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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
- 22
- 23
Hermione investigates Ephraim Golowitz and makes a startling discovery. Ephraim makes Hermione an offer... and Draco meets the family

AN: I have decided to slightly alter the corporate names of both Ephraim and Draco's companies - hope this isn't too confusing!

23. Ephraim

‘This is why sending Rose and Hugo to Muggle school is a bad idea,’ Molly Weasley intoned. She eyed Hermione sorrowfully, lips pursed tight.

‘Mum’s right,’ Ginny said.

Hermione shot her a glare of fierce resentment. She’d hoped for more support.

‘It’s natural Rose should want a birthday party at home,’ Ginny continued, ‘but it’s clearly impossible. This is so obviously NOT a Muggle house.’ She scanned the kitchen of Wisteria Cottage as she spoke, with a withering look. Her eyes rested on the soft bluebell flames flickering in the fireplace, the sturdy cauldron hanging on a large cast-iron hook from the ceiling, the shelves laden with jars of obscure potion ingredients, and the enchanted scouring pad, scrubbing diligently at a stew-encrusted casserole pot. There were none of the electronic gadgets associated with Muggle households, not even a light bulb.

‘All she wants is a Marizel Fairyland tea party, with just a few girlfriends, nothing more,’ Hermione said sadly. ‘Marizel’s all the rage at the moment. Some kids TV show.’ But she knew it was a hopeless case. She’d already bought Rose a Marizel Fairy dressing up costume, from a Muggle supermarket, as a pre-emptive consolation prize.

‘What about having a joint birthday party with Arthur, at The Burrow?’ Molly suggested. ‘After all, their birthdays are only a week apart.’

‘Makes sense,’ Ginny agreed.

‘All the family together!’ Molly chortled. She fixed a beady eye on Hermione, clearly perturbed by her daughter-in-law’s despondence. ‘Ron’s promised to be home by then,’ she added, in soothing tones. ‘Tana sent me an owl yesterday, saying they’d only be in Santa Fe for a few more days, and then they’ve got a big meeting in Savannah, with the head of the North American Quidditch League. Ron will be heading home, straight afterwards.’

Hermione smiled, feigning relief, although Ron’s absence was the last of her worries. She groaned inwardly, her mind zipping through recent events, and all the secrets and confused emotions she felt burdened by. It felt like a ten-ton bomb in her brain, waiting to blow at any moment.

‘Hey, Mummy!’ Hugo shouted, bursting into the kitchen with all the power of a small tornado. ‘James cast a spell! Colloshoo!’

As if on cue, the remaining four children – Rose, James, Albus and Lily - dashed into the kitchen, shrilly announcing James’s awesome new skill.

‘Really?’ Hermione cried. ‘But he’s underage!’

‘It was brilliant!’ Albus enthused, his eyes round with wonder. ‘He stuck Rose to the floor with this nasty, sticky gloop, for AGES!’

‘Can I try? Can I try?’ Hugo yelped, attempting to prise his mother’s wand from her grasp.

‘Absolutely not,’ Hermione said in firm tones, then to Ginny. ‘Strictly speaking, isn’t this a hex?’

Ginny nodded, with an amused twinkle in her eye, clearly too enthralled by her son’s precocious ability to use wandless magic, to care.

‘But where did he learn it from?’

‘Don’t be such a fusspot, Hermione,’ Molly said in clacking tones, a rapt smile on her face, as she gazed adoringly at her grandson. ‘There’s no real harm in it. And you forget, James is eleven this summer.’

‘I’m not sure the Ministry will see it that way,’ Hermione muttered.

‘Hey, Granny!’ James bellowed, hands outstretched.

Molly didn’t have time to duck, finding herself glued to the floor for a good ten minutes.

‘Thank Merlin!’ Molly wheezed, once she was able to move again. ‘I didn’t want to miss Geraint Licklestipp on the wireless this evening. Now there’s a man who knows his horticulture!’ she said to Hermione. ‘Today’s programme is about cultivating Horkclumps, so that they don’t run rampant in the garden – would mean we could finally get rid of the gnomes! They’re such a menace...’

‘And we need to get going too,’ Ginny said, signalling to her brood. ‘I promised Uncle George a visit.’

‘Have you heard George’s good news?’ Molly asked Hermione. ‘He’s opening a shop, in America… at Greenleaf Plaza in Brookhaven!’

‘Puts Diagon Alley to shame, apparently,’ Ginny said proudly.

‘And there’s talk of another shop, in that fancy new ‘Mickey Mouse’ mall in Colorado, that everyone’s talking about!’ Molly said, positively effervescent.

‘Mickey Mouse?’ Hermione asked, incredulous. ‘Are you serious?’

Ginny rolled her eyes. ‘Really, Hermione, haven’t you seen Fantasia?’

‘It’s all thanks to his new investor,’ Molly said, in ebullient tones. ‘That American chap – Ephraim Golowitz – such a charmer!’

Hermione’s insides chilled. ‘Ephraim Golowitz? Are you sure?’

‘But of course I’m sure!’ Molly said tetchily. ‘He came to The Burrow, just last week, for dinner.’ She grinned, basking in the memory. ‘What a lovely man! Heaped praise on my Pumpkin Pottage! Such a shame he’s caught up with those ghastly Malfoy people. Still, business is business I suppose… And he was hugely impressed by George’s latest range of confectionery. He thought the candy whistles that change colour according to your mood, were an absolute marvel, and could even be sold to Muggles!’

Hermione didn’t have a chance to delve deeper, as Molly and Ginny energetically corralled the young Potters out of the house, disappointing Rose and Hugo, who had school in the morning.

‘How’s Harry?’ Hermione managed to ask Ginny, as a parting shot.

‘Hardly seen him,’ Ginny replied, with a weary shrug. She planted a farewell kiss on Hermione’s cheek.

Hermione had hardly heard from him either, even though she’d returned from France three days ago.

His sole communication had been by owl, cursorily informing her, that progress tracing Rozella Gagnon had pretty much ground to a halt. Her Land Rover was registered in the name of her father, Bernard Gagnon, but he – like Rozella – had been officially ‘off the grid’ for some years.

She tried calling Harry’s mobile. There was a ringing tone, followed swiftly by a rude, monotonous burr, sounding ominously like he’d cut her off.

She had similar bad luck calling Henrik, hoping for an update on his investigation into Gilgad’s suspiciously sited installations. A polite, snooty recorded voice constantly described him as ‘Unavailable’.

The ten-ton bomb in her brain was ticking over with frustration.

XXX

The next day, Hermione received an owl from Padma Patil. There was no mistaking her tone of quiet desperation. Work was difficult, and there’d been no word from Tony… something Hermione found rather disquieting.

Padma wanted to meet up. She suggested Golden Square in Central London. It was a place familiar to the both of them. Occasionally, when they’d wanted to discuss work issues, far from the prying eyes and ears of the Ministry, they’d bought a sandwich and a drink at a nearby Muggle café, and had their lunch there.

They arranged to meet that Friday.

Hermione knew of an Internet café close by, where she could hopefully charge her mobile phone, and get down to some research, Muggle-style, of Ephraim Golowitz and Gilgad Inc.

She felt she had to be doing something… Ephraim’s latest venture with George Weasley and his ingratiating himself with the family, had the distinct feel of an encircling manoeuvre. Any clues, any pointers, about his true personality and motives, might prove useful.

XXX

Armed with a large cappuccino, her fingers tingling with anticipation as they skimmed the computer’s keyboard, she ‘googled’ Ephraim Golowitz.

First up, was Gilgad’s corporate website. An avuncular picture of Ephraim, blue eyes sparkling with steely confidence, graced the homepage. Ephraim was described as President, having resigned as CEO a year ago – citing his move to the UK and his greater involvement with Herb Healing Ltd.

Gilgad’s head office was based in Portland, Oregon, and they had a major manufacturing plant in Juneau, Alaska. Both towns, Hermione noted, were renowned for sizeable wizarding populations. The company’s research division was in Athens, Ohio. Ephraim, she noticed, had graduated from the University of Ohio, and had clearly maintained strong links with his Alma Mater.

She browsed the financial pages of leading Muggle newspapers, mostly offering comment on how Gilgad was outstripping its competitors in most sectors. Ephraim was praised in universally glowing terms as a ‘colossus of the business world,’ ‘a corporate lionheart,’ ‘a man for our times.’

Little seemed to be known of his background, bar an incessant ‘humble beginnings’ mantra, which positively screamed corporate press release, Hermione thought wryly. Ephraim was commonly described as descended from immigrant stock. His ancestor, Bronislaw Golowitz, hailing originally from Volyhnia, and of Polish-Russian extraction, arrived in America in 1909.

Most reports stated that Ephraim was born and raised in Chenooth, Minnesota. Hermione suspected Ephraim was actually from Asgard – a well-known Minnesotan wizarding town – but she doubted he’d been schooled there. He’d likely attended the Salem Institute for Magic in Massachusetts, which was considered the most prestigious wizarding school in the United States – on a par with Hogwarts – though there were other well-known schools for magic to hand, principally in Tennessee and Washington State, and on the wilder shores of Lake Superior, across the border in Canada.

She was desperate to find more information on his personal life, but there was precious little available.

Eventually, she chanced on a site, which demonstrated more interest in ‘Lifestyle’ than money matters. She greedily perused an archived article from the early 1990s, focusing on Ephraim’s wife, Iona Hart; described in cloying terms, as the ‘power behind the throne.’ She was the well-connected daughter of a US Senator, and reportedly keen for her husband, to follow in her father’s footsteps into politics.

The article chiefly comprised lovingly lit photos of their impressively large, Palladian-styled house in Mendocino, situated on the Californian coast, and boasting ‘magnificent ocean views’.

There was an accompanying colour photo of Ephraim and his family, dating from some time earlier, likely taken around the same time as the photo Hermione had already seen of The Geneva Group, some thirty years ago. Ephraim looked fit, young and trim, and was arm in arm with Iona. She was a blonde, willowy woman, holding the hand of a small, golden-haired girl, no more than two or three years old. Hermione quickly realised this must be Sylvestra. Looking more closely at Iona’s strong-boned, striking features and statuesque poise, there was no mistaking the resemblance.

Her mind wandered to Katya. There was a hint of Ephraim about her she supposed - something in the high cheekbones – but she was nothing like her mother. She squinted hard at the computer screen. She reckoned Sylvestra was the older child by about three years or so. So why wasn’t Iona pregnant? Or if Katya was already born, why wasn’t she included in the family photo?

She filed this thought away for later reflection, realising that she might have stumbled upon something either potentially significant, or fanciful – she couldn’t decide which. What if Katya had discovered she had a different mother to Sylvestra? Might that be a reason for her to quit Malfoy Manor? Perhaps Svetlana Kerpin was a long-lost relative?

So where was Iona Hart now? Hermione wondered. She soon found a number of news articles, reporting her death, after a long, unnamed illness, in 2009. That had to be around the same time that Ephraim invested in Draco’s company, Hermione figured… when Draco was dating Sylvestra.

She glanced at her watch. She was running out of time. She was due to meet Padma in less than ten minutes.

However, one particular business article - ‘Gilgad Boss Quits To Focus on Family’ - pulled her attention back to the computer screen in front of her.

There was no mention of Ephraim’s move to the UK or Herb Healing. Instead, Ephraim attributed his decision to step down as primarily to ‘focus on the welfare of his youngest daughter.’

Hermione checked the date of the article. It was dated a year ago – nine months after Katya’s widely reported disappearance in April 2012.

How could Ephraim focus on Katya’s welfare, if she was still missing? Hermione thought furiously.

She hastily scrolled through document after document written about Ephraim at this time, and yes, the same story was repeated across the Muggle media. Ephraim had given an interview, asserting that after a tragic breakdown, due to marital difficulties, his long-lost daughter had returned home safely, where she was recuperating with the support of her loving family.

Such blatant lies! How had he got away with it? So much for journalistic curiosity…

Was there any mention of Katya’s husband, she wondered? But Draco’s sole name-check, was a listing as Global Business Manager, at Herb Healing.

The harsh buzzing of her mobile phone disturbed her ruminations.

It was Henrik.

‘Hermione?’ he said in his rich, Danish twang.

‘Hi Henrik. It’s good to hear from you,’ she said, sounding a little distracted. Her head was still bursting with unanswered questions prompted by her latest discovery.

‘I can’t talk long. I’m in New Zealand! This call will cost me a fucking leg and arm.’

Hermione smiled indulgently.

‘I’ve found one of the Gilgad facilities I told you about.’

‘You have?’ Hermione asked, her heart beating rapidly.

‘Yup. Slap bang next to the place where there was a sudden mass death incident last year. The whole thing’s very peculiar, actually.’ His voice faded momentarily, and then resumed, stronger. ‘If you can, I think you should come and see it. And there’s some folks out here you should talk to as well.’

Hermione racked her brain. How could she possibly do that? She couldn’t just jaunt off to New Zealand... Ron probably wasn’t home for another week.

But here, potentially, was the proof that Gilgad was engineering Dark Flux attacks.

Could she possibly make the trip there and back in a single day? She’d be exhausted, of course. Inter-continental portkey travel might be super-fast, but it was hellishly bad for you. And a return ticket would cost a small fortune. She certainly wouldn’t have Gilgad’s expense account funding this particular expedition.

‘Are you still there?’ came Henrik’s voice.

‘Yes, I was just thinking… Maybe I could try to come out tomorrow?’

Henrik snorted with laughter. ‘Are you speaking from England?’

‘Yes.’

‘Well, your flight will take at least twenty-four hours. And you’ll probably have a stopover on top of that. So I was thinking of visiting a friend in Auckland over the next few days, which would give you plenty of time to fly down here at your leisure. The facility’s close to a town called Wanaka in the South Island. You’d be best flying into Christchurch, or even better, Queenstown.’

‘Okay, Henrik. I need to work out the logistics and get back to you.’

XXX

She was late to meet Padma, but when she arrived at their usual bench, there was no sign of her. She’d probably got held up at work, which was hardly surprising. There was always a huge backlog of stuff to get through, Hermione thought, as she delved into a brown paper bag to retrieve the sandwich she’d bought for lunch. There was no point politely waiting... She was starving.

‘It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it? You’d hardly think this was still January, would you?’ came a deep, burnished baritone, in an American accent.

Her mind had been so full of Ephraim Golowitz for the last hour; she barely felt a jolt of surprise when he sat next to her.

Instead, she had to forcibly bite her tongue, so that she didn’t accuse him outright, there and then, of masterminding terrorist attacks… and of doing something to his daughter, whether it was hiding her or killing her… because there had to be a damn good reason for him to feel confident enough, to spout that crap to the press.

But one look at the two beefy guys in black overcoats, looking conspicuously like Ephraim’s security detail, seated on a bench close by, put paid to any outburst.

He’d have her killed in an instant if he thought she was onto him.

‘Have you been following me?’ she grimaced.

His face puckered, as though wounded by her insinuation. ‘It’s a pleasant, sunny afternoon. I fancied a stroll. And my London office is a minute’s walk away.’

‘Arcana?’ Hermione asked, perplexed.

‘No. Herb Healing. Our dear mutual friend Draco’s prolonged absence, is presenting me with some difficulties, so I’m having to take a much more hands-on approach.’

Hermione had worked hard to suppress her thoughts and feelings about Draco since returning from France. But now, under Ephraim’s keen, blue-eyed scrutiny, she could feel an icy slither of panic and raw emotion, churning through her gut, at the mere mention of his name.

‘I’ve no doubt Draco will be home to help you out soon enough,’ she said in trite tones.

‘That would be useful…though highly unlikely, seeing as he’s stuck in Paris, with your friend, Harry Potter.’

Hermione swiftly mastered her features into a cool mask of composure. ‘Really, Mr Golowitz, I’ve no idea what you’re talking about.’

She made a great show of wrapping up the remains of her half-eaten sandwich and smoothing any stray crumbs from her skirt. She’d completely lost her appetite and had a desperate urge to run, as fast as her feet could carry her.

‘Now, if you would excuse me, I’m actually on my way to meet a friend…’

‘Oh yes. Poor Padma Patil.’ Ephraim frowned. ‘She can’t make your little meeting. She’s been summoned to the Wizengamot, for an emergency hearing into her professional conduct. I’m afraid some pretty nasty allegations have surfaced…’ He leant close, blue eyes sparkling dangerously, and whispered in deep, lugubrious tones in her ear. ‘Fraud, corruption, that sort of thing.’ She cast a sharp, sidelong glance at the man, smirking smarmily beside her. How could she have ever considered him attractive? There was something cold and reptilian about him, which repulsed her.

‘Frankly, Hermione,’ Ephraim continued in a tone of faux confidentiality, ‘you’re better off out of that place. You should come and work for me.’

‘So why did you think I would jump at the chance to get my old job back, when you suggested I spearhead a prosecution against Saul Jeroboam? What’s made you change your tune?’

Ephraim’s smirk froze. He clearly didn’t like being challenged.

A burst of frosted, glacial blue fogged her mind, as Hermione momentarily sensed the brutish violence of the man, lurking beneath the polite, mannered surface.

‘I personally believe your talents are under-utilised in that measly department you’ve been toiling away in for so many years,’ Ephraim said, in calm, measured tones, having reined in his irritation. ‘I was recommending a superior position, more suited to your skills and experience.’

‘I’d never work for you.’

‘Well, if true, that’s a pity…but if a life spent plodding along in the higher echelons of the Ministry’s civil service is what you really want, Hermione… I can make that happen too.’

‘You don’t have the power to offer me any such thing,’ Hermione retorted, leaping up from the bench to make a quick getaway. ‘So thanks for the flattering offer. But I’ll make my own way in the world.’

‘Not so fast, young lady,’ Ephraim grasped her elbow, and pulled her back down.

‘As it happens, I DO have that power. You might not like to hear such a thing; it rather flies in the face of Ministry protocol, doesn’t it? But such is life… I promise I’ll reward you handsomely though, if you do what I ask… But the deal has changed.’

‘I’m not interested,’ Hermione said firmly, eyes flashing furiously. She rubbed her elbow, which was sore after being manhandled.

‘Forget grassing up Jeroboam,’ Ephraim sneered, with a blasé flick of his hand. ‘For now, at least. Let’s focus first on our little Paris problem…’

‘I’ve already told you! I don’t know what you’re talking about!’ She was increasingly conscious of Ephraim’s lackeys, staring at her.

‘Then you have a very short memory,’ Ephraim said smoothly. ‘A little dicky bird told me, that just this past weekend, your friend Potter was interviewing Draco at Auror HQ – and I was told that YOU were also present.’

Hermione crinkled her forehead in a direct pretence of outraged confusion – though her mind was working overtime. She had to at least claim half of this as true; obviously Ephraim had an inside mole, so outright denial would sound plain stupid.

‘Yes, I WAS at Auror HQ… but I didn’t see Draco! And I’m fairly certain Harry didn’t either, because he was working with ME.’

‘I’ve no idea what your Potter friend wants,’ Ephraim said, ignoring her protestations. ‘But I suspect Draco’s being framed for a crime he never committed.’ Ephraim shook his head regretfully. ‘It seems most unfair. Particularly as I hear Draco’s been extremely ill. Fatally, even.’

‘Now listen here, Mr Golowitz!’ Hermione said, brimming with indignation. ‘I’ve been helping Harry with an investigation – it’s supposed to be top secret, but as you have some very strange ideas going on here that need to be laid to rest, I’ll be open with you…’

Ephraim narrowed his eyes. ‘Go on.’

‘Harry is tracking a gang that is illegally trading in hellebore and asphodel,’ she said, recalling Ron’s excuse to the Ministry that he planned to use to explain his absence, when he went to Argentina. ‘This gang communicates using a set of complex, archaic runes, which very few people can translate.’ She threw him her haughtiest look, chin tilted high. ‘Luckily, I’m an expert in this field, which is why I was in Paris… Sadly, I know nothing of Draco’s whereabouts, although I wish him well. If you think I know anything more, you have been grossly misinformed.’

Ephraim blinked hard in surprise. ‘My source is impeccable.’

‘Clearly not,’ she said in arch tones. She stood up to leave, aware that Ephraim’s goons also rose, in tandem.

Ephraim studied her intently, an admiring smile creeping across his face.

‘I really rather like you, Hermione,’ he said, ‘which is why, this time, I’m going to believe you. But I meant what I said. You’re a wasted woman. And I could advance your career immeasurably.’ He pronounced this with dramatic relish. ‘Just tell your Potter friend to leave my boy alone… I urgently need him back here.’

Hermione shrugged. ‘I can do that. But I suspect Harry won’t know what the hell I’m talking about.’

Ephraim levered himself off the bench, pulling himself up to his full height. He loomed over Hermione.

‘Well, I’m glad we had this illuminating little chat, Hermione,’ he said. He grabbed her hand with his own. ‘I sincerely hope it’s not our last.’ He signalled to the two men in their dark overcoats, and then swept imperiously past her, and out of Golden Square.

Hermione’s hand ached from the strength of his grip. She stood there for a moment, staring in stunned amazement at the statue of a Roman gladiator – or was it a god of some kind? - standing guard, at the centre of the square.

She had to call Harry and Draco immediately.

‘Please pick up,’ she begged. There was a nasty, wringing sensation, roiling through her gut. She didn’t presume, for one moment, that Ephraim had swallowed her story. And Harry had been right all along… if there was a mole at Auror HQ, then no one could be trusted.

Luckily, Ephraim didn’t seem to harbour any suspicion of Draco. That, at least, was a small mercy…

‘For Merlin’s sake,’ she grunted in exasperation, as Harry’s phone finally responded with a dead tone. ‘Just switch the bloody thing on, will you?’

There was nothing for it. She had to go home, plead with Molly to watch the kids, while she got herself to Paris.

She quickly found a conveniently sheltered spot to Apparate from.

A momentary throb of alarm rippled through her. Poor Padma… Really, she should be trying to help her… But she had to prioritise. And right now, Harry and Draco’s safety came first.

XXX

‘I’ve got to visit Uncle Harry tonight, I’m afraid,’ Hermione explained to Rose and Hugo, as they walked home from school.

‘Can we come, Mummy?’ Hugo asked, swinging Hermione’s arm to and fro, as he tripped along beside her.

‘Not tonight darling,’ Hermione said, with a sorry smile.

‘I guess we’re going to Granny’s then,’ Rose said, clearly disappointed.

‘Well, I’m sure if we ask her nicely, she’ll make you some treacle tarts!’ Hermione said brightly. She gave Rose, who was holding her other hand, a reassuring squeeze, but it didn’t seem to do the trick. Rose continued to mope, all the way back to Wisteria Cottage.

‘If I’d known you wouldn’t be here tonight,’ she sighed, ‘I could have asked Jenny Slater if I could go for a sleepover.’

‘Well, I don’t need to be away for you to do THAT, Rose.’

‘What I’d most like though,’ Rose said, as they trundled up the garden path towards their front door, ‘is to invite Jenny to OUR house. I’ve sort of invited her already, to come and make Cauldron Cakes…’ Her light, high-pitched voice continued in a singsong fashion, whilst Hermione was murmuring ‘Alohomora,’ bundling Rose and Hugo into the house, removing their shoes and coats, and frantically seeking a quill to dash off a begging note to Molly. ‘The thing is, Mummy, I never have anyone over for a play. So no one invites me, which is why it’s so nice, that Jenny said that HER Mummy and Daddy, said I could go to THEIR house, for a sleepover. So can Jenny come and play? Please, Mummy?’ Rose said in imploring tones.

‘Come HERE?’ Hermione asked, suddenly attuning herself to what Rose was saying. She continued rummaging through the drawers of her kitchen unit, pulling out extraneous bits of paper, an unwound ball of string which seemed to go on for an eternity, and an assorted array of Chudley Cannons player cards. ‘That would be difficult, Rose. You know it would.’

‘But Mummy... it’s not fair,’ Rose said plaintively, jutting out her bottom lip. ‘All my friends have parties at their houses, but I’m never allowed to, and Paula Ingram says there must be a monster in my house, because no one ever comes here, and Davina Bly says we’re too poor to have a car.’

‘Silly, spiteful nonsense, Rose! You should know better than to listen to that sort of thing – ah, here we are…’ Hermione fretted, finally excavating a bedraggled-looking quill. ‘Careful, Hugo!’ she yelled, as her young son roughly pushed past her, heading straight to the backdoor, which was wide open… leading to the garden.

‘It’s Uncle Harry!’ he squealed excitedly.

‘Who’s that strange man, Mummy?’ Rose said.

Hermione’s head shot up, her eyes instantly locking with Draco, who was standing next to Harry, at the open door.

His hair was a little darker than usual, his eyes a rich brownish-green, the colour of sea-soaked seaweed, clearly the result of a fast-fading glamour.

‘Hey! How’s my little terrier?’ Harry chuckled, as Hugo bounced heavily into his arms. He enthusiastically swooped Hugo upwards, so that his head almost crashed into the ceiling, much to Hugo’s huge excitement.

Rose held back, hand clinging to her mother’s skirt, as she so often did, when a stranger was in the vicinity.

‘Harry…’ Hermione said, a ghost of a smile on her face. She couldn’t bring herself to look at Draco again, barely believing he was standing here, in her kitchen, with her children. ‘I was planning to come and see you tonight.’

‘You were?’ Harry said quizzically, releasing Hugo. ‘Didn’t Molly meet you at the school gates? I sent her an owl. She said she’d look after the kids.’

Hermione blanched. ‘No, I – I didn’t see her.’

‘In which case, she’s probably coming here.’ Harry cast a worried glance at Draco.

‘I’ll just take a walk around the garden, shall I?’ Draco said, quickly latching on, stepping backwards, towards the open door.

‘Do you play football?’ Hugo shouted enthusiastically. ‘I’m going to be Robin Van Persie when I grow up! Do you know who he plays for?’

Draco looked a little nonplussed. ‘Sorry… I’m not sure I do…’

He gave Hermione a desperate look. ‘Arsenal,’ she mouthed.

‘Hold on… it’s coming to me…’ he said, pretending he was dredging up some deeply hidden memory. ‘Chelsea, isn’t it?’

‘CHELSEA?’ Hugo scoffed. ‘They’re rubbish! Paul Tankerton supports them, and he eats bogies.’

Draco’s face cracked into a broad grin. ‘No, silly me. I meant Liverpool.’

‘LIVERPOOL? Yuk!’ Hugo pointed his finger at his mouth, stuck his tongue out, and made loud barfing sounds.

‘Okay then, maybe it’s Arsenal,’ Draco said, triumphantly.

‘What’s your name?’ Rose piped up from behind her mother, in a timorous voice.

Another wave of helpless confusion swept across Draco’s face.

‘Don’t be rude,’ Hermione hissed at her daughter, although she was secretly shocked at Rose’s uncharacteristic directness.

Harry instantly scooped Rose into his arms, and tickled her furiously, making her squeak with pink-cheeked laughter.

‘You can be goalie, and I’ll shoot penalties,’ Hugo said, tugging at Draco’s coat-sleeve. He wasn’t going to let this go…

‘I think we need to get you to Granny’s,’ Hermione said, but it was too late. Draco shrugged helplessly at Hermione, allowing Hugo to drag him by the hand.

The loud clank of the doorknocker resounded through the house.

Hermione froze. That had to be Molly. There was no way she could see Draco!

Clearly Harry had the exact same thought.

‘Right children!’ Harry barked. ‘Last one to get their jim-jams and toothbrushes is a nincompoop!’ He looked at Draco and nodded brusquely towards the garden.

Hugo relinquished Draco’s hand, a look of disappointment on his face.

‘Next time,’ Draco said, patting the boy on the shoulder.

‘Are you a secret person?’ Rose chirruped, gazing shiny-eyed at Draco.

Draco solemnly raised his finger to his lips, eyes wide in warning.

Rose giggled.

A second, more urgent clattering at the door, galvanised the children into action.

Draco slipped outside.

Molly didn’t take kindly to being left on the doorstep. For once, she chose Harry as the object of her ire, berating him for not telling Hermione his plans… and yes, she had been a little late for school pick-up, but that was because Audrey had popped round to borrow a spot of Dittany… though Merlin knows what she wanted it for… and then Molly hadn’t been able to get rid of her.

Five minutes of whirlwind activity later, and Molly and the children had been hustled out of the house, meaning Draco could come back in. The glamour had all but gone. Draco’s eyes had already returned to their customary cool, grey stare, and his hair was streaked with a silvery sheen.

‘I had to bring him with me.’ Harry gestured towards Draco, his buoyant mood seemingly evaporated from the moment Rose and Hugo left the house. ‘Francoise had a family matter to attend to.’

‘She probably just has a FAMILY, Harry,’ Hermione complained, crossing her arms tightly.

‘Says the avowed workaholic,’ Harry mumbled under his breath, sarcastically.

‘Why were you coming to see Harry?’ Draco asked in curt tones.

‘I ran into Ephraim Golowitz today… or rather, he ran into me…’ Hermione explained. ‘Harry, you're right to be paranoid about Auror HQ. Ephraim knows you were interviewing Malfoy the other day. He also knew I was there too, but I think I might have got round that.’

Harry shrugged. ‘I expected no less.’ He glanced at Draco. ‘As long as Malfoy’s cover isn’t blown.’

‘And I spoke to Henrik,’ she said, somewhat put out that Harry wasn’t as bothered as she thought he should be, about Ephraim’s insider at Auror HQ. ‘He’s in New Zealand. Says he’s found evidence of a Gilgad facility close to where there was a Dark Flux outbreak. He thinks I should visit.’

‘We all should,’ Draco said.

‘Most definitely,’ Harry agreed.

It occurred to Hermione that she should tell them what Ephraim had told the Muggle media about Katya…. She watched Harry ignite the stove with a deft flick of his wand, wondering how she could phrase it, fearing the fallout. ‘I’ll make us a cuppa while you pack a few things, Hermione,’ Harry said.

‘How long will I be in Paris?’

‘Pack an overnighter, to be on the safe side. Those bureaucratic bastards at the French Ministry finally sobered up long enough, to open the file on Svetlana Kerpin.’ He paused. ‘We’ve been granted first access rights to her property, for tonight only, though her house has been plottable for some months now, apparently. Her licence expired last year.’

‘That’s great news,’ Hermione said, though everything about Harry’s demeanour spoke to the contrary.

‘Yeah, makes up for a pretty shitty week,’ he grumbled, grabbing three mugs from a high cupboard. ‘I didn’t want to bore you with our misery.’

‘What’s happened?’ she asked, alarmed.

‘NOTHING,’ Harry said bluntly. ‘That’s what made it so shitty. I’ve been trying to trace the untraceable… those Gagnons are slippery buggers, let me tell you… and Draco’s been at St Gaspard’s.’

‘Whatever for?’

‘Blood-replenishing treatments,’ Draco drawled. ‘Routine follow-up.’

‘I see.’ Though she didn’t entirely trust either of them at this juncture. There was a tense silence. ‘I’ll go and pack,’ she eventually said.

She grabbed a bag in her bedroom, stuffing it with a few overnight items. She wondered if she should add some extra clothes… this might be the perfect opportunity to make that trip to New Zealand. Harry had fortuitously paved the way.

‘Your tea,’ Draco said.

He was standing at the entrance to her bedroom, holding a hot, steaming mug.

‘Where shall I put it?’

‘Oh, just over there,’ she said, pointing to her bedside table. Draco stepped deeper into the bedroom, and tried to make space amidst her towering piles of bedtime reading books, for the mug.

She stopped what she was doing, momentarily mesmerised by the sight of him, facing her across the bed.

Just the mere thought of the word ‘bed’ was enough to send shivers down her spine, as she recalled, with vivid clarity, what he had said, the last time they’d been together.

‘We’d happily ravage each other senseless; you know we would.’

He was probably right, she realised. Even now, with Harry a matter of metres away, she felt intensely drawn to him – despite being in the same room, standing next to the same bed, where she had conceived her children. His mere physical presence, made her stomach tighten and her heart race unhealthily. She longed to feel his mouth against hers, his hands touching her body.

‘You’ve got nice kids,’ he said, a little awkwardly. His eyes gleamed brightly in the dusky grey light, which had fast fallen upon them.

‘Thanks.’

‘I didn’t realise they went to Muggle school.’

‘Yes,’ she said in a bolder voice, looking him in the eye. ‘I wanted them to have something…’ She grappled for a way to put it, but her mind had gone blank.

‘Something normal?’ he said, surprising her.

‘Sort of.’

‘Something of YOU, then.’

‘Yes.’

‘Must be tricky though. Your daughter seemed a bit upset.’

‘It’ll blow over,’ Hermione said, trying to laugh it off. She could feel a warm, crimson blush staining her cheeks. She wasn’t sure it felt appropriate, to be discussing her children with him. ‘Anyway. Sorry that they were a bit…forward.’

‘It was refreshing.’ He smiled wanly. ‘It’s refreshing, because… Scorpius hasn’t talked to me at all, for almost two years; ever since Katya left,’ Draco said huskily. ‘Probably even before then, actually,’ he added, on reflection.

Draco had no idea that she already knew this, which didn’t feel right somehow.

‘Does he have any friends his own age?’ she asked tentatively.

‘None,’ Draco sighed. ‘And I’m never there…’

He looked away from her, seemingly torn between talking more, and heading back to Harry. She briskly resumed her packing, thinking it best to make his mind up for him. Having him here, in her bedroom, was almost too much.

But the moment he left the room, she was struck by a sudden, awful realisation. He hadn’t been ‘torn’ between staying and going. He’d looked away, because he felt ‘moved’.

And now she’d made herself look like a cold-hearted bitch...

If only she had a Time-Turner, she thought desperately, just so she could replay the last few minutes. Anything to dispel the weighty aching sensation in her chest that seemed to strengthen, every time she replayed their conversation in her head.

XXX

Harry was supping his tea, deep in thought. ‘You need to get your wards sorted out Hermione,’ he said in abrasive tones. ‘Took us three minutes flat to work out your key password to break and enter, didn’t it Malfoy?’

‘That odd-looking kneazle-creature you had at Hogwarts…’ Draco explained.

‘Crookshanks?’

‘Not exactly testing stuff,’ Harry said cuttingly. ‘I’d have expected some kind of complicated Ancient Greek algorithm from you, at the very least.’

‘Or maybe that was the point?’ Draco suggested. ‘A sly double-bluff?’

Harry pondered a moment, and then vehemently shook his head. ‘Nah… if that was the case, how did YOU guess it so easily?’

‘I thought we were going to Paris?’ Hermione said in terse tones.

‘Indeed we are,’ Harry said, plonking his empty mug in the sink. ‘Are you ready?’

Draco excused himself to use the bathroom.

‘Actually, Harry…’ Hermione said hesitantly. She waited for Draco to leave the room. ‘There’s something else I found out today.’

‘Go on,’ Harry said.

‘In January, last year, Ephraim told the Muggle media that Katya was alive and well… and at home… recovering from a nervous breakdown.’

‘Why would he do that, when he knew damn well she wasn’t?’ Harry said, a puzzled expression on his face.

‘Well, it might mean he knows where she is,’ Hermione intimated, her voice quavering as she spoke. ‘Maybe he’s holding her captive?’ She couldn’t bring herself to mention the more ‘lethal’ alternative.

‘What about the Roses?’ Harry asked. ‘They’ve been sent to Draco, from all over Europe.’

‘Maybe Svetlana Kerpin was sending them on Ephraim’s instruction?’

‘I guess that’s possible…’ Harry mused. ‘Ephraim maybe wanted Draco to think Katya’s missing, to keep him busy… and out of the way.’

Hermione thought of the note that Katya had left Draco – ‘Never Forget.’ What if she was in collusion with her father? But when she recalled the wide-eyed, serene young woman she’d seen in the portrait, hanging at Malfoy Manor, somehow that didn’t seem likely.

‘Or maybe Ephraim said he knew where she was, just to get the press off his back? It could be as simple as that,’ Hermione muttered.

‘Or it means he knows she’s dead already,’ Draco said, his voice ringing out from the doorway behind them. ‘Maybe he had her killed.’

‘That’s – that’s ridiculous. How could a man kill his own child?’ Hermione choked. Her cheeks glowed with embarrassment. How long had he been listening?

‘If she knew something that could destroy him, that’s how,’ Draco said bitterly. ‘So when were you planning on telling me about this, Hermione? How long have you known?’

She swallowed hard, unable to meet his hollow-eyed, unwavering gaze.

‘Only since today.’

‘Who told you? I don’t imagine it was Ephraim,’ he said snidely.

She shook her head. ‘Muggle news reports, on the Internet.’

‘And – and did any of these Muggle reports mention… a child?’ Draco asked. His voice cracked a little as he spoke.

‘No… I’m afraid not.’

She heaved a weary sigh. Of course he’d deserved to know about his own wife and child. What had she been thinking?

She chanced a glance at Draco. He was wearing his blank, bottled-up face – the one she now knew was capable of hiding his true feelings.

Something turned over inside of her, and she suddenly understood her TRUE reluctance to report what Ephraim had told the press. Sure, it was partly out of misguided kindness, wanting to protect Draco’s feelings... She’d feared that he would assume the worst. And she’d been right.

But it was also because she feared everything might change between THEM.

She dug her fingernails into the palm of her hand, her head swimming with shame and confusion.

A dead Katya… a murdered Katya, would have the potential to become a pure, sanctified figure in his eyes, tainting any feelings he had for herself.

For some unfathomable reason, this felt like an unbearable loss.

‘Right,’ Harry said, in resolute tones. ‘We’ve got lots to do. Let’s get to Paris, check out this Svetlana Kerpin’s house, see what we can find there, and then take a little trip to see this Henrik fellow Hermione’s always going on about…’ He looked at Draco. ‘And then the sooner we can re-integrate you to life at Malfoy Manor, the better.’

‘Okay, Potter. But the first thing we do, before any of that, is floo-call Bill Weasley,’ Draco declared. ‘We want this place warded up to the fucking eyeballs… The Burrow too.’

‘I’ve been meaning to work on the wards,’ Hermione said apologetically.

‘I told you to talk to Bill about this weeks ago,’ Draco said sourly, though there was a glint of anxious concern in his eyes. ‘You can’t carry on risking your kids the way you have been, Hermione.’

‘He’ll want to know why.’

Draco looked thoughtful. ‘You trust him, right?’ he asked both Harry and Hermione.

‘Completely,’ Harry said.

‘Then we tell him… We tell him everything.’

***

CHAPTER TRACKS: “Violin Concerto” by Philip Glass

&

“Newborn” by Muse

DISCLAIMER: I own nothing.
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Ring A Ring O' Roses