Disclaimer: Yeah, confession: I didn't write Harry Potter.

Chapter five

It's nearing eight-o-clock in the evening when the wedding finally starts to wind down, and Hermione heaves a long sigh, leaning back into her chair. So far, it's been fabulous, with Luna and Rolf married without a hitch and nothing suspicious coming up.

Lavender sauntered in with a low-back red number, but ever since initial reaction, Ron hasn't spared her more than a glance. She wonders if it's bad that she's smug- probably, but Hermione can't bring herself to care. She actually feels sort of optimistic. She's been optimistic ever since skimming the morning newspaper that had everything to do with the usual petty gossip about old pureblood families and nothing to do with a certain terrorist organization.

It's all very encouraging.

"Hey, Hermione, how are you doing?" Ron's smile is tired as he takes the seat next to her, placing a warm hand on her shoulder. His voice jerks her out of her wandering thoughts.

She shrugs absently, playing with the longer strands of her brown hair that Ginny left down. "Tired, but it's been good, I guess. Although-" She offers him a smile. "Luna's married and it sort of makes me feel old."

"You needn't worry," Ron responds playfully. The hand on her shoulder squeezes briefly. "Your beauty lets no implications of your age through its enchanting veil."

"Of course not," she agrees with a mock dainty sniff. "I'm simply dazzling, aren't I?"

"More than dazzling," he teases. "You look stunning, beautiful, especially with that dress. Ginny tells me she helped pick it out."

Hermione nods, and tilts her head. Shopping with Ginny seems so far away, even though it was barely a week ago. It's feels like time is dragging. Maybe it is because it all feels so surreal these days. Sighing, feeling melancholy, she surveys the surrounding area, watching couples twirl on the dance floor and people linger by the refreshments table.

She spares a quick glance toward the man sitting next to her, soaking in his ginger hair, lanky frame and blue, blue eyes.

"Ron?" she says suddenly, reaching out, as if to confirm his presence.

There is a pause. Then very quietly, "Yes?"

He looks nervous. Hermione swallows. He's not the only one. She's probably even more on edge than he is, in fact. If shopping for a dress was a week ago then their talk seems even further back in time, despite that it happened even more recently.

"What you said the other day," she manages, "about me, you, us. Did you mean it?"

His eyes flutter, and for a moment, she thinks he's going to either stand up and leave or laugh it off, but then, he heaves a sigh. "I do think we can work it out, Hermione. I think that despite our differences, we have something special. And," a barely noticeable pause here, "I need you. Harry needs you too, especially with the newest threat going on."

It's somber. "Blood Tsunami," she confirms.

"Yes."

There is silence for a long moment.

Hermione debates standing up and leaving, but her legs have frozen. She's locked in position, reluctant to leave, but unwilling to stay. It's a bad metaphor for their relationship, she thinks. They were once fire, hot and passionate. She wonders when they burned out.

"Was Harry the one who told you to seek me out at the Ministry?" she asks.

Ron looks sort of uncomfortable. "He did, but I came with my own sentiment." He takes a heavy breath. "I can't emphasize it enough. I'm sorry for what I said to you with Harry's fellytone."

Hermione manages a small smile. She takes Ron's hand and holds it, squeezes. "Like I said the other day, I'm sorry too, but I'm serious when I say we ought to take a break. I know…" She hesitates. "I know that it's been strained lately, and it's not your fault alone or my fault, but I just think things would be clearer if we just split for a while."

Ron's expression is resigned, and a direct opposite to when they last spoke after he intercepted her at the Ministry. It's clear that she's done, and he knows better than to press her. It's one thing he's learned about them after dating for so long.

"I understand. That's what you said before, and I understand. I just wish it didn't have to be this way."

She wrings her hands. "I know. Maybe everything while be better after we catch the stupid terrorist group."

"We'll catch them," Ron vows. "On my honour as an auror, I promise I'll catch them."

Hermione grins, and it's the first feeling of buoyancy she's had for herself all night. "I know you will."

"We'll do it together."

There is a pause. Then, "That's probably the most romantic thing you've said in a while," she tells him.

He smiles back, and maybe, just maybe, everything will be alright.

-:-

Instead of his usual malicious smirk, Draco wears a vaguely panicked frown when he corners her by the refreshments table. Hermione has just finished congratulating the bride for the umpteenth time when he places a hand on her shoulder and interrupts the conversation.

"The Nargles seem to approve," Luna is saying, an ambiguous smile adorning her features. "Of course," her beam drops for a moment, "I don't know what to say to Neville." Her pale hands clasp together solemnly, drifting from their earlier tugging at the lace tablecloth.

"Whatever you do, don't say too much," Hermione tells her, pausing from eating the strawberry clenched in her fingers. "I would know, "she says, almost ironically. "Be careful-"

A cold hand on her shoulder stops her in her tracks. "Who-?"

"Draco," Luna exclaims, head jerking up with a delighted smile directed at the Malfoy behind her. Her mood does a one hundred eighty degree turn. "How are you?" she asks.

"Excellent," is his easy response, "and yourself?"

"Fine," Luna says agreeably. "I assume you wish to speak to Hermione."

"I do, in fact-"

"Hold on," Hermione says. "What the bloody hell is going on?" She's dropped her chocolate dipped strawberry by this point, simultaneously confused and irritated. Her fists clench almost automatically. "What do you want?"

His silver eyes narrow. "There's news." His lips thin. "Luna, if you would."

Hermione's friend excuses herself with a smile. She pushes through the thinning crowd and finds Rolf in the corner.

"It's about Blood Tsunami," Draco says without preamble, drawing her attention back to him and the blunt, harsh manner is enough to let her know it's serious.

She bites her lip, fighting to keep calm. The earlier irritation melts into alarm. The image of the man pops up again, pale, dead. It's enough to send a wave of panic through her. "What happened?"

"No casualties," he tells her immediately, as if sensing her thoughts. "It's not at the ministry either."

"Hogwarts," Hermione guesses, not missing a beat. She's not sure if she feels worse about it. Children are at Hogwarts. If Blood Tsunami got in, it can't possibly be safe.

"Hogwarts," he agrees. His fingers clench and unclench. "They left a message, according to McGonagall."

"What did they say?"

"It's," he averts his eyes, "not good."

Hermione tightens her jaw. "What did they say?" she repeats.

Draco turns his head, but she stands there, waiting for an answer. They're conducting this investigation together- he was the one that asked for her help in the first place. She'll be damned if he doesn't tell her the details. A sharp glance tells him his reticence isn't appreciated.

"Tell me," Hermione demands, putting a hand on his arm, jerking him to face her.

He meets her gaze finally and it's all fire and ash. "Mud will burn, Granger."

"That's it? Mud will burn."

"It's clever enough," Draco muses aloud, and his head tilts. "Think about it. It's mud."

"Muggle-borns," she says quietly.

His confirmation is a light nod, and she's not sure how she feels about discussing something like this with him. He may not be the boy she knew first year, but he's still Draco Malfoy and his aunt tortured her at his home and-

The world sways for a moment, starts to morph into a dimly lit room with…

"Granger," his eyes are concerned, "are you alright?"

She blanches, watching the room regain colour. "I'm fine."

The back of his hand subtly brushes her palm, as if he understands. Hermione bites her lip.

"We already established this. We know they hate muggle-borns." If there is too much emphasis on the last word, he doesn't need to know.

"You're right," Draco agrees, slowly, "but it's rather redundant to have another Death Eater group after the last one failed so recently. My guess is that there is another purpose to the vandalism and attempts to spread fear."

She frowns. "You're right, but what could the purpose of another terrorist group be?"

He lowers his head, but there is a distinctive gleam in his eyes. "That's what we're going to figure out, right?"

The rest of the plan is whispered in hushed tones.

-:-

They're at her flat again.

Draco is sprawled across the couch and it brings back weird memories of his delicious abs that Hermione would really rather not have. His blonde hair is all luster and smooth, soft strands that contrast with the cold, sharp gray of his eyes. He bites his lip in concentration, staring down at a piece of parchment.

He's muttering something under his breath, scribbling at top speed. His hand is a pale blur across the page, scribbling down words as fast as he can. She's sure that she could write faster. It's irrational, but there's always that constant competition from the part of her that never left the time when she'd fight to be at the top of every class and he'd step on her heels.

"You know," Hermione says casually, interrupting the tranquil atmosphere. "I ought to show you a picture of the Japanese dwarf flying squirrel."

Draco looks up from his work, furrowing his eyebrows. His hands still, but he doesn't drop the quill. "Japanese dwarf flying squirrel," he repeats slowly. "Are you alright?"

"No," she answers with a deadpan.

Slowly, he deposits the parchment onto the coffee table, and turns to face her, leaning back on one of the cushions. She can almost see concern in his eyes- concern for the investigation probably. With that minuscule brain of his, he probably wouldn't be able to finish it by himself.

"Granger, what's wrong?"

It might be kind of immature, but Hermione crosses her arms anyway, taking the opportunity to let out the steam that has been gathering up ever since he told her.

"I think it's bloody idiotic that they don't like muggle-borns," she declares hotly. "That's what's wrong! Their message was stupid too: mud will burn. What is that supposed to mean? They think they're so clever, copying Voldemort and his merry band of men, but we all know Blood Tsunami is just a load of terrorist nonsense."

Hermione hisses out a sharp breath, fists clenched, tirade finished.

Draco is quiet for a long moment. He's still, pensive. She's almost ashamed to admit that she wonders if he agrees with Blood Tsunami's views. It doesn't seem logical, but he's always been a two faced bastard, hasn't he? She doesn't- can't- trust him. He has to have his own agenda. Hermione just hopes it doesn't end with genocide.

"Malfoy," she begins. "I need to know-"

His head jerks up suddenly, and he cuts her off. "About the plan," Draco says loudly, maybe too loudly. "We're writing them a message, right? We're coaxing a response out of them."

Her eyes narrow sharply, but she lets the interruption slide. He's just confirming that he has something to hide here, and if he's a member of Blood Tsunami then she won't hesitate to toss him to the Aurors.

"Yeah," Hermione agrees. Then pointedly, "It was your idea."

His eyes light up. "I know, but instead of just sending an essay to the Daily Prophet, we could go their route. We should write a message that's worth an essay but only two or three words. Then somehow, we'll write it up on the ministry atrium wall."

"Spray paint," she muses.

"What?"

"We can use spray paint. I'll ask Kingsley- he'll agree if I tell him it's for investigation."

Draco nods, and suddenly, he's animated, grinning. "We can use this to our advantage, Granger, think about it! We can coax another answer out of them, make an all out war. I know they're not just in it to kick down muggle-borns. This can definitely confirm it and we get to taunt them at the same time!"

For a moment, she shares his excitement. It's the kind of enthusiasm that if he'd shown while they were at Hogwarts she might have liked him. But then, his silver eyes are staring back at her, and he's a Malfoy. And he stopped her from asking before, didn't he? It's too suspicious, too set-up to be real.

Hermione leans back into the couch and bites her lip. She scowls for a moment, and shoots him a hard stare. She should bide her time, wait for him to stumble, but this is too much. She hates him, so much, maybe more for being such a good actor.

"Malfoy," she snaps. "Listen here. Stop lying."

To his credit, he doesn't even flinch. "I do not recall any moment in which I have kept the truth from you. Name it, and I'll confess."

"Bastard," she seethes.

Draco tilts his head, and a slight smile curves his lips. "My parents are actually still married," he corrects, "despite one serving time in prison."

Hermione narrows her eyes, and stares at him hard. Her mind works at top speed, creating and discarding theories with equal vigor. He's lying about something, she can tell by the way his fingers tap impatiently on the glass of the coffee table. Chances are it's because he's part of a terrorist organization, but it's equally possible that it's something he just doesn't want her to know. She closes her eyes for a brief moment, reflecting on their conversation since his arrival at her flat. And then, suddenly, she realizes that she doesn't have to look so far.

"That's it!" Hermione exclaims. "It has something to do with your father."

This time, Draco stiffens. "Maybe it does, maybe it doesn't." His lips tighten. "What does it matter?"

"It matters, all right," Hermione returns sharply. "Get up, Malfoy. We're going to Azkaban."

I apologize for not updating, but my muse just sort of left me. Can't promise it'll be regular, but I'll try and finish this. I just don't really know where it's going, so it's been difficult. Of course, hopefully I'll be able to update soon, though.