Calm Before the Storm

Heavy Lies the Crown

Chapter 13 - - Calm Before the Storm

- - -

Saturday morning came too soon. Hermione glared at the alarm clock that she always set but rarely had to rely on. She turned it off and groaned into her pillow as memories of the night before flooded her mind. A myriad of emotions overcame her, but one thing was certain: she didn't regret not sleeping with Charlie.

Hermione didn't have much time to dwell on her thoughts, as the alarm left her just enough time to get ready before she visited her parents.

Despite doing her best, she was still sidetracked, and ended up being a little late. Her parents were laughing in the kitchen when she arrived.

"Hi, Mum, Dad," she said, her tone subdued.

"There she is!" said Thomas, grinning broadly and hugging her.

"Morning, love," said Elizabeth from where she stood in front of the oven. "All right, then?"

"Everything's fine. I had a late night," Hermione said, taking a seat at the table and peeling a banana.

She didn't miss the look her parents exchanged. Thomas decided he needed to attend to something elsewhere in the house, leaving Hermione alone with her mother. This was intentional, of course. Her parents must have expected that she'd want to talk about her night, and most likely with her mother. This was true, even though they had the conversation all wrong. Hermione didn't want to talk about a long, romantic night with Draco.

"So?" Elizabeth said, not turning around. "How are things with Draco?"

Hermione sighed and took her banana into the kitchen. After getting a glass of milk, she leaned on the counter. "He's ... fine. Great. But that's not what I'd like to talk about."

"Oh. All right, dear. What's on your mind?" Elizabeth glanced over her shoulder and frowned at the troubled look on Hermione's face.

"I ... I saw Charlie last night."

Elizabeth stopped stirring and turned around. "Charlie?"

"Here, let me," Hermione said, stepping around her mother to take over the task. It would help for her to have something to do with her hands while she talked. "He needed someone to go with him to an awards banquet; his date cancelled last minute."

"So he asked you," Elizabeth deduced. "Just like that? Out of nowhere?"

Hermione nodded. Her parents had adored Charlie, but they were also fiercely on her side. They weren't thrilled with the relationship the two had shared since officially ending their courtship. They wanted her happy, but didn't want to see her waste her time waiting for things with Charlie to magically fix themselves.

"Yes, and I agreed to go," she replied defensively. "He's my friend, Mum. It's not the first time he's asked me to accompany him somewhere, you know."

"I remember. What did Draco have to say about all of this?" she asked, stabbing to the heart of the matter. She always had a way of doing that.

"He doesn't know the particulars of what I did last night. I just told him something came up." Hermione was glad she had her back to her mother so she couldn't see the look she knew was there.

"Do you plan on telling him?" Elizabeth asked.

"If he asks, I suppose I will. The thing is, Mum ...." Hermione paused, trying to decide how best to say what she didn't even exactly understand herself. "I think it's a good thing I went," she resumed slowly. "I ... I think I'm finally starting to get over Charlie. I still felt the pull with him like before, but it wasn't the same. It wasn't as strong, that's for sure, and it was also incomplete. I know I would have always wondered if something like this hadn't happened."

Hermione was now stirring vigorously. "I'm not sure how to explain it, but I realize things with Charlie can never be. So much has happened since we ended, we've both changed so much."

"I was hesitant to mention it, but since we're discussing Charlie, I think this is a good time," Elizabeth said.

Hermione moved so that she could face her mother and still stir. Then she gave her mother her full attention.

"It's been about three weeks since you started seeing Draco. In those three weeks, at least in front of us, you haven't once compared him to Charlie." Elizabeth gave her daughter a pointed look. "Your father and I think that's significant."

Hermione frowned. She couldn't recall an instance where she had compared Draco to Charlie, but there was an easy explanation for the omission. She wasn't truly dating Draco; their association would end, so there was no point in comparisons.

"You're right, I haven't," she conceded. "I'm not sure why you think it's so significant, though." Hermione moved to focus on stirring so she could think without her mother reading her expressions.

"Every single man you've dated since Charlie, that's the first thing you do!" Elizabeth cried, chuckling slightly. "No man has stood a chance of competing with the image of Charlie you have built in your mind. Now Draco comes along, and it's been three weeks without a single mention of his vast shortcomings as compared to Charlie. How can you not think that's significant?"

Hermione's mind worked quickly, deciding to force the issue with herself. Fine. Her mother wanted comparisons, she would get them. Then she stopped to ask herself why she was so intent on proving that Draco was just like every other man she had dated since Charlie. He wasn't, incredibly so. He was charming and mysterious, alluring and sophisticated. Draco and Charlie were different, but unlike the previous men, the differences weren't bad. They were simply different.

Charlie was easy going, he smiled and laughed easily. Draco was harder on the outside, but his wit was sharp and intelligent. Charlie had rugged good looks, tan skin and a muscular fit. Draco was pale and lean, stronger than he appeared. His attractiveness was hard, perfect lines, thin, nimble fingers, and impossibly fine hair. When he smiled, his eyes reminded her of a summer storm over a wide open field. His touch had been like fire, burning all the way to her very essence. His...

"Careful, dear," Elizabeth said, reaching over Hermione to turn down the heat. "Don't want to burn it."

"Sorry, Mum," Hermione said, blushing. She had been so caught up in thinking about Draco that she'd completely stopped stirring.

"It's all right. I think I've made my point," she said, looking pleased with herself.

Hermione moved out of the way so her mother could finish with breakfast. She was taken aback at the realization she had come to: she really was starting to get over Charlie.

"Would you tell your father that breakfast will be ready in about ten minutes?" Elizabeth asked. After Hermione returned, she said, "When do you see Draco again?"

"We're having tea today," Hermione responded.

"I think you should tell him about last night," her mother said in her best motherly voice.

"I'll think about it," Hermione mumbled. For some reason, she didn't like the idea of telling Draco about Charlie. It felt too ... intimate, too personal. There was no need to bring their private lives into their working relationship. What she did on her own time didn't concern him in the least, so long as she kept up her end of the agreement.

Satisfied, Hermione returned her attention to setting the table. She resolutely ignored the nagging voice in her head that was reminded her there was another reason she didn't want to tell Draco that had nothing whatsoever to do with business.

ooo

At promptly two in the afternoon, Hermione rang the bell at Malfoy Manor.

She had two reasons for calling on him this way instead of simply Flooing. First, she had dressed for the occasion, should anyone be lurking in the bushes beyond the Anti-Apparition wards, wearing a calf-length, blue-patterned cotton dress with simple flats. Her hair was down, held away from her face by a wide ribbon that was tied at the base of her neck. The more attention she could draw to their relationship, the better.

The second reason was because she needed to get used to being in Malfoy Manor, to possibly walking by the room where she'd been tortured. Though she had no intention of ever setting foot in that room again, there might come a time when she and Draco would be required to leave his bedroom, and she didn't want to make a scene.

She blushed at her thoughts and tried to make the heat in her cheeks go away. However, her heart started pounding at the idea of what she would soon be doing, adding to her flustered appearance.

When a surprised Draco answered the door after a few moments, he smiled when he saw her. "Hermione?"

At the sight of him, following her Freudian slip and the comparison she'd made earlier, all thoughts of the room flew from her mind. "Hi, Draco," she said, her stomach twisting in knots from his dazzling smile.

"Come in," he said, holding the door open. "I had expected you to arrive in my closet."

Hermione chuckled. "You never know where reporters might show up. Thought I'd make an effort, just in case."

Draco seemed thoughtful; he didn't speak but looked at her strangely. Finally, he snapped out of it and his expression softened. "You look lovely, as usual."

She rolled her eyes, but the feeling inside her intensified.

"I mean it," he said.

"That is irrelevant. There's no need to say it when there's no one around to hear you," she argued.

"I beg to differ," he said, but didn't elaborate. "I'd like to have tea in the garden, if it's all right with you. We can walk around the house if you'd prefer."

Hermione nodded, touched by his consideration. "No, that won't be necessary. The garden sounds lovely."

"Excellent. I'll have Chippy take your bag upstairs."

"Don't you want to discuss our work during tea?" she asked, pulling her bag close as though it would help her get through the house.

"No," he said, "I would rather we not discuss business until we're finished. It's a lovely day; I don't want to mix such an odious chore with the meal."

"All right."

The elf was Summoned, instructed, and dismissed.

Draco tilted his head toward the back of the house, indicating that she should follow him. Hermione took a deep breath and fell into step beside him. She could see light at the end of the vast hallway, and she kept her eyes focused on it.

When they neared the drawing room, Draco slid his hand into hers, lightly threading their fingers. It was simple but exactly what she needed...someone to be there. They reached the back of the house that led outside to the grounds, and Draco opened the two large, French doors.

Hermione gasped.

An enormous, formal English garden stood before her. A wide walkway began at the base of the steps leading from the veranda. On either side, in symmetric harmony, well-trimmed hedges, topiaries, and manicured lawns extended far onto the property. The entire garden was enclosed on three sides by a tall, green wall. Beautiful trees, their leaves now shades of red and yellow, were strategically planted around the garden space. There were smaller walking paths, benches, and statues in the garden, and the back was opened to the rest of the Manor grounds.

"Do you like it?" Draco asked.

"Like it?" she breathed, still trying to take it all in. "It's ... it's beautiful! Yes, I like it very much."

"My mother's work," he said, leading her down the steps and onto the grass just outside of the garden.

A white, intricately wrought iron table sat in the shade, looking like something from a film or postcard. Draco helped her into her seat, and she examined the spread on the table. Trays of delectable tea cakes, sandwiches, and scones sat amidst exquisite linens and china.

"This is too much," she said, giving him a questioning look. She had expected to have tea while sitting at the coffee table in the closet room, notes and papers spread around them.

Draco only shrugged and started filling his plate. "Mother will be pleased to know I used her garden for once."

"Not once she finds out who you used it for," she remarked, still hesitant to touch anything.

"It's nothing, Hermione. Please. May I pour your water?" he asked. Draco didn't know why he had gone to the trouble of preparing such an elaborate tea. The only thought that made any sense was that he'd wanted to impress her, simple as that.

"All right," she said, handing him her cup.

Tea passed pleasantly, their conversation effortless. Hermione forgot all about her promise to consider telling Draco about the night before. The sun was almost set before Hermione remembered why she was even there.

"Oh, Draco!" she said, glancing around at the very long shadows in the garden. "How long have we been out here?"

"I'm not sure, and I don't care." He sighed. "I suppose we should get busy. Are you ready to work now?"

"Yes, I think we had better. We don't want to be at this all night."

ooo

Once in Draco's side room, they got right to work. Hermione sat on the sofa and placed the cards she had retrieved earlier in the week plus the information Draco had gotten from the bank on the coffee table.

He sat in the armchair beside the sofa. "Well, did you learn anything?"

Hermione folded her hands in her lap. "Not surprisingly, none of the names from the bank matched the names on your cards."

"I should hope that whoever this is has better sense than that," he quipped.

"Exactly," she agreed. "There were only three transactions that approached one hundred thousand Galleons each, and they were all deposits, all to one account in Paris, made almost seven years ago."

"That's ... not good." Draco sighed and leaned back in his chair.

"It's a starting point, at least," she said. "The bank where you deposit the blackmail money is in Paris as well, isn't it?"

"Yes," he said, his brow furrowed in thought. "Do you think the two are connected?"

"It's possible. I checked with the bank and that account has been inactive since the third deposit and a subsequent withdrawal was made."

"What are the dates of the deposits?" Draco asked.

"Well ...." She paused. "If you'll recall, you only asked for the names of the depositors and the number of transactions over fifty thousand Galleons."

Draco cursed.

"However," Hermione said, "I ... I knew we needed that information, that it was vital to what we're doing and could either rule out this particular instance or make it our primary interest. So I ... I contacted Christophe Peronnet at la Banque française de la Magie and charged a few more hundred Galleons on your tab. I hope that's all right," she said, suddenly realizing that he might be angry with her.

Instead he grinned, entirely surprised. "You did? Well done, Granger. Though ... weren't you against resorting to bribes?"

She avoided his gaze, trying not to let it bother her that he had used her surname. "I was, yes...I mean, I am...but as you'd already contacted this bank, I thought it would be all right to request a little more information."

"It's all right with me," he said gently. "It simply seems ... uncharacteristic."

Hermione lifted her eyes to his. "I've been known to do what needs to be done in order to get results. I'm not always proud of it, but despite my protests earlier, I'm also not always above it." She turned back to her notes, eager to change the subject. "The precise dates were September 14, November 6, and December 30. Are those significant?"

"I'm not sure," he said, still grinning at the top of her head. Shaking his head, he searched through the blackmailer's letters. "I'm looking for the first three .... I made note of the date I received each one and when I made the deposits. Here they are." He pulled three slips of parchment out and opened them one by one. His expression became more excited with each note. "It looks as though this could mean something."

Draco had made deposits on September 10, November 1, and December 26.

Hermione smiled. "This is wonderful! It's quite possible the old account belonged to the blackmailer!"

"Whose name was on the account?" Draco asked.

"Let me see ... Oh." Her face fell. "Jean Valjean."

"We've already established that the name would be falsified. All we've got to do is find out who this man really is."

"I'm not sure we've got much to go on," Hermione told him. "Jean Valjean is the name of the main character from a famous French novel, Les Miserables. I doubt it's even a real alias."

Draco frowned. "I'm not familiar with that book."

"I wonder if the choice of the name is significant," Hermione mused to herself. "I'll have to give it some more thought."

"I've been thinking," Draco said after a few minutes of quiet.

"Yeah?" she said, somewhat distracted.

"I've got to make another deposit next week."

"Oh, that's right," she said, turning to him. "I'd completely forgotten."

He stood and began pacing in front of the fireplace. Hermione watched as he frowned, deep in thought. "I have an idea about gaining information, but it would require your help."

"You have it," she said without hesitation.

"Thank you," Draco said, flashing another genuine smile. "In his early letters, the blackmailer specifically said that I was not allowed to stay in the bank, and if any magic was detected at all...Invisibility cloaks, Polyjuice, Disillusion Spells, anything...he would turn the evidence over. I tested him once on his word, and he threatened my mother, as you know."

He stopped and resumed his seat, facing her. "However, with your help, magic wouldn't be necessary. You could simply wait in the bank to see what happens."

"When would you make this deposit? I have classes, and I'm not sure if I can miss any."

"I know," he replied. "I'm willing to work around your schedule. The deposit must be made by the end of the day Tuesday."

"Do you think the blackmailer will come the same day? How would he know when you've put the money in your box?" she asked.

"Well, if we wait until the last day it's due, then that's the best chance we have of possibly spotting him in the act." Draco's expression was excited and intense.

"Which would mean Tuesday." She considered her schedule. "I could probably give the sixth-years an out-of-class assignment, which would free my afternoon."

"Yeah?" he said. "Are you sure that's all right?"

"I'm sure," she replied. "The bank will close early enough that I can make it back for the staff meeting."

"Excellent." He beamed. "Thank you, Hermione."

She smiled. "It's not a problem. That's why I'm here, anyway, isn't it? To help you? I think we should discuss some details though."

"Agreed," he said. "Shall we discuss them over dinner?"

"That sounds just fine," Hermione replied.

"You know," Draco drawled, a pleasant smirk...if such a thing was possible...on his face. "I could ... cook."

At first, Hermione just blinked. Then his meaning sunk in and she blushed deep red. Draco laughed, and the butterflies returned to her stomach with a vengeance.

When he stopped enough that he could speak, he said, "Your reaction was perfect, Hermione. I couldn't help myself. That was brilliant." He chuckled again. "I did mean it though, and I specifically remember saying I would cook for you some time."

"That wasn't funny, Draco!" she said, unable to stop grinning.

He shook his head. "Again, I must disagree with you. So what do you say?"

"I would love to watch you cook, Draco," she replied. "If only to confirm that pigs do, indeed, fly."

He frowned. "I don't know your meaning."

Hermione stood. "It's a Muggle expression. 'When pigs fly' means 'it will never happen.' Because pigs will never fly."

"Well, they will if you Charm them to," he said, straight-faced, as he led her out of the closet and into the main part of the house.

"Never mind," she said, shaking her head.

The kitchen was on the lower floor of the Manor, in the back corner, and even though it was no where near the drawing room, Draco still held her hand until they were out of the main hallway.

It was clear that people didn't usually see the kitchen but also that Draco frequented it. After they entered, he went directly to the refrigerator and removed butter, cream, and a wedge of cheese. With a flick of his wand, Draco started two of the burners and Levitated two pots, one large and one small, from the rack over a long island onto the stove. Then he removed a half-used head of garlic and a handful of parsley from a cabinet.

Hermione watched, amazed at how easily he moved around the kitchen. She had assumed, wrongly again, that he wouldn't know the difference between an oven and a mixer.

"May I help?" she asked.

"If you want," he said, lopping a chunk of butter from the bar and setting it in the warm pan. "The cheese needs to be grated, but I usually set that to go on its own. Same with the parsley."

"I'll do the cheese," she said.

"Grater is in the third drawer to the right of the sink," he said, using a faucet over the stove to add water to the large pot. After tapping the pot with his wand, the water instantly started to boil. He added a half pound of fettuccine noodles, a dollop of oil, and a teaspoon of salt, and set a spoon to slowly stir.

Hermione retrieved the tool and found a bowl, then set to work. "I love freshly grated Parmesan cheese."

"As do I," Draco agreed. He removed a cookie sheet from a drawer and started slicing a fresh loaf of bread.

They worked in companionable silence for a few minutes. Draco added heavy cream to the butter and combined the two liquids.

Hermione found it strange that she didn't feel out of place standing beside Draco, preparing a meal. Like everything with him, it felt like the most natural thing in the world, and she wondered again how they could get along so well, despite there being nothing between them. She could easily admit that she found him irresistibly attractive, but she felt that their connection went far beyond that.

"Why are you doing it by hand?" Draco asked, startling her from her thoughts.

She shrugged. "Every week, when I go to my parents', I help my mum cook breakfast. I enjoy the process...it's a lot like Potions...and prefer doing things by hand. There's a stronger sense of satisfaction for me."

"Maybe I'll try it sometime. How's the cheese coming?"

"Just finished," she said, handing him the bowl.

He crushed a clove of garlic and tossed it into the bowl. Then he slowly added it to the liquid mixture, all the while stirring. When that step was complete, he whisked the mixture. "The parsley needs to be chopped, if you want. Otherwise, I'll set a knife to it."

"No, I'll do it." She removed a knife from a block on the counter and, with the same care she gave to her Potions work, began chopping the herb.

Draco chuckled. "You aren't getting a grade, you know."

"It's practice for when it counts," she returned lightly. "Here."

He added the parsley and turned off the heat to the burner. Then he Levitated a colander to the sink and carried the large pot over to it, straining the pasta. Hermione retrieved another, larger bowl, and Draco seamlessly added the drained pasta to it. Lastly, he added the sauce, stirring thoroughly to coat the noodles.

Draco Conjured two chairs and set them by the island. He set the table with a simple muttered spell and left, returning moments later with a bottle of wine. From the refrigerator, he retrieved an already prepared salad and placed it with the other food. When the oven timer dinged, he put the bread in a basket.

"Dinner is served," he said.

"Wonderful! It smells incredible."

Hermione shook her head incredulously as watched him pour them both a glass of a red wine that she expected would be both delicious and a perfect complement to the meal. It was.

"I must say, I'm impressed, Draco." She took a sip of wine. "It's hard to believe this is the only thing you know how to cook. The way you move in here is too natural, too effortless."

He tried not to look too pleased with himself. "I'll admit, I've tried other things, but I reckon I don't have the patience for it. Kind of like Potions." He smirked and sipped from his glass.

"This is delicious, Draco," Hermione said after taking the first bite. "Really."

"Thank you," Draco said. "So, tell me what you're working on in your free time these days. Other than what you're doing with me. Have you made any progress against the Cruciatus?"

"I thought we were going to discuss your plan for Tuesday over dinner," Hermione teased.

"I'd rather discuss this," he said simply.

She sighed and started telling him the basics; she had a theory, based on what happens to severely prolonged exposure. The Longbottoms had gone insane from the pain, so she suspected the curse primarily attacked the brain's pain center. If those connections were fried, other brain functions would suffer.

"I thought something just snapped," Draco said.

"All psychological reactions are rooted in physiology," she explained. "At least, that's what I'm basing my theories on. It's terribly boring."

"No, no, please. I'm very interested."

An hour later, the wine was almost gone and Draco was pulling a frozen cake that his house-elf had made from the freezer. Hermione helped him figure out how to heat it, and then they each had a slice.

Eventually, Draco decided they should return to the task at hand and come up with a plan for the next Tuesday.

As they walked in silence back to his rooms, Hermione felt a sense of belonging. It was the same feeling she had the first time she had been at the Burrow, and now she was feeling it with Draco. It was even stronger than what she had felt for Charlie initially, and she couldn't help but wonder, after the way Draco had behaved all day, if he didn't feel the same.

She glanced at him, only to find his brow furrowed.

They spent the next few hours devising and revising their plan for Draco's deposit. It was almost midnight when Hermione realized she was too tired to think. Fortunately, they were just going over the fine details. She yawned and Draco rubbed his eyes.

"I think it's a good plan," Hermione said, standing to gather her things. Somehow in the course of the day, they had ended up all over his bedroom and closet.

"Me too," he said from his spot on the sofa, his back to her. "I'll be thinking about any modifications or improvements though, and you should too."

"Yeah, yeah," she agreed absently, her thoughts focused on sleep. It took a considerable effort not to even glance at Draco's large, soft, comfortable, and inviting bed.

Draco stood and walked to the fireplace. "Write to me if you think we should change anything, and I will too."

"Hey, I'm going to Harry and Ginny's tonight. I'm watching James tomorrow, and they wanted me there first thing." Hermione stood in the door between rooms.

"And ... I'm assuming you're telling me this for a reason," he remarked.

"May I use your other fireplace? This one is only hooked to my room at Hogwarts, right?"

"Yes," he supplied, following her into his bedroom. "Of course. The Traveling Room is just inside the front door. Would you like me to walk you there?"

She swallowed. Draco had walked her past the drawing room twice now, but she needed to conquer it on her own. "No, no, I can find it. Thanks, though." Hermione put her cloak on and fastened it.

"Are you sure?" His tone and expression were laced with concern.

Hermione smiled bravely. "I am. I can do this. Gryffindor, remember?"

He nodded, still wary of letting her go alone. "I'll be right here if you need anything."

"Thank you. Well, goodnight, Draco."

"Night, Hermione," he said with a tired smile.

She fought the pull of the bed and left his bedroom. After standing at the top of the stairs for a few moments, taking deep, slow breaths, Hermione finally felt ready. She was confident that she could find her way through the Manor without incident and made her way to the first floor.

As she walked through the hall toward the grand staircase, she heard faint voices. One distinctly belonged to Chippy, and the other Hermione didn't recognize. It was a woman's voice...could it be Narcissa?

Hermione descended the stairs onto the main hallway and found the object of her query walking toward her, Chippy now gone. It was a woman, but certainly not Draco's mother. She had a cloak on, but it was open in front, and Hermione's eyes widened as she registered what the woman was wearing: lingerie. It was black and red and barely covered the essentials.

"Hello there," the woman said, looking Hermione over.

"Who are you?" she demanded, instantly disliking the woman.

"I'm Saturday Night, and you must be Miss Friday." Carrie smirked.

"Miss Friday?" Hermione repeated.

"I've gotta admit, I was extremely intrigued about you when Draco told me he wanted to switch nights." Carrie inspected Hermione more closely this time. "When he told me he was working Friday nights, I didn't believe him. Now that I see you, I really don't believe him. At least, he's not working on business, is he?"

"What do you ...?" Hermione trailed off, realization dawning. This woman, dressed like a prostitute, was in reality a prostitute. One who saw Draco on a regular business, in his home, to conduct her ... business. Hermione felt like someone had blindfolded her, spun her around a hundred times, and then set her loose.

Also, the woman had said that Draco had told her he was working Friday nights. That certainly wasn't the cover story, and Hermione wondered why he hadn't told his...mistress? lover?...that he had a girlfriend. Wasn't he worried about her reaction? What if this unsavory woman snitched to the first willing ear that she was sleeping with Draco while he was supposedly with Hermione?

Her head started to spin. "Don't you read the paper?" she asked, needing to determine just what this woman thought she knew. It wasn't possible that she didn't recognize her, hadn't read about her relationship with Draco...was it?

Carrie waved her hand in the air. "I don't pay any attention to that rubbish. I have much more important things to do with my time."

"No doubt," she replied coldly. Hermione still felt very uneasy about the whole thing, for numerous reasons. She might have to ask Draco about it, but the very thought made her nauseous.

"Why are you here, though?" Carrie asked, apparently enjoying Hermione's discomfort. "Saturday is my night."

"He's not paying me to sleep with him, if that's what you're implying," Hermione said through gritted teeth. "We're working together."

Carrie laughed softly. "Right. That story again. Well, as long as it doesn't interfere with my business, I couldn't care less who he sleeps with. Don't you find it interesting that he has a standing appointment with you, too? Of course, I would never claim to understand Draco Malfoy. He's quite the enigma."

"I don't like repeating myself," Hermione barked, anger beginning to cloud her judgment. "I am not sleeping with him." She didn't know why she was so upset. This was none of her business, anyway, but she couldn't help it.

"You're a little spitfire," Carrie mused. "Bet he loves that."

Hermione took very deep breaths in an attempt to calm herself. It didn't work. "Listen here, you ... you ... witch! I am no common slag, and I don't appreciate you implying such a thing! If you know what's good for you, you'll back off and stay away from me."

"Is that so?" Carrie didn't seem in the least bit threatened. "What's your name? I need to know if I'm going to tremble at the sound of it," she said sarcastically.

"What's yours?" Hermione demanded, jutting her chin out like a spoiled brat. She didn't care.

The woman preened. "Carrie, love."

"Hermione Granger." She stood a little taller. "Perhaps you've heard it."

Carrie raised an eyebrow, her demeanor instantly altered. "As a matter of fact, I have heard it."

"Then you'll know not to mess with me," Hermione threatened.

"Maybe you aren't sleeping with him, after all," Carrie said, a different interest evident in her eyes.

"If I was, he wouldn't need you."

"Touché." The woman shrugged. "Even if you were, it's always possible he's not getting everything he needs. Men like Draco often want things from me that their wives or girlfriends can't or won't provide." Carrie smirked again. "If you'll excuse me, I'll just be going. He's waiting for me."

Hermione was seething so badly she was shaking. She merely nodded once and tried to walk away as calmly as possible. When she had rounded the corner, she leaned against the wall, trying to get her emotions in check. What surprised her most was how upset she was, and she didn't even understand why!

Knowing the door was close, Hermione slowly resumed walking. Then she imagined Carrie practically running to Draco's room, throwing the door open and pouncing on him. It wouldn't take her long, and she obviously knew where she was going. Hermione started walking faster, wanting to be out of the house when Carrie reached her target. She simply couldn't abide the thought of what was about to happen.

"Potter residence!" she cried, tossing the Floo powder into the flames. With a shaky breath she stepped in.

ooo

Draco had his shirt, tie, socks, and shoes off when there was a knock at the door. A quick survey of the room assured him that Hermione hadn't forgotten anything. What could she want? A cautious smile played on his lips as he walked to the door.

As he opened it, he said, "Forget something?"

The smile froze when he saw that it wasn't Hermione on the other side.

"I might have left a pair of knickers here last week," Carrie said, sauntering into the room.

Draco closed his eyes and groaned inwardly. He wasn't ready for this right now! Hermione had just left, and he'd been thinking about her and their evening. In fact, he'd been about to go to bed.

Carrie was already setting the scene, lowering the lights, lighting candles, and putting on music. Draco watched disinterestedly.

"So I met Miss Friday," Carrie said casually, flicking her wand to pull down the sheets. "She seems ... feisty. Bet she's a real handful."

Draco frowned. "What do you mean? Who ...?" Something inside him lurched as comprehension dawned. The blood drained from his face and he thought he might be sick.

"On my way up," Carrie continued, not noticing Draco's reaction.

He went to his bed and sat heavily on the edge, his head a thick, useless mess. Carrie had met Hermione in the hall as she was leaving. A weight settled in his gut, and he felt awful. Not quite used to Carrie's new night, he hadn't even considered that Hermione was leaving about the time Carrie usually showed up. "What did you say to her?" he asked, pinching the bridge of his nose and attempting to brace himself.

"I introduced myself, we made small talk."

"Does she ... Did she ask about the nature of your profession?" Draco couldn't even define why he felt so awful. He just did. The last thing he wanted was for Hermione to know about his weekly trysts. How could he possibly face her again?

Carrie winked. "I'm pretty sure she figured it out. Smart girl, she is. Not how I pictured your type, though."

Draco whipped his head up to glare at the woman. "My type?"

She just laughed and leaned against his dresser, stretching her long legs. "So that's Hermione."

The weight in his stomach doubled at hearing Carrie say Hermione's name. "What do you mean?" Draco asked dangerously.

"I've heard of her," Carrie explained. "At least, I've heard her name. It's nice to put a face to the name."

Draco nodded listlessly. That made sense; Hermione was a well-known witch for all she did with Potter in the war.

"You care about her, don't you?" Carried asked, crossing the room and sitting beside him on the bed.

"Why do you say that?" he asked tiredly, rubbing his eyes.

"In the years since I started coming here, you've never called out a name in your ... moment. Until recently."

If he had thought he couldn't feel any worse, any more embarrassed, any more ashamed, he had been wrong. That thing constricted inside him again. He couldn't even speak to ask her to elaborate.

"It's only been ... once, maybe twice, maybe more." Carrie didn't bother to see if he wanted her to continue. "I don't keep track of these things. I'm not surprised you don't really recall doing it. Saying her name. Your brain doesn't exactly work on full capacity at the time."

"Why are you still talking?" he growled. "Can't you see I want you to shut up?"

Carrie looked at him pointedly, ignoring the scowl that would make most grown men shudder. "There are things a man should know about himself. That he cares about a woman, for example."

Draco tried to work up the energy to deny it, but there was no point. He did care about her, and now .... What would she think of him?

"Are you ashamed of me?" Carrie asked.

"I'm ashamed of myself," he said. "For letting this happen. She's .... Gah!" Draco buried his face in his hands.

Carrie crawled next to him and started rubbing his back, growing bolder with each stroke. When she reached his beltline, Draco stiffened. "Stop," he ordered.

She did. "What would you like me to do?" she purred.

"Leave." He hadn't known what he would answer, but after speaking, he realized that was exactly what he wanted her to do.

"Are you sure?" Her whisper was accompanied by a gentle nibble on his ear.

"Yes," he hissed, jerking away from her. "We're finished."

"But we haven't even started!" she pouted.

Draco stood, his fatigue forgotten. "We're finished, nonetheless. For good; I no longer have need of your services."

Carrie slunk off the bed toward him. "She insisted that she wasn't sleeping with you. If she's telling the truth, you'll need me."

Furious, he grabbed her wrist and held her at arm's length. "What is the matter with you?" he yelled. "Were you hoping to lose you job tonight? How dare you say such things to her!?" The more the woman said, the worse he felt. The thought of what had prompted Hermione to tell Carrie this ... he really was going to be sick.

For the first time that night, Carrie finally looked frightened, unsure of herself. "Let go of me."

Draco released her, pushing her away from him. "You had no right to discuss with her my relationship with either of you. As far as I'm concerned, you broke our contract."

Her eyes widened; she knew it meant a great loss of money. "Draco, no! Please! I didn't mean anything by it, I was only joking!"

"Yeah? So when I see her again, and ask what you two talked about, she'll laugh it off as nothing?" When Carrie didn't respond, he scowled. "You took a vow of secrecy, and you broke it. That nullifies the contract and ends our association. I expect my settlement first thing Monday morning."

There were tears in her eyes when she looked at him again. "Please, Draco. I...I'm so sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. I don't have all the money."

Merlin, he hated seeing a woman cry. He pinched his nose again and sighed. "Just explain one thing to me. Why did you push me tonight? Why did you deliberately say things to anger me?"

She hesitated for a moment. "You're more ... aggressive when you're angry about something. I didn't realize you cared so much for her."

"I do," he said quietly, taking a deep breath. It felt better than he had imagined it would to admit he cared about Hermione. And the last thing she would want was for him to be mean and cruel to Carrie. "Just go. Don't ever come back here, you're barred from my property."

"Draco, let me have two weeks to get the money, I swear I'll get it," she pleaded.

"Forget the money. Just go. If you ever see Hermione Granger again, you will not look at her, speak to her, or acknowledge her. Do you hear me?" She nodded, grateful. "Good. Now go."

Carrie Summoned her possessions and stuffed them hastily in her bag. Within two minutes, she was out of his room and out of his life.

Draco slumped on his bed in a daze. He glanced at the fireplace in his closet, but remembered that Hermione had gone to the Potter's. That's why she had gone that direction in the first place and had occasion to bump into Carrie. He cringed at the thought of what they had discussed.

Truth be told, Draco was angry with himself for jeopardizing a possible future with Hermione, one that he hadn't even realized he wanted until that moment, when it became impossible. She would never look at him the same again, would never even entertain the prospect of something more. Exhausted, without even changing out of his trousers, Draco crawled under the covers and fell into a troubled sleep.

ooo

Hermione, on the other hand, was wide awake, staring at her ceiling and trying to figure out why she was so upset over Carrie. She had been trying to rationalize her anger, to explain it away in a logical fashion, but none of that had worked.

The truth was it made her jealous. More jealous than she had ever been in her life.

She had just realized she was finally getting over Charlie, had accepted her attraction to Draco, and had allowed herself to wonder if he might have feelings for her too.

Then she had been jarred back to reality, forced to see the truth for what it was, yet again. Draco was only acting. Nothing he said was true; none of his attention was real. For whatever reason, he insisted on treating her in private the same way he did in public: complimenting her, doing nice things for her ... courting her...heavily. Hermione couldn't allow him half-truths, couldn't accept his words at face value when they were alone. He had to have a hidden agenda, and she determined to find out what it was. She would not give him access to her heart anymore.

That decided, she rolled onto her side and laughed at the ridiculous nature of her last thought. He already had his foot in the door, and she didn't know how to push him out without breaking her word to help him.

Hermione focused her attention on Carrie, but that only saddened her. Without even trying, she pictured Draco with her, touching her, kissing her. It was awful, and unbidden tears filled her eyes.

"This is so stupid!" she cried to the wall. "He's just using me! And I'm using him! We're using each other, and we agreed to it from the start! Who cares how many women he sleeps with?"

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn't get her head and her heart to work together. It hurt knowing that he could laugh and flirt and plot with her one minute, and then sleep with another woman the next. It was irrational; but then, most matters of the heart were irrational.

Inevitably, sleep overtook Hermione, and she was granted a dreamless night.

ooo

A/N: Thank you so much for reading!! I really hope you liked this one.

Credits: This week's awesome illustration was done by pink_martini2. Check it out! Beta thanks go to drcjsnider & pokeystar, with special thanks to inadaze22 and manda for last minute reads and help with my SNAG.