told him that there couldn't be much under her dress either. Merlin help me.
The lounge downstairs was even more crowded than it had been at their arrival, and Hermione slipped her hand into his as they wove their way to the bar. "Evening," the bartender greeted them. "What'll you have?"
"Ogden's, please," Ron said immediately. If they'd had intentions on more than one drink, he wouldn't have gone for something so strong, but at the moment, the firewhiskey was a necessity.
"Of course, sir. And for your lovely wife?"
"Fiancée," Hermione corrected him with a giggle, showing off the ostentatious ring on her left hand. "We've just got engaged."
"Congratulations! Allow me to give you one of our signature drinks, then, on the house."
"That sounds lovely, thank you."
One of the stools at the bar opened up, and Hermione slid gracefully onto it, leaving her hand resting lightly on Ron's arm. The bartender returned a moment later with Ron's whiskey and a tall, slender glass full of a shimmering gold liquid for Hermione. "Looks like Felix Felicis, doesn't it?" she said lightly to Ron, taking a sip.
"That's what we call it, actually," the bartender said. "Helps you get lucky." He winked at Ron, and Hermione sputtered on the drink, much to Ron's amusement.
She recovered quickly though, sliding her hand up Ron's arm and giving him a sultry smile. "Well, we don't need drinks for that, do we, darling?"
He leaned over to give her a lingering kiss on the cheek in answer, and the bartender chuckled. "Name's John. Just give a shout if you need anything," he said before making his way down the bar to attend to the other patrons.
Ron sipped at his drink and did a quick scan of the room. Everyone there seemed to just be on holiday, same as them. Same as they were pretending to be, anyway. But that was Berisha's plan, as far as they could tell; to create an international network of witches and wizards who shared his ideals for whatever it was he was plotting.
Dinner was a decidedly normal affair, as well. The food was amazing, and Ron thought if nothing else, at least they would have that to look forward to over the course of two weeks. Plus, if Hermione had packed two weeks' worth of dresses like the one she was currently wearing...well. Ron, frankly, hadn't been able to take his eyes off her all night, and it was fortunately making a very convincing show of their cover. He wasn't sure what Hermione thought, knowing it was a ruse, but she was playing her part just as well, constantly touching his arm or his thigh while she chatted with the older couple they'd been seated with for dinner, sharing his fork for dessert, nudging his foot with hers under the table, where no one could even see.
The waiter had just cleared their plates when the girl from the reception desk approached their table, carrying a bottle of champagne, which she handed over to Ron. "A gift for you, Mr. Prewett."
"For me?" Ron asked curiously.
"Oh, it must be from Alfie," Evelyn, their dinner companion, said confidently as she patted Hermione's arm.
"Alfie?" Hermione repeated, reaching for the bottle.
"Chap who owns the place," replied Evelyn's husband, Tom. "We stayed up in the honeymoon suite last year when we came for our fortieth anniversary, and he gave us the royal treatment, didn't he, love?"
"Yes, it's a gift from Mr. Berisha," confirmed the receptionist. "He likes to extend a special welcome to our guests in the honeymoon suite. He would have normally been here himself, but he had some business to attend to tonight."
Hermione nodded, and though Ron was sure no one else could see through her perfectly arranged expression, she looked, to him, worried as she handed him the card that had been tied to the bottle.
I pay special attention to the stays of our most honored guests in the honeymoon suite. If your needs are not being met, please alert my staff at once. Welcome to the Golden Sphinx. -Alfonso Berisha
Ron glanced up at Hermione, who flashed a smile at the receptionist and said, "What a lovely gesture."
"Yes," Ron agreed, careful to keep the nerves out of his voice. "Lovely."
Hermione shifted in her chair, bumping her knee against his, and when their eyes met, Ron knew they were thinking the same thing. Though the intentions behind the message weren't clear, one thing was certain: they were being watched.