Every exit is an entrance somewhere else by Ixexa

Summary: It is now 21 years since the Trio left Hogwarts. Changing circumstances see Hermione and Draco working together at the
Ministry of Magic, where they are assigned to track down a dangerous criminal. Their working relationship becomes increasingly
complex as feelings develop between them, but as the stakes in the case are raised, will they be able to resolve it and stop the murderer?
Categories: Fiction
Draco: Auror, Redeemed, Snarky

Genres: Action, Drama, Mystery, Romance

Hermione: Bossy, Feisty, Know-It-All

Mod Tags: None

Side Pairings: Draco/Ast(e/o)ria

Themes: Co-worker/Office, Divorce/Marital Problems

Timeline: Compliancy: DH with Epilogue, Post-Hogwarts

Warnings: Explicit Sexual Situations, Graphic Violence, Implicit Sexual Situations, Mild Profanity, Unresolved Sexual Tension, Yew
List: Torture
Chapters: 32 Completed: Yes Word count: 42,109 Published: 7th November 2010 Updated: 10th January 2011

Story Notes

Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera,
this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work.

The title is a paraphrased quote from the play and movie ‘Rosencrantz and Guildenstern are dead’ and I give due credit for it.

Beta Readers: catcachoo, later Alphastar. Thanks guys!!

1. Prologue by Ixexa

2. The Reunion by Ixexa

3. It's Off To Work We Go by Ixexa

4. Their First Assignment by Ixexa

5. The Carrot by Ixexa

6. The Muggle Murders by Ixexa

7. Draco Talks by Ixexa

8. The Ring by Ixexa

9. An Interview And An Owl by Ixexa

10. What Draco Saw in the Pensieve by Ixexa

11. What Hermione Saw in the Pensieve by Ixexa

12. The Aftermath by Ixexa

13. A Misunderstanding by Ixexa

14. Let’s Clear a Few Things Up by Ixexa

15. The Eleventh Murder by Ixexa

16. St Mungo’s by Ixexa

17. St Mungo’s Numero Deux by Ixexa

18. Back To Work by Ixexa

19. Malfoy Manor by Ixexa

20. Back At The Office by Ixexa

21. Dangerous Realisations by Ixexa

22. Now We Know by Ixexa

23. Protecting Scorpius by Ixexa

24. The Warehouse by Ixexa

25. What Hermione Did by Ixexa

26. St Mungo’s Numero Trois by Ixexa

27. Homecoming by Ixexa

28. Closing The Case by Ixexa

29. Sometimes People Die by Ixexa

30. The Vindication of Draco Malfoy by Ixexa

31. Draco and Hermione by Ixexa

32. Draco’s List by Ixexa

Prologue by Ixexa

Draco and Astoria Malfoy stood amidst the throng of adults and children at King’s Cross Station. The Malfoys, like all of the other
anxious parents, were waiting to deliver their son, Scorpius, to the scarlet steam engine that had just pulled into the station of Platform 9
¾. The train would travel north for the majority of the day, finally ending its journey at Hogsmeade Station, which served as the
destination point for Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.

Scorpius was starting his first day at the magical school. Like the majority of the other children on the platform, he had not yet changed
into his school robes, which were packed inside the trunk at his feet. At eleven, he was relatively smaller than most of the excited
students, although there were others his age who would be in his classes: they would make up the new group of first years.

Draco didn’t need to put his arm around his son’s shoulder to know just how nervous Scorpius was. It was hard not to be when you were
stepping into the vast unknown as he was today. Draco thought back to his very own first day. Through a combination of circumstances,
he and Harry Potter had come up on opposite sides of a disagreement, sparking a seven year feud that would go on to have drastic effects
on both of their lives.

He could see Potter a little further along the platform, standing with his wife, sons and daughter. In looks, the sons echoed their father,
while the daughter was the spitting image of Ginny Weasley when she was her daughter’s age. At their side was Ron’s branch of the
Weasley family. So far, it seemed they were content to breed only two young red-haired Weasleys, a fact that surprised him somewhat: a
single girl and boy. Only the girl was dressed in Hogwarts robes; the boy appeared to be about the same age as Potter’s daughter, Lily,
and were too young yet to join their siblings on the train.

Ron’s wife, Hermione, was there; whether by good luck or the liberal use of anti-aging creams, she was far better preserved than her
husband; she looked barely out of her twenties when in fact she was approaching forty, as they all were. She appeared to have kept her
svelte figure too, although it was difficult to know for sure under the modest dress she wore. She never had been one to try and
emphasise her natural charms.

He had ambivalent feelings toward the group. The old hatred was gone completely, and he had a respect for Harry, which extended, to
some extent, to the others as well. If it had not been for their actions, Lord Voldemort would have succeeded and would probably be still
ruling the wizarding world. Life would be a thing of fear, loss and cruelty. Draco didn’t know if he would be alive or dead, or still
unwillingly serving the Dark Lord, but after the events of his last night at Hogwarts, there was not a single part in him that didn’t rejoice
in Voldemort’s downfall.

The two families were obviously extremely happy. He watched Harry interacting with his sons, and then turning to Lily to give her a hug.
They might have been having the old discussion that usually arose when older siblings were departing for Hogwarts, and younger ones
were left to wait until they were older. He knew from his own experience, even as an only child, that when you knew that one day you
would probably leave for the magical school, eleven couldn’t come soon enough.

He couldn’t begrudge Potter his enjoyment in his family. After everything that had happened, it was the very least he deserved, but
Draco wondered morbidly why he himself couldn’t have the same thing. Maybe he didn’t deserve it, hadn’t done enough to atone for his
prior bad acts yet.

His disastrous relationship with Astoria was a source of unceasing anguish. However, despite Draco and Astoria’s barely hidden
animosity toward one another, they both loved Scorpius dearly and unconditionally. Scorpius was given every opportunity that wealth
could bring, but he was never indulged; he was in fact taught about his societal responsibility from a young age, and to Draco’s eternally
grateful astonishment, his son was an incredible child.

He was intelligent, often serious but never cruel, like Draco had been at his age, helpful, polite, self assured but not arrogant, and pleasant
to be around. There were times when Draco was with him that he felt as if they were almost like what he imagined was any other normal
father and son. His son was the one thing he had done that he could be truly proud of.

Of course, he would lose that companion now that Scorpius was going to Hogwarts, but there would be holidays, there would be letters.

It wouldn’t be the same, but Draco certainly wasn’t going to let his own deficiencies impede his son’s future, which, whether from
fatherly pride or a fair evaluation, he believed to be bright.

But it would be nice if things with his wife were not the way that they were. The idea of going back to the house together after the train
pulled away, alone, without Scorpius to act as the glue that bound them together and forced them into civil behaviour to each other was
frightening.
He knew already that he would find new ways to keep himself busy. He would travel more, he would contribute more time to
philanthropic causes if he needed to, anything to minimise the time he had to spend at home with her. This wouldn’t displease Astoria at
all, in fact she would be grateful for the time to pursue her own interests. And there, that was another thought he certainly didn’t want to
dwell on yet, not while Scorpius was rushing forward to give him his parting hug.

Draco didn’t know if he deserved happiness, but he wanted it.

End Notes

Thanks for reading :)

This was the first Dramione I tried my hand at that wasn't PWP ;)

In retrospect, I wish I could have built the chapters some more, but I was learning and it is what it is.

Story is finished and will post it all here in near future.

Thanks again!
Back to index

The Reunion by Ixexa

“Would you care for a glass of wine?” asked a passing waiter.

“Yes, thank you,” said Hermione, taking one gratefully.

There were a few guests arriving now. Hopefully Harry would be here soon. Despite his own reluctance he had promised her he would
be here for her.

She gazed around at the Great Hall. It had been rebuilt and decorated much as it had been in her own time; it still had the magical
ceiling, which now showed some scattered clouds and a quarter moon. The tapestries on the wall were new, and the long tables had been
removed for the night and replaced with rather sumptuous lounge chairs. The large oblong room had been decorated, although a little
oddly. Various sculptures of animals carved from wood were scattered on the table. There seemed to be no underlying theme and they
weren’t particularly good, although she couldn’t deny that they had a certain homespun charm about them. Then there were pumpkins
hanging from long ribbons above her, but also other vegetables – carrots, corn, she could even see a few radishes.

“Hello, Hermione,” said a dreamy voice from behind her. “Do you like it?”

Hermione turned and saw Luna Scamander. So that explained the decorations then.

She beamed. Seeing Luna here, acting as oddly as ever, somehow made it feel like home all of a sudden.

“It’s wonderful!” she exclaimed and hugged her warmly, feeling her eyes well up with the feeling of Hogwarts.

It had been twenty one years since she had left. Due to the Quidditch World Cup the year before once more being hosted in their
country, the twenty year reunion had been pushed back a year, timed to coincide with the long break before school resumed in
September, which for her meant that her son, Hugo, would be starting at Hogwarts.

There had been a certain element of wild celebration in the house when he had received his letter. There had been his feelings of
uncertainty, wondering if he would have to spend the rest of his school years at Bishop’s Barclay with the regular children – despite the
fact that he had already showed some signs of gifting. How different it was for children raised in wizarding families: knowing in advance
about the magical school and hoping, more than anything, that they would be extended an invitation to attend there.

Hogwarts. She knew he would enjoy it as much as she had, although she hoped that he would avoid, as Rose was doing rather well, the
dangerous situations that she, Harry and Ron has begun getting themselves into, even from first year. She shuddered, remembering the
troll, and Professor Quirrell.

No, her children would be fine. The old threats didn’t exist anymore. Hugo would be keen to do well at flying, would be desperate to try
out for Quidditch when he was old enough to, and he would also feel driven to emulate something of his sister’s results in school. Both
of her children would make her proud at Hogwarts.

Hogwarts!

Even Luna seemed a little taken aback at her exuberance.

“I’m sorry. It’s just so good to be back here. You’ve done a marvellous job.”

“Thank you. I’ve been working on this with my father for about a month.”

“How are you?”

“Oh, we’re good. Although I suspect Daddy is lonely sometimes. I wish he would find a witch and remarry. I tried to matchmake for him
one time. But he came home from their date convinced that she was in fact a member of the Rotfang Conspriracy so it’s probably a good
thing that didn’t work out.

Luna shuddered as she thought about the close call.

Hermione grinned. “Oh, Luna. It’s so good to be back.”

***

“I want to thank all of you for coming,” said Professor Flitwick.

The tiny wizard, who seemed like he hadn’t aged a day since their graduation was standing on his usual stack of books to address the
gathered crowd. With McGonagall, Snape, Sprout and not to mention Dumbledore no longer at Hogwarts, he was the only remaining
Head of House from their time.

“It’s hard to believe it’s been twenty years.” He was shaking his head happily. “Some of you, why, I remember your first day in Charms
class as first years. I wondered how on earth you would ever make it to seventh.”

There were scattered laughs.

“However, made it you did, and it is a glad day for us to have you back here. This class in particular is a special one to all of us. We... we
have not forgotten that night.” His voice constricted to such a high pitched squeak it was hard to understand.
He paused for a moment, and many in the room gave each other grim, proud smiles. They shared something that could never be taken
from them.

“Your achievements then, and since, have made us extremely proud.”

He turned not only to Harry as he said this, but also to other faces, Neville and Hannah Longbottom, Ernie Macmillan, Anthony
Goldstein and Michael Corner, the Patil twins, Hermione, and lastly to Draco Malfoy. He nodded meaningfully, and Draco stared
uncomfortably back at him as many heads turned his way.

“And so, with that, let us celebrate!”

There was a round of applause, even a few cheers, and then some music began to play.

“Oh, sometimes I wish he had been Headmaster when we had been here,” Hermione could hear Padma saying to her sister. “I mean
Dumbledore was – well, he’s Dumbledore. You can’t have a better Headmaster. But Professor Flitwick is such a nice man, don’t you
think?”

Hermione smiled. She knew he had been Head for only a few years, since Minerva McGonagall’s retirement. Her death a year ago had
hit the old Gryffindors harder than they had expected. It had only been with her loss that they seemed to collectively realise how
important she had been to them. She had been a guide and a mother to each, and her part in their lives for so many years was not
something they would soon forget.

“Well, I came,” said Harry, with a harrumph.

“Thank you, Harry. I don’t think it’s going to be too bad, is it? I mean sure: you will get some flattering praise, you might even get a
proposition –”

“Well it’s a good thing Ginny won’t be here to see that.” He grinned.

“How - how are they? The Weasleys?”

“They’re good. They miss you. You need to visit more often.”

“I will. You know I will. It’s just... hard still.”

Her throat tightened painfully at the thought.

“Come on, Hermione,” Harry said, grabbing her hand. “You didn’t force me into coming tonight to be maudlin, did you? We could have
done that somewhere else.”
She smiled. “You’re right.”

***

It was strange, watching Harry talk to Draco.

Draco still had the pale pointed face of so many years before, still possessed the tall, lean frame, although his white blond hair was
showing the early signs of receding.

Harry looked much as he always had with his warm, spectacled green eyes, full head of still unkempt brown hair and newly wrinkled
brow.

She knew that a kind of mutual respect had grown up between them, but also knew that every time they came into contact it was
awkward for both of them. They had said and done so many things to each other: things that surely couldn’t be forgotten.

The group of them had arranged some sofas into a loose circle after the meal and were currently talking: Hermione, Harry, Draco,
Neville, Hannah and the twins. It wasn’t really that odd that Draco had chosen to speak to Harry, she supposed. There were only two
other Slytherins here: Blaise and Daphne, who were huddled in a corner looking bored and wondering why they had decided to come.
Although, she remembered, Daphne was Draco’s sister-in-law, so maybe that was a bit strange. Still, maybe their family wasn’t close
that way. The point was that as far as she knew, Draco didn’t really know any of the other students, so it was either talk to Harry or stand
by himself. She wasn’t quite sure why he was here, to be honest.

She had noticed that Harry had been kind enough to discreetly summon Ernie and Terry over so that it wasn’t just Draco and all of his
old antagonists in the group.

Neville said, “Hermione, we heard about Ron. We are very sorry.”

He hadn’t changed a lot in the twenty years: prominent toothed, cheerful, wide eyed, although he was balding at the temples.

“Yes. It must be so hard,” agreed his wife.

Hermione smiled sadly. “Thank you. It is, but I’m starting to come through it. It has been eight months after all.” It was getting easier to
talk about this, a fact she was unceasingly grateful for.

“Do you mind if we ask what happened?”

She noticed Harry watching her intently, ready to change the subject on a moment’s notice if she needed it. She flashed him a grateful
look, but said:
“I.... well. Nothing dramatic, really. We just – when Rose went to school, and Hugo started at boarding school... we were left alone. I
guess we didn’t know what to do. In all the years of being parents, of being busy, we just kind of – forgot about each other, you know?”

“It happens,” said Terry gently. Hermione knew he had been through his own divorce a few years ago. “It gets better, though, I
promise.”

Hermione gave him a warm smile.

“Is there any chance you might – you know?” Neville asked delicately.

“I don’t think so,” she said. “What we had, well it seemed to die a while ago. But... I am grateful. We had a wonderful marriage for years
and I don’t hold him in any animosity whatsoever. I think one day we might even be friends again.”

“Neville, tell us what it’s like to teach here?” asked Padma, changing the subject after a brief silence.

“It’s wonderful. I mean you get some real little terrors coming through, but mostly the kids are great. What about you? Ever thought
about becoming a Hogwarts teacher?”

Hermione’s eyes fell once more on Harry and Draco, who were talking quietly. Again she was brought back to how odd it was to watch
them speak, but after all Harry had saved Draco’s life – twice – during the Battle of Hogwarts. And Draco’s mother had saved Harry
from Voldemort. He had testified on the Malfoys’ behalf and saved them from Azkaban. Those were things – huge things - that would
always be some kind of bond between them.

Her daughter, Rose, was in the same year as his son, Scorpius. Rose spoke of a quiet, introspected boy with a few close friends, one who
was happy to keep attention away from himself in the main. She knew that they had competed in almost every class for top marks almost
from their first day. Ron had taken a hit to his pride when he realised that their daughter – Hermione’s daughter, specifically – was not
better than him in each one.

Ron. A topic best left alone for tonight.

Her mind travelled by natural association to Astoria. Draco’s wife wasn’t here tonight either, but she may have been ill, as Ginny was, or
any reason really. Maybe she hadn’t wanted to spend the night in a room full of students she didn’t know, after all she was two years
younger than them. Although she had to admit to a small amount of surprise that he had been brave enough to come alone. There were
still plenty of people in the school community who hadn’t forgiven him for his part in Dumbledore’s death, were still suspicious of him,
as they had been of Snape, another former Death Eater.

At that thought, her eyes fell briefly to his arm. Underneath his shirt, he had the Dark Mark. It would have no doubt faded, as the marks
had done during Voldemort’s dormancy, but it would be there. He glanced at her and she quickly looked away but his face clouded
slightly. He crossed his arms, as if to hide the mark further from view.

She held no doubts about him whatsoever, but she had the sinking feeling that was exactly what he thought she had just been thinking
when she stared at his arm. Little did he know, she actually held him in high regard. She knew he had changed a lot, and wasn’t the
miserable, arrogant and briefly evil bastard he had been throughout their entire school years together. And anyone who could turn
themselves around so entirely deserved respect. It can’t have been easy.

Even though he had helped them reluctantly at Malfoy Manor, even though he and his family had defected at the last minute and not
helped Voldemort try to overthrow Hogwarts, Draco had lost the war. He had lost friends – so had she, but he had very little left. The
Malfoys were ostracised by those who had tacitly supported the other side, and by many on hers, and there were few among those who
had defied Voldemort who were now magnanimous enough to seek him out for a friendly chat. He had lost at least as much as she, Harry
and Ron had. Maybe more.

She tried to communicate with a thin smile that she hadn’t meant anything by the stare, but he ignored her and was again listening to
Harry.

She knew them talking would not have been possible had Ron been there, so she was silently grateful that he had agreed that she could
come to this reunion and he would come to the next one - which had been decided so that things wouldn’t be awkward and they could
enjoy themselves.

“Malfoy, maybe you should get a job. You’d be surprised at the sense of purpose it gives you,” Harry was saying.

“You think my life has lost its purpose?” Draco said with a ghost of his old smirk.

“No, you know that’s not what I mean. At the least it’s something to do. You meet people. You get to do things. You might even enjoy
it.”

She couldn’t hear the next exchange because Hannah was now trying to drag Neville up for a dance. Surreptitiously, she moved herself a
few inches closer. No one seemed to notice. People were right when they called her a busybody, weren’t they? But she just couldn’t help
it.

“Don’t be ridiculous. If, and that’s a big if, I wanted a job, there are plenty of other places to work.”

“Fine, go and get a job in one of those then.”

“Besides,” Draco said with a frown, “why would I want to be amongst you and your... friends.”

Hermione thought he had been on the verge of making a barbed remark about Gryffindors, probably out of nothing but habit, but had
changed his mind at the last moment.

Harry wasn’t offended, in fact he laughed. “Are you imagining you and I Floo’ing in together in the mornings or something? Eating
lunch side by side in the cafeteria, maybe? Trust me, it won’t be necessary.” Harry now wrinkled his nose and pretended a loathing he no
longer seemed to feel. “Or possible.”

Draco couldn’t help but smile. “Well, I would need a guarantee of that of course. I’ll think about it.”
End Notes

Many thanks to Catcachoo for beta work!

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It's Off To Work We Go by Ixexa

Hermione was very pleased with her change in career. After spending so long campaigning for rights and legal reform, she had decided
to move into Law Enforcement. She was immensely proud of her previous achievements, and there were still certain issues that she
wanted to see addressed, but something in her wanted a change.

With the divorce, her life had changed. And if she was going to have a new life then she wanted to try something new in her career.

Before she got too old.

Fortunately, she wasn’t going through full Auror training. A lot of it was about rules and responsibilities of Ministry employees, which
she had completed in her earlier career, and a lot of the combat training she now passed on her first test; it was hardly new to her.

Malfoy had taken Harry up on the offer. In fact, from what she’d heard he had made an appointment with Kingsley only two days after
the reunion. He was also cruising through much of the Auror training so quickly that it was clear that he was going to excel at his job.

It was getting close to Christmas time and Rose and Hugo would be home, and from the letters from school she knew that Hugo would
be bursting to tell her all about his first term at Hogwarts. The children were to spend their time equally between her and Ron.

A memo zoomed in through her open doorway and landed on her desk. She unfolded it to see a brief instruction inside from the Minister
for Magic’s Office: the Minister was asking to see her in half an hour.

The door to his office was guarded by a pair of Aurors she recognised. She had been inside many times in her time at the Ministry and
they knew her well, greeting her as she passed.

The Minister’s secretary peered over his glasses at her. She and Zacharias had never gotten along well. However they managed to treat
each other decently enough at work. He looked at her imperiously, waiting for her to explain her presence.

“I have an appointment,” she said as politely as she could. “He asked to see me.” Surely he already knew that: it was a hundred to one
that he had drafted the memo himself. But as usual, he acted like it was unlikely in the extreme that the Minister would summon her. She
didn’t know why they went through this charade every single time.

“I’ll see if he’s in,” Smith said gruffly. He tapped his wand on a stack of small square parchments. The top one flew off and zipped
under the door to the Minister’s office.

“Come in,” announced a booming voice, a moment later.

She breathed a sigh of relief. With a muttered, “Thank you,” she walked over to the large oak door and turned the handle.
“Good morning, Mrs Weasley,” came the deep baritone. Kingsley had aged, but aged well. He had a dignified forehead and his skin was
a little lined. His head still bald, although she now suspected that was probably no longer by choice. Even after all his time as Minister,
he still wore an earring. It never failed to make her smile.

“Minister, hello. But please, I have reverted to my maiden name.”

“Very well. Come in.”

He waved his hand expansively.

She went to enter the room, but stopped. “Oh, I’m sorry.”

There was already someone meeting with Kingsley.

“No, come in, please,” he repeated, even as Draco Malfoy turned in his chair to look at the newcomer.

“Yes, Sir.” She closed the door behind her and sat in the empty chair in front of Shacklebolt’s desk.

“Morning, Draco.”

“Granger. I hear congratulations are in order.” His tone was polite, reserved. Not friendly, not cold. Almost as if she were a stranger.

She supposed if they were both working at the Ministry, maybe a fresh start was a good idea.

“Thank you. And to you, also.”

He nodded and then turned his attention back to the Minister, who was watching the exchange.

“Perhaps it won’t be so bad after all.”

“Sorry, Minister?” Draco asked.

“Well, I have brought both of you here today to give you some news. Now that you have qualified I have decided to assign you
together.”

“Minister?” asked Hermione, surprised. Usually newer Aurors were assigned with those more experienced as a sort of learn-on-the-job
approach. It was also useful in keeping the new recruits alive.

“Yes, it’s unusual,” agreed Kingsley. “But we are making some changes in the Department.”

“Potter mentioned it,” said Draco.

Hermione nodded too.

“It so happens that we have some new roles opening up, and try as we might, Mr Potter and myself are hard pressed to think of two
witches or wizards who fit them better than yourselves. Despite, or maybe because, of coming later to this career than some, your
training has been exemplary. Your psychological tests are fascinating. You have cool heads, problem solving ability, remarkable
intelligence, rational thinking, more than the required knowledge of spells, hexes, counter curses and jinxes, and you’re both also rather...
fearless. These are all qualities that will be necessary.”

Hermione cleared her throat from the edge of her seat. “Sir, if I may?”

Shacklebolt chuckled, a deep rumbling in his throat.

“Ah Mrs... Ms Granger. You want to know what the role is, I presume?”

“Yes, Sir,” she replied, looking sheepish.

“I was coming to that. Or rather, I wasn’t. Actually, both Potter and I feel that it’s important for new partners to be tested first, before
being given important responsibilities. You agree?”

Hermione face fell in disappointment, but she managed a small nod.

“You’re not even going to tell us about our new role yet?” Draco asked from beside her, in a deflated tone.

“No, I am not, Mr Malfoy. First, the two of you must prove that you can work together well, and achieve what is asked of you. Then we
shall talk again.”

***

They stepped into the circular foyer outside of Smith’s office to find Harry waiting.

They looked at him and then at each other and back to him.

He laughed. “I take it from your subdued expressions that he told you then?”

“Yes,” they said together.

Draco went on, “You might have warned us. I thought I might’ve been, you know, about to be given an exciting assignment.”

He looked as if he wondered if he had been tricked into this.

“And you will be.”

“But?” Hermione was fighting to hide her disappointment.

“But first you will be working on a legal matter. We are drafting some new laws in the office and I want you two to prepare the
documents for the Wizengamot.”

“That’s it?” asked Hermione, crestfallen.

“It’s very important.”

Draco sighed heavily. “To prove we can work as a team?”

“To prove you can work as a team,” agreed the Head Auror.

“I’m going to take you down and show you the sources you will be working from. They are in four main areas. We wish you to examine
the recommendations from Aurors and other members of the Ministry and draft our suggestions for the Court.”

“And then we will be told our roles?”

Harry grinned. “Yes, Hermione.”

He led them to the lifts, pressing the button and the door opened almost immediately. They stepped in and he pressed the floor for their
headquarters.

Hermione was plaintive. “Can’t you at least give us a hint as to what exciting work we might see at the end of this?” She appealed to
Draco, who was standing resigned, in the corner with his hands in his pockets. He gave her a brief horrified look.

“Well, if you think I’m going to beg him, think again.”

Harry laughed appreciatively. “We have plenty of good fighters. It’s your minds we want.”

And that was all he was willing to say.

End Notes

Many thanks to Catcachoo for betaing this chapter

Back to index

Their First Assignment by Ixexa

Hermione held the huge stack of parchments in her lap. She and Draco were sitting in the office they would now be sharing for the
foreseeable future. The walls were lined with all kinds of reference materials: history books, spell books, maps, treatises and many
others. They had a shared desk in the centre of the room, with a chair each side, as well as assorted instruments like filing cabinets, a
Pensieve and some sofa chairs spread throughout the room. Evidently the Ministry was planning that they spend a fair bit of time here.
Windows lined the walls, charmed to give the illusion of a view of the English sky, despite the fact that they were several stories
underground.

Draco had a feeling that Hermione would want to take the lead and get them started off on the task on her own terms. In fact, he
suspected that it might be the only way this could possibly work. Fine with him, he hadn’t exactly had a fire of excitement lit in him at
the prospect of drafting the legislation. For now it would be sensible to see if she announced a plan of action, in which case he would
make an effort to fit himself into the details she desired, at least until they had settled in. No need to cause friction on the first day.

Surprising him, her tone was far less bossy than he would have given her credit for. His chair creaked as he leaned back to listen to her.

“Well, somehow, from all of this we have four papers to write. Although just where we should start, I’m not sure. There are reports here
from last year... from ten years ago....” She flicked through. “Here’s one that seems to have arrived recently from an agent in Sweden.”

“Well, it’s easy. We do the reading for all of it. Then we split it up - two each. Then we each read the drafts and improve them where we
can.”

Although he made it seem as if he was looking casually around the room at their fittings, he was in fact eying her closely to see how she
was going to respond to this, as some kind of omen of how she would treat any future suggestions he made.

“Sounds good,” she said, frowning in agreement. “So which ones do you want?”

Smiling inwardly at her promising behaviour, he took the sheet that Harry had given along with their requirements.

“Let’s see. There’s ‘Unforgivable Curses and their Defence,' ‘New Counter Curses,' ‘Group Tactics and Protocols’ and ‘Working
Conditions and Remuneration.’”
A degree of foreboding leapt into him at the thought of having to write that last one, and he made a face. Really, could there possibly be
a more boring thing to have to write a paper about?

Obviously finding his expression amusing, she gave him a look that said he was being childish. “I’ll take it.”

“Why? It sounds tedious.”

“Because it’s important. I won’t find it tedious.”

“Alright,” he said, torn between wanting to let her know that he thought she was very odd for this, and not wanting to be impolite. In the
end he settled on giving her a fleeting raise of his eyebrows. “Well, if you’re going to take that one, then I think you should get to choose
one. I’ll take what’s left.”

“Okay. Do you mind if I take the one on Unforgivables?”

He waved his hand, no. That had been the one he wanted the most, but the other two were far more appealing than the fourth, so it
seemed like a fair trade. “That’s settled. Shall we begin?”

***

They had to start by sorting the documents into categories relevant to each paper they needed to write. She knew they were assigned
these fairly easy duties to test out how they worked together, as the Ministry didn’t want to risk them on a dangerous task if they couldn’t
get along. It was a good idea.

Of course, it didn’t take long before the repetition of reading and rereading paragraphs and noting pertinent points had begun to lose even
its initial, fleeting appeal.

They ate lunch in the office and kept working. Hermione had made a decent wad of notes by the end of the day, and she had read
through most of the sections regarding remuneration once. Across from her, Draco seemed to also be making good progress, although the
amount of tea and coffee he was consuming in order to concentrate was a little alarming.

Five o’clock arrived, and Hermione had to smile when Draco leaned back in his chair and sighed loudly, rotating his neck, almost on the
dot of the end of the official work day.

“Are we stopping, then?” she asked.

“I am,” he told the ceiling. “I don’t know about you, but I have a headache.”

“Alright, let’s call it a day.”

She began to put away her things. On the other side, he mirrored her actions, piling his notes into categories he apparently understood,
and then filing the stacks into folders, which he then placed neatly into trays on his side of the desk. In the centre of his desk he left a
large and perfectly aligned stack of sources. She had no choice but to be impressed with his organisation, and covertly bent down to
straighten her own folders, which were in a more haphazard pile, ending with lining up her differently-coloured ink bottles in a neat row.

“We made it through day one,” he said without looking at her.

She was used to people looking her in the eyes when they talked to her. She wasn’t sure whether to be offended by the fact that he had
done that only a few times today, but she didn’t get any sense of there being a sense of rudeness behind it. Likely it was just due to the
fact that the two of them had known each other only in negative circumstances in school, and barely since then, in the more amenable
positive circumstances that were now possible, and they were now working alone, in close conditions in a small room. She had found it
uncomfortable also, but not to the degree she had expected. For the first day, she thought they had done quite well. There was plenty of
room for improvement, but that could only come with time. It couldn’t be forced.

She thought tentatively to try and lighten their dismissal.

“We did. Do you think they’ll promote us tomorrow?”

He rewarded her effort by smiling thinly at her joke. “Hardly.” Before he left, he gathered up the large stack of papers that had remained
un-foldered and un-filed, evidently intending to take them home to read.

“See you in the morning,” he said over his shoulder.

Sitting by herself for a moment, she took in a deep breath and let it out as relief. Maybe this was going to work out after all.

***

“Are you finished with the Group Tactics materials?” he asked, stifling a yawn.

“Yes, swap you for New Counter Curses.”

Every day they arrived at work and sat for hours on end, writing and reading. The project began to come together, as had a very workable
relationship between the two of them. They talked through what they were reading where things were ambiguous. Often, whichever one
of them had been asked for advice would dig around for supporting evidence from within the voluminous folders and helpfully supply it
to the other.

She saw him nod approval whenever she tidied her desk, and she made sure to show just the right amount of gratitude when he offered to
bring her a sandwich or a cup of tea. Cloying displays were most definitely not going to be his thing, so she kept it to a polite
appreciation, and made sure to return the favour. He was actually very easy to work with.

The backaches were the worst of it. She found she needed to get up and stretch every hour or so just to be able to walk without hunching
over at the end of the day.

***

One morning, not long after they had begun to put together their first drafts for the legislation, Draco’s very late arrival was heralded by
the slamming door.
He seemed to come up short at her startled expression.

“I’m sorry,” he said tightly, sitting down and pulling out his work from the previous day.

Hermione stared at him.

“There was some... unpleasantness this morning. I was delayed.”

“That’s alright. We’re doing fine in terms of our deadline. The occasional late morning is not a problem.”

He shrugged his thanks and began working. She continued to watch him. He was obviously sitting on some substantial irritation, because
this morning he fidgeted and seemed to find it hard concentrating, where he normally sat quietly and had no trouble keeping his mind on
the work. Today he could manage to write only a few words before scratching them out and rewriting them, and then passing a minute or
two before doing it again. It began to affect her own concentration, and so she decided to make a tentative foray into seeing if there was
anything she could do.

***

“Is it... is it Astoria?” she asked gently.

He gave her a sour expression. That was an intensely personal thing to ask. Why couldn’t she mind her own affairs?

“I don’t want to talk about it.”

“I was only concerned because you seem to be finding it hard to work this morning.”

“It’s none of your business.” He shook his head in quiet disbelief. “Are you really still this nosy?”

“I wasn’t being nosy!” she huffed, feeling her cheeks redden. “I was being nice.”

“Well, don’t.” He bent over his parchment and started scratching away again. “If that’s nice, be the opposite of that.”

She looked hurt and frowned down at her work. After a few moments she started writing again. Suddenly, it felt like they were back in
school. He hadn’t meant to be rude, but she had to go and being annoyingly inquisitive. Damn her for getting him to react like that.

***

“I’ve finished my drafts.” He handed her two folders, named for his topics and then sat back down, rolling his quill between his fingers
and studying it distractedly.

She slid her own completed work halfway across the desk’s polished surface. “Here are mine.”

He put the quill down to rest, and wordlessly pulled them the rest of the way towards himself, opening the top one to read her work
through.

This was not good enough. She sighed and didn’t open either of his folders, instead placing her hands on top of them and waiting silently
for him to notice that she wasn’t reading them. After a solid two minutes, it became clear that while he must be aware of her non-
movement only a few feet away across the desk, he planned to pretend that he hadn’t noticed.
“Look, this isn’t going to work like this. This is exactly why they decided that they needed to test us.”

“I don’t have a problem with you, Granger, as long as you keep out of my private life.” His eyes continued to move over the lines she had
written.

“I’m sorry about that. I made a mistake. I would like a second chance to prove that I can do that.”

He was silent for a moment. She could hear his quill scratching away, already finding something to edit on her paper. She found that
very irritating.

Finally he said, “Alright. Consider it given.”

She pursed her lips. It was better than nothing.

***

“They are very good.”

She handed him back his folders. He opened the top one to see what corrections she had made.

“You have a reference wrong here.” She leaned across the gap to point it out. His lips pressed into a thin line. “And in two places I
marked in the other paper. And I rewrote this bit.” His frown deepened, not finding it enjoyable to have her critique his work.

For some reason, it was slightly suffocating to sit here and listen to her correct his mistakes. Which was stupid, because it had been his
idea. That was the whole aim of the exercise, wasn’t it? To make sure the papers were the best they could be?

“Other than that, it was just some minor errors. The point of reading the drafts was to improve them. Don’t take it personally.”

“Remember that you said that,” he said sardonically, when he handed her his folders. Suddenly he maliciously wished he had made more
corrections, but it was too late, now.

***

With a feeling of dread, she opened them one at a time, turning through the pages quickly, but she found far less revisions than she had
anticipated. Still, she frowned and even shook her head at one of his suggestions.

You’ve missed the entire point of Moody’s stance on Unforgivable Curses.

Really! I think I might know a little more about what Mad Eye thought about issues than you do, Draco.

Yes, was he saying that we need to re-examine the laws, but he went further than that. If you read between the lines, he actually made it
very clear that he thought Aurors need to be granted extra powers during situations where they were likely to encounter Unforgivables.
He thought there was too much messing around with regulations about legitimate defences.

She reached over to the pile of papers Moody had written and wrenched out three of them that she knew had been talking about this
issue.
She began to reread them to see if she could see what Draco was getting at.

***

He smiled to himself in satisfaction. She was no better than he was at taking advice, then.

“Not that easy, is it? Being corrected?”

He meant it only in fun, and he kept his tone light, but it didn’t rob him of the satisfaction of firing the shot.

He saw her roll her eyes but she didn’t look at him. His private smile widened.

He continued to check the corrections she had done on his work, utilising his own stack of papers and marking off Hermione’s edits as he
dealt with each one.

She had behaved herself admirably since her apology, and their professional atmosphere had returned to its previous workable state. Still,
the task itself had been almost intolerably boring, and he could only desperately hope that they would now be given a real assignment
instead of what felt like homework.

After reading through all three of Moody’s papers, she put them into one of her trays, keeping her eyes determinedly staring down. She
went back to reading her corrected drafts with a slightly meeker expression and pursed lips.

Could it be that she had taken the criticism on board? Had she admitted he was right?

He wanted to laugh. It was so funny to watch her pride dented that way. His own had been severely ruffled when he read some of her
comments, but after some careful rechecking, he could already see the validity of her suggestions and would probably take many of them
on board.

Finally, she finished going through her two corrected papers and looked up.

“You did a good job,” he said, watching to see if there would be an outburst of indignation, but there wasn’t.

“Thank you.”

She licked her lips and then said, “Thank you also for your suggestions. I agree with what you wrote about Moody. I’m not sure why I
didn’t see it myself.”

Well, if she was willing to admit where she went wrong, he had to respect her, even if she was initially pig-headed by instinct. He knew
well how her mind worked, as it was depressingly like his own, even with his tempered sense of self worth these days. Intelligence came
with its own risks and it was very easy to dismiss other people’s ideas when the solutions seemed so obvious to oneself.

“Your points were valid in the main, too.”

“I have some changes to make,” she said, “but I’m actually very proud of all four of these. They were right about us - working together.
Look at the work we have accomplished.”

“Yes, but it wasn’t exactly what I had in mind when Potter talked me into this.”

“Then we had better hope that the carrot they have been dangling over our heads is worth it, then.”
She smiled and he felt his own lips tug upwards at their corners.

End Notes

Thank you very much to Alphastar for betaing this chapter for me!
Back to index

The Carrot by Ixexa

It was worth it. They had been granted full Auror privileges, but were forming the core of what would become the new Magical Crime
Investigative Department, a subdivision of Law Enforcement. They would be sent into the field with the other Aurors to investigate
threats, but they would also be called upon for the equally satisfying task of trying to solve crimes that were mysteries of a magical
nature that possibly required critical thinking and skills in deciphering Runes. As Harry had told them, it was their brains that the
Department was after.

Their first foray into a dangerous situation had come when they had been assigned to track down a group of troublesome Death Eaters.

At the time Hermione had proclaimed loudly that she had thought they would have died out by now.

Draco had informed her, “I don’t think so. Maybe after this generation... but... I don’t know.”

They had been successfully responsible for locating the group, which had been known to be hiding out for years in Sussex. It had been a
frustrating search, and their quarry knew that they were being hunted, and therefore moved often. Eventually they had found them in a
farmer’s cottage near Mayfield. They had notified Harry and he had arrived with a team of Aurors, and between them all, they had
captured the Death Eaters.

She admired Draco’s coolness under pressure.

These were possibly – probably – old comrades of his. And yet he hadn’t hesitated for a moment, taking one down as he tried to attack
Harry and binding another who had been making a run for it. They had caught and imprisoned all three.

They were now working on the paperwork from the raid, and in the meantime interviewing witnesses in regards to another case.

They had spent the morning taking statements and were preparing to return to the Ministry with the documents. Before going back to
work, Draco asked if she minded that they drop by the manor.

His son had arrived yesterday and due to the raid he had barely seen him.

Hermione agreed of course, and they Apparated to the doorstep.

“Why don’t I give you some time?” she suggested. “I could meet you back at work?”

“No, we have another visit to make this afternoon, remember? To John Landing’s.”

“I could meet you there?”

“You don’t know where it is. You could – you could come back here?” This giving and taking of favours, of finding a solution which
suited them both well, was fairly strange to both of them, but so far they were doing okay.

She nodded. “I’ll be back in forty five minutes. We’re due at two.”

***

She knocked on the door of Malfoy Manor, trying hard not to think of the last time she had arrived here. It was opened by a teenage boy
she recognised as Scorpius Malfoy.

“Good afternoon,” he said politely, and opened the door fully. He looked so like his father it was incredible. But his manner, compared
to Draco at that age, was the polar opposite.

“Father is in there.” He indicated an opening to the left of the large foyer. From her only previous visit, she had a vague idea it was a
sitting room. She soon saw that her memory was good.

Draco was sitting behind a large desk, writing rapidly with a quill and he nodded at her entrance.

“I’m sorry. I had some urgent correspondence to attend to, and since you weren’t here yet I thought I had time. One moment?”

She nodded acquiescence and he gestured toward a chair by the window and she strolled across to take a seat.

“No peacocks,” she mumbled, after a careful study of the drive.

“Sorry?” he asked, but she shook her head.

He gave her an odd look, and she had the strange feeling he had heard what she said.

Scorpius entered the room and approached the desk.

“Father?”

“Yes?” Draco stopped writing. Sealing up the last of the envelopes he handed them to his son.

“Please see that these are sent today, Scorpius.”

“Yes, Father,” the younger Malfoy replied, taking the handful of letters from Draco.

“Now, what is it?”

“Well,” said the boy, “it’s just - could you please write a note –”

Draco sighed and folded his arms. “Hogsmeade, again? I’ve already told you. Third years don’t go to Hogsmeade.”

The rule from their own time at school had been changed eight years ago, as Hermione well knew, after some unpleasantness relating to
contraband goods. An entire ring of third year students had tried to smuggle a large amount of firewhisky into the school for Halloween
and had been caught.
Draco was continuing, “Fourth years go to Hogsmeade. Fifth years go to Hogsmeade. Even sixth years go to Hogsmeade. Third years do
not. What year are you in, Scorpius?”

“Third year.”

“Ergo –”

“But why? It isn’t fair! You got to go when you were my age!”

“You are thirteen years old. You do not get to decide what’s fair.”

Scorpius glared and then lowered his head. “I’m sure if you –”

“No.”

Scorpius spluttered, “I bet you went before you were allowed!”

“I didn’t.”

“What’s the point of being from this family, anyway?!”

“Calm down –”

“Not fair!”

Hermione couldn’t help it. Fortunately Draco was putting his foot down and not spoiling his son but the ineffective tantrum had
reminded her so forcibly of a certain other petulant Slytherin she had once known that she had to laugh.

She let out barely a giggle, but as soon as she had she realised it was a bad miscalculation.

Draco’s eyes flew to her, and his mouth tightened.

“Are you mocking my son?”

“No – I -”

“I heard you laugh.”

“No, that was just because –”

“Scorpius, please go and send my post for me.”

“But Father –”

“Go!”
Once his son had left the room, Draco’s voice quieted to a dangerous level. He strode over to her and held up a finger to admonish her.

“This was a bad idea. I don’t know why I expected I could invite you here and you would behave in any kind of respectful manner.”

“I’m sorry. I was not mocking him.”

“Really? So why did you laugh then?”

“Because, he was so like... you. I just... for a moment it was like being back at Hogwarts with you.”

He narrowed his eyes. He could see that she was telling the truth.

She took a deep breath and said quickly, “Actually I think you’re a very good parent. He seemed remarkably well mannered, mostly.
You made the right decision and he will –”

“If I need your advice on parenting I will ask!”

“I’m sorry.”

“We’re late.”

End Notes
Thanks again to Alphastar for being my brilliant beta :)
Back to index

The Muggle Murders by Ixexa

Hermione rubbed at her aching temple. She really, really wished it wasn’t so difficult to work with him sometimes. He took everything
too personally.

She sighed. To be honest, there had been times Ron was just as easily offended, although it had taken different things to push his buttons.

Men.

Draco stalked in. He had rolls and rolls of parchments under his arms and came around her side of the desk. For a moment it looked like
he was going to throw them at her.

***

The idiot. Why did she have to assume that if he was in a bad mood, it was her fault? Or worse still, that she could somehow fix it? That
he even wanted her to?

“I accepted your apology,” he said, tired of repeating himself. “Although you came dangerously close to butting into my business again.”
“So why...? Never mind.”

She had closed her mouth. She wasn’t going to bother asking. Could it be she had realised that possibly, by the remotest chance, there
were things in the world that bothered him other than her?

Merlin, let it be so.

“We have a new case,” he said, placing the parchments on the desk and unfurling one. It contained clippings from Muggle newspapers.

She bent over it and began to read the small text.

“We have a murderer,” he said unnecessarily, “and he’s targeting Muggles.”

“Yes, I see. These are magical crimes.”

He nodded, glad to see she caught on so quickly.

“Yes. ‘No cause of death determined’ can be a giveaway that the Killing Curse was used – although that isn’t true in every case.”

“Of course. No, it’s more the details. Witnesses are confused. There is no clear version of events. No obvious motive for the killings and
no one gained.”

“It all fits. Apart from cause of death, there’s no clear evidence of how the crimes were even committed. Take this one at the aquarium.
Thomas Dunn, the guide. That place is heavily alarmed and guarded due to the expensive nature of the exhibits. Yet, he leaves work one
day, eats dinner with his family, goes to bed and then his body is found inside the aquarium the next morning. No alarm, no disturbance.
The guards don’t remember anyone being seen inside the zoo, let alone anywhere near the marine exhibit. He didn’t have a key, and he
certainly wasn’t important enough to know the security code. So how on earth does he get in and get murdered?”

He pointed to another cutting. “And this one - the butcher, Halliburton. Found murdered in his own shop. When everyone had thought he
was holidaying in the tropics over Winter.”

“Does someone have some kind of grudge against the working men of Britain?”

“No, the next one isn’t work related. Harold Oxley, accountant, of London. It’s – nasty. He was found dead in an amusement park. He
had been stuffed down into the legspace of a roller coaster and some poor family had the unfortunate luck to find him.”

“And I’m supposing that no one knows how he got there, or even what he was doing at the park?”

“Exactly. It’s random. But it’s magical. It has to be. Hopefully the answers are in there somewhere.” He motioned at the parchments.

“So we... solve the case?”

Draco smirked at her eagerness. “Yes. Would you like to get started right away? I’d like to be home for dinner with Scorpius if you think
you can manage to clear it up quickly.”

She laughed. She much preferred witty, sarcastic Malfoy or even workaholic, intelligent-to-the-point-she-felt-threatened Malfoy, to
moody, troubled Malfoy. It made for a much easier day.
“You know what I meant.”

“Where do we start?”

She nodded eagerly.

“Where do we always start?”

She collapsed against her seat back and groaned, “Reading.”

“Reading.”

He grinned and walked around the desk to sit in his chair. “Pass me some of those, please?”

She obliged and selected some documents at random to get started on.

“A warning, Granger? Some of the details are a little ghastly. I might suggest we skip lunch.”

Perfect.

It wasn’t that she hated reading, but reading through conflicting witness reports, trying to hunt for missing crucial details and attempting
to make some sense of a case was always so difficult at the start. She never failed to come away with a headache.

The butcher. George Halliburton, 33, single, lived alone. Small business owner. Popular; had informed friends of his trip and had
planned it for months. No history of mental instability, no evidence of depression. Besides it would have been difficult for him to
commit suicide and then to carve himself neatly into an array of meat cuts and hang them on the hooks in his shop. However, the Muggle
police reports stated that mutilation wasn’t the cause of death; he had already been deceased when that happened, but were unable to
determine how.

Harold Oxley, accountant, 39. Separated. No noticeable tendency for visiting amusement parks or entertainment venues of any kind. His
death? Also a complete mystery.

Thomas Dunn, Marine Exhibit Guide for the British Zoo, 26. Found at the bottom of the South Pacific tank, weighed down by a rock.
He hadn’t drowned. A further complication was that the rock was so heavy that a winch had been needed to remove it, to allow for the
body to been retrieved. No explanation for how it could have been moved on top of the body in the first place, during the silent,
undetected crime in the middle of the night.

***

It made no sense.

It could be a psychopath, killing for no reason or perhaps a wizard who had escaped St Mungo’s Closed Ward. But there had been no
escapes of dangerous patients.

Hermione was obviously finding it just as confusing as he was. She was rubbing her temples furiously. She did that when she couldn’t
see the answer to a problem, among other times.

The sore back and neck were Draco’s main problem, always the unwelcome visitors at the onset of a new case. He forced his eyes back
to the witness report about the rollercoaster murder.
“It’s late,” she said finally. He was surprised to note it was already way past half seven.

“Let’s get back to this tomorrow,” he agreed.

After packing up, he surprised both of them by opening the door for her.

“Thank you.”

He followed her into the lift and up to the atrium, participating in her small talk.

Once she had gone, he turned around and pressed the button to call back the lift and returned to the office.

End Notes

Thanks for reading :)

Beta credit to Alphastar for this chapter... thank you!

Back to index

Draco Talks by Ixexa

The next morning Draco was awoken by the sound of the office door closing. Then silence.

He sighed. He highly doubted Hermione would be able to keep her nose out of this one, and he was so tired that he would probably snap
badly at her if she interfered.

***

Draco was lying on the couch. He was rolled on his side away from her, facing into the back of the couch, and had a blanket draped
partly over him, trailing to the floor. It was freezing in the room, and the thin blanket looked like it would barely keep anyone warm in
springtime let alone in an English winter. On the carpet next to the sofa, a stack of coroner’s statements and police reports lay in a pile
side-by-side with a coffee cup.

Hermione knew she shouldn’t say anything, but it was kind of hard to pretend she hadn’t noticed that he hadn’t gone home last night.

“You had to be early, didn’t you?” he grumbled to the back of the couch.

It was 8:15.

“I’m not that early. You... you slept here?” she asked hesitantly.

He sat up and rubbed his eyes. His hair was unkempt, a sight she had never seen before, and he was still wearing his rather rumpled
clothes from the day before.
“What of it?”

He stared blankly at the wall across from the couch.

“I’m sorry, but I’m not going to pretend that’s normal. You look dreadful. In fact...”

She studied him.

“You look starved. When did you last eat?”

“Are you my mother now?”

“Are you and Astoria -?”

He stared at her and shook his head, obviously unable to believe her audacity.

“Leave it, Granger.”

***

“Fine,” she said curtly.

He watched as she stalked to her side of the desk and threw herself into her chair with violence, before tugging at a paper that was poking
out from inside a file. The corner tore off, and she swore. She spun around on him.

“You know what? It’s not fine. Why? Would it be so terrible to have someone to talk to about it?”

He put his elbows on his knees and cupped his aching head in his hands.

“No. I know you mean well, but no.”

“Is it because it’s me?”

He rubbed his temples and grimaced.

“Why do you want to know? Why does it even matter?”

He gave a mournful sigh. His problems ran so deep, and were so shameful that he couldn’t imagine telling anyone about them. Ever. She
would think him sordid by association and he couldn’t abide it.

But she was persistent. “It matters to you. And you’re my partner. And I can see that you need to talk to someone.”

Silence.

***
She couldn’t tell if he was considering her offer, or framing another reason why he didn’t need to talk to anyone.

“I’m getting a coffee,” he announced. He gave her a look she couldn’t interpret and then he disappeared out the door to the cafeteria.

She was breathless. Was that an invitation?

She had to find out.

***

“It wasn’t that bad at the start. I mean, I didn’t love her, but it was nice. I didn’t have a lot of people around me, you know, after...
Hogwarts. My parents suggested we marry in the hope of maybe starting some new kind of dynasty - getting back some of the old
influence. But it didn’t work. The Malfoys... aren’t what they once were.”

“Then she had Scorpius, and for the first time in my life, I had someone that I loved without any conditions, that I would die for without
question, and that I asked for nothing from in return. I had done something I was proud of. And... I had someone who loved me.”

Hermione barely moved, except to nod at carefully chosen moments, careful not to let her face show any sympathy or any other great
emotion at what he said, as she suspected if he saw her do that he would end this abruptly. The fact that he had decided to open up to her
surprised her greatly.

“When it became clear that being married to me wasn’t quite going to make the social connections Astoria had hoped, she – well, she.... I
guess you could say she left the marriage. She was still there, but any relationship that I had thought we had had was gone. She moved
into the other end of the house to be near Scorpius and that was it.”

“Ever since then... she’s.... just a person who lives in my house.” He shrugged.

“I don’t see a lot of her unless we put in one of our rare appearances, or something to do with Scorpius. I can’t fault her there.”

He screwed up his face bitterly. “She’s an excellent mother.”

After it became clear that he was finished, she said haltingly, “Why don’t you just... divorce?”

Draco narrowed his eyes a little.

“I mean,” Hermione hastened to add, “if... if it’s really that bad?”

“Oh, it’s much worse than that. She sees... men.”

His grip tightened around the cup.

Hermione was slowly shaking her head in dismay. Surely he could not mean what it sounded like?

“No...”

“Yes,” he went on with a perverse smile. “Do you have any idea what it’s like to be in your own house and know that your wife has her
lover in her bedroom? To see him leave in the morning? To hear them?”
“Draco, I’m so sorry, I didn’t know. You looked so happy at the station...”

“Yes, it’s all about how it looks, isn’t it? We purebloods are superb actors. Don’t get the wrong idea - I don’t love her, I never did. I
don’t care about that at all. But it’s the – humiliation of it. The pure, fucking humiliation.”

He looked slowly up at her and his eyes were red.

She desperately, desperately didn’t want to do anything to ruin this moment for him. She was awestruck at what he had told her, and
completely floored by the details, but she mustn’t react.

She was surprised that he trusted her this much, but realised with tremendous sorrow that there probably wasn’t anyone else he could
talk to about this, and now that he had started to unpack his problems, it was hard for him to stop. He was completely isolated, and from
the sound of it, this was the first time he had ever shared the details of his dismal existence with anyone.

It made her heart hurt to know what his life was like.

“So... does that mean you can seek comfort elsewhere?”

She hoped he wouldn’t think she was making some kind of advance.

Draco set down the cup a little too hard, and the cold coffee slopped across the formica table top.

“I wouldn’t... do that to her.”

“So you just...?”

She was mortified. “You just... ?”

“Yes.”

“But you can’t...” Hermione gave him a horror-struck look. She had no idea how to finish that sentence.

“I don’t see what choice I have. Families like mine don’t divorce. And I’m not going to have an affair. I’m not going to turn into that
person, on top of everything else I’ve ever done wrong in my life. Even if she is my wife in name only. After... what happened when I
was younger, I don’t ever want to –”

He couldn’t find words to finish the sentence. He looked at her sadly.

Hermione nodded, and sipped her cup slowly.

She was fighting back the lump in her throat.

***

Since he had talked to her, Draco seemed quieter and less prone to temperamental outbursts. She didn’t know if that was a good thing,
but she hoped it was. She concentrated all of her effort on never, once, making any kind of reference to their talk or anything he had said,
although she was prepared if he should decide to bring it up again. She only wished there was more she could do to help than simply
listen. Well, if acting as a friend to him was the only thing she could do, then she would try and do it well.
They had now read through every case document a dozen times, made notes, argued about evidence - albeit civilly - and had come to no
conclusions about the Muggle Murders.

They were planning out witnesses to go and see now. As the witnesses were likewise Muggles in the main, they needed to be very careful
with the investigation. They would take statements in the guise of regular investigators – this had been arranged through the Muggle
Prime Minister – and then use their own stored memories and written notes of the interviews to probe for details.

They got up to depart and Hermione picked up her coat from the stand by the door.

“We need to go. We said we would be at the park in half an hour.”

She put her arms into the coat and began to button it up.

Draco looked at the clock; momentarily caught up in his work, he had lost track of time. He came over to the coat rack and reached for
his own jacket at the same moment that she reached for her scarf.

Their arms brushed against each other, and she withdrew hastily.

“Sorry, you go.”

“No, after you.”

She took the scarf, started tucking it in around her neck, and then their gaze met.

Hermione looked into his steel-grey eyes and felt her heart rate increase.

***

Why was she looking at him like that? He hadn’t seen a look like that for a long time. Her eyes were dark, her pupils enlarged. Her
bearing had changed.

She looked like... she looked like she wanted to kiss him, which of course was impossible.

Even she wouldn’t be that ridiculous. Not now.

But her lips were parted, and he imagined that he could see her breath coming out in halting little movements. He couldn’t take his eyes
away from her lips, and he felt his skin prickle. The flare of heat surprised him. It had been a long time since he had felt the sudden rush
of arousal, but then again it had been a long time since he had been in such close proximity to a woman’s lips.

How had he never noticed just how full they were? How soft they looked...

Now he was being ridiculous. If only she would stop looking at him. If only she would –

Why was she leaning towards him?

And more importantly, why wasn’t he backing away? His eyes flickered up to hers and widened when he saw the look there. There was
no mistaking it now. Lust. Her cheeks were flushed with it. It had been a very long time since he had seen that look but he hadn’t
forgotten it. How could he?

But... now? She wanted to – she was going to kiss him –

That was impossible.

She kissed him.

Her lips were like heaven. Draco tasted heaven.

He had forgotten entirely what a woman’s lips even felt like. He had no idea if Hermione’s were particularly good, average or even
relatively bad lips, but to him they were like honey. Her scent was overpowering and delicious, her face was so soft, and those lips and
tongue so delicate and wet. She was trying to get him to open his mouth to her.

As much as he rationally wanted to push her away, he couldn’t help but respond. His hand went up to her cheek to touch that impossibly
soft, velvet skin, and to feel that warmth and life. It was so good to have someone want to be near him, to want him, that he lost himself.

He opened wide and pressed against her, feeling her tongue slide across his, shivering with every contact.

He had forgotten what it was like.

But after what seemed like only a few seconds, she broke away, giving him a look full of apology and then turned aside clutching
herself.

***

He looked so hurt that she hated herself. What on earth had possessed her to do that? She hadn’t had any sense that she was even
attracted to him... but then the sudden the impulse had been unbearable. She had kissed him. And with everything she knew about him
now, he was the last person in the world she should just kiss flippantly, as if it didn’t matter.

“I’m so sorry,” she said quietly, unable even to look at him.

“It was a mistake and won’t happen again.” His voice was choked, his bearing stiff.

“I was... tired.”

How on earth could she make this up to him?

“Understandable.”

He buttoned up his jacket and was out the door before she remembered she had to follow him. They had an appointment.

She was so angry with herself. He had opened up to her, and she had taken advantage of his emotional needs. Not only that but then she
had rejected him.

She was a bitch.

End Notes
My conscientous beta Alphastar has suggested a soundtrack to this chapter, which I heartily approve of. If you follow this link:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ZAMYIKfIVSQ

You will see the music video for 'What Do You Go't by Bon Jovi. Feel free to watch, or not!

Thanks for reading... next update isn't far away!

Back to index

The Ring by Ixexa

She closed the door. “I put in a request to be reassigned.”

He was still a moment, and then continued to write. “Probably a good idea.”

Actually, it was a terrible idea. Yesterday had been a huge mistake on her part, and had hurt him a lot more than it should have, but he
couldn’t imagine how his life was going to improve with a different partner. Things had – well, so briefly – things hadn’t been as bad for
him as they usually were.

He couldn’t blame her for wanting to be reassigned, though. No doubt nearly any partner they gave her would be more enjoyable to work
with than he was.

Well, he was certainly a ray of sunshine today, wasn’t he?

Draco made a face at himself.

“They denied me.”

“Oh?”

He looked up at her, his forehead wrinkled in incomprehension.

She looked embarrassed, remorseful... surprisingly not disgusted, though. At least that was a small mercy.

“I don’t think either of us need to be embarrassed.”

No? You might not. You’re not the one who was spurned.

“We have been incredibly overworked; we are both going through marriage breakdowns. I can’t even remember the last time I spent a
whole day relaxing and not thinking about work.”

He nodded.
“Although, what I did was inexcusable,” she continued. “I knew you were emotionally vulnerable and I took advantage of that in the heat
of the moment. I’m sorry.”

Taken aback, he studied her. Had she prepared this apology? Was she possibly trying to soothe his pride for the rejection? No, scratch
that. She was unflinchingly honest. She admitted she had desired him for a moment, and at the same time drawn up a reason for why he
had responded that didn’t mean he was attracted to her. She was saving his pride. And that she had stopped because she had realised how
desperately he had needed the warmth - that she was abusing her knowledge of his private troubles.

She hadn’t stopped because of anything he’d done wrong in the kiss. Her reason was humiliating in its own way, but not nearly so much
as the thought of her not wanting him after experiencing a kiss with him.

“Alright.”

“Alright?”

“That’s what I said, didn’t I? Now, did Kingsley or Potter give you any particular reason why you couldn’t be reassigned?”

She gave a wry smile. “The Minister says it’s because we’re quick and we’re good. And they need results.”

“We haven’t been so quick this time.”

“The point is, they said that the case is too important for me to drop it on a whim. Of course, I didn’t tell them what happened but I
imagine even if I had it wouldn’t have changed either of their minds.”

“Well, I am sure we can manage to resume our professional behaviour.”

He was looking down at his work again. “If we solve the case then perhaps they will reconsider.”

“There’s been another murder... two actually.”

Something about the way she said it gave him a deep sense of foreboding about what she would say next.

***

Now she had his attention.

“Geoffrey and Patton Prewett.”

He looked at her keenly, but she said, “No, no relation. At least, I don’t think so.”

He sank back into his chair and Hermione sat down in her own, looking at him across the desk.

“There’s some bad news, and then there’s the terrible news. They were wizards. Twins, born to Muggle parents, but both at Hogwarts.”

“But that means they’re –”

“Children.”
She nodded sadly. “Hugo’s year.”

***

Draco and Hermione applied themselves with fresh devotion to the case. If the killer was willing to murder children for their as-yet-
unknown motive, then suddenly the stakes were much higher.

They spent two days reading every scrap of evidence about the case, magical and Muggle, and then they made the agonising
appointments to see the parents and the neighbours.

It was never easy to talk to witnesses, especially those who had lost a family member or friend, but the idea of talking to grieving parents
was terrifying, not least because of the reminder of their own childrens’ mortality.

Hermione suspected that Draco was feeling just as dreadful about the interview this morning as she was. They met at work to go over
their questions and were preparing to Floo out to the house, which had been connected to the network in preparation for their arrival,
when Draco stalled her.

“Granger, wait.”

Hermione had been about to open the office door, and turned to see if she had perhaps forgotten something.

Draco was holding out a small box to her.

“Here. Put this on,” he instructed.

She looked puzzled. She opened the box and inside saw a filigree silver ring. It looked ancient; it looked expensive.

“It’s a precaution,” he explained.

He held up his right fourth finger. She saw now that he was wearing an identical ring.

“Why?”

He gave an exasperated sigh. “Suit yourself. Don’t put it on.”

Draco turned back to his desk to pick up his working file.

“I was trying to help,” he said sourly.

“H-help?”

“Yes. These rings have powerful protective wards. If worn together, they will freeze any number of dangerous curses for a few moments
and alert the other wearer. It can be the difference between being rescued, and dying.”

“I see.”
Hermione picked the ring up out of the box and studied it.

“Where did you get them?”

“I didn’t get them anywhere,” he replied shortly. “They’ve been in my family for five-hundred years.”

“So, the reason you’re now giving me one of them is...”

“I’m not giving,” he clarified. “I’m lending. And you had better look after it.”

She was still looking at him like she didn’t understand. Honestly...

“If you’re going to be my partner, I want you alive and I would also like to know that I can call on you... should the need arise.”

Hermione nodded and slipped on the silver ring. It was cold and did not warm to her finger.

But, somehow, having it there did feel reassuring.

“Does this mean I’m forgiven for being such a heartless bitch the other day?” she asked with an apologetic smile.

He started at her choice of words and then grinned.

“Let’s go. We have interviews.”

End Notes
Thanks so much for reading and reviewing my story :) I hope you enjoy the rest, too!

Beta credit to the superb Alphastar

Back to index

An Interview And An Owl by Ixexa

Before they had even made it out of the building, they had been stopped by Harry, who had given them the bad tidings that there had
been a sixth death, the previous night. The Muggle authorities had passed along the information this morning.

“Another Muggle-born. Ignatius Fillby. Found in the river this time, but we’re pretty sure it ours.”

“But it’s only been a few days since the last attack!” Hermione said fiercely.

Harry looked like he was carrying an immense burden. The fact that his office was no closer to solving the crime or catching whoever
was responsible was beginning a heavy toll on him; he looked drawn and had dark circles under his eyes.

“He’s escalating,” said Draco, and Harry gave him a dismal nod.
“Let’s go,” Hermione muttered.

***

They decided to see Mr. and Mrs. Prewett first. It would be the toughest interview, but probably the most useful. After that, they would
canvass the neighbourhood to see if anyone had seen anything that hadn’t been mentioned in the police reports. The family lived in a
new housing development in Derby, not far out of the city proper. The streets were lined with young evergreen trees, and the roads were
freshly laid and well kept. By all accounts, it was a close-knit community and no doubt the crime committed there would have sent shock
waves through the residents.

Draco had said very little to the family apart from the formalities at the beginning of the interview. Speaking to the bereaved was so
obviously Hermione’s forte that he was content to play second to her, taking notes and then handing her one of their preordained
questions if she seemed to draw a blank.

She was so kind - made it so obvious that she didn’t mind if the family got upset, broke down, cried, ranted at the unfairness of what had
occurred – that people warmed to her easily, even in dreadful situations.

Mrs. Prewett was sobbing quietly on the sofa in their sitting room, her husband holding her against him as he answered the questions.

“The police told us that your children were found in their beds?” Hermione asked gently.

“Yes. It was just as I was turning in. I – I –”

He gulped.

“I looked in on them. They... there was something not quite right about how Patton was lying, so I went into the bedroom.”

Hermione nodded sympathetically and waited for Mr. Prewett to compose himself.

“He – he – they had been covered by their blankets. When I pulled the blanket down on Patton – he was - he was – and Geoff -”

“It’s alright, Mr. Prewett. You don’t have to say any more about that. I know what... you saw.”

Mrs. Prewett broke down now into a fresh round of sobbing.

“I don’t understand. Why would anyone want to kill my children? What had they done?”

Her husband was trying to soothe her, rocking her.

Hermione was stricken. “Nothing. This is a terrible, terrible thing that was done. I am so sorry for your loss. And I promise you – we –
promise you, we are going to find this bastard.”

The display of emotion from Hermione seemed to steel the father somewhat, and he nodded at her words.

“Does this –” he began. “Does this have anything to do with your – people?”

Hermione nodded sadly. “Yes, I’m afraid it does.”

Mr. Prewett turned his face into his wife’s curled hair. “Could we please continue this another time?”

The strain in his voice made it hard to see how he had even forced out the polite words.

At her side, Draco knew exactly what the bereft father was thinking.

He had sent his children off for a magical education - no doubt surprised when that world had been revealed to them, less than a year ago
– had sent them to Hogwarts, trusting in the exciting new opportunity for their boys, and when their children returned for Easter, they
had been murdered in their beds.

***

Just as they were leaving the house across the road from the Prewetts, after a third successive fairly fruitless interview with surrounding
community members, a large brown owl fluttered down to them and landed on Draco’s outstretched arm.

It held out its leg to him and swiftly he took the note.

After a silent moment of reading through the few lines it contained he said, “There’s been another murder.”

End Notes
Chapter beta: Alphastar. Thanks!!!

I hope the next update won't be far away. I'm glad to see you're still here... things are about to get VERY interesting around here :D
Back to index

What Draco Saw in the Pensieve by Ixexa

“I don’t know how much more of this I can take.”

Hermione had arranged photographs of the crime scenes in the only clear space on her side of the desk. She was staring sadly at the
tragic montage of human loss.

Draco nodded distractedly and kept noting down details from the file he was working on.

The expectation they put on themselves to solve the case was far greater than any external pressure from the Ministry. They were both
driven by the desperation to stop even more innocents from being killed.

She said cautiously, “I think we need to face the fact that this could be something related to You-Know-Who.”

He felt his stomach drop at those words, and said resignedly, “Yes, I’ve been thinking about that. The murders are random, but the one
thing they have in common might be the fact that the victims were all either Muggles, or Muggle-borns.”

“A sophisticated cell of Death Eaters, perhaps?” she suggested.

“Maybe. But it doesn’t feel right. The violence fits, I suppose, but then you have the odd bits. Why were those boys covered up with their
blankets?”

“And then there’s this latest one... Cassandra Fischer.”

Hermione pointed to a photo showing an elderly woman laid out on a metal tray in a morgue.

“The first female victim,” said Draco.

“Yes, thus ruling out a bizarre crusade against men in general. But she was found in a freshly dug grave, underneath a just-buried corpse.
The absolute chance that it took for the body that belonged in the grave to be disinterred so soon after burial, causing the discovery of the
second body below – well...”

“She was never intended to be found.”

“Exactly. Some of the murders – take the aquarium for example – seem to be aimed at spectacle. Some are cruel, like the butcher. Then
you have the twins with the strange, almost remorseful covering up. And then we have a hidden corpse.”

She sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. “What is the rationale?”

“Maybe there isn’t one.”

“No, there has to be. Even if we are dealing with a lunatic – which it seems we probably are, there must be some reason for the choice of
victims. These scenes are flung halfway across Britain. What makes him choose to kill? He wouldn’t go to such an effort with all the
travelling, the elaborate crimes and the secrecy entailed, unless he had a purpose, twisted though it is.”

“You’re right. We will just have to keep reading.”

Hermione sighed and picked up the latest coroner’s report.

***

She was reading out some of the details in an undertone, doing her best to force her brain to find a link between the victims that wasn’t
there.

“Cassandra Eton Fischer, 60, found buried beneath the corpse of a man who had died from lung cancer the previous week. There was
some question at the hospital about medications, and so the family had demanded an autopsy. Cassandra’s body was in the early stages
of decomposition and had probably been laid there between five and seven days previously. No clue to cause of death.”

“Ignatius Aries Fillby, 56, estranged husband and father. Found drowned in the Mersey river. Suicide ruled out as no water in lungs. No
sign of physical trauma. No savings to speak of; had very little worth being killed over.”

“Pretentious name for a Muggle-born,” Draco commented distractedly.

Hermione rolled her eyes. “There’s an aristocracy in the Muggle world, too, Draco.”

He frowned and went back to his own reading.

Patton and Geoffrey Prewett.

Harold Oxley.

George Halliburton.

The marine guide, Dunn.

The names were piling up, and if they didn’t solve the case soon they faced a real risk of being bogged down in the hundreds of details
they were trying to remember and connect about these people’s lives and death.

***

Hermione had suggested a break from reading, by spending some time going over memories in the Pensieve.

Sometimes they would delve inside, walking the crime scenes again, talking through how the murder might have occurred. With the
interviews, they usually sat and watched the scene on the surface of the bowl, jotting down any new observations they made.

She thought it strange how much it helped. They noticed things they had missed at the time, although Hermione found her original notes
equally valuable as they contained the first impressions she had had, which in the past had often been where she started to piece things
together.

They were utterly exhausted, but with seven people dead they couldn’t stop working on the case. They went home for only a few hours a
day, often leaving well after midnight and returning before dawn.

***

Hermione tried to get comfortable in her chair by the stone basin.

She had begun to panic lately that the Minister would replace them, after so long with not even a single lead. But there was really no one
else who could do their jobs as well as they could. Others were working on the case, of course, in different ways, offering suggestions
and aid at meetings or by memo, but no one else had the training or the investigative skills that they possessed.

She was relieved that her children had spent the last holidays with Ron. She felt a pang, realising that she hadn’t seen them since
Christmas. She missed them dearly, but somehow, being around them after visiting the Prewetts would have been too much, and she
couldn’t spare the time off work with everything that was going on.

However, she remembered fondly how her fear for them and constant owls had nearly driven Ron insane over the two weeks.

She shook herself, realising that her eyes had closed briefly and that she had nearly fallen asleep in her chair.

Draco noticed and stood up, giving her an exasperated look and returning armed with two cups of coffee a moment later.

“I didn’t realise precisely how tired you were,” he chided.

He handed her a steaming cup and sat down on the chair beside her, ready to look once more into the basin.

“You might have mentioned it.”

“No, I’m fine,” she said wearily. “Let’s do another hour. Then we stop.”
“Fine. Pass me another.”

He gestured at the tray of vials before her. The memories from their interviews and from examining the scenes were neatly labelled and
arranged by date and by case.

Hermione felt the coffee start to work its own peculiar magic and her sluggish brain picked up a gear.

“We’ve... done all of these. But I haven’t added my memories from yesterday, yet.”

She picked up her wand and touched it to her temple, drawing out one silvery strand after another, which she proceeded to place into
vials and hand to Draco.

He took them and labelled them as per her instructions, squirming a little in his seat as her hand lingered on his as she dropped a vial in.

She noticed his movement and felt her cheeks flush at the contact.

Really stupid idea, Hermione. You are almost at the point of dying from sleep deprivation. It was a meaningless contact and does not
need to lead to anything that would be a mistake. Do not go there.

Concentrating on making her breath resume a regular pace and willing herself not to remember the day she had kissed him, she drew out
the remainder of her memories.

***

After nearly the full hour had passed and Hermione could feel herself beginning to grow bone numbingly weary again, Draco reached
for the last of the new memories that lay in the tray.

Dropping it into the bowl, he swirled with his wand and the image began to coalesce.

That’s odd, Hermione thought sleepily, that’s Hogwarts.

And look, there’s me.

She sat bolt upright.

Somehow, she had pulled out the wrong memory. This had nothing to do with the case. She watched in silent horror as her sixteen-year-
old self made her way down the stairs to the dungeons, the scene portrayed in those washed-out colours of Pensieve memories, almost
like a muggle black-and-white film. Her hand leapt to her mouth.

Not this memory.

She wasn’t walking; it was much more like creeping, sneaking even.

“Granger, what is this? Did you –”

But Hermione had leapt forwards.

There had been only one time that she could remember ever having snuck down to the dungeons like that. And she was not going to let
Draco see what had happened next.

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.”

She dug her wand out, flicked it into the swirling depths and tugged, ending the memory abruptly, withdrawing the glowing strand.

She flushed under his puzzled look. “I don’t know how that got in there.”

It must have been her tired and confused attempts to ward off thoughts of the kiss she had been stupid enough to initiate all those weeks
ago, at the same time as she had been withdrawing her strands of memories. Somehow, this one had been mixed into those relating to the
murders.

He was watching her closely. She needed to relax and act as normally as possible or he would know something was off.

Stupidly, she unstoppered an empty vial and pushed it inside, her cheeks scarlet, and then tried to sit back in her chair as if nothing had
passed.

His eyes narrowed.

“What are you hiding?” he asked quietly, accusingly.

“Nothing.”

She reached over to drop the vial back into the tray.

“No, you don’t,” he said quickly. He tried to reach for it, to take it from her hand. “What’s in there that you don’t want me to see?”

But she held it to her chest. “Nothing. None of your business!” she shook her head passionately, trying to put an edge to her voice, hoping
he would see it as annoyance rather than fear.

His curiosity was piqued. She had made it painfully obvious that the memory contained something excruciatingly embarrassing and he
couldn’t resist. He wanted to know exactly what could make her react like this. Besides that, it was a welcome distraction.

“It’s nothing,” she repeated, looking at him with a sinking feeling.

Please, leave it alone.

But his eyes had lit up, and he was now grinning, looking strangely evil in the blue light dancing on his face.

“Accio Hermione’s memory.”

She tried to grip the vial, but it slipped out from between her clutching fingers and flitted into his waiting hand.

With a mercenary smile, he poured it back into the basin before she could do anything else.

***
The young girl tiptoed down the stairs, looking both ways along the corridor.

She turned away from the direction that would take her to Snape’s classroom and toward... the Slytherin dormitories.

Draco was shaking his head, confused.

“What year was this?”

“Fifth,” she mumbled from behind her hands. She could barely stand to watch. In a moment, everything between them was going to
change.

“What are you doing?”

But Hermione just stared ahead, watching her young self raise a fist to knock on the door into the Slytherin Common Room.

The door opened before she knocked and she was greeted by a drawling voice.

“You’re late.”

“What?” said Draco from beside her, sitting up. “I don’t remember this. You never...”

A fifteen-year-old Draco Malfoy appeared in the doorway. Without explanation or a proper greeting, he grabbed the uniformed
Hermione by the wrist and pulled her inside the Common Room, slamming the door behind her.

“What were you about to do, knock?” he asked disparagingly.

“Well, I don’t see how else I was supposed to get inside,” the girl replied. She had her arms crossed and was rolling her eyes.

“Don’t be stupid. What if there had been someone else here?”

Hermione registered for the first time that the room was empty. “Where... where is everyone?”

Watching the memory brought the day back in tremendous detail to the watching, present-day Hermione.

Beside her, Draco was sitting unmoving, obviously unable to believe what he was seeing.

Yes, no doubt he found it very odd. His younger self was actually talking to Hermione Granger. Talking! And not insulting. That alone
was remarkable. But she knew it was nothing compared to what would happen in about twenty seconds time.

“Scared?”

Young Draco had stepped towards her and his mouth was curled into a familiar sneer.

“No, no, I just –”

“Changed your mind?” He tossed his head cruelly.

“N-no. I’m here, aren’t I?”

Hermione could remember very well that she had been scared of going through with her plan, rather than scared precisely of him.

The girl took a deep breath and seemed to encourage herself.

“If you’ve changed your mind -”

“Oh, no. I haven’t.”

“I’m surprised... that you said yes.”

“Yes, it is odd isn’t it? But really, I had to. It was just too glorious. I had to see if you’d turn up.”

He smirked.

“And now that you’re here, I find that I want to collect on our bargain, after all.”

His manner was making this far more difficult than it needed to be. If he kept talking, goading her, she had a feeling that she would turn
around and march back out the door. Assuming that she didn’t jinx him first. Which wasn’t an option.

“Can we... go to your room?” she suggested.

May as well get to the point of their visit.

In the office, Hermione was aware of Draco muttering next to her, “What in hell’s dark...”

In the memory, he looked over his shoulder for a moment, towards a closed door before he turned back to her and sniffed.

“Ah, no. I don’t think so. That isn’t a good idea.”

His lips were curled, his face filled with contempt; it almost always was in those days, and it always was on any occasion that required
associating with her in any way. It was hard to imagine why he was even talking to her alone in the deserted dorms.

“You might not be able to control yourself,” he said maliciously, “we might do something that we would both regret.”

She huffed. This wasn’t going to be easy. “Let’s just get it over with then.”

“From the sound of that, I wonder why you’re even here.”

Hermione was counting silently to ten. I will not hit him.

The he shrugged one shoulder and sneered, “Never mind.”

He reached out and pulled her against him, mashing his lips against hers.

Hermione heard the intake of breath from beside her.

After recovering from the sudden onslaught, the student Hermione shifted her legs to get a little balance and opened her mouth to Draco.

It was rather fascinating to watch actually, the way their heads moved in a rhythm, blond hair against brown. His hands were firmly on
her shoulders, holding her very close, he just half a head or so taller and bending down a little to reach her with his lips. They glimpsed
the sight of tongues sliding into mouths.

He had his eyes closed, and the adult Hermione watched his jaw working and his hands grip a little tighter, pressing into the girl’s upper
back.

Her heart rate quickened at the memory of how it had felt.

She remembered well the surprise at it being pleasant, and then the feeling that she was somehow betraying Harry, Ron and herself for
thinking that.

Eventually he broke the kiss for some air.

Young Hermione swayed forward a moment and then breathed out heavily.

Given the circumstances she supposed she ought to show gratitude if she wanted to keep up the charade.

“Th-thanks.”

It was clearly an effort to say it, and he looked like he was wondering why she was here.

He scoffed, and turned to walk away, giving her a parting shot. “Next time you’re in the mood for a little blackmail, you know where to
find me.”

With that, he disappeared into what she assumed might be a bathroom.

Well, she had kissed him, but she hadn’t done what she was here for.

Let see... when she had asked about his room, he had looked around at the door in the corner of the room. She gave it a nervous glance.

Did she have time? She looked towards the door he had just closed. He could be back at any moment.

But if she didn’t do it... then what was the point of coming? Of having kissed Draco Malfoy?

Hermione dashed toward the door, pushed, seemed to have a moment of trouble with the handle, but then entered what she hoped was
Draco’s dormitory.

The memory took the spectators inside with her.

There were five green-quilted beds, which was promising for a start.
But which bed was his? Which trunk?

Her eyes fell on a bedside photo. The Malfoy family.

Muttering her relief, she dropped to her knees at the foot of the bed and began to rifle through the trunk.

She remembered disliking the feeling of going through someone’s things, the intrusion. From the way Draco was sitting stiffly next to
her in the office, he was enjoying it little more, but he was also trying to work out what possible reason there could be for her behaviour.

After a moment, she pulled out a pair of white, conveniently monogrammed, y-fronts.

Slamming the trunk, she raced from the room and the memory faded.

***

Hermione sat back in resignation and embarrassment. There was going to be no working with him after this.

It hadn’t even been that bad really, kissing him. That explained, in a large amount, her poor impulse control of a few weeks back. She had
never been able to quite put away the thought that she had enjoyed it - that he had, too - and when the chance had presented itself to see if
she was right, she had... well.

Which had been stupid.

No, the kiss wasn’t bad; certainly nowhere near as bad as things were about to get inside their office.

She waited for an explosion from beside her. But all he said, in a quiet, strained voice was, “Do you still have them?”

“No!” she said indignantly, caught off guard.

She could see now that he was shaking with silent laughter.

“Well, well. Can’t say I had pictured you as an underwear thief. Fetish, is it?” He was openly mocking her, but there wasn’t any cruelty
in it.

He actually found it amusing. Such a better reaction than she had feared.

“It was a prank, actually,” she snapped, but she was finding it hard not to return the smile.

That sent him into real laughter, and he nearly fell out of his seat, bellowing, “You took my underwear for a prank? You?!”

“Yes. Although I might point out it wasn’t my idea.”

Draco rubbed away tears from his eyes and tried to compose himself. “Well, that makes a little more sense...”

Hermione bit her cheek. She didn’t want to lie, but she also didn’t want to undo whatever respect had built up between Harry and Draco.
“It was... my friends.”

But he seemed to take learning of this new, secret injustice from his prior antagonists well. She supposed it was mild after a lot of what
they had done to each other in those days.

He wanted to know more. “Well?”

“Well, what?”

“What were they going to do with them?”

“Oh, some elaborate ruse that you were having it off with some half-blood Hufflepuff, I think. I forget the details.”

“And the kiss comes into this, how?”

“Well... I had caught you skiving your prefect duties. It was at the start of the year. I don’t know if you remember that, but you did it
kind of a lot.”

He grinned, obviously still feeling no guilt whatsoever about what a terrible school leader he had made.

“I told you that I was going to tell Dumbledore, but you didn’t believe me. Anyway, I guess I – I might have complained rather a lot
about it to Harry and Ron. It was in the middle of one of your little battles for dominance that you so enjoyed.”

He snorted at the reasonably fair description.

“Anyway, they saw their chance. Harry... well, he said to me, that I should threaten you, make you believe it. Make you scared. And then
tell you that unless you kissed me, I would turn you in.”

She didn’t think Draco needed to know that it had been she who had come up with the idea of the kiss as a way of getting into the
dormitories, and that Harry and Ron had fought her strenuously on that point.

“He told you to blackmail me? Offer to kiss me?”

Semantically, it was true; once she had talked them around, Harry had taken the idea on board fairly rapidly.

Hermione nodded.

“And you went for it?”

“Obviously, and the point was that I needed to try and get hold of a pair of your underpants. They were going to plant them in her
dormitory, I think.”

Draco was still grinning, but then abruptly he went still. “Wait a moment... there never was any prank.”

She sighed heavily. She had been hoping he might not notice that one, tiny detail.

He coughed. “Don’t tell me, after all that, you had some damned Gryffindor attack of conscience?!”
“I changed my mind. I Obliviated you the next day and I destroyed them.”

He groaned in spite of himself. “Need I ask why?”

If played well, the trio could have used the prank to nearly undo him. It would have been their major coup.

“It felt... wrong.”

“You blackmail me, kiss me under threat, steal underwear from my bedroom and then abandon the whole scheme?!” he roared. “I wish
you people would decide what House you really belong to!”

Now he was watching her and his face registered a few emotions in turn. Evidently, he still found it amusing, although it seemed he
might have also realised he should probably feel a little violated by the trick, because there was some outrage and irritation there.
Certainly something was bothering him. Maybe it was the fact that she had tricked him into kissing her.

But she didn’t even know why he was looking at her like that. As he could see, he had been quite willing, eager even, to kiss her back.

But you blackmailed him into it.

Yes, she had been underhanded... but she had made up for it, hadn’t she? By destroying them?

Well, mostly made up for it.

***

Maybe it was the way she was sitting there so piteously. Maybe it was her pathetic high school attempt to outsmart him that she hadn’t
even been able to go through with.

But mostly it was the intolerable thought that she thought she had one upped him in this. By her own choice, her own sense of shining,
shimmering nobility, she had chosen not to embarrass him. That, and that alone, had been what had saved him from what would have
been no doubt an ugly situation. And she had been sitting on the knowledge for years - she had ended the prank.

No, that definitely irked him the most. Well, she wouldn’t be able to outdo him this time.

He lifted his wand to his temple and drew out a single strand which he dropped into the bowl.

His lips curled into a nasty smile.

“You’re going to want to see this, Granger.”

End Notes
Thanks a bunch to Alphastar for doing the beta on this chapter :)
Back to index

What Hermione Saw in the Pensieve by Ixexa

“I think we might need to get more intimately acquainted with this memory, don’t you?”

The stress he put on those words was alarming.

He held out a hand to the bowl, gesturing that he would follow her in.

***

After a brief sensation of falling, the memory began to solidify around them, shapes resolving themselves into recognisable features.

They were back in Hogwarts. It seemed to be one of the high corridors; in fact it looked like an area near Gryffindor Tower.

Ahead, a blond-haired boy was walking away from them. Dressed in a dark shirt and trousers, he was taller than the Draco in
Hermione’s memory. She realised some time must have passed since then.

“Sixth year,” Draco said from his place at her side.

He raised his eyebrows at her and took off after the grey version of his younger self.

Hermione really didn’t like the eager expression on his face.

Thinking that she would probably regret it, she followed. The other option seemed to be standing around in an empty corridor. Although
she couldn’t feel it now, her memory was reminding her strongly it was chilly and she hugged herself from the imagined drop in
temperature.

She hurried to catch up.

***

With little effort, Draco could easily supply the thoughts that corresponded to the actions of his teenage self.

He had been brought up short by some whispered sounds of conversation up ahead along the corridor.

So, he wasn’t the only one about in the castle tonight.

The boy ducked into a gap in the wall, but whoever was speaking seemed to be in the alcove that led to the stairs up ahead and hadn’t
seen him.

Slowly, he inched ahead until he could see a slice of a view into the alcove.

Now, this is interesting.

It was the Mudblood. She was sitting on a bench and seemed to be crying. Predictably, at her side, was the heroic Potter. It seemed his
duties now extended beyond surviving each consecutive attack on his life by the Dark Lord, to rescuing damsels in distress.

Well, Draco supposed he couldn’t blame him, really. Assuming one didn’t mind that she had such an ignoble birth - and Potter, of
course, didn’t mind that at all - she was actually not unappealing. Physically, of course. Temperamentally, she was interfering,
obnoxious and irritating. The Prefect meetings of the last year and a half had confirmed that beyond doubt. But then again, depending
on what one wanted from a girl, certain things could be overlooked.

Of course, he doubted that Potter would even know what to do with her.

***

Hermione found it very odd to watch this memory from outside. What had happened next?

Momentarily, there was a disturbance in the room.

Yes, that’s right... Ron and Lavender had come stumbling in.

Watching the scene again reminded her of the pain she had felt that night, the sense of devastation at watching Ron kiss that hag after
the match. It hurt her now to see it relived.

The technicolour Draco had now stepped into the room to watch the ménage à quatre from only metres away, while the gaunt young
version of himself was still lingering in the shadows outside of the stone stairwell. Now that she knew he was there, she could see the
outline of his pale face.

“You... spied on us?” she accused him, following him into the stairwell.

He made a face, as if it was inconsequential, and indicated she should pay attention.

Why had he brought her into this memory? She knew this scene better than he did, even if he had eavesdropped on most of the
conversation, as it appeared he had. Was it to let her know that he had invaded her privacy, too, the way she had in his room? To take a
little stab at her?

When the confrontation with Ron was over, the elder Draco had the grace to look abashed as they watched the girl crying into Harry’s
shoulder. Apparently, this wasn’t the part he wanted to show her either.

After a time, Harry left the desolated girl to sit there alone. She was wiping her face, preparing to return to her Common Room and bed.

***

Just as he suspected. Potter left her there, alone and vulnerable, not even seeing the opportunity before his eyes. So what if she seemed to
have a perverse attraction to Weasley? In her state, Draco doubted she would have knocked that idiot back.

“Who... who’s there?” came her shaky voice.

Draco stood motionless for a moment. He must have made a sound and she had heard. Now, for all he knew, she would come storming
into the corridor and find him there.

He couldn’t have that. Better to be on the front foot.

He stepped boldly into the little room.

The Mudblood’s eyes widened when she saw who it was.

“Malfoy? I -”

“Had ourselves a little lovers tiff, did we?” he asked viciously.

“That’s none of your business.”

With no interest in remaining here and being subjected to his insults, she stood up, clearly planning a swift exit .

***

The adult Hermione had no memory of this part. She struggled to remember exactly what had happened that night, but it was gone. She
assumed she had cried herself out, and gone to bed.

This was new. Evidently this was what Draco wanted to show her, for he was now watching intently.

What was about to happen?

***

“You Mudbloods and Blood Traitors are disgusting. Can’t even keep your private business private.”

Hermione Granger spun around.

“How dare you –”

She raised her hand to slap him, but he caught her wrist.

Like the idiot she was, she attempted to hit him with her other, which he also captured.

She tried to wrest herself from his grip, but he dug his fingers into her wrists, refusing to let go. She winced.

“Let me go! What do you think you’re doing?!”

“I’m doing exactly what I feel like,” he drawled. “And I don’t think there’s much you can do to stop me, is there?”

“Let go!”

“I mean, you could scream. Someone would arrive eventually, I’m sure.”

She continued to struggle vainly, but when his grip tightened painfully, she stilled.

She gave him such a look of loathing that the adult Hermione stepped back from the force of it.

“What are you going to do? Are you going to force yourself on me?”
She laughed shrilly. “I’m not afraid of that. I know that you couldn’t bring yourself to touch me.”

There was a flicker of hurt in her eyes. Not at his perceived indifference to her, no doubt, but she was projecting Weasley’s rejection onto
him.

Her eyes were running, her hair had flown out around her face and she had a look of desperate anger that was so fierce he was
impressed in spite of himself.

But she definitely wasn’t ugly. It was the one, single concession he would grant her.

***

She was still glaring at him, but he was no longer wearing the hateful expression he had adopted when he had enjoyed seeing her
struggle. His features were inscrutable.

The girl was confused and upset.

She had thought that she couldn’t despise the Slytherin any more than she did already, but apparently there were always new depths to
plumb when it came to him.

How dare he listen to her private conversation with Harry? She guessed he had probably seen the fight, too. It was so... humiliating that
he should know what passed between her and her friends in such intimate detail.

She refused absolutely to listen to the rational voice that reminded her of what she had done to him the previous year, with the
abandoned prank.

She just wished he would let her go. “You’re hurting me.”

But he didn’t answer. He had the strangest look on his face, almost as if he was surprised as she was, to find himself standing there,
keeping her imprisoned between his arms.

For a moment, it was almost exactly like how he had looked at her in his Common Room the previous year...

***

Her expression faltered.

Draco Malfoy had a very bad, very wrong thought occur to him. He didn’t mind that it was bad, or wrong, but he wondered if it was
true.

If I tried something – now – she wouldn’t resist. With the state she’s in, she would encourage it.

But would she... with me?

It seemed unlikely.

He hesitated. He really needed to release her, or this would grow very awkward. But even as he began to loosen his grip on her wrists,
lowering his arms, she threw herself into him.
His mouth felt the aggression of her onslaught and he was pushed back.

She had grabbed his face and was kissing him.

***

Apparently it was true then, there was a fine line between love and hate. Lust and hate, Hermione corrected herself.

She could do nothing but shake her head in shock as she watched what the pair was doing.

***

His arms flew around her and he kissed her back, matching her ferocity. He drove her against the wall and pushed his tongue into her
mouth, fighting with her own. The way she writhed in his grip, as if she was caught halfway between attacking him and trying to get
away, made his arousal complete. His hands gripped her body tightly against him, and began to search inside the folds of her clothing.

Hermione moaned her need as his fingers found the curves of her waist and breasts. She hooked her ankle behind his knee, clenching her
thigh and driving him into the gap between her legs.

“More, Malfoy,” she breathed, grasping his behind, pulling his groin harder against her aching body.

He moved urgently against her, providing a promise of satiation with his thrusts.

His hand dropped to her hip, tearing her shirt out of her waist band and pulling the material up to touch her bare skin.

She shivered and tongued him more fiercely still. Her own hand joined his, pulling roughly up at the lower edge of her bra, until she had
exposed her breast to him.

He held it in his palm for a moment, running his thumb over her nipple and looking at it hungrily. Then he moved his hand to cover her
breast and he squeezed the naked flesh hard, sneering when she cried out in surprise.

He stifled her protest with his mouth.

She bit his lip and drew blood, but didn’t remove her mouth from his.

“I hate you,” she muttered, the words nearly lost inside the kiss.

“Bitch,” was his only reply, as she increased her desperate actions.

She fought with him and turned their bodies around. They remained tightly locked together and Draco let out an “Oof” as his back
slammed into the wall.

Hermione tore at his shirt, opening it most of the way to his waist as buttons pinged onto the stone floor and rolled away. He felt the
clammy air rush in against his skin and drew in a hissing breath. She tried to tug the shirt down, off of his shoulders, but he resisted,
refusing to be disrobed.

“Take it off.”
“No.”

Even in the height of this passion he managed to realise that if she exposed his tattoo then she would stop as abruptly as she had begun,
and she just... couldn’t. He was already past the point of no return. He didn’t even care if she pretended he was Weasley. There was no
way this could stop now before he had her.

“I hate you!” she repeated, pinching his nipple and sucking roughly at his neck. He threw his head back and closed his eyes in pleasure
and her lips tugged at the tender skin.

“Fuck...”

He hadn’t realised how long it had been since he and Pansy had even... but with his obsession with the task the Dark Lord had given
him this year, he wasn’t sure if there even was a ‘he and Pansy,’ anymore.

She moved down to his exposed chest. He gasped as she kept licking, sucking and biting at him. She moved lower again, and his hands
tangled desperately in her hair as he pushed her head down all the way.

***

Hermione was flabbergasted. She wanted to scream at herself to stop, to pull her black-and-white self away from him, but even if she
hadn’t known it would be ineffectual, she couldn’t move.

She could barely breathe.

The girl opened Draco’s trousers, wrenching the zip in order to get at him. He forced himself into her mouth and she settled on her knees
to take him.

He groaned loudly, “Now,” and “Harder,” and “Fuck, yes,” and began to curse repeatedly.

Hermione turned agape to the man at her side. He was watching the kneeling girl take the boy into her mouth, the back and forth
motions of her head and her pleasurable moans while she satisfied him. His hips rocked forward a little to meet her with each swallow
and he used his hands in her hair to bring her down again and again, not that she looked like she needed any encouragement. The guttural
oaths from the handsome face made the receiver of her attention look like nothing so much as a fallen angel as they debauched each
other.

The real Draco was smiling at the scene.

He had probably been watching this for years.

She shot him a fiery look, but he scoffed, “Don’t even think it. I put this memory away.”

She had no response. She just shook her head dumbly and turned back to the pair of lovers.

She wanted to challenge him on the lie; if it had been put away, then why was it in his head, just waiting for him to conveniently retrieve
it?

***
Draco was fading fast under her ministrations. His face tightened, his jaw clenched as the tension built to a crescendo, but at what
seemed like the last moment, he pushed her away. There was a sucking sound as he pulled out of her mouth and then brought her to her
feet.

There was only one way that he wanted this to end.

She looked surprised but eagerly took his rough kiss.

“Lie down over there, Granger,” he commanded against her mouth, his voice tense with need. “I’m going to fuck you.”

She smiled and moaned agreement as he kissed her and backed her toward the steps, where they collapsed on the steps with him above
her.

“Yes, Malfoy. Now... yes!” Hermione was begging him, her voice overwhelmed with urgency now that she realised what he wanted.

He braced himself on both knees on the stone step below where her backside was resting, lifting her hips higher, and used one elbow
next to her head to prop himself up above her. He took her mouth roughly again, his free hand holding her bare breast and pinching her
nipple as she flailed beneath him, preparing herself feverishly to take him into her.

Draco’s body slid down onto her, into her and sixth year Hermione groaned anew as he penetrated her hard.

Her legs wrapped tightly around his waist, almost strangling him in her effort to keep him there.

***

The sounds coming from them increased and Hermione found it hard to stand. In spite of herself, she was completely aroused; every part
of her from her ears to her groin was throbbing. Her heartbeat was rapid and her breaths had been reduced to shallow gasps.

How there could be so much want, so much desire, the ferocious urgency of it all... she was uncomprehending. She could see that the
present-day Draco had clutched his own legs so tightly by his sides that his knuckles were white.

It was hard not to be turned on by watching their younger selves having what was clearly incredible sex.

***

Draco lifted his head, feeling the approaching release and revelling in every single second of it - her body writhing under him, the
feeling of being inside her, driving in mercilessly while her body tensed.

He watched her mouth form into a perfect little ‘O’ and knew in a rush that she was about to climax around him.

He gazed smugly down at her. He hadn’t even had to touch her.

"Mudblood."

Even as the first bit of the groan escaped, he smirked and covered her lips as came into her.

***
And just like that, it was over.

They were redressing themselves in that awkward moment that often followed spur of the moment sex.

Then he was struck with the sudden realisation of what he had done.

He had just had sex.

With Hermione Granger.

If his parents found out... scratch that, if the Dark Lord saw it is his mind...

Using willing girls was perfectly acceptable, but not if they were less than half-blood, and even then...

And certainly not this particular girl.

There would be no excuse in the universe that would pardon him this.

The look of horror was obvious on his face.

***

At the time, Draco hadn’t seen Hermione’s stung expression when she looked at her momentary lover, but he saw it now.

He looked at the real, live Hermione and saw the identical look of hurt form on her face. It made his arousal fade.

She knew it was somehow related to herself and what had just passed between them, but nothing like what the real situation was.

The young Hermione now wore a look of humiliation and contempt.

“Enjoy that did you?”

The grey Draco shook his head helplessly, seeming not to even hear her question, reeling, trying to think of how he could possibly undo
this.

She grew furious.

“I was going to thank you for scratching my itch,” she spat. “I will at least thank you for doing it in the dark so that I could pretend it
wasn’t you.”

Dimly he focussed on what she was saying, catching up far too late that she was angry.

“You can forget this every happened.” Her voice was shaking. “Because it didn’t. I loathe you and if you tell anyone about this, I will
tell -”

“No!”
He panicked. She couldn’t do that.

“Obliviate!”

End Notes
Thanks to Alphastar for beta work :)

Thank you for reading! Can I suggest that you make sure you haven't missed any chapters? Sometimes two go up up once, and all are
important to the story!
Back to index

The Aftermath by Ixexa

Draco retrieved his memory and wondered quietly exactly why he had just shown it to her.

For the moment, she was sitting stunned, back in her chair, but that would last for only seconds and then the anger would begin.

How was he supposed to work with her now?

And what about the case?

Stupid.

Stupid, stupid, stupid.

***

She fumed. She was so angry that she didn’t even know where to start. The fact that he had hidden their intimacy... his disgust with her
afterwards that he had been unable to conceal...

That stung so much. She wanted to throttle the sixteen-year-old Draco.

But the only option she had was to take it out on the man sitting next to her.

After all, they are the same person.

The problem was... that he wasn’t, he really wasn’t.

But his face... that glee... when he had showed her the memory...

Well, you had largely dented his pride just a moment before, she thought reasonably. He reacted poorly, but understandably.

But the anger. Oh, the anger.

“You complete, utter, cruel, manipulative, bottom-dwelling bastard!”

He flinched and turned to look her in the face.

“How could you do that to me?”

***

Well, maybe an argument was what they needed. There was so much history to talk about here and talking quietly was a bore.

“Do you specifically mean the sex, or more the memory charm?”

Her nostrils flared. “I mean – all of it! You used me, you treated me like dirt. Your face–”

“You used me, Granger. I obliged.”

She spat at him. She actually spat at him.

He clenched his fists and she shrunk back. Angrily, he wiped off the spittle from his chin with his sleeve.

“Do not ever do that to me again! And stop cowering! I’m not going to hit you. I don’t hit women.”

“You... slept with me!”

“You say that as if it wasn’t your idea. We slept with each other.”

“And then you hid it from me!”

“You were going to tell -”

“No, I wasn’t!”

“How do you know? You don’t remember. You hated me back then.”

“I hate you more now, believe me,” she said coldly, and she got up to sit back at the desk, turning her back on him.

***

He knew she didn’t mean it, but he supposed her anger was quite excusable in the circumstances.

“I’m sorry, I couldn’t take the risk.”

“You are not only a prejudiced, arrogant bigot, but you’re also a hypocrite! You had the nerve to attack what I did, which was mild by
comparison.”
“I didn’t really attack it! I actually thought it was ridiculously amusing.”

She whirled angrily.

“But you – but you – you had sex with me!”

“Let’s get one thing clear. I did not force myself on you, Hermione. Did you watch the memory? I practically had to fight you off.”

She gave a haughty laugh. “But you didn’t, did you?”

He snorted. “You don’t know me very well, obviously. We both needed sex. We both got to have sex. We both got off. What’s the big
deal?”

She began to cry angry tears. “I don’t even know how you managed that, seeing as how it was obviously so repulsive to you.”

He remembered the hurt expression. How it was only after seeing his face that she had had her little outburst.

Ah, so here, quite possibly was the actual reason for her dismay. She thought he had found her appalling, not a moment after being
inside her. He supposed that could tend to be a rather offensive thought.

How had he not realised sooner?

But now wasn’t the time to go into that. With how angry she was, there was no way he was going to try and reason with her and explain
that it wasn’t disgust or regret about her, but about what would have happened if he’d been found out.

In this mood she would refuse to believe him. No need to give her more ammunition.

She gritted her teeth. “Just... get out.”

He left without a word.

Back to index

A Misunderstanding by Ixexa

So, she was going to pretend nothing had happened?

From her manner, she certainly hadn’t forgiven him for keeping the memory from her, probably hadn’t forgiven him for the imagined
slight either, but, somehow, she had assumed the role of Auror again and pushed her feelings to the side.

They simply couldn’t afford to let this jeopardise the case. In the week that followed, there were two more murders.

Elisabeth Dorman and Leopold Whittington, both half-blood wizards, had been found dead.

She was found sprawled on the steps to the town hall in her village, Burtonhead-upon-Trent, while he had been found dead on a lonely
moor in Northern Yorkshire.
The names were becoming a blur. There was a maniac on the loose, who seemed hell-bent on cutting a swath through their community
and showed no signs of stopping.

And still there seemed no rhyme or reason in the killings.

They had to find him and stop him.

***

It was a strange kind of torture having to awkwardly sit with her by that bowl, trying desperately not to think about the memory they had
watched themselves acting out.

She had let go of some of the temper she felt but she was still very cool and reserved toward him.

He did his best not to say or do anything to annoy her and kept their interaction only to the minimum demanded by the case. This seemed
to please her.

“He’s escalating,” he said one day, as they sat reviewing interviews on the last deaths.

“There is some kind of demented sense in it all... with the order. It was Muggles, then Muggle-borns and now half-bloods -”

But she had shot him a dangerous look.

“Okay! I didn’t mean sense. I meant –”

“Prejudice? Because he went after the least important people first?”

She looked at him scornfully.

He was making it worse. Somehow, he was making it worse.

“Granger -”

“Don’t bother. Let’s just get on with this.”

***

She was furious at him for allowing her to seduce him and pretending he had enjoyed it.

She had enjoyed it – yes, she admitted now that it was obvious that she had liked it. After all, she was the one who had started it, and he
held no responsibility for that part. She was also logical enough to see that part of the reason she was so angry about it was that,
although it had happened, she hadn’t known about it until now.

And he had.

She had been… deprived of the memory. It was the only word for it.
But mostly it was because he - who could remember it, who could even watch it if he wanted to - he hadn’t enjoyed it at all; he had
played along, only to scorn her afterwards.

It was a long time ago but that didn’t make it any less humiliating.

She couldn’t wait until this case was over.

Then she would get herself a new partner.

Back to index

Let’s Clear a Few Things Up by Ixexa

“For Merlin’s sake. I wasn’t going to tell anyone! You know that. You didn’t have to Obliviate me.”

Finally, she had agreed to talk about what had happened. She had the sense to realise that, unless they could somehow work through it,
it would tarnish their efforts on the case and they couldn’t afford that.

“And I wasn’t disgusted with you,” he shot back. “It was bloody mindblowing. Did you see me in there?”

But she clearly didn’t believe him.

“I wasn’t! Think! Don’t you remember sixth year? What I did? It was because I had to make sure that no one...”

He was pacing the space next to their desk and he threw his hands in the air.

“Well, can’t you work it out? I thought you were supposed to be smart?”

He watched her trying to think through what he said. Finally the realisation came.

“Oh.”

“Yes... oh.”

Her cheeks were pink. “I’m... sorry. I overreacted because I was hurt. And I’m still very cross with you for hiding such an important
memory, but -”

“It doesn’t matter. You should probably thank me that you haven’t had to live with it until now.”

The atmosphere seemed to be lifting slightly, and Draco felt a ray of hope bloom in his chest.

“Oh, it wasn’t so bad.”

She was staring down at her hands and smiling. Then she turned to look up at him.

He didn’t like the way her eyes were dancing. And he was dizzy from the complete reversal she had just demonstrated.

She seemed to have accepted what happened and was now admitting to herself that she couldn’t hold the act itself against him. That she
had wanted it, had initiated it, and for that, at least, she couldn’t be angry with him.

Perhaps, that she had enjoyed it.

He said, very deliberately and without any of the response he could feel stirring inside him, “We should get back to it.”

***

Geoffrey and Patton.

Somehow, they were always at the top of his list.

Harold Oxley.

Halliburton.

Thomas Dunn.

Cassandra Fischer.

Ignatius Fillby.

Elisabeth Dorman.

Leopold Whittington.

And this morning, Stephen Archer, the third half-blood victim.

Ten murders. Ten lives ended for some obscure, indecipherable reason. Many more lives and families torn apart because of it.

“Maybe these are ritual killings.”

Hermione was repeating her favoured current theory.

Draco sighed. “But there’s no ritual to it.”

“Maybe there is, and we just don’t know what it is.”

He was hunched over the Pensieve, and when he tried to sit up straight to stretch his back, he winced in pain.

She stood up and he assumed she was taking a break, which seemed like a good idea.
But then he felt her hands on his shoulders.

She was massaging him.

He leaned forward instinctively. “What the hell are you –”

“No,” she said forcefully, pulling him against the back of his chair. “You can stop. I know what you were about to say.”

Her fingers moved again.

“No, I don’t have a death wish. Yes, you do need this. It will help. Yes, you will allow me to do it, because quite frankly, who else is
going to offer? And finally, you will sit there quietly and not complain. You might even try to enjoy it.”

He was floored. But her fingers were pressing so hard into his knotted muscles and each stroke was driving some kind of heat away from
there, bringing such relief, that he didn’t struggle.

She kneaded with her thumbs, down onto his shoulder blades, around his spine, and gently massaged the sides of his neck.

As all pain seemed to leave his body, he briefly wondered if this was the best feeling a human being could ever expect to feel.

The fact that it was Hermione, that her hands were touching him again, only amplified the sensations.

But then her lips were at the side of his neck.

He wondered if he had imagined it. But no, when he didn’t move away, she kissed him again, sucking skin into her mouth with an
entirely new kind of pressure that made his toes curl.

All the heat that had grown up in him during the recent Pensieve viewing returned in force.

He turned his head and captured her lips, barely able to remember if he had ever wanted something so badly.

***

It felt incredible to kiss Draco again, to feel his mouth against hers. He was directive, but gentle, willing to share the lead with her. His
lips were warm, his mouth was silken and wet and she tasted the delicious flavour of coffee as their tongues meshed.

She knew that she desired him. The memory he had revealed to her had awoken something in her that she hadn’t dared to name before
then, because it wouldn’t be helpful to either of them, and especially to the case they were trying so hard to solve.

But she wanted him.

It was okay to do this, wasn’t it? To release some of their tension? To get even a momentary relief from the exhaustion, the aches and the
pressure?

As he kissed her softly, caressing her face, his hand moving into her hair, and his tongue gently circling hers, she felt a flood of emotion
so fierce and sudden that it threatened to overwhelm her.
Her eyes shot open. She had feelings for him.

It couldn’t be.

For the second time, she broke away from him.

This time, she couldn’t even look at his face.

“I’m so, so, sorry. I – I want this but – we can’t...”

“I have had it with you!”

He stood angrily, pushing his chair so hard that it nearly fell over and she had to step back to avoid it slamming into her.

He advanced. “Can you just make up your mind? That’s the second time you’ve led me on. Believe me, there won’t be a third.”

“I’m... sorry, I am -”

“Stop saying that.”

“It’s just... with everything going on...”

“Oh, so it’s the stress this time?” He screwed up his face. “Or maybe it’s the tiredness, again? A different excuse? Yes, let’s just chalk it
up to the stress from work, shall we?”

“I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have...”

“Forget it.”

Back to index

The Eleventh Murder by Ixexa

The next day, Harry came to their office and informed them of the eleventh murder.

Virginia Talbot, a pureblood witch from an important family had been murdered in her own bathtub.

They had been extended a single interview with the family, this morning at half ten.

It was already after ten and so they needed to hurry.

Hermione gathered up her things from her desk, grabbing the ring before she left.

***
From the interview, they were able to glean that the Talbots owned a soapmaking business in Bristol. They decided to go there from the
house. As it was Saturday the factory would be closed, but they could have a look around and peruse the employee files to see if anyone
stood out as a person of interest. They could then return during the week for interviews.

By the time they had stopped for a late lunch in town it was already mid afternoon when they found the address.

An imposing building of marble, it displayed proudly the title ‘Talbot Soaps’ in gold lettering across the facade above the door.

Hermione tapped the door with her wand.

“Alohomora!”

They heard a click, and then turning the handle, she pushed open the heavy bronze gilt door.

Inside they walked through the series of rooms where the workers manufactured their famous soaps. There were huge vats, long tables,
boxes – both empty and full of products – lining the walls in other rooms, offices and a small kitchen.

They searched the rooms together, finding nothing apparently helpful, but persisting until they had combed the entire building.

Then they pulled out the files inside the secretarial office and sat down to read through the personnel lists.

Laboriously, they copied each name, including workers who had left up to a decade before, noting home addresses and personal details
that were listed.

Quite probably, this would lead to nothing. The possibility of the killer having a personal or professional connection to the victim was
small at this stage, given all of the preceding murders, but they had to investigate any slight chance.

Hours later, they finished. Deciding to check the alley behind the building before leaving, they let themselves out the rear entrance,
jamming the door open.

After another fruitless search, Hermione clicked her tongue.

“Damn. I’ve left my purse in the office. I’ll just be a moment.”

“Don’t worry, I’ll go. Be back in a moment.”

She smiled as he re-entered the factory

Since the second kiss, he had been standoffish, and she couldn’t blame him. She decided to see this small act as an encouraging sign.

It was getting dark.

Thinking she might as well have at least another glance around the lane before he returned, she had just pulled out her wand to light the
tip when she was struck from behind and fell onto her front, her knees making painful contact. She barely managed to get her arms
beneath her and prevent her face slamming into the cobbled stones.

“Stupefy!” repeated a high voice from behind her, and she was thrown onto her side with the force of a second Stunning spell.
A figure cloaked in dark blue was advancing up the dark alley.

Hermione forced herself into gear.

Clutching her wand tightly, she sprang to her feet and fired back her own spell. Her assailant blocked and broke into a run toward her.

“Expelliarmus!”

The attacker had obviously realised his mistake.

Hermione threw herself behind the rectangular garbage bin, escaping the spell, and tried to fire back another curse.

The figure halted, shrinking against the wall to evade her attack, and took cover.

Hermione looked desperately at the open doorway across the lane in which she very much hoped Draco would appear at any moment.
There was no safety here. She was in a confrontation with a dangerous opponent and her rational mind told her that she needed backup.

But as he wasn’t forthcoming, she continued to pepper spells around the side of the bin, grimacing as the blue figure blocked them
effortlessly and continued to pelt her, now firing some serious incendiary hexes her way.

She rubbed hopelessly at the ring. Why wasn’t he coming?

No... she couldn’t go thinking that about her partner.

Distracted for only a moment, she felt a burning sensation tear through her ribs on her right side, underneath her arm.

It was excruciating; her side seemed to be on fire, although there were no flames. There was just a burning heat that flooded into her,
penetrating the layers of skin and flesh. Her body had been charred through her coat and the sickening stench of her own flesh roasting
filled her nostrils. Dark, thick blood soaked down to her waist.

The pain blinded her, and she tried to stagger up from her knees to defend herself as the figure loomed over her, but she fell backwards
and knew only darkness.

***

Draco was about to call out that he had found it, and it had not been where she had said she’d left it, but he saw, instead of his partner
waiting for him, a cloaked figure hovering over a limp form in the alleyway.

Hermione.

No, it can’t be. His stomach felt suddenly leaden.

But then she moved slightly and opened her eyes.

In the second he took to process what was going on, the figure whirled.
“Expelliarmus!”

His wand flew over his shoulder, spinning back into the building and he dived after it.

He heard a weak whimper from her – she was alive. His mind raced, formulating a plan of attack.

He had let his guard down. For a moment he had been afraid she was -

“Stupefy!”

The figure was firing on him.

A curse flew through the door, and he sheltered to the side, and shot back.

But his exposed arm felt the brush of something hot, singing his hairs, and he drew back hastily.

“Foolish imbeciles! Did you think you could stop me?” the figure shrieked at him in an icy, high-pitched voice.

“It is time for a new order to arise. I have been given the task. I recognised the signs!”

The voice was androgynous and demented, chanting insanely.

Maybe thinking that he had retreated inside, their attacker turned momentarily back to Hermione, who was stirring, and a foot kicked
out at the vine wand, sending it skittering away from her hand.

Now that his eyes had adjusted, Draco could see that her side was black. She had been injured – burnt, it looked like. He wanted to
crawl across the lane, to see if she was okay, but it wasn’t an option.

The cloaked assailant turned and fired on him suddenly, almost connecting, and he reacted instinctively.

“Serpensortia!”

A large cobra leapt from his wand tip toward the figure, who let out a bloodcurdling shriek and backed away in surprise.

Draco took a deep breath and dived at Hermione.

End Notes

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Thanks so much for letting me know you're enjoying the story, too.

I hope you like the rest... :)

Back to index

St Mungo’s by Ixexa
He Apparated directly into St Mungos, clutching Hermione in his arms, trying not to be alarmed by the amount of her blood that he
could feel running onto his hands, or that terrible black scorch on her torso.

“Wait a moment!” objected the mediwitch from behind her station. “You can’t just -”

“It’s an emergency!” he shouted angrily.

Healers rushed forward to retrieve Hermione and took her to the fourth floor.

***

Why hadn’t the ring worked? Draco paced the hallway outside her room anxiously. He hadn’t been allowed in yet as the Healers were
still working on her.

He had almost beaten down the door after being refused entry, and had hovered so threateningly around anyone who entered or left the
room, that a timid looking young Healer eventually came out to speak to him. She asked him to calm down and said that Hermione was
going to live.

Relief broke through him, and he managed a sparse “Thank you” to the witch, who hurried back inside the room.

What had he done? He hadn’t been able to protect her.

Why hadn’t the ring alerted him that she was in danger? He could have been there faster, perhaps before she had been hit.

But he had a sinking feeling he might know the answer to that question.

***

Harry arrived about ten minutes after Draco had brought Hermione in.

“She’s alright,” said Draco, when Harry reached his side. “She’s been badly hurt. But they say that she’s going to survive.”

“What about you? Are you okay?”

Draco looked paler than Harry had ever seen him, which was saying a lot. Added to that, he was covered in grime and blood and was
extremely agitated.

“Potter, I swear I –”

“I know, Malfoy. This happens. It’s part of the job.”

Draco nodded gratefully and returned to anxiously peering in through the small glass window on the door. He couldn’t see her bed.

“Please, go home. Rest.”

Draco looked mutinous.

“I can’t –”

“It wasn’t a suggestion,” Harry said firmly. “You can’t do anything more for her right now. Come back in the morning. You might be
able to see her then.”

***

“You saved me.”

“I did.”

Draco was sitting at her bedside staring, just staring at her.

She looked frail, and she wasn’t able to move much without flinching, but she was alive. She was gazing back at him, gratitude written
all over her face as she beamed.

It was as if all of the terrible things they had said to each other had evaporated.

Or been put into perspective, at least.

“What do you remember about it?”

“Harry’s already been in here, asking me. I was surprised. We battled; I was hit. Other than that, not a lot. There was this voice. It was...
ranting.”

“Yes, I heard it, too.”

“I swear it was familiar somehow, but I can’t think where I’ve heard it. It was - different.”

She sighed and tried to make herself a more comfortable hollow against her pillow.

“Are you okay?”

“Yes and no. I wasn’t hurt. But... Astoria moved out yesterday.”

“I see. Is that....” she asked tentatively. “Is that... good, or bad?”

“It’s good, I suppose, for me. But we have to make arrangements for our son, now.”

He rubbed his brow and then reached into a satchel that lay next to his chair.

“When she was packing up her things, I found this.”

He held out an ancient book with a red binding, its pages so faded and yellowed and the text so spidery it was hard to read.
He opened in to a spot about two thirds of the way through.

“It’s one of my family history books. And it has something in here about the - rings. They didn’t work. I’m sorry. I didn’t know that you
were in danger.”

Hermione couldn’t work out why his face was clouding as he spoke.

She took the book and began to read the page he had marked.

Written apparently by Silvanus Auriga Malfoy, mostly it was talk about the crafting of the rings, and how they could be worn by a pair of
witches or wizards and would provide a magical link and some protective powers. It listed various curses covered by the protection. But
then the final line had been written, closing the chapter. It was so obviously an afterthought, that she wondered that the author had
bothered to pen it.

The rings are effective protection only for magic users in wizarding lineage.

“They rings only work if you’re... if you’re...”

“Yes, pureblood. Although, I suspect perhaps half-bloods, also.”

“Anyone with a drop of wizarding blood, in other words.”

He turned away.

She felt a tremendous shame well up inside of her. There it was again - her insecurity about wizard blood, her inferiority complex about
it, thrown in her face.

The ring hadn’t even recognised her as a magic user.

“I... I’m so sorry. You need to believe me when I say that I didn’t know.” His voice was a hoarse whisper.

“Please... just leave me.”

End Notes
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Back to index

St Mungo’s Numero Deux by Ixexa

Author's Notes

Make sure you're not missing any of these chapters!

Draco pushed open the door to her ward. He felt sick and guilty about the rings. He had spent an agonising day dealing with issues at
home, then a night tossing and turning, unable to sleep for the visions of hooded, cloaked figures attacking his partner again and again,
of high pitched voices screaming curses.
He stood at the foot of her bed, hoping that she wouldn’t ask him to just go away.

“Are you here about the case?” she asked, without opening her eyes. “Has there been another murder?”

“No. I-I’m here to see you.”

Her eyes flickered open. She sighed and indicated the chair by the bed.

“Why don’t you trust me?”

“After what you did with the ring?”

“I didn’t do anything. I told you already, I didn’t know it wouldn’t work for you. How was I supposed to know? I honestly thought it
would protect you.”

He stared at her bed sheet, avoiding her eyes. “And after what happened, do you think I will ever forgive myself for that? I did not
know.”

“I should have known, though. With your family history.”

“I don’t believe any of that anymore,” he said quietly, and he looked up at her.

“Yes, you do... don’t you?” She frowned at him. “I know you’ve changed – a lot – you’re actually not even terrible to be around, mostly.
But some things will never change. Some things are –”

“No. No, I don’t think I do.” He looked at her intently, sitting forward in his chair, resting a hand on her bed, inches from where hers
lay outside the blankets. “I mean, I realised a lot of it was rubbish after the Dark Lord fell. But I can admit I hung onto a lot of it, too.”

He paused for a moment, not breaking eye contact. “But... well... I mean it’s hard to remain convinced that Muggle-borns are inferior
after being your partner for the last seven months.”

It was difficult to imagine, at any point in her life before this, that she would hear those words come out of his mouth.

For a moment she said nothing, and then, “That’s the kindest thing you’ve ever said to me.”

“It’s probably the kindest thing I’ve ever said to anyone.”

The tragedy of those words probably being true brought made her chest tighten painfully.

She didn’t want to cry in front of him. There was any possible positive outcome to that.

Which meant she needed him to leave. Now.

“I need to go to sleep. Th–thank you for coming.”

He stood and gave her a tragic look.

“Just because the ring doesn’t think you’re worthy of recognition as a witch – just – well. Just put it out of your head. That ring was
crafted by my family, with their prejudices. They were wrong.”

But his words were too much, and she was sobbing.

He decided to leave in case she tried to kiss him again and ruined everything.

He was tempted himself.

Back to index

Back To Work by Ixexa

“You were attacked! Obviously, it’s no longer a secret that you are working on this case.”

They were in Harry’s office on Hermione’s first day after being released from hospital. Stubbornly, she had refused to take any further
time off to rest, declaring that that would be an indulgence that MCID couldn’t afford.

Harry looked almost as tired as they did; no doubt he wouldn’t be sleeping well, and they knew he was putting in his own terribly long
hours because often they would see him stepping into or coming out of the fireplaces at the same time they were.

And now, added to his pressure to solve the case, was his worry for Hermione’s wellbeing.

“Yes, but that’s what we do, isn’t it?” she countered. “We put ourselves in danger, and sometimes, we get attacked.”

“It’s not like it’s the first time,” Draco added.

He knew that Hermione feared that Harry was thinking of pulling them off the case. Her close call had been almost too much for him.

“Of course, others in the Ministry are working on the case...”

“There’s no one who can do what we can though, is there?” Draco argued.

He said it without arrogance, but with a sense of steady self-assurance in their joint ability.

“No,” Harry admitted.

He looked from one to the other of them.

“Harry, you’re going to have to put our friendship aside and start treating me like you would any other Auror,” Hermione said firmly.
“You’ve been in far worse danger before – we all have.”

“Yes, and I hope we never are again. But you’re right. I – I just sometimes wish that you hadn’t decided to work in Enforcement. It feels
like I’m playing with your lives.”

Draco knew that Harry would never be this frank in front of his other employees.
“We had better hope you’re good at the game, then,” he said grimly.

The reformed enemies nodded at each other across the desk.

***

Draco and Hermione resumed reading and going through the data from interviews. By volume, it was now definitely beyond the point of
overwhelming, filling up most of the space in the numerous filing cabinets in their office.

But, somehow, having faced the killer had made everything real and given them new energy. It was so much easier now to visualise the
person they were pursing as a solid entity, rather than an enigma.

They were going to find out who it was and stop him.

Things between the two of them were probably easier than they had ever been. The attack, and the renewed vigour for the task, had
crystalised them in a strange way. The petty grievances – even the major ones – seemed less important than they had, somehow.

They were friends. It hadn’t been said, but it didn’t need to be. She had developed a real sense of care toward him, although the precise
nature or depth of her feelings was something she didn’t wish to explore.

Definitely, there were also still subtle undercurrents of sexual tension between them, she couldn’t deny that. If they stood too close to one
another unintentionally, they often found themselves staring silently before one of them moved away uncomfortably.

But Hermione decided rather sensibly that it was natural for confusing feelings of attraction to develop between them when they had
been working so closely and so hard for such a long time, and in such disturbing circumstances. Add to this the attack on her, Draco’s
subsequent rescue and the sad fact she had spent more time with Draco since they had become partners than she had with Ron in years,
and it was not surprising.

Neither of them would act on it.

***

Draco watched her in exasperation.

In the weeks since her recovery, Hermione had been pushing herself harder than ever, determined to prove that she had what it took to
catch the murderer.

“Why don’t you go home?” he suggested, knowing already that it was useless. “You’re dead on your feet.”

“So are you.”

She didn’t even bother to look up from her work.

“Yes, but I wasn’t recently nearly murdered.”

A non-committal grunt was the only response he got.

***

More weeks flew by, and they tracked down every person connected with Virginia Talbot through work, through social connections – by
far the more difficult prospect – and they even began to look at various witch and wizard cousins and second cousins.

Nothing turned up, and they were forced to return, for now, to the other cases, going back over them in yet more detail, looking into
events from each victim’s past to see if there was some connection there that bound the eleven of them together.

School ended for the year and the children arrived from Hogwarts. Hermione agonised over how much time to take off to see them – she
missed them so very much.

It had been six months since they had last spent time together.

In the end, she spared herself a few days only, hoping beyond hope that they would somehow solve the case so that she could spend some
time with them properly before September arrived.

Scorpius, too, shared his time between his parents, Draco unwilling to take more than a little time off work, even to be with the son he
cherished so much.

In the end, he suggested that Hermione could perhaps bring her family over to the manor some days. The children could occupy each
other and the adults could work. That way she could have a few more days where she could at least eat with Rose and Hugo, and Draco
could see his son; the partners could be around them a little more, without neglecting the case.

Hermione accepted this with the wry thought that it would be best not to mention it to Ron that his children would be spending their days
at Malfoy Manor. The truce and the softening of sharp edged feelings around their ended relationship would probably be damaged.

It was hard for both of them, but slowly, slowly they were beginning to reclaim some of their old friendship. She knew that, in that way,
she would always love him. It was only the romantic feelings that had faded.

Draco had brought a second chair into the sitting room so that they could sit on opposite sides of his desk to work.

From the other large room on the ground floor filtered in the occasional celebrations, sounds of consternation and groans that often
accompanied a game of Wizards’ Chess.

If she turned in her chair, Hermione could see the three of them in the lounge. Hugo and Scorpius were bent over the chessboard,
ordering their pieces about, while Rose sat at the side of the table reading and giving their game only occasional looks, rolling her eyes,
before looking back to her book.

Hermione smiled. Like her, her daughter had developed no fondness for the game, unlike Hugo, who she knew enjoyed playing with Ron
and was actually getting rather good.

Scorpius had brought out his chess set not long after they had arrived, after a brief period of the three children standing around and
looking at one another awkwardly.

Tentatively, the blond boy had suggested they play.

Rose’s lack of enthusiasm was mostly hidden, although Hermione saw it. Nevertheless, the fourteen-year-old girl could see that
Scorpius’s offer would be a good ice-breaker and had agreed, somewhat less excitedly than her brother, that they play.

Hugo’s eyes had gone wide as Scorpius began to pull out the pieces and line them up on the marble board. The black set were obsidian,
inlaid generously with white gold accents. The eyes or other elements of the various pieces consisted of six different precious stones, one
for each different kind of man. The ivory pieces were set with yellow gold and corresponding highlights.

The value of the set was probably higher than anything that Hugo had ever laid eyes on, certainly anything he had ever touched.

At first, he had seemed almost afraid to lay a hand on the pieces, lest he damage them and get into trouble for it. But once it became
clear just how efficiently the pieces were able to repair themselves after various incursions by the other chessmen, his competitive
instinct had whirled into action.

They had been at it for hours, and it was little wonder Rose was bored.

With another small smile, Hermione returned to her papers.

***

“Have you finished your Potions essay?” Rose asked.

They were sitting grouped at the end of the long dining table, eating soup and rolls - Hermione and Draco after another draining
morning of work, the children, wishing to expand their repertoire, after a new excursion into the world of Gobstones and Exploding
Snap.

It was clear that the injustice of their new Potions professor having the audacity to set them homework before they started fourth year,
when they should be free to enjoy the long break, rankled deeply.

Scorpius sighed heavily and looked put upon. “No, but I think I’m about halfway. What about you?”

“Oh, I’ve finished.”

There was a tight, proud little smile on her face as she said this, and Draco and Hermione couldn’t help but exchange silent grins as they
continued to spoon their soup and watch their children interact.

Scorpius cleared his throat. “Well, I would have finished by now, but Mother and I went to France for the start of the holidays, so I lost
some time there.”

“I could help you, if you like?”

“No... no, that won’t be necessary.”

Hugo, too, was watching the conversation between his older sister and the blond boy.

Hermione watched as her daughter tossed her head and picked up her roll. Despite the red hair, it was such a Hermione-ish action that
she suppressed a chuckle.

Puzzled, but evidently aware that he seemed to have somehow caused offense, Scorpius said, “I will be alright. But... thanks.”

Draco finished his soup and put down his spoon, muttering quietly, “I see what you mean.”

***
On the first of September, the children returned to school, and Draco and Hermione were once again spending seven days a week in
their office.

After such a long reprieve between murders, they had begun to wonder if the killer had stopped, but the new term had barely began when
they received news of a twelfth victim.

They were called to the scene of the murder of Vincent Crabbe Senior.

Hermione had no idea how Draco would handle the death of his erstwhile friend’s father, a man he had no doubt known.

Having been freed only recently from Azkaban, Crabbe’s father – now an old man – had moved into a ramshackle building on the
outskirts of Manchester. He had been living as a tramp, selling trinkets and small magical objects where he could, eking out a fairly
desperate living.

He had been found atop a rotting pile of refuse, not far from his shack, by a policeman on his beat.

The pair of investigators were actually able to attend the scene before the removal of the body, having received the news so speedily.

The corpse told the tale of a wasted man. Once portly, he was haggard, his rail-thin form showing through the holes in threadbare rags
he had been forced to call clothes in the final chapter of his life.

He was rigid, his face frozen in an expression of horror that filled Hermione’s stomach with acid.

He was the second pureblood victim.

***

Draco was carefully arranging his photographs into folders and then stacking them into categories, gratefully accepting even the small
amount of catharsis the methodical act afforded him. He was aware that Hermione was watching him.

Hoping that she would tire of it, he moved on to straightening various other small items on his desk, restoring the sense of order he
found that he needed in order to work effectively.

Everything had come flooding back to him. Memories from Hogwarts; the Dark Lord. The dreadful things he had done in sixth year, with
Crabbe and Goyle’s reluctant help. The battle.

The fiendfyre.

Vincent.

His friend.

He was resigned to the fact that she would try and get him to open up about what had happened, but he couldn’t. It was just too raw.

***

“Do you want to talk?”

He let out a breath as the question finally escaped her.

“We don’t talk,” he said harshly.

“Actually, I don’t talk to anyone but you these days.”

His hand swept too quickly across his desk and the back of it connected with an ink pot, sending ink flying across his immaculate trays
and stacks. He swore angrily.

“That doesn’t mean I pass for a friend.”

She was stung. He didn’t mean it, she knew.

She knew it was grief, denial, whatever. But it hurt.

***

Where had that come from?

It had been his feelings about Crabbe.

He hadn’t meant that at all. But he could hardly take it back. Actually, it had been so good to talk to her that time, and on a few
occasions since then. But he couldn’t talk about this....

He was so confused by the bond – the kind of friendship between them – and about trusting someone with his emotions.

And then she had muddied the water with those kisses... those moments when he briefly believed she wanted him in the other way, too...
the way he couldn’t deny he wanted her. His pride hadn’t truly recovered from it yet.

Confusing.

He tried to think of something kinder to say, but she had already left the room.

He gave the spattered ink drops that had spread themselves out over his materials an accusatory look, as if it had been somehow their
fault that he had snapped at Hermione.

He started to siphon them back into their pot.

He hadn’t meant for that to happen. She was the closest thing to a friend he had had in years.

Back to index

Malfoy Manor by Ixexa

“You’re in my house again.”

“Yes, I am.”

She had found him in his lounge, sitting by the fire, curled up and gazing into the flames.

She sat down on the plush white sofa, training her eyes carefully away from the chandelier in the centre of the ceiling, as she always did
when in this room. The memory of what had happened to Dobby, how he had saved them all and then died from the dagger thrown by
Bellatrix, was still painful.

She wasn’t going to think about the dear elf today.

“I want you to have sex with me again. And this time I want to remember it. If it’s not too much trouble.”

His mouth fell open.

***

That again.

He - to his vast surprise and a little inner contempt at himself – he realised that he was disappointed she was here for that reason. He
had been hoping that she had been here to try and patch up their friendship, not to satisfy his or her sexual needs.

But no, it was the sex again.

“Don’t be absurd. You’re not going to attempt to humiliate me by appealing to my baser nature a third time and then rejecting me when
I respond.”

“I’m not going to reject you. This isn’t a heat of the moment decision I’ll change my mind about. I’ve thought this through. You need
this.”

“I don’t need your pity.”

“It’s not pity I’m offering. It’s my bod–”

“Never mind that. You’re – here? After what I said yesterday?”

He was uncomprehending.

“I know why you said that. The father of your childhood friend has been murdered. You have to investigate the case. I can’t even begin to
imagine how that must feel. And then I know you’re confused, because somehow you never quite managed to mourn for Crabbe... you
weren’t sure if you should be grieving, or if you were even allowed to grieve, but with his father’s death it’s brought it all back. And... I
suspect this might be about Lucius, also.”

He looked at her agog.

“Blast you. I don’t know how you know all of that.”

Draco’s father had drunk himself to death a few years after the battle of Hogwarts, unable to endure the new life he had to face as a
turncoat and a social pariah. Narcissa had followed soon after. Without her husband she was isolated, and not even the comfort of her
son could stop her from taking her life.

Draco had been left alone to head the family, to face the sneers and whispers, and to have no one. Not even a warm and loving wife for
comfort.

“Because, I know you, Draco. And I know you need the comfort I can give you.”

He laughed scornfully.

“That’s very valiant of you. Is this a common thing for Gryffindors? Is this how you all comfort each other? Looks like I was in the
wrong House, after all.”

“I’m not doing this out of self-sacrifice.”

“Why, then?”

“Because, I want to. Isn’t that a good enough reason?”

She wanted to add that it was because she was lonely, but didn’t think it would help.

And she definitely would not add that she was fairly sure that she was in love with him.

Realising that that might be the case had been what had stopped her mid-way through their second kiss, but she had really only just now,
finally, managed to be completely honest with herself about it.

Somehow, he seemed to sense her where her thoughts might be heading anyway.

“This is a bad idea. We need to solve the case. We do not need to become lovers.”

“We won’t. We don’t ever have to mention it again, if that’s what you want. But, please, just let me do this. For both of us. Please - I’ll
take anything you’ve got.”

Her words brought such a pain into his chest, it constricted sharply.

Why was she doing this to him? Couldn’t she tell that he had feelings for her? That sleeping with her once, now, would only make it
worse?

He forced his voice to a chillness he didn’t feel.

“Curious scene, don’t you think? To choose to seduce me in?”

***

Draco stared pointedly at the hearth, at the rug.

He was trying to hurt her, to get her to leave, by reminding her about his involvement in her torture in his house all those years ago.
Was he really that afraid of being intimate with her?

She bit back. “So, tell me, exactly when was the last time you –”

“Stop. You do not want to finish that sentence.”

So, it had been that long, then.

Hermione didn’t understand. If Astoria had cut him out of his own sex life, then why hadn’t he gone out and cheated on her, too?

Except, she did understand. Until quite recently, Astoria had still been his wife, living as part of his family. And he hadn’t been willing to
betray her.

Hermione tried a different tack.

“I know you want this. I was there when you kissed me, both times.”

“Trust me, it was nothing but instinct. Lately, I’m so exhausted and just so... empty from it all, that I probably would have reacted that
way if Shacklebolt had kissed me.”

“This isn’t going to work if you’re cruel. I’m not that desperate.”

“Really? That’s not the impression you gave me.”

But he was weakening. In a moment he would give in.

“Maybe I was wrong... maybe this is a mistake.”

She was about to change her mind. He couldn’t allow that. Not again.

Silently, he crossed the room and took her hand, leading her up the staircase to his bedroom.

***

Hermione stood a metre from him, gazing up at him from behind heavily-lidded eyes. Every inch of him was suffused with desire,
reflecting the heat she was radiating. Slowly, inexorably, her hands crept up to her own shoulders and slipped off the white dress she
was wearing, allowing it to slide down the contours of her body and pool on the floor.

She smiled at his intake of breath and seemed to take some confidence from it.

He muttered, “You’re so beautiful. How can you be so beautiful?”

Underneath, she was wearing a white negligee and lace underwear and his eyes travelled down slowly, taking in every inch of detail,
from the sharp corners of her tiny shoulders and the light smattering of freckles across them, down over the sweep and curve of her
breasts under the thin fabric, the in-and-out of her hips, her still-taut stomach and the way her legs tapered down to shapely calves.

She placed a finger on his lips, stepped into him and began to undo his shirt, one button at a time, until she had opened it fully and
exposed his abdomen.
Her breathing rate increased as she ran her hands up over the musculature in his stomach and his chest, up to his shoulders, to the solid
definition of his biceps.

Reluctantly, he allowed her to tug the shirt down his arms, baring his chest fully.

“You’re beautiful,” she insisted in a whisper, as she continued to watch him respond to her caresses of his naked upper body.

She reached for his left arm, the one that displayed the faded, terrible, inescapable reminder of his past, and placed his hand against the
underside of her breast.

With a whimper, he tightened his fingers to cup her through the negligee, staring in wonder at the shape of her hardening nipple as his
pale hand caressed her. He moved his thumb up to stroke the tip gently, causing her to shiver.

He lowered his head as she moistened her lips and then he kissed her gently, taking his time to deepen it, exploring her.

Her hands slid behind him, gliding over his bare back, from his wide shoulder blades to his tapered waist. He shuddered, pulling her
nearer.

Both hands began to caress her through the white material, making her suck in a breath as he pressed her hardened nipples, even as his
tongue pressed in more insistently.

He sat down on the edge of the bed, gathering her into his lap as they continued to kiss and become lost in the sensations and the soft
noises.

Gently, she nudged him back, and he lay down. Crossing her arms in front of her, she lifted off her negligee, leaving her almost naked,
straddled across his hips.

His eyes went wide at the sight of her breasts, and she felt him respond with a soft push upwards into her, before drawing her down with
him.

He removed his trousers, and they removed underpants, until they were naked together. She could feel his bare erection against her,
rubbing firmly at her aching sex, but they didn’t rush, taking time to explore every detail of one another’s bodies with touches and kisses.

His hand slipped between them to cradle each of her breasts in turn and then slid slowly across the tight warmness of her stomach until
his fingertips reached her thatch of curls.

Mimicking the movements his tongue was making in her mouth, he pressed one finger slowly into her equally wet centre.

She groaned encouragingly, smiling into his mouth and he pressed again, beginning to move his finger slowly back and forth from her
nub to a point just inside of her, which made her expel a breath every time he reached it.

The blood rushing to his erection didn’t seem to have an end, he felt like he was getting harder and more excited with every whimper,
every squirm she gave until she shook in his arms and he thought he might come against her just from the sensation.

Hermione rolled onto her back, bringing him with her, pulling his arousal against her swollen core, widening her thighs so that he could
apply more pressure.

She devoured his lips, tugging at them, sucking at his tongue and then moved to his neck, before she finally whispered, “Make love to
me.”
Draco’s hand slid back between them, and he guided himself gently into her, and together they sank into oblivion.

***

They had made love for what seemed like hours, ending finally with a shuddering release and then she had curled into him.

Draco had never felt like this. Not once. Ever.

He hadn’t even known that sex could be more than a mutual search for gratification, an exciting build up to release.

But now her body was pressed against the contours of his, her arm lying across his stomach, the sweet smell of her hair spread out in
strands across his chest... he wasn’t sure what this part was.

She had asked for sex, and they had had sex. The most incredible sex he had ever had, and ever would have... eclipsing the school year
episode to the same extent that sunlight eclipses candlelight. But this... this was something else.

Something that he knew she wasn’t willing to offer, couldn’t possibly want to offer... could she?

And besides, it wasn’t something he thought could ever, ever be a good idea.

He wanted to say something, but what?

Before he came up with any words, he realised that she had fallen asleep from exhaustion.

End Notes
Consider this my Christmas present to you :)

Thank you so much to everyone who is reading this story, and thanks to my very kind reviewers!
Back to index

Back At The Office by Ixexa

She had saved him the trouble of deciding what attitude to adopt, of which words to use, by falling asleep. After laying there with her for
those extra, wonderful moments he had gently extricated himself and returned to the Ministry.

He wasn’t going to sleep next to her. That would complicate things even more.

He wasn’t sure if it was odd that she had felt relaxed enough to fall asleep in his house, but there it was. He didn’t know what to make of
it.

He didn’t know how he was going to react when she awoke, when she would certainly join him at work. He didn’t know how she would
react.
What he did know was that if there was much more of the sleep deprivation and the confusing messages from her, he would be
responsible for the thirteenth murder.

***

Twelve murders.

Rubbing at his aching neck, Draco swirled the Pensieve again.

He would start from the start. And he would sit here until he made at least an iota of progress.

After he had been at work for perhaps three hours, Hermione finally appeared in the doorway of the office.

He eyed her uncertainly, guardedly.

“What?” she asked quietly. “I haven’t rejected you ... I gave you what you wanted. What you needed. What we both did.”

Not so bad.

“Th- thank you. Is this... is this going to be a problem?”

“No.”

“Good.”

She came to stand by his side and laid a hand briefly on his shoulder, giving him a gentle squeeze. “Want some help?”

Without meaning to, he groaned. She stepped back, looking hurt.

No, what he wanted was some space, even a moment away from her. In between working long hours, eating hurried meals, interviews,
memories, the arguments, saving her life and sleeping with her, he was beginning to forget what it was like not to be around her.

But he didn’t really, did he? Want space?

Despite what he had said the previous day, she was a friend. Assuming he hadn’t ruined that last night.

And it was good to be close to someone again. There had been that second when he had wondered if her embrace meant more than
friendship, too. Somehow, her lying pliant in his arms was so much more intimate than even their lovemaking... but she had fallen asleep.

She hadn’t meant it after all.

It was too much of a mess to work out.

Hermione was frowning.

And now the hurt expression again. Gods, what was with her?
It was just like in the memory. She was misreading his feelings and deciding that he hadn’t enjoyed being intimate with her.

Draco didn’t know whether it was to spare her feelings – so that she could work and they could solve this damned thing – or because she
was getting up, preparing to leave in a huff that he said, “Fine. Whatever. You can stay.”

She didn’t stop.

He couldn’t go through all of that again.

“Please?”

Back to index

Dangerous Realisations by Ixexa

Author's Notes

In which Draco and Hermione finally make some progress on their big case, leading them to a horrifying conclusion.

“Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yes.”

She came and sat by his side at the basin that had somehow become her worst enemy over the past months.

“So, what are we looking at?”

“Actually, I was just going to go through the photographs again.”

He returned to the desk, and she moved to sit across from him in their familiar pose.

He began to flip through the crime scene photographs for what had to be the hundredth time, hoping that some salient point, heretofore
unnoticed, would leap off the cards at him.

***

The butcher shop, the scene of one of the early murders.

The name ‘Halliburton’ was painted above the shop front, together with a fairly ancient, badly drawn goat, whose paint was flaking off.

Something bothered him about the goat and Draco stared at it.

Something was nagging at his brain.

Having come round his side of the desk, Hermione had been turning over the photographs one by one and naming the victims.

She flipped to the next one, a scene from the Prewett House.

“Wait,” he said suddenly. “Go back.”

“What is it?” she asked, turning back to the butcher shop.

The goat.

Surely not... could it be that simple?

Ignatius Fillby.

“There’s a pattern here.” His voice was a hushed whisper.

“No, there isn’t,” she said wearily. “It’s as random as anything could be.”

“No, there’s definitely a pattern.”

His voice sharpened and her interest was awoken immediately.

“It’s so obvious. How can I not have seen it?” He raised both hands to his face, looking awestruck.

“What’s so obvious? I can’t see anything here.”

“Capricorn the goat,” he whispered.

Yes. Yes.

“What?”

“I have a theory...”

Quickly, he pulled out a blank parchment. On it, he made the symbols of the Zodiac appear.

“I don’t think this is the best time for horoscopes, Draco. Besides, I didn’t think you believed much in Divination.”

But he waved his hand at the paper. “Twelve murders. Twelve.”

Twelve murders.

Twelve symbols.

From her face, it was clear that she wondered what he was playing at.
Getting up and dashing across the gap to the middle filing cabinet in the row of five behind his chair, he pulled the drawer open and
began to rifle through it, sliding the tabs toward himself. He knew it was in here somewhere.

Ah, there! He grabbed a section out, and brought it back to his desk, dropping it on top of the photos and began scrambling through it
quickly. He pulled out the original police report about the third Muggle-born victim.

“The fifth one killed, no... sixth. Right after the twins. Look. The middle name.”

He pointed at the space at the top of the form where the victim’s name had been written in block letters.

“Ignatius Aries Fillby.”

Aries.

“And on the butcher shop, here’s the goat, Capricorn.”

Now he moved the report aside to show the photograph again.

“It’s probably a coincidence.”

“It’s not.”

“You’re drawing a very long bow here -”

“No. I am right. For once in your life, will you listen to someone else for a change? Just for once.”

She huffed and folded her arms at the unnecessary abruptness. “Fine, go on.”

“So, there are these two. Aries. Capricorn. And look at this one.”

Now he had reached for his own master list of the victims from his top tray.

“Leopold Whittington – Leo.”

“And this one.” He jotted the names feverishly next to the Zodiac symbols.

“Harold Oxley. Taurus the bull.”

“Leo, I’ll give you. But Oxley?”

“Pisces.”

She leaned forward to look at the symbol representing the side-by-side fish with the cross piece.

“Cassandra...” she said slowly.

“Fischer – exactly.”

“No...”

Hermione was shaking her head disbelievingly at the names as the pattern began to take shape. “What about... what about the others?
Do they fit?”

“Well, we have Virgo in Virginia, here,” – he added her name – “and Elisabeth Dorman... that could be... that could be Libra? Libby?”

“It sounds like a stretch.”

“Not if you combine it with the fact she was found on the steps of the town hall, which also doubles as the courthouse for Burtonhead.”

“Of course, the scales.” Her mouth widened.

“Sagittarius?”

But he was there ahead of her. “Archer.”

“And Cancer was... Cancer was...”

She couldn’t quite say it.

“Crabbe.”

They looked at each other in mingled disbelief and excitement. “Maybe you do have something.”

“We still have Aquarius...” He screwed up his face, staring at the wavy lines.

“What about the marine exhibit at the Zoo? Dunn?”

“The aquarium?”

She nodded.

“Perhaps. But what about Geoffrey and Patton? I don’t see how they fit.”

But then he groaned.

“Twins! Of course. They go together.”

He crossed out furiously and wrote both names next to Gemini.

“I suppose I should be glad that Draco isn’t on one of the constellations in the Zodiac,” she said with a shaky laugh, hardly daring to
believe that they might have finally deciphered how the killer had chosen their victims.
“Why’s that?”

She rolled her eyes. “Because, if you are killed, then you won’t be able to help me bring down the bastard who did this.”

But Draco had paled. He was looking down at the paper.

There was only one symbol left, a stylised M with an arrow leading from the last leg.

With a feeling of rising dread, Hermione mouthed the word even as Draco said it.

The scorpion.

“Scorpius.”

The wizard would be after Scorpius next, and there was no guessing why he had been saved for last.

End Notes

Thanks, readers! And there we have it. Did you see it coming? :)
Back to index

Now We Know by Ixexa

Draco notified the school immediately that his son might possibly be a target, and now had to decide whether it would be better to pull
him out so that he could protect him better.

Then they told Harry of their theory and the Minister called a meeting of the entire squad of Aurors.

The relief at finally making a break in the case was extreme.

“Have you decided what you’re going to do?” Harry asked.

“No,” said Draco. “I’ll go tomorrow and speak with Flitwick. I’ll need to talk to Astoria, too.”

Hermione didn’t miss the grim set to his jaw at this repellent prospect.

“I think she will probably agree that he needs more protection than Hogwarts can offer. And, not only that, I – I can’t put the rest of the
students in jeopardy if there really is a chance a maniac is going to try and get to my son. It – anything could happen.”

They returned to speak of the case.

“So, what do we know, really?” Kingsley asked Hermione across the round table.

“Well, we know ‘why’,” she replied. “It’s obviously someone obsessed with Astrology.”
Draco added, “Although, what their eventual goal is... I still don’t know.”

After a few more exchanges, Harry and Draco noticed at the same time that Hermione had gone as white as a sheet. She stared from one
to the other of them, her hand covering her open mouth, horrified.

“I know who it is.”

***

The link with Astrology had somehow finally joined the dots in her mind. The shrill insane chanting, the voice that spoke of signs and
omens, belonged to their old Divination professor.

Sybil Trelawney had apparently gone completely off the deep end.

They had searched the house registered in her name at the Land Titles Office, but it had been vacant for some time, abandoned
apparently without much care. The letterbox was full of mail, faded and sodden with past rains after sitting there for so many months.
There was food rotting in the cupboards and most unfortunately a cat, reduced to almost a skeleton, which had been found under her
bed.

Never mind, they would find her.

Draco was tightly wound, not dealing well with the threat to his son, who she knew was more precious to him than anything.

“I would’ve thought you’d like to see the end of my line,” he snapped one day, when she had tried to offer a suggestion of what they
could do to hide him.

“No,” Hermione said, horrified. “He’s a child. You’re going to say that after – everything?”

Draco’s anger vanished. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it. But... well, he is a Malfoy. He’s going to grow into one of us one day.”

He wore a self-deprecating look.

She studied him and then said, “As much as it pains me to admit it, Draco, I no longer see that as a bad thing. If he’s half the man you
are, he will be an asset to the wizarding community.”

Draco’s eyes went wide, unable to deal with the compliment.

This was too much. She couldn’t say things like that to him.

If she was physically attracted to him, he could accept that, but he would not believe there was more to it.

Not for her, anyway.

“Besides, are you trying to talk me out of this? Don’t you want my help protecting him?”

He really needed to escape from her so he could concentrate on protecting Scorpius.

His son was in danger.

End Notes

We are really starting to get to the business end now! I hope you will stick with me as I weave the different storylines together into an
ending that will satisfy. Still a bunch of chapters to go from here.
Back to index

Protecting Scorpius by Ixexa

They were sitting on a bench in Hyde Park, eating in the ten minutes break they allowed themselves for lunch before setting off once
more for the afternoon. They still hadn’t spoken about what had happened at the manor; with everything going on now, there had been
no time.

Hermione was confused. She wanted to reach out and offer Draco comfort about the dreadful situation with his son, but she didn’t know
if he wanted that, and even if he did want it, whether he would allow it.

“There’s really only one thing I can do that will protect him.”

“Yes, I’ve been thinking that, too. The Fidelius Charm.”

He nodded and stared up at the overcast sky.

“Who are you going to ask?”

“Well, I would ask you,” he said frankly, giving her a sideways look. “But seeing as how you’re my partner, and she knows that, that
would be a somewhat obvious choice.”

“I agree. Not that I wouldn’t do it – if you asked me.”

She put a comforting hand on his knee and he blew out his cheeks. “The problem is I don’t really –”
“Trust anyone?”

“Well, there’s that.”

When he didn’t resist her contact, she took his hand and held it in his lap. He stared at it for a long moment before he tightened his
fingers on hers and smiled.

After another moment he said, “There is one person, Hermione. But I’m not sure they’ll be willing.”

***

“I’ll do it,” said Harry.

“You will?”

“Of course I will. He’s your son.”

“Thank you.”

Draco stuck out a hand. It seemed a strangely formal way to thank someone for agreeing to put their life in danger to protect your child,
but Harry supposed it was probably the most that Malfoy could manage given their history.

He gripped Harry’s hand tightly, and repeated the thank you, turning to go before things became uncomfortable.

“Well,” he said haltingly. “That’s... settled, then. I’ll – I’ll let you know when we want to set it up?”

“I have one question. Why me?”

Draco gave a sardonic smile.

“Firstly, because I think if history shows us anything, it’s that you won’t get killed. You have an infuriating knack for it.”

Harry had to smile.

“You’ll stay alive, and thus the charm will be intact. Secondly, because I trust you. You know what it is to be a father. If I lost Scorpius,
it would kill me and you know that.”

He watched Harry for a reaction.

“I presume that if you wanted me dead, you would have just left me to die with Crabbe.”

Harry gave a slightly stiff nod.

“And thirdly, well... it would have been nice to have a best friend do it, but I don’t have many of those.”

“That doesn’t always work out so well,” said Harry sadly, as Draco left the room.

Back to index

The Warehouse by Ixexa

Scorpius was a smart boy. He read The Prophet and he knew the nature of the murders that his father was investigating. He took the
news that he had to go into hiding because he was her next target stolidly.

Now that he was safe, Draco and Hermione needed to find the killer.

“Where do you think she is working out of?” she asked wearily. She absently flicked through her file on Crabbe’s murder. “She must
have a base somewhere.”

“It needs to be somewhere abandoned; she hasn’t drawn any attention.”

“Well, I doubt it’s an important wizarding property. People are a lot more vigilant than they used to be. Someone would have noticed.
Let’s go through the files again –”

Draco groaned.

“No – this time we look for buildings. Any building mentioned... and we go to each one.”

“It’s a start.”

***

“This is it,” Draco said, his voice tight. After three days of visiting and searching warehouses, factories, churches, rural cottages,
disused offices, even a pizza parlour, they had found it.

They stood before an ordinary looking door to an abandoned paper factory. But there was no mistaking the trace of magic; Hermione’s
skin was prickling.

“There are bound to be wards.”

He nodded. “The question is – what kind of wards?”

They tried some spells intended to force the door to reveal secrets, then they tried to make invisible things visible. Neither worked.

“We need to be careful, there may be alarms - natural or otherwise - to detect trespassers.”

“Maybe it needs skin contact? A blood price?” she suggested, remembering the Horcrux cave Harry and Dumbledore had visited.

“Wait,” said Draco, as Hermione leaned forward.

His eyes travelled around the circumference of the door.

“What, Draco? What do you see?”

A slow smile spread across his face. She concentrated on the door. What was he looking at? It was nondescript, with the exception of a
series of rivets on each side.

Six rivets to a side.

“There are twelve,” she said in a hushed whisper.

“Exactly.”

“So, do you think we just –”

“Why not?”

“Shall I?”
“No. You stand back. Stay well clear,” he said forcefully when she started to shake her head.

“Why can’t I -”

“Will you bleeding well listen to me? What if the door has been cursed? Do you think it would be heroic for us both to be hurt, instead of
just me? Or, what if it brings her? You need to cover me.”

“Fine,” Hermione said a little crossly. Against her will, she stepped back and drew her wand, watching the building and the street for
any sign of their enemy.

Draco muttered, “Here goes nothing.”

“Aries.”

He tapped the top left most rivet. It glowed briefly.

Hermione let out a breath she hadn’t realised she’d been holding. They were right.

Encouraged, he tapped the one below. “Taurus.”

It glowed as the first one had, and then returned to its original state.

He carefully and purposefully touched each rivet in turn and named the constellations of the Zodiac.

“Gemini, Cancer, Leo.” He had to stoop for “Virgo” and then he was starting on the second column.

He touched the final rivet. “Pisces.”

He stepped back a little and waited.

After a moment, it became clear that the door was heating up.

“Maybe it is cursed, after all,” he said, frustrated. After their brilliant deduction, they weren’t going to get inside.

But then the heat seemed to move into a ball in the centre of the door, and Draco moved further back in alarm. However, it only glowed
brightly, and then all of a sudden, vanished.

“Sun Signs,” Hermione said unnecessarily.

He stepped through the door.

***

“There’s nothing here! How can there be nothing here?”

They stood in the dim, mildew-smelling building, staring out from a landing over the main factory floor. Built of bricks and wood, the
floors had rotted through in places. It was eerie and silent.

“The only thing I can think of is that we are too late. She’s moved on. She just forgot to lift the wards.”

All of a sudden, a voice shrieked from behind them, “Incarcarus!”

A cloaked figure barrelled out the darkness toward them, and before they had even turned to face her, their arms had been pinned.

“Stupefy!”

***

The next thing Hermione knew was a scream of interminable pain from nearby.

Her eyes flickered open. She was lying sideways on a cold floor, breathing in dust and god-knew-what-else.

She was in the factory.

Her arms were tied awkwardly against her and her shoulder was aching dully from one arm being twisted under her at the wrong angle.

The scream came again.

Draco.

He was in the room with her, somewhere behind her.

Stuggling, wriggling, bunching herself up within the bonds, she tried to free herself, ignoring the protests from her shoulder, but the best
she could manage was to turn over to see him.

Trelawney stood at a safe distance from Draco, who was bound with ropes and lying on the ground, and she was using her wand to
torture him.

“Tell me where he is!”

Draco groaned out a fresh agony, thrashing in his bonds.

“You’ve hidden him, haven’t you? Crucio!”

He curled up and screamed.

“No, stop that, you’ll kill him!” Hermione yelled.

“So what? If has any sense, he will tell me where his son is to save his skin.”

Draco flinched as her wand flicked out again, gritting his teeth. “I’m not going to tell you!”
“Why are you doing this?” Hermione screamed.

She knew, from the fact that it wasn’t digging into her painfully from underneath her thigh, that her wand was gone. She could do
nothing.

***

Trelawney stopped the torture for a moment and turned to Hermione. “Oh, there have been signs. There have been omens! And I have
seen them. Only I! It is time for a new Wizarding Age! And I am its herald!”

Her voice rose in pitch, her hood slipping so that they could see her face. It was a shadow of its former self - harrowed, twisted and
deranged.

“You’re insane,” said Hermione.

“I never expected that you would understand, silly girl! Nothing’s changed.”

While she had been busy addressing Hermione, Draco’s pain had ceased. It left an ache worse than any he had ever had or imagined,
but the insistent, terrifying agony that made it impossible to think had lifted briefly. It would only be for a moment.

He saw his chance. He knew there was broken glass in the room because he had woken with a cut on his hand from her dragging them
in here unconscious.

Pretending to be writhing from the pain, careful not to show that his mind was lucid, he began to feel around him.

***

Trelawney’s face contorted as she glared at Hermione.

“You! You know! Tell me!”

And for the second time in her life, Hermione felt the Cruciatus curse tear through her, threatening to overwhelm her.

She gave a banshee wail as she contorted in agony.

“No!” Draco yelled.

“Crucio!” Trelawney repeated, intensifying the pain, twice, three times.

“Leave her alone!”

Draco cut wildly with the glass, slicing into his own fingers in his desperate attempt to get the rope off.

Finally, he was free. He tried to stand, clutching his stomach, where he had taken the brunt of the curse, but he was too weak. He reeled
and swayed from the pain that coursed through him as he desperately lurched forward.

Unable to get properly to his feet, he staggered, throwing himself at Trelawney, but she saw him coming.
She sent him flying backwards with a shockwave. His head hit the brick wall with a crack and he nearly blacked out, but he forced
himself not to succumb.

Everything was at stake here.

***

Across the room, Hermione seemed to shrink into herself. With each flick of their captor’s wand she convulsed and she was about to give
in to the pain.

Every scream from Hermione hurt Draco as much as if it was a renewed attack on himself. He had to stop Trelawney from hurting her.

Then Trelawney changed tactics so fast she was nearly left behind.

“Imperio! Now, I command you to tell me, who is secret keeper?”

“No!” said Draco weakly, wincing as the demented screams echoed through the room and tore through his head. His brain felt like it
was being squeezed and pulled and squashed.

He had most definitely fractured his skull.

“Name him!”

***

From her semi-conscious, barely-alive state Hermione felt a distant pull stir her mind.

Harry Potter. You need to tell her it’s Harry. Tell her now.

What? Why?

Harry Potter. Say the words aloud. Now.

Her brain dismally tried to kick into gear.

Potter. Say it.

No, she can’t know.

Yes, just tell her. It’s nothing important.

***

There was no way Hermione would withstand the Imperius after what she had just endured. Draco dragged himself to his knees to beg.
Already, Hermione was mumbling, moaning, and her agony twisted his heart into something withered and dark. His sense of dread grew
that she would soon say a sensible word, and that she would sign his son’s death warrant. He had to stop Trelawney from doing the
curse.

His head pounded; he could feel blood seeping down his neck.

Any minute now Hermione would say.

“Please, she doesn’t know!” he said, wincing and holding a cut and bloody hand to the back of his head.

“Don’t lie!” she spat at him.

“Tell me, stupid girl. What do you care about his child? If you tell me, you can go free.”

Harry James Potter. Harry. Say it now. It’s Harry.

No. I will not put Harry in danger. I will not lead her to Scorpius.

***

Trelawney ranted, and her keening made Draco feel his skull was full of hammering, screeching monsters.

He saw spots before his eyes and felt a wave of nausea.

“Tell me, you idiotic girl! You can’t stop me!”

“But I can,” Hermione whispered.

Trelawney froze, apparently unable to believe that after suffering such terrible pain that the girl had the willpower to resist her. To defy
her.

In that moment Draco rushed their attacker again. This time, he reached her.

“No!” she screeched, as he nearly knocked her over. “You’ll ruin everything!”

They grappled, and Hermione didn’t know how he was even standing there, fighting with her, when she saw the amount of blood on him.

But before she could even have the thought of getting to her feet to help him finish her off, Trelawney had toppled backwards through the
doorway, out onto the landing where she had first incarcerated them, breaking free of Draco momentarily. Then she fell headlong
through the hole in the railing.

They heard her hit the ground with a sickening crunch.

Draco turned to Hermione. He seemed to be about to say something, but then his eyes rolled back in his head. He collapsed.

End Notes

As always, thanks for reading, enjoying, reviewing, whatever! You guys are the best :)
Back to index

What Hermione Did by Ixexa

The ropes binding Hermione fell lax around her. She sat up. She was alive.

Somehow, she was alive and Trelawney was gone.

“You did it!” she called. “You’ve killed her! Draco?”

He didn’t move.

“Draco?!” she called more loudly.

Standing up way too fast, her knee collapsed, the ligaments tearing and sending fire up her leg. She clutched desperately for the wall.

Why wasn’t Draco moving? He had to be okay.

“Draco?! Answer me!”

She half dragged her leg there, half crawled with her hands, but she reached him.

Draco rolled over and opened his eyes to look up at her. His face was wracked with agony from his dozen wounds. There was blood
pooling beneath his body, spreading alarmingly from the back of his skull.

“No...” she whispered. She felt a wrench in her chest as she looked down at his broken figure.

Slowly, he shook his head as his eyes found hers.

“I don’t have a wand,” she said, horrified, as she gazed into his face. “Draco....no....”

Hermione felt the weight of hopelessness settle upon her heavily. She knew she couldn’t Apparate them out and she couldn’t heal him.

Her wandless magic wasn’t that good. She couldn’t attempt either.

It would kill him.

“Tre... law... ney,” he breathed.

It seemed to take all of his strength to say the words. His breath hitched; he was heaving terribly.

He was dying. And she had never had the chance to tell him how she felt. Tears of heartbreak joined the tears of pain streaming down
her face, but she ground her jaw together and took hold of herself.

“Right!”
She felt adrenaline flow; she would ignore her pain. She needed to get to a wand and she needed to do it fast.

She clambered down the rickety stairs, gripping the banisters and dragging her injured leg behind her.

Where was Trelawney?

There. That dark shape.

There was no time to be squeamish.

She fumbled inside the robes, then saw the wands inside the clawed fist, partly underneath the body. Feeling sickening distaste, she
rolled Trelawney over so that she could prise the wands free – hers, Draco’s and Trelawney’s. The body was still warm but the face was
blank.

She had the three wands.

Now she faced the agonising climb up the stairs.

Hermione could manage only one step at a time. She had to grip the creaking banister and hoist-jump up her good leg, then pull the
damaged one up behind her.

Fifteen more steps.

Pain, excruciating pain.

Ten.

It was like she was back under the curse.

Seven.

Every step made her grind her teeth with the pain. She could make it. She had to make it, or Draco was -

Six. Five. Four.

She tasted blood in her mouth.

Finally, she mounted the landing and dragged herself over to him. She sobbed with relief. She could save him. She would save him.

But by now, Draco was growing feverish.

“You’re going to need to turn over,” she instructed quietly, trying to keep her rising panic from evidencing itself in her words. She
needn’t have bothered, for all of the reaction he gave. He was drifting in and out of consciousness now, paler than ever, and his skin was
waxy as the shock claimed him.

She slid a hand under his back. “No... Draco, stay awake,” she begged him.
She couldn’t be too late.

She couldn’t.

She turned him as gently as she could and tried not to be alarmed by the fact that he barely winced. It should have hurt him a lot, but he
hadn’t even noticed the movement.

Now she saw that the back of his skull was a mass of blood and hair.

Decision time: did she Apparate Draco out, or try to heal him first? Which?

There was no time to hesitate.

If she got it wrong, he was dead.

Could he withstand the movement with his skull in such bad shape? She didn’t think so.

Well, in order to see what she was healing, she needed to clean him.

With the back of her hand, she wiped away the moisture clouding her eyes and pointed her wand at Draco’s skull. She applied a very
gentle use of Aguamenti as the first spell.

Now she could see the injury. There was a fracture visible to her on the pale scalp. Did healing a skull fracture involve regrowing bone?
She didn’t think so.

It couldn’t, because she didn’t have any Skele-gro to hand.

Hoping it was just like mending any bone, she closed her eyes and said the healing spell.

The bones closed together slowly and Draco moaned. Obviously, this was painful.

Hermione cried with gratitude and relief as the crack vanished.

She Apparated him to St Mungo’s.

Back to index

St Mungo’s Numero Trois by Ixexa

“Did you know?” Kingsley Shacklebolt asked his Head Auror as they watched the twin sleeping forms.

“No,” Harry answered, “although I – I supposed I might have suspected something...”

“Do you think it will -”

“No. Look at them. Has there been even one moment where they haven’t done exactly what they should be doing? This won’t stand in the
way of their job. Especially not now that Scorpius in involved.”

“Well, that is the other problem.”

Harry gave a weak laugh. “Minister, I wouldn’t suggest that you ask Malfoy to step aside and let someone else lead the search for the
witch threatening his son. I have the strangest feeling that would be extremely bad for your health.”

“Perhaps you’re right. You’re not going to tell them about her yet, I assume?”

“No. They’ve been through enough. It can wait.”

***

“You’re going to have to stop making a habit of this,” said Harry, sitting down next to Hermione.

She gave him a sheepish smile and shifted to sit up a little, grimacing at the protests her body gave at this action.

“We were just... so lucky to get away. I – I think even another minute and I would have been too late.”

She was staring across at the sleeping form on the next bed.

Harry smiled and put a reassuring hand on her arm.

“He’s going to make it.”

“Yes, he is.”

At that moment, Draco stirred. His eyes fluttered partway open, and he stared at the ceiling. A sound that might have been a squeak of
disbelief escaped Hermione, as if she had not dared to believe he was alive until the sign of movement.

“Draco...”

The injured man tried to turn his head to them, but winced.

“I’m alive,” he whispered hoarsely.

He sounded like he didn’t believe it, either.

“You’re alive,” he said.

He was still unable to move his head to look at Hermione, but it was obvious that this was directed to her.

“Are you... alright?”

“I’m fine.”
“I’m alive,” he repeated softly.

“Barely,” said Harry. “Hermione somehow managed to heal a fractured skull and get you here about a minute before you would have
died.”

Draco closed his eyes again and drifted off to sleep.

***

The next day, they had begun to improve, and Harry decided that they could probably handle what he needed to tell them.

“I have some bad news,” he said, sitting down heavily between their beds. “She survived. When we got to the factory, she was gone.”

“That’s impossible!” said Hermione, sitting up fully to face him. “I felt her body!”

“Did you – did you check her? See if she was dead?”

“No, I didn’t think to...”

If only she had taken the time to – but, then Draco... she would have been too late.

“Hermione, it’s not your fault,” Harry said wearily.

“I know. But she’s still... out there.”

She looked anguished.

Draco spoke next, and Harry turned his head to him. “She – she knows about the Fidelius Charm. You might be in danger.”

“Does she know it’s me?” asked Harry quietly.

“Not yet.”

The injured man stared proudly across at Hermione while he said it - grateful, disbelieving.

How had she not broken?

Harry followed his stare, and said, “Then it changes nothing.”

Hermione looked between them, flushing slightly under their admiration. “And if she finds out?” she asked, after a moment.

“We will just have to catch her before she does.”

Hermione lay back against her pillow. “I took her wand.”

Harry sighed and said, “She’ll get another.”
Hermione nodded.

He left the patients alone again.

***

Draco was still watching his partner, trying to understand how it was that she had had the strength not to break under the questioning.

“You didn’t tell her.”

“No. It looks like Moody - well, the fake Moody, really... but somehow I wonder if Alastor would have done it, anyway - was right to
teach us how to throw off the Imperius in fourth year, after all. It was hard, but I never really came close.”

Back to index

Homecoming by Ixexa

Trelawney would move again, and they would need to find some new hint about where she was hiding out, all the while trying to protect
Scorpius in the bargain.

At least they could be fairly confident that the string of murders had ended, for the boy was the only one she needed to complete the
ritual that she seemed to think would achieve a dramatic event they didn’t understand.

Scorpius had been moved; neither of them knew where to. The defence was strongest if it revolved around only the one person – Harry –
and it meant that if something happened to either of them, the secret would not be broken.

Of course, it also meant that Draco could no longer see his son until they had put an end to Trelawney.

Draco let Hermione into the manor and turned to wait while she closed the door. She stood with her back against it, hands clasped
behind her.

“What?” he asked.

“Nothing. I just... one day soon, when this is over, we...”

He stepped closer to her and put a hand softly over her mouth.

“Don’t, Hermione.”

She covered his hand with hers and drew it between them.

“What are you afraid of me saying?” She looked intently at him, but he averted his eyes.

He tried to pull his hand away but she held it tighter until he gave up. He stared into the lounge for a moment, and then shook his head
slightly.
“What?” she asked again. “What is worrying you? Tell me.”

“I can’t talk about – this – now.”

After a pause, she said, “Alright,” and gave him a tired smile.

Draco involuntarily tightened his grip on her hand. He frowned for a moment, concentrating, and then looked uncertainly at her.

“Everything,” he whispered.

“I care about you. You are my friend.”

Her eyes communicated warmth and affection, and it made him wish, more than anything, to hold her. Not just to hold her as a friend,
but to have her in his arms and know that she was his. Was there any chance at all of that being possible?

“I...”

“I care about you a great deal, Draco.”

He couldn’t answer, and so he held her, cradling her head against his chest.

She cared about him.

But did she love him? He didn’t want to know the answer, because if it was the wrong one, he didn’t know if he could deal with it.

“I’m your friend, Hermione. And I care about you, too.”

He kissed her forehead, and then stepped away from her embrace to regard her for a moment.

She said, “We’d... better go and get the -”

“- files, yes. Right, follow me.”

He led her into the sitting room and walked over to the desk.

Just as they were about to gather up some papers, they heard a frightened voice filter to them from what seemed like the upper level of
the house.

“Father? Father... help me. It hurts.”

They froze and Draco was stricken with dread.

Trelawney was here somewhere in the manor, and she had Scorpius.

Draco whirled toward the sound, but Hermione grabbed his arm, hissing, “It’s a trap!”
He wrenched himself free. “It doesn’t matter if it’s a trap! That’s my son!”

He gave her a fierce look, but she said, “No! Harry would never –”

He cut her off. “Well, you’d better hope you’re wrong, because obviously the Fidelius has been broken, and if it wasn’t because Potter
told her, then I have some very bad news.”

Hermione’s heart seemed to fall into her feet and through the floor.

Draco was already climbing the stairs.

***

His world had ended. He stepped into the grand dining room. There, laid out on the main table, was his son, lying prone with his eyes
closed. Dead.

His murderer stepped out of the shadow of a large statue. She was again cloaked in vibrant blue, her hood pulled forward and obscuring
her face.

“Ah, good,” said a satisfied voice. “I thought I’d wait until you were here before I completed the sacrifice. You should witness this. You
will witness the coming of a new age!”

She made it sound like she hadn’t killed Scorpius yet, but Draco couldn’t make sense of her words. Perhaps... she had Stunned him?
Sedated him?

Was his son alive?

“Don’t, please. I’ll give you anything you want.”

Why was Scorpius just lying there like that, when he had been calling out only a moment before?

Draco didn’t even know if he could raise his wand to fight. So, this was how his parents had felt during the final battle at Hogwarts.

“Petrificus totalus!” cried the intruder, before he could gather any effort at resistance.

His arms whipped to his sides and he dropped to the ground like a stone.

“Now... where is your partner? Tell me!”

***

From her shelter in the other side of the archway, Hermione raced into the room. Simultaneously, she released Draco from the immobile
state and charged at Trelawney.

But the enemy wheeled and pointed her wand at the still figure on the table.

“Stop, or I will kill him!”

End Notes

Thank you to everyone who is still reading along :D

Back to index

Closing The Case by Ixexa

Draco’s mental and physical paralysis seemed to have broken simultaneously. While Hermione froze, wand still raised, Draco
scrambled to his feet, ignoring the command.

“No, Draco -” she warned, lowering her weapon to indicate obedience.

“She’s going to kill him anyway,” he growled, as he gathered up his own wand, but he was too late.

The tip of Trelawney’s wand seemed to glow bright white for a moment, as they both became aware that she had released her spell.

The time had passed for firing back to stop her; they needed to block the curse.

Draco was already moving, but he was too far away. The deranged Professor was sending a curse at his son, and he wasn’t going to
make it.

Hermione was closer. Already sparks were flying toward the table.

“Protego!” she shouted, as she rushed into the gap between Trelawney and Scorpius. The shield charm had come too late; it only partly
deflected the curse, causing it instead to hit Hermione. She was thrown into the air, landing on the table, a few yards from Scorpius’s
bare feet.

Trelawney spun, turning to deal with the now-free Draco, who was firing at her. It took Hermione only a moment to recover and fire
back, also.

Trelawney was concentrating on blocking Draco’s attack, and pressing her own against him, and so she was unprotected from
Hermione’s Stunning spell.

“Stupefy!”

***

At that moment, several things happened at once. The figure of Scorpius seemed to lose solidity, and then it slowly drifted away into
tendrils of smoke.

It had been an illusion. Trelawney did not have Draco’s son.

The cloaked figure fell heavily across the base of the statue she had lurked behind, and they lurched toward her from opposite sides of
the room, closing in to finish her off. She rolled over and her wand arm came up. It was pointed at Hermione.

“Avada Kedavra!”
There was a flash of green light, a rushing sound and Draco was now sure that the world was ending.

There was an explosion as the roof above them collapsed, covering half the room with debris. Dust flew up into the air.

Trelawney had used the Killing Curse.

Hermione is dead.

Draco repeated the words in his head again and again but it didn’t make sense, because he didn’t want it to.

He stood on the spot and looked at the demolished pile of the table and fallen roof where Hermione must lay.

She’s dead, Draco. You didn’t save her in time.

“No,” he whispered, and his chest burned with grief even as his brain still tried to fight the truth.

“She can’t be dead. I love her.”

A sound startled him. The old teacher was buried under the now-broken slabs of the statue but she was moving; the debris shifted
slightly.

Numbly, Draco climbed over the rubble in the room, disturbing plaster dust that rose in clouds and made him cough. He reached the
demolished statue and lifted up the largest block with his wand, only to see Trelawney rear up before him again.

He reacted by instinct even as she opened her mouth.

“Avada –”

“Sectumsempra!”

There was a spell he wouldn’t soon forget.

Trelawney clutched at her neck, where a vast wound was opening before Draco’s eyes.

Blood streamed out, soaking the front of her robes.

So much blood. Already, she was going white.

“No!” she said hoarsely, falling back amongst the broken stone pieces.

Draco wasn’t sure what it would cost his soul to stand and watch her die. But he did. He didn’t see there was any other choice if his son
was ever going to be safe. Was it murder to stand by and not render aid? When you had cast the spell, he didn’t see how it could be
anything else.

Her eyes widened in terror and her body continued to gush blood around her, soaking the rubble and the dust-covered white carpet of
his family dining room.
Then they went blank.

This time, she was dead.

***

Slowly, Draco turned. He didn’t want to stare at the corpse for any longer than he had to, but he didn’t want to face Hermione’s either.
If he saw her body, then that would mean that she was dead.

Nevertheless, his feet made steps in her direction. Hermione was buried in the remains of his shattered table; the wood had scratched
her in some places, deep splinters digging into her soft flesh. Her eyes were closed and her head twisted awkwardly at an angle.

He was numb. He couldn’t imagine his life extending as far as ever leaving this room.

Hermione is dead.

All Draco could think of was that it wasn’t right that she should have splinters in her. He went to pull one out and she winced.

“You’re alive!” he choked.

Whether the relief or disbelief was stronger in him, he could barely get out the words and tears rushed down his cheeks.

Her eyes flickered open and she sat up.

“She missed,” she said weakly, and rubbed her neck.

“Hermione...”

But there were no words, so instead, he kissed her.

After a long time of silence, of relief and of the joining of two bodies, Draco looked into her eyes and said, “I love you.”

He had to say it before something else happened. Before he thought he had lost her again.

A serene look came over her. “And I love you.”

His heart might have been a balloon filled with air, it floated so high in his chest.

“Is she dead?” Hermione asked quietly.

“Yes.”

“Good.”

She lay her head back.

“It’s over.”

End Notes

And that, dear readers, concludes the 'action' element of the tale! Of course, the story isn't finished yet. Look out for the final few
chapters soon!
Back to index

Sometimes People Die by Ixexa

“Aurors kill people. It happens on the job. It happens in battle.”

Hermione and Draco were in Kingsley’s office, sitting side by side in front of his desk. The Minister was speaking to them from his high
backed chair with the Head Auror standing over his shoulder.

The events of that morning still seemed surreal.

The case was over.

Trelawney was dead, Scorpius was safe, and the killings were finished.

“It just seemed so...”

Draco had his head in his hands, still trying to deal with the fact that he had stood and calmly watched Sybil Trelawney bleed to death in
front of him from his curse.

“There was no other way for this to end,” said Harry.

“It was either her or us, Draco.”

“I know.”

Draco had killed someone. He kept waiting for something to happen... to begin to feel the evil of what he had done - the guilt - but they
were right. She had been about to use the Killing Curse on him.

He had had no choice.

It still wouldn’t make it any easier to avoid seeing her face, the look she had given him when she had felt her life slipping away, every
time he closed his eyes.

“It’s over.” Kingsley repeated the words again, seemingly as unable to believe it as the rest of them.

Four heads nodded, and then the Minister folded his hands on his desk.

“I’m going to have to make some inquiries.”

Draco and Hermione looked up at him questioningly.

“Into the state of our Ministry coffers.”

Kingsley smiled broadly. “You’re going to need a promotion... not to mention a substantial reward for your work.”

***

They were back in their office, tidying away all the files, reports and photos from their many months of work on the case.

“It’s sad... in a way, that it was her," Hermione said, "after everything with Harry...” She was stacking Pensieve vials into partitioned
boxes and labelling them for storage with a forlorn look.

“Yes, that is one of the more tragic aspects I think.”

“But... seeing her at the end... it was like it wasn’t even her; she was a different person. I mean she was never one of my favourite
professors, but I wouldn't have wished any of this on her.”

“Her mind was gone. The teacher you knew had died a long time ago, I think, for her to do what she did. I think... I think you should
think of her the way you have always remembered her. That witch – the professor – she would never have harmed anyone. Insanity
changed her. However it happened, however she got sick, you have to know that she would never have done this when all of you knew
her.”

“You’re right.” Hermione gave a sad sigh.

Draco stopped what he was doing for a moment.

“That could have been any curse. And you... you put yourself in front of it for my son.”

His eyes were red, and his expression full of such intense feeling that she rushed around the desk to hold him.

Back to index

The Vindication of Draco Malfoy by Ixexa

People could no longer be ambivalent toward Draco. His name had been reported with increasing frequency in relation to cases out of
the Auror office, linked to a string of heroic acts. Once the details of the Zodiac Case began to emerge, it became impossible to believe
he might be harbouring any tendencies for his old ways.

He and Hermione were decorated in a very public ceremony in the days following the conclusion of the investigation.

Pureblood families – like the Longbottoms – had begun to make discreet enquiries as to whether he was available to attend certain
social functions.

The change in public attitude to him was undeniable. He could go out for a meal, he could go to the bank and people wouldn’t drop their
eyes as he passed, or shuffle nervously aside if they saw him coming along the same side of the street.
Many of them actually beamed at him, a few – women mostly – even waved.

So this was what it was like to be Potter for a day, he thought wryly.

He thought it was fortunate that, although his moods had drastically improved with his change of circumstances - equally due to
Hermione, and to finally having something worthwhile to contribute in life - he was still taciturn enough that strangers didn’t feel quite
at liberty to stop him in the Alley for a casual chat.

The pride that had been steadily growing inside him was such a different emotion from the aristocratic version he had grown up with.

However, all of these improvements to his situation - her love, the kindness from strangers, the admiration, the forgiveness extended to
him by the magical community - could not quite dampen the sound of the darkness in his head.

Draco stared at where the mark lay on his arm, concealed.

He had done things. A long time ago, yes, but they were terrible, unspeakable things.

Things she suspected, but never asked about. It had never been an issue for her, but he couldn’t understand why.

Could he ever forgive himself for what he had done?

End Notes

Well, there are two chapters left, before all of this comes to an end. What do you think is going to happen with D & Hr?

Thank you to everyone who's still reading and to my very generous reviewers :) I hope you find the ending satisfying.
Back to index

Draco and Hermione by Ixexa

After the final battle with the woman who had been Trelawney, after their victory, Harry had informed Draco and Hermione that unless
they took at least a fortnight off of work, he would fire them.

Draco’s house was unliveable, the majority of the upper floor having sustained damage, making some areas dangerously unstable;
however, the lower floor was intact. And so, the Malfoys came to stay at Hermione’s house.

Draco and Hermione had spent that first night, and many others after it, in each others’ arms, content in the knowledge that their
children and the wizarding world were safe for now.

Scorpius had made no comment about the fact that he was aware that his father slept each night in Hermione’s room, although in the
mornings there was always a smile that he was unable to suppress, due to more than his own release from captivity.

The three of them ate breakfast together in her kitchen, and then Draco would take his son to London, to museums, restaurants or
galleries. The Malfoys organised the repairs on the manor, and they played chess in the park. Draco even took Scorpius to see a
wizarding band the teenager was keen on, much to Hermione’s amusement.

Hermione would read books, or take walks during the long, restful days. She caught up with many friends; she even summoned her
courage to visit the Weasley family for the first time in a very long time, and found that she really enjoyed herself. They were still so
warm to her, not holding her somehow responsible for the marriage break up which they had seen coming for a long time. Arthur and
Molly were now the only official residents of The Burrow, but their numerous children and grandchildren - those not of Hogwarts age -
visited so often that the house felt no emptier than it had in her own days there with Ron and Harry, so long ago.

And at night, Draco would return to her home. Scorpius would go to bed, and after waiting some time out of consideration for him to fall
asleep, Draco would take Hermione into her bedroom.

The Weasley children, upon discovering that Scorpius was no longer in danger, but wasn’t returning to school yet, either - was enjoying
an unscheduled holiday - had decided that the whole thing was terribly unfair. They had begun to send their mother daily owls, begging,
pleading, manipulating - even admonishing her for harbouring a truant.

Hermione smiled when she thought of the two of them marching up to the Owlery each morning before breakfast in order to send of the
latest pair of impassioned missives before going down to the Hall to eat.

Each day, she repeated her kind but firm refusal to come and collect them for an out-of-holiday break. It wouldn’t be long until term
ended for Christmas and then she would have them for the whole time.

***

It came time to speak about the future for the Malfoy family. Feeling that this would be most appropriate in a familiar setting, Draco
asked Scorpius to join him in the formal lounge of their home.
Father and son, so alike in looks, sat down facing one another.

Draco was unsure where to begin. After watching him carefully for a moment, Scorpius asked, “You’re going to speak to me about
Mother, aren’t you, Father?”

“Yes, I am. I...”

Draco let out a long breath.

“I’m very sorry that things have turned out the way they have. I – I wish so much that she and I could have provided you with a happy
family home.”

Scorpius was shaking his head. “But you have. I mean, in some ways I wish you were together, like most of my friends’ parents are, but
the two of you are so much happier now. And I love you both. I love coming home in the holidays, to both of my homes.”

“Scorpius...”

“Father, I want for nothing. I have a privileged life, I am a wizard, and I have you and Mother. Not to mention Rose, Jennifer and
David... my other friends.”

“You know, sometimes you scare me. You are too grown up for a fourteen-year-old.”

“Almost fifteen.”

“Almost fifteen,” agreed Draco with a smile.

For all of his powers of acuity, Scorpius knew little of what had truly gone on between his parents. Draco had to feel a grudging
gratitude toward his wife that she had at least had the decency and conscience to put her devotion to their son first. She had never once
indulged in an affair when the boy was at home; he was blissfully oblivious to that particular torture in his father’s life.
And, as bitterly as Draco still felt toward Astoria, he had no desire to try and turn their son against her. She had always nurtured him
well, and been a superb mother to him; it was only her marital duties that she had neglected. Draco did not want to try to exclude her
from Scorpius’ life.

“I guess, the point I’m getting at, is that... I need to talk to you about what’s going to happen.”

“Are you and Ms Granger going to -”

But Draco held up a hand. “Slow down. That particular situation – and whatever future it may or may not have - isn’t really what I
mean, and it isn’t entirely up to me, anyway. Regardless of my friendship with Hermione, you need to understand that in six months time,
your mother and I will no longer be married.”

“You are separated now, aren’t you?”

“We are, but we cannot divorce until next year. How do you feel about – about – she and I divorcing? You understand she may choose to
remarry one day? How would that make you feel?”

Scorpius frowned for a moment and then gave a small shrug. “It doesn’t make me feel anything at the moment. She is seeing a Vicomte
that I don’t mind. I suppose if she decided to marry him, that would be okay.”

Draco chuckled, and then gave his son a searching look. “And knowing that your parents will never live together again?”

“I’m fine, Father. I think I much prefer you apart, to be honest, as both of you are so much happier this year than you have been in a
long time. Plus, you spoil me a lot more than you used to-”

“No, we don’t –”

“Okay, you don’t really. But you could, if you wanted to?”

They grinned at each other.

After neither spoke for a moment, Scorpius nodded thoughtfully. “I like her, Father.”

“Hermione?”

“Yes, of course.”

“So do I.”

Draco smiled a little more broadly at that than he truly felt, finding it harder and harder to ignore the nagging voice in his head.

***

Draco lay watching the sleeping woman who nestled under his arm. Scorpius was asleep in Hugo’s bedroom, and would be returning to
school in the morning, after spending the fortnight with his father.

After their intimacy tonight, Hermione had slept easily. Draco, however, had barely dozed, spending most of the night just watching her,
feeling the pulse in her neck on his bicep, the movement of air from her breaths on his chest.

He ran his hand up her arm and kissed her forehead, revelling in the colour of her skin in the early morning light.

How had this woman ended up in his arms, willingly?

She was simply the most incredible human being he had ever met. Everything about her, even the things she did that galled him, were
perfect.

She was perfect.

He hadn’t dared to imagine he could ever have someone love him and make him feel happy, complete, the way she did. But she was so
wonderful, and he loved her so much that he was terrified of doing something to hurt her.

That was why he needed to end this now, before he did something to spoil it.

He wasn’t being dramatic, wasn’t attempting the fatalistic hero; he simply loved her so much that he knew she deserved so much more
than he could ever offer her.

Draco didn’t want to let her go. He didn’t want to go back to his previous life. But, stronger than any dread of returning to a dismal and
forlorn existence, was the frightening idea that she trusted him and that he couldn’t possibly be there for her how she needed, couldn’t
offer her anything like what she deserved.

And he cared about her more than himself.

Hermione awoke and smiled up at him, kissing him before she got up to use the bathroom, oblivious to his inner turmoil.

When she returned, Draco had moved to the side of her bedroom and was standing in front of her dresser.

“I need to go home. There are some... things I need to sort out. I’ll see you after I go to Hogwarts.”

He stared into the mirror, brow creased in concentration.

End Notes

One more chapter, to follow soon.....

Back to index

Draco’s List by Ixexa

Author's Notes
This is the final chapter. I would like to thank everyone who has been reading this story, and another thank you to my generous
reviewers! It was so lovely to hear your thoughts as the story moved along.

Thanks for sticking with me, and I hope you find this end satisfying.

There she was, sitting at her desk answering memos, slightly inclined over her work. Draco followed the line from her neck, where her
head turned just a little to the side, and down the sweep of her arm to her thin hands; tiny hands that felt so good in his own. He watched
as a strand of long hair slipped from behind her ear and fell across her eyes as she scrawled away in her tiny neat letters.

She swiped at it ineffectually but seemed to barely notice it. She was wearing that little frown that showed she was thinking hard about
something carefully.

I love you, Hermione.

He had to end this.

***

Hermione felt her stomach contract. The way he was standing there... leaning against the door, watching her. Just watching her.

There was something wrong here. Obviously, it wasn’t an emergency, and it probably wasn’t bad news or he would have said so
already, but something...

Draco tipped his head back against the thick wooden door and said nothing for a few moments; then he seemed to decide to go forward.

“Hermione, I need to talk to you.” He waited for her to look up.

She schooled her face into a guarded expression; this didn’t sound good.

“About us,” he added.

Hermione nodded slightly and shuffled her seat around, turning it to face him and give him her full attention.

Somehow she knew, she just knew what Draco was about to say.

He dragged one of the small sitting chairs across to sit in front of her.

“I think we should end this. I don’t want to. But I think we should, for your sake.”

Assumption verified. She let out a sigh, and opened her mouth to argue, but -

“No, please.”

He put one of his hands on top of hers, pulling it into his lap and holding it there.

***

“I... look, there are a lot of reasons why this is a bad idea for you. I’m not saying we shouldn’t be partners. We should – if we can –
because if the events of this year and last have proved anything -we kept each other alive through all of it, we found her and we took her
down – then it is that we make an excellent team. The best team. We can trust each other to the ultimate extent. And there’s no reason
that part should end. The world needs us to do what we do.”

“And why do you think the other should end?”

From her expression it was clear that she had anticipated this, and was preparing to prove to him why she didn’t agree.

“I just do.”

“Do you love me?”

“Yes. And that’s why, for your own good, I don’t think you should be in a relationship with me. It’s not... healthy.”

“Having another Gryffindor day, are we?”

Draco pursed his lips. “As a matter of fact, yes.”

“Seem to have rather a lot of those, these days?” she suggested.

“No more than I can help, most of the time.” He smiled weakly.

“Alright. Let me hear your arguments.”

She assumed a businesslike expression.

“I... I wrote you a note. A list... here.”

Draco shoved a neatly folded piece of paper into her hand and she withdrew it. Unfolding it slowly and smoothing out the creases, she
placed it on the desk at their side.

“I thought you might be more willing to listen to me this way,” he explained, gesturing at the note.

“I’m always willing to listen,” she replied.

“That’s –”

“Shush. Alright. Point One. ‘I’m not nice.’”

Hermione turned to him with disdain. “Really? This is all you’ve got?”
He shrugged helplessly. “Well, I’m not.”

“Nice? Nice?!”

“Nice is important to you.”

“Yes, it is. And maybe you’re right. Sometimes – often – you might be the least nice friend I have. But, it may have escaped your notice
that you often are nice. Sometimes, you can still be a difficult twat, but mostly, you’re fairly pleasant to be around.”

Draco was shaking his head, resigned. “Fine. Next one.”

“‘I’m not good at relationships.’ Well, neither am I.” She shrugged. “Broken marriage here, also.”
“But I’ve never been good at them.”

“You’ve been doing alright so far. Better than I could have dreamed, considering what you’ve been through.”

“That’s no excuse.”

“No, and I appreciate that you don’t use it as one,” she said gently. “The point is, I don’t believe you. I think, given time, you could
become a very good romantic partner.”

He crossed his arms.

“Three. ‘I’m arrogant and stubborn. I don’t like to be told I’m wrong about anything and handle it poorly. You know this.’”

She was actually grinning.

“What?”

“Well, it’s just that if I ever were to write a list like this, honesty would probably force me to write that point down almost word for
word, about myself.”

“So you like arguing with me?” he asked incredulously.

“I don’t like it,” she clarified. “But it’s necessary, most of the time. As intelligent as you are, sometimes you are wrong and you need to
be told so. Same goes for me. And not a lot of people have the nerve to tell me very often that I’m wrong.”

Next.

“‘My past.’”

Hermione was silent for a moment, and seemed to be focussing solely on those two words.

Finally, he thought, she was seeing sense.

***

But then she said, “I know we never talk about it. Maybe we should. I just assumed that it was still too difficult – that maybe one day... I
didn’t want to press you.”

She watched his face crumple into shame, and took his hand again.

“I... it’s odd,” Hermione said. “I don’t see you as that person anymore. You’re so utterly and absolutely changed from him, that I –”

“I can’t ever forgive myself for what I did.”

***
There. He’d said it aloud.

“But you must. You are a good man now.”

“I can’t ever forget it –”

“No,” she said sadly. “I don’t know how you – how you can live with those memories. I think that... that probably explains nearly
everything going on here.”

Draco just returned her gaze, wishing desperately that he could believe what she said.

“I can’t make you forgive yourself. But, I want you to think about everything that I have forgiven you for. And Harry, too. And then, I
want you to think about everything you’ve done since. Your son, this job, us; the case; the way you conducted yourself inside such a
terrible marriage. Countless other things.”

“I can’t balance this out in my head - a good act for a bad, and wipe it out.”

“No. But you can draw a line under your past. You’ve spent more than half your life as a good man. You deserve to be a happy man.”

He had never seen it like that. His entire adulthood had been spent with the burden of his past, his childhood.

Hermione could see that her point had sunk in a little, at least. She gave him a nod that meant that it would have to do for now.

Fifth point. “‘I’m a leper. If you associate yourself with me, you will become an outcast.’”

She rolled her eyes and Draco gave her a sardonic smile.

“Trust me, it’s not as enjoyable as it sounds.”

“But you aren’t.”

She was shaking her head at him and smiling. “Not any more... you know that people are finally starting to realise...”

“It will always be there,” he insisted.

“Only for a few of them. Most people now see you as redeemed.”

He looked away awkwardly at this, and waited for her to read the final point.

She didn’t say it aloud.

‘I’m empty. I have nothing to offer you and I will hurt you. And when I do, I will never forgive myself.’

Her lip trembled, shook for a moment and then a tear spilled down her cheek. She turned back to face him.

“Do you love me?”

“Yes.” He felt his own voice thicken with emotion.

“And what would you do if something happened and I was killed? Or... how would you feel if I – if I married someone else?”

His chest constricted until he couldn’t breathe. “I...”

He clutched the arms of his seat. The fear that either of those thoughts awoke inside him was palpable. He had thought the first was true
at his house, during the final confrontation, and he had felt a void open inside him that was so deep he had felt dizzy from staring down
into it.

“I don’t know. I wouldn’t... I wouldn’t be able to -”

“Then that’s enough. If that’s the way you feel about me, then I trust you not to hurt me. Not in any way that matters.”

His face felt hot now, his throat so thick that his voice was hoarse.

“Hermione...”

“Love is a lot more powerful than you think, Draco.”

He could see it in her eyes. The thing Dumbledore had spent such a big part of his life going on about.

Love.

Could love change him that much?

Could it possibly be true?
Was there... hope?

She kissed him.

Her tears were a balm; the salty taste in his mouth evidence of her love, of her willingness to try.

To give him a chance.

Maybe he could forgive himself. He would try, for her sake.

End Notes

And there, my friends, we have it!

For a final time, thank you so much, everyone!

Back to index
Disclaimer: This is a transformative work using intellectual property and characters belonging but not limited to JK Rowling, Warner
Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera. No money is being made from this work.
This submission is archived at http://dramione.org/viewstory.php?sid=800