Boys Night, Girls Night

And I'm Back!! Sorry it's been a while, and I know I left you with an evil cliffy, but hopefully you'll forgive me. So here I have a brand new chapter just for my wonderful and amazing fans. I cannot tell you how much I appreciate all the comments! So to my critics, fans, and reviewers here's a chapter for you, and another coming tomorrow. Enjoy!

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34.

Ginny came into her apartment to find Draco wasn’t alone. Blaise, Pansy, Ron, Theo, and oddly enough Lucius and Narcissa were all present and accounted for. Nor were they silent. They were all arguing loudly, and not exactly listening to what each other were saying. The only person quiet was Draco, sitting on the edge of an armchair, his head in his hands.

Finally having enough, Ginny waved her wand and a loud bang silenced the room.

“Ron, go and make a pot of tea, and grab some food for everyone, this is going to be a long day. Pansy, if you could, please, go into the den and locate a bundle of papers tied together in the top right drawer, and bring them out here. Theo, I need you to leave and go grab Greg, we’ll need to question him.” Ginny heard him start to protest and turned on him in a flash. “ And NO, I am not going to listen to your platitudes in his defense! Get him here. NOW!” she threatened.

Theo gave her a scathing look, but did as he was told. Making her way towards the Malfoys, she once again had her determined hostess face back into place. “Mr. and Mrs. Malfoy, please be seated, and Blaise will take your coats and put them into the hall closet.” Ginny ordered.

Everyone snapped to attention and started bustling around to complete their tasks. Not one of them thought to disobey. Lucius looked at Ginny with amused approval.

Ginny walked over to Draco and leaned in to whisper into his ear. “I know this is painful and seems surreal, but I need you to put everything on the back burner. I need your head in the game. We have 46 hours until leads start drying up and information gets old.”

Draco nodded and ran a hand over his ragged face. He visibly pulled himself together and stood up to stretch.

Ten minutes later, their unofficial investigation began in earnest.

Shapes, colors, objects slowly came into focus.

Hermione kept her breathing even, eyes half-lidded. She did her best not to wince as she felt the throbbing and pain centralized on the right side of her face. From what she could tell, it was right by her eye.

She, oddly enough, felt warm and comfortable.

Opening her eyes, she found a figure sleeping on his side not two inches away from her, wrapped in a deep, rich red comforter. His bare back was displayed outside of the blanket, and Hermione really hoped the rest of him had clothes on.

With that thought on her mind, her eyes quickly looked down to examine what she was wearing. Thankfully, her dress and coat were still intact. She was tucked into the comforter, and the realization that he had carried her from the bathroom last night made her skin crawl.

Inching out of the bed and towards the bedroom door, intent on some distance away, Hermione didn’t realize the string attached to her swollen ankle until it was pulled taut and she fell gracelessly onto the floor with a grunt. 

Startled awake, her attacker shot up in bed, looking wildly around him. When he spotted her on the floor, he grinned. “Where are you running off to sweetheart?”

Hermione made some very quick deductions.

Her attacker didn’t want to use his wand if he was relying on such muggle techniques as string around her foot. Probably so that if he was questioned by authorities they wouldn’t see anything amiss.

Not that that mattered. Hermione might be confident in her magic, but his physical presence was intimidating. That was the only real problem.

Her attacker seemed honestly amused, not angry, at her attempted flee from the bedroom.

Her attacker also wasn’t her realtor. Today he was Oliver Stanley.

Polyjuice. Or some altered version of it.

Hermione cleared her throat. If whoever this was wanted to toy with her she would play along. It would keep him satisfied and keep his anger at bay. “I-I wanted a glass of water.”

Oliver ran a hand through his hair, getting out of bed to take slow steps towards her. “You should have woken me up. Not run off like that.”

“I’m sorry, but I didn’t want to wake you.” She murmured keeping her eyes averted, and trying not to shake as he made his way towards her. As he reached down towards where she was cowered on the floor, she froze. Gently, he ran a finger down her cheek. Hermione bit back the urge to slap his hand away. He untied the knot at her ankle.

“That’s my girl. Always thinking of me first.” He whispered. “Now, why don’t you go make up something to eat while I shower, unless you would like to join me?”

Hermione’s head snapped up. He looked completely serious. She shook her head slowly, stood up and made her way silently towards the kitchen. The kitchen is where she felt the most at home.

It was also where heavy, sharp objects resided.