Ring a Ring O' Roses

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 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 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.'

*****************************************************************

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.

First up, the Wizarding fraternity of Lincoln City's Medieval quarter - one of England's most venerable and ancient magical communities - had recently decided to invoke a peculiarly nasty set of bylaws, which forbade all but purebloods and first generation Half-Bloods to engage in profitable commercial activity or enterprise of any kind within the confines of the old city walls.

These same laws had apparently been discredited and abandoned a long, long time ago - as far back as 1381, the same year as the Peasant's Revolt - Hermione's detailed notes, penned by her able assistant, Padma Patil - duly informed her. Although how this particular detail was in any shape or form relevant to the case, Hermione really had no idea. There had been considerable bloodshed, Padma's notes assured her: a violent riot, 'purging' Lincoln of any witch or wizard with dubious blood-heritage, which had cast something of a shadow over Lincoln's magical community ever since.

Hermione had strived to explain to a roomful of dark-robed wizards, all of a considerable age with extravagantly coiffed grey beards, that the Ministry of Magic, and in particular her own Department of Magical Law Enforcement, would take a dim view of any such legal proceedings which aimed to reinstate a system based on bigotry and exclusion. A system, Hermione emphasised, which had once led to wide-scale disturbance, sullying the reputation of the Lincoln wizards for many centuries.

One look, however, at their stiff, smug faces, and Hermione knew that her arguments had been in vain.

The Lincoln wizards had been famed supporters of the Dark Lord, and had fought stolidly by his side during both the First and Second wars. They cared nothing, and worried even less, at what they viewed as namby-pamby Liberal interventionism from a Ministry of Magic which was proving increasingly toothless and half-hearted in its attempts to banish resurgent anti-Muggle prejudice.

Hermione knew she had few real powers to curb local laws based on ancient custom. Legislation promoting greater tolerance amongst the diverse communities which comprised Britain's wizarding community, had been hugely watered-down at recent gatherings of the Wizengamot. Hermione knew it. And, by the look of the patronising sneers painted on her opponents' faces, the most venerable and ancient community of Lincoln's pureblood wizards knew it, too.

Flushed with failure, Hermione had Apparated back to her Central London offices, only to find that her Department had been subjected, that very morning, to a surprise inspection from the Ministry's Department of Internal Affairs.

Apparently, there had been complaints.

But when Hermione had requested more information, none had been forthcoming.

Padma was particularly distressed. As Hermione's immediate deputy, in Hermione's absence, she had suffered the full force of the investigation. She had been subjected to a slightly surreal barrage of oddly random insinuations, from a Mr Jakes; a squint-eyed Auror with a wheedling tone and a permanent smirk, Padma said, suppressing a shudder of revulsion as she spoke.

Rather ominously, this Mr Jakes had left a note on Hermione's desk, vowing to return as soon as new evidence emerged. Hermione had no idea what such evidence might be, or what it might be connected to.

Of course, all these office shenanigans meant that, yet again, she was too late to pick up Rose and Hugo from their local primary school in Ottery St Catchpole, and an urgent owl to her mother-in-law, Molly Weasley, was promptly dispatched.

Molly would be only too happy to collect her grandchildren, and only too happy to chalk up yet another black mark against their negligent, careerist mother who persistently put her job before her own children.

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 also 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 just why did Rose and Hugo have to go to a Muggle school? While Molly was the first person to applaud all this Muggle-toleration confuffle the Ministry was promoting these days, did it really have to extend to her own grandchildren's education?

Weasleys had always been home-taught. And it hadn't done her children any harm, had it? Look at Ron. Not a nasty bone in his body. George, too. And Bill's curse-breaking skills were much sought after. While Percy was now seventh-in-line to the Minister of Magic himself.

And Ginny 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.

As much as she loved and even admired her mother-in-law, she also knew her to be over-bearing and over-protective. And frankly, too keen on sticking her big nose into other people's affairs.

'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 school. 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 almost 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, indicating that somebody - Hermione assumed Ron, based on his mother's information - was in their sitting-room.

XXX

It had been surprising enough to learn that Ron was already home; most especially as he had claimed his latest Auror assignment was set to be his most taxing and time-consuming yet. However, 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.

Indeed. She eventually realized, when the reasons for this strange meeting became that much clearer, that she had probably made a bit of a fool of herself.

'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 ghostly pallor and sharp 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.'

Hermione surveyed Draco Malfoy's sullen visage with unalloyed suspicion. He 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.

'I... I...' Hermione stuttered, confusion suddenly clouding her mind. She stumbled backwards.

'Excuse me,' she breathed.

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

XXX

Here, she eschewed her usual, relaxing hot cup of tea, and poured herself a large glass of gin and tonic instead. She cranked thick globs of ice out of their enchanted refrigerator's ice-making facility, which she heaped into her glass. The ice cubes crackled merrily.

Hermione leaned heavily against the 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 reptilian toe-rag into our home! Have you forgotten that he's a complete and utter wanker? Do you remember all the vile, nasty little 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.'

'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-'

'I know what you thought,' Ron said tenderly. 'But listen, Draco's not under Ministry protection. I'm not his PSD. This is a real, live investigation, believe me. And Draco's come up with some seriously interesting information.'

Hermione instinctively cringed.

Draco? Had Ron just called him Draco? Not once, but twice!

'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.

Really. What was wrong with sticking to Malfoy?

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.

'Hermione,' Ron whispered, paranoically fearing that Draco was somehow able to overhear their conversation, even though the kitchen door was firmly shut. '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-term 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 though unproven 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. Hermione feared this was a sign of the times.
A sign that the once-vanquished bigotry of pureblood idealism, and those who espoused its creed, were stealthily creeping back into social respectability.

And there seemed to be precious little she could do about it.

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 softly, not daring, it seemed, to look at either Draco or herself.

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 wizards, and a few common-garden 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 new-born 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, in whatever form it chiefly takes, the fear is,' Ron paused, clearing his throat, 'the fear is that this substance or powder, this ... this Flux, might be weaponised. Might be 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 hadn't aged as well as she might have expected. He looked like a man with worries.

'Exactly,' Ron said. 'The problem is, of course, that the Ministry doesn't really know what Dark Flux is, which makes it even more bloody scary.'

Hermione beamed, grateful of her endless hours of extraneous research in Hogwarts Library and at the Ministry's gleaming new research facility.

'Not quite true, Ron,' she said tartly. 'Current thinking is that Dark Flux is a naturally occurring phenomena; probably some kind of airborne microscopic particle, which pretty much melts away once it has come into contact with suitably hospitable cells. And don't forget, we've no way of proving that Muggle contact with Dark Flux is always lethal. We only know when there's been an outbreak in hindsight. We only see the victims. The truth is, there's simply not enough empirical research on the subject.'

'Until now!' Ron said triumphantly, barely able to contain his excitement. He nodded in Draco's direction.

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, she remembered, he'd always been such an annoying little motor-mouth. Rarely stuck for words.

'Go on, Draco!' Ron urged. 'Tell Hermione what you told me.'

Hermione couldn't help but flinch, yet again, at Ron's repeated usage of Draco's first name.

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 evidence, firm evidence, that a certain individual,' here he paused, as if for effect, 'has found a way to detect Dark Flux in its natural state.'

Hermione narrowed her eyes suspiciously.

'I don't know all the details. Not yet,' Draco said, instantly defensive. 'I'm still working on it, but what I do know is... unnerving.'

'This is scary stuff, Hermione,' Ron said breathlessly. 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.

'This individual,' Ron said, reiterating Draco's dramatic intonation, 'has plans to find and acquire Dark Flux-'

'A considerable quantity of Dark Flux-' Draco interjected firmly.

Ron nodded vehemently. 'Sufficient enough to mount a full-scale attack on the Muggle population of this country.'

'Certainly enough to take out London. Or so my sources tell me,' Draco added.

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 with this creature, but she'd be damned if she did the same.

'What's your evidence? Have your sources told you exactly how this individual can actually 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 and your Department 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 have 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, Hermione thought, silent rage boiling up inside of her. Everybody had heard of The Jeroboam Foundation. The foundation was famously a major sponsor into all sorts of worthy research projects across a variety of fields, most especially Medi-Magic.

Indeed, until her law conversion course four years ago, her colleague Padma Patil had worked for a research lab at Arcana Pharmaceuticals, noted for developing life-saving Medi-Magic treatments, which was backed by The Jeroboam Foundation. In fact, Padma's boyfriend, Tony Goldstein, was still there.

'Jeroboam is highly respected, and a very generous philanthropist,' she 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.

'For all we know, Hermione,' Ron rushed in, 'the man might be a monster. Nobody's ever actually seen Jeroboam in person.'

'A monster? Based on what evidence?' she shrugged. 'He's not the first billionaire recluse, you know, and he won't be the last. Hiding away is quite the done thing amongst the stupidly rich, and as far as I'm aware, social timidity has not yet become a criminal offence.'

There was a weighty lull in the conversation. Hermione was still struggling to fathom why Ron was so desperately kowtowing to this vile scrap of a man. She worried that this Jeroboam might be some kind of rival to Malfoy's own interests, and he was perhaps hoping to use Ron to discredit him.

'Look,' Ron said in reasonable tones, 'sources suggest that this guy, Jeroboam, is a pureblood supremacist whose main aim is to purge the Wizarding world of Muggleborns.' He took a deep breath. 'That means 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 chill, blank eyes roaming her face, her hair. 'A weapon which can distinguish between blood.'

'So, why are you telling me about this?' Hermione asked, addressing her husband. 'Isn't this a matter for you? 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. Have you contacted them yet? Surely this calls for a collaborative effort?'

Ron sank wearily into his chair. He sighed deeply.

Hermione noticed that Draco was sitting very still.

'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 shuddered involuntarily.

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

'You shouldn't be here,' Hermione said to Draco in low tones, hoping Ron couldn't hear her.

'I had no choice.'

Hermione frowned quizzically.

'I had nowhere else to go,' Draco remonstrated forcefully. For a brief moment, his blank, grey eyes flashed a warning in Hermione's direction, quickly succeeded by a flippant shrug, reminiscent, Hermione thought, of his teenage years.

'If you really do have any incriminating evidence concerning this ... this Jeroboam character and his activities, then I'm sure the Ministry will give you a fair hearing. '

'Look here. I'm the target of a concerted hate campaign!' Draco shrilled, his lip curled in disgust. 'I'm the victim here!' He gestured vehemently towards his chest.

'Now that is something I find very hard to believe,' Hermione said in cutting tones.

'Well, it's true. Six months ago, those cretinous do-gooding swines in Section B fined me a wad of cash for handling what they described as certain, 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 Herbal 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 purposes, and have scores of witnesses to prove it. But those bastards in Section B. They're hounding me. Baying for my blood-'

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

Draco nodded.

'You, Draco Malfoy? You work for Herbal 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. And they pay handsomely, too. In fact, I'm very much indebted to the Muggle world for helping me replenish the family coffers. After the Dark Lord fell, we took quite a beating.'

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.

'As you have made abundantly clear, Malfoy, on numerous occasions. In fact, I don't know why you're bothering to talk to me at all. Me, a filthy, little Mudblood.'

Draco said nothing. His lips tightened momentarily, then softened. But his eyes blazed in cold fury.

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

'The thing is,' Draco muttered in exasperation, '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, Mr 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!'

'The way things are right now? I can't risk it.'

'I very much doubt that,' scoffed Hermione. 'I believe you and your kind are quite the rising stars of the moment.'

She thought back ruefully to the intransigent bigotry of the Lincoln wizards who had dogged her morning.

'Look, Hermione,' Ron reasoned, 'if what Draco has heard is right, then Jeroboam's a real nasty piece of work who needs to be taken down before a lot of innocent people get killed.'

Ron cradled his tumbler of firewhisky in his hands, a sorrowful look on his face.

Hermione saw that Ron truly believed Draco. No question about it. 'You talk like he's the next Dark Lord, Ron,' she said.

Ron looked her in the eye. 'As good as, Hermione. As good as. We can't let that happen.'

'And you really think you can do this on your own, Ron?' she asked, smiling archly.

Ron shrugged. 'I'm not sure yet. I'd like to exercise the right to tap into your famous research skills, now and then? Get a bit of insider info?'

'I know nothing,' Hermione said pointedly.

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

'Tony Goldstein.'

'That's the one. Well, they've got connections with Jeroboam's foundation. And they'll know others, too. Former colleagues, who might know more about the Dark Flux project. I know you don't approve of this, Hermione, but could you talk to them? Kind of informally. Especially Tony. He's one of Jeroboam's top researchers.'

Hermione scowled. If it made Ron happy, then of course she would, but it all seemed a bit too cloak and dagger for her liking.

'What we do know,' Draco said gruffly, 'is that Jeroboam has developed a machine, or a mechanism of some kind, which traces - or maybe even predicts, we're not sure - any manifestation of Dark Flux, anywhere around the world. We need to find that machine, or machines, and destroy them. I've heard of a private security firm who managed to scout out his headquarters in Switzerland a few years ago. The place was clean, but they did find blueprints suggesting that a whole host 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.'

'If we just wanted to nab Jeroboam, and take him in for questioning, we could do that. Easy-peasy. 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. We can't alert him to what we're doing. Stealth is key.' Ron clenched one of his fists into a tight little ball, and thumped the arm of the sofa for emphasis as he spoke. 'And if this guy really is building a means to commit mass murder, we need to prove what he's doing. And fast.'

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.

Except, from the sound of it, this little project was no game.

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.

'Glad to be of assistance,' Draco muttered, chiefly preoccupied with tightly buttoning-up his long, grey raincoat. 'And thanks for the tea.'

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?'

***

CHAPTER TRACK: "EXTREME WAYS" by MOBY