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Ring A Ring O' Roses	By : Gallivant Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16640 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter, nor any of the characters from the books or movies. I do not make any money from the writing of this story.

Chapter List
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Heated emotions on a hot night in Buenos Aires…

15. Cenizas de Rosas

Their first stop was an achingly hip bar in Palermo Viejo, a historic barrio with a bohemian vibe that was thronged with late night revelers.

The bar was gleaming white throughout with vast, ornate wrought iron chandeliers hanging from the ceiling; it was heaving with excitable, smartly dressed young Muggles.

Hermione felt comparatively old and even a little ashamed of her diaphanous, dusky pink dress. She folded her arms tightly across her chest to deter onlookers; her excitement for the evening was evaporating fast.

'What are you drinking?' Draco said.

Hermione pulled a face. 'I don't mind. I'm not really in a drinking mood to be honest.'

Draco signaled his order to Miguel and then guided Hermione to a bank of seats, far from the scrummage of laughter and flirtation at the bar.

She soon wondered why he'd bothered, because he showed zero interest in speaking to her and had barely even looked at her since leaving the hotel.

Yet another of his frustrating mood-swings…

She could see his flint grey eyes, constantly scanning the room, appraising each woman who passed by with cold, clinical candour.

'You'd have more luck if you weren't sitting with me,' Hermione said sardonically, raising her voice above the clamorous din of chatter and thumping electronica lounge pop.

'What was that?'

'You'd have more luck if… oh, forget it,' Hermione said. There was no point competing with the noise in this place.

She was thankful to see Miguel approaching with an iced pitcher of mojito cocktail and whisky chasers for himself and Draco.

'I planned to meet some friends here, but they've already moved on,' Miguel said. 'We can catch up, but we need to drink this fast.'

'Suits me,' Draco grunted, pouring himself a large drink.

Miguel lit himself a cigarette, poured a mojito for Hermione, and proceeded to ply her with inane conversation: light, frothy, aimless chitchat, chiefly focusing on his plans for a new car – he couldn't decide between an Aston Martin or a Porsche. He'd also bought a boat where he planned to spend tomorrow – a day off work – relaxing.

In turn, Hermione told him about Rose and Hugo, and how Ron was a police detective, emphasising the Muggle terminology.

But she was distracted throughout, sensing Draco's deepening morosity, a looming dark presence which seemed to worsen the more he drank.

She wondered if his pain had returned.

Miguel was remarkably unfazed, giving Draco a wide berth as though he was an injured animal who needed to lick his wounds in private.

'Let's go dancing!' Miguel said excitedly, clapping his hands in glee.

'I think I'll head off,' Hermione said.

'I'll take you back, if you like,' Draco said grumpily.

'NO! You are a mad man! I am meeting a very nice lady-friend…' Miguel exclaimed, seemingly panicked by the potential loss of Draco's company.

'Senora Weasley!' Miguel pleaded, a desperate gleam in his eye. Hermione couldn't help but smile. She'd asked him repeatedly to call her Hermione, but he was unable to master it. 'Let me tempt you! Villa Ofelia is five minutes walk from this place. Come for just one drink, two drinks… nothing more.'

XXX

Hermione soon discovered the mojitos, which had slipped down a little too easily, were mighty strong, as she was a little giddy and pink-cheeked; a combination of the alcohol and the relentless warmth, she guessed, even though it was past midnight. She found she was tottering a little in her high-heeled sandals and grateful to have Miguel's arm to lean on.

Draco marched rapidly into the distance, his tall, dark figure crowned by his fiercely blond hair serving as a beacon to guide them.

'Not a happy man,' Miguel said, in hushed tones, once Draco was out of earshot. 'The fault of that wife of his. You know Katya?'

'Not really,' Hermione said tentatively. 'Have you met her?'

'Twice.' Miguel heaved a melancholic sigh. 'Very sweet. Muy tolerante.'

'Well, I guess she'd have to be, living with Malfoy!' Hermione joked, although judging from Miguel's puzzled expression, her quip had fallen a little flat.

'There was much love, but much sadness, too. That last year, before she was gone… muchas problemas. Money, the child, and Draco's little problem with the policia…'

'When you say 'child', you mean Scorpius?' Hermione asked, burning with curiosity.

'Oh, yes… the boy refuses to talk…'

'How sad,' Hermione murmured.

'And Draco hated Katya's family always living in his house… But he needs the money, no?'

'From Katya's father? Ephraim Golowitz?'

'But of course.'

'Malfoy doesn't need money, Miguel! Herb Healing's a very successful company.'

'For sure! But it's not Draco's. His father is a nominal Presidente, but is a very sick man. Alzheimer's.'

'Alzheimer's? Are you sure?' Hermione asked, incredulous. Alzheimer's rarely affected wizards. It had to be a cover story for something else.

'So the true owner of Herb Healing is Ephraim Golowitz. He owns Draco and his family - even his home - lock, stock and barrel.'

They had now approached a rambling old house, built in the colonial style, set in a lush garden, with tables and chairs and an open-air bar. There were white fairy lights and lanterns strung between the tall trees and bushes which encircled the garden. A Latino jazz band was playing on a raised stage underneath a vast awning, while a further light-set was aimed at an astro-turf dance floor situated between the stage and the bar.

Draco was waiting for them at the entrance. 'Hurry up. I'm dying for a drink,' he carped, an impatient scowl on his face.

Two large bouncers were eyeing him suspiciously, which was hardly surprising, Hermione thought, recalling the amount of wine and whisky he had downed during the day. There was something a little wild-eyed about him already.

XXX

The clientele at 'Villa Ofelia' were much more varied than the cooler cocktail bar in the heart of Palermo Viejo. Here, there was a combination of hip young things who were warming up for a long night's clubbing and a slightly older, well-heeled set.

Miguel nabbed a table situated close to the bar and dance floor, facing away from the band.

'Ah! My friend Rosario!' He beamed at Draco. 'And she has a friend with her. Una guapa!'

Two young women were hot-footing it to their table, wreathed in smiles and kisses for Miguel.

Rosario was a petite redhead with a squealing laugh. Her friend, Estrella, was tall and lithe-looking with deeply tanned skin and long blonde hair tightly scraped back from her face with a silver comb. She was clad in skin-tight black leather and teetered perilously on red patent stilettos. Hermione half-expected her to be wielding a whip and sporting pink fluffy handcuffs.

She was also destined to be 'Draco's date' from the look of things. Notably, Draco's blank, unashamedly bored expression, never altered. The girls didn't speak English but giggled profusely to compensate. They barely acknowledged Hermione's presence.

Draco went to the bar and returned with bottles of beer and yet another jug of mojito. Hermione promised herself that two mojitos would be her absolute limit; they had to see Senor Canaro first thing, and she had to Portkey home.

The band had upped its tempo and wheeled a set of bongo drums onto the stage. Salsa seemed to be the new groove. A number of couples sashayed enthusiastically onto the dance floor.

'Would you do me the honour, Senora Weasley?' Miguel exclaimed, leaping to his feet with surprising alacrity, hand extended.

'I don't dance'.

'No matter,' Miguel pouted. 'You can stamp on my feet all you like. How's that?'

XXX

Naturally, Miguel was a very fine dancer. Hermione wasn't accustomed to being swung about on a dance floor in such a practiced manner and was soon gasping for breath.

The next number was slow. Hermione instinctively made a move back towards their table, but Miguel grabbed her arm, spinning her close with one sweeping movement, and pulled her flush against his body.

'I'm danced out,' Hermione said in vexed tones, swivelling away from him. She glanced over at Draco, who was being bombarded with drinks and attention by Rosario and Estrella.

'May I say, Senora Weasley, you look particularly ravishing tonight,' Miguel sighed melodramatically, his eyes twinkling saucily.

'Flattery will get you nowhere, Senor Culebra.'

'How about a drink, instead?' he said, looking suddenly like a glum little boy who'd been told off for playing rough.

XXX

Hermione hoisted herself onto a high barstool while she waited for the barman to make her mojito, drumming her nails impatiently on the bar.

She noticed that Estrella and Rosario were now seated alone at their table, working their way through the jug of cocktail. Draco was nowhere to be seen.

Her mojito arrived. It was cool and limey, possibly a little over-stuffed with mint leaves, and very alcoholic.

'You like?' Miguel asked. He sipped a gin martini, gagging a little as he did.

'Too strong?'

Miguel pushed it towards her. She vehemently shook her head.

'Just try it,' he urged.

'Really. No,' she said adamantly. She could see that Draco had returned to the table. He radiated depression… yes, that was the word for it, she thought. It was hardly surprising, when she thought about it. His entire life was in hock to this Golowitz man, who she wasn't sure he much liked, his wife and child had vanished, Scorpius was voluntarily mute, and his father was incapacitated.

The lithe blonde leech, as Hermione privately nicknamed Estrella, had definitely decided to make a play for him. She sprawled against him, simpering and giggling. Draco seemed remarkably unperturbed by her attentions, stolidly drinking his beer instead.

'Draco has made a conquest… A good thing, no?' Miguel chortled.

'He's still married,' Hermione said primly.

'His wife is missing a long time, and Draco has many enemies. I suspect she's been abducted and killed.'

His blasé manner distressed Hermione more than she could have ever imagined.

'Don't be so quick to consign her to the graveyard,' Hermione said archly, thinking of the silver roses someone was still sending Draco.

'But everything points to it. She goes on a shopping trip to London – as you ladies love to do -'

Hermione had never really enjoyed shopping for the sake of it, but there was no point arguing at this juncture.

'– and never returns. Not even a ransom note. Nada. Zilch. Most strange, no?'

'Yes, it is,' Hermione agreed, thinking that if Katya's last shopping trip was to Diagon Alley, surely someone had spotted her?

'Ah, Rosario is trying to persuade Draco to dance…' Miguel said in jocular tones.

Sure enough, the music had changed. The band had stopped, and instead of Latino dance music, there was a slower, soaring female vocal and a languorous, sexy backbeat.

Rosario was dragging Draco towards the dance-floor in a determined fashion.

Draco now spotted Miguel and Hermione by the bar. He violently shook off Rosario, a furious look scuttling across his face.

Rosario approached Miguel in quiet desperation.

'I think a little friendly intervention is needed,' Hermione said under her breath.

Looking a little disgruntled, Miguel expertly drained his gin martini and scooped Rosario into his arms, whizzing her onto the dance floor.

This left Hermione facing a decidedly unhappy Draco Malfoy who was staring intently at her, a savage - yet lost - look in his eyes that rather frightened her.

The mojitos coursing through her veins had made her bold.

'Cheer up, Malfoy. You've got a face like a wet weekend,' she laughed.

'Don't pretend you care, Hermione,' he replied, lip curled peevishly, instantly reminding her of her teenage tormentor.

Instead of feeling a surge of revulsion, she felt strangely fond of him. Maybe it was the shock of the familiar amongst all the dark chaos of the unknown they had experienced these last couple of days together? A reminder of their personal inter-connectedness over twenty years, the long mutual history of hatred and antipathy that had raged through their lives like an infernal Greek Chorus...

'Merlin, Malfoy!' Hermione said, exasperated. 'I was trying to be nice.'

She looked past him towards the dancers, throbbing on the dance floor, illuminated by a bubbling string of strobe lights weaving its way through the crowd. She thrilled to the vibrant sway of the music.

'Do you want to dance?' she asked, before she'd had time to stop herself.

He instantly stepped forwards and enveloped her in his arms, hoisting her off the bar stool and pulling her close.

They stumbled backwards towards the dance floor.

It scared her how well their bodies moulded together. How comforting she found the soft warmth of his cheek against hers.

Even scarier was how she luxuriated in the feel of his hands, warm and firm, sliding against the sheer, silky fabric of her dress.

He pulled her still closer, so close she could feel the heat of him burning into her.

This was probably the wrong dance, she thought blissfully. It felt far too intimate. She sighed into his skin, surrendering to the exhilarating pulse of the music pounding through them, urging her to writhe rhythmically against him.

One of his hands drifted lower from its holding position just below her waist, his fingers softly skirting the top of her buttocks. Then, ever so slowly, his hand trailed upwards, tracing the length of her torso, dancing over her ribs, his fingers lightly grazing the side of her breast before his hand came to rest, flat on her back.

She was sharply aware that her body was responding to his touch, that her nipples had hardened painfully.

'What you do that for?' she breathed.

'Do what?' he murmured, sliding his hand down to the small of her back in a single sweeping motion. He turned his face to look at her, his eyes glowing silver. His breath was hotly alcoholic on her mouth.

She had to fight back a sudden, unexpected urge to grind against him, to slide her lips across his, so she snaked her arms around his neck instead, burying her face in his shoulder, dissolving into his warmth, relishing his scent. Her heart was galloping wildly inside of her, thrillingly alive to the feel of his obvious arousal pressed hard against her body, his harsh, ragged breathing smothered into her hair, and the soft, ceaseless stroking motion of his fingers on her lower back close to her buttocks.

She was drowning in the feeling of it all. Her heart was beating so fast she feared she might be sick.

This is too much, she thought, a rising panic beginning to take hold of her.

The music had also changed from a sensual sighing beat to a heavy, growling rhythmic thump. Couples were rapidly pulling apart, and the swooping, single string of bubble-lights weaving its way amongst the dancers had been supplanted by a medley of quickfire strobes chasing each other maniacally without purpose, drenching the dancers in a flood of hot, bright white.

Hermione clawed herself away from Draco's grasp, instantly missing his solid warmth, but trembling too at the stinging realisation that things had very nearly spiralled out of control. That, yet again, they had been horribly inappropriate. Much like they had been this morning, squashed together in the beige mini.

'You can't just… just grope me whenever you want,' she stuttered.

Draco stared at her, gob-smacked. 'What did you say?'

'You heard me. We can't do this… '

'Do what?'

'THIS!' she shouted, red in the face. 'You know exactly what I mean! Don't pretend otherwise.'

Draco shook his head, seemingly stunned and confused.

'You're drunk, Malfoy,' she said dismissively. 'If it's a quick feel you want, I'm sure there's plenty of girls here ready and willing to oblige!'

Hermione spun on her heel and marched purposefully towards the table where their half-finished jug of mojito was looking sadly lonesome.

She could sense he was following her.

She smoothed her hands over her dusky rose dress, trying to shake off the lingering sensation of his hands on her body, and sat down, unsteadily pouring herself a fresh glass of mojito.

'I'm surprised at you,' she said, trying to sound more in control than she actually felt, even though she was struggling to breath normally. 'I thought you'd be fully focused on pulling one of those tarty girls Miguel's hooked you up with, rather than wasting time with me.'

'Hermione… have you lost your mind? YOU asked ME to dance!'

'I didn't expect you to be so… enthusiastic…'

Draco slowly sat down on the chair next to hers, shaking his head in disbelief.

'You wanted me to refuse?'

'No. That's not it at all,' Hermione said, suddenly aware that her head was throbbing, flooded with a swirling, vivid mess of colour.

She cast her eyes around the garden, crammed with revelers, surrounded by tall dark trees shuddering gently in a warm, summer breeze… avoiding Draco's gaze.

How could she possibly say what she really meant - that she'd never expected him… them to be so darned attracted to each other – without then making it real?

She found herself staring at his silver rose pendant, which was nestling innocently against his chest.

'I can't believe I ever felt sorry for you,' she said bitterly. 'Everything you told me about Katya, the way you talked about her… it was bullshit, wasn't it?'

He paled. 'What the fuck are you talking about?'

'You're still married, and yet you've eyed up just about every woman who's crossed our path tonight.'

'Oh yeah? And what about you? Ron's stuck at home with a bad back, and you're swanning about in a fucking see-through dress!' Draco groused, fiddling with the damp label on his chilled beer bottle which was streaked with condensation.

'Your concern for my husband's best interests, Draco, is very touching!' Hermione said sarcastically. 'But how can YOU complain about my dress, when you're the one who bought me the bloody thing in the first place?'

'I didn't think it would look like THAT.'

'Like what?' Hermione asked, mortified by his sneering tone.

'You might as well be naked.'

There was a part of Hermione that was seriously frightened by what he said, which was why her cheeks were smarting with shame. She had betrayed Ron tonight; it was true. She had wanted to look desirable… to be desired.

She glanced at Miguel, who was now standing with Rosario at the bar, watching them intently. Estrella, the lithe blonde leech in skin-tight leather had joined them and winked at Draco, who continued to mush the label on his beer-bottle in silence.

'Anyway, YOU'RE the one who's pulled,' Hermione said snidely. 'If you fancy meaningless sex with a woman who looks like a plastic blow-up doll, then this is your lucky night.'

Draco's face had darkened.

Hermione couldn't resist goading him.

'I mean, she couldn't look less like Katya, could she? Katya had a much more natural look.'

Draco seemed to flinch at these words. His sudden movement frightened her. For one brief moment, she seriously thought he might strike her.

'Why are you doing this?' Draco said, his voice laced with menace. 'You're making a fool of yourself.'

'What do you mean?'

'You know exactly what I mean.' He was now staring at her, his eyes ink-black and hollow. 'You're punishing ME for something YOU feel.'

'I don't understand,' Hermione stammered, 'just because I happen to have some empathy for your poor wife…'

'Don't pretend you care two hoots about Katya. You didn't even know her name until I told you the other night. And then you couldn't wait to get away. You couldn't give a shit that I told you stuff about her, stuff I haven't mentioned to anybody else.'

'I felt awkward… she was pregnant. I didn't expect that.'

Draco's eyes were glassy and cold. The bright white fairy lights dangling in the trees were reflected in his gaze.

'No, Hermione. You were embarrassed because you thought she was dead, and you still do. Knowing your real opinion of me, you probably assume I murdered her.'

'I don't think anything of the sort!' Hermione seethed, suddenly consumed by white-hot rage. 'The thing is… crazy as it sounds, I felt a connection with her. A similarity.'

'A 'connection'? I very much doubt she'd even like you. As for similarity…'

'Look, just forget I ever said it!' Hermione stood up, suddenly wanting to get as far away from Draco as she possibly could.

'No, let's talk about this,' Draco said, grabbing her arm and roughly pushing her back into her seat. He narrowed his eyes, scrutinising her carefully.

'Okay. Let's see… Sure. There's maybe a few similarities with Katya … across the eyes, and… the way her lips tapered slightly upwards when she smiled. And yes, you're completely, fucking, insanely beautiful.'

Hermione tried to extricate her arm from his grasp, but he pulled his chair closer to hers with one quick movement and pressed one large hand flat against her back, his other hand pinioning her arm to the table. He thrust his face close to hers, so close she could feel his spittle spraying her cheeks and mouth as he talked.

'But Katya was nice. Whereas you… you have such a repellent personality.'

'Look who's talking!' Hermione fumed.

But Draco didn't seem to hear her. 'You're arrogant, bossy, self-seeking, over-competitive, you don't seem to give a stuff about your children - or your husband, come to that - you're obsessed with your work and all the fucking wondrous good you do, saving poor Muggleborns everywhere...'

'Which is precisely why I'm here at the other side of the bloody world helping you!'

Draco opened his mouth to reply, but seemed to reconsider.

'Really, how you, of all people, can sit there, so smug and self-righteous, and say all that to me… it beggars belief…' Hermione continued, grappling for her handbag. 'After tomorrow morning, I never, ever want to see you again. You can do what the hell you want with Ron, I really couldn't care less… I won't be part of it. In fact… in fact, I won't even be around.'

She wanted his hand off her arm. She could feel his hand on her back, a deadweight, scorching hot through the thin fabric of her dress. She needed to escape this invasion of her personal space, to slap away his eyes and mouth. She was seized by a fierce temptation to head-butt him with such violence, such force, that his nose and lip would split, spewing blood, and was then shocked by the intense feeling of sexual excitement, this momentary fantasy inspired in her. She found she was grinding her teeth and shaking uncontrollably, a tight heat clenched deep inside of her.

This kind of physical, visceral hatred couldn't be healthy, she thought to herself, taking deep breaths to calm herself down.

'And now,' Hermione said in a shaky voice, 'I'd like to get a cab back to the hotel.'

Draco refused to budge, a sullen, sneering expression on his face.

'DRACO. I said I want to leave,' Hermione said in louder, firmer tones.

'I heard you.'

For a brief moment, he seemed to struggle inwardly, as though he was about to say something, and then thought better of it.

'I can't let you go back on your own,' he said, tightening his grip on her.

'Well, I don't want you anywhere near me,' she hissed, tears pricking her eyelids. 'I'd rather take my chances with Los Rojos.'

'But they could hurt you.'

'I don't care. All I know is I can't stand the sight of you for one minute longer.' She was quivering with pent-up rage and a desire to sob uncontrollably.

'Hermione… '

'Get your hands off me,' Hermione snarled, pushing Draco in the face.

'Hey! What's going on?' Miguel bellowed excitedly, forcing himself between them.

'I'm going back to the hotel,' Hermione said to Miguel, her eyes blazing with anger.

'And I'm going with her,' Draco said.

Hermione saw there was undeniable pain in his eyes, and for a moment she felt bad. And then she remembered who she was dealing with.

Miguel looked alarmed. 'Hermione… my driver can take you back to the hotel, look…' he pulled out his mobile phone, waggling it frenetically in the air. 'I can call him straight away. He's waiting round the corner.' He then turned to Draco. 'Come on, old friend… cheer up… the night is still young…' he nodded lecherously towards Rosario and Estrella, who were watching this little scene with open-mouthed fascination.

'Thanks for everything, Miguel,' Hermione said flatly. 'I'll wait outside.'

'Let me at least wait with you,' Draco said, jumping to his feet.

'You don't need to do that.'

Hermione slipped out of her seat and headed towards the exit, quickly weaving her way through a cluster of drinkers and dancers. Draco was close behind.

He grabbed her arm in an effort to detain her.

'For fuck's sake, Hermione! I'm sorry, okay?'

She roughly shrugged him off, not daring to look him in the face.

She could hear Miguel scampering after them.

Miguel placed a firm, proprietorial arm around her, swiftly leading her away from Draco. He was already barking orders into his mobile phone and by the time they had arrived at the exit gate, the chauffeur-driven car was waiting for them.

A burgundy-uniformed chauffeur with the Astrum logo imprinted on his jacket pocket hastened to open the door for Hermione.

'It's been nice to meet you, Miguel,' Hermione said, planting a quick kiss on his cheek. 'Take care.'

'And you, too,' Miguel said, a forlorn, anxious look on his face.

XXX

Even with the air-conditioning blaring at full pelt in her hotel room it was a boiling hot night. Hermione stripped off her dusky pink shift, and collapsed onto her bed, not even bothering to untuck the bedcovers. She lay there, mentally pleading for the occasional eddy of cool air from the aircon unit to sweep across her skin.

She took deep breaths, trying to refresh herself in this overheated, airless atmosphere, still feeling over-wrought from her argument with Draco. It vaguely occurred to her that she should take a shower or at least remove her makeup. But the bathroom seemed very far away, and the sluggishness oozing through her body soon meant she didn't even have the energy to reach over to the lamp on her bedside table to switch it off.

She ran through the evening's events in her mind, over and over, each time feeling increasingly sickened by her own behaviour – in every department.

She suddenly felt nauseous. Her head was spinning. It was so hot and stuffy in this room… How she longed for the cool comfort of her journey in the Astrum limousine. The windows had been down, a keen breeze slicing across her face and pleasantly ruffling her hair as they hurtled through the bustling city, which seemed as alive at night as it did during the day.

The chauffeur had been pleasant, smiling at her benignly in the mirror, his cap, offset at a jaunty angle, subverting his officious image.

She started to drift off to sleep… there was something about that cap… that uniform…. Something niggling her mind… A vague memory - more a splodge, really - a splash of colour, a shape… the logo for Astrum.

A star. A red star. Yes, the logo for Astrum was a Red Star.

Where do I know that from? she wondered idly, exhaustion easing through her body, gradually shutting down her consciousness.

She hoped Draco was alright. That he'd forgive her… The image of his face, his pained look, hovered in her mind's eye, then faded, as sleep overwhelmed her.

XXX

CHAPTER TRACK: "YOU DON'T HAVE A CLUE" by ROYKSOPP

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

Many thanks to Apurva & Lou.
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Ring A Ring O' Roses