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Ring A Ring O' Roses	By : Gallivant Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Draco/Hermione Views: 16635 -:- 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.

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Dark Magic, Dark Wizards and a mysterious and deadly Dark Flux, which, in the wrong hands, has the terrifying potential to wipe out millions of Muggles ... all this and an unexpected visit from Draco Malfoy.

Just when Hermione Weasley thought her bad day couldn't get much worse, she went home...

1. But Thinking Makes It So

'As we discussed, sir, what we now need is professional help in this matter. An insider with connections and access to official resources,' the young man said, 'and experience of investigating Dark Magic. Someone discreet.'

'Have you got the dossier?' his master asked, in clipped, businesslike tones.

The master was sitting behind an ornate, ebony antique desk positioned in front of a large set of French windows, framed by thick green velvet curtains. Shafts of bright, white sunlight streamed through the windows. Beyond the window was a rolling lawn stretching towards a well-tended shrubbery.

'I have it here, sir. We have found some excellent candidates, even if I say so myself,' the young man said, placing a thin file containing twelve or so pieces of parchment on the desk in front of his master.

'Let's see,' said the older man, quickly thumbing through the file. Each document appeared to be a character profile, complete with professional CV and personal details.

'I'd like to draw your attention, sir, to a few of the more outstanding candidates. They have noteworthy experience in handling the Dark Arts and famously helped track down and destroy the Dark Lord's Horcruxes, which proved essential in ending the Second Wizarding War in Britain.'

A shadow passed across the older man's face. 'Yes. I remember it well,' he said stormily. 'Naturally, I know of Harry Potter. Who doesn't? But he's far beyond our reach. I can't see him working outside of the law. Who else do we have?'

The younger man shuffled the papers, sifting out the only document with a photo attached, which he then presented to his master.

'Ronald Bilius Weasley,' he announced. 'He was Potter's closest friend and assistant. He is also Potter's brother-in-law. As an Auror he is very well-connected, and comes from a family with a good pedigree. His brother Percy is in a powerful position at the British Ministry of Magic. He has another brother, Bill, who works at Gringotts bank. And yet another brother who is the world's leading expert on dragons. And then there's George Weasley.'

'Ah! Weasley's Wizard Wheezes? So there's business acumen in the family, too. How very interesting. They seem a talented bunch.'

'Ron's career has been less stellar than his brothers' or Potter's, but he is ambitious,' the younger man said smoothly. 'I think he could be worked upon.'

'He sounds like a fine candidate,' the master said, closing his file. 'A meeting should be arranged as soon as possible.'

'There is one potential sticking point, sir.'

'And what's that, then?'

'His wife.'

The younger man reached over the desk, pulling the file from his master's grasp with a timid, apologetic smile. He tugged another profile from the file, presenting it to his master.

'This is Hermione Weasley, also a former school-friend of Potter's. She's very clever and a diligent researcher. She's currently an esteemed prosecutor at the Department for Magical Law Enforcement in London. She's a well-known social activist and has vigorously campaigned to improve the welfare of house-elves.'

'House-elves?' the older man exclaimed, incredulous.

'Oh yes. House-elves,' the younger man said with a contemptuous sneer. 'And, as a lawyer, she has been a very effective advocate for Muggleborn rights.'

'I don't like the sound of her at all. She could prove to be a fly in the ointment…. Have you met her?'

'Yes.'

'Can she be neutralised?'

The younger man's face darkened. 'I don't think that would be the best way forward, sir. It would compromise her husband's emotional equilibrium at a time when we needed him most.'

'I don't mean fatally,' the older man said with a weary sigh. 'I meant, can she be recruited to the cause?'

'As an active participant, I very much doubt it. She works by the book. Practically speaking too, I doubt she would have the time for anything extra-curricular, sir. She's a notorious workaholic.'

'We have the means to change that if it suits our requirements.'

'Of course, sir.'

'Best to keep her on board… a bit of social cultivation can go a long way with a woman.'

'Quite, sir. All very good, sir.'

'So, have you any ideas how we approach these Weasleys?'

The young man looked thoughtful. 'It's a tricky one, sir. And risky, too. But I have an idea.'

'Enlighten me.'

XXX

Finding Draco Malfoy sitting in her lounge, casually drinking tea, really was the last straw for Hermione Weasley, rounding off what had truly been a terrible day.

Work-wise, it had been murder.

She’d endured five wasted hours trying to convince a bunch of bigoted old wizards - the Wizarding Fraternity of Lincoln City's Medieval quarter – not to enforce an ancient bylaw, which outlawed anyone but purebloods and first generation Half-Bloods from owning businesses inside the old city walls. Hermione reminded them, that the first time these archaic laws had been introduced, as far back as 1381, there’d been a violent riot, and justifiably angry Muggleborns had burned the city walls to the ground.

But the Lincoln Wizards were unmoved. They knew that Hermione had no real powers to stop them, and that the Ministry was increasingly lax at punishing blatant acts of discrimination.

Flushed with failure, Hermione had Apparated back to the Department for Magical Law Enforcement in Central London, only to find that her office had been subjected to a surprise inspection from Internal Affairs.

Apparently, there had been complaints…

Padma Patil, Hermione's immediate deputy, was particularly distressed. With Hermione out of the office, Padma had been subjected to a barrage of random accusations from a Mr Jinks, who she described as a smarmy, officious little man, with a wheedling tone and a permanent leer. He’d turned the office upside down, looking for what he enigmatically described as ‘evidence’, though he refused to disclose further details.

The office was in complete disarray. Drawers flung open, paperwork dashed to the floor, even furniture moved out of position.

Staring disconsolately at the mess in front of her, Hermione realized it was going to be yet another late finish, so she dispatched an owl to her mother-in-law, Molly Weasley, asking her to pick up Rose and Hugo from their local primary school in Ottery St Catchpole.

Hermione could clearly picture Molly Weasley in her mind's eye, hands on hips, lips puckered in disapproval, sighing in dismay as the Ministry owl came pecking at her kitchen window at The Burrow.

Hermione reckoned she'd be in for yet another lecture when she finally got away from work, and sure enough, Molly obliged... at length.

The gist of her speech followed a well-worn groove.

Wouldn't it be so much easier if Rose and Hugo stayed at The Burrow with her, while their mother spent her days gallivanting here, there and everywhere?

But, oh no. Almost every day, Molly had to interrupt whatever she was doing to pick up poor little Rose and Hugo.

And why did Rose and Hugo have to go to a Muggle school? Weasleys had always been home-taught. And it hadn't done her children any harm, had it?

Why should Hermione’s children be any different?

Ginny always said she would have happily left James, Albus and Lily in Molly's care, if it wasn't for Harry's new job.

How convenient, Hermione muttered to herself, that Harry's job had taken his family all the way to Paris.

Instead, it was Ron and herself, who had somehow wound up in Ottery St Catchpole; against her own better judgment, she often thought ruefully.

'So where are they?' Hermione finally countered, looking beyond Molly into The Burrow's dimly lit hallway, hoping to retrieve her children and escape.

Molly folded her arms tightly across her chest and smirked, a little too triumphantly for Hermione's liking.

'They've asked to stay here tonight. With me. And Ron said yes.'

'You asked Ron? But he's on assignment.'

Molly shook her head. 'No, dearie. He's not. And once he realized you weren't coming home at a respectable hour, he decided to drop by for his tea.'

Respectable? Hermione almost spluttered her indignation. It was just gone half past seven.

But instead, she heaved what she hoped looked like a grateful sigh, and smiled broadly.

After all, there was no point making waves.

Plus, she was dog-tired, and suddenly a night without the kids was a welcome one.

'Well, at least I won't have to cook tonight,' she muttered, already retreating down the path. 'Thanks, Molly.'

XXX

Thanks, Molly, she thought bitterly, repeating the phrase over and over in her head, each time with increasing sarcasm.

She bridled, for the umpteenth time, at Molly Weasley's persistent intransigence regarding Rose and Hugo's schooling. Hadn't she explained, over and over, that there were some links with her Muggle heritage, certain ways of doing things, that she didn't want to relinquish?

Things she wanted her own children to experience.

Still seething, she jogged down the lane leading away from The Burrow, ignoring the gathering gloom cast by the tall elm trees which lined her route, to the village nearby. Chill dusk was closing in fast, and the thick scents of Autumn clotted the air around her.

She shivered a little, hastening her pace.

Minutes later, Hermione's home, a neat redbrick cottage over-run with creeping wisteria, came into view. A faint trickle of light was seeping through closed crimson curtains.

XXX

Hermione was wholly unprepared for the shock of seeing her husband, calmly drinking tea in their neat, little sitting-room with its aged oak beams and whitewashed walls, in the company of Draco Malfoy.

'Ron! What the bloody hell is he doing here?' she choked, pointing a shaking finger at their former nemesis.

At least Draco had the decency, Hermione reflected later, to look a little sheepish.

Ron grinned. 'Oh good. There you are. We were wondering where you'd got to.'

We. Had he said we?

Hermione looked from Ron's warm, wholesome face, shining with health and contentment, to the sharp, sullen features of his companion. Even amidst her confusion, it occurred to her that she had rarely seen two more completely different looking men.

'I thought you'd at least send an owl to tell us you'd be late,' Ron continued.

'I didn't even know you were coming home, Ron,' Hermione said pointedly. 'I thought you were at work.'

Ron shrugged. 'I am. This,' he nodded towards Draco, 'is my new assignment.'

A perplexed frown stole across Hermione's features.

'So, come on in, love. Take a seat, and hear all about it,' Ron said, eagerly patting an empty space on their shabby, brown leather sofa. Then to Draco, 'you don't mind, do you, mate? You did say she could help out.'

Draco evaded eye contact, staring instead at his hands resting on his lap.

The last thing Hermione wanted right now was to share her sitting-room, her home, with this hateful man, let alone engage in a civil conversation.

'Excuse me,' she breathed. She stumbled backwards then hurried away, almost tripping over a scattering of Hugo's toys, splayed across the length of their hallway. She dumped her work bag in the master bedroom, before heading into their kitchen.

She needed a drink.

XXX

Hermione made herself a large glass of gin and tonic, cranking thick globs of ice out of their enchanted refrigerator's ice-making facility into the glass. She leaned heavily against the kitchen wall, closing her eyes tightly, and took a deep breath. She then downed her drink in one fell swoop.

The drink did little to settle her nerves. Her heart was still racing crazily inside of her.

'Hermione?'

Ron had followed her.

'What the hell are you thinking?' Hermione gasped. 'You can't allow that… that wanker into our home! Have you forgotten all the vile, nasty things he's said and done to us?'

Ron instantly recoiled at her piercing volume, swiftly closing the kitchen door to deaden the noise.

'It's work, Hermione. Nothing else.'

'Witness Protection?'

'No,' Ron said firmly. He placed a large, warm hand on her shoulder and drew her a little closer.

Hermione heaved a huge sigh of relief. 'Thank God for that. For one truly terrible moment I thought this was going to be his safe-house.'

‘Nothing like that at all,’ Ron smiled tenderly. ‘But listen. This is a real, live investigation. And Draco's come up with some seriously interesting information.'

Hermione instinctively cringed.

Had Ron just called him Draco? Really. What was wrong with sticking to Malfoy?

'What's going on here, Ron?' she asked hotly.

'Come and have a drink with us, and I'll explain everything,' Ron urged.

'Tell me now.'

'It's best coming from Draco.'

Hermione scowled again, fiercely wriggling out of her husband's grasp.

Ron sighed in exasperation. 'Believe me, Hermione. This is big. Bigger than our petty playground squabbles. Bigger than us.'

'You mean, Section A big?'

'Section A,' Ron said affirmatively. 'Most definitely Section A.'

There was an urgent, pleading look in Ron's eyes which Hermione couldn't quite ignore.

'This is the kind of case I trained for. A golden opportunity to make my mark. No more Section D. No more witness protection.'

Hermione realized just how much this meant to Ron. Why else would he politely drink tea with his long-time enemy unless it was to prove himself in Section A?

Ron had spent almost his entire working life, toiling away in Section D, where he had established a fine reputation for himself as one of the best Aurors in the business for ensuring pre-trial Witness Protection. As a consequence, he had been placed in charge of a number of high profile, high-risk cases. But what he had really yearned for was a switch to the Ministry's most elite Investigation Unit – Section A.

With Harry Potter's move earlier that year to Paris, there had been a major shake-up at the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, which had led to Ron's dream move to Section A finally being realized.

'Please, Hermione. Come and join us. Come and hear what he has to say. It only has to be for a few minutes,' Ron begged. He lightly caressed her cheek with his thumb.

Hermione shrugged, forcing a polite smile. 'Sure. Just… just give me a minute, will you?'

XXX

Alone again, Hermione poured herself a fresh gin and tonic.

She was still fuming, of course.

Petty playground squabbles? Is that what he called it? Is that what he called the rude, sneering taunts Draco Malfoy had levelled at her for so many years? The constant degrading comments, mocking her Muggleborn heritage.

And surely Ron had the wit to realize that, even now, virtually fifteen years after the end of the Second War, Draco Malfoy was still not a man to be trusted?

He'd managed to creep his way back into a vague semblance of respectability in wizarding society – particularly since his father's prolonged illness had meant that Draco was all but Head of the Malfoy family. Even so, both Ron and Harry had openly discussed persisting suspicions amongst the Auror teams that Malfoy still flirted with the Dark Arts, in particular the flourishing trade in Dark Magic artefacts.

And yet here was Draco Malfoy, in her own home. Apparently assisting the same Aurors he had spent so long evading.

XXX

'So, come on then. What's this all about?' Hermione asked, kicking off her shoes and curling herself into the corner of their shabby, brown sofa. She might as well see what kind of mess Ron had got himself involved in.

She studiously ignored the cool grey stare of Draco Malfoy, seated somewhere to her right on Ron's favourite well-worn armchair. She could barely believe that Ron had sacrificed it, let alone to a man he purportedly despised.

Ron was momentarily distracted by the icy gin and tonic clinking in Hermione's glass. He regretfully eyed the empty teacup in his hand, then reached over and carefully placed the cup on a side-table nestled between the sofa and Draco's armchair.

'No doubt you've heard of Dark Flux,' he said.

Dark Flux? But of course she had. After all, she was a Muggleborn. Once you had heard of this mysterious, unidentifiable 'matter' with its uncanny and terrifying Muggle-hating properties, you were hardly likely to forget about it.

There had been just two known incidences since Hermione's entry into the Wizarding world when she was eleven years old, where mediwizards had retrospectively concluded that an outbreak of Dark Flux had infected and killed a number of Muggleborn witches and wizards, and a few Muggles to boot.

This phenomenon was known in wizarding circles as the Zametsky Effect – named after the small country town in Russia, where the disastrous effects of Dark Flux had first been noted one hundred years ago.

The most recent event, which had occurred in Paris in 2008, had prompted considerable alarm amongst the Weasley family, as a number of unexplained deaths, bearing all the hallmarks of Dark Flux, suddenly cropped up in the exact same arrondissement where Harry and Ginny Potter and their young family had just moved. Fears had run especially high in view of Ginny's late-stage pregnancy.

Hermione had explained, in vain it seemed, to the entire Weasley brood, that no harm had ever come to wizards with a pure or half-blood 'pedigree.' So there was really no need to fret.

In truth, Hermione was a little put out that nobody actually realized that the only family member who couldn't possibly dare to visit Ginny, and soon after, her newborn daughter Lily, was, in fact, herself.

Muggles were similarly puzzled by Dark Flux and its deadly consequences, although they didn't actually call it Dark Flux, preferring to view it as a mysterious plague or virus – mercifully limited in scope and generally short-lived. Even so, there was considerable alarm amongst the Muggle population, at the potential for this anomalous medical syndrome to mutate in some newly potent and ghastly way. Perhaps leading to an epidemic for which there was no known cure.

Hermione was suddenly alive with heated curiosity. What possible connection could Draco Malfoy, of all people, have with Dark Flux?

Ron leant forwards, which in turn drew both Hermione and Draco closer towards him.

'Well, for some time now there has been considerable anxiety at the Ministry that Dark Flux might fall into the wrong hands,' Ron said. 'If some kind of dark wizard with an anti-Muggle agenda was to procure Dark Flux, the fear is, it might be weaponised. Then used to target Muggleborns. Or Muggles.'

'Likely both,' Draco said drolly.

Hermione was startled to note that Draco's head was just a few inches from her own. At such close proximity, she could see soft crinkles radiating out from his eyes, and taut lines creased deeply across his forehead.

He looked like a man with worries.

'Exactly,' Ron said. 'The problem is, of course, that the Ministry still doesn't really know what Dark Flux is - whether it’s a powder or a gas or some kind of airborne micro-organism - which makes it even more bloody scary.’ He nodded at Draco. ‘And things have suddenly got even scarier… Go on, Draco. Tell Hermione what you told me.'

Hermione switched her gaze to Draco, who instantly seemed to recoil from such close scrutiny. A faint flush shadowed his pale complexion. To Hermione's astonishment, he even seemed a little tongue-tied, which surely had to be a first. At school, he'd always been such an annoying little motor mouth.

Draco cleared his throat. He hazarded a brief glance at Hermione's stern, inquisitive face, his long, slim fingers casually toying with a silver rose pendant hanging from a silver chain, which hung loosely over the collars of his smartly-fitted, charcoal robe.

'I've got firm evidence that everyone’s worst fears about Dark Flux might actually be happening… someone has found a way to detect and harness Dark Flux in its natural state.’

'This is chilling stuff, Hermione,' Ron said vehemently. ‘Draco’s sources say this guy then plans to release Dark Flux in a highly populated area.’

His eyes dropped enviously to Hermione's glass of gin and tonic, which she was clutching tightly in her right hand, whilst with her left hand, she unconsciously fiddled with an unruly lock of hair which framed her face.

‘Actually, the plan is to target the Muggle population of London,’ Draco said.

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

'Although we don't know all the details yet - obviously,' he added, instantly defensive.

Hermione suppressed a nervous snicker. She could hardly believe what she was hearing.

This was nonsense. A wind-up.

'So tell me, Malfoy,' she said, tightly folding her arms across her chest while fixing Draco with a hard stare. Her husband might have descended to first-name terms, but she'd be damned if she did the same.

‘Have your sources told you exactly how this individual can track Dark Flux, seeing as nobody even knows what it darned well is? You do know, Malfoy, that Dark Flux is registered at the Ministry, and classified by all peer-approved contemporary scientific research as a Verifiable Imponderable, meaning it defies rational explanation.'

Draco smirked. 'I'm surprised, Mrs Weasley, that you remain so uninformed. Dark Flux was officially removed from the Ministry's master-list of Verifiable Imponderables last year. In any case, Dark Flux research has continued, regardless of the Ministry's attitude. You’ve heard of The Jeroboam Foundation, I take it?' he asked, a crooked smile curling his upper lip into an all-too familiar sneer.

Of course she'd heard of The Jeroboam Foundation! Everybody had heard of it. The foundation was a major sponsor into all sorts of worthy research projects across a variety of fields, most especially Medi-Magic.

'Saul Jeroboam is highly respected, and a very generous philanthropist,' Hermione said, primly pursing her lips.

'The bloke's loaded,' Ron sniffed. 'He can afford to splash his money about.'

'Jeroboam's do-gooding image is a front. Believe me,' Draco said assuredly.

'Believe you?' Hermione snorted.

There was a weighty lull in the conversation.

'Just about everyone thinks Jeroboam is a bit of an oddball…' Ron said in reasonable tones. He’s this brilliant scientist, got pots of money, companies coming out of his ears… but he’s a complete recluse. Hides away up in the mountains in Switzerland. Never communicates with anybody –’

‘Social timidity is not a criminal offence, Ron,’ Hermione interjected.

‘Of course, Hermione,’ Ron said. ‘But there are also rumours that he likes to avoid society because he’s a pureblood supremacist, who hates mixing it up with Muggleborns and Muggles.’ He took a deep breath. ‘The sort of guy who’d love to purge the Wizarding world of witches and wizards like you, Hermione.'

'And he's developing the perfect weapon to do so,' Draco said in cool tones. Hermione could sense his wintry, grey eyes roaming her face, her hair. 'A weapon which can distinguish between blood.'

‘How do you know this?’

‘A few years ago a private security firm managed to scout out his headquarters in Switzerland. The place was clean, but they did find blueprints suggesting that a whole load of mobile tracking scanners were being built, to be operated worldwide, checking out new Dark Flux manifestations where and when they occur.'

'Is that… is that often?' Hermione asked, a slight quaver in her voice. She had always assumed that Dark Flux was an extremely rare phenomenon.

Draco's eyes glowed silver with meaning. 'More often than you think, Mrs Weasley… Anyway, sources suggest those blueprints have become a reality, and that Jeroboam has now developed a machine which traces – and can maybe even accrue - Dark Flux matter.’

'So, why are you telling me about this?' Hermione shrilled. 'Isn't this a matter for the Aurors? The Ministry? Come to think of it, it's probably even a matter for the Muggle authorities too. They've got stacks of anti-terrorism measures at their disposal.’

Ron sighed deeply.

'You have told your superiors about this, Ron, haven't you?' Hermione asked, a note of sharp concern in her voice.

'The thing is, Hermione,' Ron said. 'Draco has come to me, and me alone. Not the Auror division. Although, strictly speaking, I'm still acting in my professional capacity.'

A sharp clattering at the window alerted the party to an incoming owl. Ron rose from his seat to open the window and accept the message tethered to the owl's leg.

'Draco's run into a fair bit of trouble lately,' Ron continued haltingly, quickly scanning the message with a small frown. Even from a distance, Hermione could recognise Molly Weasley's large, scrawly handwriting. 'If he goes directly to the Investigation Unit, they'll hang, draw and quarter him before listening to a single word he says - which isn't going to help anybody, is it?'

He gathered up his and Draco's empty teacups.

'I'm for something stronger,' he muttered, gesturing towards the kitchen. 'And Hugo wants his Captain Magic teddy bear.' He moved towards the door. 'Anyone else for a drink?'

Draco shook his head.

Ron swept out of the room, leaving the door wide open. His sudden absence sent a chill through the room.

Hermione fidgeted uncomfortably, listening to the sounds of clanking glass and rushing water emanating from the kitchen.

Really, it was unbearable having to share her sitting room, her personal space, with a man like Malfoy. He made her skin crawl.

‘You shouldn't be here,' she hissed, turning on him, unable to suppress her irritation any longer.

'I had nowhere else to go,' Draco remonstrated forcefully.

'Rubbish! If there was any truth in what you’re saying, the Ministry would have no choice but to give you a fair hearing.’

‘No way! Not me! I'm the target of a concerted hate campaign.'

‘I doubt that very much,' Hermione said in cutting tones.

'Well, it's true. Six months ago, those cretinous do-gooding bastards in Section B fined me a wad of cash for handling what they described as unwarranted objects,' Draco explained sniffily.

'I hear Dark Magic artefacts are quite the rage at the moment,' Hermione replied, brandishing a sarcastic smile. 'You must be making a roaring trade.'

‘I wasn't trading.'

'Of course not.' Hermione shook her head in disbelief.

Draco grimaced peevishly. 'You've no idea what I have to put up with. You see, I have to travel a lot for my work-'

'Draco is the global business manager for Herb Healing Ltd,' Ron hastily explained, returning with a glass tumbler of firewhisky, and Captain Magic, who he swiftly reattached to the waiting owl, which he then shunted off the window-sill.

He was about to sit down again, but then seemed to have second thoughts, dashing back to the kitchen, glass in hand.

'But in my case, travel and work combined appears to be a highly suspicious activity … according to the Ministry at any rate,' Draco complained heatedly, raising his voice so that Ron could hear him. 'Even though I am travelling for perfectly legitimate business reasons, and have scores of witnesses to prove it. But those arseholes in Section B. They're hounding me-'

'Did you say Herb Healing?' Hermione asked incredulously, screwing her face up in disbelief.

Draco nodded.

'You, Draco Malfoy? You work for Herb Healing?'

Draco nodded again.

'But doesn't that mean you work with Muggles?'

'Yes. Our main market is Muggles,' Draco agreed, keeping his eyes firmly trained on Hermione's face as he spoke. There was a faintly victorious gleam in Draco's eyes. 'It seems they just can't get enough of our products.’

Hermione was reeling. She could hardly believe her own ears. Was this really the same Draco Malfoy who refused to consort with low-born Mudbloods?

'Well, Malfoy,' Hermione sneered. 'I'm in shock. Who'd have thought it?'

'I couldn't care less what you think,' Draco retorted in a quieter, menacing tone.

Ron swung back into the room. His tumbler of Firewhisky was now crowded with large chunks of ice.

'The thing is,' Draco continued, 'in the course of my work I get to meet a lot of very interesting people, and hear a lot of very interesting things. Jeroboam's quest for Dark Flux is currently a recurring theme. Over and over. Everywhere I go. This man means business. Dark business.'

'Then surely you're just the man for the job, aren't you Malfoy?' Hermione said snidely.

Draco fixed an icy stare in her direction.

'You might not want to believe a word I say, Mrs Weasley-'

'How can I? If you were telling the truth you'd tell the Ministry!' Hermione groaned in frustration.

'Look, Hermione,' Ron cradled his tumbler of firewhisky in his hands, a sorrowful look on his face. ‘You know how the Ministry drags these things out…’

‘So you want to bypass the Ministry and investigate these claims about Jeroboam yourself?’

‘With your help.’

‘Don’t be ridiculous,’ Hermione said scornfully. ‘I know nothing about the man.’

'You might not,' Ron said, 'but Draco's told me that your colleague Padma and that chap she's going out with… you know… the nerdy one in Ravenclaw.'

'Tony Goldstein.'

‘Well, they've got connections with The Jeroboam Foundation. Padma used to work for Arcana Ltd – owned by Jeroboam – and Tony’s still there. Been there since Hogwarts. He’s some kind of lab boffin.’

‘Jeroboam’s top researcher actually,’ Draco said coolly.

‘I know you don't approve of this, Hermione,’ Ron said in beseeching tones, ‘but could you talk to them? Kind of informally. Especially Tony. We need to get a sense of how The Jeroboam Foundation works - its’s such a secretive organization. They might know of former colleagues we can talk to.’

‘It’s all a bit cloak and dagger, Ron,’ Hermione grumbled. ‘Can’t you just take Jeroboam in for questioning? You are an Auror, after all.’

‘Yeah, sure, I could rustle up a warrant for his arrest in no time,' Ron said. 'But Jeroboam has friends in high places. He's a very powerful wizard. So any investigation has to be super-stealthy!’

Hermione heaved a baleful sigh.

She recognised Ron's round-eyed excitement all too well. It was the look of an overgrown puppy with a new toy.

What choice did she have? If it made Ron happy and forestalled any future nagging, then of course she would talk to Padma and Tony – it didn’t seem like the most onerous job in the world. And then hopefully, that would put an end to it. And Ron could move on to his next obsession…

XXX

Draco didn't hang around for any social niceties. Just minutes later, he unfurled his lean frame from Ron's favourite armchair, surprising Hermione at how tall he had become - certainly compared to the jumped-up little squirt she remembered from their school-days – and picked up a small black attaché case which had been parked against the armchair.

He moved purposefully towards the large Inglenook fireplace which dominated their sitting-room and asked to borrow some Floo Powder. Hermione informed him that they had, in fact, run out of Floo Powder, just yesterday morning.

'I hardly use the stuff when you're not around,' she explained to Ron.

Draco looked crestfallen, Hermione noted. Even a little agitated. He clicked open his attaché case and rummaged frantically through its contents.

'Blast it,' he hissed under his breath. 'I thought I'd packed a spare Portkey.'

He snapped shut the attaché case and headed instead for the front door.

Ron appeared to have recovered from his earlier comparative enthusiasm for Draco's company, and was only too glad, it seemed, to usher Draco outside. He nodded tersely, and in his best Auror's voice, ensured Draco that he would investigate the matter in hand thoroughly.

'Thanks for the tea,' Draco muttered, chiefly preoccupied with tightly buttoning-up his long, grey raincoat.

His eyes momentarily flicked to Hermione who was standing directly behind her husband.

She instantly prickled with anxiety.

There was something unfathomable in his forlorn, grey expression which disturbed her greatly.

The night had deteriorated since Hermione's return home. Steady drizzle fogged the air and a stiff breeze was furiously whipping the tops of the elm trees which bordered their property.

Draco stepped outside, and with a brusque farewell, he headed off, at some speed, down the lane, turning left towards the village. His long, lean figure, crowned by his trademark silver hair, luminous in the darkness, was soon swallowed up into the shadows.

'Odd chap,' Ron murmured, staring after Draco's fading form with a bemused expression on his face. 'Why didn't he just Apparate?'

XXX

CHAPTER TRACK: "EXTREME WAYS" by MOBY

Disclaimer: In its use of intellectual property and characters belonging to JK Rowling, Warner Bros, Bloomsbury Publishing, et cetera, this work of fiction is intended to be transformative commentary on the original. No profit is being made from this work. Any company or place names cited in this story are being used in an entirely fictitious setting, and do not, in any shape or form, reflect on any possible, coincidental real-life counterparts.
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