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Ring A Ring O' Roses	By : Gallivant Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16636 -:- 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
- 19
- 20
- 21
Facing up to Draco, and Harry takes charge…

20. More Matter With Less Art

Ron was going away again. This time to Georgia, where the Tbilisi Tigers, a popular quidditch team, were embroiled in a juicy betting scandal.

Hermione felt relieved. They’d done nothing but quarrel since Harry’s revelations about Draco.

‘I don’t want you anywhere near Draco Malfoy, even if it’s helping Harry out. Do you understand, Hermione?’ Ron insisted.

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ she retorted, bridling at being told what to do.

‘He’s obviously flipped his lid. And now it looks like he’s killed this poor, old lady. He can’t be trusted!’

‘There’s no proof yet that he’s killed anybody,’ Hermione countered sternly. ‘He didn’t have a wand, remember?’

‘He could have killed her and then chucked his wand in the river.’

‘He didn’t have a wand in Argentina, either,’ Hermione argued, jadedly. They’d been over this, countless times already.

‘I don’t believe that for one instant,’ Ron said churlishly. ‘How could he have done anything?’

‘He lived like a Muggle.’

‘Like a Muggle? He hates Muggles. He was having you on, Hermione,’ Ron scoffed.

‘You’ve changed your tune! You couldn’t get enough of him before we went to Argentina!’

Ron eyed her suspiciously. ‘And you’ve changed too! You say you hate this guy with a passion, and yet since getting back from your little adventure together, all you’ve damned well gone about is poor sickly Draco and how he might be in danger!’ He clenched and unclenched his fists as he spoke. ‘Seems to me like he’s somehow got under your skin.’

Hermione flushed scarlet. ‘That’s – that’s preposterous, Ron!’

‘Of course it fucking is!’ Ron yelled. ‘It’s bloody Draco Malfoy. Which makes it all the more DISGUSTING that you keep defending him.’

Hermione took a deep breath. ‘I’m not defending him. Just saying that we don’t know what’s actually happened.’

‘I don’t want to know,’ Ron said. ‘I want us to steer clear. The man means trouble. He always did.’

She felt like crying.

What if Ron was right? What if her original instincts of hatred and mistrust towards Draco, had been right all along – in fact worsened?

After all, if Henrik’s insinuations were correct, and Gilgad was orchestrating Dark Flux attacks against Muggles and Muggle-borns, then that probably meant Draco was involved too. The tattoo on Draco’s arm might be fading, but at heart, he might still remain a Death Eater.

XXX

A week after Ron had left for Georgia, Harry finally arrived with news of Draco.

Hermione had been gazing out of her kitchen window, watching the antics of three incongruously over-sized crows, eyes glinting red in the weak wintry light, whisk over her back lawn in a flypast.

It had been the third time today; always accompanied by an unmistakeable fluttering of red at the corner of her eyes.

Oddly, despite everything that had happened, the crows didn't frighten her anymore. She was now convinced that Miguel had been telling the truth… Los Rojos didn’t intend to kill her.

And in a strange way, the crows were a welcome distraction from the dank depression she sometimes felt she was sinking into. Alone at home, with Ron away and the kids in school, she’d been forming a rather worrying addiction to large doses of Dr Ubbly’s Oblivious Unction.

The moment Harry Apparated into the garden, the crows scuttled high into the elm trees, and settled weightily on a branch, maintaining watchful sentry duty.

‘Where’s Ron gallivanted off to this time?’ Harry asked, giving Hermione a warm hug.

‘Georgia. For now.’ She smiled nervously.

‘Fancy a cup of tea?’ She reached for a floral cake tin. ‘Molly’s made some Rock Cakes.’

Harry’s eyes lit up. ‘Is it too early for a glass of wine?’

XXX

The mediwizards at St. Gaspard’s had chanced on a ‘highly unusual’ course of treatment for Malfoy, ‘nothing short of a miracle,’ Harry said, as he settled himself into Ron’s favourite armchair, carefully placing the large glass of Rioja Hermione had offered him, on a side-table.

‘They reckon we can speak to him tomorrow, if that’s alright with you?’ he asked tentatively.

‘That should be fine,’ Hermione said, positioning herself on the sofa opposite Harry. Her mouth suddenly felt dry. Tomorrow was very soon.

Thankfully, Ron would still be away.

‘Malfoy will be furious when he finds out what saved him,’ Harry smirked. ‘MUGGLE BLOOD! When they gave him a transfusion using his own blood type – Epsilon - he very nearly died.’

‘But that doesn’t make sense.’

‘Yeah… Like most things in this case,’ Harry sighed. ‘All we really know is, Malfoy was shot with a fatal pathogen, encased inside an enchanted pellet, which prevented his wound from healing.’

‘You mean a bio-weapon?’

‘One we’ve never seen before. Gimlott’s Disease.’

But of course, Hermione thought. The perfect riposte to a Malfoy… Jeroboam had been having a particularly cruel joke at Draco’s expense.

‘But Gimlott’s is a degenerative disease, Harry. It takes years to kill. Malfoy was weakening fast,’ Hermione said.

‘This is some kind of hybrid. It accelerates the process, meaning Malfoy’s symptoms were the same as someone with long-term Gimlott’s.’ Harry pondered a moment, a sombre look on his face. ‘He was in a right bloody mess when we found him. He’d completely lost the plot, and was so frail, he could hardly stand. I’ve never liked the guy, but it was quite distressing actually.’

Hermione desperately tried to dash the image from her mind. She needed a clear head to think this through.

She recalled Draco’s ludicrous fear that night in Buenos Aires. He’d convinced himself he was infected with Dark Flux. After all, there was that same eerie blue which afflicted the victims…

‘Can this new Gimlott’s strain affect anybody, Harry?’

‘No. Even in this form, it can only affect half-bloods apparently. Which means -’

‘That the rumours about Lucius Malfoy are all true.’

‘And Malfoy’s a half-blood.’

That was another chilling similarity, Hermione thought. Both Dark Flux and Gimlott’s affected specific sectors of the population… Dark Flux killed Muggles and Muggle-borns. Gimlott’s killed half-bloods.

Hadn’t Tony Goldstein once mentioned that Gimlott’s only affected Epsilon blood types? Like the Malfoys? And if that was further narrowed down to only Epsilon half-bloods, then maybe it was only the exclusive Epsilon+ blood group, which was truly vulnerable?

As for Dark Flux affecting Muggle-borns...well, they were predominantly Gamma blood types.

This meant both Gimlott's and Dark Flux targeted precise blood groups only. Yes, that had to be the key, underpinning factor.

So why did Dark Flux kill Muggles too?

They needed hard, scientific facts. They needed to speak to Tony Goldstein. Interestingly, he’d never actually DENIED there was a connection between Gimlott’s and Dark Flux when she’d asked him straight.

‘You know that Tony Goldstein is the world’s leading authority on Gimlott’s Disease, Harry?’

‘Yes – and he’s on holiday,’ Harry said with a wry smile.

‘Oh. That’s a shame.’ Or a convenience... ‘Can’t you recall him? This is urgent stuff!’

Harry shook his head. ‘No one knows where he is. Not even Padma. And Arcana have closed his lab down in his absence. According to the new MD, Torquil Haast, there isn’t anyone else at Arcana covering his field.’

‘He’s lying,’ Hermione said, a little more vehemently than she’d first intended.

‘Really?’ Harry said, surprised. ‘I’ve known Torquil for some years now. He was our neighbour in Paris. He’s always struck me as a straight-up sort of bloke. His closeness to the Malfoys has given us a lot of inside track into the dark artefacts market.’

‘Well, he failed to tell you that Tony has a colleague called Binta.’

Harry nodded thoughtfully. ‘Okay. I’ll see if I can track her down.’

‘And then there’s The Jeroboam Foundation. Tony used to work for them too.’

‘And they told us to talk to Tony.’ As he spoke, Harry fished out a silk hanky from his pocket, removed his glasses, and brusquely cleaned the lens.

‘A quick Tergeo would have done just as well, Harry.’

‘There’s some things I still prefer to do myself,’ he said, flashing her a brief, warm smile. He looked awfully tired, Hermione thought.

He sighed deeply. ‘Gimlott’s being used as a bio-weapon is very scary, Hermione. It’s a particularly malicious way to try and kill someone. It’s not a quick death – that would probably be kinder – but cruel and debilitating. It eats away at its victims. Like a cancer… No one deserves to die like that. Not even Lucius and Draco Malfoy.’

Hermione shuddered, as Harry’s words sent a chill through her. For all her confusion and angst about Draco, the thought of him suffering like this, plummeted her into cold despair.

‘But what makes it worse - what makes it terrifying - is this nagging feeling in the pit of my stomach, that there’s something I’m missing here,’ Harry continued in low, deliberate tones. ‘That this is a small part of something even bigger and scarier.’

Harry held Hermione’s gaze.

‘My gut instinct tells me that Malfoy has important information. That he’s my way in. This was a personally motivated attack. A message. I need to find out who shot him and why.’

Harry paused momentarily, as if gathering his thoughts, but there was no mistaking the earnest, slightly awkward expression on his face.

Oh God. This is it, Hermione thought. She’d known it was coming.

‘Now, Hermione, we both know that you know a lot more about this case than I do…’

‘Listen, Harry. It’s not what you think. Please ignore anything he might have said! He was delirious!’ Hermione gabbled, standing up in sudden panic.

Harry held up his hand and gestured to her to sit back down again. ‘He’s said a lot of things, Hermione. But nothing for you to worry about.’ He grinned. ‘I’m not a fool. I know how you feel about him.’

Hermione sunk back onto the sofa, aware that her heart was pounding so loudly in her chest, she was amazed Harry couldn’t hear it.

‘I know that you hate his guts and always will. It must have been hell having to work alongside him. But I need your help, Hermione. I’ve tried to make sense of Malfoy’s hallucinatory rants, but I’m floundering. I need to know everything you know too.’

Hermione nodded, cowed a little by the unusually fierce intensity of Harry’s gaze, oddly reminiscent of Ron in one of his deepest fervours. Draco must have rambled on feverishly about a lot more than she’d first thought. Nothing short of a new Dark Lord and full-blown Muggle Armageddon could have wrought this effect on Harry.

‘You see, Hermione,’ Harry continued. ‘I’ve got a feeling that this might blow up to be a very big case, involving some very important wizards. And it’s going to take a lot of hard work to get to the bottom of it. And I want complete confidentiality – no leaks.’

‘Of course,’ she said, in a tight choked voice. She had the distinct feeling she knew where he was headed with this. ‘You never know who you can trust these days.’

‘Especially Aurors,’ Harry said, ruefully. ‘As far as the paperwork goes, Malfoy remains bound into my care until we can close the Svetlana Kerpin case. That’ll give us time to work on him.’

Hermione smiled wanly. ‘By US, you mean...’

‘Yes, US…though I suspect you might have more success handling Malfoy than me,’ Harry muttered, raising his eyebrows.

Hermione reddened. ‘What do you mean?’

Harry laughed. ‘Don’t worry about it, Hermione. The guy’s a bit mixed-up, that’s all.’ He took a deep swig of his glass of wine. ‘But seriously, will you work this case with me?’

Sod Ron, Hermione thought. This was too important, and Harry needed her.

‘Of course I will, Harry.’

XXX

The Potters lived in a large, sumptuous penthouse on La Rue Vieuville, close to La Place Des Abbesses in Montmartre. Hermione always loved to visit. The rooms were spacious and bright, immaculately, if a little minimally, decorated – lots of cream and white and apposite splashes of luminous colour.

The penthouse terrace was an oasis of calm, brimming over with lush vegetation and tropical flowers, which Ginny carefully cultivated with warming spells. Up here, the sounds of Paris became a distant hum. A soft, trickling of water from a small stone fountain into a fishpond, stuffed with sleek golden and calico fish, added to the soothing ambience.

Hermione liked nothing more than sitting on a low wooden-slatted deckchair next to this pond, gazing out at the splendid view of Le Sacre Coeur, gleaming white and exotic-looking, perched on the hill just above them.

Once she’d told Harry just about everything that had transpired since the day she’d come home to find Draco talking to Ron in her living room, Harry had insisted she bring the box files Draco had given her and Ron, supposedly offering background information on The Jeroboam Foundation, to Paris.

‘You never know, we might find something useful. This feud between Saul Jeroboam and Ephraim Golowitz is rooted in the past.’

They decided that Rose and Hugo should come to Paris to visit their cousins for the weekend. Ginny was happy to mind them, whilst Hermione purportedly ‘assisted’ Harry, by analysing an intriguing collection of runes, which were proving crucial to one of his investigations.

It was the perfect cover story, and allowed Hermione time to mull the contents of the box files, in quiet seclusion by the fountain. Meanwhile, Harry moved Draco from St. Gaspard’s to Auror HQ – which was how he described the centre for European Auror Co-Operative Ventures – for questioning later that afternoon.

Hermione had been relieved to finally offload her experiences in Argentina to an Auror of Harry’s calibre – in particular her more recent suspicions of Gilgad Inc. She told him about her initial doubts, when Draco first divulged his sinister hypothesis that Jeroboam was harvesting Dark Flux to spawn a mass Muggle murder. Why had he approached Ron, and not the Ministry of Magic? Harry agreed that this was very dubious behaviour, in light of the seriousness of Draco’s allegations.

She recounted how Los Rojos derailed Ron’s mission, meaning she became his reluctant substitute.

‘And it was definitely Jeroboam’s henchmen who shot Malfoy with Gimlott’s Disease?’

‘Yes. They then continued to menace us in Argentina,’ Hermione said. She didn’t spare Harry the sickening details.

‘But this Miguel Culebra – he claimed Jeroboam had no intention to actually kill you?’

‘That was the gist.’

‘And you say Miguel was murdered by the guy whose memory you saw, Senor Asusto?’

Hermione nodded.

‘But you didn’t see this Senor Asusto by Miguel’s boat, did you?’

‘No – Malfoy did.’

‘And you believe him?’

‘I’ve – I’ve no reason not to!’ Though it did seem odd, when she thought about it, that Draco had accused Asusto, when they were probably working for the same team…

Harry narrowed his eyes quizzically. ‘Tell me again, why do you now think this Asusto worked for Golowitz?’

‘I don’t know for certain. I first thought he must work for Jeroboam. But I now believe his modified memory was a ploy, to draw me in -’

‘- as an official witness to what Los Rojos were doing: to discredit Jeroboam.’

‘Yes. Ephraim Golowitz has made it pretty clear that’s what he wants from me,’ Hermione said.

‘So why did Senor Asusto kill Miguel?’ Harry asked, brow furrowed in confusion.

‘To silence him?’ Hermione replied, a little uncertainly.

‘And where did this toy scanner come from?’

‘Malfoy says it was stolen from one of Jeroboam’s factories.’

‘My colleague at Auror HQ contacted The Jeroboam Foundation earlier today, and they deny all knowledge of a Dark Flux scanner,’ Harry said. ‘What I don’t get, is why you didn’t realise the scanner was a fake.’

‘We couldn’t open the case. It was enchanted so that it could only be used by Muggles.’

‘That’s just weird,’ Harry said, clearly perplexed. ‘Blimey Hermione! I’m surprised you of all people ever fell for this!’ he added, with a hollow laugh.

‘Everything happened so fast, Harry!’

‘So we can assume Malfoy always knew it was a fake,’ Harry said flatly.

‘Malfoy didn’t even know what the scanner looked like,’ Hermione said, glumly aware that this sounded like she was actually defending him… But it was true. There had been something genuinely artless about him.

‘Well, we’ll see if we can jog Malfoy’s memory about the origins of this scanner, as it pre-dates your jaunt to Argentina. At the moment, he’s claiming complete memory loss, dating from the night he got shot in London,’ Harry said in scathing tones. ‘And it might be useful for you to contact this Muggle Henrik. We need to see if he’s made any other startling discoveries about Gilgad that Malfoy conveniently forgot to tell you; anything to bolster our case.’

‘I’ve already done some research of my own,’ Hermione said, producing a print-out, which she gave to Harry. ‘I used my Mum’s computer at the surgery to go on the Internet. It took me some time, but I eventually found Muggle news reports supporting all of Henrik’s allegations of unexplained sudden deaths close to Gilgad facilities.’

Harry studied the print-out. ‘But we still don’t know if these facilities actually exist. If they do, this is compelling evidence. We need Henrik – or Malfoy – to show us where they are. Can I keep this?’ he said.

‘I made a copy,’ Hermione said.

‘Good. Look through the files and see what you can find,’ Harry said.

He’d developed a very authoritative manner, Hermione thought, a little uneasily. Though it was hardly surprising considering his status and reputation.

She spent a good couple of hours rooting through the box files but found nothing but dusty piles of company reports, some technical data pertaining to well-known Medi-magic products, and a few well-worn newspaper clippings.

Was there anything useful in here at all? Any clues?

Finally, though, she got to see Saul Jeroboam himself.

There were just two photos. In one faded Daily Prophet shot which accompanied a gushing celebration of his philanthropic achievements, Jeroboam seemed a shrunken figure – barely conspicuous in an oversized armchair. His small pale face peeked timidly through a black, bushy beard.

The second photo was much more interesting, Hermione realised, as this depicted The Geneva Group – the last known bunch of scientists to legally research Dark Flux, some thirty years ago.

Here was a much younger, more upright version of Jeroboam. His beard was less voluminous, exposing a self-assured leer and deep-set jet-black eyes. Three of his four companions, leaning against a table behind them, were enjoying what appeared to be a rip-roaring joke.

There was no mistaking the youthful, handsome face of Ephraim Golowitz, throwing his head back to guffaw with laughter. His hair was long and unkempt, and, to Hermione’s surprise, he was wearing ripped jeans under his barely buttoned robe. Standing next to Ephraim was a slightly built man, grinning toothily at the camera. A slim, young woman in a smart black robe, with dark curly hair, was leaning against him, her hand draped across the back of this shoulders. Her head was tilted back, much like Ephraim’s. Unfortunately, her face had been scrubbed clean off the page, which instantly sparked Hermione’s curiosity.

There was something strangely telling, in how she held her body close to the grinning man, whilst gently craning her neck backwards to meet Ephraim’s twinkling gaze. Something intimate…

And who was the tall, spindly character lurking at the back of the room? The photo was faded, leaving only a vague impression of a thin, mournful face and a long, scraggy beard, which extended almost to the floor.

Hermione rifled again through the newspaper articles, scanning for names.

She soon found something promising.

The Swiss Ministry of Magic had credited The Geneva Group with an award for their ground-breaking investigations into ‘Magical Leptons.’ Leptons? But surely that was a Muggle term? Something to do with Quantum Theory…quarks, neutrinos…that sort of thing.

Saul Jeroboam had a particular mention for heading up the project, followed by Reynaldo and Anna Cornec, with Ephraim Golowitz named as a junior researcher.

The shadowy figure behind them was unnamed.

Reynaldo and Anna Cornec…and Ephraim. Was her imagination running riot? The married woman and the junior researcher…though it seemed incredible that a man of Ephraim’s stature and power had ever been anything ‘junior.’ How he must have hated it, Hermione thought.

‘Hermione?’ Ginny’s clear voice rang out. ‘I’m taking the kids to the park. Do you fancy coming along?’

Hermione had been so engrossed, she hadn’t noticed Ginny’s emergence onto the terrace. She checked her watch. Ginny had been watching the kids for over two hours. She deserved a break.

‘Yes – that would be nice,’ Hermione smiled, shoving the papers back into the box file. She’d exhausted their usefulness anyway, and a walk and some time with the children, would hopefully take her mind off the fact that she had to face Draco later that afternoon.

XXX

Square de La Rue Burq was a quiet, leafy park, nestling in a corner of a narrow residential street, just a few minutes walk from the Potters’ home.

Rose squealed with excitement as her cousins James and Albus chased her around the playground, whilst Hugo attempted to lure Lily, Ginny’s youngest, into the sandpit, to make castles. Hermione felt a little sorry for him. For all his efforts, Lily adamantly refused, preferring to stick close to her mother’s side.

She was a funny, solemn little thing, Hermione often thought. She was a pale child with ethereal blue eyes. She had her mother’s vivacious red hair, but her face lacked Ginny’s handsome warmth. Ginny’s boys were much more rugged and earthy in comparison. James was particularly good-looking, with a strong, tall physique. Hermione suspected he would prove to be a fine quidditch player. Albus was more slightly-built, with darker, more brooding features, but blessed with a wonderful, winning smile, which never failed to charm. Rose was particularly fond of Albus.

‘This was a good idea,’ Ginny said, grinning at the children. She looked remarkably well, Hermione thought. Her hair glowed like molten copper in the sunlight. She was wearing a jade green gown, which perfectly complimented her colouring. ‘Maybe you should come and stay more often, now that Ron’s got his big case!’ she said in mocking tones.

‘Now that I’m not working-’

Ginny flushed a little. ‘That as well.’

‘It’s tricky during term-time,’ Hermione said.

‘We have a brilliant tutor. Arnaud. He comes to the apartment every weekday morning to teach the kids. I’m sure Rose and Hugo would fit in nicely.’

Hermione shook her head. ‘Thanks, but they enjoy school.’

They lapsed into slightly awkward silence; something that happened more often than she liked to admit, when she was with Ginny.

‘Mind you,’ Hermione said, rushing to fill the void in their conversation, ‘this is a wonderful place to live.’ The trees were already greening in readiness for Spring, and the air felt crisp and revitalising, despite their location at the heart of a grand, bustling metropolis.

‘We used to live on this street, actually,’ Ginny said, nodding towards a clean, white block of apartments, facing the park. ‘La Rue Burq is a bit of a wizarding enclave.’

Hermione prickled with sudden curiosity. She’d never visited the Potters during their first sojourn in Paris, as they’d only been here for a couple of months, and Harry was away for work during most of that time.

She gazed up at the white apartment block. This was where the 2008 Dark Flux outbreak had occurred.

‘But doesn’t this place hold bad memories for you?’ she said in hushed tones, hoping that Lily wasn’t listening in.

‘Not anymore; though it was tough at the time.’ A ripple of sadness passed momentarily across Ginny’s face. ‘I was so frightened, especially with Harry on assignment and Lily due any day. But everyone was so supportive.’

‘Harry said you knew Torquil Haast?’

Ginny beamed. ‘Ah yes, dear Torquil…he was so sweet. Always on hand to help me, which was brilliant, seeing as I was unwell for most of my third trimester.’ She lowered her voice. ‘It was poor Torquil who found the first body.’

‘Who was that?’

Ginny indicated a lower floor window. ‘Marie-Louise Lefebvre. She was such a sweetheart.’

‘I once met a man who loved her,’ Hermione said sadly, recalling Jonas Arbuthnot.

‘Really?’ Ginny said. ‘I don’t remember a boyfriend.’ She pointed again at the building. ‘You see the balcony with the geraniums? That was our flat. The Haasts were across the landing.’

‘Haasts?’

‘Yes. Torquil has a twin brother. Selwyn. He was very shy. A workaholic. We rarely saw him. He was always working in his lab. He’s the guy who found a cure for Type B Vanishing Sickness and he also pioneered hangover-free sleeping draughts – so a good egg all-round,’ Ginny said enthusiastically. She pointed to the apartment above. ‘That’s the Sezignacs. They still live there. I was fairly close to Chantal Sezignac; she was pregnant too.’

‘Did they lose anybody?’

‘Sadly, yes. They were badly hit. Chantal's brother-in-law was a Muggle. He was visiting at the time. And there was a Muggle workman, fixing tiles on their balcony. No one noticed he was dead for some hours!' she said, shaking her head. ‘Little Evander was born a week before Lily… just before the Dark Flux outbreak. So you can imagine how hellish it was for them. A new baby and multiple deaths on their doorstep! And if I remember correctly, Evander’s grandad, who lived with them, was sick too. He recently died of Gimlott's, poor sod.'

‘Sounds awful...'

‘Yes, it was all very traumatic. Still is...’ Ginny leaned closer to Hermione, and whispered in her ear, to ensure Lily didn’t catch what she was saying. ‘The little boy… He’s a bit strange.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘He refuses to talk.’

XXX

Gaining entry to Auror HQ was a ludicrously complicated process. It involved walking clockwise three times around Le Square du Vert Galant, a tiny teardrop-shaped park which jutted into the River Seine close to Pont-Neuf, before sitting on a particular bench, crossing one’s arms and legs, and reciting ‘La Belle Gabrielle’ – forwards and then backwards. Hermione wondered if such odd behaviour might attract more undue Muggle attention than was strictly necessary.

Maybe it was a French thing? Hermione mused, as she underwent further security checks once inside Auror HQ – which was effectively an underground bunker.

There was a famously over-complicated access system to the French Ministry of Magic at Place Vendome. This required three glasses of claret, drunk in quick succession at the bar of the Hotel Meurice on Rue de Rivoli, followed by a sprint down Rue Castiglione to Place Vendome, a hair-raising zig zag march across the grand square, obviously avoiding any Muggle cars, taxis and motorcycles in the process, then a dash to the ornate lobby of the Ritz-Carlton hotel, where an entrance to the Ministry could be found behind a concealed mirror.

This entire sequence of events had to be achieved in just twelve minutes flat, otherwise the process had to be started all over again.

Hermione often wondered how French wizards ever managed to get any work done, considering so many of them were ferociously drunk by the time they arrived at the Ministry. One moment’s dillydallying or a tricky pedestrian crossing, could mean the difference between a fair day’s work and a hangover.

‘Okay,’ Harry said abruptly, ‘we’re in here.’ He ushered Hermione into an interrogation room.

It was a forbidding place: a small, claustrophobic box, comprising stark grey walls, no windows, and a solitary neon-strip light hovering above a long wooden trestle table. A single chair was positioned on one side of the table facing two others. A fourth chair, reserved for Hermione, was tucked into a corner. Her job, Harry told her, was not to question Draco this time - but to observe.

‘I suspect your being here will throw him off-kilter,’ Harry said confidently.

She instantly felt swamped by a cold, sickly dread.

She’d managed to suppress her nerves all day, but that wasn’t possible anymore.

In just a few minutes, she’d be face-to-face with Draco.

‘Does he know I’ll be here?’ she asked tremulously.

‘Yes, he does,’ Harry said. ‘I should warn you. He’s not a happy bunny.’

‘What – what did he say?’

‘You really want to know?’ Harry said, in cool, arch tones.

‘I don’t know...maybe not.’

‘Look, he’s just being typical cocky Malfoy motor mouth…nothing we can’t handle. I guess he didn’t like being accused of international terrorism…’

‘You did what?’ Hermione said, aghast. ‘I thought this was an information-gathering exercise, not a bloody inquisition!’

‘I decided to go in heavy; to scare him,’ Harry said in a blasé voice that set Hermione’s teeth on edge. ‘I pointed out that the maximum penalty for such a crime, is the Dementor’s kiss, and life in Azkaban!’ he added, with considerable relish.

‘But he’ll think I’ve accused him!’

‘You pretty much did, Hermione.’

‘No, Harry! I gave you information,’ she corrected in severe tones.

The door suddenly clunked open and an attractive, slim-waisted black woman, in a tight-fitting Muggle trouser-suit entered the room. She introduced herself to Hermione as Francoise Dupont, then took the seat next to Harry, pulling out a roll of parchment and a quill.

‘Today’s interview is just an ice-breaker,’ Harry said to both of them, straightening then re-straightening the files on the table in front of him. ‘We want to see how Malfoy responds to some basic questions about his trip to Argentina.’ Then to Francoise, ‘if he’s being evasive, don’t hold back.’ He grinned at Hermione. ‘Francoise is a highly skilled Legilimens.’

‘Isn’t this all a little…heavy-handed?’ Hermione fumed.

Her pulse was racing at breakneck speed. She desperately needed to compose herself, only to find her stomach lurching queasily, as the door swung open, and Draco was escorted into the room by two burly guards, who then stood against the back wall.

Hermione had trained her face to be devoid of feeling when they met again, but when the moment finally came, she found she couldn’t look at him at all, preferring to focus on how her hands were clasped so tightly together in her lap, her knuckles had gone white.

She didn’t have to stare Draco in the face to know that he was mad at her. His voice alone, affirming his name was Draco Malfoy, and that his address was Malfoy Manor in Wiltshire, England, reverberated through her.

She felt clammy and warm, as though the plain grey walls of the interrogation room were closing in on her like a coffin.

Harry had formally started the interview, explaining why he was investigating Gilgad Inc and Malfoy in particular. How certain information had come to light that implicated them in engineering deadly outbreaks of Dark Flux.

‘You’re wasting your time, Potter,’ Draco sneered.

‘I don’t think so, Malfoy. I want you to tell me about your recent trip to Argentina.’

‘I’ve nothing to say,’ Draco said, spitting out his words angrily. ‘You can’t make me tell you anything! I know my rights.’

Harry sniggered. ‘This isn’t a Muggle police station, Malfoy. You have no rights.’

‘I’m sick,’ Draco said. ‘I can’t remember anything.’

‘That’s not what the mediwizards at St. Gaspard’s told me this morning. Your neurological faculties are safe and sound. All memories intact.’

This was news to Hermione.

She finally braved a sidelong glance at Draco, only to find that once she’d finally steeled herself to look, she could barely take her eyes off him.

He looked bewitchingly well for a man who’d almost died. Muggle blood must suit him, she thought. His skin glowed with health; his eyes were bright and alert. He’d lost the strained sharpness that seemed to afflict his features when he was particularly tired.

He was wearing the same Muggle clothes she’d last seen him wearing in Buenos Aires – basically jeans and a shirt – but they looked tatty. There was even a gaping rip in his shirt-sleeve. Hermione was surprised no one had bothered to fix this at the hospital during his stay - it would have been the work of a moment – as the clothes looked freshly laundered. Her hand itched to whip out her wand and do it herself.

Harry was certainly right about Draco’s ‘cocky’ routine. He was slunk back in his chair, arms folded, head tilted to one side away from the corner where Hermione was seated, eyeing Harry and Francoise with pitying disdain.

However, the more she stared, the more she realised that his defiant posture, the icy gleam of his eyes, the petulant curl of his lips, wasn’t really cockiness at all.

More like sheer, cold-blooded fury.

Hermione resolutely focused her attention away from Draco to Francoise, who was sounding extremely exasperated.

‘You do realise, Mr Malfoy, that non-compliance with our investigation into this matter, might be construed against you?’

‘She’s serious, Malfoy,’ Harry said in gentler tones. ‘We don’t like resorting to Veritaserum.’

‘How very sporting of you,’ Draco snarled.

‘But,’ Harry continued determinedly, ‘in view of the gravity of this situation, we might have to.’

Draco tightly pursed his lips, directing the full glare of his unflinching gaze on Harry.

‘Just go ahead, Potter.’

His eyes flashed momentarily in Hermione’s direction. She instantly looked away, heart racing. ‘I’ve got nothing to hide,’ he drawled.

‘I’d prefer a frank and voluntary exchange of information,’ Harry said calmly. ‘We just want to know why you visited Argentina – in particular, a town in Patagonia called Santa Maria. We want to know if your company, Gilgad Inc, which has a high security research facility very close to Santa Maria, was involved in any shape or form in the outbreak of Dark Flux which occurred there last December. We also want to know why you were transporting a plastic, toy gun, which you claimed was a device designed to detect Dark Flux. And we would like to know, if you recognised whoever it was who shot you with a deadly dose of Gimlott’s Disease.’

Draco was stony-faced, seemingly implacable. A supreme effort of concentrated stillness, Hermione thought to herself. Maybe he was aware Francoise was a Legilimens? Perhaps he was having to practice Occlumency, to prevent her probing his mind?

‘We particularly and most urgently need to know, Malfoy, if another Dark Flux attack is imminent – there, in Santa Maria, or elsewhere,’ Harry said.

Draco remained blank and inscrutable.

Nobody spoke for what seemed to Hermione like an eternity. She felt deafened by the swoosh and roar of blood in her ears, the shushing sound of her own breathing which seemed to fill the room.

‘Honestly, Potter,’ Draco suddenly said, his dark, sardonic tones piercing the silence. ‘I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

Francoise and Harry exchanged weary looks. Francoise shook her head.

Harry half-turned to face Hermione. ‘Is there anything you’d like to add, Hermione?’

She flushed crimson, hotly aware that the full force of Draco’s gaze was now pointed directly at her.

‘Yes, Mrs Weasley, is there anything you’d like to add?’ Draco said, with a taunting smirk.

Harry snapped his attention angrily back to Draco. ‘That’s enough Malfoy,’ he said in clipped tones. ‘We’ll resume this discussion later.’ He gathered up his files and stood up, beckoning to the guards to come and reclaim their prisoner.

XXX

Hermione waited for Harry in the foyer. She was feeling a little faint. The interrogation room had been stuffy and confining and she craved fresh air.

Harry came bounding towards her. ‘Okay, that’s dealt with Malfoy.’

‘Are you keeping him here?’

‘No, I…’ he quickly scanned the hustle and bustle of the lobby, then leant in closer to Hermione. ‘I’ve had him removed from here to safe custody.’

‘Surely this is as safe as it gets, Harry?’ Hermione said, eyeing the granite grey walls of Auror HQ with distaste.

Harry raised his eyebrows sceptically.

‘Don’t trust anyone,’ he mouthed. ‘Now Hermione,’ he said in a louder, breezier tone, pointing to another door she hadn’t noticed before, which led to a spiral staircase heading even further into the dark bowels of the earth. ‘I’ll need to take some memories from you.’

‘Memories? Why?’

Harry blinked rapidly in confusion. ‘As thorough and informative as your account of everything has been, there might still be something you’ve overlooked. You look green, Hermione. Are you feeling alright?’ Harry’s eyes clouded with concern.

‘I’m fine,’ Hermione smiled. She pressed her hand tightly against her lips and closed her eyes, aware of a swirling sensation swooping through her.

‘What - what memories in particular?’ she asked breathlessly.

XXX

Hermione and Harry exited Auror HQ via a small, inconspicuous doorway leading onto Quai des Orfevres, which ran alongside the wide, grey River Seine. From here it was a short walk to the Hotel Danemark, close to Place St Michel.

‘What did you say we’re doing at this hotel?’ Hermione asked Harry.

Harry flicked a quick glance over his shoulder. ‘You’ll see.’

‘You need to give me more than that, Harry,’ Hermione snapped. ‘I’m getting a bit pissed off at being bossed about like one of your bloody minions!’

Harry gave her a sharp look. ‘I’m just doing my job, Hermione.’ He hooked his arm through hers, drawing her closer. ‘I’ll explain everything later,’ he added in softer tones.

However, all Hermione’s peevishness swiftly dissipated as they crossed Le Pont de St Michel. To her left was a glorious view of Notre Dame’s genteel façade, basking in the winter sunshine, like a giant, magnificently plumed, golden owl, peeking through the trees at them. To her right, a series of bridges spanning the river, arched into the distance. Bateaux Mouches gently cruised the greenish-grey waters of the Seine, and the tree-lined quaysides, flanked by handsome cream buildings, were thronged with colourful crowds of Muggles, browsing a plethora of bookstalls. Hermione’s heart couldn’t help but beat a little quicker at the sight of it all.

They soon approached a vast fountain centrepiece; a dark bronze archangel astride a fallen man, which commandeered a junction. Two roads bifurcated here on either side of the fountain. They took the road to the right and within moments had arrived at a small square – little more than an oversized pavement - hosting a crop of souvenir shops and popular bistros, customers spilling onto outside tables despite the fresh, chill temperatures. They headed down a narrow street on their immediate right, which was lined with fast food joints, ice cream parlours and more cafes.

After just a hundred yards, Harry steered her right again into an even narrower street, barely able to fit the width of a decent-sized car. An Irish pub, decked out in green and Guinness signs sat squarely on the corner. Hermione glanced up at the name of the road – Rue Git-le-Coeur – noting that the Hotel Danemark was just next-door.

‘Here we are,’ Harry mumbled, leading the way inside.

The lobby was a feast of candy-striped antique chairs, dark lacquered furniture, and a resplendent Persian rug. A number of Medieval-looking heavy-browed portraits gawped down at them from the walls. For the briefest moment, Hermione felt convinced, that one of these portraits – a surly looking man sporting an ostentatious hat and a richly jewelled ermine cape – had actually winked at her.

She turned to Harry.

‘Yes…a lot of wizards come to stay here,’ he murmured, aware that a noisy pack of tourists was congregating by the reception desk.

Hermione sighed deeply. ‘Let me guess.’ They stepped into the lift, which surged upwards. ‘Is this where you're keeping Malfoy?’

‘It is,’ Harry said, with a cheery smile. ‘Now that we’ve satisfied officialdom with a formal interview, I thought it’d be easier getting information out of him in more salubrious - and secretive - surroundings.’

‘But surely this can’t be protocol?’

‘Well, I tend to make my own rules around here to be honest. And like I said, I want to handle this affair quietly and safely.’

'I don't think a three star tourist hotel counts as secure custody, Harry.'

The lift shuddered to a halt and Harry clicked open the door. They stepped out into a long corridor leading to a single door.

‘This floor is private,’ Harry assured her, ‘and fitted up with more wards than Malfoy Manor.’

She gazed at the door ahead of them.

‘Is he alone?’

‘No. Francoise is babysitting him until we arrive. She’ll be our backup at HQ. Otherwise, from now on, it’s just us.’ He gave her a keen look of warning. ‘Hermione. It pains me to say this. But you can’t breathe a word of any of this to Ron.’

‘Of course, Harry.’ That suited her perfectly…but still… ‘Do - do you think he can’t be trusted then?’

‘It’s not him I’m worried about,’ he said cryptically, through gritted teeth.

***

CHAPTER TRACKS: “STEREO” by ADALINE

&

"BLUE JEANS" by LANA DEL REY

Author’s Note: A huge thanks for the reviews! They are much appreciated.

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters

Thanks to Lou.
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