Disclaimer: Unfortunately, HP isn't mine
Chapter two
It's late at night on Saturday, already past ten, when she exits the ministry building after a long, irritating meeting. Outside, the air is cold and the sky is a sea of black. The only illumination comes from the pale, yellow glow of the lamps that line the sidewalk and the white light of the waning moon.
It's not nearly enough. Hermione swallows.
Logically, she shouldn't be nervous, but even after all these years, she's still as paranoid as if it were still wartime. Some memories never go away, and some people will never come back. Almost automatically, her fingers tighten around her wand. Hermione takes a deep, calming breath to soothe her nerves.
"Merlin, I hate working late," she says aloud. "Added to the fact that technically, it's supposed to be the weekend, this is ridiculous! I have no idea why those stupid gits are still bringing up Lucius Malfoy's case after months and months. I swear he can bribe people in prison…"
She trails off, and pauses in her footsteps to glance around.
There is movement in the corner of her eye. A flash of blonde, light footsteps, the swoop of a dark cloak interrupts the night. Forgetting her plans to walk to the apparition point, Hermione runs after it.
"Hey!" she calls out. "Wait!"
The shadowy figure doesn't stop, running full speed ahead. His- or her- shoes hit the pavement with a slap, and suddenly, the outline of a person makes a sharp turn toward an alley. The entrance is conveniently illuminated by a lamp, just before the walls veer in and cast shadows over the inside.
Hermione makes the effort to study any uncovered features while there's still light, and gets another glimpse of blonde hair. It's too fast to catch what shade it is, but under the cowl of the cloak, there is also the unnatural shine of a mask. It's not bone white, like the Death Eater style, but a blood red, symbolic in the same way.
Her first thought is that Voldemort is back and has created another terrorist group when the figure turns and salutes her.
"Another time, Hermione Granger, I'll wait another time," he calls, voice is deep and rich, indefinitely masculine.
Then he's gone.
-:-
The headlines Monday morning reads Death Eaters 2.0?
Hermione's not sure whether to freak out, or get in contact with Ron and Harry immediately when the owl delivers the bundle. She devours the text as quickly as she read her Hogwarts textbooks, and pauses a moment to let the implications sink in. She's baffled, and that's not a good thing.
A minute later, the door flies open.
"Francis, have you read the-"
Immediately, Hermione spins around to the intruding voice and evaluates the scene. It's Draco, clutching a copy of the Daily Prophet, hair meticulously in place, but eyes wild. One hand is still in the air after throwing open the door, and it seems that he's in a hurry.
Similarly stunned, Draco studies her back, taking in the desk, and glancing at the golden plaque that says Hermione J. Granger in bold, black letters.
"…You're not Francis."
"No," she says slowly. "I'm not."
They react at the same time.
Draco whips around and starts to bolt, but in the same second, Hermione raises her wand and shouts a panicked, "Colloportus!"
The door slams shut first.
The sharp sound echoes throughout the office and they turn to look at each other. Draco's gaze is uncertain. Hermione twists her lips with frustration. She takes the moment to slow her heart rate, and let the tensions simmer down. She's glad that she caught him, because too many questions hang in the air, unanswered.
Finally, "Granger," Draco begins, seemingly calm once more. "Is there a problem?"
He doesn't make a move to open the door again, and so Hermione lowers her wand slowly.
"Yeah, there's a problem." Her voice is acidic, and she can't resist spitting out her next sentence. He's being a bastard, she's just reciprocating. "The problem is your face, Malfoy. It's so goddamn ugly."
Draco arches a pale eyebrow, but Hermione can see the corner of his mouth twitch with irritation. "I wouldn't say that," he drawls easily in response. "Have you looked in a mirror recently?"
"I have," she retorts, "and I'm glad I'm not blonde like you."
Hermione frowns for a second at the word blonde and stares hard at a spot behind Draco's head. The wall is a beige-cream colour that vaguely reminds her of his hair. It also vaguely reminds her of late night chases outside of this very building. Looking down, she catches the headline Death Eaters 2.0, thinks of Ron in Albania, and matches it all up to the crimson mask she saw yesterday.
There appears to be some sort of new threat. She's just not sure what it means for her or Wizarding England, she's not sure what it means for Draco. Except, she may be sure of what it means for him- Lucius Malfoy seems pretty certain.
"-I'm not bushy haired like you!" Draco bites back.
Hermione shakes her head and stands up, reaching for a piece of parchment on the way. "Listen, I don't have time for this."
He shoots her an incredulous glance. "You're the one that started it." He opens his mouth to continue the sentence when she marches up to him, and presses the crumpled note into his hand, not too gently.
"What in the world is this?" His eyes narrow at the note, and slowly, he unfolds it. He skims over the greeting and the single line, and gradually, recognition lights his features.
"Well?" Hermione demands. "Care to explain that to me? I want to know exactly what happened on Friday at 2 a.m. and what the bloody hell your problem is."
Draco grimaces. "I think… I think we better talk."
-:-
In the end, Hermione accompanies him for a lunch break in Muggle London, in a restaurant of his choice. She's surprised that he chooses a Vietnamese noodle place, but rolls with the punches. Draco finds a table for them in the corner near the window.
Hermione notes that he sits in the seat closer to the door, and wonders if he still wants to bolt. It's too bad for him, because it's not happening. Her wand rests in her sleeve, ready to slip out at moment's notice.
After several minutes of browsing the menu, both of them order. The waitress is a young, well endowed woman, and Hermione notes with mild annoyance that she keeps shooting subtle glances at Draco. He's not even that attractive… not with his shirt on.
"So, what is that stupid note supposed to mean?" she starts, eager to start grueling him for answers, and almost just as eager to stop thinking about shirtless Draco sprawled across her couch. Her fingers clench into a fist under the table.
"My penmanship," he says smoothly. "It's much better than yours."
She glares down at the black table. "Stop evading the question, Malfoy. I work with law. I know what you're doing."
Draco's smirk twists his lips. "Do you, Granger?"
"Yes, you bloody bastard. Now answer the question," she snaps, slipping a pair of chopsticks out of paper wrapping. Cautiously, she wraps her fingers around the twin sticks and wonders if she would be arrested for poking out his eyes.
Draco's sigh jolts her out of her thoughts. "It's simple," he says. "I apologize for the intrusion in your flat."
Hermione narrows her eyes and analyzes his words as carefully as she'd once analyzed the Goblin Rebellion. He's apologizing for going there. "Does that mean you regret it?" she questions carefully.
He frowns, as if the thought hasn't yet occurred to him. "I just said I was sorry. That's all."
Her fingers try grasping the chopsticks another way. She bites her lip, and another theory makes its way into her brain. "You were completely smashed. How much do you remember anyway?"
Draco opens his mouth to answer the question, but he's interrupted by the food and the waiter arriving again. A large, steaming bowl of noodles is deposited in front of her, and while it looks delicious, Hermione wants to pick it up and throw it at the waiter's head.
Of course, she does nothing of the sort, and even thanks the woman as she walks away. Then the hips start swaying, and that's when she hurls the chopsticks at her back.
Draco takes no notice of the missile throwing, and doesn't comment as Hermione takes another pair of chopsticks. Clumsily, she uses them to attempt at eating her bowl with a debatable amount of success.
"I meant it."
"Huh?" Her head shoots up.
"I never lied." Draco's staring at a something past her, and she realizes that it's a poster advertising a masquerade ball, with a vividly red mask on it. "I went to see my father, and he mentioned an urgent mission to clean the family name immediately. He also mentioned a group called Blood Tsunami."
Hermione furrows her brow. "Isn't that a band?"
He shrugs. "It's also a group of dark wizards, in case you couldn't infer that. And in case you couldn't infer this, they all wear blood red masks."
"Blood red masks?" Uneasily, Hermione remembers blonde hair under the lamplight- again- and compares it to the perfect hair in front of her. Maybe Draco's lying, been lying all along. Maybe Voldemort has come back with a new terrorist group named after a band, and he's part of it. Maybe everything is some sort of giant conspiracy and there is a New World Order behind the scenes, controlling the government. But if she believes it all, then what can't she believe?
"Yeah," Draco responds, a calm voice interrupting her internal rant. He turns to face her squarely. "And I don't know if you were serious about helping me or not, but I could really use it, you know. This is more than just heeding Father's wishes, Granger. This is catching Blood Tsunami. Are you with me?"
There is a long pause, and Hermione slurps up another noodle, then slowly, she nods.
"As long as you pay for my lunch, I am."
-:-
Sorry for being late, but I've been busy, with life and whatnot.
So first, I'd like to thank you all for the awesomeness, and I hope this chapter is also satisfactory. Next, I'd like to say that I had the name Blood Tsunami on my mind for a while, and just recently realized that it was also a band. I technically didn't steal the name off of them, but yeah, I guess I should put it out there that it is a band's name.
So yeah.