Chapter 6

“All of your dreams seem to end like this, why?” Malfoy towered over her.

Hermione stood up. “This can’t be real, I wouldn’t dream of you two nights in a row. At least, not deliberately.”

He smiled, “I know that. But do you really believe this is a dream?” They were no longer in the underground. The stairs they stood on stretched on forever in either direction. “Walk with me.”

She followed him before she realized what she was doing. “Where are we going? How can you be here? We share no bonds.”

“We work together, isn’t that enough?”

“No,” She thought she could see the top of the staircase. They walked in silence for what seemed like several minutes. “Where are we going?” she asked again.

“The top of the stairs.”

“Why?” And why was he here.

“Because that’s where they lead, Granger.” He tossed a glance over his shoulder, “You do ask a lot of questions for a girl who used to have all of the answers.”

“I am most certainly not a girl, Malfoy.” She crossed her arms but kept walking. Her knees were starting to hurt. They continued to climb in silence. The top was getting closer. She was relieved to stop moving when they finally arrived.

There was a table with dozens of ingredients on it, and a cauldron. “What are we doing here?”

“We’re going to sacrifice little children,” he deadpanned, “What does it look like we’re going to do?”

She rolled her eyes, “Perhaps the more pertinent question, you nasty little ferret, would be, why are we making a potion together?”

“Because I love you dearly and want you to feel the same.” He paused, “Nope, not that one, it’s for work, what else would you think?”

She walked to the table. The directions were written on a piece of parchment. “A telepathy spell? Do you know how dangerous those can be?”

“Why do you think I’m not doing this alone?”

She widened her eyes, “A Malfoy, not the best at something? Oh, my, I think the world is ending.”

He breathed deep, then exhaled, “Obviously this was a mistake, Granger. See you at the office.” He dissolved, along with the room. Hermione fell.

And then she woke up. But that was more due to her alarm clock than a 100 foot plunge. She crawled out of bed, struggled into her jogging clothes and went out for her run. By seven, she was back at the flat and preparing for another days battle with one Draco Malfoy.

Malfoy arrived at the office a half an hour after her. “Morning, Granger. Sleep well?” It was the look in his eyes, not his tone, that made the comment malicious.

She looked around, no one was watching them, then she leaned close. “If you ever do what you did last night, I will curse you into oblivion. Understood?”

Malfoy looked confused, “What are you talking about? I didn’t do anything.” He smirked, “Dreaming about me? I didn’t know you cared.”

She narrowed her eyes, “You didn’t suggest a telepathy potion?” She hissed.

Now his eyes widened. But then he regained his composure, “Like I would want to read your thoughts.” They lapsed into silence, as usual. Hermione didn’t join Malfoy as he went to lunch. She worked all day and into the night. Finally going home around 6 o’ clock. Malfoy left at five.

Alissa wasn’t home when Hermione arrived at the flat. She checked the messages on the answering machine, there was only one. “More details,” a squeaky woman’s voice said, it must have been one of Alissa’s friends, “Give me more before you go.” Hermione shook her head and wrote the message down. The woman didn’t even leave a name. Just a slightly cryptic message with no name. Weird.

She grabbed the Informant and wrote:

Partner acquired, plan progressing.

It wasn’t much, but it was straight forward enough. Unlike Malfoy. What had he meant when he said he didn’t enter her dreams? It didn’t make sense. She wasn’t dreaming of him, that was for sure, but he truly seemed surprised. Then again, he was a good actor.

Just like every Malfoy. Like all Death Eaters. Alleged or not.

Which brought her around to the current situation. How could she and Malfoy work for the same people? On the same side. It didn’t make any sense. He came from a long line of Dark Wizards, his father, and probably he too, were Death Eaters. She came from a long line of dentists.

It just didn’t add up, no matter how you did the math. He was bad, she was good. He was dark, she was light. He was Pepsi, she was coke. One was good, the other evil, they could never work together, never be on the same side. And yet they somehow were. “When did the world stop making any sense?” Hermione asked the walls.

“It all stops making sense after school,” said Alissa. She was holding a very heavy looking bag.

“I didn’t hear you come in.”

Alissa nodded, “That makes sense, I’m a master of stealth entrances. They don’t call me the best spy in the business for nothing.” Hermione laughed, Alissa didn’t know it was because of the irony. Alissa’s bag split open, “Shit,” she said. Files flew all over the room.

Hermione helped her pick up the mess. She picked up a box that fell open revealing a few pieces of metal. “What’s this?”

Alissa seemed worried for a second, then she smiled and said, “I’d tell you, but then I’d have to kill you.” She grabbed the box and metal back from Hermione. “Don’t worry about this mess, I’ve got it.”

Hermione shook her head, any excuse to look at Alissa’s files. “It’s no problem, my flat too.”

“No,” she looked serious, “I’ve got it.”

Hermione shrugged, mustn’t look to eager, “If you’re sure.”

“I am.” Hermione shrugged and walked into her room. Alissa was hiding something, the question just was, what? Knowing Alissa, it couldn’t be important. The files were most likely employee information, and the box, some new cosmetic torture device. But Hermione still made a mental note of what happened, it might be important later.

Several minutes passed before Alissa came into her room. Hermione slowly put the book she was reading down. “You hungry?” Alissa asked.

The fact that Hermione hadn’t eaten all day was starting to get to her, “A little, if I don’t need to cook.”

“You have trouble making tea, but I’ve made some soup, if you want it.” Hermione wasn’t offended by the cooking comment. Muggle-Hermione couldn’t cook.

“I’ll be out in a minute.” Alissa nodded and walked out. Hermione put her book on the bedside table and went into the kitchen. “Smells great,” she said.

“The best stuff is canned, well, that’s what my mum always told me, anyway.” Alissa smiled, “She just didn’t want to take the time to make the real kind. But it’s what I’m used to.”

“Yeah,” Hermione ate her soup.

An hour or so later Alissa left again to meet up with friends. The phone rang, a usual occurrence in muggle dwellings. “Hullo,” she said.

“May I speak with Alissa?” a crisp voice asked.

“I’m sorry, she just left. Would you like to leave a message?”

“That’s alright, I’ll just catch her on her mobile.” The woman hung up, so did Hermione. The phone rang again.

“Yes?” she said.

“I’ll be there in ten minutes.” It was Malfoy. He said no more and hung up.

Hermione made a derisive noise. It was almost ten, so it had better be good. He arrived at the flat ten minutes later, as promised. “What do you want, Malfoy?” she asked.

“We’ve got work to do,” he pulled on her arm.

“Don’t touch me!”

“Granger, with our new arrangement you’ll have to get used to these little caresses.” Caresses seemed to roll off of his tongue. Hermione didn’t want to think of Malfoy’s tongue unless she was cutting it out of his mouth.

“We’re not in public now.”

He raised an eyebrow, “Your flat mate could walk in on us at any moment. Are you going to invite me in?” He was still standing in the doorway.

“Alissa isn’t home,” Malfoy smiled evilly, “And I thought you were leaving.”

“We are leaving momentarily. But wouldn’t this be the best time to search through her files?”

Hermione pursed her lips, “I’m sure you’ve already been through her files.” He didn’t miss the double entendre.

“Anything for the job.”

She shook her head, “She has nothing here, and she could be back at any time.”

“Then are you ready to go?”

“Yes.” They took the lift to the main level and got into Malfoy’s car at the curb. Once she was seated, Hermione asked, “Are you going to tell me where you’re taking me? Or why?”

Malfoy stared ahead at the road, “We’re making a potion. I have a…laboratory, is it? In the city.”

“A potion?” Her dream came back to her. “What kind?”

“The telepathy kind.” Her eyes widened. “I didn’t send that dream, whatever it was to you, Granger. But I was thinking of suggesting it. Apparently fate intervened.”

“Telepathy can be very dangerous. We barely covered it in NEWT level potions.”

He looked at her for a moment, then turned back to the road, “I am quite aware of that. There is a photocopy of the potion’s instructions in the glove compartment. Feel free to look it over.”

Hermione opened the compartment and looked over the page, “There is a final step missing, do you know it?”

“Yes,” he paused, “We’ll burn that bridge when we come to it. Is it safe enough for you, or do you think I’m trying to poison you?”

“What is the last step?”

He kept his face straight, “Unpleasant, but completely safe, and even normal for some people.” He pulled over, “We’re here.”

“A bank?”

“You should well know that things aren’t always what they appear.” He got out of the car and walked up the steps of the bank. “Are you coming?” He asked when she didn’t move.

Hermione silently followed him. Once they were inside it still looked alarmingly like a bank. There were several teller stations framed in dark wood. Each had a sign saying, ‘Proceed to Next Open Teller, Please,’ in gold lettering on black plastic. There was a rope designating how to form a line. One seemed slightly out of place, the thirteenth. There was no sign, and the wood grain didn’t line up. Malfoy tapped the wall in a series of places, and the thirteenth tellers position opened up. “Clever,” Hermione muttered.

Through the entrance, there was a set of stairs leading up. Malfoy climbed, Hermione wasn’t far behind him. After ten minutes of climbing she could see the edge. It was still a long way off, but it gave her a sense of hope. Another ten minutes went by and they were at the top. “There really should be a lift to places like these.”

Malfoy turned to her, “I didn’t know you were one to complain.”

“Not a complaint, just a suggestion.”

He summoned the ingredients and a cauldron. “Add in the ginger,” he told her. “Now the feverfew.”

Hermione followed his instructions and asked, “Are you sure we’re not making stew?”

He finished adding his ingredients and said, “Now we wait while it simmers.” They sat in two comfortable armchairs, facing each other. Neither said anything for a long while. Then Malfoy broke the silence, “You’re a talented witch, even if you’re a stuck up goody-goody.”

Hermione smiled wryly, “And you’re a good wizard, even if you’re a spoilt ethnocentric bastard.”

Malfoy gave a rare, genuine smile, “At least you know how to insult a bloke. You’ve got spine.”

She nodded. Glancing at the cauldron she said, “It looks ready.”

They both stood up. “Don’t swallow in immediately after you put it in your mouth, no matter how foul it tastes.”

“The unbearable, mysterious last step?” He nodded.

Filling up two cups he handed in one to her. “Cheers,” They both drank. It tasted vile, but Hermione kept it in her mouth. He moved so fast that Hermione didn’t see him, but then he crushed her mouth with his. She responded before she could think, but pushed him back quickly.

She swallowed the potion and said, “What the hell was that?”

“The last step, Granger. What did you think?” They cleaned up and he took her back to her flat. They didn’t speak again.

But when Hermione entered her flat, she heard Malfoy’s voice in her head, “Can you hear me now?” He asked.

“Yes,” she thought back.

“Good.”