A/N: Okay, so I'm learning something that all other fanfic writers have probably experienced, and that is to never promise to update and give a certain date, because it doesn't happen (unless you're fabulous). This chapter was hard to write, and Fathomless isn't actually going along with the chapter plans I'd mapped out. Still, I'll continue with whatever my brain farts out, thus here we have Chapter 6!

Disclaimer: Diddly-squat is all I know. Mhmm.

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Chapter 6 – Acceleration

The first thought that flitted into Hermione's mind when she woke was that Gregory Goyle was an innocent. She blinked up at her ceiling, confused as to where the thought came from and berated herself as she reached to her wand to turn off the buzzing alarm.

Clever Crookshanks, who was usually indifferent, had sensed that there was something off with his master and had taken to cuddling up beside Hermione instead of his usual place on the foot of her bed.

She nuzzled Crooks' tawny fur, sighing deeply as she let her thoughts settle, feeling the cats' purring rumbles echo into her chest. She'd had a nightmare last night, but it wasn't a bad one.

Hermione sat on the end of her bed, playing with the sleeve of her oversized jumper. No, she concluded. Goyle wasn't completely innocent, he was just as horrible as Malfoy had been in Hogwarts and had mindlessly, idiotically, followed in the footsteps of his father.

But in the skinning murders? Was Goyle innocent?

Hermione bit her lip, sure that he was simply in the wrong place at the wrong time.

She had been standing directly across from him at Flint's funeral, and she had stared. Four years hadn't changed him and Hermione was shocked to think that he looked like a nice person when there wasn't a scowl or glare present on his face.

Hermione inhaled deeply, calming her thoughts. She felt sad for Goyle and Flint. Their deaths were useless, aimed to deliver a message that they still hadn't figured out. She sighed resignedly, headed for the kitchen for her usual morning glass of water and filled Crooks' bowl for the day.

Hermione stayed under the scalding spray of her shower longer than she'd expected. It was a habit she'd never been able to shake off, but the constant thrum of water, the heat and the solitude always induced Hermione's brain to whirr in overtime. She emerged from her shower with prune-like fingers, her thoughts still in turmoil.

Really, they'd had a few weeks to work on the murders already but Hermione felt they hadn't made any progress at all. She shivered at the uncomfortable niggling in the back of her mind that they were surely missing something.

"Miss Granger?"

Hermione paused in the act of buttoning her jacket and stilled, listening.

"Miss – Miss Granger? Are you there?" A timid knock followed the hesitant questions.

Realising it was her landlord; Hermione smoothed back her wet hair, finished buttoning up and answered the door. She was expecting Dickson but not the tall blond who was standing directly behind him.

"M-Miss Granger," Dickson stammered. "I'm sorry, I said I wouldn't b-but he drew his wand and –"

"It's fine Dickson." Hermione pinned the blond with a stern look only to receive a neutral stare in return.

Hermione waited until her bumbling landlord had disappeared down the fire escape before she turned toward Malfoy, accusation in her eyes. "You didn't," she said, sounding appalled.

"I most certainly did."

Hermione stared at him warily, wondering why she felt so unsettled in her own home. He was dressed neatly in a dark grey suit underneath his wizarding robes, and Hermione guessed it was what he usually wore to work. "What do you want, Malfoy?"

"I wouldn't have gone to so much trouble to… encourage your landlord to bring me here if there was a fucking button in the elevator that brought me to this floor." He scowled over his shoulder to the stairs where Dickson had disappeared.

Hermione rolled her eyes, not budging from her front door. "You didn't have to terrorise Dickson, he's a sweet man!"

"He's a Squib."

"… What's your point? There's a reason why there's no top floor button on the lift. What was so urgent that you had to come here?"

"You…" he paused for a moment, weighing his words. "You haven't been back to Godshill."

That stopped Hermione short and she her anger faltered into defence. "It's only been five days," she frowned.

"That's a lifetime considering the new evidence we've got." Draco eyed her coldly.

Hermione felt awkward, standing there with her wet hair and stockinged feet. She hadn't gone back to Godshill since they'd discovered Goyle's remains in the trunk.

If Hermione were honest with herself, she'd admit that their discovery of the second skin had shaken her. It was messy, emotional and she hadn't wanted to see Malfoy after the event. She hadn't wanted to be in the same room where the warm light of the fire had fallen over the skin, making it appear harmless.

"What do you want?"

"Potter and I have begun surveillance at my parents' estate." The blond was momentarily distracted when Crookshanks padded into view, tail raised high. Malfoy stared at the cat appraisingly before Crookshanks, deciding he wasn't important, meandered from the hallway.

"I know," she said stiffly. She'd been getting her information on the case second-hand via Harry since she'd refused to return to Godshill. "And?"

"Potter's had to skip out of surveillance next weekend. The Weaselette's going to St. Mungo's for checkups and he wanted to be there."

"Let me guess," Hermione rolled her eyes in irritation as she glanced at the wall clock in the hallway. "I'm the lucky witch who'll have to do it with you."

"Indeed."

"You didn't come all this way into Muggle London just to tell me I'm scheduled for field work, Malfoy." Hermione frowned at him, itching to shut the door in his face so she could sit down and have breakfast.

She watched him straighten, his expression shutting down. A thought flew into her head, unbidden, of her mother scolding her for being a rude, unamiable hostess.

She cleared her throat, clearly uncomfortable. "Would… would you like to come in?"

Hermione hoped fervently that he'd refuse her offer and was mildly surprised when he nodded stiffly in acceptance.

Hermione hadn't gone five steps down her hallway when his voice called her back.

"Granger? A little help here?"

She turned, a frown pulling her eyebrows down. Malfoy remained standing outside her door, a perplexed look on his face when he couldn't take a step into her flat.

Hermione's irritation quickly turned into embarrassment and she took out her wand. She didn't miss the sudden wary look on Malfoy's face when she pointed it at him and quickly muttered "Sino Draco Malfoy."

He followed her into her flat, a safe distance behind her. Once they were in her kitchen, Hermione didn't fight the urge to fiddle. She set the kettle to boil, checked the refrigerator, drew her curtains open and all the while she could see Malfoy intensely appraising her living space.

Flustered and not prepared for company, Hermione quickly shuffled away the stack of books that was sitting on her kitchen counter. She cringed when she saw she'd used a butter knife as a bookmark, and hastily moved it aside.

"I've never heard of such a ward."

"It's a modified area spell," Hermione replied absently, chewing on her lower lip. "I did some research on Vampire behaviour a few years ago. They can only enter a home after they've been expressly invited, you see. I can rescind the invitation any time I want with the Abstergo incantation."

"Why don't you use identification wards instead?"

"I could, but this spell bars anyone and anything, magical, Muggle, human or not."

She glanced into his face and saw the raised eyebrow. It hit her with a jolt when she realised how isolated and anti-social she must seem to him, but flapped the thought away. There was nothing wrong with liking privacy.

She almost dropped her teacup when she realised she hadn't said a single mean thing to him, asides from her initial rudeness at the door. When had this happened?

"I've … Um, I've almost finished your contracts." It sounded stupid to her own ears. He did nothing but nod curtly, the shuttered look on his face as stony as ever. "Would you like some… tea?"

He smirked at her, raising his eyebrow. "No need for pretence, Granger. We're not friends."

"Well, it's called being polite," she immediately retorted. "Obviously something you're a stranger to."

"Again, we're not friends."

"Business arrangement, right."

"I have… something to ask of you," he asked slowly.

Hermione, from habit, was instantly wary. "What is it this time?"

"Don't worry, it's not another agreement I'll 'slap' in your face. I need access to your files in the Department of Research and Growth. The Ministry Archives."

"You can easily apply for a visitor's day pass for that."

"…I need access to the restricted files."

Hermione's frown deepened. "That's top level clearance, Malfoy. What for?"

"I'm going to look into spells or objects that can cause the… murders."

"I've already begun doing that," she objected, reluctant to give him free reign to her department.

"You're not fast enough," he snapped. "If I continue the research, at least I can get more done. I don't have work restrictions like you and Potter."

"What about Malfoy Enterprises?"

"Taken care of." He cocked an eyebrow arrogantly at her. "Well?"

Hermione chewed on her lower lip. If she gave him access, it'd mean he could go through any of the Ministry's files. If Shacklebolt discovered she'd given anybody access to the archives, it was a potential riot in the making. Hell, Shacklebolt wouldn't just have her job, he'd have her hide and make sure she'd regret it for the rest of her life.

"There's protected Ministry files in those Archives, Malfoy. I can't just give you access."

"I'm not going to go snooping into the Ministry's dirty laundry," he said, irritated. "Just the reference material on the Dark Arts."

The idea of Malfoy snooping through those books caused a dark shiver to shoot down Hermione's spine. She stiffened perceptibly and he didn't miss the way she gripped at her teacup.

"Merlin's sake, Granger! What do I need to do to convince you I'm not a Death Eater?"

She stared at him warily. "Still, the information you could unearth could… change things."

"You must have read some things in those books that were interesting. I don't see you freely practicing what you've discovered either, so stop thinking that I'll take what information I find and practice it on the next Muggle."

"Fine." Hermione strengthened her resolve. "But I need to be present whenever you're in the archives."

He regarded her silently, eyes cold and calculating. "You're right not to trust me," he said finally. Hermione wasn't sure if that was an admission of guilt or if his simple response held … what was it exactly? Respect? Impossible.

"I'd do exactly the same if you were Harry."

Malfoy scoffed, disbelieving. "Right."

She cleared her throat, getting up from the table and pouring out her lukewarm tea. "If that's all you need, Malfoy, I really need to be going."

He had remained standing throughout their conversation, but made no move to leave. "I… was hoping I could start that today."

"Today?"

"Time is of the essence, Granger."

She nodded stiffly in agreement. "Wait a moment, I'll just gather my things."

Hermione left him in the kitchen and fetched a pair of sensible black heels, her handbag and several parchments she'd brought home from work. Hermione paused to catch her mental breath in the quiet of her room and she sat on the edge of her bed.

The weight of responsibility lay heavy on her shoulders, almost as if it were tangible. She stretched her neck miserably and fought the urge to just lie down and take a nap. Her mother had always said that there was nothing a nap couldn't fix, and it was something Hermione had always taken for granted.

It was probably why she slept less than anybody she knew, too. Why sleep when there were so many other things she could be doing instead?

When they'd discovered Flint's remains in the trunk, Hermione had felt that she was an outsider looking in, like she was reading someone else's story in a book she'd plucked off the shelf. When Goyle had arrived in a trunk unexpectedly, the desensitized feeling of experiencing the situation in third person had been ripped from her, and reality had sunk in.

Things were getting serious and Hermione despaired.

Malfoy, Harry and me, she thought. They'd successfully kept the murders from the press, but how long would that last? Right now it was just the three of them, the ones with the power and the responsibility to bring the culprit down.

Hermione wondered whether Narcissa and Malfoy Enterprises were reason enough to keep the whole sordid ordeal a secret. Surely, with more manpower, they'd be able to solve this quicker?

She made her way out of her room and met Malfoy in the hallway, noting his sombre expression. She led him to the doormat beside her front door and gingerly held out her arm for Side-Along Apparition.

The pair disappeared with a pop, arriving inside her office an instant later.

Hermione could feel the stares of her officemates as they walked through the second floor and she couldn't stop the fierce blush that appeared on her cheeks. She ignored the heated, raking gazes from several women that were directed to the man behind her and she fought the urge to roll her eyes and bark at her employees.

She walked quickly, annoyed that he kept up easily with her pacing – damn his long legs. They arrived eventually to a set of large double doors and Hermione placed her wand in an identification orb. She fiddled with her robes as her wand was registered and the heavy wooden doors slowly swung open to admit them.

Hermione summoned some files from her office and as they flew towards her, she sent off a lilac memo to Viri to let her know she'd be in the Ministry library.

"You have two hours, Malfoy."

"Let's begin, then."

In the quiet of the archives, Hermione couldn't seem to shake off the feeling of discomfort that had lingered ever since Malfoy had appeared on her doorstep. Usually, the musky smell of the aged books, the dim lighting and the mysterious and secret atmosphere within the archives always did well to soothe her nerves, but today was different.

She peeked at him from the corner of her eye and she couldn't help but think that this was very reminiscent of their Hogwarts days, especially during fourth and fifth years.

She'd avoided him like the plague, but the library was her special place. She'd been infuriated when she discovered in third year that it seemed to be a spot Malfoy also frequented as she'd spied him often, tucked away in the darkest corner. Hermione had been hesitant at first, but when all it seemed he would do was to fling nasty words and lingering sneers in her direction, she cast it off as being harmless. Petty juvenile behaviour, she could handle, but with Malfoy you never knew what he would do next.

As Hermione watched him now, she noted the faint purple circles under his eyes and the gray tinge to his skin. Hmm. It seemed that she wasn't the only one losing sleep over the murders.

She mentally slapped a hand against her forehead, feeling awful. Of course Malfoy would be affected! The trunks were being sent to him, after all. Hermione felt the pinpricks of irritation shoot down her spine. Wow, had she really been so selfish to drown herself in her own misgivings, without the thought for the man sitting three feet away from her?

Hermione caught her thoughts again. Really, why should she care? He'd done a great job of constantly reminding her that this was simply a business arrangement.

But how could she remain detached? People were dying. Hermione hadn't known them well, had actually hated Goyle with a passion, but she truly believed nobody deserved their fates.

Except maybe Voldemort. And Bellatrix Lestrange.

"Would you like to take a photo, Granger?"

Hermione jumped, ripped from her thoughts and she met his gray eyes. "Sorry, was I staring?"

"Rather intently, I was starting to burn up thinking you were shooting fire from your eyes," he drawled.

"Malfoy… are – are you okay?"

His eyes hardened in the dim light. "Do I look okay to you?"

"I –" She took a moment. He actually looked terrible, but his eyes were threatening. "Yes. You look okay."

Properly chastised, Hermione returned to her papers and shuffled herself so her back was to him. Really, sometimes her thoughts got her into too much trouble. This time, she was feeling out of her depth, as if she were in a sea of confusion.

Worrying her lower lip between her teeth, Hermione resolved to return to Godshill. There was still far too many unanswered questions, too many what ifs.

And being Hermione, that was never a good thing.

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"We've been looking at this all wrong," Hermione announced as soon as she arrived in the case room the next day.

Malfoy, who'd been seated at his usual armchair by the fire, turned to stare at her as she set her books down. Hermione understood his surprise – it was the first time she'd set foot in Godshill ever since the night Malfoy had received Goyle's remains. Harry, who was sitting at the table, grinned brightly at her and she returned the look with relief.

She marched to the inked wall and gazed at the new information Malfoy had written there pertaining to Gregory Goyle. She frowned at the placement of the three names of Flint, Goyle and Malfoy and pulled out her wand.

With a wave, the information reorganized itself. Now, with the newly revised wall, Malfoy's name was boldly printed in the centre instead of Flint's.

Two copies of the killer's messages remained close to the names they'd been sent with. The second message, the one that came with Goyle, simply read:

You.

It wasn't much to go on, but it was all they had.

"We were the last people to see him."

Hermione's train of thought was broken with Malfoy's soft-spoken statement. She swallowed thickly at the implication.

"Does Goyle have no family, either?"

"His mother's at St. Mungo's receiving shock treatment. She's been there since we informed her of his… death."

Hermione frowned. "What did you tell her? I thought we were supposed to keep it secret."

"We told her enough."

She didn't want to know how that conversation panned out, and instead she returned to her notes. Over the past week, Harry and Malfoy had been hard at work with any spare time they had in digging up Goyle's background. It was hard, considering their jobs required their attention, but Hermione was pleased with the amount of information they'd gathered.

"It's centred around Malfoy, for one. Another thing is that Goyle's death brings up some really important connections for us." Hermione chewed the end of her quill in thought.

"They're both ex-Slytherins," Harry spoke suddenly.

"Yes, but more importantly, they were both sons of Death Eaters."

"Okay. The picture's becoming clearer now," Harry said, as they all sat in chairs facing their case wall.

Hermione nodded, mind whirring as she absorbed the information. A sudden thought entered her head and she gasped.

"Oh Merlin, what if we've gotten it wrong from the start?"

"What do you mean?" asked Harry.

"We were thinking that only someone truly evil, like Voldemort, could do these things. But the killer is offing Slytherins who were blood related to Death Eaters. What if it's someone who was fighting against Voldemort during the war?"

Harry and Malfoy both froze at her revelation.

"You mean a rogue," Malfoy whispered hoarsely.

"Someone who's taking justice into their own hands," Harry said soberly, slowly lowering his quill.

"But why wait four years?" Restless, Malfoy got to his feet and began to pace. "Why not back then? When the Death Eaters were still running rampant?"

"Who knows?" Hermione said. "Maybe it took the murderer that long to learn whatever spell it is that's skinning them. Or obtaining the object that could do this."

"That's another thing, we still haven't figured out if it's a spell or a Dark item that's killing them." Harry frowned intensely at the wall, jaw clenching.

"I checked the Ministry research into dark artefacts with Granger yesterday. There wasn't much," Malfoy said, disdain evident on his face.

Hermione glared indignantly. "I'll have you know that the collection at the Ministry is the most extensive in Wizarding Britain."

"Really?" Malfoy turned his piercing gray gaze upon the witch and he watched the fire in her eyes turn into doubt. "Then you should see the collection I have at Malfoy Manor."

Malfoy ignored the look of surprise and curiosity in Granger's eyes and instead turned back to Potter. "What of the remaining Death Eaters?"

"Rabastan Lestrange was captured just two months ago," Harry said slowly. "He was the last of the outstanding Death Eaters at large. Five weeks later, Malfoy receives Flint's body."

"That's too convenient to be just a coincidence." Hermione pulled out her leather-bound notebook, chewing on the end of her quill.

"They're connected then," Malfoy dropped into a chair tiredly.

"Still, we can't set this in stone just yet. Two ex-Slytherin deaths doesn't make it a strong modus operandi." Hermione, ever practical, reminded them.

"Are we really going to wait until it becomes a serial killing spree?" Harry asked, surprised etched over his face.

"I didn't say that, Harry. I just meant that we shouldn't close our minds to all the possibilities. This might be a red herring."

Malfoy frowned. "A what?"

"Nothing, it's a Muggle thing. I'm just saying that we don't want to over-speculate and chase a lead that ends up being a diversion."

They were all silent for some time, each lost in their individual thoughts. It was Harry who broke the quiet.

"Hermione," he said, his eyes suddenly alarmed. "What if… what if it was someone from the Order? If we're following the idea that the murderer is purposefully killing sons of Death Eaters, it could be someone we've worked with."

Hermione stiffened in shock. Merlin, that idea was too hard to comprehend! That meant that anyone could be the culprit. Her mind flickered over the faces of the Order members, of Ministry officials, and anyone who wasn't on the dark side during the war.

"Harry, that's hundreds of people."

Harry turned to Malfoy, who'd been brooding in his chair. "It's something to do you with Malfoy."

"I haven't done anything!" Malfoy said sharply.

"Lately," Hermione mumbled to herself and was rewarded with a venomous look from the blond.

"We made the mistake the first time around and we ransacked Flint's life. We forgot who the trunk was sent to."

Silently, Hermione and Harry gazed at Malfoy who remained stoic in his chair. Their case had just taken a twist for the worse, and Hermione was afraid. Who could it be? Her speculations had just opened up their field of suspects from few to hundreds.

Feeling a headache begin at the edges of her vision, Hermione sighed and dropped into an armchair, disheartened and distressed.

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Hermione sat up suddenly, disoriented and unaware of her surroundings.

Sounds of rapid spellfire and muffled yells floated back to her from outside and she was instantly alert, her wand held tightly in her clammy hands.

She was momentarily confused as to why she was on the sofa in Godshill, but brushed the thought away when she spied the large tome she'd been poring over before she'd fallen asleep. The warmth of the fire and the dim lighting had lulled her to sleep, she guessed.

She paused, listening intently, and ran outside where the echoing blasts and yells were located. The sun was setting beautifully over the large hill to the west of the estate, but Hermione didn't even notice. Merlin, were they under attack?

Heart thumping and eyes wide, she sprinted out towards the copse of trees behind Malfoy's house, willing her eyes to adjust to the growing darkness.

The scene she stumbled upon only confused her more.

"Wh – What's happening!" she yelled through the drifting smoke from the flying spells.

Harry turned his dirt-smudged face to her, excitement in his eyes. He shot purple sparks into the air and the sounds of spellfire stopped.

Hermione stood stock still as her best friend walked – limped – towards her. "What's happening, Harry?"

Malfoy emerged through the smoke, in the same state of disarray. Hermione was surprised. He was wearing Muggle jeans that were dirt streaked and a chequered green and white button down shirt. She blinked stupidly at the pair as they cruised to a stop a few feet away.

"What's going on?"

Harry grinned tiredly and flopped to the ground. "We're training."

"For what?"

Malfoy rolled his eyes. "Contingency plan."

"Is this – is this for the murders? You're expecting confrontation?"

"Goyle's trunk appeared literally minutes before I arrived at the Manor. Had I been there as it arrived, I know there would have been a fight." Malfoy wiped the sweat from his brow with an embroidered handkerchief he magically produced from his pocket and Hermione found it altogether ridiculous. Here he was dressed as a Muggle, dirty and sweaty, yet he still had a pristine bit of cloth tucked away in a pocket. It was just ridiculous.

"So, you're… training? With Harry?"

"Who better?"

"He's right Hermione. He brought it up just earlier while you were sleeping, and since I'm head of the Auror department, it's a fantastic idea!"

"Harry, when was the last time you actually fought? On the field? You know, in the thick of things?"

"It hasn't been that long," Harry protested. "Besides, it feels good to get back into it. I was beginning to feel rusty."

Hermione understood. Being a department head wasn't as flashy as it sounded, mostly you were bogged down with lots of paperwork. It was a position where you were a co-ordinator of human resources, rather than practical work.

She felt like an idiot, standing there with her wand drawn while the two men caught their breaths. Without another word, she turned on her heel and walked dazedly into the house.

They were training. Hermione felt another drop of reality fall into her well of fear.

If things weren't real to her before, they sure as hell were now.

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A/N: Eurgh, what a horrible chapter. I'm going to work on Chapter 7 and upload it as soon as possible so this doesn't seem like it's just a mindless filler (which.. hah, I feel it is).