The Game is Afoot

Chapter 10 - - The Game Is Afoot

- - -

Friday arrived much too quickly. Hermione still had not come to a decision about Draco, though not for lack of opportunity to think. Wednesday night was her usual patrol night, and she'd spent the entire evening going round and round in her mind, debating and weighing the pros and cons. That had been the largest block of free time spent in fruitless musing.

Many smaller blocks had gone by the wayside as well. Her lunch period Thursday had been spent in conversation with Blaise about possibly getting their fourth-year students together for a joint venture to the Shrieking Shack on the first trip to Hogsmeade. She'd wiled away that evening with the most recent edition of The Journal of the Dark Arts, which had arrived by owl post that morning. After her weekly house meeting, she had spent a few hours with students in her house, answering questions, and speaking with the Prefects.

Friday afternoon she sat at her desk, absently tapping her quill and waiting for her students to filter in. She didn't notice Samaya enter first, as usual, and stop in front of the desk.

"Morning," Samaya said.

Hermione jumped, startled, and while Samaya chuckled, she needlessly straightened the things on her desk. "Good morning," she replied.

"Distracted?" the girl asked, taking in the front row near Hermione.

"Why would you ask that?"

"Oh, no reason." Samaya pulled something out of her bag and tossed it onto Hermione's desk. "The Prophet. Not as exciting as Witch Weekly, but since that's only published once a week, this is the best we get."

Hermione hesitantly slid the paper closer so she could get a better look.

"Page fourteen, top left column," Samaya instructed, sitting back in her seat to watch.

It was an article about her lunch date with Draco. At least this time, there were no pictures. There were, however, a few sentences dedicated to the kiss. Hermione's insides did a somersault when she read it; the mere mention of it sent her heart racing. At least her discomfort wasn't for naught; someone had seen the kiss and wrote about it, as was the plan. The piece also mentioned that they had dinner plans for that evening, at an undisclosed location.

Hermione read through the article twice, her nerves inexplicably calming as she did. It was all a stunt to fool the media and whoever was watching Draco. She had to get through the dinner date, and then they could move on to more important things.

Samaya looked disappointed as Hermione calmly folded the paper and returned it.

"It's amazing what the Prophet finds newsworthy these days," she commented flippantly as the rest of the class began to enter and take their seats.

"You're nervous about tonight, aren't you?" Samaya pushed.

Hermione smiled. "Actually, I'm feeling much better now. Thank you for your concern." She raised her voice to address the room. "Good morning, class. As you know, today you will be receiving your group assignments." Hermione tapped the board with her wand, and a list of instructions appeared. "Copy this list carefully, as you will need to complete each item in order to receive full credit."

Quills scratched furiously as she continued. "I was pleased with your work on Wednesday, and I accept the roles you have created within your groups. Those who have been designated as the emissary to speak with me, I will be available at this time, on every Friday, in this room. You are also welcome to ask me questions in class and whenever you see me around the school."

She returned to her desk and picked up the three pieces of parchment on which were written the groups' assignments. After a few minutes, everyone was finished copying the instructions.

Hermione handed one slip to one member in each group. "I suggest you all write your numbers down. I won't be giving them out again, should you lose this parchment. You have your assignments; you may either stay in the room and strategize or leave to begin your work. I will remain until the end of the period."

Corey's hand shot into the air. "Professor, these numbers aren't evenly distributable among the three of us."

Hermione gave a slight nod. "That's right. I trust that you will work out the division of labor, so that each of you does your equal part." She paused. "That reminds me. If anyone ever feels as though he or she is being treated unfairly by the other group members...by being given too little or too much work...please don't hesitate to call it to my attention. You will receive group as well as individual grades for these assignments. Any more questions?"

No one spoke up.

"Excellent. Then good luck. I will see you on Monday."

As suspected, all three groups left. Though she hoped they were headed to the library, she wouldn't have bet on it.

ooo

Hermione stared into her closet, her nerves once again raging. She had less than an hour to get ready, and she still had no idea what to wear. Draco hadn't said where they would be dining, only that she should be at the Leaky Cauldron at seven-thirty. Knowing him, they would be eating somewhere nice, and she had only a handful of dresses to suit the occasion.

She didn't have the luxury of Ginny's help, as she knew the Potters had plans that evening at the Burrow. After a few more minutes of staring, Hermione narrowed the choices to two: a fitted, shimmery black dress she had worn to a function with Charlie, during which he couldn't peel his eyes off her, or an elegant, mid-thigh blue dress that flattered her in all the right places.

Though she wasn't trying to send Draco the same message with the black dress that she had Charlie, the idea was still intriguing. A scenario flashed through her mind where she wore the black with the intent of seducing Draco. If she failed, she could simply back out of their agreement. If she succeeded ... what then? At this point in her life, she wanted more than a one-off, and judging from Draco's history, he wasn't in the same place as she was.

Hermione grabbed the blue dress before she could think along that path any further.

ooo

At twenty past seven, Hermione arrived in the Leaky Cauldron. She had paired an ivory wrap with the blue dress and donned a pair of soft, leather sandals. The dress had thin straps, and the bottom twelve inches was a blue, silvery fabric, lighter than the rest of the dress. As an afterthought, she realized it would complement his eyes.

Hermione glanced around the crowded room, hoping that Draco had arrived early so that they could leave and she could avoid the stares directed at her. She didn't find him, and so tried to blend in. After a moment, someone gently grabbed her elbow, and the smell of Hawthorne's Inks filled her senses. She relaxed immediately and turned to the man who had mysteriously appeared by her side.

Draco's face was surprisingly warm as he smiled and indicated the back door of the pub. His hand slid down her arm, and he smoothly clasped her hand in his, leading the way through the crowd. He made it look so easy, so natural.

When they were through the back and walking down the cobbled street, he didn't release her hand.

"You are exquisite this evening," he murmured, leaning his head nearer to hers.

Hermione blushed and avoided his gaze, confusion sweeping through her. He had done it again, complimented her unnecessarily. It was almost too much; she wasn't sure her heart could survive his pseudo-charms.

"Where are we going?" she asked.

"Gordon Ramsey," he replied. "Do you know of it?"

"Only that it's supposed to be the best restaurant in Diagon Alley," she said, her suspicions about a nice restaurant not only confirmed, but vastly underestimated.

He smiled. "It is. The chef, Mr. Ramsey, is a Squib, but many argue that he's magical in the kitchen. His restaurant in London is one of only three in all of the United Kingdom to earn three stars in the Michelin Red Book."

Hermione was only somewhat familiar with the system, but she guessed, from the way Draco spoke, that it was a very big deal. "Wow."

"He opened his small Diagon Alley restaurant a few years ago, and my company invested in it. It's very hard to get a table, but I managed to secure one for us."

He spoke as though he had gotten extremely lucky in getting the table, but she suspected there had been no trouble at all, since he had invested in the restaurant from the beginning. His modesty was ... surprising and also a little endearing.

The experience at the restaurant did not go as Hermione had pictured immediately upon hearing where they were eating. She had expected the maître d' to make a fuss over Draco, with grand overtures, and usher them directly to a table that had been especially reserved for them, already set, a bottle of their finest champagne in a bucket of ice. She had even anticipated an appearance by the chef himself, who would speak with Draco as an equal, even thank him for his continued patronage of the restaurant.

None of those things happened. The maître d' treated Draco the same way he had treated the people who had arrived ahead of them, sparing him no special glance or word. Their table wasn't special in any way; in fact, it was sandwiched between two other tables on one wall that was barely big enough for two tables to fit comfortably, much less three. No bottle of champagne awaited them, and Draco was told that their best bottle was unavailable that evening. He chose another and the waiter left.

Hermione took in the room that comprised half of the restaurant's seating space. Nine tables sat in a square around a small dance floor, which was surprising considering how cramped the tables were. Surely the floor could have been scrapped, allowing the patrons more room during their dining experience. The room was dim, lit by candles in sconces on the wall and in five elaborate chandeliers. The walls were creamy yellow in color, with dark, paneled wainscoting rising three feet from the black and white tiles floor.

The table linens were dark maroon, the china had a gold, filigreed edge, and the flatware was gold-plated. Soft music from a string quartet drifted in from the other room. The ambiance was incredibly romantic.

When Hermione returned her attention to her companion, she found him watching her.

"Do you like it?" he asked.

"It's beautiful," she said, letting her eyes drift along the walls, on which were sepia pictures of vineyards and country towns in the wine regions of Provence, France. Then she met his eyes once more. "And a bit ... claustrophobic, honestly."

Draco chuckled, his eyes glinting in the soft candlelight.

As he perused the menu, Hermione took the time to admire him. He wore a simple but luxurious set of black dress robes with fine stitching and details. His hair, the same length it had been in school, appeared to be impossibly soft, and it looked as though he had asked someone to cut it to make it look strategically unkempt. The result was incredibly sexy.

"Have you looked at the menu?" he asked, drawing her from her musings.

"No," she admitted, pinking slightly, taking hers from the edge of the table and opening it. She hoped he hadn't caught her staring.

"I was thinking we should do the Menu."

Hermione found the page that listed the items served in the Menu, and her eyes widened. "Seven courses? Merlin, I won't be able to eat that much!"

"You get very small portions," he said, amused.

She didn't want to mention it, but the price of the Menu, more so than the seven courses, made her hesitant. Twenty-four Galleons for a meal! Granted, it would probably be the most amazing food she had eaten in her life, but this wasn't real. He didn't need to spend so much for appearance-sake.

"I'm going to look at the A La Carte," she said.

"Hermione."

Draco's voice had taken on that smooth, velvety texture that she suspected he used to make women bend to his will. She hated that it worked on her. She looked at him, ready to resist his attempt to talk her into the Menu.

He started to speak, to argue his point for a long, drawn-out evening in her company...carefully worded, of course...but thought against it upon seeing her fretted expression. "As you wish," he said, and returned to his menu.

She stared at him for a few seconds, stunned.

"I'll be getting the Menu; it's not every day I get to eat somewhere like this, and I intend to take full advantage."

"Oh." Confused, Hermione stared at the menu. Her assumptions, this time about his standard of living, had once again gotten in her way. If he truly didn't eat in three-star restaurants on a regular basis, and he was taking her to one, it was important; it meant something. The only reason she could fathom for why he didn't eat in such establishments was that he didn't want to. Only that theory didn't quite work, however, because he seemed eager now.

"I'm ready to order," she said.

Draco got the waiter's attention. "I'll have the Cornish lamb and lobster Menu," he said.

"And to start?" the waiter asked.

"The Pressed foie gras and confit, please."

"For the lady?"

Hermione smiled, hoping her nervousness didn't show through. "The duck and the Loire Valley foie gras menu. To start, the scallops."

The waiter took their menus with a brisk nod and left.

Draco raised an eyebrow. "Excellent selection."

She tried to shrug daintily. "Carpe diem ... or noctem, as the case may be."

Everything was delicious. From the first bite of scallop, to the main courses, it was like eating art. She'd never had such an exquisite meal, and she doubted she would again.

Draco was the perfect date. He was funny, attentive, complimentary, he asked thoughtful and absorbing questions, and truly seemed interested in what she had to say. He touched her at the right moments...a brush of his hand on hers, light fingers on her arm ... He even brushed his knee against hers underneath the table. Hermione was constantly forced to remind herself that it wasn't real; he wasn't truly interested in her. It pained her to think how easy it was for him to pretend, to make it convincing. She was nearly convinced he was in love with her, and she knew it wasn't true!

It was nearly ten when dessert arrived, Caramelised Tarte Tatin of apples with vanilla ice cream, which they would share. Draco smiled at her and took his spoon, getting some of everything on it and offering it to her.

"Ladies first," he murmured, his tone silky smooth.

For some reason unknown to her, Hermione's eyes filled with tears. He was too good to be true...because he wasn't real. It was all an act, beautifully orchestrated and performed by a very talented actor. She wasn't able to separate her heart from what she was doing, and she decided she must turn him away, refuse his offer, refuse to help him. She couldn't stand the heartbreak she knew would come with helping him, couldn't watch it approach, waiting for it to crush her.

"Dance with me," he said suddenly, putting the spoon away and holding out his hand. His face was strangely blank, void of the suffusion of emotions it had held moments before.

Hermione stared warily at his hand.

"Please," he said.

The word drew her eyes to his, and she agreed, thinking it would be a perfect yet bittersweet ending to their unusual situation.

Draco led her onto the small dance floor and pulled her close, the perfect, courtly distance between them. Not too intimate, as this was only their third date, but not too far, which might suggest a lack of desire for intimacy. She nearly laughed.

"What were you thinking?" he asked, his eyes demanding. "Just now."

She bit her lip and tore away from his piercing gaze.

"Hermione, I want to know."

His severe tone was like a bucket of cold water thrown in her face. He was back; Draco, the man she wasn't feigning a relationship with, had made his first appearance of the night. She felt oddly reassured.

"I'm a bit confused," she began slowly. "About you."

"I am happy to answer any question you have."

"All this time, I've been under an impression of you. It occurred to me that I am entirely mistaken."

He frowned. "I don't know what you mean."

She smiled sadly. "All of this, from the very first time I saw you, at the pitch, has been planned. Every word you've said to me, every phrase carefully crafted, so that I would find you agreeable enough to consider working with you."

Draco stiffened, a shadow passing over his features. "That isn't true."

She gasped and stopped, tears filling her eyes again. "Your apology!" she breathed, her hand flying to her mouth.

"No," he said, gently but firmly pulling her back into their dance. "I swear to you, that was not orchestrated. Not for this. I meant...mean...every word I said that day." He reached his hand out to turn her chin to look at him. "I want you to believe me. Will you?"

"I ... I don't know," she admitted.

He closed his eyes as though resigned. When they opened again, he smiled, and pulled her close, crossing that perfect distance line, to speak softly in her ear. "You're the most enchanting woman I know, Hermione Granger."

Hermione's heart was pounding, her breathing ragged, as she inhaled his scent.

"Will you ... let me explain?" he whispered so softly she barely heard it. "Come home with me?" he then asked, a little louder, but still for her ears only.

She swallowed hard, her body screaming yes, please, for an entirely different reason than the one in her head that insisted she listen to his explanation.

Draco pulled back, their faces so close she thought he would kiss her. Instead he gazed into her eyes, fire boiling in his. "This is it," he whispered.

Her choice. She could go with him, learn his secret, and be bound to work with him until the task was complete, or stay, end her association with him, and return to the life she had been quite happy with before he had reentered it. One was safe, the other almost guaranteed to cause her pain. However, being hurt wasn't absolutely certain, and she quickly convinced herself that she could prevent it from happening. That brief shimmer of hope flickered inside her and won out.

"All right," she said, unsure of her voice.

Relief flooded Draco's face, much the way it had the week before in McGonagall's office when Hermione agreed to the dates. He smiled and kissed her forehead, holding her close against him.

"Thank you," he breathed against her skin.

It sent a pleasant shiver down her spine.

He let her go and they returned to their table, where they waited for the bill. When it arrived, Draco barely paid it any mind and counted out the correct number of Galleons. Within moments, he had her wrap in one hand and her hand in his other. He led her out of the restaurant and onto a side alley.

"We have to Side-Along," he said matter-of-factly.

Hermione nodded, a feeling of unease growing rapidly inside her. Draco motioned for her to step closer, but she hesitated. "Wait."

"What's wrong?" His eyes were full of concern and worried impatience, as though if he didn't get her compliance that night, all would be lost.

"Th-the Manor," she stuttered. "I just ... it's only ... I feel .... Is there somewhere else we could go?"

Draco frowned, a questioning expression on his face. "Why ...?" He trailed off then, understanding dawning in his eyes. "Oh, bugger. I didn't even...I'm so sorry. We won't go anywhere near that room, I swear to you. We'll be in my wing of the Manor, and it's almost like an independent flat."

Hermione shivered, and Draco drew her wrap tighter across her shoulders. Then he lightly ran his hands up and down her arms, which did nothing for the chill and only made her shiver more.

Malfoy Manor was the last place she ever thought she'd set foot into again. It had never occurred to her that through working with Draco she might have to return to the place where she had been tortured by his aunt while he watched.

"Do you think we'll be there often?" she asked.

"It would be easiest, for quite a few reasons," he replied softly. "I don't want you to be uncomfortable, though. For tonight, I don't see any alternative. What I have to show you is there, I'm afraid."

She allowed herself one more moment of pure terror before pushing it out of her mind. She had conquered every fear she'd ever faced, fought Death Eaters on more than one occasion, and eaten something cooked by Ron Weasley. The memory of what had happened to her in the Manor was only that...a memory. It couldn't hurt her, and she refused to let it control her now, seven years after the perpetrator had died.

"All right. Let's go."

"Are you sure?" he pressed.

"Yes." She gave him a tiny smile. "Now hurry before I change my mind."

Draco nodded and pulled her into an embrace, wrapping his arms firmly around her. "I have found that it is less disorienting this way."

She was certain that it wouldn't be true in this instance, and not because of the Apparition.

When her feet hit solid ground again, Hermione looked around. The first object her eyes fell upon was an enormous bed, covered in cream, silk linens. A quick glance at the rest of the room persuaded her that they had arrived in his bedroom. She pushed forcefully against his chest and he released her.

"What is this?" she asked, accusation in her voice. "Why are we here?"

For a moment, he looked baffled. "Why are we where? You agreed to come to the Manor with me."

"Your bedroom!" she cried, gesturing wildly in the direction of the bed.

He frowned. "This is the only room in the Manor into which I can directly Apparate."

She felt slightly foolish for the direction her thoughts had taken...or rather, that she had let him know. "That's very convenient, isn't it?" she snapped, back-pedaling for something to say.

His lips slowly formed a smirk. "Did you think this was an attempt to get you into bed with me?"

Hermione stuck her chin up. "A little, yes."

He chuckled and began removing his robes and tie. Underneath, he had worn a plain, black button-down shirt and trousers. "Would it have worked?"

"No," she replied indignantly, not sure of the truth of her statement.

"You did agree to come home with me," he said, hanging his robes in a wardrobe. At her frustrated expression, he shook his head. "I'm joking, Hermione."

"Well, honestly," she huffed. "What else would I have thought?"

Draco shoved his hands in his pockets and tossed his head to get the fringe out of his eyes. Hermione was thankful he wasn't watching her, as her eyes glazed over for an instant.

"I can see your point," he conceded. "Unfortunately, such pleasantries are not responsible for me bringing you to my home. As you may recall, we're here to discuss the venture I would appreciate your help with. Would you come with me?" He walked to the door and opened it, then paused to wait for her.

"Where are we going?" she asked nervously as he led her through the Manor. Her eyes were darting everywhere, from the luxurious carpets to the rich tapestries, the priceless artwork and intricately carved moldings.

"My office. We don't have to go to the ground floor for anything." He sighed. No one, except for himself and his house-elf, had set foot in his office in the seven years he had been head of Malfoy Inc. That would change tonight. It was fitting, because many other things about his life were about to change as well.

Draco's bedroom was on the second floor of the massive Manor, in the east wing. The office was on the first floor, in the northern part. It had a balcony which sat above the large veranda on the ground floor. When they reached the door, Draco hesitated for only an instant before opening it, admitting Hermione.

She stepped onto a thick, soft rug and was immediately hit with the smell of aged parchment. Old books surrounded her in floor to ceiling bookcases. She took a deep breath and smiled. "It's amazing," she said, her eyes wandering from title to title.

Draco walked around her and went to the desk. "It's all my father's," he said, rummaging through drawers and starting a pile on the desktop. "Except for one shelf that I use."

"Why?" she asked. "You've been in charge for seven years; why not make it your own space?"

He paused in his search and looked at her heavily. "Because, I never wanted ..." Draco indicated the room in general with an air of defeat. "This. Not that I'm complaining. It just ... isn't the life I would choose for myself."

As he dragged a hand through his hair, she was amazed at the transformation he had undergone in mere moments. He now seemed older, wearied, as though burdened with a heavy load. It was a stark contrast to the man she'd been to dinner with, who had seemed light, almost care-free. That had been part of the act as well, she realized.

"I'm afraid I don't really understand," she offered quietly.

"I know." Draco came out from around the desk and offered her a seat on the sofa, which she accepted. He remained standing, leaning against the bookcase facing Hermione and crossing one leg over the other. "My father was in prison for seven years," he began. "And for seven years ... someone ..." Draco shifted his legs. "Someone has been ... blackmailing me."

Hermione could tell it had been a difficult thing for him to say. She waited for him to speak again.

"You have to understand my situation. I was thrust into this position, the head of a multi-million Galleon company, with no training, no idea of what my father actually did. It should have been years before I was required to even consider taking over the business. Instead, it was dropped into my lap overnight. To say I was overwhelmed is a gross understatement."

He started to pace, concentration worrying his brow. "Then, just a few weeks into my new life, I received a letter. My father was extremely fortunate to receive only seven years." Their eyes met. "We both know he deserved more. This ... person promised to turn over evidence that would keep my father in prison for life, if I didn't meet his demands."

Draco couldn't figure out what to do with his hands, so he picked a paperweight off the desk and shifted it from hand to hand as he talked. "I didn't want my father in prison for his life, because I didn't want to run Malfoy, Inc. for the rest of mine. I wasn't ready to give up all my hopes and aspirations, and honestly, the work was a struggle at first. Business doesn't come naturally to me. I can do it effectively now, after much practice, but it was quite difficult in the beginning."

"What about your mother?" Hermione asked. "Did she help you?"

He shook his head. "No, she never had any part in the company, and I'm sure I got my lack of business prowess from her."

"Why didn't you seek help?"

"I couldn't tell anyone about the blackmailing, as I'm sure you can imagine. There was also a curse on the information in the blackmail letters that prevented me from telling anyone in my family. I was alone, scared, still ... still a bloody kid." Anger tinged his voice.

"This may sound absurd," Hermione began slowly, "but did you ever try to find this person before? Or thwart him or her?"

Draco sniffed. "Yes. I had to try. The first letter terrified me, and I looked for this person everywhere I went. I paid him...or her...as required and dreaded what would happen next. By the fourth letter, I felt bold. I put a newly developed tracking charm that wasn't available to the public on the money and waited. Three days later, I received a note from the blackmailer congratulating my attempt, assuring me he'd expected it, calling me a child. He also included a lock of my mother's hair and promise he'd send her blood the next time I tried something."

Hermione gasped. "How did he get it?"

"I don't know," Draco ground out. "When I find him...or her...I intend to ask. I didn't try anything again."

"I don't blame you." She sent him a sympathetic look. "You couldn't risk your mother's life."

"No. And besides, I thought I could manage for seven years, until I could turn it back over to Lucius."

"So what happened? He's out now."

Draco scowled, but it wasn't directed at her. "I'm getting to that. The blackmailer's demands were exorbitant. Ridiculous. It's far more than this huge house runs on in a year. I have no idea what he is doing with the money, but ..." He took a ragged breath. "It crippled me. Malfoy, Inc. makes a generous profit, but much of it must be reinvested, or has already been allocated elsewhere. I haven't been able to do the things I have wanted to do."

"What kinds of things?" Hermione asked, her mind wandering to extravagant parties and holidays.

"In the wizarding world, money talks. I had hoped to help restore my family's name, to start pulling us out of the social mire."

"How?" she asked, scolding herself for jumping to such a terrible conclusion about him. Surely, by now, she should know that all of the presumptive attributes she had assigned him were false.

"The most effective thing I can do is, ironically, donate large sums of money to worthy causes. Which I have wanted to do, whenever the occasion has presented itself, but I haven't been able to because I have to watch the bottom line."

He gave up with the paperweight and clasped his hands behind his back. Once he had started talking, it seemed as though he might never stop. The rush of release he felt by expressing all of the frustrations that had been building in him for years was cathartic. Vaguely, it registered in his mind that he was thankful he trusted her, because he wasn't going to stop talking until he'd come to the end.

"That's the thing," he continued. "There's a lot of money coming in, but he demands too much. It has been slowly depleting the savings and it can't keep going like this, it can't ... I have to keep the books, which takes up whatever free time I manage to salvage from everyday business concerns. I keep the ledger because if anyone else did, they would run to the nearest reporter and blab about the financial state of my family. There's no one I can trust to do it well and to be discreet."

Draco glanced at Hermione. She wore an expression of deep concern.

"You mentioned my mother. As I said, I am unable to tell her anything, which means I must keep her under the impression that things are as they have always been. I can't tell her that we can't really afford her twenty thousand Galleon shopping sprees to Paris."

Hermione gasped. "Twenty thousand?"

He scoffed. "Easily. Fortunately, she only goes once or twice a year. But that means I have to find that money somewhere, to make up for her spending. I work all day, and come home and pore over the books, looking for a few spare Sickles here, even extra Knuts!" Draco clenched and unclenched his fists now as he paced.

"I've had to stretch myself thin, work extra hard, form new contacts and build partnerships in order to keep us above water. It's like being at the front of a landslide, or an avalanche. I know it's eventually going to overtake me and swallow me whole, but all I can do is keep running."

"I know there's something you haven't told me yet," Hermione said. "And I want to know what all of this has to do with what we talked about at the restaurant."

Draco let out his breath. "Right. See, it was supposed to end with my father's release. It was perfectly planned. Once he was out, there was no blackmail material. If the blackmailer tried, I would simply send my father into hiding somewhere. Once I turned everything over to him, including this ring..." He showed Hermione the signet ring on his right hand. "...then I could tell him anything. The handing over of power in a household would supersede the curse in the letter.

"I was living for that day. The weeks that led up to it were relaxing while at the same time stressful. After his release ... he asked me to continue in his stead for another two months while he and my mother went on holiday. I couldn't say no; what was two more months when I'd been doing it seven years?"

Hermione nodded.

"The first day I went to play Quidditch was probably the best day of my life." He smiled sadly. "Which isn't really saying much. I mean, there were good days I had as a kid, but when I think back, I see how small my world was. After Quidditch, every day that passed seemed brighter than the one before it. Then came the day I saw you in Diagon Alley."

Draco went around the desk and leaned on the back of the chair. "I started the day in meetings, and on my lunch break, tried to get a few errands completed. That's when I ran into you. After that Saturday, I decided that if I got the chance, I would apologize to you. After our conversation, I had a meeting with the Weasleys, followed by more meetings, and a late night as usual."

He picked something off the desk and, on his way back to the bookshelf, handed it to her. "I came home to this."

Hermione carefully removed the letter and read through it. "Oh, no," she whispered halfway through. "Your mother ..."

"Had an affair," he said gruffly. "Several. I'll spare you the evidence."

"I'm so sorry! That's a terrible truth to learn. May I ask with whom? It might be important."

Draco grunted and couldn't meet her eyes. "For one, Snape. My uncle, Rabastan was another." The disgust in his voice was almost palpable.

Hermione didn't know what to say.

"I cannot keep living like this," Draco said. "I ... I didn't know what to do, who to turn to ...."

"I don't understand, though. I thought you couldn't tell anyone. Why me?" Hermione asked.

He gave her a pained smile. "The curse that was put on the letter...or rather, the information contained within...is a very Dark curse. Dark magic. I looked it up, researched every word. The original word used for 'anyone,' as in, 'you cannot tell anyone,' referred to those who share my blood, and, as was the belief at the time the spell was written, those of 'worthy blood.' Which meant..."

"Let me guess," she said sharply. "No one of Muggle heritage."

"Correct."

Hermione scowled and glared at Draco, for no other reason than he was the only animate object in the room. "You can only tell Muggle-borns."

"Don't be upset. Consider it an oversight of the narrow-minded. Now I am free to seek your help," he said, hoping she would know he had meant no disrespect. "More importantly, I hope you believe me when I say that my apology that day was sincere."

"But the Saturday after? When you didn't play?"

He shifted conspicuously. "I ... had an agenda that day. I needed you to find me something other than repulsive so that you would consider helping me. Though ... I had a good time talking with you. I meant everything I said, everything I've said since the first time I saw you again."

She couldn't believe that; it was too much. "So I'm-I'm exquisite, and beautiful, and interesting," she said bitterly. "You really think that."

"Yes," he said simply.

Hermione still had trouble accepting him at his word, and she didn't want to press the issue. "So ... my job is to help you figure out who the blackmailer is. Because I'm Muggle-born."

"No," he said, frustrated. "Because you're ... you. You're smart, resourceful, methodical. I'm simply lucky that you are Muggle-born because it means I can ask for help from the best." He wasn't used to giving such lavish praise, to anyone, but not only did she deserve it for agreeing to help him, but it was true. He'd thought about his options, and couldn't have found a better person to help him if he'd been able to select from every witch and wizard in England. Maybe the world.

"I'm sorry," she said with a sigh. "I shouldn't jump down your throat. It's instinct, I'm afraid."

"One that I helped ingrain in you. I truly am sorry."

"I know," she said, smiling at him anew. "Let's move on. We've got a blackmailer to identify. I'm guessing you have a plan for what comes after that?"

"A vague one. It depends largely on the identity of the individual."

She nodded. "Let me think a moment."

Draco watched as she sat on the sofa, her expression changing only slightly as she thought. It was rather fascinating, and he found himself wishing he could tap into her mind, to know what she was thinking.

After a few minutes, she spoke. "I think we'll need a room where we can work. With a large wall, on which we can write...magically...that won't be disturbed between meetings."

"I've got a closet attached to my bedroom that I can magically expand to suit your needs."

"Everything related to this blackmailer should be kept in the room. I want access to anything you have of his, any theories you started and then abandoned, all the research you've done. There should also be a fireplace that I can use to come here...I'm assuming we'll be working here?"

"Yes," he agreed hesitantly. "If that's what you want. I can't let you remove anything from the grounds, however."

"I'm sure it will be fine." Hermione smiled bravely. "So long as I stay in your part of the house. Now, we'll need comfortable seating, quills, ink, parchment ..." She nodded, then stood.

"Where are you going?" Draco asked.

"Your closet, right?"

He quirked an eyebrow. "You want to start tonight? Now?"

"Why not? Get a start on it while it's fresh in my mind. All right with you?"

"Um, sure. I've got all the letters, if you'd like to read them." Draco retrieved a locked box from inside his desk.

"Yes, please."

While Draco worked on expanding his closet and setting up the room, Hermione sat on the window seat, wrapped in a warm blanket, carefully reading through the blackmailer's letters. After twenty minutes, Draco returned to his bedroom in an undershirt, his button-down discarded, breathing heavily.

Hermione looked up when he sat on the bed. "Finished?"

"Yes. It's rather exhausting, increasing the area of a room." He flopped onto his back and she nearly lost sight of him due to the large, fluffy coverlet. "How are the letters coming?"

"I'm on my second read-through. Nothing jumps out at me ... well, that's not true. Nothing that's immediately useful, at least."

"Oh?" He rolled over on his stomach and rested his chin on his arms.

"I'm going to start by talking to Bill Weasley," she said, setting the letters back in the box and drawing her knees to her chest. "He works at Gringotts. I'll ask him about the procedure for large deposits. Whoever this guy is, he probably started making regular deposits of an immense sum of money. I'm sure there are protocols for such things."

"That's true," said Draco. "I've spoken with a few goblins who work at the bank, but they haven't been too forthcoming."

"I think Bill is our best bet for that kind of information," Hermione said. "I think you should spend time this week thinking of everyone who has a motive to blackmail you."

Draco groaned. "You think I haven't done that a hundred times already?"

"I'm sure you have," Hermione stated. "But I haven't seen the fruits of your efforts. I would like for you to make a card on each person, complete with details of your relationship and any reasons why that person might want to harm you in some way. Don't make assumptions about people you've already ruled out. We have to look at this from an unbiased perspective."

"You realize that would include Potter and Weasley," he teased. "They've never liked me, never..."

"Fine," Hermione snapped. "Make cards for them. I can easily rule them out when we get together again."

Draco hesitated, not wanting their evening to end sorely. "It was a joke. I know they aren't responsible."

"How do you know?" She gave him a pointed look.

He sat up on the bed, crossing his legs beneath him. Hermione tried to remain focused on his face, but every now and then, her gaze would drift to his toned chest.

"Potter wouldn't be working at Hogwarts if he had that kind of money," Draco began. "Come to think of it, Potter probably has that kind of money, he just doesn't use it. Weasley ... now don't take offense to this ... probably couldn't pull this off, alone, for this long."

Hermione slowly smiled. "As much as I love Ron, I think you're right. Whoever this blackmailer is, he, or she, is highly intelligent and knows how to stay undetected. Ron wouldn't know a thing about a Muggle bank, and immediately after the war, he didn't have the time to concoct such a scheme as this, much less execute it." She frowned. "And Harry had even less time, for that matter."

"Great. We've officially ruled out the two least likely people. Excellent work tonight." His smile belied the sarcasm in his voice. "Speaking of future meetings, when are you available?"

"Friday nights are good for me," she said.

"For me, as well," he said, surprised that she would so willingly give up the prime weekend evening.

Hermione yawned, and there was a knock on the door. She looked at Draco, who seemed surprised.

He got off the bed and went to the door.

"Master!" said Chippy in his squeaky voice.

"What is it?" Draco whispered, closing the door behind him completely.

"You has a guest, Master. She is being in the drawing room."

Carrie. He closed his eyes in exasperation. He hadn't thought he and Hermione would still be together at midnight, so he hadn't written to Carrie to reschedule.

"Thank you, Chippy," Draco sighed. The house-elf nodded and disappeared with a crack! Draco made his way through the house, down to the ground floor, and into the parlor.

Carrie was waiting, nearly naked in scanty lingerie, stretched languidly on his mother's favorite sofa, carefully positioned for maximum impact. She patted the spot beside her, smiling seductively. "Draco," she purred. "I've missed you."

He crossed his arms over his chest. "We can't do this tonight," he said, strangely impatient, even though her presence was his fault.

She pouted, showcasing her full lips. "Why not, love? It is Friday, is it not? I came on the right night ..."

"I am unavailable at the moment."

Her eyes narrowed in thought, then comprehension dawned. She smiled and sat up, not bothering to cover herself. "Ah! You have secured another source of pleasurable company." Then she stood and sashayed over to him, stopping just in front of him.

Despite not being available, he couldn't help but be affected. She noticed and leaned up to nip his bottom lip. Draco let out a sharp breath, then took her firmly by the shoulders.

"Tonight will not work," he said firmly.

She smirked and backed away. "Whatever you say; you're the boss." Carrie took her time in gathering her clothes and putting them on, doing her best to make him squirm.

"Can we reschedule for tomorrow?" he asked when she had completed dressing.

"Tomorrow? No, love. Friday is our night. I have other responsibilities, you know." She grabbed her purse and stood just inside the door. "I did come all this way, may I point out."

Draco sighed and removed his money bag from his pocket, counted the correct sum, and handed it to her.

"Always a pleasure," she murmured lasciviously, tucking her payment in her robes. "See you next week."

She was nearly to the front door when he remembered. "Carrie, wait!" he called, without really thinking, rushing after her.

"Yes?" she drawled.

"About that. I need to change our night, for the foreseeable future, to Saturday." A small voice inside his head was suggesting that maybe, just maybe, he should end their association altogether, but he ignored it.

Carrie's eyes widened and trailed up the stairs, in the direction of his bedroom. "Have you got a girl? She must be something if she doesn't mind ... sharing you."

He scowled. "It's not like that. It's just business, but Friday nights are best for her to meet."

"Any 'business' that consistently keeps you occupied past midnight is no longer just business. I assure you, I would know." She grinned again. "However, I am willing to accommodate you. I'll have to check my calendar, but I think Saturday nights will work. Same time?"

Draco nodded, the voice making itself more prominent. Still, he refused to heed it, and bade Carrie goodnight. As he walked back to his room, he finally allowed himself to give ear to the niggling worm. He realized he felt ... almost ashamed, in light of Hermione's presence in his life. In his mind, she was a light, a purely good being. And he was paying a woman for sex on a weekly basis. If Hermione ever found out, she would probably despise him, think him a horrible man. Possibly want nothing more to do with him, and that was the last thing he wanted.

He replayed their dinner in his mind, and more than anything, he marveled at how easy it had been to be with her, how much he had enjoyed the time with her. She was beautiful, in a way that spoke directly to his heart, lodged itself deep inside of him. Sure, he wanted her, but that didn't really say anything important. Any man could want almost any woman, given the proper motivation.

But Hermione ... she reached him in a deeper place, where they connected on a different plane, one that he hadn't explored in a very long time. He couldn't possibly hope that she felt the same, especially in so short a time.

Draco stopped outside his door, collecting himself. His blood had cooled, but not entirely, and he chuckled at the realization that his response to Carrie was due, in large part, to Hermione. His blood had already been on fire when he went to speak with Carrie, and he now realized it might even be necessary to continue seeing her. It simply wouldn't do to allow himself to be constantly distracted by Hermione.

Draco forced his thoughts onto mundane things...turnips, leaves, clouds...in order to calm himself before seeing Hermione again.

Finally he felt in control and pushed open the door. Hermione was pacing inside, frowning, and biting her lip.

"What's wrong?" he asked immediately.

She jumped at his voice, startled. "Oh!"

"Sorry," he said.

"No, it's all right," she assured him, gathering her shawl and purse. "I need to go. I've got an early breakfast with my parents tomorrow. Next Friday, right?"

"Yes," he nodded, disappointed that she was leaving. Not that he had expected anything else; he had simply gotten used to her company and would miss it.

"What time? I saw the fireplace; may I just ... come through? I wouldn't want to interrupt anything ..."

"What? No." The idea horrified him; however, the idea that she had thought it horrified him more. "Yes, just come through."

Hermione nodded and looked around the room. He might have been seeing things, but he thought she might have been trying to find an escape route; her eyes had a tinge of panic in them. "I'm finished with classes at three; I can come anytime after that."

"I won't be off work until around six. Why don't you come at seven?"

She smiled. "All right. Seven it is. Don't forget your assignment."

"No, I won't."

"Um, how should I leave?" Hermione asked. "I doubt the Floo connection between your closet and my room will work. It has to be set up by the Ministry."

"I'll get right on that," Draco said, opening the door he hadn't moved away from. "Front door, I suppose. Or you can Floo into Hogsmeade from the main fireplace downstairs. Only ...."

"What?"

"It's on the ground floor, I'm afraid. The fireplace and the door. I'd be happy to walk with you, if you would help."

Hermione hesitantly agreed, then followed him through the door. Draco wanted to ask her why she was agitated when he'd returned, but thought she might not want him to have noticed anything amiss.

They walked in silence to the Traveling Room. Hermione's heart pounded as they neared the drawing room. The edges of her vision started to cloud, and her breathing became shallow. She stared at the door as it got closer, panic welling in her chest and...

Draco put his arm around her shoulder and led her across the hallway. She was so surprised that they passed the room without incident. Hermione got another twenty feet before she started shaking and sank to her knees. She'd felt another attack coming on, but Draco's interruption had halted it.

He knelt beside her and rubbed her back; his scent was all around her. She breathed deeply until she felt the episode pass.

Fortunately, Draco would probably write it off as extreme panic brought on by being near the room where she'd experienced something horrible during the war.

After a few long moments, Hermione smiled. "Thanks."

"You all right?" The concern in his eyes was genuine.

"Yes." She nodded and stood, looking over his shoulder at the door to the drawing room. It wasn't so ominous from the other side of it, she thought. "I'm fine. I'll be fine. Let's go."

Draco kept a protective hand by her elbow as they walked the rest of the way. By the time they reached the Traveling Room, Hermione felt almost completely better. She bade him a good night, which he reciprocated, and then took a handful of Floo powder. She was about to toss it in, but she paused and turned to him.

"What happens now?" she asked.

"What do you mean?" He leaned against the doorframe.

"With ... us. This thing. We continue to pretend we're together, right?"

"Oh." He hadn't given much thought to the after, as he was focused on getting her to agree to help him. Draco rubbed his forehead. "Yes. We don't have to go into public as much, just keep a presence there, so that people will still believe we're together."

"Okay," she said, turning back to the fireplace.

"Hermione?" Draco's nerves were suddenly on fire.

"Hmm?"

"I ... I had a good time."

Their eyes met and he had the sudden impulse to kiss her. She looked lost and confused, though he had no idea why.

"Me too," she said softly, looking down at her hands in front of her. "Goodnight, Draco." Without waiting for a response, she tossed the powder into the fireplace and disappeared in the swirling green flames.

ooo

End Notes: Thank you for reading!! I hope you enjoyed this chapter. The chapter title comes from Henry IV by William Shakespeare.

Credits: Merci beaucoup to my wonderful betas: Manda, drcjsnider, and pokeystar! The art for this chapter was a commission by Hannah Clark. Playlist as always by inadaze22. :)

Hermione's dress was inspired by the Gibraltar's Gleam Dress at anthropologie[dot]com.

In France, at least, restaurants are rated on a 3-star system. Achieving a three-star rating is a very big deal. You can get more information at their website and at Wikipedia.

The ground floor of Malfoy Manor is the lowest level, then the first floor, then the second.

Food Selections (for Buzzy!):

DRACO

Starter - Pressed foie gras and confit label Anglaise chicken with Perigord truffle crouton, confit celery

Salad – Spinach with goat cheese

Soup – Cauliflower soup

Sorbet – Raspberry

Poultry – Cannon of Cornish lamb with confit shoulder, ratatouille and thyme jus

Fish – Ravioli of lobster, langoustine and salmon with tomato chutney and vinaigrette

Cheese Course

Dessert – Caramelised Tarte Tatin of apples with vanilla ice cream (for two)

Hermione:

Starter - Pan fried Scottish sea scallops with a millefeuille of potato, parmesan velouté and truffle smarties

Salad – House

Soup – Roast vine tomato soup with ash rolled goat's cheese

Sorbet – Raspberry

Poultry – Roasted Barbary duck breast with creamed Savoy cabbage, chesnuts and Madeira sauce

Fish – Roasted Loire Valley foie gras with braised carrots and almond foam

Cheese Course

Dessert – Caramelised Tarte Tatin of apples with vanilla ice cream (for two)