Placing the antique coffee decanter back on its matching metal tray, Hermione took her delicate cup of al qahwa and sipped the liquid thoughtfully, savouring the bitter, slightly spicy taste. She picked a date from the tray and nibbled on it before turning to Bill.
"There's still something puzzling me," she began as Draco looked up from Parkinson Snr's notebook.
"Ron told us the room was heavily warded. I assumed that meant that the wards would be blood wards."
Bill nodded. "Pansy's wards were actually quite complex blood wards. I didn't need to take them down, however; because we are all accepted by them as relatives of Pansy. The only wards I needed to take down were wards placed recently."
Draco looked confused. "You I can understand, you are Cosimo's uncle, but I don't understand, therefore, how Hermione and I were able to get into the room if the blood wards remained in tact."
"Because we are Cosimo's god parents," Hermione told him, as her mind turned the puzzle over in her mind.
Draco swallowed heavily, not liking where this was going. "So in that case…."
Bill nodded slowly "They had to use Pansy to get in there."
"That must be why there was nothing about it in the report." Hermione gasped, realisation dawning.
"Because the blood wards stopped anyone who was not related from realising there was another floor."
Draco set the notebook down on the desk "Are you able to establish a time frame?"
Bill frowned. "They felt fresh. I would say, less than forty-eight hours. Pansy was taken Friday, yes?"
"Yes," Draco confirmed.
Bill considered his response for a moment, "I would say she must have been brought here sometime on Sunday evening. I don't think they are any older than that."
Hermione looked from Bill to Draco. "Question is, where did they take her from here?"
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Draco opened the notebook up. "I think I have something," he gestured for Hermione to take a look. Coming to his side, she looked over what he was showing her. "Do you recognise any of this?" he asked her.
She ran her fingers over the runes scratched into the page. "Not exactly, but I have seen this before. The marks here tell you in which order to read the pages. It's almost guaranteed that if we tried to translate the text without paying any attention to the direction of the marking, we would not be able to understand it."
Draco looked up at her. "Where did you see it used before?"
"In the Baghdad library. It's an encoding method that was used to hide alchemy and magical secrets, but it's also been used in cartography. I think what you have there is a map," she stated, pulling parchment towards them from the other side of the desk. "We need to make a copy, translate, and then decode it," she told him, wordlessly charming the pages of the notebook to copy onto the parchment as Draco watched in awe. His wife was truly amazing.
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"Hermione?" Draco gave her a gentle nudge as he set the teacup down beside her.
"Humm?"
"Tea, love. Drink it," he instructed as she continued to scribble furiously.
"Hermione?"
She set the quill down and rubbed her eyes, stifling a yawn.
Draco rolled his eyes. "Ok, that's it. Drink your tea then I'm apparating you back to the hotel."
"What? No, I still have…..half the book to go," she muttered, taking a sip of the tea and reaching for the quill again.
"No. Come on love, you need some rest."
Hermione glared at him for a moment before sighing, "Fine." She glanced around the room. "Where's Bill?"
Draco stared at her. "He left about three hours ago. He needed to get back to the Ministry. He said goodbye, you even answered him!"
Hermione frowned before shaking her head and finishing her tea.
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Rolling over in his sleep, he reached across to gather his wife into him, only to find the other side of the bed empty. Popping one eye open, he glanced across at the clock on the nightstand. With a groan, he rolled back over and pulled himself into a seated position, ruffling his bed-head and rubbing his eyes with the heals of his hands. Groaning again, he stood up and padded out to the lounge adjoining the bedroom.
"Any idea what time it is?" he asked her without even looking towards the table where his workaholic wife sat scribbling away. Opening the minibar, he scowled at the contents before retrieving a carton of orange juice.
"Get a glass, don't drink it out of the carton," she instructed, her eyes never leaving the page.
Draco groaned again before grabbing a glass and slamming it down on the counter.
Hermione turned in her seat, throwing her husband a filthy look. "What's got your wand in a knot?" Anger ran like an undercurrent to her words.
Draco ignored her question as he poured the juice into the glass before chugging it back in one go.
"It's 3:20am Granger."
"Malfoy," she corrected him, her eyes narrowing in defiance.
"What?" he asked, challenging.
Hermione shook her head. "No, not you," she pointed to him, then herself. "Me."
Draco rubbed his eyes, confusion etched his face as he sighed, "Hermione, it's too late at night, or early in the morning, depending on how you want to look at it, for you to be talking in shitty fucking riddles. What are you on about?"
Hermione glared at him. "I am not talking in riddles, arsehole, you called me Granger."
Draco gave her a look as he threw his hands up, indicating that she would need to explain her last point further.
"I haven't been Granger for two bloody weeks, tosser, my name is Hermione MALFOY," she hissed. Draco looked confused for a beat before realisation dawned.
Hermione groaned loudly before returning to her work as Draco set the now empty glass back down on the counter.
Padding over to her, he placed his hands on her shoulders "I'm sorry, love. It was habit." He chuckled "I've been calling you Granger since we were eleven years old. It's hard to break old habits."
Hermione grunted in response, unimpressed.
"Look, it's late. You shouldn't be up working, you've only had a couple of hours sleep. Come back to bed." He whispered, kissing her neck before he felt her pull away.
Standing straight, he sneered, giving the back of her head a look that, if she had actually seen would have reminded her there and then of an eleven year old Draco Malfoy before stalking back towards the bedroom.
"Fine! Work yourself to death, see if I care!" he complained.
Hermione threw his departing back an equally childish look, unable to stop the words before they started to tumble out of her mouth "It's not my fault I am the only one who seems to give a fuck about find….."
Draco spun on his heel pointing a finger at her menacingly, cutting the rest of her words off "Don't. Do not even fucking dare to go there, Hermione. I do give a fuck. I want my friend back. I have known that girl since we were small. I looked out for her like a sister; if Theo and Blaise were my brothers, then Pansy was my fucking SISTER. So don't. Just because I don't want my WIFE to worry or work herself sick, does NOT mean I don't give a fuck."
He crumpled onto the sofa exhausted, his head in his hands.
Hermione bit her bottom lip in shame, placing the quill down on her work. Slipping out of the chair, she crossed over to where her husband sat, kneeling in front of him, taking his wrists in her small hands, resting her head against his.
"I'm sorry" she whispered.
Draco didn't move as he willed the tears that pricked behind his lidded eyes not to fall. Malfoy's did not cry.
"I'm shit scared, Hermione" he muttered unmoving.
"I know" she whispered.
Draco pulled his hands away from his face, his misty grey eyes searching her face, judging her sincerity "Do you? Because a moment ago it didn't sound like it."
Hermione bristled at his words as guilt stabbed at her heart. Neither spoke for a moment. Finally, Draco sighed and pulled her into an embrace.
"We will find her" she told him, trying to sound every bit confident as she thought she ought to feel.
Draco nodded before placing a chaste kiss on her forehead
"I hope so."
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A/N: Al qahwa is made from coffee beans roasted very lightly or heavily from 165 °C (329 °F) to 210 °C (410 °F) and cardamom, and is a traditional beverage in Arabian culture. Traditionally, it is roasted on the premises (at home or for special occasions), ground, brewed and served in front of guests. It is often served with dates, dried fruit, candied fruit or nuts.
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I just want to take a moment to thank my beta xxDustNight88 who has patiently sat and gone over each chapter but has also been very encouraging from the start about this. It took as long as it did to get going with this story because although I had an idea in mind I was quite nervous about writing this sequel- M for Murder is currently at 39k views which just blows me away every time I see that and I so want this to be as good as that. I also want to give a shout out to my sister and my mum who have also patiently sat and proof read chapters and listened to me prattle on about the plot. And if you're ever in the UK come visit the tiny West Sussex village of Barnham where you will find a small coffee shop and a girl hunched over her laptop with a pot of tea, arguing with the manageress about synonyms and how to conjugate tricky verbs...thats usually how my sister and I "talk through" my chapters anyway, much to the coffee shop owners dismay!
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