FIC: A Year in La Rochelle (Draco/Hermione, NC17)
Title: A Year in La Rochelle
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: NC17
Word Count: Under 8,000
Summary: A small town with a secret, a Ministry worker gone missing. Hermione and Ron are sent to investigate the Malfoys' involvement, but discovering the truth is only going to lead to a lot more trouble than it's worth.
Additional Notes: Written for cryptaknight my first year of writing for smutty_claus. Originally posted here.
Sturgis Podmore's Spring: A Prologue of Sorts
Sturgis Podmore hadn’t wanted to retire.
When Shacklebolt first approached him about it, about his fading eyesight and his bad knee, Sturgis’ initial response had been to tell the interim Minister of Magic where he can shove it. He’d refused to take any desk jobs, insisting he was best when he was out in the field, and finally Shacklebolt gave in.
He sent Sturgis to France, assigning him with the task of keeping track of the Malfoys, making sure nothing was amiss.
It was nearly an idyllic cliche: a seaside town in the west coast of France where some hundred wizards and witches lived amongst a few thousand Muggles. Apothecaries and robe shops, cauldron makers and wand carvers were sandwiched between bakeries and fish markets and tourist shops if you knew where to look. Muggles and wizards all too busy attending to the year-round influx of visitors there is rarely time to tell between a tourist and a new neighbour.
The Malfoys had moved into an old cottage, a long-forgotten property that was useful to the family since the Ministry had seized all their assets in Britain, at least temporarily, while they ran all their testing on everything the Malfoys possessed to ensure none of it was filled with dark magic.
In his first day on the job, Sturgis found the mother digging around in the dirt behind their house, but instead of unearthing some forsaken artifact, he spent the next hour watching her plant the beginnings of a garden.
A week later, he caught the son leaving the house in a hurry, and when he followed him to the forest in the outskirts of the town, he was sure he’d be witness to a covert operation with other estranged Death Eaters. Instead he watched the younger Malfoy examining the foliage, taking a few plants here and there as he checked them off a list.
Sturgis still smelled something funny, his senses on high alert when, late one night, he spied the Malfoy house alit with a bubbling cauldron. He followed the boy around all of town the next day, convinced he was out to wreak havoc upon an unsuspecting populace. At an apothecary he caught money changing hands, his eyes narrowing as he saw the young man glancing furtively around the shop before he pocketed a few Galleons. When Sturgis caught up to the shopkeeper, he was in the middle of pouring the flask into a few smaller vials, each similarly labeled “Pepperup”. Still suspicious, Podmore shelled out a few sickles for one of the vials, and though his life very well could have been the price of it, he took a sip. He went home early that day, unable to keep the steam from coming out of his ears.
The owls he sent the Minister later on remained suspicious, if not similarly fruitless:
KS,
NM left early today, carrying a tray of some sort under her cloak. Following her now. More later.
-SP
KS,
NM, with her tray, entering a Muggle shop. Could be lethal. Prepare for cover-up. Will give heads up as soon as I can.
-SP
KS,
Never mind. Cupcakes. She was selling cupcakes. They’re rather good.
-SP
Shacklebolt always responded with encouragement, of course. Perhaps the Malfoys were merely lying low, or maybe they were waiting for an opportune moment, the Minister would write. It was good to establish their routines so they’d know when something was off. Sturgis was doing a remarkable job, and the Ministry remained confident in him.
Eventually, however, it dawned on Sturgis: he hadn’t wanted to retire, but for all intents and purposes, he might as well have.
These days, his messages to the Ministry were less urgent, less frequent. Sometimes he won’t owl for a week, two weeks if he’s feeling daring, but he’s not yet gathered the nerve to test how long he could go before Shacklebolt noticed. Thus far, Podmore's indomitable sense of obligation had always given in first.
"I'm sorry, my friend, but it's time to go home."
“But you don’t close for another three hours!” he protested, waving at the half-empty mug before him.
“Tonight we do,” the man simply replied, and he meant it. Sturgis began to mouth another protest, attempting to rally the other patrons of the pub with him, but one look around and he realized that he was the only one left. The normally crowded watering hole was empty.
"Where did--"
"Good night, sir," Sturgis was told as he was escorted out of the premises. "And please, go home. You have had too much to drink."
"Wh-- You can't--" Sturgis turned around, but it was too late. The door was closed. He frowned, but with the light of the full moon guiding him, he made his way through the quiet streets of La Rochelle.
An April Investigation
"I can't wait to see the look on that smarmy arse's face when we arrest him," Ron said, the tone in his voice nothing short of gleeful.
"We're not going to arrest him because we have no reason to arrest him," Hermione told him, repeating the statement she'd told him a hundred times before. "Don't be an idiot, Ronald."
"Oh, I'm back to Ronald now, eh?"
"I was hoping it might actually make you act your age," Hermione retorted coolly. Not that it ever worked. Ron was always going to be Ron and nothing would change Hermione from who she was. They were always going to be friends but there were too many differences between them and now that everything they shared in common-- Harry, Hogwarts, the danger of Voldemort-- had changed, there was little to keep them together.
"This isn't about me, Hermione," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "Malfoy's screwed up and he's not getting away with it."
Hermione sighed. She hated working with Ron but Harry, bless him, remained under the delusion that sending them both out on cases like these would rekindle some sort of school-aged flame between them. It hadn't worked in the last five cases they've been assigned, and she sincerely doubted it would work this time. "Let's stick to the facts, shall we?"
"I absolutely agree!" Ron said. "We know Podmore's been watching the Malfoys. We know he's missing. Who else in town would not want him watching the Malfoys? Who else in town would have a reason to make sure he disappeared?"
Hermione merely pursed her lips in response, mentally forming an answer before verbalizing it-- a habit she'd developed over years of arguing with Ron.
"The fact is, Podmore hasn't found anything out of the ordinary about the Malfoys," she said. "He hasn't reported anything, and if he found something, and if the Malfoys discovered that he knew whatever it was they were doing that they weren't supposed to be doing, why would they just kill him-- and we don't know that he's dead, even. We're assuming too many things here-- why would they kill him and not even attempt to cover it up?"
"Because they're idiots," was Ron's simple answer. "And Podmore's landlady said he hasn't showed up since. I don't think he's alive anywhere."
"Ron!"
"What? It's true."
"They're not idiots," Hermione said. "They would have done something to make sure the Ministry never got ahold of it."
"Who's not sticking to the facts now?" Ron smirked.
Hermione shot him a dark look. "Neither of us are," she said. "And that's why we're here, to get to the bottom of this."
The Malfoys, truth be told, had never been a Ministry priority when all the dust had settled after the war. Knowing that they were without money or power or even friends, Shacklebolt allowed Narcissa and Draco to leave the country-- effectively exiled-- certain they would no longer pose any problems to magical society. He'd sent Podmore as an afterthought primarily because Podmore needed to do something, only secondarily because it was still in the Ministry's interest to ensure that the Malfoys would remain harmless.
Podmore's disappearance had thrown all of that into disarray. For those within the Ministry who knew about the situation, there was a growing fear that this signified the beginning of another dark time, in much the same way that disappearances had marked Voldemort's return. Harry had wanted to handle the matter himself, but Shacklebolt prevailed in convincing him there was better use of his time back in Britain, where he continued to work with the Aurors in shutting down dark activity from some of Voldemort's staunchest, still-roaming-free supporters.
Harry hadn't quite seen it Shacklebolt's way, but as a matter of compromise he'd decided to send Ron and Hermione in his place.
They set up shop, so to speak, in a small two-bed flat above a fishing supplies shop, just down the street from where Podmore stayed. They had a stock of Polyjuice and an assortment of hair samples that Hermione had personally selected for their subterfuge-- on the first day, they were an aging couple, on the second, middle-aged sisters, and so on.
They passed by the Malfoy cottage at many different times of the day in their various disguises, but they never observed anything out of the ordinary. At the very least, their findings only corroborated what Podmore had reported. Restless and impatient, Ron finally suggested they confront the Malfoys, perhaps back them into a corner to see how they'd react. Seeing no immediate end in sight, Hermione agreed.
So here they were, walking up the stone path that led to the Malfoy cottage, not as Mr and Mrs William Barley (retired), or Alicia and Edna Mayberry (on holiday), but as Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger (conducting an investigation).
"Ready?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied, clutching a roll of parchment full of notes in one hand, her wand in the other.
Ron knocked on the door. Three sharp knocks, evenly spaced. There was no response. He knocked again. Still nothing. Ron frowned, about to knock a third time, when at last the door opened.
"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione greeted. "May we come in?"
When May Flowers
The moon glowed brightest in La Rochelle. Narcissa knew this now, when the skies were clearer and the clouds rarer and she stayed out later.
She normally didn't find herself wandering outside of her home so late at night, especially not when her days started hours before most everyone else's. In the tiny little kitchen at the cottage where her mother spent summer holidays as a child, Narcissa gathered her ingredients the way her Potionsmaster taught her, in adequately sized containers, ready for use when needed. But in place of bats' wings and lacewing flies, she had sifted flour and beaten eggs. Where there would have been crushed newt eggs and finely ground dragon horns, there was instead a cup of sugar and a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Where she would have wrung her hands with worry or restlessness or sheer boredom, now she busied herself with mixing batter and perfecting the art of frosting. Hardly as magical as a bubbling cauldron, to be certain, but infinitely more delectable.
A few weeks after moving to La Rochelle, low on galleons and out of options, she had wandered over to the Muggle area of town and given the owner of a small but popular eatery a dozen of her goods so that he could give them to his most loyal patrons at the end of their lunch. The next day, when Narcissa returned, the owner bought all four dozen with a request for more. By the end of the week, Narcissa was selling thrice that number per day.
The hours and the growing demand for her cupcakes certainly kept her busy, but Narcissa wondered now whether she'd been too busy. She'd simply assumed that as she sold her desserts to the eatery her son was similarly hawking his potions to the apothecary, and that they were both doing their honest part to make ends meet and the lack of time they spent together was an unfortunate but necessary result of that, but now it seemed perhaps Draco had been off doing more sinister deeds. To add to her humiliation, it wasn't until Potter's friends showed up asking about a missing Ministry worker that she'd even begun paying attention.
She'd covered for her son, of course. She'd never even been aware they were being watched (the truth), so she told them that neither she nor Draco had ever even met the Podmore fellow (a half-truth) and she was confident they would find nothing to incriminate either of them if they wanted to continue their investigation (a blatant lie). In the end she thought she'd convinced them both enough, although she wouldn't put it past either to pursue their investigation regardless.
She was only slightly relieved when, upon confrontation, her son denied knowing or doing anything, but Narcissa had gone through the same dance of suspicion and denial with Lucius a long time ago. She loved her family but at this point, she knew enough not to trust the words of a Slytherin.
The spring breeze prickled at her bare arms, and Narcissa tugged her cloak tighter around her. Moonlight could only do so much to illuminate the forest path her son was taking, but it did enough to guide her way even as it kept her hidden. It had come to this, mother spying upon her own flesh and blood, but Narcissa refused to let history repeat itself.
Draco was hardly acting suspicious, Narcissa thought, outside of the fact that he was out in the forest in the dead of night. Every now and then he would come across a particular tree with bright white blooms and he would carefully cut the flowers out before storing them in individual glass containers.
Moonflowers, Narcissa thought. They bloomed at night, but those freshly plucked during a full moon and used in certain potions were known to be especially effective. Before Narcissa could do anything else, something stopped her dead in her tracks.
It was the sound of a lone, ungodly howl piercing through the night. It was a sound she and her sisters spooked each other with late at night when they wanted to quiver beneath their blankets, unable to sleep. It was a sound familiar to her nightmares, and then, before that single sound could properly terrify her, there was another one just like it, and another, and another, until a whole pack of them filled the empty night with a chorus of bone-chilling howls. Narcissa panicked, her first instinct to run.
"Draco!" she hissed, running towards him and grabbing his arm to snap him back to his senses. "We have to leave now."
Draco blinked, but before he could ask Narcissa what she was doing there she had Apparated them both out of harm's way.
Early June Blooms
The last thing Draco wanted to do was return to the forest, and though the sun was high in the sky and he was almost certain nothing lurked behind the foliage, he couldn't help gripping his wand tight enough that his knuckles were white, couldn't stop looking around at the slightest rustle of leaves. He knew this forest by now, or at least he thought he did, and he visited it regularly to stock up on his ingredients, but now--
He should have known when Claude, the apothecarist, offered to pay five galleons a blossom if Draco harvested some moonflowers for him. Demand had spiked, Claude claimed, and he had no time to harvest more. Draco had assumed Claude was only being generous; after all, he'd been able to help him keep up the demand for his potions, charging only per vial and nothing for the labor, so what was five galleons for a plant Draco could very easily collect when it was at its most potent? But it was hardly an easy task, was it? Claude had known something Draco obviously didn't, and the fool would regret thinking he could get the better of a Malfoy.
Now that he knew what to look for, more things about La Rochelle made sense: the odd nights when the town would shut down early, the way neighbors merely gave each other a cursory nod if they met, never stopping long enough to chat, never asking each other any questions, why the wizards never went out of their way to mingle with any of the other residents.
The forest, too, now showed things Draco previously hadn't noticed: branches of perfectly healthy trees littering the ground, scratches and marks on barks, oddly crooked but well-trodden paths. The carcasses of small animals in a part of the country not known for having any natural predators.
Draco pushed his way past a familiar huddle of trees, the satchel he'd slung on his shoulder bumping awkwardly against his thigh. He'd passed by this area before but he never thought he'd have use of the plant that grew here, undisturbed compared to the rest of the forest. Draco shook his head. It was clear now why this clearing had always been so pristine.
"Aconite, aconitum, monkshood," Draco recited, kneeling down carefully to avoid damaging the plants he wanted, the sound of his own voice enough to calm his rattled nerves. He opened a large jar, transfigured his wand into a small hoe, and began to dig around the plants. The petals of the violet bloom would be needed, and in fact many an apothecarist would be happy to snap them off and sell them by the pound, but the roots had to be intact until the very moment before the petals were crushed and added to the potion or else the effect would be minimal.
"Forgetting to harvest the roots, that's why you're so hard to master," he murmured, placing another plant in his jar. "Three would be enough, but--"
Draco began to dig up a fourth plant. At first, his interest had been to gather enough for a potion, but a potion only helped one person. In most towns, that would be enough, but La Rochelle was dealing with a pack. Locals-- wizards and Mud-- Muggles alike-- were understandably terrified, and Draco did not doubt that they would certainly benefit from something for themselves.
"We could use the rest of you for something like an amulet," Draco decided, appraising his haul with satisfaction. "That ought to sell like Dumbledore Chocolate Frogs on sale. Should be enough wolfsbane for a while-- I wonder if that's what happened to that Ministry worker."
"It is. We just found his body."
Draco nearly jumped out of his skin, the voice behind him unexpected. He whirled around, hoe-shaped wand aimed at the intruder. "Granger? What are you still doing here?"
"Never left," Hermione replied. "You're welcome, by the way. Ronald was ready to take you back to Azkaban and hold you there until we could prove you were guilty or innocent, but I convinced him we should look for Podmore first."
"I shouldn't have to thank you for doing what you were supposed to do," Draco told her. "I did nothing wrong."
"We got hounds to sniff him out," Hermione continued. "I thought if you'd killed him you might have transfigured the body beyond recognition, but scent-- that doesn't go away. Muggles use hounds a lot; that's where I got the idea. But the body hadn't been transfigured into anything, and it was clear you had nothing to do with his death."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry; did you actually follow me here to tell me something important or are you just waiting for me to praise you for your cleverness? Do they not give out high marks at the Ministry for every body you find?"
"I didn't follow you," Hermione sniffed. "I came here to get myself some wolfsbane."
"Why? Were you bitten?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes. "Was the Weasel? Is that why he's not here?"
"No, he went back to file a report with the Ministry," Hermione said. "I'm getting wolfsbane because someone in this town needs a Wolfsbane Potion, and I don't plan on squeezing them for every galleon they've got, unlike some people."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you just follow your boyfriend back to England when you could?" he sighed.
"He's not my boyfriend anymore," Hermione shot back, chin jutting in defiance when Draco arched an eyebrow. "What?"
"Little French town, the pair of you gallivanting around with a murder to solve... that didn't get you going?" he asked. "You weren't just using that disappearance for a mini-holiday?"
"Malfoy! A man is dead!"
Draco shrugged. "Everybody's got problems," he reasoned. "Can't worry about all of them. You, on the other hand--"
Hermione crossed her arms, daring him to continue.
"You just need a better distraction," Draco decided. He cocked his head to the side. "Don't take too many of the plants; they take forever to grow and you'd waste all of them anyway."
Hermione frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You'll see."
A Mid-June Epidemic
All epidemics needed a cure, but there was a difference between an epidemic that resulted in boils or sores from one that presented itself under the cloak of night. And as it turned out, the residents of La Rochelle weren't very forthcoming when it came to admitting they needed help, especially not to strangers.
"I don't understand," Hermione groused in frustration, setting all twelve bottles of Wolfsbane on the table.
"Chamomile, jasmine, or earl grey?"
"Earl grey, please, thanks."
Narcissa returned not long after, her tray balancing a steaming pot of tea, two cups, and two small cupcakes. She'd run into Hermione on her way home, watching her with amusement for a few moments as she was rebuffed by nearly every wizard or witch she approached before Narcissa extended her an offer to have tea and a short chat. Narcissa got the impression that Hermione normally would not have accepted, but she'd had a rough enough day to not give a damn about fraternizing with the Malfoys.
"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," Narcissa said, setting Hermione's cup before her and pouring her some tea. "But I don't think you fully understand what you've gotten yourself into."
"I just don't understand why no one knows who the lycanthropes are," Hermione said. "Or why they refuse to tell me."
"They don't know who you are, dear," Narcissa reminded her. "And we're far enough from the British Ministry of Magic that your-- shall we say, 'sweeping' reforms for equality among all magical creatures hasn't quite reached this town."
Hermione frowned, certain there was an underlying tone of mockery in Narcissa's words somewhere. "I appreciate that advice, Narcissa, but--"
"As far as this town is concerned, anyone discovered to have the condition will likely need to spend one night every month in the town prison," Narcissa continued. "And it wouldn't be long before they were run out of La Rochelle altogether."
"That doesn't happen anymore," Hermione argued. "The Wolfsbane Potion will help."
"The Wolfsbane Potion is still relatively new," Narcissa reminded her. "Not everyone is completely convinced it's enough; besides, it's common belief that the effects of lycanthropy extend far beyond the night of a full moon."
"That isn't true," Hermione pointed out. "The Ministry's done extensive studies--"
"And no one cares what the Ministry comes up with," Narcissa said. "Hermione, I'm sorry, but the Ministry's spewed enough propaganda over the years to severely weaken its credibility with its foreign neighbors, regardless of which side is in charge."
Hermione sighed, taking a sip of her tea.
"Besides, you can't rule out the possibility that Muggles have been infected too," Narcissa mused.
"Oh no, that's--"
"How would you work around the International Statute of Secrecy?" Narcissa asked.
"...problematic."
Narcissa nodded. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't think there's really much you can do about it in this town," she said. "Why don't you have some of your cupcake?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, but upon seeing Narcissa's own half-eaten piece she bit in. "Oh! This is really good, Narcissa."
"Thank you; it's very popular downtown."
"I wasn't aware you liked baking," Hermione said. "My mother was a dentist; she never thought it was very practical."
"Draco got his sweet tooth from me," Narcissa said, her lips curling up into a fond smile. "Dessert was my favorite part of every meal, but we've always had elves to make them for us. I found out how to make my favorite sweets after we moved here."
"They're very good. What do you put in them?" Hermione asked, but before Narcissa could tell her the door to the Malfoy cottage opened and Draco came in.
"What's she doing here?" he asked, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.
"Having tea, Draco, and that is not how I taught you to greet our guests," Narcissa said.
"She's not a guest," was all Draco muttered before he spotted the bottles of Wolfsbane on the table. "Slow day at the market, I take it? Nobody wanted any of your handouts, Granger?"
"I suppose you had better luck?" Hermione asked.
Draco smirked in response. "Mother, you'll be glad to hear I've deposited another twenty galleons to the bank today."
"Oh that's wonderful, Draco!" Narcissa said, pleased, just as Hermione's jaw dropped open.
"Twenty galleons?" she almost shrieked. "I couldn't give mine away for free!"
"Maybe they just don't like your face," Draco shrugged, rooting around the pantry. "Mother, is that the last of the cupcakes you're eating? I thought you were going to save me some."
"Draco, darling, we've a guest," Narcissa said.
"No, it isn't my face," Hermione added. "You're doing something else."
Draco sighed. "For a guest, Mother, she's not very polite," he told Narcissa before turning to Hermione. "I haven't been selling Wolfsbane Potion. Figured you'd be ruining any sales I tried to make, so I switched to werewolf amulets. They're easier to make and they're easier to sell. Happy?"
"Amulets," Hermione echoed, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable."
"Claude must be happy with all the extra business you're getting him," Narcissa said, but Draco only scoffed.
"Claude? Claude is seething," Draco said gleefully. "The bastard's going to lose all his business to me before very long. I talked with a few buyers today, told them I'd been making the Pepperup he'd been selling. They've agreed to Owl me if they need anything in the future."
"Wait, but what about the lycanthropes?" Hermione asked.
"What about them?"
"How are we going to help them take Wolfsbane if they won't reveal themselves to us?"
"We?" Draco asked. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Granger, but I wasn't driven out of England because of my overwhelming occupation with public service and doing what's right. This is your problem now."
A Full Moon in June
There were moments when Hermione doubted her placement in Gryffindor, instances when she wondered whether the Hat had Sorted her correctly at all or not.
Tonight was not one of those nights.
She was cold, the summer night far from warm enough especially from her vantage point a few feet up in the air. Her grip on her broom was tight but it was barely enough to keep her balanced. Flying was not as easily mastered as memorizing a spell or two, but at this point she had no choice. She was running out of time.
The truth is, La Rochelle's lycanthropic problem wasn't something that fell under the British Ministry's jurisdiction, nor was it something they could just pass onto the French Ministry. That stepped on diplomatic tact and was surely something against which the French Minister of Magic would take offense. The French did have programs in place to deal with magical creatures, but none of the measures practiced left Hermione with much confidence in the system. Shacklebolt had allowed her to spend a few more weeks in La Rochelle to do what she could, but his generosity only extended so far. She was expected to report back to the Ministry soon.
So here she was, in the dead of the night, flying above the forests of La Rochelle. She had one hand on her broom, the other on her wand. She wondered what Harry would say if he knew what she was up to, if he'd lecture her on staying safe. She laughed to herself. What was she thinking? She picked up this exact behavior from Harry.
This was her last chance. If she couldn't get anybody to confess, she'd catch them red-handed instead. There was an element of risk to it, but she had the advantage of flight. She would be safe where she was, and truth be told, part of her wanted to see the smug look on Draco's face wiped away once he realized nobody would need his so-called werewolf amulet before long. (Why even call them werewolves? The politically correct term was lycanthropes these days.)
It wasn't long before she heard the first of the howls that would soon fill the air, and it was only then that her skin prickled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She shook her head and forced herself to refocus.
"Petrificus Totalus, then Incarcerous," she murmured to herself. "Petrificus Totalus, Incarcerous. Petrificus Totalus, Incarcerous."
She nodded to herself, swallowing hard before directing her broom onward. She flew over the trees, but despite hearing movement she couldn't quite see where the lycanthropes were. She frowned, moving a little lower, and when she spotted a clearing not too far away, she headed there, hovering a good fifteen feet in the air.
Then there was movement to her right, a rustle of leaves too sudden to be anything else. She whirled around, wand at the ready, but she missed by inches. The lycanthrope, unnaturally enormous and inky black, growled before it leapt towards her, its talons just barely brushing the tail-end of her broom.
Hermione shrieked, swayed almost off-balance before she was able to right herself. "Petrificus Totalus!" she tried again, but even though the spell found its mark this time, it was ineffective. The lycanthrope wasn't knocked out and now, it bristled, howling once more before it made a run for Hermione.
"Bloody hell!" Hermione hissed, swerving her broom as the beast gave chase. It gave another howl, the sound too close behind her for her liking, and a few other howls soon joined it. Hermione's heart nearly stopped as she realized what was going on: the pack was closing in on her, chasing her into a corner.
When she spotted an opening between the branches above her, she zoomed straight up, emerging from the forest canopy suddenly, lungs gasping for breath and knuckles bone-white as she clenched the stick of her broom. But she barely had time to gather her senses when she collided hard into something and the ground-- in this case, her broom-- gave way from under her. She screamed as she fell back into the forest, but a hand closed around her ankle just in time and she stayed airborne, albeit dangling upside-down.
"Granger? What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"I'm upside down, Malfoy!" She trilled. She heard a little bit of laughter, and then her world righted itself and she found herself clinging to Draco as he got her on his broom.
"You should probably wear pants when you fly next time," Draco said. "Though I did enjoy the strawberry pattern on your knickers. Very avant garde."
"Shut up," Hermione grumbled, certain her cheeks were bright red. "Where's my broom?"
Draco snorted. "It fell when you ran into me."
"You'll have to replace that," she mumbled. "Petrificus Totalus didn't work, it just didn't-- what are you here for, anyway?"
"I was running low on moonflowers; they're good for cheering potions," Draco said. "Were you out looking for werewolves, Granger? Sorry, it looks like my amulet chased them away-- what do you know, it actually works!"
"They're called lycanthropes, thank you very much," Hermione sniffed.
"Anyone ever tell you that's ridiculously moronic?"
"I had a plan," Hermione pointed out.
"It just didn't work," Draco countered. "Heaven forbid you go missing next. Guess whose head is going to roll then?"
Hermione scoffed. "If that's all I have to worry about, then I don't really have to worry about it, do I?"
"Touché," Draco said. "Better luck next time, I guess?"
"There wouldn't be a next time," Hermione muttered. "Shacklebolt expects me back tomorrow."
"Guess those wolves will continue roaming free."
"Well congratulations; your stupid amulets will continue to sell. You must be so pleased."
Draco laughed. "Ecstatic," he said. "But quite frankly, fear is irrational; they would have sold regardless. It's just a pity to finally see Hermione Granger fail at something and not have anyone else to tell about it."
A Full July Moon
"What are you doing here?"
"Don't act like you're even remotely surprised; you know perfectly well why I'm here."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"
"Rhinophymus," Hermione proudly declared. "Blocks their sense of smell, allows us to Stun them and then corral them."
"Us?"
"Oh knock it off, Malfoy. You wouldn't be able to pick up as many bloody moonflowers as you like so long as lycanthropes roamed free-- you need them out of the forest as much as I want them actually treated for their condition. Besides, it's well-documented that a single Stunning spell wouldn't work on anything with a larger-than-average body mass. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. I'll need a second pair of hands."
"That's highly presumptuous of you, Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she continued, "I've figured out the best protective ward to use for keeping them within a certain radius in the forest. We can come back in the morning and let them know that Wolfsbane can help them."
"And I'm supposed to just follow along with this-- this Gryffindorian plan of yours?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "If you don't think you have the skills to fly yourself out of danger--"
"Of course I can," Draco said at once, his tone haughty and defiant as he hopped on his broom and flew up. "Coming, Granger?"
Hermione was right behind him in seconds, the moon high above them. "Lead the way," she challenged.
This time, she was ready. They both were. A few feet in front of her, Draco signaled a turn and she followed him, dipping her broom slightly. She had to give him credit; he knew this forest well. He knew where to turn before the bend even presented itself and even when there was a clearing coming up. She kept close behind him, her flying slightly more conservative compared to his sudden dips and curves.
"Malfoy!" she hissed.
"What?"
"This isn't Quidditch; stop showing off!"
"Hardly."
Hermione stopped short, her next words dying in her throat when she heard the first of the howls.
"This way," Draco told her, steering them towards a small clearing. He stayed maybe twenty feet above the ground, and Hermione followed him carefully, her back to him, senses on high alert.
"What if they don't come here?" she asked suddenly.
"They will," Draco replied. "Secarum."
Hermione turned to look, unfamiliar with the spell he'd just uttered. "What are you doing?" she asked, eyes wide as she watched him take his now-sharp-edged wand and cut a line down his hand.
The smile Draco gave her was oddly smug. "They can't resist the smell of fresh meat," was the only thing he said before she heard them, a pack of seven or eight racing through the forest, all heading straight for them.
"Rhinophymus!" Hermione incanted, her voice carrying strongly through the night as she cast the first of her spells, its intended target giving a high-pitched howl as he dropped to the ground and rolled around in confusion, the most important of his senses taken away from him. She flew a little bit higher, gaining more of a vantage point to see the rest of them. "Draco, we've got to Stun him now!"
"Hang on--" Draco turned around, casting a succession of the nose-blocking spells to lycanthropes very eagerly attempting to get at his bleeding hand, which was quite painfully hanging onto and steering his broom. "This hurts like a bloody bitch-- STUPEFY!"
Hermione cast the second Stunning spell on first lycanthrope, and when he was subdued she added another spell-- Incarcerous-- to tie him up. "I wonder why that is," she muttered, turning to give Draco a scathing comment about using his head better next time.
"Behind you!" Draco warned, a ray of bright white light shooting from his wand to just over Hermione's shoulder. "I'd be careful about turning my backs to them if I were you, Granger. They can still jump pretty high. Stupefy!"
Heart in her throat, Hermione added the second Stunning spell on the one who had tried to catch her off-guard. She turned her back once more to Draco-- by far the safest she was going to be for the night, she figured-- and managed to take down one more. She cast the Stunning spell on him and Draco followed suit, casting the binding spell as she took care of the remaining lycanthropes.
She wasn't sure how long it took, but one by one the lycanthropes fell. One by one, they were frozen in place, and one by one, they were bound by invisible ropes. When the howling and crashing and the sound of magic working had died down, Hermione turned to Draco.
"That's all of them?"
Draco nodded, surveying the area briefly before he descended and jumped off his broom. "It should be."
"Okay," Hermione said, lowering herself to the ground as well. She wobbled, nearly stumbling forward before Draco caught her by the arm.
"Are you--"
"I'm fine," she said, though her knees felt weak. "The wards--"
"I set them up today," Draco told her, casting one spell towards the lot. Briefly, a shimmer of magic surrounded them, and then it was gone. "There, see?"
Hermione frowned, stepping back to lean against a tree. "When did--"
"This morning," Draco said. "You're shaking."
"I'm not, I'm just-- Are you still bleeding?"
"What?"
Hermione took Draco's left hand, studying the ugly gash that his attempt at attracting lycanthropes left. "You couldn't have gotten chicken blood or something else instead?"
"Didn't really consider it," Draco mumbled.
"Episkey," Hermione uttered, though nothing changed. "Episkey!"
"You're shaking," Draco pointed out, taking her hand to steady it. She cast the spell once more, and a soft blue hue knotted itself around the wound, carefully working its magic on Draco's flesh.
"Better?" Hermione asked, looking up at Draco. Her heart hadn't stopped racing since the night began, and it was clear now by the small part of his lips and the way he breathed, shallow and heavy, that Draco's hadn't either.
"Yes, thanks," Draco said, but Hermione didn't really hear him. Instead she reached out, tugging him closer and letting his lips crash against hers.
If Draco was caught by surprise he didn't show it. There was a moment's pause, but the hold on her hand simply tightened in response, his body pushing forward to press against hers as he deepened the kiss.
Hermione groaned, blood rushing through her veins. She broke her hand free from his, murmuring a half-remembered spell that tugged his collar loose and popped the buttons from his shirt. She tucked her wand in the back waist of her skirt, ignoring Draco's low rumbling laugh to work on his trousers.
"What, no spell for my pants?" Draco asked, the tone in his voice teasing.
"Shut up, I--" Hermione paused, looking up to see the moonlight illuminating numerous pink-white scars on Draco's skin.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"Nothing," Hermione murmured, tracing the lines of his scars with her finger. "Did Harry--"
"Hardly," Draco denied.
Hermione nodded, not ignorant to the way his body tensed and his tone got short. "Of course," she said, moving her hand up to the back of his neck. She tugged him down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before she moved to nip at his ear. "M'sorry," she whispered.
"For what?" Draco asked, untucking her shirt.
"Nothing," Hermione murmured, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. They fell on a heap in the forest floor, and she raised her hands to let Draco lift her shirt over her head. She giggled, the cool wind on her bare skin. "Are we really--"
Draco followed her gaze. "Got a problem with public showings, Granger? They're not conscious."
"I know, but--" Hermione laughed, grabbing his wrist and Apparating them into her room. "This is much better, don't you think?"
"I don't care," Draco mumbled, backing Hermione up against the wall. He cupped her face, tilting her chin up to kiss her.
Hermione yielded, her hands clutching at the side of his pants. She whimpered when he slid his thigh between her legs, rubbing against her until she could feel her knickers dampening. She reached out for the fastening of his trousers, tugging at them with insistence until they came loose. In the next second Draco had unclasped her bra; in the one after that she was pushing his pants down and he was kicking it out of the way. He did quick work on her own pants, his mouth hot on the crook of her neck as she started to stroke his cock.
"Where's your wand?" he asked, nipping at her jawline.
"Oh, it's--" Hermione handed it over, waited til Draco cast a quick protection spell on him before she let it fall back to the floor.
Draco's hand moved from her breast to her hips, running his hand down the length of her thigh before he lifted her leg up so that it pressed against his side. He glanced up at her for a moment then, and when she realized he was waiting for her to assent she nodded.
"Please-- oh," she gasped, his fingers first working their way inside her. She placed both hands on his shoulders, her own fingers digging into his skin as he stretched her. "Draco--"
At that moment he thrust, the full length of his cock slipping into her own heat, and he groaned into her ear as she clung harder to him, his hips rocking into hers with growing desperation. She wanted to cry out when he drew away, leaving her wanting for a moment, only to thrust all the way back in again; instead she sank her teeth against his skin, muffling the scream she was sure would come from her. Draco hissed, though hardly in pain. He tugged at a lock of her hair, and she sucked at the spot she'd just bitten.
"C'mere," he whispered, lifting her other leg up so that her weight fully rested on him. She yelped, instinctively clenching her legs around his waist, but he was surprisingly fit for someone with hardly any meat on him.
"What are you doing?" she asked, but Draco had already deposited her onto her bed.
"What do you think I'm doing?" he asked as he spread her legs wide for him. There was a flash of mischief in his eyes, a little bit of smugness in the way his lips curled in the moment before he lowered his mouth onto her.
"Oh!"
Springing Forward: Something Like an Epilogue
"Andre, come in, we've been expecting you," Narcissa greeted, ushering the young man into her living room.
"Thank you, Narcissa," the man mumbled, shuffling in rather awkwardly although he looked relieved to see another man already there. "Stephane."
"Good to see you too," Stephane nodded.
"Draco will be by in a moment," Narcissa told them both, and before she could turn to call for him, he appeared, two flasks in hand.
"On time, as per usual," he noted, handing the men a flask each.
"This is the most terrible thing I've had to put in my mouth," Stephane sighed, making a face as he drank it.
"A small price to pay," Andre told him.
"Have the others come by yet?"
Draco shook his head. "Pierre told me he plans to drop by after work today. Yvonne and Renee are on their way. I suspect Patrice will be by later this afternoon."
"Thank you again, Draco," Andre told him. "We'll see you next month? Same time?"
"Of course," Draco told them.
"Boys, before you go--" Narcissa called out, disappearing for a moment and then returning, not long after, with a small box of cupcakes for each of the men. "Why don't you take some of these with you?"
"Are you sure?"
"I insist."
Andre grinned. "Thanks, Narcissa," he said. "My girlfriend loves these."
"By all means, tell her to stop by the shop when it opens and I'll give her a free sampling!"
"I will," Andre responded with enthusiasm. Once he and Stephane had gone on their way, Narcissa turned her attention to her son.
"Will Hermione be in town for a free sampling, Draco?" she asked innocently.
"How would I know?" Draco asked, bristling. "It's none of my business when she--"
"Do send her an invitation on my behalf, at least," Narcissa requested. "Tell her I've a new flavor I would love for her to try."
Draco sighed. "Of course, Mother."
"Thank you. Now run along now, I've got plenty more to make and I'd like the kitchen to myself, please."
Draco swallowed the protest Narcissa was certain he wanted to make. When she was sure he had left, she opened one of the cupboards and rooted around its highest shelf until her hands closed around a small, rectangular bottle containing the crushed petal juices of the moonflowers that were so abundant in La Rochelle's forest.
Plucked at the night of a full moon and crushed until it was a milky white pulp within a day of its harvest, a single teaspoon of its petal juice-- combined with the right mixture of ingredients and consequently baked into a batch of cupcakes-- was powerful enough to infuse a feeling of warm cheer in whoever ingested it.
Narcissa hummed, adding the exact amount of the moonflower extract into her batter. None of her magical or Muggle customers had cottoned onto her cupcakes' secret ingredient, but lately she'd been indulging in a little bit of experimentation as well. She returned the bottle to its rightful place, where it sat beside another bottle of similar height and shape. It contained the ground root of sandalwood, known for being a key ingredient to many of the knock-off love potions that flooded Knockturn Alley around Valentine's Day. Sandalwood hardly induced love, but it was certainly a most effective aphrodisiac-- a perfect new flavor if her experiment results were favorable.
She had just the (unwitting, but potentially grateful) pair in mind.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairing: Draco/Hermione
Rating: NC17
Word Count: Under 8,000
Summary: A small town with a secret, a Ministry worker gone missing. Hermione and Ron are sent to investigate the Malfoys' involvement, but discovering the truth is only going to lead to a lot more trouble than it's worth.
Additional Notes: Written for cryptaknight my first year of writing for smutty_claus. Originally posted here.
Sturgis Podmore's Spring: A Prologue of Sorts
Sturgis Podmore hadn’t wanted to retire.
When Shacklebolt first approached him about it, about his fading eyesight and his bad knee, Sturgis’ initial response had been to tell the interim Minister of Magic where he can shove it. He’d refused to take any desk jobs, insisting he was best when he was out in the field, and finally Shacklebolt gave in.
He sent Sturgis to France, assigning him with the task of keeping track of the Malfoys, making sure nothing was amiss.
It was nearly an idyllic cliche: a seaside town in the west coast of France where some hundred wizards and witches lived amongst a few thousand Muggles. Apothecaries and robe shops, cauldron makers and wand carvers were sandwiched between bakeries and fish markets and tourist shops if you knew where to look. Muggles and wizards all too busy attending to the year-round influx of visitors there is rarely time to tell between a tourist and a new neighbour.
The Malfoys had moved into an old cottage, a long-forgotten property that was useful to the family since the Ministry had seized all their assets in Britain, at least temporarily, while they ran all their testing on everything the Malfoys possessed to ensure none of it was filled with dark magic.
In his first day on the job, Sturgis found the mother digging around in the dirt behind their house, but instead of unearthing some forsaken artifact, he spent the next hour watching her plant the beginnings of a garden.
A week later, he caught the son leaving the house in a hurry, and when he followed him to the forest in the outskirts of the town, he was sure he’d be witness to a covert operation with other estranged Death Eaters. Instead he watched the younger Malfoy examining the foliage, taking a few plants here and there as he checked them off a list.
Sturgis still smelled something funny, his senses on high alert when, late one night, he spied the Malfoy house alit with a bubbling cauldron. He followed the boy around all of town the next day, convinced he was out to wreak havoc upon an unsuspecting populace. At an apothecary he caught money changing hands, his eyes narrowing as he saw the young man glancing furtively around the shop before he pocketed a few Galleons. When Sturgis caught up to the shopkeeper, he was in the middle of pouring the flask into a few smaller vials, each similarly labeled “Pepperup”. Still suspicious, Podmore shelled out a few sickles for one of the vials, and though his life very well could have been the price of it, he took a sip. He went home early that day, unable to keep the steam from coming out of his ears.
The owls he sent the Minister later on remained suspicious, if not similarly fruitless:
KS,
NM left early today, carrying a tray of some sort under her cloak. Following her now. More later.
-SP
KS,
NM, with her tray, entering a Muggle shop. Could be lethal. Prepare for cover-up. Will give heads up as soon as I can.
-SP
KS,
Never mind. Cupcakes. She was selling cupcakes. They’re rather good.
-SP
Shacklebolt always responded with encouragement, of course. Perhaps the Malfoys were merely lying low, or maybe they were waiting for an opportune moment, the Minister would write. It was good to establish their routines so they’d know when something was off. Sturgis was doing a remarkable job, and the Ministry remained confident in him.
Eventually, however, it dawned on Sturgis: he hadn’t wanted to retire, but for all intents and purposes, he might as well have.
These days, his messages to the Ministry were less urgent, less frequent. Sometimes he won’t owl for a week, two weeks if he’s feeling daring, but he’s not yet gathered the nerve to test how long he could go before Shacklebolt noticed. Thus far, Podmore's indomitable sense of obligation had always given in first.
"I'm sorry, my friend, but it's time to go home."
“But you don’t close for another three hours!” he protested, waving at the half-empty mug before him.
“Tonight we do,” the man simply replied, and he meant it. Sturgis began to mouth another protest, attempting to rally the other patrons of the pub with him, but one look around and he realized that he was the only one left. The normally crowded watering hole was empty.
"Where did--"
"Good night, sir," Sturgis was told as he was escorted out of the premises. "And please, go home. You have had too much to drink."
"Wh-- You can't--" Sturgis turned around, but it was too late. The door was closed. He frowned, but with the light of the full moon guiding him, he made his way through the quiet streets of La Rochelle.
An April Investigation
"I can't wait to see the look on that smarmy arse's face when we arrest him," Ron said, the tone in his voice nothing short of gleeful.
"We're not going to arrest him because we have no reason to arrest him," Hermione told him, repeating the statement she'd told him a hundred times before. "Don't be an idiot, Ronald."
"Oh, I'm back to Ronald now, eh?"
"I was hoping it might actually make you act your age," Hermione retorted coolly. Not that it ever worked. Ron was always going to be Ron and nothing would change Hermione from who she was. They were always going to be friends but there were too many differences between them and now that everything they shared in common-- Harry, Hogwarts, the danger of Voldemort-- had changed, there was little to keep them together.
"This isn't about me, Hermione," Ron said with a roll of his eyes. "Malfoy's screwed up and he's not getting away with it."
Hermione sighed. She hated working with Ron but Harry, bless him, remained under the delusion that sending them both out on cases like these would rekindle some sort of school-aged flame between them. It hadn't worked in the last five cases they've been assigned, and she sincerely doubted it would work this time. "Let's stick to the facts, shall we?"
"I absolutely agree!" Ron said. "We know Podmore's been watching the Malfoys. We know he's missing. Who else in town would not want him watching the Malfoys? Who else in town would have a reason to make sure he disappeared?"
Hermione merely pursed her lips in response, mentally forming an answer before verbalizing it-- a habit she'd developed over years of arguing with Ron.
"The fact is, Podmore hasn't found anything out of the ordinary about the Malfoys," she said. "He hasn't reported anything, and if he found something, and if the Malfoys discovered that he knew whatever it was they were doing that they weren't supposed to be doing, why would they just kill him-- and we don't know that he's dead, even. We're assuming too many things here-- why would they kill him and not even attempt to cover it up?"
"Because they're idiots," was Ron's simple answer. "And Podmore's landlady said he hasn't showed up since. I don't think he's alive anywhere."
"Ron!"
"What? It's true."
"They're not idiots," Hermione said. "They would have done something to make sure the Ministry never got ahold of it."
"Who's not sticking to the facts now?" Ron smirked.
Hermione shot him a dark look. "Neither of us are," she said. "And that's why we're here, to get to the bottom of this."
The Malfoys, truth be told, had never been a Ministry priority when all the dust had settled after the war. Knowing that they were without money or power or even friends, Shacklebolt allowed Narcissa and Draco to leave the country-- effectively exiled-- certain they would no longer pose any problems to magical society. He'd sent Podmore as an afterthought primarily because Podmore needed to do something, only secondarily because it was still in the Ministry's interest to ensure that the Malfoys would remain harmless.
Podmore's disappearance had thrown all of that into disarray. For those within the Ministry who knew about the situation, there was a growing fear that this signified the beginning of another dark time, in much the same way that disappearances had marked Voldemort's return. Harry had wanted to handle the matter himself, but Shacklebolt prevailed in convincing him there was better use of his time back in Britain, where he continued to work with the Aurors in shutting down dark activity from some of Voldemort's staunchest, still-roaming-free supporters.
Harry hadn't quite seen it Shacklebolt's way, but as a matter of compromise he'd decided to send Ron and Hermione in his place.
They set up shop, so to speak, in a small two-bed flat above a fishing supplies shop, just down the street from where Podmore stayed. They had a stock of Polyjuice and an assortment of hair samples that Hermione had personally selected for their subterfuge-- on the first day, they were an aging couple, on the second, middle-aged sisters, and so on.
They passed by the Malfoy cottage at many different times of the day in their various disguises, but they never observed anything out of the ordinary. At the very least, their findings only corroborated what Podmore had reported. Restless and impatient, Ron finally suggested they confront the Malfoys, perhaps back them into a corner to see how they'd react. Seeing no immediate end in sight, Hermione agreed.
So here they were, walking up the stone path that led to the Malfoy cottage, not as Mr and Mrs William Barley (retired), or Alicia and Edna Mayberry (on holiday), but as Ronald Weasley and Hermione Granger (conducting an investigation).
"Ready?" Ron asked.
"Yes," Hermione replied, clutching a roll of parchment full of notes in one hand, her wand in the other.
Ron knocked on the door. Three sharp knocks, evenly spaced. There was no response. He knocked again. Still nothing. Ron frowned, about to knock a third time, when at last the door opened.
"Hello, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione greeted. "May we come in?"
When May Flowers
The moon glowed brightest in La Rochelle. Narcissa knew this now, when the skies were clearer and the clouds rarer and she stayed out later.
She normally didn't find herself wandering outside of her home so late at night, especially not when her days started hours before most everyone else's. In the tiny little kitchen at the cottage where her mother spent summer holidays as a child, Narcissa gathered her ingredients the way her Potionsmaster taught her, in adequately sized containers, ready for use when needed. But in place of bats' wings and lacewing flies, she had sifted flour and beaten eggs. Where there would have been crushed newt eggs and finely ground dragon horns, there was instead a cup of sugar and a teaspoon of vanilla extract. Where she would have wrung her hands with worry or restlessness or sheer boredom, now she busied herself with mixing batter and perfecting the art of frosting. Hardly as magical as a bubbling cauldron, to be certain, but infinitely more delectable.
A few weeks after moving to La Rochelle, low on galleons and out of options, she had wandered over to the Muggle area of town and given the owner of a small but popular eatery a dozen of her goods so that he could give them to his most loyal patrons at the end of their lunch. The next day, when Narcissa returned, the owner bought all four dozen with a request for more. By the end of the week, Narcissa was selling thrice that number per day.
The hours and the growing demand for her cupcakes certainly kept her busy, but Narcissa wondered now whether she'd been too busy. She'd simply assumed that as she sold her desserts to the eatery her son was similarly hawking his potions to the apothecary, and that they were both doing their honest part to make ends meet and the lack of time they spent together was an unfortunate but necessary result of that, but now it seemed perhaps Draco had been off doing more sinister deeds. To add to her humiliation, it wasn't until Potter's friends showed up asking about a missing Ministry worker that she'd even begun paying attention.
She'd covered for her son, of course. She'd never even been aware they were being watched (the truth), so she told them that neither she nor Draco had ever even met the Podmore fellow (a half-truth) and she was confident they would find nothing to incriminate either of them if they wanted to continue their investigation (a blatant lie). In the end she thought she'd convinced them both enough, although she wouldn't put it past either to pursue their investigation regardless.
She was only slightly relieved when, upon confrontation, her son denied knowing or doing anything, but Narcissa had gone through the same dance of suspicion and denial with Lucius a long time ago. She loved her family but at this point, she knew enough not to trust the words of a Slytherin.
The spring breeze prickled at her bare arms, and Narcissa tugged her cloak tighter around her. Moonlight could only do so much to illuminate the forest path her son was taking, but it did enough to guide her way even as it kept her hidden. It had come to this, mother spying upon her own flesh and blood, but Narcissa refused to let history repeat itself.
Draco was hardly acting suspicious, Narcissa thought, outside of the fact that he was out in the forest in the dead of night. Every now and then he would come across a particular tree with bright white blooms and he would carefully cut the flowers out before storing them in individual glass containers.
Moonflowers, Narcissa thought. They bloomed at night, but those freshly plucked during a full moon and used in certain potions were known to be especially effective. Before Narcissa could do anything else, something stopped her dead in her tracks.
It was the sound of a lone, ungodly howl piercing through the night. It was a sound she and her sisters spooked each other with late at night when they wanted to quiver beneath their blankets, unable to sleep. It was a sound familiar to her nightmares, and then, before that single sound could properly terrify her, there was another one just like it, and another, and another, until a whole pack of them filled the empty night with a chorus of bone-chilling howls. Narcissa panicked, her first instinct to run.
"Draco!" she hissed, running towards him and grabbing his arm to snap him back to his senses. "We have to leave now."
Draco blinked, but before he could ask Narcissa what she was doing there she had Apparated them both out of harm's way.
Early June Blooms
The last thing Draco wanted to do was return to the forest, and though the sun was high in the sky and he was almost certain nothing lurked behind the foliage, he couldn't help gripping his wand tight enough that his knuckles were white, couldn't stop looking around at the slightest rustle of leaves. He knew this forest by now, or at least he thought he did, and he visited it regularly to stock up on his ingredients, but now--
He should have known when Claude, the apothecarist, offered to pay five galleons a blossom if Draco harvested some moonflowers for him. Demand had spiked, Claude claimed, and he had no time to harvest more. Draco had assumed Claude was only being generous; after all, he'd been able to help him keep up the demand for his potions, charging only per vial and nothing for the labor, so what was five galleons for a plant Draco could very easily collect when it was at its most potent? But it was hardly an easy task, was it? Claude had known something Draco obviously didn't, and the fool would regret thinking he could get the better of a Malfoy.
Now that he knew what to look for, more things about La Rochelle made sense: the odd nights when the town would shut down early, the way neighbors merely gave each other a cursory nod if they met, never stopping long enough to chat, never asking each other any questions, why the wizards never went out of their way to mingle with any of the other residents.
The forest, too, now showed things Draco previously hadn't noticed: branches of perfectly healthy trees littering the ground, scratches and marks on barks, oddly crooked but well-trodden paths. The carcasses of small animals in a part of the country not known for having any natural predators.
Draco pushed his way past a familiar huddle of trees, the satchel he'd slung on his shoulder bumping awkwardly against his thigh. He'd passed by this area before but he never thought he'd have use of the plant that grew here, undisturbed compared to the rest of the forest. Draco shook his head. It was clear now why this clearing had always been so pristine.
"Aconite, aconitum, monkshood," Draco recited, kneeling down carefully to avoid damaging the plants he wanted, the sound of his own voice enough to calm his rattled nerves. He opened a large jar, transfigured his wand into a small hoe, and began to dig around the plants. The petals of the violet bloom would be needed, and in fact many an apothecarist would be happy to snap them off and sell them by the pound, but the roots had to be intact until the very moment before the petals were crushed and added to the potion or else the effect would be minimal.
"Forgetting to harvest the roots, that's why you're so hard to master," he murmured, placing another plant in his jar. "Three would be enough, but--"
Draco began to dig up a fourth plant. At first, his interest had been to gather enough for a potion, but a potion only helped one person. In most towns, that would be enough, but La Rochelle was dealing with a pack. Locals-- wizards and Mud-- Muggles alike-- were understandably terrified, and Draco did not doubt that they would certainly benefit from something for themselves.
"We could use the rest of you for something like an amulet," Draco decided, appraising his haul with satisfaction. "That ought to sell like Dumbledore Chocolate Frogs on sale. Should be enough wolfsbane for a while-- I wonder if that's what happened to that Ministry worker."
"It is. We just found his body."
Draco nearly jumped out of his skin, the voice behind him unexpected. He whirled around, hoe-shaped wand aimed at the intruder. "Granger? What are you still doing here?"
"Never left," Hermione replied. "You're welcome, by the way. Ronald was ready to take you back to Azkaban and hold you there until we could prove you were guilty or innocent, but I convinced him we should look for Podmore first."
"I shouldn't have to thank you for doing what you were supposed to do," Draco told her. "I did nothing wrong."
"We got hounds to sniff him out," Hermione continued. "I thought if you'd killed him you might have transfigured the body beyond recognition, but scent-- that doesn't go away. Muggles use hounds a lot; that's where I got the idea. But the body hadn't been transfigured into anything, and it was clear you had nothing to do with his death."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "I'm sorry; did you actually follow me here to tell me something important or are you just waiting for me to praise you for your cleverness? Do they not give out high marks at the Ministry for every body you find?"
"I didn't follow you," Hermione sniffed. "I came here to get myself some wolfsbane."
"Why? Were you bitten?" Draco asked, narrowing his eyes. "Was the Weasel? Is that why he's not here?"
"No, he went back to file a report with the Ministry," Hermione said. "I'm getting wolfsbane because someone in this town needs a Wolfsbane Potion, and I don't plan on squeezing them for every galleon they've got, unlike some people."
Draco rolled his eyes. "Why didn't you just follow your boyfriend back to England when you could?" he sighed.
"He's not my boyfriend anymore," Hermione shot back, chin jutting in defiance when Draco arched an eyebrow. "What?"
"Little French town, the pair of you gallivanting around with a murder to solve... that didn't get you going?" he asked. "You weren't just using that disappearance for a mini-holiday?"
"Malfoy! A man is dead!"
Draco shrugged. "Everybody's got problems," he reasoned. "Can't worry about all of them. You, on the other hand--"
Hermione crossed her arms, daring him to continue.
"You just need a better distraction," Draco decided. He cocked his head to the side. "Don't take too many of the plants; they take forever to grow and you'd waste all of them anyway."
Hermione frowned. "What is that supposed to mean?"
"You'll see."
A Mid-June Epidemic
All epidemics needed a cure, but there was a difference between an epidemic that resulted in boils or sores from one that presented itself under the cloak of night. And as it turned out, the residents of La Rochelle weren't very forthcoming when it came to admitting they needed help, especially not to strangers.
"I don't understand," Hermione groused in frustration, setting all twelve bottles of Wolfsbane on the table.
"Chamomile, jasmine, or earl grey?"
"Earl grey, please, thanks."
Narcissa returned not long after, her tray balancing a steaming pot of tea, two cups, and two small cupcakes. She'd run into Hermione on her way home, watching her with amusement for a few moments as she was rebuffed by nearly every wizard or witch she approached before Narcissa extended her an offer to have tea and a short chat. Narcissa got the impression that Hermione normally would not have accepted, but she'd had a rough enough day to not give a damn about fraternizing with the Malfoys.
"I hope you don't take this the wrong way," Narcissa said, setting Hermione's cup before her and pouring her some tea. "But I don't think you fully understand what you've gotten yourself into."
"I just don't understand why no one knows who the lycanthropes are," Hermione said. "Or why they refuse to tell me."
"They don't know who you are, dear," Narcissa reminded her. "And we're far enough from the British Ministry of Magic that your-- shall we say, 'sweeping' reforms for equality among all magical creatures hasn't quite reached this town."
Hermione frowned, certain there was an underlying tone of mockery in Narcissa's words somewhere. "I appreciate that advice, Narcissa, but--"
"As far as this town is concerned, anyone discovered to have the condition will likely need to spend one night every month in the town prison," Narcissa continued. "And it wouldn't be long before they were run out of La Rochelle altogether."
"That doesn't happen anymore," Hermione argued. "The Wolfsbane Potion will help."
"The Wolfsbane Potion is still relatively new," Narcissa reminded her. "Not everyone is completely convinced it's enough; besides, it's common belief that the effects of lycanthropy extend far beyond the night of a full moon."
"That isn't true," Hermione pointed out. "The Ministry's done extensive studies--"
"And no one cares what the Ministry comes up with," Narcissa said. "Hermione, I'm sorry, but the Ministry's spewed enough propaganda over the years to severely weaken its credibility with its foreign neighbors, regardless of which side is in charge."
Hermione sighed, taking a sip of her tea.
"Besides, you can't rule out the possibility that Muggles have been infected too," Narcissa mused.
"Oh no, that's--"
"How would you work around the International Statute of Secrecy?" Narcissa asked.
"...problematic."
Narcissa nodded. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I don't think there's really much you can do about it in this town," she said. "Why don't you have some of your cupcake?"
Hermione hesitated for a moment, but upon seeing Narcissa's own half-eaten piece she bit in. "Oh! This is really good, Narcissa."
"Thank you; it's very popular downtown."
"I wasn't aware you liked baking," Hermione said. "My mother was a dentist; she never thought it was very practical."
"Draco got his sweet tooth from me," Narcissa said, her lips curling up into a fond smile. "Dessert was my favorite part of every meal, but we've always had elves to make them for us. I found out how to make my favorite sweets after we moved here."
"They're very good. What do you put in them?" Hermione asked, but before Narcissa could tell her the door to the Malfoy cottage opened and Draco came in.
"What's she doing here?" he asked, eyeing Hermione suspiciously.
"Having tea, Draco, and that is not how I taught you to greet our guests," Narcissa said.
"She's not a guest," was all Draco muttered before he spotted the bottles of Wolfsbane on the table. "Slow day at the market, I take it? Nobody wanted any of your handouts, Granger?"
"I suppose you had better luck?" Hermione asked.
Draco smirked in response. "Mother, you'll be glad to hear I've deposited another twenty galleons to the bank today."
"Oh that's wonderful, Draco!" Narcissa said, pleased, just as Hermione's jaw dropped open.
"Twenty galleons?" she almost shrieked. "I couldn't give mine away for free!"
"Maybe they just don't like your face," Draco shrugged, rooting around the pantry. "Mother, is that the last of the cupcakes you're eating? I thought you were going to save me some."
"Draco, darling, we've a guest," Narcissa said.
"No, it isn't my face," Hermione added. "You're doing something else."
Draco sighed. "For a guest, Mother, she's not very polite," he told Narcissa before turning to Hermione. "I haven't been selling Wolfsbane Potion. Figured you'd be ruining any sales I tried to make, so I switched to werewolf amulets. They're easier to make and they're easier to sell. Happy?"
"Amulets," Hermione echoed, shaking her head. "You're unbelievable."
"Claude must be happy with all the extra business you're getting him," Narcissa said, but Draco only scoffed.
"Claude? Claude is seething," Draco said gleefully. "The bastard's going to lose all his business to me before very long. I talked with a few buyers today, told them I'd been making the Pepperup he'd been selling. They've agreed to Owl me if they need anything in the future."
"Wait, but what about the lycanthropes?" Hermione asked.
"What about them?"
"How are we going to help them take Wolfsbane if they won't reveal themselves to us?"
"We?" Draco asked. "Correct me if I'm wrong, Granger, but I wasn't driven out of England because of my overwhelming occupation with public service and doing what's right. This is your problem now."
A Full Moon in June
There were moments when Hermione doubted her placement in Gryffindor, instances when she wondered whether the Hat had Sorted her correctly at all or not.
Tonight was not one of those nights.
She was cold, the summer night far from warm enough especially from her vantage point a few feet up in the air. Her grip on her broom was tight but it was barely enough to keep her balanced. Flying was not as easily mastered as memorizing a spell or two, but at this point she had no choice. She was running out of time.
The truth is, La Rochelle's lycanthropic problem wasn't something that fell under the British Ministry's jurisdiction, nor was it something they could just pass onto the French Ministry. That stepped on diplomatic tact and was surely something against which the French Minister of Magic would take offense. The French did have programs in place to deal with magical creatures, but none of the measures practiced left Hermione with much confidence in the system. Shacklebolt had allowed her to spend a few more weeks in La Rochelle to do what she could, but his generosity only extended so far. She was expected to report back to the Ministry soon.
So here she was, in the dead of the night, flying above the forests of La Rochelle. She had one hand on her broom, the other on her wand. She wondered what Harry would say if he knew what she was up to, if he'd lecture her on staying safe. She laughed to herself. What was she thinking? She picked up this exact behavior from Harry.
This was her last chance. If she couldn't get anybody to confess, she'd catch them red-handed instead. There was an element of risk to it, but she had the advantage of flight. She would be safe where she was, and truth be told, part of her wanted to see the smug look on Draco's face wiped away once he realized nobody would need his so-called werewolf amulet before long. (Why even call them werewolves? The politically correct term was lycanthropes these days.)
It wasn't long before she heard the first of the howls that would soon fill the air, and it was only then that her skin prickled, the hairs on the back of her neck standing on end. She shook her head and forced herself to refocus.
"Petrificus Totalus, then Incarcerous," she murmured to herself. "Petrificus Totalus, Incarcerous. Petrificus Totalus, Incarcerous."
She nodded to herself, swallowing hard before directing her broom onward. She flew over the trees, but despite hearing movement she couldn't quite see where the lycanthropes were. She frowned, moving a little lower, and when she spotted a clearing not too far away, she headed there, hovering a good fifteen feet in the air.
Then there was movement to her right, a rustle of leaves too sudden to be anything else. She whirled around, wand at the ready, but she missed by inches. The lycanthrope, unnaturally enormous and inky black, growled before it leapt towards her, its talons just barely brushing the tail-end of her broom.
Hermione shrieked, swayed almost off-balance before she was able to right herself. "Petrificus Totalus!" she tried again, but even though the spell found its mark this time, it was ineffective. The lycanthrope wasn't knocked out and now, it bristled, howling once more before it made a run for Hermione.
"Bloody hell!" Hermione hissed, swerving her broom as the beast gave chase. It gave another howl, the sound too close behind her for her liking, and a few other howls soon joined it. Hermione's heart nearly stopped as she realized what was going on: the pack was closing in on her, chasing her into a corner.
When she spotted an opening between the branches above her, she zoomed straight up, emerging from the forest canopy suddenly, lungs gasping for breath and knuckles bone-white as she clenched the stick of her broom. But she barely had time to gather her senses when she collided hard into something and the ground-- in this case, her broom-- gave way from under her. She screamed as she fell back into the forest, but a hand closed around her ankle just in time and she stayed airborne, albeit dangling upside-down.
"Granger? What the bloody hell are you doing here?"
"I'm upside down, Malfoy!" She trilled. She heard a little bit of laughter, and then her world righted itself and she found herself clinging to Draco as he got her on his broom.
"You should probably wear pants when you fly next time," Draco said. "Though I did enjoy the strawberry pattern on your knickers. Very avant garde."
"Shut up," Hermione grumbled, certain her cheeks were bright red. "Where's my broom?"
Draco snorted. "It fell when you ran into me."
"You'll have to replace that," she mumbled. "Petrificus Totalus didn't work, it just didn't-- what are you here for, anyway?"
"I was running low on moonflowers; they're good for cheering potions," Draco said. "Were you out looking for werewolves, Granger? Sorry, it looks like my amulet chased them away-- what do you know, it actually works!"
"They're called lycanthropes, thank you very much," Hermione sniffed.
"Anyone ever tell you that's ridiculously moronic?"
"I had a plan," Hermione pointed out.
"It just didn't work," Draco countered. "Heaven forbid you go missing next. Guess whose head is going to roll then?"
Hermione scoffed. "If that's all I have to worry about, then I don't really have to worry about it, do I?"
"Touché," Draco said. "Better luck next time, I guess?"
"There wouldn't be a next time," Hermione muttered. "Shacklebolt expects me back tomorrow."
"Guess those wolves will continue roaming free."
"Well congratulations; your stupid amulets will continue to sell. You must be so pleased."
Draco laughed. "Ecstatic," he said. "But quite frankly, fear is irrational; they would have sold regardless. It's just a pity to finally see Hermione Granger fail at something and not have anyone else to tell about it."
A Full July Moon
"What are you doing here?"
"Don't act like you're even remotely surprised; you know perfectly well why I'm here."
Draco raised an eyebrow. "Do I?"
"Rhinophymus," Hermione proudly declared. "Blocks their sense of smell, allows us to Stun them and then corral them."
"Us?"
"Oh knock it off, Malfoy. You wouldn't be able to pick up as many bloody moonflowers as you like so long as lycanthropes roamed free-- you need them out of the forest as much as I want them actually treated for their condition. Besides, it's well-documented that a single Stunning spell wouldn't work on anything with a larger-than-average body mass. I can't believe I didn't think of it before. I'll need a second pair of hands."
"That's highly presumptuous of you, Granger."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Anyway," she continued, "I've figured out the best protective ward to use for keeping them within a certain radius in the forest. We can come back in the morning and let them know that Wolfsbane can help them."
"And I'm supposed to just follow along with this-- this Gryffindorian plan of yours?"
Hermione narrowed her eyes. "If you don't think you have the skills to fly yourself out of danger--"
"Of course I can," Draco said at once, his tone haughty and defiant as he hopped on his broom and flew up. "Coming, Granger?"
Hermione was right behind him in seconds, the moon high above them. "Lead the way," she challenged.
This time, she was ready. They both were. A few feet in front of her, Draco signaled a turn and she followed him, dipping her broom slightly. She had to give him credit; he knew this forest well. He knew where to turn before the bend even presented itself and even when there was a clearing coming up. She kept close behind him, her flying slightly more conservative compared to his sudden dips and curves.
"Malfoy!" she hissed.
"What?"
"This isn't Quidditch; stop showing off!"
"Hardly."
Hermione stopped short, her next words dying in her throat when she heard the first of the howls.
"This way," Draco told her, steering them towards a small clearing. He stayed maybe twenty feet above the ground, and Hermione followed him carefully, her back to him, senses on high alert.
"What if they don't come here?" she asked suddenly.
"They will," Draco replied. "Secarum."
Hermione turned to look, unfamiliar with the spell he'd just uttered. "What are you doing?" she asked, eyes wide as she watched him take his now-sharp-edged wand and cut a line down his hand.
The smile Draco gave her was oddly smug. "They can't resist the smell of fresh meat," was the only thing he said before she heard them, a pack of seven or eight racing through the forest, all heading straight for them.
"Rhinophymus!" Hermione incanted, her voice carrying strongly through the night as she cast the first of her spells, its intended target giving a high-pitched howl as he dropped to the ground and rolled around in confusion, the most important of his senses taken away from him. She flew a little bit higher, gaining more of a vantage point to see the rest of them. "Draco, we've got to Stun him now!"
"Hang on--" Draco turned around, casting a succession of the nose-blocking spells to lycanthropes very eagerly attempting to get at his bleeding hand, which was quite painfully hanging onto and steering his broom. "This hurts like a bloody bitch-- STUPEFY!"
Hermione cast the second Stunning spell on first lycanthrope, and when he was subdued she added another spell-- Incarcerous-- to tie him up. "I wonder why that is," she muttered, turning to give Draco a scathing comment about using his head better next time.
"Behind you!" Draco warned, a ray of bright white light shooting from his wand to just over Hermione's shoulder. "I'd be careful about turning my backs to them if I were you, Granger. They can still jump pretty high. Stupefy!"
Heart in her throat, Hermione added the second Stunning spell on the one who had tried to catch her off-guard. She turned her back once more to Draco-- by far the safest she was going to be for the night, she figured-- and managed to take down one more. She cast the Stunning spell on him and Draco followed suit, casting the binding spell as she took care of the remaining lycanthropes.
She wasn't sure how long it took, but one by one the lycanthropes fell. One by one, they were frozen in place, and one by one, they were bound by invisible ropes. When the howling and crashing and the sound of magic working had died down, Hermione turned to Draco.
"That's all of them?"
Draco nodded, surveying the area briefly before he descended and jumped off his broom. "It should be."
"Okay," Hermione said, lowering herself to the ground as well. She wobbled, nearly stumbling forward before Draco caught her by the arm.
"Are you--"
"I'm fine," she said, though her knees felt weak. "The wards--"
"I set them up today," Draco told her, casting one spell towards the lot. Briefly, a shimmer of magic surrounded them, and then it was gone. "There, see?"
Hermione frowned, stepping back to lean against a tree. "When did--"
"This morning," Draco said. "You're shaking."
"I'm not, I'm just-- Are you still bleeding?"
"What?"
Hermione took Draco's left hand, studying the ugly gash that his attempt at attracting lycanthropes left. "You couldn't have gotten chicken blood or something else instead?"
"Didn't really consider it," Draco mumbled.
"Episkey," Hermione uttered, though nothing changed. "Episkey!"
"You're shaking," Draco pointed out, taking her hand to steady it. She cast the spell once more, and a soft blue hue knotted itself around the wound, carefully working its magic on Draco's flesh.
"Better?" Hermione asked, looking up at Draco. Her heart hadn't stopped racing since the night began, and it was clear now by the small part of his lips and the way he breathed, shallow and heavy, that Draco's hadn't either.
"Yes, thanks," Draco said, but Hermione didn't really hear him. Instead she reached out, tugging him closer and letting his lips crash against hers.
If Draco was caught by surprise he didn't show it. There was a moment's pause, but the hold on her hand simply tightened in response, his body pushing forward to press against hers as he deepened the kiss.
Hermione groaned, blood rushing through her veins. She broke her hand free from his, murmuring a half-remembered spell that tugged his collar loose and popped the buttons from his shirt. She tucked her wand in the back waist of her skirt, ignoring Draco's low rumbling laugh to work on his trousers.
"What, no spell for my pants?" Draco asked, the tone in his voice teasing.
"Shut up, I--" Hermione paused, looking up to see the moonlight illuminating numerous pink-white scars on Draco's skin.
Draco narrowed his eyes. "What?"
"Nothing," Hermione murmured, tracing the lines of his scars with her finger. "Did Harry--"
"Hardly," Draco denied.
Hermione nodded, not ignorant to the way his body tensed and his tone got short. "Of course," she said, moving her hand up to the back of his neck. She tugged him down, pressing a soft kiss to his lips before she moved to nip at his ear. "M'sorry," she whispered.
"For what?" Draco asked, untucking her shirt.
"Nothing," Hermione murmured, pushing his shirt off his shoulders. They fell on a heap in the forest floor, and she raised her hands to let Draco lift her shirt over her head. She giggled, the cool wind on her bare skin. "Are we really--"
Draco followed her gaze. "Got a problem with public showings, Granger? They're not conscious."
"I know, but--" Hermione laughed, grabbing his wrist and Apparating them into her room. "This is much better, don't you think?"
"I don't care," Draco mumbled, backing Hermione up against the wall. He cupped her face, tilting her chin up to kiss her.
Hermione yielded, her hands clutching at the side of his pants. She whimpered when he slid his thigh between her legs, rubbing against her until she could feel her knickers dampening. She reached out for the fastening of his trousers, tugging at them with insistence until they came loose. In the next second Draco had unclasped her bra; in the one after that she was pushing his pants down and he was kicking it out of the way. He did quick work on her own pants, his mouth hot on the crook of her neck as she started to stroke his cock.
"Where's your wand?" he asked, nipping at her jawline.
"Oh, it's--" Hermione handed it over, waited til Draco cast a quick protection spell on him before she let it fall back to the floor.
Draco's hand moved from her breast to her hips, running his hand down the length of her thigh before he lifted her leg up so that it pressed against his side. He glanced up at her for a moment then, and when she realized he was waiting for her to assent she nodded.
"Please-- oh," she gasped, his fingers first working their way inside her. She placed both hands on his shoulders, her own fingers digging into his skin as he stretched her. "Draco--"
At that moment he thrust, the full length of his cock slipping into her own heat, and he groaned into her ear as she clung harder to him, his hips rocking into hers with growing desperation. She wanted to cry out when he drew away, leaving her wanting for a moment, only to thrust all the way back in again; instead she sank her teeth against his skin, muffling the scream she was sure would come from her. Draco hissed, though hardly in pain. He tugged at a lock of her hair, and she sucked at the spot she'd just bitten.
"C'mere," he whispered, lifting her other leg up so that her weight fully rested on him. She yelped, instinctively clenching her legs around his waist, but he was surprisingly fit for someone with hardly any meat on him.
"What are you doing?" she asked, but Draco had already deposited her onto her bed.
"What do you think I'm doing?" he asked as he spread her legs wide for him. There was a flash of mischief in his eyes, a little bit of smugness in the way his lips curled in the moment before he lowered his mouth onto her.
"Oh!"
Springing Forward: Something Like an Epilogue
"Andre, come in, we've been expecting you," Narcissa greeted, ushering the young man into her living room.
"Thank you, Narcissa," the man mumbled, shuffling in rather awkwardly although he looked relieved to see another man already there. "Stephane."
"Good to see you too," Stephane nodded.
"Draco will be by in a moment," Narcissa told them both, and before she could turn to call for him, he appeared, two flasks in hand.
"On time, as per usual," he noted, handing the men a flask each.
"This is the most terrible thing I've had to put in my mouth," Stephane sighed, making a face as he drank it.
"A small price to pay," Andre told him.
"Have the others come by yet?"
Draco shook his head. "Pierre told me he plans to drop by after work today. Yvonne and Renee are on their way. I suspect Patrice will be by later this afternoon."
"Thank you again, Draco," Andre told him. "We'll see you next month? Same time?"
"Of course," Draco told them.
"Boys, before you go--" Narcissa called out, disappearing for a moment and then returning, not long after, with a small box of cupcakes for each of the men. "Why don't you take some of these with you?"
"Are you sure?"
"I insist."
Andre grinned. "Thanks, Narcissa," he said. "My girlfriend loves these."
"By all means, tell her to stop by the shop when it opens and I'll give her a free sampling!"
"I will," Andre responded with enthusiasm. Once he and Stephane had gone on their way, Narcissa turned her attention to her son.
"Will Hermione be in town for a free sampling, Draco?" she asked innocently.
"How would I know?" Draco asked, bristling. "It's none of my business when she--"
"Do send her an invitation on my behalf, at least," Narcissa requested. "Tell her I've a new flavor I would love for her to try."
Draco sighed. "Of course, Mother."
"Thank you. Now run along now, I've got plenty more to make and I'd like the kitchen to myself, please."
Draco swallowed the protest Narcissa was certain he wanted to make. When she was sure he had left, she opened one of the cupboards and rooted around its highest shelf until her hands closed around a small, rectangular bottle containing the crushed petal juices of the moonflowers that were so abundant in La Rochelle's forest.
Plucked at the night of a full moon and crushed until it was a milky white pulp within a day of its harvest, a single teaspoon of its petal juice-- combined with the right mixture of ingredients and consequently baked into a batch of cupcakes-- was powerful enough to infuse a feeling of warm cheer in whoever ingested it.
Narcissa hummed, adding the exact amount of the moonflower extract into her batter. None of her magical or Muggle customers had cottoned onto her cupcakes' secret ingredient, but lately she'd been indulging in a little bit of experimentation as well. She returned the bottle to its rightful place, where it sat beside another bottle of similar height and shape. It contained the ground root of sandalwood, known for being a key ingredient to many of the knock-off love potions that flooded Knockturn Alley around Valentine's Day. Sandalwood hardly induced love, but it was certainly a most effective aphrodisiac-- a perfect new flavor if her experiment results were favorable.
She had just the (unwitting, but potentially grateful) pair in mind.