In the West Wing of Malfoy Manor, Narcissa Malfoy quickly skimmed through the contents of the letter she had received four hours previously one last time. She bit her lips to stop the smile that was threatening to break out all over her face. It wouldn't do to start grinning as though she was a sixteen year old in the first throes of love. Narcissa reluctantly placed the letter amidst the embers of the fireplace and watched the parchment curl up delicately into a blackened mass. She forcefully turned her back on it and swiftly opened the doors of her cupboard. Behind the copious amounts of opulent robes, lay a dull, nondescript set of grey robes. With a slight grimace at the coarse fabric, Narcissa changed into the dull robes. She walked over to her dresser and ran a silver hairbrush through her hair, before brushing it all back away from her face and pinning it up into a severe bun. Pleased with her efforts, Narcissa pulled out a dark grey travelling cloak from one of the dresser drawers, and wrapped it around herself. She had learnt the hard way that all grey attire was significantly more inconspicuous than one of all black, which almost screamed that one was trying to be stealth. A quick glance at her emerald wristwatch revealed that she only had a few more minutes before she had to leave. Narcissa sighed and rapidly removed all her jewellery, and pinned the hood of her plain cloak over her shining hair. She hesitated briefly as the telltale glint of her antique wedding ring stood out amidst her dreary attire, and grudgingly pulled it off her slim finger. She picked up the wristwatch from the dresser and checked the position of the emerald hands. It was time.
Narcissa quietly crept through the Manor until she reached the only room where Apparition was possible, and Apparated into a quiet alleyway and straightened her robes. Satisfied that she was still virtually unrecognisable, she stepped out into the harsh winds that dominated the shoreline. The black waters ahead of her looked icy and unforgiving, while the wind mercilessly slapped her pale face. She pulled the thick travelling cloak over her face as she stepped towards the tiny boat that almost blended in with the night. The single oarsman straightened up as he saw her slim figure approaching, eager for the fare.
"Eleven sickles each way tonight," he called out, as she drew nearer.
It had been seven the previous time, but Narcissa did not stoop to haggle. She nodded, and counted out the silver coins in the small sack that she had tucked away into an inner pocket of her cloak. She elegantly stepped into the shaky boat and sat down on the hard wooden bench. The oarsman severed the rope that had moored his boat to the shore, and tapped on the oars to set them rowing. Narcissa stared out at the shadowy, chilly waters around her quietly, a single tear glimmering on her cheek. The bitter slap of the wind thankfully whipped the tear off her face before she could raise a shaking hand to do the needful herself. She drew in a shuddering breath and forced herself to maintain composure. Despite her meticulous efforts, several strands of fine, pale hair had broken free and were flying around her face in the bitter wind.
The wind picked up with alarming ferocity, heralding the impending arrival of her destination. Narcissa knew from unfortunate familiarity that the winds were strongest near the shore of the island. Her stomach housed thousands of butterflies, fluttering delicately, as she recognised the fortress in front of her. The boat skilfully pulled up to the shore, and the oarsman secured it with another piece of thick rope before he stepped out and assisted his passenger.
"How long this time?" he asked.
"An hour I hope," Narcissa replied, her bright eyes shining. "But most likely, half."
"I'll be waiting."
Narcissa nodded. She had expected nothing else. A small part of her grew uneasy at the familiarity between herself and the oarsman, but she knew from unfortunate experience that the best way to draw attention to herself would be to attempt to buy his silence. Money could always be trumped, unfortunately, and the givers of money were seldom forgotten. She walked through to the back doors of the fortress where a uniformed guard was restlessly consulting his wristwatch.
"Apologies for the delay Monsieur," Narcissa said softly, as she approached the guard.
"No matter Madame," replied the guard, relaxing. "You are in luck tonight, as my partner has been held up on personal business. You will have at least three quarters of an hour."
Narcissa smiled beatifically and the guard was struck by how beautiful she was. Despite her drab attire, she shone through like a flower amidst mud. He felt his heart flutter slightly as she placed her slender hand on his proffered arm, and allowed him to escort her inside as though she was a debutante at a ball. They easily passed through several locked doors until Narcissa recognised that they had finally entered the heart of the impenetrable fortress, which was where the most high security prisoners were kept. Such as her husband.
"Monsieur Malfoy," the guard called out softly. "I bring to you, your wife."
Lucius Malfoy's blond head snapped up from the book he had been reading. His normally impassive face lit up as he saw the willowy figure next to the guard, and he drew a breath sharply. He had never seen his wife look more beautiful than she did at that moment, no doubt having put up with discomfort just to see him for under an hour. He bit back the urge to run towards her and take her in his arms, they were Malfoys after all. It would be unseemly to show such naked emotion in front of an outsider. The guard rapidly unlocked the door and Narcissa walked inside her husband's cell, never taking her eyes off his silver ones. The guard knew the Malfoys would appreciate their privacy and tactfully withdrew, Narcissa's wand in his hands.
As soon as he was gone, it was as though a spell had been broken. Narcissa threw herself into her husband's arms and allowed a few quiet tears to seep into the front of his robes. There were no words, and none were needed. Lucius softly stroked his wife's head through her thick hood and wrapped his arms around her tighter. Finally, several precious minutes later, they broke apart. Lucius tenderly tilted Narcissa's face upwards and lovingly kissed away a lingering tear.
"Come my love, let us sit," he said finally, as he escorted her towards his grimy bed as grandly as though he was offering her a throne. Narcissa smiled softly at his arrogance, glad that Azkaban hadn't completely broken her husband. She drew the folds of her drab robes around her and primly sat in her husband's still warm bed. Lucius, instead of joining her on the tiny bed, took a seat on the cold stone floor near her feet.
"Your hair's longer," said Narcissa affectionately, as she played with strands of her husband's white blond hair. "I like it."
"You always did like my hair to be long, much to the disgust of my father," Lucius smiled back. "Especially since you wouldn't let me tie it back much."
"Ah Abraxas, he never did understand how you indulged my whims," Narcissa reminisced easily.
"You're thinner," Lucius noticed, as he raked his eyes over his wife's figure. "Has Miss Granger dismissed all our elves and left you to fend for yourself?"
Narcissa laughed. "Not yet."
"Draco still never writes," Lucius observed quietly.
"He would if you let me tell him the truth."
"No, not yet. If he knew the truth he would not be able to keep himself at arm's length, and until we know what the consequences of association with myself are, he needs to keep his distance. I just wish he wrote once in a while, even if it was to tell me how much of a bastard I am," Lucius' eyes darkened with pain.
"I brought you some things," Narcissa tactfully changed the topic.
Lucius smiled gratefully. "What have you brought me?"
Narcissa beamed and pulled out a small beaded clutch from the inner pocket of her travelling cloak. "Hermione was kind enough to let me borrow her purse; it has an undetectable extension charm on it. I didn't tell her why I needed it, of course, but I managed to sneak you in a few things." She pulled out, with some difficulty, the small basket she had placed inside. She lifted the lid and extracted out several packages. She quickly unwrapped them and removed two plates from the purse. Lucius' eyes lit up as he saw that she had brought him roast beef and potatoes, his favourite meal. Narcissa elegantly placed a large chunk of roast beef on his plate, and a small one on hers, using the solid silver cutlery she had brought with her. Lucius wished he had a chair to offer his wife, or even a table so that they could eat with some modicum of civility, however Narcissa didn't let the lack of appropriate furniture faze her. She joined her husband on the floor, and spread the food out elegantly on the bed, using it as a makeshift table.
"I also brought you some of Ogden's finest," she said with a smile, as she pulled out a bottle of Firewhiskey and two ornately carved crystal goblets.
"This is a feast Cissy," Lucius said appreciatively. "You are too good to me."
"Hardly," said Narcissa airily, with a wave of her hand. "All our life, you have taken me out on spectacular dates, and while I know that this is nothing in comparison, it's definitely my turn to pamper you."
"Cissy, this is one of the most heartfelt, loving gestures anyone has ever done for me," Lucius said honestly, as he started to cut his beef. "I didn't know the true meaning of love until you came in to my life. It's a privilege to be able to call you my wife, and a pleasure to make you happy."
Narcissa blushed, and busied herself with her food to avoid tearing up. Their dinner disappeared rapidly, and Narcissa realised with a sickening lurch that Lucius probably wasn't getting fed well. His prison robes were too loose for her to notice any weight loss, but if the way he was eating was any indication, he had probably been deprived of proper nourishment for days. She was too tactful to ask how many times a day he got food, but she made a mental note to ask the guard before she left. Once their dinner was over, Narcissa poured Lucius another helping of Firewhiskey and pulled out the picture album she had brought with her. Lucius surveyed the pictures that she had taken of Hermione, Draco and Julius over the last month affectionately. He would never admit it, but he sorely missed his family and a small part of him wished that he was included in their happy montage.
"Julius has grown so much since I last saw him that I would not recognise him," said Lucius sadly, as he ran a pale finger over a picture of Draco swinging Julius around while Hermione laughed.
"I'll just have to take pictures more frequently," said Narcissa easily, intertwining her hands with her husband's.
He placed a soft kiss on their interlaced fingers. "If only they allowed personal artefacts here, I would be making you take a whole lot of pictures. And not of Julius." Lucius winked and grinned unashamedly at his wife, who looked torn between horror and laughter at his insinuation. Lucius smirked and fiercely kissed his adorable wife. He gently pushed her on the bed and his eager fingers ran through her hair, pushing her hood back and slipping the dark pins out of the carefully arranged twist. Narcissa's hair fell to her waist in a sheet of gleaming gold, as she melted under her husband's touch. Eager for his passionate caress, Narcissa impatiently guided his hands to her body and pushed his robes aside so that she could once more touch his silky skin. She winced at the presence of bones that she had previously never felt, but forced herself to put the thought aside. With a groan of desire, Lucius pushed her robes aside and pressed down on her eager body, ravenous to feel her all around him.
Narcissa cried out softly as Lucius slowly entered her. Despite his eagerness, he checked himself until she adjusted to his length. Narcissa nodded softly, and drew him closer, eager to feel his deep thrusts once again. He dipped his fingers around her warm moisture and made soft, silky circles. Narcissa felt herself grow closer to her release as his thrusts quickened; almost as one, they approached the peak of their desire and orgasmed passionately. Lucius drew Narcissa tightly into his arms and placed a tender kiss on her nose, as they tried to catch their breath. All at once, they heard knocking on the outer door to his cell.
"Just a minute," Lucius called out, as Narcissa threw herself off the bed rapidly and adjusted her robes over her shaking body. She fumbled with the fastenings of her cloak, and Lucius quickly worked his way through as many of her tiny buttons as he could. Satisfied that her own robes would hold, Narcissa turned to survey her husband's prison robes and quickly adjusted them.
"Your hair," said Lucius, as he struggled to hold back his laughter. "Let me find your pins."
Narcissa nodded, and swiftly swept her hair into silver hair combs in a sloppy imitation of her previous updo. Lucius pulled off the thin blanket covering his bed and scrambled for her hairpins, rapidly locating a fistful. Narcissa pulled her hood back over her head and swiftly pinned her hair. Finally, she turned to her husband, "How do I look?"
"Perfectly virtuous," he smirked.
Narcissa shook her head at him and called out to the guard. He entered, and bit back a smile at their dishevelled appearances. Even if the lady's hair didn't look as though she had just had a tumble in her husband's prison bed, their bright expressions and flushed cheeks would've given their secret away. He waited tactfully as Narcissa and Lucius bid each other goodbye, and offered her his arm. As they made their way back out of the fortress, Narcissa hesitantly turned to face her companion. "Monsieur? May I ask you a question?"
"Oui, Madame," he replied, slightly confused.
"How many times are the prisoners fed?"
He stopped short for a second, and took a deep breath to regain his composure. "It depends, the highest security prisoners, such as Monsieur Malfoy, get a meal every other day."
"Every other day? But that's- that's inhumane," Narcissa was too shocked to be articulate.
"This is prison, Madame, and your husband could've been given a worse sentence, quite frankly. Azkaban is actually more humane than it used to be, since they replaced the Dementors and brought us guards from France. Your husband only survived the Kiss because of your actions, Madame, and all things considered, being fed only every other day is not as bad as what the outcomes could've been," he said frankly.
"I suppose," Narcissa conceded. "But he's being punished harshly enough, solitary confinement is no small feat."
"Well, it's not really solitary is it?" The guard smiled and winked.
Narcissa laughed softly. "If you didn't help me sneak in then Lucius would have nothing but letters to go on for his entire sentence. I do appreciate your efforts, I was just a bit shocked that's all."
"No need for a justification, Madame. No matter what your husband has done, he is still someone you love. It cannot be easy for you to see him in this state."
"At least I see him," Narcissa said quietly.
"Oui, you have that."
They reached the back gates, and Narcissa kissed the guard on each cheek before she stepped back out into the biting winds. The oarsman was still waiting, thankfully, since without him she would have no way of getting off the island. She pulled her cloak around her tightly as he nodded to her and helped her onto the rickety boat.
"A long visit this time," he commented, as they rowed back to the shore.
"I got lucky," Narcissa said shortly, unwilling to give too much information to the stranger.
"In more ways than one," the oarsman leered at her appearance. Narcissa stiffened and did not dignify his crude observation with a response; instead, she haughtily held her dishevelled head high and stared out at the murky ripples surrounding the boat. As soon as she got to the shore, she counted out the appropriate coins and Disapparated without another word. She felt her feet sink into the soft carpet of her home, and immediately felt the warmth of the central fireplace that connected all the Floos in the house. She threw in a fistful of glittering powder and clearly said, "Master suites, West wing."
Narcissa's heart slowed down to a comfortable crawl as she entered her bedroom and pulled off her thick cloak. She was so wrapped up in her own thoughts that she didn't notice the figure sitting on her bed, arms crossed.
"Where were you and why are you sneaking back in?"
Narcissa's heart leapt to her throat as she unwillingly jumped. "I went for a walk, Juls. What are you doing here?"
"I had a bad dream Gramma, I came to find you and you weren't here," Julius complained.
"I'm really sorry," Narcissa said tenderly, as she hung up her cloak. "How long have you been waiting?"
"I don't know but I was just about to go find daddy," Julius said as he jumped off the bed and wrapped his arms around his grandmother's knees. "I was so scared and you weren't home. Why did you go out so late and by yourself?"
"I err went to get a surprise for daddy, so don't tell him I wasn't home alright?" said Narcissa, thinking quickly. "I don't want the surprise ruined."
"Okay!" Julius happily conceded. "But next time don't go out so late alone, okay Gramma?"
Narcissa found herself torn between laughter at her grandson's protective, almost father-like behaviour and sentimentality at his concern. She grinned internally at the thought that it had been a while since she had been caught sneaking back home, and sighed at the simple days where her only problems had been how she would sneak out of her house during the summer holidays to see Lucius. She wrapped Julius into a tight hug and stroked his gleaming head lovingly. "Okay," she whispered, planting a kiss on his soft forehead.
"Can I sleep with you tonight? I'm being a good boy and I won't tell daddy that you were out after your bedtime," said Julius, trying to look innocent.
"Sure," Narcissa conceded. Blackmail and manipulation, Lucius will be so proud of him.
Hermione woke up with a raging hangover, the likes of which had been previously unparalleled in her brief and sporadic experimentation with Firewhiskey. She squinted against the sunlight that had apparently made it it's personal mission to make her morning as miserable as possible. For a change, Draco Malfoy was the one that looked positively gleaming with glee while Hermione Malfoy née Granger scowled at everyone that had made the mistake of placing themselves in her hung-over vicinity. She gingerly sipped her orange juice, the only thing she could stomach from all the rich breakfast options that the café she was currently at offered. She was already regretting her decision to keep her plans with Draco, Blaise and Pansy. Raging headaches did not go well with bickering sexually frustrated friends, and if Hermione had the energy to bend down and reach for her wand, Blaise and Pansy would've been silenced half an hour ago. Though, knowing them, they would probably have continued their argument through sign language.
"Still feeling poorly?" Draco asked cheerfully, as he dug into his pancakes and ice-cream.
"Mhmm," she mumbled incoherently. Hermione snuck a glance at Draco; he looked utterly thrilled with her misery. Surely he is the biggest wanker known to mankind. No amount of sexiness can excuse that. Hang on a minute, Malfoy, sexy? Maybe I'm still drunk…
"Was Draco not kind enough to give you a hangover potion?" Blaise asked with a grin.
"You used the words 'Draco' and 'kind' in the same sentence, surely that should give you an idea of what my answer is going to be," Hermione retorted, with a scowl worthy of her petulant husband. Much to her disgust, the three Slytherins laughed.
"So where are Audrey and Theo?" enquired Draco, knowing that his question would spark some sort of heated argument between his best friends. Payback was almost as sweet and delicious as his breakfast.
"Audrey is at work, she is so accomplished," Blaise started, with a proud smirk.
"Theo is also at work, he has a really important job," Pansy responded, shooting Blaise a death stare.
"Please, as if owning a broomstick company is anywhere as important as being a Healer," said Blaise. He clearly had a death wish.
"I seem to recall you fawning over several racing brooms made by the same unimportant broomstick company," said Pansy, through gritted teeth.
"Well, your memory is clearly wrong then," Blaise said, without batting an eyelash.
"Or perhaps you are just too embarrassed to be caught wanting something that Theo has," suggested Pansy, regaining her cool.
"I never took you for a shallow witch that would let a wizard own her," said Blaise dangerously. "I guess I was wrong."
"I never implied that it was me you wanted," said Pansy sweetly. "I was talking about racing brooms, why, what did you think I was talking about?"
Draco mentally catalogued Pansy as the winner of that round, while Blaise fell silent and fumed into his waffles as though they, too, were owned by Theo. Or perhaps from the way he was currently mutilating the poor pieces of checkered dough, he was visualising that they were Theo. Either way, Pansy's unmutilated meal was proof of her win as far as Draco was concerned. He attempted to change the topic. Badly. "So, Pans, how did you even end up dating Theo? Wasn't it weird because you've both been friends for so long?"
From the three death stares that he received from the other occupants of the table, Draco realised that he had happily walked into another trap question. For the millionth time he wished that he had paid better attention to his mother's lessons on manipulating witches.
"No it's not weird," spat Pansy, as she now started to destroy her strawberries. "I've always thought Theo was nice looking."
"I reckon that it would be weird," argued Blaise churlishly. "How can you date someone that you saw eat mud when he was five?"
"Clearly you've never fallen in love with a friend," said Draco, trying to diffuse the situation (idiotically).
"Clearly," Blaise muttered defiantly.
For a second, a crestfallen expression fell across Pansy's features and her eyes looked suspiciously watery, but Pansy gathered herself before Blaise realised the emotional blow she had just received. She took a deep breath and speared the last of her strawberries with unnecessary aggression. Hermione groaned inwardly as Pansy arrogantly got to her feet, hiding her heartbreak behind a veil of composure. Draco Malfoy could sometimes be alarmingly obtuse, even for a male.
"I have to go get some things for my date tonight," said Pansy, as she threw some galleons on the table with shakily. "I should get going."
"What do you have to get?" Blaise demanded.
Pansy smirked. "Contraceptive potions."
Blaise sputtered on his juice. Hermione managed to conceal a grin by taking a quick sip of her own juice, she was glad to see that Pansy was back in her usual acerbic form and fervently hoped that Blaise's comment hadn't affected her too much.
"I'll come with you," Draco said quickly, eager to make amends. "I'll pick Granger up a hangover potion from the Apothecary while you get your, err, stuff."
"We'll wait here," said Blaise, his previous defiant vigour gone. "Don't forget, we're meeting with Potter and Weasley in an hour to discuss the new developments on the case."
"Bye Hermione, bye Blaise," Pansy cheerfully twinkled her fingers as she took Draco's arm.
"Be sure to owl me and let me know how your date goes," said Hermione with a wink.
Blaise slunk into a sulky silence after Pansy and Draco left. Hermione was caught between her desire to vegetate until her hangover left her, and the task of being the good friend. Clearly she had been spending too much time with Slytherins to even contemplate the former, and just out of obstinacy to prove Harry and Ron wrong about her supposed newly acquired Slytherin tendencies, she finally arrived at a decision.
"Blaise? Are you doing okay?" It wasn't the height of wit, or the most compassionate way to start, but Hermione was too hung-over to dance around the issue delicately. If Blaise was going to pretend to be too much of a big strong manly man that never felt emotions, then it wasn't her problem anymore. At least she had tried.
"I don't know," responded Blaise, miserably.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Hermione ventured, as she ordered another orange juice for herself, foreseeing the need for fortification. Trelawny would've been proud.
"Do you know how many friends I have Hermione?" Blaise questioned, suddenly. Then, without waiting for an answer, continued. "Three. You, Pansy and Draco. When I lost Theo as a friend in Hogwarts, it was horrible. Even though I deserved it, it was an experience that I promised myself I would never repeat again."
Hermione drained her juice. "So you're worried about losing Pansy as a friend if you both start dating?" she extrapolated.
"What are the chances that it will work out? Yes, I care very deeply about Pansy, and yes I would even go ahead and say that I love her, but I don't know if I will love her when we're in a relationship together. Right now, I'm attracted to Pansy, there's sexual tension and there's a lot of flirting, but eventually that will go away. Once the relationship stops being new and exciting, would we really work out together as a couple?"
"But if you love her…" Hermione started.
"I love her, yes, but I also believe that you cannot truly love someone as a partner until you've been in a relationship with them. I love Pansy, I love her quirks, I love her passion for her job and I love her determination, but I don't know if I will love being in a relationship with her. Just because we're best friends and we're attracted to each other, doesn't mean that we're compatible," said Blaise quietly, his shining eyes serious for once. "Wasn't it the same with you and Weasley?"
Hermione considered his words. "Yes, I guess to some extent it was. We were attracted to each other and we loved each other deeply, but as a partner, he was never what I needed," she smiled wryly before continuing. "Once the relationship stopped being new and exciting, we realised that we didn't work out as a couple," she admitted quietly, parroting his words. "But that doesn't mean anything, we're still friends now."
"And when you both broke up, how long did it take you to get that friendship back?" Blaise questioned.
"At least six months," Hermione admitted. "Though the break-up was mutual, so it would really depend on the situation."
"I love Pansy so much that I can't imagine going a single day without having her in my life," Blaise admitted softly. "Even if we're arguing, even if she drives me crazy, and even if she makes me sad, at least she's there. I can't have that guarantee if we have a bitter break-up to get over. Look at us now, we never dated, we never made any promises, and yet our friendship has taken a blow."
"What about Audrey then?" enquired Hermione, as the waiter placed the second glass of juice in front of her.
"Audrey, well, she's beautiful, she's easy to get along with and she's interesting to talk to. We have an easy, uncomplicated relationship. You won't see us argue like cats and dogs at a café, it's just sweet and simple, and the consequences of us not working out are meagre," said Blaise, frankly. "I'm sure over time we will develop a comfortable familiarity with each other."
"Is that what you want?" Hermione questioned, as she gratefully sipped her refreshing drink. "Comfortable familiarity?"
"It's better than the alternative of bitter heart-break and regret," replied Blaise.
For a few minutes Hermione was quiet as she stirred her juice, considering Blaise's opinions. "I disagree," said Hermione finally.
"Big surprise," Blaise teased.
"No really," Hermione persisted, as she placed her palm over Blaise's. "Despite everything that happened, I never regretted pursuing Ron. It was much better than spending my entire life wondering 'what if'?"
"Well, little one, we're not all as curious as you are," said Blaise easily, as he affectionately tousled Hermione's curls.
"I guess not," said Hermione thoughtfully.
They fell into a companionable silence as Hermione attended to her hangover by finishing her orange juice and speedily ordering another. She had just sipped the dregs of her third glass when Draco returned. The hangover potion was quickly swallowed, but Hermione still had the underlying urge to hex everyone that got in her way. By the time the three of them had Apparated outside her old house, she still had no better control of her temper. After pleasantries were exchanged, the five of them buckled down to discussing the case with fortifying cups of tea in their hands.
Ron spread his notes across the table with all the finesse of a blind monkey. Hermione had to restrain her itching wand hand from organising his notes chronologically. While she ordinarily gave her boys as much freedom as her obsessive-compulsive self allowed her to, now that they were working with her it was only fair that they display at least a modicum of organisational skills. Was that jam on the side of one of his notes…?
"I think we safely agree that the Diagon Alley attacks weren't random or coincidence," Harry said, as he looked up from his own (marginally) better organised notes.
"The real point here, Potter, is whether they were targeting the former Death Eaters," said Draco impatiently. They had spent the past hour in the company of the Dream Team, and as far as he could see, they had received absolutely no new information or leads. All they had done up until that point was argue about whether Valmont –who was still comatose– was innocent or guilty.
"The motives that anyone might have for killing off the Death Eaters are incidentally the same as the person that cursed us," Hermione pointed out, and smiled at Blaise as he took careful notes. "The Ministry has never been particularly keen to connect the dots and admit that they're in over their heads when it comes to anything truly dangerous. It's no coincidence that there were simultaneous attacks in Diagon Alley and muggle London, and the only casualties just happened to be Death Eaters."
"I'm with Hermione on this one," Blaise seconded, as he shuffled through his notes and scribbled little references in the margins.
"Again, why would someone curse you both specifically?" Ron asked.
Hermione bit her lip in frustration. "Okay, I honestly have no idea how you and Harry managed to get into Auror training at all. We are going to go about this in an organised manner, because unlike you two I refuse to blunder about from theory to theory haphazardly. There are a few things we need to discuss, and I will hex anyone that dares interrupt. One, while we have waxed poetic on whether Valmont is guilty or not, we still need to discuss the ropes and what they were doing in my office. Two, we need to discuss the attack on Diagon Alley and identify if anyone knew that Malfoy and myself were also going to be present. Three, we need to refine our list of suspects to include people that would be after the likes of Selwynn, Yaxley and Rowle. Four, we should discuss safety drills and some defence training, because I for one can clearly see that we haven't seen the last of this."
Harry and Ron blinked. They had a forceful reminder of just how important Hermione's logical approach had been in their Horcrux hunt.
"Let's start with the ropes, shall we?" Hermione continued bossily, miming that the Aurors should take notes. "Here are the things we know about the ropes," she started dictating. "One, they can only be activated with the specific trigger of someone bleeding, so we need to work out what they were doing in my office without any sort of instructions as to how they worked. Two, they work for binding two people and sap the magic, so whoever it was that sent them or put Valmont up to sending them was, at the very least, intercepting our owls since Malfoy and I had plans to meet; and it's more likely that someone wanted to do that to us than to Harry and Malfoy. Three, we should check every Apothecary in Wizarding Britain to see if anyone has purchased the poison Valmont was given, though I think that would be too obvious, so I did some research and found the exact list of ingredients needed. There are a few on there that are pretty rarely used, so we should look at logs to see if anyone has purchased those recently. Next to the ingredients I have written down their shelf life, which gives us a window of time in which they could've purchased them just in case they spread their purchases out."
"Brilliant Hermione," said Ron appreciatively, as he scrawled down her suggestions.
Draco thought that Hermione had never looked sexier than when she rolled her eyes at what Ron said.
"Next," Hermione ploughed on forcefully. "The attack on Diagon Alley, we were there for a total of three hours, including lunch, where we had reservations. The attack was on the main street, which doesn't leave us many clues in the specificity of the targets department. We could, however, question the restaurant and see if anyone might have acted as an informant."
"We will have to work out which of us should get the questioning done," Blaise reminded, as he made a note in the margins of his parchment. "Potter, Weasley and I can discuss that division of labour later, but we will definitely have to work out where it would be beneficial to use Potter's name and influence, and where it would be prudent to keep things a bit more subtle."
"Good idea," said Harry approvingly. "I noticed a pattern in the attacks. They seem to be after Death Eaters that are not currently being prosecuted by the Ministry. Perhaps this is someone from the Light side that thinks they deserve more punishment, or it's a former Death Eater that is enraged that they got away. Either way, we should make a list of Death Eaters that got a reprieve or made some kind of agreement with the Ministry and protect them."
"Blaise and I can work on that," nodded Draco.
"Excellent," said Hermione, with a tone of finality that she had clearly picked up from McGonagall. "Did anyone conduct a search of Valmont's office?"
"We're waiting for the weekend to pass," Harry explained. "We lodged in a request on Friday, so we should know by Monday or Tuesday, depending on when we get the go ahead, if there was anything suspicious to be found."
"Is that a wrap?" Hermione questioned, as she started gathering her things irrespective of the response. She was in a rather foul mood and wanted nothing more than to curl up in her warm bed.
"How about I take Granger home, and the rest of you can smooth over anything we might have missed," said Draco firmly, as he stood up. If Hermione was going to be annoyed, it would affect him sooner or later, and he really liked keeping all his limbs attached.
Hermione had forced herself to get some actual work done so as to salvage her weekend. It was unlike her to spend her days off on anything except work, and she didn't want to risk alerting any observers in the Ministry that her attention was otherwise occupied. She had unfortunately learnt the power of gossip, assumptions and deduction all the way back in Hogwarts. Despite this, she found her patience wearing thin over the Bills that she had to look over to grant approval to turn into laws. Being a high profile member of the Law Enforcement department definitely had its downsides.
After the fifth sigh from Hermione in the last hour, Draco looked up from his book on potion making. "Something bothering you?"
"Seventeen inches of parchment on the standard regulations of Cauldron bottom thickness," Hermione answered crossly, as she underscored another ridiculously worded section of the Bill. "I have half a mind to erect this stupid piece of parchment between the bottom and the inside of a cauldron, maybe then they will be thick enough."
Draco laughed; a husky velvety sound that Hermione rarely heard. "I think you should take a break."
"A break?" Hermione looked up irritably.
"A pause from work," Draco replied, unruffled. "Surely you have heard of that terribly plebeian concept?"
"I know what a break is," Hermione spat back, as she viciously crossed out an entire section that proposed something ridiculous about the bottoms carrying layered shields against melting, even though any first-year would know that excessive magic around the cauldron could affect the magic of the brew. "I just don't see how I will be able to relax when there is so much to go through."
"Is that a challenge?" Draco teased, putting his book down.
Hermione raised an eyebrow without looking up from the offending Bill. "Do you want it to be?"
"Perhaps," Draco conceded. "Come here."
"And do what?" Hermione asked, as she neatly scribbled alternate suggestions in the margins.
"Test out how effective a levitation charm would be if we were to have sex upside down?" Draco suggested.
Hermione's head snapped up. "Excuse me?"
"Now that I finally have your attention," Draco drawled, his eyes light with mischief. "Come here so that I can give you a massage."
"A massage?"
"Granger, if you repeat every word that I say, I suspect that your break is going to last a lot longer than you expect. Now, are you going to come over?" Draco questioned impatiently.
Hermione found herself complying, feeling oddly flustered at his attempt at being nice. No wonder men think we're bloody confusing; I'm flustered when he is being a prat and I'm flustered when he wants to do something nice. Oh Merlin, I'm turning into Lavender.
There was something deeply intimate about sitting on a bed in her less than adequate nightdress while her shirtless husband's hands fluttered to her collarbone. His long fingers seemed surprisingly warm on her clammy skin, and his adept ministrations slowly melted every muscle that she possessed. Hermione could feel the occasional brush of overlong silky hair against her nape as Draco leaned in close to work the pads of his thumbs on a particularly recalcitrant knot of nerve endings in the sensitive spot where her neck met her shoulder. She found herself having to bite back the urge to moan brazenly at his touch. Unable to sit up stiffly any longer, she found herself relaxing into the bare expanse of his chest, relishing the body warmth against her cool skin. She involuntarily shivered when his fingers gently lifted the heavy mass of her hair and pushed it to one side of her neck.
And then his hands dipped lower.
Hermione could feel Draco's fingers gently resting against her ribcage as his thumbs worked the sides of her lower back. If the Malfoy money ever ran out, Draco could become a very rich man giving out massages. Now that his fingers were concentrated on her lower back, she could feel his thumbs frequently slip on the silky fabric of her nightdress.
Draco too, had noticed the problem. "This would work much better on your skin."
Tentative, but extremely curious, Hermione nodded her agreement.
"May I?" Draco asked cautiously.
"Go ahead," said Hermione huskily.
She quickly readjusted herself so that he had access to the hemline of her nightdress. She drew an inward breath sharply as his hands slowly disappeared underneath her clothes and lightly touched the pebbles of her vertebrae. His skilful fingers now rested against her taut stomach as he continued to seek out the tender spots in her back with his thumbs. She could feel his breath gently against her neck as he lightly ran his hands up her sides. What had started out as a massage was now tentative exploration; Hermione was terrified and excited all at once, her stomach a delicate flutter of nerves. Draco wasn't faring much better, for a certain part of his anatomy was definitely in full salute, just in case he had missed how innocently erotic the moment was. Draco knew that if he wanted, he could turn Hermione around and take her then and there, but a small part of his mind wanted him to stop. He didn't want it to be this way, and he didn't want to ruin the tantalising fragility of innocence that surrounded them.
If he looked past his own, weak denial: He was terrified he would screw things up and ruin a perfect evening.
He let her go. "All done."
She blinked, and came out of her trance. "Thanks."
Draco Malfoy was in trouble. He was starting to care.
A/n: Thank you all so much for the overwhelming response in reviews, alerts and favourites to my last chapter! I'm really glad so many of you approve of the smut ;). While this chapter doesn't yet have the Dramione smut you are all rooting for (ha), I hope that you all enjoyed it anyways. I cannot even begin to start describing just how much I appreciate the reviews and how immensely motivating they have been. To give you an idea, I was out of pre-written chapters and the entirety of this chapter was written within two days of my last post. I think it's safe to say that reviews are the best cure for writer's block! As always, thank you for reading and I hope you have enjoyed my work. Reviews make me smile, so thanks once again to all my reviewers (and the repeat reviewers!) for putting a lot of smiles on my face :)