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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
- 20
- 21
- 22
Draco makes a big decision…

21. Doubt Thou The Stars Are Fire

The medieval candy stripe theme of the Hotel Danemark lobby, clearly extended into the upstairs accommodations. This was an apartment, with a small cream-tiled kitchenette abutting the living area, and a door opening onto a bedroom. A ruffled burgundy bed-cover had half-tumbled from the bed to the floor, pooling in thick folds onto a pale pink carpet.

Francoise was seated alone, on a stiffly upholstered chaise longue. Compared to the upright, efficient persona she had presented just a few hours ago, she seemed droopy and faded.

‘Where’s Malfoy?’ Harry asked.

She pointed with her wand at a closed door directly ahead.

‘He says the décor makes him feel sick.’

The sound of a toilet flush resounded throughout the apartment. Francoise leaped to her feet, grabbing her handbag and wand.

‘I’ll leave you with Mr Sunshine,’ she said in ironic tones, casting them a pitying glance as she left.

Harry sealed the door behind her, and casually replaced Francoise on the chaise longue, stretching out and easing his feet onto a black lacquered coffee table in front of him.

The bathroom door swung open, and Draco burst into the room with explosive force. ‘Even the fucking taps don’t work properly,’ he griped, drawing to an abrupt halt at the sight of a beaming Harry Potter.

Harry serenely gestured to an armchair facing him.

‘Listen Potter, I’m not in the mood for any more of your crap!’ Draco snapped.

‘Please sit down, Malfoy.’ But Draco continued to bristle with hostility. ‘I won’t bite,’ Harry simpered sarcastically.

He nodded to Hermione, who stood frozen to the spot by the door, behind Draco.

‘And neither will she.’

Draco cast a glance in Hermione’s direction. A dark scowl clouded his features. He sank slowly into the armchair.

Hermione took a deep breath and advanced deeper into the room, aware that both men were watching her. She sought out another chair in vain, and finally plumped for the chaise longue alongside Harry. It was short and narrow, and as she was immediately knocking elbows with Harry, she quickly enchanted it to a more commodious size.

‘That’s more like it,’ she tittered nervously.

‘Excellent. We wouldn’t you want to feel uncomfortable now, would we?’ Draco said in cutting tones.

Hermione braced herself to look him boldly in the face, instantly locking eyes with him in a way that made her insides lurch and her cheeks redden.

This was hopeless, she thought to herself. She was a grown woman, not some teenage chit with a crush.

‘This will be your home for the foreseeable future, Malfoy,’ Harry said smoothly, oblivious to Hermione’s emotional ruckus. ‘At least until Auror HQ is officially convinced you didn’t kill Svetlana Kerpin.’

Draco’s eyebrows shot up in amazement.

‘I thought YOU thought I was a fucking terrorist,’ he scoffed.

‘I very much doubt you’re anything of the sort, Malfoy,’ Harry drawled. ‘I doubt you’ve got the balls to kill anyone – not even a defenceless old lady like Svetlana Kerpin.’

‘So what’s with this farce then?’ Draco complained, gesticulating wildly at the candy-striped room. ‘Aren’t you the big gun at Auror HQ these days? If you think I’m innocent, just let me go and have done with it. I need to get home to my son.’

‘I can’t let you go. You have crucial information. I need to keep close tabs on you,’ Harry said, his lips set in a tight, hard line. Draco fisted his hands in his hair in frustration.

‘You should know, Malfoy, that this apartment is secured with wards, so powerful, any attempt to slip the net, and you’ll be splinched to a pulp. You can only leave this place in the company of Hermione or myself.’

‘Why Hermione?’ Draco sneered, looking her up and down, lip curled in distaste. ‘She’s not even an Auror. She was an unemployed do-gooding pen-pusher the last time I checked.’

‘She’s working with me,’ Harry said firmly.

‘Oh…and I thought she was working with me.’ Draco shook his head at her in mock disappointment. ‘Fickle little thing, isn’t she? You’d better watch your back, Potter!’

‘Shut up Malfoy!’ Hermione shrilled, unable to contain the frustration boiling up inside of her.

‘Ah, she speaks!’ Draco jeered. ‘And there I was thinking you’d been Langlocked! Or were you just struck dumb in my presence?’

‘Don’t flatter yourself,’ Hermione said heatedly.

Harry stood up. ‘Where’s the minibar? I had it stocked with butterbeers.’

Draco looked askance at a line of empty bottles on the kitchenette worktop.

‘Those butterbeers?’

Harry frowned.

‘I was a little thirsty…I’d conjure one up for you, but I don’t seem to have a wand…’ Draco added.

‘For Merlin’s sake,’ Hermione growled, re-filling the bottles with a quick swish of her wand. ‘Pass me one too please, Harry.’

Harry distributed the butterbeers and re-settled himself on the chaise longue, facing Draco.

‘So here’s the thing, Malfoy, in return for having saved you from the delights of a Muggle prison, I’m going to need your help.’

‘Whatever you want, the answer’s NO.’

Harry visibly tensed, but ploughed on regardless. ‘As we discussed earlier, we’re worried your father-in-law’s firm, Gilead Inc, has found a way to weaponise and disseminate Dark Flux.’

‘I meant what I said, Potter. I KNOW NOTHING.’

‘Look, Malfoy,’ Harry persisted patiently. ‘You’ve nothing to fear here. You can speak to us in complete confidence.’

‘So what was the point of the fucking hardball interrogation routine at Auror HQ then?’ Draco barracked. ‘Showing off for the ladies, were you?’

A fleeting rush of irritation threatened to sink Harry’s mild-mannered demeanour, but he quickly recovered.

‘I had my reasons,’ he said in calm, measured tones. ‘And it’s probably not a bad thing that you protested so fiercely.’

‘What’s that supposed to mean?’

‘If you’re to spy against your father-in-law, it’s important he still trusts you, that’s all.’

Draco blanched. ‘You WHAT? You want me to SPY for you?’ He erupted into loud, snorting laughter. ‘You’ve got to be fucking kidding, right?’

Harry shook his head, a confident glint in his eye.

‘No way, Potter. You’ve got it all wrong! Ephraim’s no terrorist. He’s been trying to stop that kind of thing -’

‘To stop Jeroboam getting hold of Dark Flux and killing loads of Muggles? I already know that story,’ Harry said wearily.

Draco flashed Hermione a sickly grin. ‘Exactly. You don’t need me to tell you about it, when you’ve got smarty-pants Granger on board.’

Harry rolled his eyes. ‘It’s thanks to Hermione that we might be closer to the real truth about this matter.’

‘And Henrik,’ Hermione interjected.

‘Henrik?’ Draco exclaimed, ‘that dodgy Danish guy?’

‘Yes, Malfoy. Henrik did some homework on Gilead. Apparently, your company has top-secret research facilities close to just about every deadly Dark Flux outbreak in recent years.’ Hermione plucked her copy of Henrik’s list from her handbag, and pushed it across the table towards him. To her embarrassment, her hand was trembling.

Alongside each site location mentioned by Henrik, she’d neatly compiled a description of the place, date and death toll of each corresponding sudden mass death incident, based on her Internet research.

Draco cast a perfunctory glance at the list before him, and then pushed the parchment back towards Hermione.

‘This isn’t proof of anything,’ he said. ‘I haven’t heard of any of these sites. I doubt they even exist.’

‘So you’re absolutely positive, Malfoy, YOU personally know nothing about a Gilead research lab at Puerto Bandera?’ Hermione aimed to sound as dispassionate as possible, but was acutely conscious that her voice quavered a little as she spoke.

‘Where the hell is Puerto Bandera?’ Draco demanded. He seemed genuinely mystified.

‘About sixty kilometres from Santa Maria,’ she said, easing the parchment back to his side of the table. ‘Look again, Malfoy,’ she pleaded.

Draco slapped the parchment away. ‘For fuck’s sake, Hermione, can’t you see this is obviously something that little Danish twat has cobbled together to make me look bad? He never liked me.’

‘Draco. Please….’

Draco groaned dramatically, snatching at the parchment, which he then studied, a concentrated expression on his face.

‘Just imagine for one moment, that this list is all true,’ Hermione said. ‘It’s too much of a coincidence, don’t you think?’ She leaned across the coffee table to point out the relevant parts of the document. ‘As you can see, this data tallies with what Henrik told us at Perito Moreno….’ Her hand accidentally touched his. A stinging jolt of awareness shot through her. She instantly retreated to the safety of the chaise longue. ‘All these deaths - as I’m sure you recall - resulted in blue corpses.’

Draco was curiously still, eyes fixed on the list before him.

‘As for the scanner,’ Hermione continued in earnest tones, fighting to ignore a tight, strangulated feeling in her chest as she spoke, ‘the scanner we were supposed to use to detect Dark Flux… Well, here’s the scanner.’ Draco looked up as she fished the toy Galinka she’d bought for Hugo, from out of her handbag.

‘It’s from a Muggle TV show, Space Force 7.’

Draco reluctantly picked up the toy gun and slowly examined it, pressing the FIRE button a couple of times.

‘You’ve got to be kidding me. You see this as proof? Proof of what?’ He glared at Hermione, flinging the Galinka contemptuously aside. She automatically flinched, as the Galinka skidded across the table. ‘Is it truly beyond the realms of possibility, that Jeroboam simply made his scanners to look like this? And for all we know, your beloved Henrik is one of Jeroboam’s spies,’ he added, his voice laced with spite.

‘Where’s the scanner now?’ Harry asked.

Draco shrugged. ‘I lost it.’

‘In Argentina?’

‘No.’ Draco flicked a glance at Hermione and seemed reluctant to continue.

‘Where then?’ Harry pressed.

‘In America,’ he grunted, grudgingly.

‘What the hell were you doing there?’ Hermione asked.

‘I was in Hexmouth… Maine,’ he said, looking a little sheepish. ‘Visiting the Hexmouth Witches.’

‘The who?’ Harry asked Hermione.

‘Famous seers,’ she said scornfully, ‘or so they claim.’

‘They were recommended to me by our mutual friend Dolores,’ Draco said pointedly. ‘And they were very useful. They’re why I’m here, in Paris.’

‘They said SHE was here?’

‘That there was a connection.’

‘Sorry,’ Harry interrupted, looking bewildered. ‘Have I missed something? WHO was here?’

‘Katya. Malfoy’s wife.’ Hermione said.

‘They used the pendant,’ Draco said, stroking the silver rose necklace around his neck. Hermione couldn’t help but notice that despite his rejuvenated composure, his nails were bitten and ragged. ‘They cast a powerful spell to extract images from the rose charm; 'visual resonation' they called it. That’s what led me to Svetlana Kerpin. I saw a specific place she was looking at - here in Paris - and a glimpse of her in a mirror. I was then able to track her down.’ He paused. ‘It was remarkably easy actually.’

Harry’s ears pricked up. He shifted forwards, an intense expression on his face. ‘So you’re saying this poor lady was connected to your wife?’

‘By the time I got to speak to her, it was too late to find out. She was already dying.’

Harry checked his watch. ‘That reminds me. I’m actually waiting to hear from the Muggle gendarmerie. My inside man was securing a piece of evidence they’ve unearthed, which might be important to this investigation.’

Draco’s eyes widened with interest.

Harry stood up, flipping a mobile phone from his pocket, with an apologetic smile. ‘For Muggle business,’ he explained. ‘I’ll see if I can chase him up.’

The door slammed shut leaving Hermione and Draco alone.

Hermione found she was suddenly unable to meet Draco’s eye. She gazed instead out of the window beside her, over the dark slate rooftops of the adjoining building, and the mouse-grey sky spliced with streaks of desultory sunshine, rapidly darkening to dusk.

She could sense he was staring at her.

‘So tell me,’ Draco said, finally breaking the silence between them. ‘Were you always intending to run to Potter the moment my back was turned?’

‘No, HE contacted ME.’ She dragged her eyes from the view outside to face him. ‘You must have mentioned my name…along with a whole lot of other stuff…when you were ill.’

It was Draco’s turn to look away.

‘This wasn’t a set-up, if that’s what you’re thinking.’

He smiled, returning his gaze to meet hers. ‘So I bet you, Weasel and Potty have split your sides, laughing at my expense,’ he said in cold, laconic tones. His eyes were a hard, burnished silver.

‘Don’t be ridiculous. Why would we do that?’

‘Now you know what I am.’

‘What you…whatever do you mean?’ she asked, genuinely perplexed.

‘A fucking half-blood.’

Hermione laughed in relief. ‘Don’t be stupid. That's nothing to be ashamed of.’

‘Yes it is. After everything… It’s embarrassing.’

She sighed in vexation. ‘I’d have thought your current predicament would be much more taxing for you – but oh no, the purity of your blood is what bothers you most. How predictable.’

Draco crossed his arms peevishly and stared fixedly at the bottle of butterbeer on the table.

‘You do realise you were cured with MUGGLE BLOOD,’ Hermione added, suddenly seeking to rile him. ‘You’re probably as mudblooded as me now, Malfoy.’

He flung her a contemptuous look, then grabbed his beer. He didn’t drink though, preferring to methodically scrape off the gold embossed Belton’s Butterbeer label.

‘Ron doesn’t know actually,’ Hermione added, in more soothing tones.

‘That I have Gimlott’s?’

His frankness momentarily disarmed her. ‘You don’t have Gimlott’s, Draco.’

‘As good as.’

‘No – your father has Gimlott’s. It doesn’t mean you’ll get it too.’

Draco closed his eyes resignedly, and rocked his head against the back of the armchair.

‘I was shot with the bloody stuff.’

‘And now you’re cured.’

He snapped his eyes open. ‘How does that make sense? Why would diluting the magic in my blood make me better?’

‘What do you mean?’

‘I thought Gimlott’s weakened magic. The mediwizards told me, that they now think it’s the other way round… Kind of like the tap’s been left on -’

‘An overdose?’

‘Exactly.’

They didn’t have time to ponder this any further, as Harry re-entered the room, a victorious look on his face. He was clutching an envelope, which he threw onto the table in front of Draco.

‘Open it, Malfoy,’ Harry ordered. ‘It’s addressed to you. The Muggles spotted Svetlana Kerpin on CCTV posting this, so my contact retrieved it for us.’

Draco gave Hermione an oddly stricken look. She guessed he already knew what he would find.

‘Go on,’ she urged.

He ripped into the envelope and tipped a silver rose onto the black, lacquered table. The rose sparkled in the waning light.

He stared at it, shiny-eyed, for what felt like an eternity.

Eventually, he extended a single, long tapering finger and tentatively prodded the pendant. Then he scooped it up and cradled it in his palm.

‘It’s one of those, isn’t it?’ Harry said, pointing at the silver rose charm dangling from the chain around Draco’s neck.

‘Yes.’

'Maybe that explains the connection to Paris,' Hermione murmured.

'Perhaps,' Draco sighed. 'In the past they've been posted from London, Rouen, Montreux - even Moscow.' Hermione noticed a pulse was throbbing violently in his temple. 'Please excuse me,' he said in a quiet, husky voice. He slowly levered himself out of the armchair, and moved unsteadily towards the bathroom. The door locked shut behind him, followed by the sound of rushing water.

‘What was all that about?’ whispered Harry.

‘Katya… Again,’ Hermione said, a little afraid of the mixture of emotions welling up inside her.

‘Oh. I see,’ Harry said blankly. Then, after a beat. ‘Actually, no – I don’t get it.’

Hermione took a deep breath. ‘Since she disappeared, he’s continued to receive these silver roses. They’re from a necklace she used to wear. He assumes it’s Katya who’s sending them.’

‘Not some old lady.’

‘Quite.’

Harry mulled this a moment. ‘Maybe she’s sending the roses on Katya’s behalf – like a courier?’

‘That’s – that’s possible.’

The water had stopped running in the bathroom. Hermione guessed Draco could hear their conversation.

The door clicked open and Draco stepped outside. He momentarily pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes screwed tightly shut, almost as though he was warding off a headache, then looked straight at Harry, his face hard and blazing.

‘Okay, Potter. You win. Here’s what we’ll do.’

Harry nodded.

‘As soon as this murder business is cleared up and I’m free to get out of this place…’ Draco eyed the candy-striped apartment with unalloyed disgust, ‘I’ll covertly investigate my father-in-law. I’ll be your undercover spy… I’ll tell you anything you want to know about Ephraim, about Gilead Inc, I’ll steal any information you want me to, I’ll visit any site, anywhere in the world. I’ll work with you every step of the way, until you feel satisfied we’ve arrived at the truth – whatever that maybe.’

Harry looked jubilant.

‘But, it’s on one condition.’

‘Go on.’

Draco cleared his throat. ‘On condition – that you help me find my wife.’

Harry paused before speaking. ‘Okay, Malfoy. You’ve got yourself a deal. You help us, and we’ll help you.’ He glanced anxiously at Hermione, then continued, weighing his words carefully. ‘But you have to be aware…you might not like what we find. She’s been gone a long time. And these roses -’

‘Yes, I know,’ Draco said hastily. ‘She might be dead.’ He’d never openly acknowledged that, Hermione thought mournfully. ‘But I need to know the truth. I need to know why the hell she walked away with our child, without any bloody explanation.’ There was a savage gleam in his eye that surprised her.

Draco looked at Harry, then Hermione. ‘And I can’t do this alone anymore.’

There was a long silence, eventually broken by Harry. ‘I’m so sorry, Malfoy. I didn’t know,’ he said in sober tones. He seemed genuinely shaken.

Draco gave a rueful, almost apologetic shrug. ‘That there was a child? Not many people did. Katya was pregnant when she left.’

Harry stared at the black, lacquered table, as if collecting his thoughts. ‘Right then, Malfoy,’ he said. ‘Starting tomorrow, we’ll go back to where we found you with Svetlana Kerpin, and see if we can re-trace your steps. We’ll take it from there.’ He turned to Hermione. ‘How’s that sound to you?’

Hermione was unable to reply immediately.

Something had jarred inside of her; a strangely unwelcome flood of feeling.

It was only later, once she was lying sleepless in bed, that she realised, with a start, what had bothered her so greatly. The jarring emotion that had chimed through her, when Draco had begged for their help to find his wife, had been jealousy.

XXX

‘So this is the spot?’ Hermione asked, gazing disconsolately at the concrete quay where Svetlana Kerpin had died.

Draco nodded, a grim expression on his face.

He looked paler and washed-out compared to yesterday. His eyes were a faded gouache grey, reflecting the colour of the River Seine, which in turn reflected the sky above, which was thick with dank, grey clouds threatening rain.

Clearly Harry had taken advantage of Auror HQ’s generous expense account, to get Draco properly kitted-out. He was wearing a vintage, Burberry trench coat, in black leather, which accentuated his silvery-fair hair. The overall effect was both striking and a little menacing, Hermione thought uncomfortably.

Hermione surveyed their surroundings. They were standing at the tip of the Ile St. Louis, at the far end of a small, triangular park, bordered by scrubby bushes. From the apex of this parkland, they had perfect views of both opposite riverbanks, to their left and right. Both banks were trafficked and busy, the waterway glutted with pleasure-boats steaming merrily past.

‘Surely there were witnesses, Harry,’ Hermione said.

‘It was Christmas Day. Hardly anyone was about.’

‘Wouldn’t it be more efficient, if we just WATCHED Malfoy’s memory?’ Hermione said. She shivered, as a raw breeze whipped across them, stinging her cheeks.

‘We’ve tried that,’ Draco said drolly, an odd expression on his face. He seemed to be both smiling and frowning at the same time. ‘Didn’t work too well.’

‘Didn’t work at all,’ Harry added. ‘Malfoy needs to revisit his memories the old fashioned way. We have to draw them out… The Muggle police have evidence that he flew into Paris from Boston on Christmas Eve. But after that, there’s no trace of him.’

‘It’s all a bit of a blur.’ Draco desperately scanned the parkland and the riverbanks beyond, as if searching for clues, then gazed sullenly at the patch of concrete where they were standing. ‘I remember the weight of her in my arms though. I couldn’t hold her and fell to my knees.’

‘Did she say anything?’ Hermione said.

‘Don’t remember. Wish I did,’ Draco said, an impassioned look on his face. ‘I must have blacked out, because the next thing I know, there’s this scary-looking bloke with a bloody great scar on his face, leering over me in the hospital.’ He shot a nervous glance at Harry. ‘And I don’t mean you, Potter. It was some healer chap.’

Harry bit back a smile. ‘That was the guy who saved your life, actually.’

Draco chewed his lower lip thoughtfully, and then rubbed his forehead, soothing his temples.

‘Are you feeling alright?’ Hermione asked, concerned.

He gave her a wan smile. ‘Knackered,’ he said. ‘Didn’t sleep a wink last night.’

Me neither, she thought inwardly, although she imagined her reasons for chronic insomnia were pretty different to Draco’s.

‘So, Malfoy. Let’s try and remember what happened before you got here,’ Harry said. His voice was calm, but his eyes were flint-hard and probing.

Draco looked behind them, back towards the entrance of the park. He pondered a moment, and then made a decision. ‘Follow me,’ he said gruffly.

Harry and Hermione glanced warily at each other, but did as he asked.

Draco walked purposefully towards Boulevard Henri IV, the main road that ran alongside the entrance to the park. He stopped to scrutinise a cream stone monument, flanked by reclining statues. There was a green wooden bench next to the monument.

‘Here,’ he said definitively, pointing to the bench. ‘I was lying down here.’

Hermione looked back at where they’d just walked from. The precise site where Draco had been found with Svetlana dying in his arms, was now hidden from view by dusty clumps of foliage.

‘Was Svetlana with you?’ she asked.

Draco vehemently shook his head. ‘No. Definitely not.’ He looked beyond the entrance gate to the park, towards the street.

He narrowed his eyes, trying to remember.

‘I must have been following her.' He turned to Hermione, inspiration lighting up his eyes. ‘Yes. I vaguely remember it now. She was a small, shuffling sort of figure…’

‘Go on.’

‘But she wasn’t alone.’ He drew closer, holding Hermione’s gaze with his own. ‘There were two guys, tailing her.’

‘Well, if they were our killers, they had to be wizards. Did you recognise them?’ Harry said.

Draco returned his gaze to the street beyond the gate. A bus ground to a loud, juddering halt to their left, enabling a woman with a pushchair to clamber aboard with some difficulty.

‘I don’t know. I was barely able to keep up with them, so I never got a proper look. But I must have felt a need to make myself as inconspicuous as possible, which is why I ducked down; tried to vanish myself.’ He paused again, staring at the park gate with such ferocity, it was as though he was trying to blow it off its hinges.

‘Come with me,’ he mumbled, gently tugging Hermione’s coat-sleeve. They walked onto the bridge, Pont Sully, which spanned the Seine between the island and Paris’s Right Bank, which was actually on their left. Harry dawdled slightly behind. To Hermione’s surprise, he was taking photos of the site using his Muggle mobile phone.

Draco came to a halt by the stone balustrade that lined the bridge. He leant against the balustrade, peering into the churning grey water below. Hermione joined him. The loud chugga sound of a pleasure boat crammed with tourists rumbled beneath them.

‘Thinking about it,’ he said softly, almost to himself. ‘I’m sure I saw a boat.’

Hermione tipped forwards to look. ‘Where?’

'Over there.' Draco sidled closer, pressing his body against her. He placed his right hand on her back and extended his left arm to indicate the left hand side of the island. This meant she was virtually encircled by him. She felt irradiated by the warmth of his body.

‘Listen. Hermione,’ he breathed in her ear.

Her heart jumped inside of her. Hot saliva swirled into her mouth.

His face was bent so close to hers, she could feel his breath curl against her cheek. Her skin felt wet and warm, in sharp contrast to the chill January air.

‘I really need to talk to you,’ Draco said, his eyes burning into her face. ‘It’s important.’

Hermione barely had time to compose herself to reply before Draco brusquely pulled away, and continued to stare at the river. Harry’s footsteps were fast approaching.

‘What – what sort of boat was it?’ Hermione stammered, primarily for Harry’s benefit.

‘Not one of those,’ Draco said, pointing to the pleasure boat, which had veered leftwards, to disgorge its occupants on the opposite bank. ‘Unless I was hallucinating.’

He glanced about, his eyes alighting on a small white house, which stood at the corner of Quai d’Anjou and Rue Saint-Louis En L’ile. ‘Okay, so that rings a bell,’ he said, under his breath.

They waited for a pause in the traffic, and all three crossed the road.

Draco stared at the house.

The road stretching to their right at this junction, comprised fine, stone buildings and a pleasant riverside walk, whilst another road, Rue Saint-Louis En L’ile, which stretched to their left, was half cast in shadow, courtesy of the tall, hulking houses which faced off across its narrow width.

‘Right. I think I’ve got my bearings now,’ Draco muttered. He sped off down Rue Saint-Louis En L’ile, Harry and Hermione close behind. Moments later they crossed a road, then another, then continued, moving away from the fine, grand stone houses closer to the riverside, towards a line of bijou restaurants and cafes and shops.

There was a church ranged to their left, displaying a large white clock that jutted out into the street ahead of them. The faint strains of choral singing drifted ethereally towards them, caught on a breeze. Hermione registered that a church service must be underway; it was Sunday, after all.

‘That’s it,’ Draco said excitedly, jabbing his finger skywards at the clock looming over them. ‘That’s what I saw when the Hexmouth Witches cast the spell on Katya’s rose.’ The church was attached to a boy’s school. Next to a green iron gateway leading into the heart of the building, there was a small yellow post-box affixed to the wall, and a blue sign, ‘Bibliotheque Jeunesse: Ile Saint-Louis.’

‘This was what brought me to Paris,’ Draco continued.

‘Well, I’m glad you recognise it,’ Harry said. ‘Because this is the post-box where Svetlana posted Katya’s rose.’

‘Didn’t you say the Muggle police have CCTV footage?’ Hermione said to Harry.

‘Yes. From a security camera.’ Harry looked around, and then pointed to a camera peeking out from under the awning of a busy restaurant with gleaming red shutters that faced the school and the post-box. ‘Probably that one. Unfortunately the camera didn’t catch where Svetlana headed next.’

Draco studied the restaurant with interest.

‘That place means something to me… I wonder if the view Svetlana had of here,’ he indicated the church, ‘came from there?’

‘Maybe you thought that on Christmas Day too? Let’s see if anyone remembers you – or even better - her,’ Harry suggested.

However, no sooner had they walked through the restaurant door, than a harried-looking waitress, wearing ostentatious, peacock feather earrings, blocked their path.

‘No way!’ she said, in a broad Australian accent. ‘There’s no way I’m letting YOU in here.’

She was glaring furiously at Draco.

Draco looked dumbfounded. ‘You – you remember me?’

‘How could I forget?’ she shrieked. ‘You pretty much ruined our Christmas Lunch sitting!’ She furtively looked behind her then back again. ‘Don’t let the manager see you. He’ll have your guts for garters - literally.’

‘What did I do?’ Draco said helplessly.

‘You don’t remember?’ She eyed him quizzically. ‘Well, maybe that’s not surprising, the state you were in.’ She then looked him up and down, her expression softening. ‘You look tonnes better though, I must say.’

Harry intervened. ‘Look, we’re trying to track down someone who might have been a customer on Christmas Day. Someone our ‘friend’ here might have met.’

The waitress pursed her lips suspiciously. ‘You police?’

‘No, we’re investigating a will,’ Harry said hastily, ‘we’re looking for a Svetlana Kerpin. We believe she’s come into some money.’

The waitress’s face brightened. 'Wow. A lot of money?’

‘A fair bit,’ Harry said. ‘Do you know her?’

‘Elderly? Speaks foreign?’

‘She’s probably Russian,’ Harry said.

‘Ah, yes. She’s a regular,’ the waitress said. ‘Comes in for coffee most mornings.’ She pulled a face. ‘Not lately though…’ She turned on Draco. ‘Not since you were bugging her big time...’

Draco looked nonplussed. ‘I was?’

‘Yup. You practically chased her outta here! Just moments before my manager had YOU chucked out.’ The waitress shook her head in wonder. ‘You really can’t remember?’

‘No,’ Draco said sadly. ‘Sorry.’

‘Did she live round here?’ Hermione asked.

The waitress rolled her eyes in thought. ‘Probably. Not entirely sure where though….’ There was a commotion as a bunch of diners exiting the restaurant pushed past them, forcing them onto the street. The waitress glanced nervously back inside. ‘Hey, I’ve got to get back to work.’

‘Sure,’ Harry said. ‘Just one more thing. Have you worked here long?’

‘Yeah, about eighteen months or so. The never-ending road-trip!’

‘And did Svetlana always come here alone?’

‘Hey, you said one more question!’ The waitress admonished in mock exasperation. ‘Okay, let’s see. There was this girl – early twenties or thereabouts - sometimes came in with Svetlana. They seemed pretty close, so I figured she was a niece or a granddaughter or something. Hasn’t been in lately though.’

‘What did she look like?’ Draco asked urgently.

The waitress thought for a moment. ‘Can’t remember exactly…but she was nice-looking. Had lush, reddish hair; really made her stand out.’

‘Thanks. You’ve been very helpful,’ Harry said politely.

‘Yeah…and there was another woman,’ the waitress blithely continued. ‘That was when I first worked here, but she hasn’t been in for a long while. Sweet little thing. Fit to pop.’

‘Fit to pop?’ Draco repeated, a confused look on his face.

‘Yeah, she was getting pretty big,’ the waitress said, curving her hand over her stomach in crude explanation.

Draco’s eyes darted from side to side as he processed this information.

‘You mean – she was pregnant,’ he rasped. The colour momentarily faded from his face.

‘You okay?’ the waitress fretted. ‘You’re not going to have a funny turn on me again, are you?’

‘No, he’s fine,’ Hermione said, spontaneously slipping her hand into Draco’s. He gripped her hand hard in return.

‘Carrie!’ yelled a voice from inside the restaurant ‘Vite!’

Carrie glanced behind her. ‘When you find Svetlana, give her my best, will you?’

‘Of course,’ Hermione said, as they turned away.

‘Hey, you know what?’ Carrie said, stopping them with a wide, toothy smile. ‘Svetlana might be on one of those boat trips she loved to go on?’

‘What sort of boat trips?’

‘She sometimes took the boat from Quai Bethune, here on the island…it only passes through once every couple of weeks or so. It’s one of those cruisers…you know…heads out of the city and up the Seine somewhere.’

‘Do you have a leaflet or an advert we could look at?’ Harry said, a keen look in his eye.

The waitress pulled a sour face. ‘Not anymore, sorry. But I can remember the boat’s name if that’s any help?’

‘Please,’ Draco said.

‘La Lena.’

Walking down Rue Saint-Louis En L’ile, as they headed purposefully back to the quayside park, Hermione realised she was still holding hands with Draco.

She blushed furiously and swiftly disentangled her hand from his warm grasp, though Draco’s hand continued to bounce against hers as they walked.

‘Sorry...wasn't thinking,’ she said in hushed tones, fearing he'd think she was coming on to him.

‘About what?’ he replied, in a low whisper, which somehow made her feel even more self-conscious than before. His mouth twitched in amusement.

They both glanced at Harry. Thankfully, he didn’t seem to have noticed…

XXX

‘See,’ Draco said in triumphant tones to Hermione, ‘I told you there was a boat!’

Ahead of them was a mooring and a board advertising ‘La Lena.’ A tall, Rastafarian man wearing a Paris St. Germain football strip, was nailing an orange notice to a wooden post.

‘Go on then, Potter,’ Draco urged in sardonic tones. ‘Time to dazzle us with your fluent French skills.’

Harry gave him a resentful look, and scuttled over to the Rastafarian, engaging him in stilted conversation.

Hermione and Draco watched Harry’s efforts in silence.

Draco eventually gave up, choosing instead to stare at the murky river waters lapping the quayside.

‘You okay?’ Hermione asked nervously.

'I think so.' He turned to face her. ‘Kind of… apprehensive, I guess.’ They locked eyes. Hermione’s stomach instantly flip-flopped and her chest felt tight. His eyes were too bright, too intense. Almost as though they were penetrating her mind.

‘I – I guess you assumed Svetlana’s pregnant friend was Katya.’

‘I bet you did too.'

She nodded, peeling her eyes away from his.

‘I can’t help wondering why Katya – if it was her - never visited Svetlana, once she’d given birth?’ Draco mused.

‘Maybe she did? After all, there had to be some kind of continuing connection between them, because Svetlana’s posted one of Katya’s roses.’

‘Unless she STOLE it – maybe even ALL of them?’ There was a dark look in Draco’s eye, which was slightly frightening.

‘I suppose that’s a possibility,’ Hermione said in slow, deliberate tones. ‘But really Draco, we just don’t know.’

Harry bounded over, a grin pasted on his face.

‘That chap was very helpful.’ He ushered them away from the riverside, back to the park. ‘He says ‘La Lena’ hasn’t been in operation since Christmas, and is currently being renovated at a place called Port-Mort.’

‘Is that in Paris?’ Hermione asked.

‘No. Normandy.’

‘We should go,’ Draco said, buttoning up his trench coat purposefully.

‘Most definitely,’ Harry said, a twinkle in his eye. ‘La Lena is operated by a woman – a redhead apparently - called Rozella Gagnon.’ He gave them a meaningful look. ‘If Svetlana’s been regularly travelling on her boat, then she’s bound to know her quite well.’

‘She might even be the woman who was visiting Svetlana here in Paris?’ Hermione suggested.

Harry glanced at his watch. ‘Okay, it’s going to be quicker and easier to fly. I’ll need to requisition some broomsticks from Auror HQ and a wand for Malfoy.’

‘Broomsticks?’ Hermione gasped. She gawked miserably at the rain-sodden clouds, shuddering at the tangible dampness permeating the air.

‘Yes, Hermione, broomsticks,’ Harry said coolly. ‘You can share mine, if you don’t think your flying skills are up to scratch.’

Hermione flinched at Harry’s unexpectedly acerbic tone.

‘Come ride with me, Hermione,’ Draco said kindly. ‘Make sure I don’t make a break for it.’ He gave Harry a stern look. ‘If that’s alright by you, Potter?’

Harry frowned. ‘No it’s not, Malfoy. I’m tethering your broomstick to mine. And Hermione sticks with me.’

***

CHAPTER TRACKS: “A Pain That I’m Used To” by Depeche Mode

&

“I know” by Placebo

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters

Many thanks to my beta, Lou.
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Ring A Ring O' Roses