I'm No Angel

<i>No I'm no angel

No I'm no stranger to the dark</i>

Draco leaned back in his chair and stretched his arms over his head.  “So, Granger, when are you going to marry my father?”

Hermione looked up from the case files she had spread out all over her desk.  “I’ll marry him when he stops trying to con, cajole, coerce and otherwise manipulate me into doing so,” she said, going back to the papers.

Draco laughed.  “Might as well ask him to stop breathing,” he said.

“I’m rather well aware of that,” Hermione said.  “How are the twins?”

“Demon spawn,” he grumbled.

“Well, they are yours, after all,” she said with a grin.

“There are days when I have to wonder.”

Hermione laughed.  “What is that old blessing/curse?  May you have children just like you,” she said with a mischievous sparkle in her eyes.  “They’re toddlers, they’re supposed to be rambunctious.”

“Rambunctious I could live with, it’s the shrieking that get on my last nerve.”

“How is Luna taking it?” Hermione asked, shuffling the papers back into the folder and getting up to put them in the filing cabinet.

“In her usual nonplussed fashion,” Draco said. His eyes narrowed suspiciously.  “You’re trying to get me off topic.”

“What topic was that?”

“When are you going to marry my father?” Draco asked impatiently.

Hermione snorted and stuck her nose in the air.  “I thought I’d answered that question already.  Hello, Harry,” she said, waving to him as he came in the door of the office.

Draco looked up and frowned at the expression on the other man’s face.  “What’s wrong with you, Potter?  You look like someone broke your best broom.”

“I wish that was the problem,” Harry said, running his hands through his hair. “I need to tell you two something before the word gets out in earnest and you hear it elsewhere.”

“Harry?” Hermione asked, putting a hand on his arm.

“It’s about your mother, Malfoy,” Harry said, reaching over and squeezing Hermione’s hand.

Draco was halfway out of his seat at those words.  “What of her?”  The past couple of years had not been pleasant ones for him.  It wasn’t every day you found out that your mother had serious split personality issues and was a serial killer.

Harry sighed and his shoulders slumped a bit more.  “She killed two of the guards at St. Mungoes.  She’s escaped.”

Hermione had instantly headed for the fireplace as had Draco.

“Calm down, you two.  Arabella has already warned the elder Malfoy,” Harry said. “She can’t have gotten far.  We have nets set up to catch any magick that matches her energy signature.”

“Those nets aren’t foolproof, Harry,” Hermione said.  “You know that as well as we do.”

Harry ran his hands through his hair. “I know that, Hermione.  But it’s the best plan we’ve got at the moment.”

***Author's Notes aka Mad Ramblings***

The song used in this chapter is I'm No Angel by Greg Allman. I don't own it either.