Chapter 9
Hermione met Malfoy outside the Great Ormond Street Hospital for Children.
"You're late." He said to her as he stuffed out what looked like a cigarette under his dragon skin boots. Hermione glanced at her watch and then huffed in annoyance.
"Oh, please, it's exactly half two."
"Exactly." He replied without looking at her.
Hermione scowled at him and then took a deep breath. “Anyways, I thought we should disguise ourselves just in case anyone might recognize us.”
“Disguises?” Malfoy arched a pale brow, the faintest hint of disdain curling at his lips. “Granger, do you honestly think anyone here is looking for us? This isn’t Diagon Alley—it’s a Muggle hospital.”
Hermione ignored his tone, pulling out her wand and glancing around to ensure no one was watching. “It’s not just the staff we need to think about, Malfoy. If anyone suspicious is already poking around this flu, the last thing we need is for them to connect us to the Wizarding world.”
Malfoy huffed but leaned lazily against the hospital’s brick wall, watching her with mild curiosity. “Fine, but if you’re suggesting Polyjuice Potion, I’m not spending another hour tasting someone else’s life choices.”
Hermione rolled her eyes. “No. We’ll transfigure ourselves instead. Less fuss, and we won’t need to keep re-dosing. We’re posing as CDC agents—Muggle disease specialists.” She flicked her wand sharply, muttering the incantation. Her features began to shift: her bushy hair smoothed into a sleek ponytail, her brown eyes lightened to a piercing hazel, and her features sharpened slightly, giving her an air of quiet authority. Her plain jumper and jeans transformed into a crisp blazer and neatly pressed trousers.
“I know what the CDC is,” he said, snatching his clipboard from her as he aimed his wand at himself. “Isn't that an American agency?”
“They work globally. Plus the UK Health Security Agency has a wizarding division and I don't want to run into problems in the case someone recognizes the credentials."
With a muttered spell, his pale hair darkened to a deep chestnut, his angular features softened, and a pair of wire-rimmed glasses appeared on his face. His usual robes morphed into a tailored suit and tie that looked entirely too natural on him.
Hermione glanced at him, her lips twitching despite herself. “You’re supposed to look approachable, not like you just stepped off the cover of Wizarding Quarterly.”
“I’m sorry, would you prefer I looked incompetent?” he shot back, straightening his tie.
She didn’t dignify that with a response. “Follow my lead, and don’t say anything unnecessary. The head doctor should be expecting us—well, expecting them,” she said, motioning to their new appearances.
Malfoy sighed dramatically but fell into step beside her as they entered the hospital. The sterile scent of disinfectant hit them immediately, mingling with the faint hum of fluorescent lights and the soft murmur of voices. Hermione tightened her grip on her bag, her pulse quickening as she led them to the reception desk.
A young woman in scrubs looked up from her computer and smiled. “Can I help you?”
Hermione stepped forward, her voice steady and professional. “Yes, we’re from the Centers for Disease Control and Prevention. We’re here to speak with Dr. Kapoor regarding the recent cases.”
The receptionist nodded, typing something into her computer. “Of course, let me page him for you.”
As they waited, Hermione glanced sideways at Malfoy. His posture was relaxed, but she could tell by the way he scanned the room that he was just as tense as she was. Whether it was nerves or boredom, she couldn’t tell—and she didn’t particularly care.
“Don’t mess this up,” she muttered under her breath.
“Granger, you wound me,” he murmured back in a mocking tone.
Another ten minutes had gone by and Malfoy let out an exaggerated sigh, leaning casually against the wall. “You know, Granger, you’d make an excellent Muggle bureaucrat. You’ve got the whole stick-up-the-arse demeanor down to an art.”
Hermione turned her head slowly, giving him a pointed look. “And you’d make an excellent test subject for a Silencing Charm.”
He grinned, undeterred. “Come on, admit it. You’re enjoying this. Ordering people around, playing the expert—you’ve probably been dreaming about a day like this since you got your first cauldron.”
She crossed her arms, her lips twitching. “And you’ve been dreaming of a day when you don’t have to lift a finger and everything just magically sorts itself out, haven’t you?”
“Why change what works?” he quipped, inspecting his nails as if the conversation bored him.
Before Hermione could reply, a man in a white coat approached, his expression warm but professional. “Good afternoon. I’m Dr. Kapoor. You must be the team from the CDC?”
Hermione stepped forward, all business now. “Yes, I’m Dr. Jane Parker, and this is Dr. Henry Collins,” she said, gesturing to Malfoy, who gave a polite nod. “Thank you for meeting with us on such short notice.”
“Of course,” Dr. Kapoor said, motioning for them to follow him. “Let’s talk in my office. It’ll be quieter there.”
They were led through a maze of sterile corridors until they reached a modest office lined with medical journals and a scattering of family photos. Once seated, Hermione wasted no time.
“We understand there’s been an unusual strain of flu affecting patients here, particularly children,” she began, her tone measured but probing. “Can you tell us about the symptoms you’ve observed? Have there been any indications of worsening conditions or complications for those currently infected?”
Dr. Kapoor’s expression grew serious. He clasped his hands on the desk. “The cases we’ve seen in children are… troubling, to say the least. For most patients, the symptoms are typical for influenza—fever, cough, fatigue—but the seven deaths we’ve had in the past two years don’t fit the usual pattern.”
Hermione exchanged a quick glance with Malfoy, who, to her surprise, looked genuinely attentive.
“Could you elaborate?” she prompted.
Dr. Kapoor nodded. “All seven were otherwise healthy. No underlying conditions, no prior complications. In each case, the symptoms escalated rapidly. Fever and respiratory distress progressed to complete organ failure within days. The speed and severity were unlike anything I’ve encountered in my career.”
“That’s… alarming,” Hermione said, her brows furrowing. “Have there been any commonalities among the patients? Similar environments, dietary factors, anything unusual in their medical history?”
Dr. Kapoor leaned back in his chair, his face etched with worry. “We’ve looked into all of that—lifestyle, exposure, even genetic predispositions—but there’s no clear link. The only common factor we’ve identified is the strain itself. It’s resistant to conventional antiviral treatments, but beyond that…” He spread his hands helplessly.
“What about magical interference?” Malfoy asked abruptly, earning a sharp glare from Hermione.
Dr. Kapoor blinked, clearly confused. “Magical?”
Hermione jumped in quickly, clearing her throat. “He means… unusual external interference. Environmental contaminants, for example.”
The doctor nodded slowly, but his expression remained uneasy. “Nothing we’ve detected so far. If there’s something we’re missing, I hope your team can help us find it.”
Hermione nodded firmly. “That’s our goal. If you can provide us with access to the case files and lab reports, we’ll review everything and see if there’s a pattern that’s been overlooked.”
As Dr. Kapoor turned to retrieve a file from his desk, he hesitated and glanced back at them. “Before I share any detailed information, I’ll need to see your authorization letter. It’s standard procedure for cases like this.”
Hermione froze, her carefully maintained composure threatening to crack. “Authorization letter?” she repeated, stalling for time.
“Yes,” Dr. Kapoor said, his brow furrowing slightly. “The CDC usually provides formal documentation for external reviews. I’m sure you have it with you?”
Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Malfoy raise an eyebrow, clearly enjoying her discomfort. “Of course,” she said quickly, reaching into her bag and rifling through it as if searching for the nonexistent letter. Her mind raced. a slight overlook on her part.
“Actually, Dr. Kapoor,” Malfoy began, his tone almost too smooth, “there’s been a—”
Hermione didn’t let him finish. She straightened abruptly and flicked her wand subtly, murmuring a Confundus Charm under her breath. Dr. Kapoor blinked, his expression softening into vague confusion.
“Ah, here it is,” Hermione said confidently, holding up a random sheet of parchment from her bag. “It might look a bit unconventional, but it’s the temporary authorization issued for urgent cases like these. I trust that will suffice?”
Dr. Kapoor squinted at the parchment, then nodded slowly, the effects of the charm taking hold. “Yes… yes, of course. That should be fine.”
As he turned back to his desk, Hermione let out a silent breath of relief, tucking the parchment back into her bag.
Malfoy leaned closer, his voice low and sharp. “Really, Granger? Confunding a Muggle doctor? What’s next, Obliviating him when you bungle the rest of this charade?”
She shot him a glare. “Oh, I’m sorry, Dr. Collins. Would you have preferred he called security because someone couldn’t keep his mouth shut about ‘magical interference’?”
He smirked, utterly unrepentant. “Touché. But you know this sort of thing is frowned upon by the Ministry. Highly illegal, if I recall correctly.”
“I don’t need a lecture on magical law from you,” she hissed back.
Before Malfoy could retort, Dr. Kapoor returned to the desk, holding a thin folder. “Here’s a summary of the cases,” he said, handing it to Hermione. “The detailed lab results are in the file room—I’ll have those sent over shortly.”
Hermione smiled, the picture of professionalism once more. “Thank you, Dr. Kapoor. This will be immensely helpful.”
Dr. Kapoor glanced between the two of them, the faintest flicker of puzzlement crossing his face before he shook it off. “If you have any further questions, don’t hesitate to ask. We’re all eager to get to the bottom of this.”
As the doctor escorted them to the door, Malfoy leaned slightly toward Hermione, his voice dripping with mock admiration. “Impressive work, Granger. Truly. Who knew the Brightest Witch of Her Age had such a flair for bending the rules?”
She didn’t look at him as they walked out, but her tone was razor-sharp. “Say one more word, and I’ll Confundus you next.”
****
As they stepped outside the hospital and into the crisp evening air, Hermione tucked the folder under her arm and exhaled heavily. “Well, that was… productive,” she said, though her voice was edged with weariness.
“Productive?” Malfoy drawled, shoving his hands into his coat pockets. “You mean illegal. You really are full of surprises, Granger.”
Hermione spun on her heel to face him. “Oh, give it a rest, Malfoy. If you’d kept your mouth shut about ‘magical interference,’ I wouldn’t have needed to do anything in the first place.”
He raised his hands in mock surrender, his smirk firmly in place. “Relax, Granger. I’m not about to turn you in. It’s just so… refreshing to see you color outside the lines for once. Maybe there’s hope for you after all.”
She rolled her eyes and started walking toward the street corner where they’d apparated earlier. “Goodbye, Malfoy. And don’t forget to write up your notes from today. I want them before tomorrow evening.”
Malfoy followed her at a leisurely pace. “Oh, don’t worry, I’ll be sure to spell-check them for you. Merlin knows you’d combust if you spotted a typo.”
Hermione didn’t dignify that with a response, instead pulling her wand from her coat. “And where are you off to now?” she asked over her shoulder, more out of politeness than actual curiosity.
“Nowhere that concerns you,” he replied, but then, as if he couldn’t resist, he added, “Though, if you must know, there’s a little Muggle café a few blocks from here that makes an absolutely divine latte. I thought I might stop in before heading home.”
Hermione turned back to him, eyebrows raised. “You? A café? A Muggle café?”
“What can I say?” He shrugged, looking smug. “They’re good at coffee. Much better than that sludge the Ministry serves.”
For a moment, she looked like she wanted to argue, but then she shook her head and sighed. “Of course. You probably have them spell your name wrong just to blend in.”
“Actually,” he said with a wicked grin, “I tell them my name is John. It keeps things simple. Plus, it’s terribly amusing to see them try not to stare.”
Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose, muttering something that sounded suspiciously like, “Unbelievable.”
“Enjoy your coffee, John,” she said, her tone dry.
“And you enjoy your evening of research, Dr. Parker,” he shot back, his voice dripping with false sincerity.
Without waiting for her response, he pivoted on his heel and strolled down the street, hands shoved into his pockets, his scarf fluttering gently in the breeze. Hermione observed him for a moment, shaking her head before disappearing with a soft crack.
As Draco approached the café, he allowed himself a small smile. He ought to tone down the teasing, but there was a certain satisfaction in ruffling Granger’s feathers. He halted for a moment to reflect on the notion he just had before tucking it away in the corners of his mind. He would consider that later. But for the time being, he was looking forward to a tranquil evening with a good cup of coffee and no one demanding anything from him.
****
Draco idly stirred the remnants of his latte, his eyes wandering to the rain-smeared window of the quaint café. The previously lively space had thinned out as the evening advanced, leaving just him and the two baristas at the counter. A soft murmur of indie music filled the air, a calming melody that stood in contrast to the slight bitterness of espresso lingering around him.
He glanced at his watch—five minutes until closing. He resigned to giving himself two more minutes of peace and then he would pack up and leave.
Behind the counter, Alina—a new barista he vaguely recognized from a previous visit—was speaking in hushed tones to her coworker. Draco only half-listened, but their conversation caught his ear when Alina’s voice became more insistent.
“Emily, seriously, you should go,” Alina said, her voice warm but firm. “You’ve been here all day, and your boyfriend’s probably waiting. It’s fine. I can handle the last few minutes by myself.”
Emily hesitated, glancing at the clock. “Are you sure? It’s really not a big deal—”
“Go.” Alina smiled, waving her hand dismissively. “You’ve covered for me before. I’ll lock up, and everything will be fine.”
After a moment, Emily relented, untied her apron, and grabbed her coat. “Thanks, Alina. I owe you one. Call me if anything comes up, okay?”
Alina nodded, her smile unwavering as Emily hurried out the door. Draco barely paid attention, returning to his mug, but a faint tension lingered in the air.
Moments later, the bell above the door jingled, signaling the arrival of two men. Draco glanced up briefly as they approached the counter, their faces partially obscured by hoods dampened from the drizzle outside. They didn’t appear particularly remarkable—just two tired blokes looking for a late-night caffeine fix.
“Evening,” one of them said gruffly. “Two black coffees. To go.”
Alina offered a polite smile, but Draco noticed a slight hesitation in her movements as she reached for the cups. She handed one man a receipt and busied herself at the coffee machine, but her gaze flicked toward them more than once, her smile tightening with each glance.
Draco’s attention piqued. He was tucked away in the corner so he tilted his chair slightly to get a better view of the exchange, noting how Alina’s posture grew a fraction stiffer.
“Long night?” the second man asked her casually, his tone light but his expression anything but.
“Almost done, actually,” Alina replied with a practiced cheerfulness, setting the first cup on the counter. But there was a slight crack in her tone—small enough that most wouldn’t notice, but Draco did.
As the second coffee began to brew, she straightened abruptly. “Sorry I just need to grab something from the back quick,” she said, her voice carefully even. “It’ll only take a second.”
Without waiting for their reply, she disappeared into the back room, leaving the two men alone at the counter.
They exchanged a glance, their easygoing demeanor dropping like a mask. “You think she knows?” one muttered, low enough that Draco could only just catch the words.
“She’s a slippery one, but it won’t matter,” the other replied darkly. “She’s got nowhere to run.”
Draco stiffened, his grip tightening on the handle of his mug. The word “muggles” slipped into their conversation, and he leaned back in his chair, carefully angling himself to listen without drawing attention.
Seconds ticked by, and Alina didn’t return. The machine beeped as the second coffee finished brewing.
“Something’s not right,” one of them said sharply, looking toward the back door.
Realization dawned on the other. “She’s bolting!”
They rushed toward the back door just as Draco stood, his pulse quickening in his chest. He hadn’t planned to get involved in anyone’s business tonight, but something about their conversation—and the tension radiating from the girl earlier—told him this wasn’t an ordinary coffee run.
He slipped out of the café after them, the chill of the night air hitting him like a splash of cold water as he stepped into the dark alley behind the shop. The shadows loomed, wrapping around him, but his focus was solely on the scene unfolding ahead.
Ahead, Alina was sprinting toward the narrow mouth of the alley, her breaths ragged and panicked, each inhale sharp and desperate. The men were gaining on her, their heavy footfalls echoing ominously off the damp bricks. Draco's heart raced as he saw one of the men fire what looked like a stunning spell, the flash of light illuminating the darkness and narrowly missing the girl as she ran.
“Stupefy!” Draco shouted, his wand flashing in a swift, practiced motion as he cast the spell. A red streak of light soared through the air, narrowly missing one of the men as he dove out of the way.
The other turned sharply, his wand suddenly pointed in Draco's direction, eyes narrowing in recognition. “What the—?” the man hissed, and with a swift motion, he snapped his fingers, and a mask appeared over his face. Draco froze momentarily at the familiarity of it, an unsettling reminder of the dark past he thought he had escaped.
Alina stumbled to a halt, wide-eyed as Draco apparated between her and the men, his wand raised. “Not very sporting of you, chasing after a lady,” Draco said coldly. “What’s she done to warrant all this trouble?”
“None of your business,” the man snarled, aiming his wand at Draco.
Before either could cast, Alina let out a yelp and ducked behind Draco. The three exchanged curses, Draco easily deflecting and casting stunning spells in quick succession. The second man barked something unintelligible, and the two exchanged a glance. Realizing they were outmatched, they disapparated with twin cracks, leaving the alley eerily silent.
Draco lowered his wand but didn’t pocket it, his gaze flicking toward Alina. She was trembling, her back pressed against the brick wall as she struggled to catch her breath.
“What in Merlin’s name was that about?” he demanded, his tone harsher than intended.
Alina didn’t answer, her wide eyes darting around the alley as though expecting the men to reappear. Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Come on,” he said grudgingly, “let’s get you out of here before they decide to come back.”
He didn’t wait for her response, grabbing her arm gently he apparated them away.
****
“What do you mean Draco Malfoy was there?!” The man shouted, his voice a tempest of rage that echoed off the walls.
“He showed up in the coffee shop when we went to pick her up,” one of the men from the alley replied, his voice shaky. He ducked just in time to avoid the whiskey tumbler that was hurled at him, the glass narrowly missing his head and shattering against the wall behind him.
“But—but—it didn't seem like they knew each other! He just happened to be there—” the second man from the alley was abruptly thrown against the wall, the impact silencing him before he could finish the sentence.
“You were supposed to be subtle!” the man shouted at them, his anger palpable. “Of all the wizards in the GODS DAMNED WIZARDING WORLD TO SHOW UP!” The fury radiated through the cramped space, thick enough to cut. He took a deep breath, his frustration boiling over, and sighed heavily as he pinched the bridge of his nose in an attempt to regain his composure. “For fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head in disbelief. He began to walk away, the tension lingering in the air. “I’ll fucking do everything MYSELF!” he shouted, his voice rising again, each word punctuating the gravity of the situation.
****
Draco unlocked the door to his flat with a flick of his wand, nudging it open to reveal a surprisingly tidy living space. The warmth of the room greeted them, a contrast to the chill of the damp night outside. He stepped aside to let Alina enter first, but she hesitated in the doorway, her arms wrapped tightly around herself.
“It’s warmer inside,” he said, his tone softer than usual, though still tinged with his characteristic impatience.
Alina stepped in cautiously, her wide eyes darting around the room as if expecting danger to leap out from the shadows. The sound of the door clicking shut behind her made her flinch.
Draco noticed and sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “Look, Alina-”
“Ali.” She replied softly, her gaze fixed straight ahead.
“Ali, you’re safe now. Sit down if you want. I’m not going to hex you or anything.”
Her head snapped to him, “what does that even mean?”
She perched on the edge of his leather sofa, her knees drawn up slightly as though preparing to bolt at the first sign of trouble. Her damp hair clung to her face, and her hands trembled as she rubbed them together for warmth.
Draco hung his coat on the rack near the door, watching her carefully. He wasn’t used to comforting people—not like this, anyway. But she looked like a cornered animal, and pushing too hard wouldn’t get him any answers.
After a long moment of silence, he leaned against the armchair opposite her and crossed his arms. “Right,” he began, his voice calm but firm. “Why don’t you start by telling me who those men were?”
“I don’t know,” she said quickly, shaking her head. Her voice was thin and hoarse, as though she’d been holding back tears. “I’ve never seen them before in my life.”
Draco narrowed his eyes. “You expect me to believe you ran out the back door of the café, sprinted through an alley, and nearly got yourself killed—without having the faintest idea who they were or what they wanted?”
“I don’t know!” she snapped, her voice rising in panic. “I don’t know who they are, okay? I just knew I had to get away.”
“Why?” Draco pressed, his tone hardening. “If you didn’t know them, why would you run? Normal people don’t bolt like that unless they’ve got something to hide.”
Alina glared at him, her fear momentarily giving way to defiance. “You wouldn’t understand.”
“Try me,” he shot back, his silver eyes boring into hers.
She hesitated, biting her lip as if weighing whether to tell him the truth. Finally, she looked away, her voice barely above a whisper. “I can… just tell sometimes. About people. Their intentions, their emotions.”
Draco frowned, his curiosity piqued despite himself. “like you sense it?”
“I don't know, I just… feel it. Like an instinct. And those men—” Her voice wavered, and she swallowed hard before continuing. “They weren’t there for coffee. They were angry. Hostile. And when I looked at them, I could feel it.”
Draco studied her closely, his expression skeptical. “Are you a witch?”
“No,” she insisted, her voice firm despite the tremor in her hands. “I’m not magical. I’m not… like you.”
Draco let out a dry laugh. “Not like me? You’re sitting in my flat after being chased by a pair of wizards, and you’re telling me you’ve got nothing to do with magic?” He leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “You might as well drop the act.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Alina said, her voice rising defensively. “I’ve never done magic in my life!”
Draco’s eyes narrowed. “You said you can sense intentions. Feel emotions. That doesn’t just happen. Either you’re lying, or…” He trailed off, his mind connecting dots he hadn’t considered before. “You’re a Legilimens, aren’t you?”
Alina’s brow furrowed, genuine confusion flashing across her face. “A what?”
Draco stared at her, trying to decide if she was feigning ignorance. “A Legilimens. It’s a magical ability to read minds—though not always thoughts directly. Sometimes it’s emotions, memories, intentions. That’s what you’re describing.”
“I told you, I’m not magical,” she repeated, her voice tinged with frustration. “I don’t know what that is, and I don’t read minds.”
Draco leaned back, tapping his fingers against the armrest. “I’ve heard of Legilimency manifesting as a… gut feeling, but I’ve never met anyone who could use it without knowing what they were doing.” He tilted his head, his gaze appraising. “You really don’t know what you are, do you?”
Her shoulders slumped, and she shook her head. “I’m not anything. I’m just… me. And I don’t know why those men were after me.”
Draco sighed, dragging a hand down his face. “Bloody brilliant. A rogue Legilimens who claims she's not a witch being chased through muggle London by a pair of men with suspiciously similar masks.” He muttered under his breath before meeting her wary eyes again. “If they’re after you because of that ability, you’re in more danger than you realize.”
Alina tensed, her hands clenched into fists. “I don’t want anything to do with magic, or with you.” She said fiercely. “I’ve managed just fine on my own until now.”
“Clearly,” Draco retorted, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “Because running for your life in a back alley is the picture of fine management.”
She glared at him, but the fight in her eyes wavered, replaced by exhaustion. Draco sighed and pushed off the armchair, pacing toward the kitchen.
“Look, we’ll figure it out,” he said, his voice softening slightly. “But for now, you’re staying here. I’ve got a guest room. And unless you fancy being tracked down again, it’s the safest option.”
Alina didn’t respond immediately, her gaze flickering between him and the door. Finally, she slumped back against the sofa, too exhausted to argue.
Draco turned back toward the kitchen, muttering under his breath, “I don’t even like company.” His mind drew back to the mask the assailants had dawned in the alley. They weren't exactly death eater masks but they were too similar in nature to discount. “Fuck. I’m going to have to get Potter involved.” He groaned.
“Who is that?” She asked worriedly.
“He's like…. A chief constable, I guess. He's the head of the department of magical law enforcement.”
“Are you a cop?” Alina asked suspiciously.
“Just wait here. Do not leave. I mean it. I’ll be right back with some help and then hopefully we'll sort this whole mess out.” Draco headed towards the door and donned his cloak. He opted from using the floo in an effort to not startle the girl any more than he already had.
“How are you so sure those guys won't find me here?” She asked as she started looking around in panic.
“There are things called wards you can set up to protect yourself, keep unwanted guests from showing up, that kind of thing. This place is heavily warded. You will be safe here. Just do not leave.” He emphasized again. Alina struck him as the type to not follow instructions well. He turned the knob on the front door and before walking out, he said once more for good measure. “Do. Not. Leave.”