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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
- 21
- 22
- 23
Draco and Hermione get lost in a forest…

22. Foret-La-Folie

Hermione hated broomstick travel at the best of times, but tethering the two broomsticks together, had made this a particularly choppy and uncomfortable journey all-round.

To make matters worse, she was convinced they’d been tailed by three large crow-like objects - just about discernible through the thin drizzle and gauzy, grey cloud-cover - from the moment they left Paris.

The crows had felt oddly comforting at Wisteria Cottage, but she wasn’t sure she wanted Jeroboam to know their every move; he certainly hadn’t shown himself to be fond of Draco, and she knew the evil Los Rojos were capable of.

However, as they approached Port-Mort, the teasing red at the corner of her eyes, flickered and faded, as the crows swooped out of view.

XXX

‘La Lena’ was a ramshackle pleasure boat, moored next to a solitary wooden cabin, and a cluster of bare-looking willow trees which bordered the mud-stained waters of the River Seine.

They hid their broomsticks in a thicket, a hundred metres or so from the riverbank. A dirt track, churned into muddy ruts by a black Land Rover parked close by, led to the river.

‘You alright?’ Harry said to Draco.

Draco nodded, though the pale, pinched look on his face spoke otherwise.

They cautiously approached the boat. A woman laden with a towering pile of linens in her arms, tottered down a wooden gangway, and headed straight towards them.

She only spotted them once she’d arrived at the Land Rover, and flipped open the boot, to stow the linens.

‘Oh,’ she said, eyes round in surprise. Clearly this particular tract of river was unaccustomed to strangers. ‘Est-ce-que je peux vous aider?’ she asked, collecting herself.

She wasn’t Katya, Hermione instantly thought. But she might well be the ‘redhead’ mentioned by Carrie the waitress. She was tall and slender, with lustrous auburn hair.

Harry stepped forwards and introduced himself in French.

‘Etes-vous Rozella Gagnon?’ he asked.

‘Mais oui.’

Harry embarked, in faltering French, on an explanation for their visit. He seemed a little unnerved by her.

Hermione caught the name ‘Svetlana Kerpin,’ at which point the redheaded girl raised a hand to stop him mid-flow.

‘Sorry, I cannot help you. I know not of whom you speak,’ she said in heavily accented English.

‘Are you quite sure about that?’ Harry pressed.

‘Absolument. Now if you would excuse me.’ She smiled politely, and swiftly beat a retreat, moving with a subtle, feline grace towards the cabin.

Harry shrugged helplessly at Hermione and Draco.

‘For fuck’s sake,’ Draco muttered under his breath. He strode purposefully after the redhead’s receding figure.

‘Hey, Madame!’ he shouted.

She instantly halted, swinging round to face him. She had clear, glossy hazel eyes, which perceptibly widened as she properly studied Draco.

She pursed her lips haughtily. ‘It’s Mademoiselle.’

‘Can we just ask a few questions?’ Draco pleaded. He looked a forlorn figure. His hair was dank and limp, his eyes a faded smoky grey, matching the dense, rain-soaked clouds, in the sky above them.

Rozella heaved a baleful sigh. ‘You have three minutes, I have an appointment elsewhere,’ she said in terse tones.

XXX

The cabin was filthy, crammed full of maintenance tools and sloping shelves heaped with haphazardly arranged paperwork. There was a strong odour of petrol emanating from three large plastic containers crouched in the corner. A table was slumped against a wall, strewn with even more paperwork, a dead spider plant in a cracked terracotta pot, and a discarded paper coffee cup. Dusty cobwebs splayed across a window.

‘Why do you ask about this Svetlana Kerpin?’ Rozella asked impatiently. She leaned against the makeshift table as she spoke, pulling off a pair of mud-encrusted Hunter wellies.

‘She’s dead, I’m afraid,’ Harry said.

Rozella blinked rapidly, absorbing this information. She rummaged in a bag, which was under the table, pulling out a pair of smart, high-heeled leather boots.

‘I see,’ she said, donning the smart boots and bending over to tie the laces. Her abundant red hair cascaded forwards; a thick veil between herself and the three strangers. ‘Mais vraiment, monsieur. Like I said, I do not know of this woman.’

‘We believe she was a regular passenger on your boat,’ Harry said.

‘And yet, I still don’t recall the name,’ Rozella huffed, as she struggled to secure the laces on her boots.

She stood up, scooping her hair off her face in one slick movement, whipping it over her shoulder. ‘Of course, it is very sad that this poor woman is dead,’ she said, looking Harry directly in the eye.

‘She was murdered,’ Draco said in blunt tones. His voice resounded around the cabin. ‘Tortured to death…’

‘That - that is horrible.’ Rozella shivered, rubbing her arms as though she was cold. ‘But really, I cannot help you in this matter. I know nothing.’

She turned to Harry. ‘Why do you come here telling me these things?’ she asked, a shrewd, suspicious look on her face. ‘Are you gendarmes?’

Harry slipped his hand into his jacket pocket, and pulled out a business card for her. ‘Sorry, I should have said. We’re working with the police.’

She stared at the card. ‘Renseignements Generaux? The police think this is a matter of national security?’

‘Potentially,’ Harry said in halting tones.

Rozella tried to return the card to Harry, but he gestured to her to keep it instead.

‘How often does 'La Lena' make the trip from Paris?’ Hermione asked, her fingers skating over the dishevelled piles of paperwork, precariously perched on the table. She started thumbing through a pile of orange pamphlets. They were timetables.

‘About once every ten days,’ Rozella said.

‘Can I take one of these?’ Hermione said, brandishing an orange timetable. She quickly scanned the names of the towns the timetable listed. ‘There’s no mention of Port-Mort.’

‘This is where we fix up the boat when it has a problem, or needs refurbishment. The passenger service is Paris to Rouen.’

‘So Svetlana Kerpin would have got off in Rouen?’ Harry asked.

‘It is possible.’ Rozella paused. ‘As I don’t know of whom you speak, it is difficult to answer correctly.’

‘What’s the most popular stop?’ Hermione asked.

‘St Andeleys is very pretty, but…Vernon… that is probably our most popular destination. It is but a short journey from there to Giverny.’

‘Monet’s house.’

‘Exactement. It’s what the tourists like to see. Maybe your Svetlana Kerpin was an art lover?’

‘I imagine she probably travelled too often on 'La Lena' to be classified as a typical tourist,’ Hermione mused. ‘Maybe you remember an older lady who frequently got off at one town in particular, say…’ she trailed her finger down the list of towns… ‘Conflas or Caudebec-en-Caux or Honfleur?’

She quickly glanced at Draco and Harry, hoping they were watching Rozella for any reaction she might have shown to any of these names.

‘Where do you live?’ Draco asked abruptly.

Rozella blushed hotly. ‘I – I don’t see what that has to do with anything.’

‘Okay – let me rephrase that,’ Draco said. ‘Where is…’ he took one of the orange timetables and scanned the masthead, ‘…the head office for La Lena River Cruises?’ He sneered at their current surroundings. ‘It can’t be here. There isn’t even a telephone or a computer.’

Rozella folded her arms, keeping her eyes averted from Draco.

‘Am I under suspicion here?’ she said to Harry, clearly assuming he was the man in charge.

‘Not at all,’ Harry said blithely. ‘But it would be useful to know…for the record…’

Rozella heaved a sigh of irritation. ‘Foret-la-Folie. It’s a village, up-river.’

She plucked a business card out of a slim leather wallet, which she handed to Harry. ‘If you need to speak to me further, I can be contacted on this number.’

She eased off the waxen green jacket she’d been wearing, revealing skin-tight jeans and a finely knit cream cashmere, which moulded flatteringly to her trim but curvy figure.

‘Now, if you’d please excuse me, I really have somewhere I need to go.’

She grabbed a brown suede jacket and a wad of keys, tossed her hair over her jacket collar, and headed outside. She waited at the open door.

It was clearly an instruction for them to leave.

XXX

‘Where’s your vehicle?’ she asked in sharp tones.

‘We walked,’ Harry said.

She eyed them strangely, then hoisted herself into the black Land Rover and sped off, whisking the dirt track into a fresh slurry of mud in her wake.

Harry and Draco stared after her.

‘So - what did we make of her?’ Hermione asked brightly, even though she had a distinct feeling that they hadn’t handled that particularly well.

‘Athletic,’ Harry said, a little dreamily.

‘Gorgeous eyes,’ Draco agreed.

Hermione gaped at them in open-jawed horror. ‘You're both disgusting! We’re meant to be trying to find Draco’s WIFE, and a poor old woman has been horribly murdered! It’s a bit tasteless, don’t you think, to be slavering over potential witnesses, like dogs on heat?’

‘I’m sorry, Hermione, I didn’t realise there was a special code of conduct for this investigation,’ Harry said, in dry, astringent tones.

‘Oh, so ogling’s the norm in all your other investigations, is it Harry Potter? Does Ginny know about this?’ she retorted, wishing the moment she’d said it, that she could bite her tongue off.

Harry screwed up his face in confusion. ‘What’s got into you? She was a pretty girl. We passed comment. It's not that unnatural a thing for guys to do, you know. Anyway, let’s move on. What have we learned from this?’

Draco was still staring down the empty track after the Land Rover.

‘She didn’t ask to see a picture,’ he murmured. ‘Bit odd that, don’t you think?’

‘Probably as well,’ Harry said. ‘The only one we had on file of Svetlana, is from thirty years ago. And it’s magic – would’ve been hard to explain why she was constantly sneezing.’

‘Let’s see it,’ Hermione said eagerly.

Harry fished it out of his pocket and handed it to her. A smattering of light rain soon coated the photo, so Hermione took shelter under the cabin’s awning.

Draco peered over her shoulder to take a look too.

‘Svetlana was old and grey when I saw her,’ he said under his breath. ‘This looks like a completely different person.’

‘But look! Svetlana and Rozella are clearly related!’ Hermione exclaimed. ‘The hair – it’s exactly the same colour, it’s just the photo’s faded a bit with time – and they’ve got the same shaped face too.’

Harry craned his head round to see. ‘Svetlana’s nowhere near as good-looking,’ he muttered, playfully ducking the death-stare Hermione flung at him. ‘But yeah, I can see a resemblance actually.’

‘So she lied,’ Draco said. ‘She’s obviously the redhead who visited Svetlana in Paris.’ He marched towards the hedgerow, where they’d hidden the broomsticks. ‘Come on. We’d better go after her.’

‘Stop right there, Malfoy!’ Harry bellowed. ‘You can’t just charge around aimlessly on a broomstick! And what exactly would you say when you caught up with her?’

Draco reluctantly turned back. The rain had gathered strength and was now beating relentlessly down on him.

‘You can’t just accuse her of being related to someone – like that’s a crime!’ Harry continued.

‘She’s keeping something from us,’ Draco said miserably. He flicked his now-sodden fringe out of his eyes.

‘Maybe she is,’ Harry said in calm tones. ‘Which is why I took note of her vehicle’s number plates. I’ll get my Muggle contact to track her down.’

Draco chewed his lower lip, brow creased in concentration. 'Okay, here's a crazy theory. What if we’ve got this all wrong? For all we know, Svetlana Kerpin was a Metamorphmagus, and was cunningly disguised, every time she took a ride on that boat? This Mademoiselle Gagnon might not know Svetlana at all? I mean, she didn’t seem that upset, when she heard that Svetlana Kerpin was dead.’

‘Or ‘tortured to death’, as you rather insensitively put it,’ Hermione said snippily. 'And yes, that IS a crazy theory.'

‘But he’s got a point,’ Harry said. ‘If they were close, I’d have thought she’d have shown more emotion – at least some shock.’

Hermione reflected a moment. ‘Maybe she was frightened? She seemed pretty defensive all-round actually. Though that might be because she thought Draco was hitting on her!’

‘When did I do that?’ Draco demanded furiously.

‘When you asked where she lived! It did seem to come out of nowhere.’

‘Okay…’ Harry said in conciliatory tones, ‘so we’re assuming, based on her resemblance to the deceased, and her overall edginess, that Svetlana MIGHT be some sort of relation, who was regularly travelling to this area on Rozella’s boat. Does this get us any closer to Katya?’

‘We should have just asked her outright if she knew her,’ Draco griped.

‘No, Malfoy,’ Harry said. ‘With all due respect, your wife hasn’t contacted you in – how long is it now? Two years?’

‘Nearly twenty-two months.’

‘So… a very long time. Katya clearly hasn’t wanted to be found, so if Rozella is hiding her, she’s hardly likely to own up, the moment someone comes asking, is she now?'

‘But SVETLANA knew Katya. That we DO know,’ Draco said.

‘But that doesn’t mean Rozella does too,’ Hermione said evenly. ‘Even if they’re family.’

Draco turned his attention back towards the dirt track.

Hermione studied the orange leaflet she’d picked up in the cabin. ‘Well, Foret-la-Folie isn’t listed as an official stop. But if Svetlana WAS family, that would be her likely destination.’

‘That’s why I asked Rozella where she lived,’ Draco said in curt tones, casting Hermione a peevish look over his shoulder. ‘A little town in deepest, darkest Normandy, might be the ideal spot to hide out.’

‘What's the exact address on Rozella’s business card, Harry?’

Harry scrutinised it. ‘It’s a P.O. box and there’s a phone and fax number.’ He looked up at them. ‘I’ll call when we get back to Paris, say we’d like to come down for another little chat.’

‘We should go there now, before Rozella gets home,’ Draco said gruffly.

‘But we haven’t got an address, Malfoy. We’d be wondering around, hoping to catch sight of… well, what exactly?’ Hermione said, exasperated.

‘I’d know if they were there,’ Draco said.

‘Okay,’ Harry said. ‘We’ll give it a go.’ He frowned at the broomsticks. ‘Binding the broomsticks didn’t work very well on the way here,’ he admitted sourly. ‘So this time, Malfoy, you can ride the broomstick yourself.’ He motioned to Hermione with a brief flip of his hand. ‘Go with him. Make sure he doesn’t play silly buggers.’

But suddenly, Draco didn’t seem to be in any hurry. He rubbed his chin pensively.

‘What is it now?’ Harry asked brusquely.

‘It’s those eyes…’

‘For Merlin’s sake, Malfoy,’ Hermione said tetchily. ‘Leave it alone.’

‘No… seriously. When I think about it, they reminded me of Katya – same colour, same kind of…’ Draco searched for the right word, ‘…expression.’

‘So now you’re saying Rozella looks like Katya?’ Harry said, clearly confused.

‘No, not at all,’ Draco said hastily. ‘If anything, Katya looks more like… well… like Hermione, I suppose. A less earthy version.’ He shot Hermione a nervous glance as he spoke. ‘I mean that nicely.’

In any other circumstances, Hermione would have demanded more explanation, but clearly something was on Draco’s mind.

‘No, there was something else… I can't put my finger on it. Like a familiar echo. An emotion.’ Draco blinked rapidly, lost in memory.

His face hardened. ‘I think you’re right, Hermione,’ he said, locking eyes with her. ‘I think it was fear.’

XXX

Harry used his Muggle mobile phone to quickly seek directions to Foret-La-Folie.

‘It’s not too far from here. Inland, about twenty miles or so.’

He swished his wand around the broomstick Draco and Hermione were set to board. A crimson glow fizzed around the broom handle.

‘Right, Malfoy,’ he said in a bullish voice, fixing his eyes with deep, dark intent on Draco’s face. ‘That’s a powerful tracking spell. Any off-piste tricks, and I can find you in five minutes flat.’

He quickly transfigured a handkerchief into a parchment map, complete with directions, and an image of Foret-La-Folie, and handed it to Malfoy.

‘Make sure he follows the route,’ Harry said firmly to Hermione. ‘If we get a move on, we can make this place in twenty minutes.’ He glanced at the sky above. Even with protective charms to minimise the impact of the weather, these were far from ideal conditions to be flying. ‘Better make it fifteen,’ he added.

Hermione climbed on board the broomstick behind Draco. She nestled close to him, her face buried in the sweet-smelling black leather of his Burberry trench coat.

‘You okay?’ he said.

‘I’m fine. I’m not holding on too tight, am I?’ she asked, worried that her shameful glow of anticipation might transmit itself to him.

‘Right,’ Harry shouted from the broom alongside them. ‘Stay close!’ He shot upwards with impressive velocity; a dark figure spearing the rainclouds.

Hermione fastened her arms tighter around Draco’s chest. She could feel the steady thump-thump of his heart beneath her fingers, and the warmth of his body suffusing through his clothes into her skin. A squibble of raw excitement pulsated through her, as Draco kick-started the broom, and they soared into the sky.

She watched 'La Lena' and the riverside cabin, rapidly miniaturising, as they climbed higher. A vast panoply of patchwork fields and dense green forests, peppercorned with clusters of houses and steely grey roads, stretched out beneath them, hemmed in by the bracken-brown expanse of the river.

My god, but it was magnificent, she thought, barely able to breathe.

A fillip of unadulterated joy swept through her.

Most incredibly, she wasn’t frightened… even when they headed into a rolling bank of thick, grey cloud.

‘Hold on!’ Draco said, tipping them sideways as he changed direction. She strengthened her grip on him, interlocking her hands around his chest. She was acutely aware of how her body was pressed hard against him, wondering if he could feel the shape of her breasts through his thick leather coat.

She could barely see Harry’s dark shape motoring ahead, as he pierced bullet-like, through cloud after cloud. Plumes of wispy grey moisture flowed behind him like contrails.

‘Are you ready?’ Draco yelled.

‘Ready for what?’ But no sooner had she spoken, than he accelerated dramatically, veering rightwards, then leftwards, weaving between the clouds. The broomstick dipped from dense, grey froth into blinding Technicolor, as the world beneath them suddenly splashed into view, before they raced back into the clouds.

Hermione screamed in elation, her hair streaming behind her. She hugged Draco tighter, fearing that she might slide away. His hand, large and surprisingly warm, encased hers, which meant he was now flying single-handed. Normally, she would have been terrified, but not today… she didn’t want to lose the feeling of his skin against hers.

‘This is amazing,’ she breathed, her mouth warm against Draco’s ear. Her chest felt swollen with an unfathomable, bubbling glee.

She tightly closed her eyes, aware of a burning bright white light spooling through her, filling her mind. It felt glorious.

It had to be Draco. It had to be… She’d never felt like this before when she’d been flying. Usually, she was bottled up with chilly nerves. But this was pure, scintillating sensation.

He surged upwards, through the cloud, breaking into a world of pristine crystalline blue. Hot rays of sunshine dappled her eyelids. The wind gently tickled her cheeks. She moaned in pleasure, face buried in Draco’s neck, relishing the explosion of white, lapping the edges of her mind. She felt lost in a fantasy of feeling…

Suddenly, his hand grasped hers tightly, and he plunged the broomstick into a hair-raising, steep descent. She snapped her eyes open, catching a brief glimpse of azure blue skies, before they dived full-pelt into thick, grey cloud.

Draco leant forwards, and she automatically followed, ghosting his body with her own. Cool rain sprayed her cheeks then faded away.

The broomstick ducked and rolled, circling the upper summits of tall trees that suddenly crashed into view, before it pitched forwards at an awkward angle, hurling them into a precipitous, unstoppable fall.

Hermione yelped, clutching frantically at Draco’s arms and the lapels on his coat. A motley blend of browns and greens and greys was whirling into view; a helter-skelter kaleidoscope of colour dashing to meet them, getting ever larger and all-encompassing. Unavoidable.

She closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable collision. Draco swung round to face her, encircling her in his arms, and together, they tumbled heavily onto the ground, mere moments before the broomstick smashed heavily into a tree.

Hermione and Draco landed in a pile of damp leaves, softening their fall.

Legs entangled, bodies pressed together, they lay quietly - aware only of the sounds and smells of the forest and their own heaving breaths.

‘Hermione,’ came Draco’s voice, his breath hot on her cheek. He had a slightly stunned expression. His leather coat had been torn open, and there was a streak of mud on his forehead. ‘I’m so sorry. I was showing off.’

‘I loved it,’ she said, gently brushing away the dirt from his face.

A burst of wind rattled through the trees above them, shimmying raindrops in all directions, dripping onto their hair and faces. A single stream of cool rainwater trickled from her hairline, slowly down her nose, onto her lips.

Draco softly slid his mouth against hers, his tongue sweeping the raindrop away, gently nudging her lips open.

Now’s the time to stop, she told herself. It’s now or never.

But she couldn’t. She wanted this too much.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, sighing into his mouth, sinking into his warmth, tugging gently at his lower lip with her teeth.

She could feel his body tensing, the breath hitching in his chest.

‘You’re fucking killing me,’ he growled, flipping her forcefully onto her back, into the sea of leaves, which squelched mushily under their weight.

His lips muscled hers into a heated, urgent kiss. God, she needed this so badly, she thought, drowning in the exquisite sensation of his tongue exploring her mouth, and the crushing pressure of his body.

She was rudely jolted back into reality, by the sharp crackle of breaking twigs in the undergrowth.

Harry! she thought, a tremor of alarm slicing through her. She sat bolt upright, shoving Draco off her in panic, and twisted round to peer at the bushes, expecting Harry to come bounding through them.

‘We’ve got five minutes before the tracker spell kicks in, Hermione,’ Draco said huskily. He roughly grabbed her hips, dragging her onto his lap, so that she was straddling him, acutely aware of his obvious arousal, stretched hard beneath his jeans.

‘Just give me five minutes,’ he breathed, his wet mouth nuzzling her neck.

She opened her mouth to protest, but the only sound she made was an unintended moan.

Five minutes, she thought, five minutes in an entire lifetime… was that really so terrible? But any further thought, beyond a raw visceral need to touch him, to writhe against him, was driven out by the feel of his hands on her body, and his tongue, delicately tracing patterns on her ear.

She slipped her hands inside his coat, revelling in his heat, burning through his shirt. She sucked his neck, savouring his sweet yet salty taste, and the feel of his chest pushing against hers, as his breathing grew ever more ragged. He was trembling with excitement, his nipples taut and sensitive. He inhaled sharply, flinching a little, as she trailed her fingertips across his chest and down his back.

‘Fucking hell, Hermione,’ he groaned through gritted teeth, his hands gripping her buttocks, to force her harder against him. Slowly and deliberately, she ground downwards, in an effort to ease the tightening coil of aching tension building inexorably inside her, fighting an urge to whimper.

He stared at her, his eyes hard and glistening.

‘Come here,’ he rasped, intertwining his fingers with her hair, to force her face closer. His mouth crashed hard against hers, a fierce, bruising kiss that robbed her of the power to breath or think straight.

The white-hot heat that she’d come to associate with Draco, swirled dizzily through her mind, slowly staining pink at the peripheries… The pink darkening to a rich rosy blush, almost as though a vivid scarlet, was bleeding into the white.

Scarlet… Red… intruding on her mind… She desperately tried to blank it out.

But then, there was another sharp crunch of twigs from the bushes beside them; an unmistakeable presence…

‘Shit,’ she gasped, scrabbling clumsily to her feet. But standing was difficult. Her legs were shaking, and she was panting, barely able to draw breath. She collapsed heavily against a gnarled, green tree trunk.

Draco stared at her, chest heaving, a look of bewilderment on his face.

‘Someone’s here,’ she managed to say, between breaths. She unleashed her wand, and pointed it towards the bushes, although the redness blurring her vision was fading fast.

There was a rustling in the leaves, followed by silence…

Maybe she’d imagined it?

Draco hauled himself up, wincing a little, as if in pain. His movements were tense and jerky. He grappled for the standard issue Ministry wand, Harry had provided.

‘I – I think they’re gone,’ Hermione said, her voice shaking.

‘You sure?’ He looked a little queasy. He stumbled over to the bushes, flicking at the leaves with his wand, and then cast a ‘Homenum Revelio.’

‘No-one,’ he muttered.

‘Harry will be along any minute.’

Draco pulled a face. ‘Can’t we just run away and hide?’ he said grumpily. ‘Or better still. Find a bed.’

‘Don’t be silly,’ she chuckled, even though her heart was still hammering at full-pelt inside of her.

A brooding sense of guilt was gradually taking over.

‘How’s that silly?’ Draco asked in querulous tones. ‘We’d happily ravage each other senseless; you know we would.’

‘No, we wouldn’t,’ Hermione spluttered, indignant. ‘We’re married, remember?’

Draco gave her an odd look.

‘You’re in total fucking denial about what’s going on here, aren’t you?’

‘There’s nothing going on.’

‘Not today… obviously. Not with ‘Mein fucking Fuhrer’ about to descend on us,’ he said caustically.

'That's not nice,' she remonstrated, although she was struggling not to smile. ‘He's saved your life, Draco. Twice. You should be grateful.’

‘Yeah, but that was a long time ago, and I’m THIS close to smashing his teeth out!’ Draco indicated a wafer-thin gap between his thumb and forefinger.

‘And he’s helping you find your wife,’ Hermione said, crossing her arms and primly puckering her lips.

‘And I’m helping him too, remember? Except in MY case, if I get caught, I’m a dead man.’

‘What do you mean?’ she asked in tremulous tones.

‘You don’t know the people we’re dealing with here… I do, unfortunately.’ He peered at her through his fringe, which was clinging damply to his forehead, a sad, crooked smile on his face. 'Ruthless fuckers, the whole damn lot of them,' he muttered darkly.

Draco quickly scanned their immediate surroundings, then, to her surprise, he fell to his knees in front of her.

‘I guess now’s as good as ever,’ he said in ominous tones, almost to himself.

There was an earnest look on his face that chilled her.

‘I need to tell you something; but you’re not going to like it.’

He licked his lower lip, marshalling his thoughts, and went for it.

‘I’ve been lying to you,’ he said candidly.

Her heart stilled.

‘How so?’

‘When – when I recruited you and Ron, our mission wasn’t to investigate Dark Flux… Gilgad had been doing that for a very long time already. We already knew that Jeroboam's followers had been acting heavy-handed around Dark Flux sites; although I had no idea, just how fucking scary those Rojos bastards actually were. My mission was solely to expose you to what Jeroboam and his followers were doing –’

‘I already know this, Draco,’ Hermione interrupted crankily. ‘Your delightful father-in-law and the lovely Sylvestra paid me a visit.’

Draco’s eyes perceptibly darkened as she spoke.

‘Ephraim made it perfectly clear that he expected me to do his dirty work, and formally accuse Jeroboam of all sorts of nasty stuff - and in return, I could get my old job back,’ she said peevishly. ‘Naturally, I refused.’

‘You REFUSED?’

‘Of course!’ she scoffed. ‘For the life of me, I couldn’t see - I still DON’T see - why Ephraim didn’t just accuse Jeroboam himself.’

‘Because Ephraim doesn’t want to look like a plotter. He thinks that would look bad for him politically.’

‘Why should that matter?’

‘He intends to become the next Minister for Magic.’

‘But that’s not possible!’ Hermione said, outraged. ‘He’s American.’

‘Doesn’t matter anymore,’ Draco said in droll tones. ‘One of Witchell’s less well-publicised changes to the statute book… Once a foreigner has lived and worked in Britain for three years - or if they marry a native – they can run for office.’

If Ephraim was the dark, murderous wizard they now feared him to be, this was truly terrifying.

Still, Draco’s ‘lie’ hadn’t been as awful as she’d feared.

‘That’s not all,’ Draco said flatly. He took a deep breath, staring so hard at her face she felt she was getting a headache.

‘Senor Asusto. The Dark Flux memory at Senor Canaro’s. It was one big set-up; to get you on board, gunning for Jeroboam.’

The colour drained from Hermione’s face. ‘I guessed as much,’ she said in low tones. ‘But I didn’t think YOU were in on it… At least that was what I hoped.’

‘It was all very last minute. When you arrived at the airport, instead of Ron, we had to come up with something, fast. Ron had already fallen for it all – hook, line and sinker. But you - you were a trickier proposition,’ he gabbled nervously in explanation. ‘So I called Torquil from the airport -’

‘So was it you, who thought of the dead baby?’ she asked, eyes narrowed.

‘No. That was Sylvestra, apparently.’

‘SYLVESTRA?’ Hermione shrilled. ‘For the love of Merlin, Draco, how can you let a woman like THAT look after Scorpius? You should be ashamed of yourself!’

Draco’s eyes flicked away from her, towards the thick bushy undergrowth.

‘I regretted the whole thing, the moment we entered that memory,’ he said in a small, quiet voice. ‘I don’t think I was meant to go in with you actually. But I wasn't sure what you'd find in there, and I couldn’t bear the idea of you experiencing it alone…’

Hermione hardly heard him. Her mind was reeling. She had to get away.

She scrambled to her feet, and charged through the bushes, which clawed and scratched at her, into a wooded copse. The trees here were tall and straight, their branches interwoven, blocking out much of the natural light.

She could hear Draco stampeding noisily through the undergrowth.

Hermione continued to walk away from him, deeper into the thick, treacly darkness. The trees creaked and groaned in the wind, but beyond that, the forest was impenetrably silent.

Draco chased after her, seizing her arm, forcing her to face him.

‘Leave me alone!’ she shrieked, tearing her arm from his grasp. ‘I don’t want you near me.’

‘Please. Let me explain.' His eyes were wide and staring, his nostrils flaring.

‘You made a fool of me!’ She blinked back tears of fury.

‘I was doing my job,’ he argued. 'It was a means to an end... an end I actually believed in. I genuinely thought taking Jeroboam down legally, before he killed loads of innocent people, was a pretty good idea.'

'Except that involved manipulating ME,' Hermione pouted.

'Yes. Yes it did,' he said plainly.

‘So I take it you knew all along, that Senor Asusto worked for Gilgad?’ she said in accusing tones.

A regretful look shadowed his face.

‘And you didn’t think it suspicious, that your man on the ground, just happened to be hanging around Santa Maria, at the same time as a Dark Flux outbreak?’

‘Of course I fucking did!’ he fumed, his eyes glowing silver. 'And it was freaking me out... I almost wanted YOU to put the pieces together, just to confirm my worst fears. That's why I all but told you, that Asusto's memory was modified.'

'I could see that for myself, without your little performance,' Hermione spat angrily. ‘And I suppose the scanner, was just another 'prop' in this farce of yours?'

‘I had no idea it was fake,’ he said in harsh, grating tones. ‘And I meant it when I said I'd never heard of a Gilgad plant in Argentina… or any of the other places you showed me on that list either!'

He leant back against one of the tall trees. ‘Truth is, I'm beginning to think I’ve been kept in the dark about a lot of things… Makes me feel like a right twat.'

A brisk, rushing sound high above, heralded a sudden urgent downpour of rain. A steady stream of rainwater was wheedling its way through the canopy of branches overhead, threatening to soak Hermione, if she didn’t take cover.

Draco transfigured a random twig into an umbrella, and pulled her under the tree. He hooked his arm around her waist, determined to draw her close.

‘Look, Hermione. I've been a lying, fucking bastard, I know that. But I didn't know then, how I would feel now… Everything's changed.'

The rain was getting heavier, pummelling the umbrella furiously, almost drowning out his words.

'Once you had doubts, you should have told me,' Hermione said bitterly. 'We could have done things differently. Worked it out together.'

‘I know. But I was scared what you'd think.' He laughed sardonically. 'Turns out you thought I was a fucking terrorist anyway... And now I've come clean, you'll probably hate me even more.'

Hermione dragged her eyes away from him, surveying their dark, menacing surroundings. She shuddered. In contrast - and in spite of everything - Draco seemed safe and soothing.

‘I don’t hate you, Draco,’ she said, her voice swallowed up by an odd, thickening sensation in her throat. 'I hate that you lied to me; but, I guess I can see why you did.'

Draco visibly relaxed.

‘I’m sorry for laying all this on you. I’m not very good at this type of thing.’

‘Honesty?’

‘Yes… and feelings. Thinking I’m dying all the time, has obviously fucked with my head.'

Hermione gave him an awkward half-smile. ‘Then maybe that’s a good thing.’

‘It’s since we went to Argentina… I feel different. Like - like something’s been switched on inside of me. Like I’ve been super-sensitised.’ He sighed deeply. ‘It’s the strangest thing… All this time I’ve been dying, I’ve never felt so alive.’

He tenderly stroked her face, pushing a stray ringlet of hair behind her ear.

She pulled away from him, suddenly overwhelmed by the intensity of feeling welling up inside of her, and a sense of rising dread. She felt vulnerable to the darkness closing in on them.

And there was a strange green colour, seeping insistently closer...

‘Harry should be here by now! We have to look for him.’

‘Must we?’

‘The only reason we’re stuck here, in this god forsaken forest, is to help you find your wife, remember?’ Hermione said in a tone of sharp rebuke. ‘Sometimes I wonder if that’s what you really want,’ she added… particularly when you kiss me, she thought inwardly. He kissed her like she was the only woman in the world.

‘I want to see my child,’ he said ardently. ‘But it’s true... I don’t know what I want anymore. I’m all mixed up.’

His eyes were hot and searching, making her cheeks glow with self-consciousness.

‘Why – why’s that?’

‘You know why.’

Her heart beat a little faster.

‘You can’t say stuff like that, Draco,’ she said, breathlessly.

‘Yes I can,’ he groused. ‘I’ve stopped caring about the niceties.’

‘Being married isn’t just a nicety. For either of us.’

The strange green was growing progressively brighter… a blinding shard of colour distorting her vision. She closed her eyes, and rubbed her temples, trying to soothe it away.

‘Hermione?’ Draco cupped her cheek with his hand. ‘Are you alright?’

‘It’s Harry!’ she cried, in abrupt realisation. ‘He’s here!’

‘How do you know?’ Draco asked quizzically, but even as he spoke, Harry was blundering stormily through the bushes towards them, dragging his broomstick behind him. His hair and clothes were saturated, and he was holding Draco’s broken broomstick.

He threw the splintered wood at Draco’s feet.

‘Don’t ever pull that fucking stunt again, Malfoy,’ he snarled, puce with rage. ‘You’re still a suspect in a murder case. And you’re under MY protection.’

‘We got lost.’

Harry stepped closer, jabbing his finger at Draco’s chest. ‘Bullshit. You veered off-course deliberately.'

‘He's telling the truth, Harry. We got lost and had an accident,’ Hermione said, in anguished tones.

‘That was no accident,' Harry said, continuing to glower at Draco, who stared disdainfully in return. 'I don’t know what your game is, Malfoy. But I don’t like it.'

‘Please… Harry…’

Harry cast Hermione a sidelong glance. Was that suspicion or remorse that glinted in his eye? She couldn’t be sure.

‘We need to find Foret-la-Folie,’ Hermione continued, adopting a calm, business-like manner.

‘I’ve already been there. It’s a five minute walk.’

Draco picked up the broken pieces of his broomstick.

Harry gave him a pitying look. ‘Give it up as a bad job, Malfoy. It’s beyond repair,’ he said, striding back towards the bushes.

Draco threw the broken broomstick to the floor, with more venom than necessary, Hermione thought. A muscle in his cheek twitched furiously.

XXX

The main and only thoroughfare of any distinction in Foret-la-Folie, comprised a stooped, medieval church, and a straggling collection of wood-timbered houses, in varying states of decay. Despite the rain, there was a dusty, desiccated air to the place. A couple of buildings were boarded-up for the winter.

‘Whilst you two were having your cosy heart-to-heart in the forest,’ Harry sniffed, ‘I had a good old root around this place.’

What the hell did he mean by that? Hermione thought, prickling with alarm.

Harry continued, unfazed. ‘I knocked on a few doors, asked a few questions, and checked out where La Lena’s office usually is.’ He gestured towards a squat house next-door to the church.

The place was clearly deserted.

‘The company went out of business last year,’ he grimaced.

‘So why did 'La Lena' still operate boat trips from Paris?’ Draco asked warily.

‘Search me,’ Harry grunted. ‘There’s no sign of Rozella’s Land Rover here either, so I think we’re best reverting to Plan A. I’ll get my Muggle mate to check out her number plate and any company records, and we’ll take it from there.’

Draco stared disconsolately at the eerily quiet village. ‘This place is dead. Completely dead.’

‘The next question, is how we get back to Paris, with only one broomstick,’ Harry said snidely.

‘We can always Side-Along-Apparate back to Hotel Drearsville,’ Draco suggested.

‘Ginny was taking the kids to The Burrow for lunch,’ Hermione said, the reality of her home life taking hold of her. ‘It’s best I head back to Ottery St Catchpole.’

‘In that case, you’re better off getting yourself to Rouen. It’s much closer than Paris, and there’s a portkey terminal, right by the train station,’ Harry said.

‘Yes, I’ve been there; a quidditch match with Ron,’ she said in long-suffering tones.

Harry’s eyes lit up. ‘Of course! Rouen won the European Champions League two years ago. I’m pretty sure they beat the Chudley Cannons on the way to that victory, actually.’

‘Yes, they did.’ How could she ever forget? Ron had drunk a bottle of firewhiskey that night, accused her of cursing the match to spite him, and wound up crying in the garden.

‘Didn’t they play your team in the final?’ Harry asked Draco in jovial tones.

‘The semis actually,’ Draco said. ‘Our keeper, Judd McCorkindale – right fucking wanker - had an atrocious game. We had to sack him after that match.’

‘I remember that now!’ Harry said. ‘Where did he end up?’

Draco thought a moment. ‘The Dundalk Dragons, wasn’t it? Some menial side.’

‘That’s right! Pretty much what he deserved.’

‘Hell, yeah.’

Hermione smiled. Thank god for quidditch, she thought.

***

CHAPTER TRACKS: “Anyone's Ghost” by Silver Swans

&

“A Forest” by The Cure

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

Many thanks to my beta, Lou.
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