London, 30th September 2003
Harry was surprised when Hermione walked into his office. He had been meaning to make time to see her for the last couple of days, but dealing with the aftermath of what happened in Pennsylvania was keeping him fully occupied. Talk about a big mess. Trying to ignore his increasing headache, he smiled and came around the desk to give her a hug.
"Hermione, I'm so happy to see you! How are you holding up? I've been meaning to call on you, but…"
"Yes, I know. You've been busy. They have kept me occupied too, debriefing after questioning after interrogation. I don't know what they expect me to say."
"It's nothing personal, Hermione. They need to get to the bottom of this, after Riddley's claim. If there is anyone working against –"
"What do you mean his claim? Whatever he is claiming, it's not true, Harry. I was there. I saw."
"He says he was under the Imperius."
"Oh, how convenient! I don't think so, Harry."
"Well, I personally don't know what to think. I've known Riddley for several years now, and he's one of the most level-headed, blindly-toe-the-line operatives we have. No imagination at all. This goes against character."
"Did he happen to say who cursed him?"
"He claims he doesn't know. That it happened when he and Abbot were searching the grounds earlier that day."
"Well, if it's true -and I'm not saying it is- then somebody is trying to help us. If Malfoy had been hit with that Confringo, chances are he would be dead by now. I had to jump on him to deflect the spell, Harry! Can you imagine the repercussions if he had been killed in plain view in the middle of a Muggle competition? Doesn't bear thinking about."
"Ah, but you see? That's the thing. He insists that he was going to deliberately miss even if you hadn't pushed him. That he was compelled to warn Malfoy off and give him a chance to escape."
Hermione looked doubtful. "I don't know, Harry. It looked to me like his aim was true. He had his wand trained directly on his chest." She shuddered a little.
"Are you cold?
"No, just a bit tired. Anyway, I'd like to have a word with him, if possible. Is he here?"
"No, he's at Mungo's. He's demanding an anti-rabies potion, for some reason." Hermione laughed. "What is that about?"
"Malf… Malfoy bit him, Harry!" she giggled.
Harry chuckled. "Can't blame him, then. I'd be using an anti-rabies too if a ferret had bitten me!" Hermione swatted his arm. "Ouch!"
"That's not funny anymore. Overused!"
"I know, I know, sorry!" He laughed, then turned serious. "I've missed you, you know. I'm so happy you're back to normal, Hermione. Even if you messed up again. Ouch! Quit hitting me, witch! I'll get you for this!"
Hermione laughed merrily as she ran around his desk, trying to escape the tickling assault she knew was coming.
London, 4th October 2003
Eight nights! Eight bloody nights in a row dreaming the same dream! I can cope with the occasional wet dream, but every day? It's getting absolutely ridiculous! I need some peace!
Hermione irritably fluffed up her pillows, determined not to fall asleep. She snuggled up under her lovely warm duvet -a cup of coffee under a stasis charm sitting on her bedside table, just in case she felt her eyelids droop- and tried very hard not to think about the glorious body she had set eyes on so many months ago. She wished she hadn't. The sight of his rapture as he came was indelibly branded in her brain. Just thinking about it did funny, gushy things to her insides. If I could just scrub my brain with a wire brush…
She snuggled down further as she deliberately didn't think of his taut muscles, of the arch of his back or his perfect skin. She purposely didn't think of the way his hips thrust and grinded, or how he threw his head back as he climaxed. And she most emphatically did not dwell on the incredibly erotic little sounds he made. No, no, she wouldn't think of that. Ever.
What was wrong with her? Sure, she hadn't had sex in a long time, and Malfoy was unquestionably a very sensual wizard. But come on, she worked in a place where fit, handsome men were in abundance. Surely there must be somebody else out there that could take her fancy! Hey, that's an idea. She would relieve a bit of the tension now and that way she wouldn't dream of the pale, insipid prat. Take Zabini, for example. Now, here was a fine specimen of a wizard if she ever saw one. And a polar opposite to him. And he had a reputation as a fantastic lover. There, he'll do very nicely.
Hermione let her hand wander as she tried to picture the handsome, dark skinned wizard doing unspeakable things to her body. She closed her eyes and tried to visualise him naked in front of her. His body would be glorious, all hard and chiselled planes and angles, his skin the lovely golden brown of aged teak. Yeah, that's it! He was slowly kissing her neck, nibbling and caressing with his tongue as his hand fondled her erect nipple. He pinched and tugged on it, his mouth slowly making its way down to the other one. She was so wet, grinding against his hardness, her fingers tangling in his soft blond locks. Then she tugged on his hair, needing to claim his mouth and he looked up at her, his beautiful silvery eyes full of mirth.
She sat up with a start, then flopped back onto her pillows groaning in defeat. Reaching over, she grabbed her copy of Great Wizarding Events of the Twentieth Century and, sniffling soundly, resigned herself to another long sleepless night.
New Providence Island, 21st November 2003
Emanuele Boccioni was the second cousin once removed of Blaise Zabini's mother's current husband. He was also the Honorary Consul General in the Honorary Consulate of Italy in The Bahamas. He had a beautiful home in Lyford Cay, a prestigious residential area on the westernmost tip of New Providence. He also owned a big yacht, co-owned a golf club and kept the sort of lifestyle that would appeal to the so-called beautiful people. And he was a Muggle.
It was from spending a couple of weeks in this island paradise that Zabini's mother had just returned. And that's how the Ministry learned of the most current location of one Draco Malfoy, who, according to Zabini's mother, had arrived at Boccioni's house as a guest of one of his sons the day before she was due back in England. Not that Mrs Zabini would have blabbed about it to the Ministry, not at all. But she had let it slip while entertaining her son with a full, minutely detailed account of her exotic vacation. (With Muggles! Imagine how quaint!) Blaise, being an Auror and not a very good friend of his friends, felt that it was his duty to inform the Ministry.
Kingsley decided to send the team to catch him. But, as Harry pointed out, Malfoy would be expecting them, after running into Zabini's mother there. The fact that their man in the Islands reported no signs of Malfoy even attempting to leave could only mean one thing. He was expecting them, he was ready for them and was issuing a challenge.
Hermione agreed. She knew that Malfoy was getting caught in the thrill of the chase. Much as I am, though there is no need for them to know that. The only chance they had would be to lure him into a false sense of security, then somehow entice him somewhere away from his Muggle friends and overpower him. That could prove tricky. "But not impossible, by any means." Then they would make up a story about him having been called away unexpectedly. It was decided; they would leave for the Islands with the next available Portkey.
Problem: New Providence, although enjoying an adequate airport, did not have Portkey travelling facilities. This was not an obstacle for affluent people like the Zabinis or the Malfoys, who could quite easily hire a private aircraft for the short flight from Miami. For Hermione and her team it meant braving the Muggle airport to catch a connecting flight. At least she would be provided with a one-use-only Portkey back to Miami, to be utilised as soon as Malfoy was apprehended. Uhm, yes, small consolation. Shoot. Weell, that's how things are. Now, let's see who is going to tell her.
Hermione was tired. She really wasn't sleeping properly this days, she couldn't even remember when she had last have a full, undisturbed night sleep. It was affecting her concentration and, more noticeable to everyone around her, her temper. So, the job of explaining to her the details of her itinerary fell on Harry. Being her best friend, he was expected to survive the ordeal relatively free of spell-damage and the permanent effects of unsavoury curses. Thankfully, they were right and he did. Mostly.
Miami International Airport, the Muggle one, is a daunting prospect for inexperienced wizarding travellers. After arriving at the Miami International Portkey Centre and collecting their belongings –all the while assisted by lovely and obliging Portkey Hostwitches, they were dumped to fend for themselves right in the middle of what looked like a stampede of charging Hippogriffs during mating season. Behaved like it too. Hermione, Abbott and Thomas had never been shouted at, pushed and shoved, glowered at or groped so callously by a horde of raving Muggles in all of their lives. They had less than two and a half hours to make it to the connecting flight, and while before their arrival they had complained about the long wait, right now they seriously doubted they would make it in time.
"Right. Hold on to your stuff and run. And please, let's try to stick together. If anyone gets separated, we'll meet at the Nassau check-in desk. Is that understood?"
"But Hermione!" Hannah was already hyperventilating. "How are we going to find the right desk in this monstrosity of a building? I can't even see where we are going, among all this people! I'm short!"
"Abbott! Pull yourself together! You are a witch; use your wand if you must. Just make sure you do it discreetly!"
Hermione waved her wand, now looking like a nice parasol thanks to a temporary glamour charm, courtesy of Hagrid: "Ostende Nassau desk."
The flight to Nassau wasn't much better an experience. The aircraft was small, with sitting for about forty people, and it felt flimsy and unsafe. It didn't help that they had to fly through a raging storm that shook and jolted the plane every which way. The lightning show was spectacular. And all three of them spent the seventy minutes flight clutching their armrests, with their eyes shut tight and trying to keep down whatever stomach contents they could salvage. Not an easy feat.
It was a relief to arrive in Nassau at last. As soon as they stumbled out of the small drab building, Hermione spotted a tall tanned man with a big handwritten sign that read "M of M" in big neon green letters. "That's our contact," she muttered to her two companions.
He was dressed in cream chinos and a dark blue polo shirt, had dirty blond hair neatly parted on the side and was wearing the biggest, naffest grin on his face. They walked towards him with tentative smiles.
"Hello there! You must be the Ministry's people. Hi, I'm your Ministry man in the Islands. Winston Warrington-Stuart, at your service. You can call me Winnie."
Dean snickered. Hannah elbowed him discreetly.
"And you are…"
"Hermione Granger, in charge of the operation. This are my colleagues, Hannah Abbott and Dean Thomas."
"Nice to meet everyone. Right, let's go to my car. You can tell me about your journey on the way to my house, it's getting late. We'll all sleep there tonight."
"Couldn't you Side-Along-Apparate us? We are all terribly tired and need a shower and a cup of tea." Hannah asked. "If it's not too much trouble, that is."
"Well, I'd love to, my dear, but I'm afraid I can't. I'm a Squib. Same as my two sisters, actually. I can't say it wasn't a big disappointment to my father, but there you are. You never can tell with these things. But hey, I can still be useful to the Ministry! And having one foot on each side is not just convenient, it's fun!" He gave them a big disarming smile that they couldn't help but returning.
They got to the house in less than ten minutes. It was lovely white colonial style building with a magnificent entrance, and as far as they could tell, surrounded by landscaped gardens. Winnie didn't waste time to show them to their bedrooms, saying that he would meet them later in the patio for some refreshments.
Hermione was the first one to come out, since her bedroom had direct access to the patio. He found Winnie reclining on a lounger, enjoying a glass of wine.
"Come and sit here, Hermione, there's plenty of room!" He patted the cushion next to him. Hermione declined politely, choosing instead to sit on the big corner sofa directly to the side. There was wine, fresh juice and lots of finger foods arranged over several glass coffee tables.
"If you don't mind, I'll sit closer to the food, Winnie. We haven't had anything to eat since leaving London, and I'm starved."
"Certainly, certainly! Help yourself!"
Before she even had time to sit, Dean and Hannah had joined them. "Right, since you are all here, let me tell you what's going on. Paolo Boccioni –you'll all like him, let me tell you- arrived four days ago with a friend of his. Drake, he calls himself. And a very nice fellow he is. Except that apparently he is wanted by the Ministry for some crime that they haven't specified. Well, not to me." He pulled a funny face. "Aaanyway, they haven't been doing much. One visit to the club, a couple of afternoons yachting and swimming, and a lot of lounging about by the pool.
So, here is the plan. Tomorrow, Big Chap and Pixy Face here –they both glowered at him- will report to the Club, where they will be sort of working during your stay."
"Hey! What do you mean, sort of working?" Dean asked, horrified. Hannah looked resigned. She seemed to always end up waitressing. She was getting used to it.
"Well, you need to be at the club, since that's the only place to socialise and everybody end up going there. So, you'll be there. But in reality, you'll have pretty much freehand to come and go."
"Hmm. I don't know."
"Is all sorted, don't you worry. Hermione here will pose as my girlfriend. I already got us an invitation for lunch with Paolo tomorrow!" He looked extremely pleased with himself. Hermione, not so much.
"Why your girlfriend? Couldn't you have said I was, oh I don't know, a friend of your sister's?"
"I think girlfriend will be more believable." Hermione looked unconvinced, but let it slip. "Once I introduce you, it will be up to you to devise a plan. I'll help, of course."
"Of course." Hermione replied.
Lyford Cay, 22nd November 2003
Palms House, as the Boccioni's residence was known, was a stunning Mediterranean style villa situated on a small promontory at the head of the Canal, with a private beach accessible from the side. The gardens were an eclectic mix of tropical plants and palm trees, and Hermione could see an infinity pool with the luminous turquoise Caribbean as a backdrop. I could get used to this, she thought.
They crossed an enchanting Andalusian patio to the side to get to the tennis courts. Hermione saw Malfoy before he did her, and her heart decided to do a crazy little cartwheel number in her chest.
She took a deep breath to steady herself.
"Paolo, old chap! Come over here; let me introduce you to my girlfriend!"
"Ha ha ha! Look who's turned up at last, it's Winnie Bear! About time you got here, you lazy lout! We almost drank up all the aperitifs, sorry if there isn't much left. Well, hello! Who did you say she is? And don't give me that dross about her being your girlfriend; she's way out of your league!"
Hermione was bowled over by the unbound energy of this man. And what a sight for sore eyes he was. Tall and wiry, with the classical patrician beauty of a true Roman, black silky hair worn a tad too long, a lovely golden tan and the most startling eyes of indigo blue she had ever seen.
"Does she speak?" Paolo laughed.
Hermione coloured a bright shade of crimson when she realised she had been staring at him with her mouth open. She put on her best smile and extended her hand.
"Hi, I'm Hermione…"
Paolo ignored her hand and instead put his hands on her shoulders, planting a kiss on each of her cheeks. Hermione blushed and laughed prettily. "I can see you are one of those continental charmers! It's lovely to meet you, Paolo."
"The pleasure is all mine, believe me. Drake, come and meet Winnie's new girl."
Hermione felt him approaching and her heartbeat started doing funny little fluttery things. He was wearing a pair of knee length swimming trunks, an old T-shirt and flip-flops, and it was so unlike the Malfoy she knew that she forgot for a second why she was there. He stopped next to Paolo, his eyes unreadable.
"Granger."
"You've burnt your nose." Without a thought, she reached out and ghosted a finger down the reddened skin. Then she froze.
Malfoy took her fingers and kissed her knuckles, a little smile playing on the corners of his mouth. "Nice to see you too. It's been too long."
She felt Winnie tighten his hold around her waist. Paolo looked at them curiously.
"You two know each other, I see."
"We went to school together, actually. Fancy meeting you here, Malfoy."
"Yes, it's a small world, isn't it?"
"Pooh Bear, don't squeeze me so hard, please. I can't breathe."
Malfoy snickered.
"Don't call me Pooh Bear, Honey Bun!"
"Winnie," Hermione was getting annoyed. "I think you can quit-"
"Come on!" Paolo laughed. "Race to the pool! Last one to jump in pays for dinner!" And with that he sprinted, Winnie following close behind.
"So, Granger. Happy to see me?"
"You should talk! You're the one who's been waiting for me to come!"
"Well, yes, I can't say that's not true. I thought it might be fun to foil again your attempts at catching me. I do enjoy our little game."
"You shouldn't be so cocksure, Malfoy. One of these days you'll slip and then I'll have you. We'll see who has the last laugh."
"There you go again, saying you'll have me and then talking about my-"
"Don't you dare finish that sentence! It would be nice if you behaved. Paolo seems really friendly. I'd hate to ruin his fun."
"Spoilsport."
...
"You know why I'm here, don't you? This isn't socialising, Malfoy, sooner or later I'll try to get you and you'll have to fight me. Or come with me."
"Let's not think about that now. Right here you are Winston's girl and I'm Drake. Even if it's only for a short while. "
...
"Come on, Granger, live a little." He sprinted forwards, laughing, carefree. "Race you to the pool. Last one to jump in is a Gryffindor!"