Moonlit Carvings

Draco watched his three companions thoughtfully. Never in his wildest dreams or, indeed, darkest nightmare, believe it would end up like this. The great Draco Malfoy working with perfect Potter, the weasel and the Dark-Annoying-One, but although he'd have to be properly tortured to admit it, he found it satisfying work.

Primarily the four starkly different personalities had clashed terribly. Almost resulting in them failing in their first ever case, losing the murderer. But, when it came to the real crunch, each member of the unluckily founded group came to realise that their differences were actually their strengths.

Potter had an undeniably rash streak to him, that occasionally led to trouble for the group, but he was terribly observant, able to picture and remember a crime scene down to the tiniest detail. He also wasn't afraid to put his life on the line for any of them, even Draco, which earned his respect and a grudging dislike that Draco couldn't find it in himself to dismiss.

Weasley was still the overly loud and quick-tempered boy that Draco remembered from Hogwarts, but the redhead had an unerring sense of loyalty and sensitivity. This came across evidently in his personality, making him the perfect candidate to deal with the general public. He could easily extract information from even the most difficult witness with his sincere and friendly attitude. And of course, defying the amount of food he ate, he was still lean and strong and a definite pro to have on side at the crunch moment.

Zabini had changed the most since Draco had seen him at Hogwarts. They had been reunited in the waiting room of St Mungos, after Mrs Zabini had lost her memory. That had set the fire of righteousness into Zabini, putting him firmly on the path of crime fighting and Draco had gone along for the ride, at first only as a time killer, but soon found that the work suited him.

Blaise was highly analytical, calculating every angle and possibility that went into a plan or crime. He, too, had earned Draco's respect over the two years they'd worked together.

"Oi, Narcissus!" interrupted Ron throwing a paper aeroplane deftly at his head. Draco ducked and glared simultaneously.

And him? He had the contacts. As well as the cool logic that spotted a flaw from a mile away, especially those of the people around him. He wasn't afraid of telling them either.

"Watch it Weasel-boy," he warned. Ron pretended to shake in terror.

Harry held up the black snake silhouette. "We were wondering if you recognised this?"

"Yes," bristled Draco. "It's a snake." Ron rolled his eyes. "What were you expecting me to say? 'Oh yes that looks exactly like the one I branded Fraser with after I kidnapped him'?"

"He didn't mean that at all," interjected Zabini, taking the paper from Potter. "I just said I thought I recognised when we were doing the rounds last year, and we were wondering if you could expand on that."

Draco regretted his harsh reaction, but, of course, he didn't let it show. "If I had recognised it, I would have said straight off," he said, reminding them that - whatever else he might be - he was a solid part of the team all the same.

There was silence as the four of them contemplated where they could possibly go from there.

"Has the elusive Mr. Blaine been questioned?" Zabini asked suddenly.

"Yes," replied Weasley. "All he could say was he saw Fraser go in, but never come out. Which we knew already."

"We're not getting anywhere," Potter concluded, glancing at the clock. "Time to call it a day I think." The three men nodded their assent and began gathering their stuff together, subdued.

Hermione bustled around the small thatched cottage, fixing paintings and photographs so they were perfectly straight, dusting surfaces, covering her heinous boredom. It wasn't that she didn't like being a mother; in fact she loved it, but some days she just wished so hard for a mental challenge of some kind.

The children were presently as 'Auntie Ginny's house', playing with their cousins. Hermione thought she'd never get used to referring to the youngest Weasley sibling in such a way. but then she never thought she'd get used to being addressed as 'Mrs Weasley'. Not that Hermione had seen much of her husband lately, he was embroiled in his work - which she completely encouraged - she just wished she got to spend more time with him.

As though in answer to her thoughts, she heard the key turning in the front door lock. A quick look at the clock read five O'clock; he was never home at this time!

"Hermione?" Ron's deep timbre echoed around the cottage, still making her shiver after so many years.

"You're home early," she called in reply, keeping her voice steady.

He entered the modest, but clean, kitchen, instantly making it seem considerably smaller, straining to house his impressive frame. Hermione watched him, a small smile curling at a corner of her lips.

"The kids?" he inquired, not missing the predatory gleam in his wife's eye.

"Out." She swayed towards him, entwining her fingers at the back of his neck. His arms went around her and Hermione felt she was properly home, he was her home.

Her lips sought his, familiar and gentle, bodies hardly touching at first. It quickly became something demanding and lustful, the passion they'd never lost, through their fights and denial, their loss and insecurity. Five years of marriage and two children had done nothing to dampen it, nothing at all.