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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
- 8
- 9
- 10
A blistering hot day in Buenos Aires... bickering, belligerence and some mutual agreement for Draco and Hermione, but worries too about Draco's wound.

9. Recoleta

As the flight to Buenos Aires dragged on, Hermione began to see why some wizards had an innate sense of superiority. What took hours using Muggle technology could have taken a matter of minutes with magic.

Instead, she had to watch Draco sleeping the sleep of the dead for what felt like an eternity. Thankfully, she suppressed the temptation to pluck his eyelashes out one lash at a time by succumbing to sleep herself. When she awoke, the sprawling city of Buenos Aires stretched out below them, abutting a vast mud-brown river.

Draco stumbled blearily through Ezeiza Airport, and promptly fell fast asleep again the moment they were sat in a taxi heading towards the city.

It was a blistering hot morning. In her haste to pack, Hermione had clean forgotten that it was summer in South America, and was stupidly over-dressed in jeans and a jumper. The taxi had an aircon unit, rumbling loudly at full-blast, but she was soon sticky with sweat.

She envied Draco, who had stripped down to his shirt in the airport, and looked surprisingly cool, his head lolling against the back seat as he slept. His shirt had slipped open a little, and she could see that the bandage she had conjured on the plane was now stained red. That was a bad sign; further proof that the Medi-magic treatment meted out by St Mungo's hadn't worked.

It was a half hour journey into Buenos Aires. At first, they travelled past a string of dismal-looking suburbs; breezeblock buildings stained black from exhaust fumes and clusters of ramshackle, half-built houses. But before long, the city itself had reared up ahead; tall, gleaming office towers, grand, palatial buildings and oversized billboards lined their route. The road had flowed into a broad, multi-lane avenue, crammed with traffic. At the far end of this avenue was an imposing, white obelisk, proudly pointing skywards.

The taxi soon ducked into a fast-flowing one-way boulevard packed with classy boutiques, its pavements bordered by dusty trees.

They pulled up in front of a swanky-looking mansion.

'Malfoy! Wake up!'

Draco stirred and stretched, blinking rapidly. 'What is it?' he grumbled, smothering a yawn with his hand. 'Where are we?'

'We've arrived,' she said.

Hermione was being ushered out of the taxi by a smartly attired doorman while a bellboy handled their luggage. An unexpected fillip of excitement throbbed through her as she ascended the hotel steps and entered an impressive marble lobby, crowned by a resplendent glass chandelier.

She glanced back at Draco, who lurched out of the taxi and pulled his wallet from his jeans pocket to pay the driver.

'Come on then,' Draco said, seemingly unimpressed with the place. 'Let's check in.'

A uniformed concierge sporting a top hat smiled. 'Welcome Senor, Senora, to the Alvear Palace Hotel.'

Draco ignored him, heading straight for the reception desk.

'We have a booking. The name's Malfoy,' Draco said impatiently, slapping a credit card onto the counter.

'Of course, Senor. Right away, Senor.' The receptionist took the card, directly passing it to an assistant for processing.

Hermione's attention was caught by a small ladies' clothes boutique, which was nestled in one corner of the foyer, half-hidden behind a tall, marble pillar. A sophisticated sales assistant with a forbidding air was smoothing invisible wrinkles from a dusky pink, silk shift dress, which was being modeled by a grey, headless mannequin in the window.

Hermione sighed enviously. She'd never been into pink, but there was something dainty, yet sensuous, about this particular outfit. She imagined the soft, cool slide of the fabric over her skin and shivered. But it was probably far too expensive. And it wasn't the kind of thing she could imagine wearing on a regular basis.

She wandered slowly back to the check-in desk where Draco was waiting for his credit card to be returned. The receptionist passed it back. As Draco slipped it into his wallet, Hermione noted that it was a corporate card - not for Herb Healing - but for Gilgad Inc. Wasn't that Ephraim Golowitz's company? Clearly, he was an even bigger player in Herb Healing than she had first thought.

'You need a doctor,' Hermione reminded Draco.

He looked nonplussed for a moment.

'I'm not a trained nurse,' Hermione said sternly.

'We always have a doctor on call, Senor,' the receptionist said with an ingratiating smile. 'Would you like me to send him up to your room?'

'Yes he would,' Hermione said firmly.

'Right you are, Senora. I can have someone with Senor Malfoy within the half hour.'

Draco scowled at Hermione. 'I've got a lunch meeting with a client. You can come along if you like.'

'Thanks, but no thanks,' Hermione said stroppily.

'Ah, Senor Malfoy!' the concierge interrupted, waving a piece of paper excitedly. 'I almost forgot. You have a message.'

Draco quickly scanned the slip of paper.

'It's our contact, Senor Canaro. He requests our company at three o'clock sharp. Says he has crucial information regarding Los Rojos.'

'What are Los Rojos?' Hermione asked as they headed into the lift and pressed the button for their floor.

'I have absolutely no idea,' Draco replied.

XXX

Hermione was glad to finally get some privacy. Her room was a little chintzier than she had hoped; old school floral fabrics and a Louis XVI chair with spindly, faux-gilted legs. A plasma screen television affixed to the wall looked out of place, but Hermione couldn't help but thrill to the novelty of multi-channel TV, hoping that there was a pay-as-you-go film service on offer too.

Her bathroom was a decent size and pleasantly luxuriant, with a basket of delicious-smelling Hermes toiletries for her perusal.

Moments later she had stripped off, and was reveling in a cool shower, enthusiastically scrubbing the grime of long-distance travel from her hair with a scalp-tingling citrus shampoo.

She roughly towel-dried her hair and donned a thick, white bathrobe, which she had found hanging in her wardrobe.

She had arranged to meet Draco in the lobby bar at half past eleven to review their plans, which gave her almost an hour to collapse onto her king-sized bed and relax.

But first, she wanted to speak to Ron, see how his back was doing, and hopefully hear news on Rose and Hugo. She rifled through her case, plucking the mirror from a side-pocket, rubbed it clean with her sleeve and called Ron's name. There was no answer. She called a second, then a third time. But still no response. She guessed he was at The Burrow and had left his part of the two-way mirror at home.

She eyed the telephone beside her bed enviously. While travel was problematic, there were a few areas, communications being an obvious example she thought, where Muggles were ahead of the game.

Her reverie was interrupted by a sharp knock on her door.

'That better not be you, Malfoy!' she yelled. 'I'm trying to get some downtime here.'

As there was no reply, she hastened to open the door, fearing she had just shouted at a complete stranger.

'You won't want these then,' Draco smirked, tossing an armful of dresses into her arms.

Hermione was struck speechless, with an odd combination of offended irritation and girlish glee. 'You didn't need to,' she eventually said, also wondering if Draco buying her clothes was perhaps a little inappropriate. Would he have bought Ron a cool summer suit in similar circumstances?

Draco barged past her into the room and threw himself heavily onto her spindly-legged Louis XVI. He drummed his fingers furiously on an antique desk, the companion piece to the chair.

'I can't have you meeting my client looking like a dog's dinner.'

'But I'm not coming.'

'Senor Canaro's rearranged for midday, so I've had to move my client to three. Luckily, Canaro's place is close to where I've arranged to meet Miguel – '

'Miguel?'

'Miguel Culebra. Works in consumer pharmaceuticals. You'll like him.'

'I don't plan to meet him,' Hermione said drolly.

His cool, grey eyes appraised her. 'How was your shower?'

'Perfect.'

'So do you like the dresses, or do I take them back?' he said, crossing his arms and glaring at her.

'I hope you got these on expenses, Malfoy,' she murmured, laying the dresses flat on the bed. She instantly recognised them from the boutique, including the dusky pink shift she had admired so fervently. They were skimpier than her usual style, but in this searing heat, that was probably a good thing.

'I wondered if you could change my dressing,' Draco said bluntly. He was already unbuttoning his shirt, which was freshly on.

'I thought we agreed you were having the doctor come to your room?' Hermione said indignantly. So that explained the dresses. They were a bribe for medical services rendered.

'I changed my mind.'

'But it's a doctor you need, Malfoy! Not me.'

'I'm the judge of that,' he said dryly. 'I'll get Senor Canaro to recommend a mediwizard. In the meantime -'

'Oh, I see, Muggle medicine's not good enough for you,' Hermione huffed.

Draco had already removed his shirt and was grimacing with pain as he tried to unravel his bandage by himself. His hand kept brushing against his silver rose pendant, which bounced repeatedly against his chest.

Hermione's eyes were automatically drawn to the faded dark mark tattooed on his right inner arm. It was a little more livid than she expected it to be.

'I really wanted a rest. By myself,' Hermione said sulkily, grabbing her wand from the bedside table and vanishing Draco's bandages with one single swish and a mumbled Evanesco.

'Right,' she breathed, taking a good look at Draco's wound. He flinched as water from her hair, dripped onto his bare chest and stomach. 'I've got clean hands.' She looked him in the eye. 'Can I touch it?'

She didn't wait for an answer, immediately pushing one investigatory finger against the puckered edge of the wound. She could hardly believe she was doing this. Healing had never been her strongest suit, and touching Draco Malfoy in such an intimate way was the last thing she would have ever wanted to do in normal circumstances. But needs must.

Draco laid a hand heavily on her shoulder for support. He grunted with pain.

'That fucking kills.'

'Hold tight,' she said, squeezing the cut open and peering inside. She knew she was hurting him, but she had to check for any foreign objects. Something was stopping this wound from healing.

Draco gasped, clutching onto her shoulder, his nails digging into her skin. 'Couldn't you have cast a numbing spell first? Or is this some perverse form of punishment?' he choked.

His face and chest were now glowing with a faint sheen of sweat, and Hermione could see the movement of his heart, beating hard and fast, beneath his skin.

She hated to admit it, she really did, but there was something ever so slightly thrilling about inflicting this amount of pain on Draco Malfoy. It rather scared her.

She could now see there was something small and knobbly lodged deep inside the wound. It wasn't the remains of gunshot, that was for sure, but something bluish. And it was seeping a translucent liquid – not pus, as she had first thought – in addition to blood.

'This is going to hurt,' she murmured, flicking a quick glance at Draco's contorted face. She gently eased the tip of her finger inside the wound. His skin was scorching hot, and a warm, blood-streaked liquid oozed down the length of her finger.

'You're a fucking sadist, you know that?' Draco panted, a strange gleam in his eye. He was shaking, partly in pain, partly because he had tensed his muscles so tightly in response to Hermione's ministrations.

Hermione delved a little deeper, her finger grazing what felt like a soft grain. Her hand tingled, and then a shooting pain, darted with startling force, like an electric current, through the entire length of her arm, culminating in a fierce ache in her shoulder.

She shot backwards, steadied only by Draco's firm grip of her shoulder.

'What the hell was that all about?'

'It's magic. Definitely magic,' Hermione gasped. The ache was quickly subsiding, but there was a faint fluttering in her chest, as though her heart had missed a beat and was desperately trying to play catch-up.

'Brilliant,' he said hoarsely. 'So this means it wasn't a normal bullet.'

'No. Not Muggle.'

'Why didn't St Mungo's pick up on it? It doesn't make sense, does it?' he complained. 'You all right?' he said to Hermione, who was still reeling from the strange shooting sensation that had almost knocked her over.

'I'm fine,' she breathed, steadying herself and refocusing on the job in hand. She gently eased the tip of her wand into the entrance to the wound and muttered a healing spell. 'Must be pretty powerful stuff though. I doubt this will do much good.'

'Better than nothing.'

'How do you feel?' she asked. 'In yourself?'

Draco seemed momentarily at a loss for words. 'What do you mean?'

'Are you feeling sick? Feverish?'

'A little.'

She felt his forehead. He was warm, but not burning. Nothing too concerning.

Hermione quickly cleaned and dressed the wound using her wand, avoiding his gaze throughout, and suddenly wanting to get this over with as soon as possible. Something about the weight and feel of his hand on her shoulder was beginning to make her feel uncomfortable.

'Good. All done for now. I could do with my downtime,' she said a little more brightly than she actually felt.

'We need to talk,' Draco said shortly, pulling on his shirt. 'Let's go for coffee. There's a nice place close by.'

'Do we have to?'

'You're here in Ron's place, which in view of your skills and intelligence was a fair trade in my book,' Draco said in businesslike tones.

'Was that your idea of a compliment?' Hermione said, feigning shock.

'I'll meet you downstairs in half an hour,' Draco said curtly.

XXX

The hotel was a short walk from Recoleta, an upmarket area famous for its large and elaborate cemetery, populated by Argentina's most celebrated corpses. Hermione had picked up a tourist leaflet in the hotel lobby and was reading as she walked.

'Did you know Eva Peron's tomb is here?' she said. 'I'd love to see it.' She gazed longingly at the wrought iron entrance gates, and the pitched concrete roofs of the mausoleums inside.

'Another time. You're not on bloody holiday,' Draco said scathingly. 'Once we've saved the world, get Weasel-head to bring you,' he added, a smarmy smile on his face.

Draco led her down a series of stone steps, towards a shady area of parkland. Almost immediately the sounds of the city faded. Hermione was surprised to hear bursts of birdsong and the rhythmic drone of a lawnmower. She chased after Draco, who was striding purposefully through the park.

'Where are we going?' she asked Draco, impatient with his inability to communicate relevant information.

'Up here on the left.' He pointed to a busy café situated in the leafy courtyard-garden of a grand Palladian-style building.

They sat down at a table facing the park and ordered coffee.

The sun was beating down on them now. Hermione was relieved to be out of her jeans, and decided that keeping Draco's dresses had probably been a good idea. Her new gauzy aquamarine sundress was a bit too revealing for her liking, but she couldn't deny that she enjoyed the admiring glances she'd received since wearing it.

There was something about this hazy, summer warmth, which made her feel like a wholly new person, melting away her brittle fatigue.

She couldn't say the same for Draco. He was suitably polished in a linen business suit, but he looked worried and tired and was clearly in perpetual pain.

The coffee arrived. Draco spooned a lump of sugar into his cup and stirred it dolefully. 'The man we're going to see, Senor Canaro, is an informant for the Argentine Ministry of Magic. Has his fingers in a lot of pies.'

'You mean he's a crook,' Hermione stated plainly. She should have guessed that Draco's contacts would be suspect.

'I have come across him before in less than honorable circumstances,' Draco admitted. 'But he knows a lot of people.'

'And what does he know about Dark Flux?'

'A contact of his was visiting a friend in Santa Maria. That's a small town in Patagonia. This guy claims there were suspicious deaths amongst Muggleborns last week. Says he was the one to find the first victims.'

'How many died?'

'Three, four.'

'And what makes this Senor Canaro think it was Dark Flux?'

Draco shrugged. 'He can't be sure. We can never be sure. But he has a memory he wants to show us. It's from this contact. If we think it merits further investigation, we'll fly down there tomorrow.'

'We have to fly again? It hardly seems worth it when we can't open that bloody case, let alone use the flipping scanner inside it!' Hermione groaned.

'I've been thinking about that,' Draco said. 'What's the difference between us, and those Muggle guards at the airport?'

'Well, apart from the obvious…'

'Which is?'

'That we can do magic, of course.'

'Exactly. I think the case can detect our magic, and refuses to work for us. So we have to get a Muggle to open the case instead. Simple.'

'Don't you think it might freak someone out to open a case and find a bloody great gun inside?'

'Maybe… depends on what you offer them in return?'

Hermione sighed. 'Well, that's your department, Malfoy.' She sipped her coffee, shaking her head in exasperation. 'This Senor Canaro better have a spare Draught of Peace handy. I don't want to go through that little farce with my wand again, thank you very much.'

Draco grinned. 'I'm sure he'll be able to rustle up a little something. He's a former grandmaster potioneer.'

'Can he also tell us who to speak to when we get to Santa Maria? I don't want to arrive blind.'

'It's a small place. We won't struggle to find witnesses.'

'I hate feeling unprepared,' Hermione grumbled. 'We need a strategy.'

'Easy. We're checking for similarities between what happened here and other incidents.'

'But how will we know? Formal records of suspected Dark Flux cases are few and far between.'

'That's what we're here to rectify. We need to find a way to sift out the Muggle-made disasters from the Dark Flux. We need an objective understanding of what these sudden death clusters actually look like… and that means the bodies too.'

'Are you serious?' Hermione asked, spluttering on her coffee.

'Most definitely. You told me last week that you hadn't heard of a rash connected to Dark Flux. I'd heard the opposite.'

'Well. I can see the sense in that I guess. But we should also check out environmental factors, the weather, any particular magical rituals. There has to be some kind of correlating sequence of events behind these outbreaks?'

'Maybe even a person or people?' Draco sipped his coffee thoughtfully.

'We definitely need access to some good old Muggle data,' Hermione said, ignoring Draco as she warmed to her theme. 'Weather forecasts. Crop rotations. Lunar Cycles…'

'We've got a guy doing all that back home.'

'News broadcasts…'

'I said we've got someone doing that stuff already! You don't know him. Works in the lab at Herb Healing.'

'So… our main job is to interview survivors?' Hermione said, a little deflated. Deep down she still preferred 'library' work.

'And the bodies. Don't forget the bodies, Mrs Weasley,' Draco said, with a withering smile. 'That's one thing I definitely need you for.'

'I'm a lawyer, not a mediwitch. I thought – or at least I hoped – we'd established that.'

'I presume you have your Ministry of Magic pass with you? No self-respecting workaholic like yourself would ever be without it.'

'Yes… but we're in Argentina, Malfoy. I can't just swan into a Muggle morgue, waving my Ministry of Magic I.D. I'd be carted off to the nearest loony bin.'

Draco chuckled. 'Santa Maria's a wizarding town. Your credentials will be instantly recognisable. Just say you're conducting research on behalf of the British Ministry and you'll have an Open Sesame to wherever you want to go.' Draco took a deep sip of his coffee, watching her reaction over the rim of his cup.

'You don't need me at all,' Hermione said, with an injured sniff, which was actually for show. She wanted to draw him out further. 'You could have transfigured a Ministry pass. Or pretended to be an Auror. You could have used polyjuice to impersonate anybody you wanted.'

Draco laughed. 'No, Hermione. I wanted you. You and your big fucking brain, and your research skills, and your ridiculous Gryffindor bravado.'

'You mean you wanted Ron, seeing as it's meant to be him sitting here, not me,' Hermione said, tight-lipped.

Draco shrugged. 'Yeah. But like I said earlier. You're a fair trade.'

Draco signaled to the waiter for the bill. 'We'd best get going.' He then flicked a latch on his briefcase and to Hermione's immense surprise, pulled out a mobile phone, which he checked for messages before slipping it into his jacket pocket.

'Better Mugglefy myself before I forget,' Draco grumbled. Hermione guessed this 'phone' was for the benefit of his business client later that afternoon, and not his own personal amusement.

'What a shocker!' she said, her eyes round with laughter. 'Draco Malfoy with a Muggle phone! Your ancestors must be turning in their graves!'

'I have to do business with Muggles,' he replied snippily. 'And they'd never get the hang of using owls.'

'I can't get my head round this, Malfoy,' Hermione sighed. 'I can't believe you spend so much time with Muggles, when you loathe them.'

'I don't mind them,' Draco said breezily. 'They're harmless enough.'

'Oh, of course they are,' Hermione said, rolling her eyes. 'Such sweet, dear little creatures.'

'Now you're just being silly,' Draco sneered. 'Of course there's always exceptions to the rule. But on the whole, Muggles are too infantile to be truly dangerous to us wizards.'

XXX

They continued their journey through the park, the sun high in the sky, warming their backs as they walked. They followed a path, which ran alongside a busy thoroughfare, leading away from Recoleta.

'Too infantile to be dangerous? Could you be anymore patronising?' Hermione shrilled. 'You're talking about the vast majority of human beings on this planet, do you realize that?'

Draco's eyes glittered strangely. Whether it was cruelty or amusement, she couldn't tell.

'Of course I do.'

'So you don't think world wars, nuclear weapons and, oh yes, impending environmental catastrophe aren't dangerous, then? All caused by Muggles,' Hermione argued.

'And, arguably, all infantile. See, you're making my case for me, aren't you?'

They had left the parkland, and were now walking along a pavement headed towards a pedestrian crossing that spanned a busy avenue. The roar of traffic was unexpected after the relative tranquility of the park.

'You see, Malfoy,' Hermione yelled, raising her voice to be heard over the traffic. 'It's that kind of ignorant, black-and-white assumption that you have about Muggles, which makes you such a prick. How can you call Muggles infantile, when you are the most infantile man I have ever met?'

'If you're basing your opinion of me as infantile from when we were actually children, then that's hardly fair, is it now?' Draco shouted in return, jabbing a button at the pedestrian crossing. They waited for the lights to change.

'I'm talking about now, this instance,' Hermione said peevishly. 'You call Muggles infantile, and then fail to offer any real evidence to support your argument.'

'We're not in the fucking Wizengamot, Hermione,' Draco growled.

The lights had changed and cars had stopped, enabling Hermione and Draco to cross the road. A woman in an open-top cabriolet was applying her lipstick in a small mirror, and being wolf-whistled by a couple of guys sitting in the back of an open truck. They pulled faces at her, licking their lips and pouting, playfully cupping their breasts.

Hermione's heart sank.

'See what I mean?' Draco said. 'Muggles never grow up. Most of them can't even dress properly.'

'There are plenty of Muggles who have to grow up very fast indeed! And their dress sense has very little to do with it,' Hermione was flushed with anger. 'There's children out there who have to work from an early age to keep their families fed. Single mothers bringing up kids on their own.'

'And you'd know all about those people, wouldn't you, Hermione?' Draco snarled. 'You and your desperately middle-class Mummy and Daddy, living in one of the nicer, more salubrious parts of London.'

'How the hell do you know anything about my Muggle life?'

Hermione seethed, hating how he enjoyed baiting her like this. She could feel his buoyant glee radiating off him in waves.

They were now entering a leafy enclave of large, wealthy houses, many sporting embassy flags. The streets here were cool and shaded.

'I'm surprised you don't have more empathy with Muggles, since you're banned from using magic,' Hermione countered, considering this a particularly pertinent blow.

Draco shook his head wearily. 'That's not it at all, Hermione. You really don't know what you're talking about.'

They walked rapidly, crossing the road, before turning left into a short side street, which led onto a tree-lined crescent.

'Anyway, those infantile guys acting out back there… that wasn't about being Muggle. That was just a male thing… that was about sex, which wizards happen to have too, you know,' Hermione said prissily.

'A lot less than Muggles,' Draco said.

'Now there you go again, Malfoy, spouting unfounded rubbish, as always.'

'Come on, you know I'm right. Muggle society is much more liberal than ours, and I don't just mean in that sappy, bleeding heart kind of way that really pisses me off. But when it comes to sex, wizards are kind of… strait-laced. It's like living in the 1950s or something.'

'Maybe wizards have stronger moral values?' Hermione said haughtily.

'Now that's priceless, it really is. Is that what you really think?'

Draco burst into loud, ringing laughter, prompting a murder of crows, plucking at carrion strewn across the asphalt road, into sudden flight.

They were walking deeper and deeper into this quiet, residential area. The sound of traffic from the main avenue was fast receding. The trees and hedges were more closely-knit here, their foliage denser, darker, guarding the grand houses and gardens from prying eyes. It was quite chilly on these shaded streets. Unconsciously, Hermione had folded her arms close to her body, and was stroking her arms for warmth.

'You want to think that's true, but you don't believe it for one moment, Hermione. But hold on to your little fantasy, if it makes you feel safe,' Draco said. 'I'm not talking about sex here, by the way.'

'I know,' Hermione said in a tight, little voice.

'When it comes to sex, of course, you make the perfect little witch.'

'What's that supposed to mean?' Hermione was outraged.

'Just that… you are possibly the most repressed person I have ever met in my entire life,' Draco declared.

'How dare you? You know nothing about my sex life!'

'And I bet poor Ron doesn't either,' Draco smirked.

Right. This was too much. Hermione had to ball her fists tightly to contain herself from punching him in the face.

'All that repressed sexuality bubbling away inside,' Draco chortled. 'Maybe helps explain your spiky aggression…'

'What spiky aggression?' Hermione asked tetchily.

'The type of behaviour you're displaying right now actually.'

'Oh shut up, you prat!'

'I think we're here,' Draco said, pointing at a tall, thin house, with long, peeling black shutters.

They silently studied the house on the other side of the road.

Hermione realized further argument was futile. Once Draco's focus had shifted, that was that. She'd never known someone so adept at compartmentalising.

'Right then. Let's think about this before we go in,' Draco said under his breath, almost as though he feared they might be overheard by the tall privet hedge which framed the garden. 'We want to see the memory, but do we both go into the Pensieve together, or one at a time?'

'You don't really trust this man, do you?' Hermione said, suddenly filled with an uneasy dread.

'On past form? Not a lot,' he said in a low whisper.

'Don't forget, we have to ask about Los Rojos too,' Hermione said.

'Los Rojos... The Reds,' Draco said pensively. 'I doubt he's brought us all this way to discuss English Football.'

Hermione, however, had paled, suddenly tight-chested, remembering that faint flash of red, little more than a blur at the edge of her vision, that she had sensed in her back garden.

'What is it?' Draco asked sharply.

'When you were shot. Did you see anything? Or… or maybe not quite see, but sense something, sense an image?'

'Or a colour?' Draco said, his eyes moving rapidly from side to side as he recalled the moment. 'Yes, yes I did.'

'It was red, wasn't it?'

'Yes, it was. I assumed it was just the shock of it all. And Ron? The same?'

Hermione nodded. 'And me too. It sort of popped into my mind. Almost like I felt it.'

'You felt a colour?' Draco looked at her quizzically.

'Yes. No. I – I don't know how to explain it. Just before I entered the house. Just before I found Ron.'

Draco was staring at her fixedly. He gently laid a hand on her shoulder, flicking a glance at the tall, thin house with its long black shutters.

'Hermione. Do you feel it now?' he whispered urgently.

XXX

CHAPTER TRACK: "BITTER SWEET SYMPHONY" by THE VERVE

Disclaimer: I own nothing except my original characters.

Thanks to Apurva & Lou.
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Ring A Ring O' Roses