Author's Note: This piece was written for the Dramione Fanfiction Forum's Clue: A Classic Mystery Comp. I hope you enjoy!

The Prompt: Hermione wins a vacation, but when the portkey takes her to what is supposed to be an island getaway, she finds herself racing to solve a mystery and avoid the fate of some of her fellow guests.

Thank you to my wonderful alpha and beta on this piece, Kyonomiko and LaBelladone x.

Disclaimer: I do not own any part of the Harry Potter franchise.

"Are you excited for your trip?" Daphne asked, lounging on Hermione's bed while the brunette flew around the room, clothes folding and tucking themselves into her suitcase of their own volition.

"Yes." Hermione waved a hand, her hair frazzled and disheveled. "If only someone hadn't come over and demanded I re-pack my entire bag."

Daphne rolled her eyes. "You can't wear stuffy work clothes on a trip to a tropical island." She caught a dress from mid-air as it flew past, holding it out in front of her. "This is cute. Wear this tonight."

"It isn't as if I'm going to meet someone, Daph," Hermione said, shaking her head as she sent the last of her toiletries into the bag. "I'll only be in St Lucia a week."

"Nothing saying you can't meet someone for the week," Daphne intoned under her breath, casting a furtive glance through Hermione's knickers. Then she turned back to Hermione with a brilliant smile. "I still can't believe you won this fantastic trip!"

"Yes, well," Hermione said, even as a grin slipped to her features at the thought. "I guess by the Ministry's seventh annual Unity Day celebration, they needed to do something to keep people showing up."

"You'd think people wouldn't need a reason, what with the celebration of the vanquishing of Voldemort and cheap liquor." Daphne shrugged. "You're going to have a blast, Hermione. And you're going to tell me all about it when you return home!"

Hermione turned to her friend, the tension fizzling from her shoulders as they sank. "Of course I will."

Daphne rose to her feet once Hermione had secured her bag; the blonde threw her arms around Hermione who returned the embrace. Daphne murmured, "Be safe."

"You know me," Hermione chuckled as she drew away. "I'm always safe."

Hermione gazed out at the view from her suite in the resort villa, lost for words. Marigot Bay was more beautiful than she could have imagined, all lush greenery and fresh, fragrant air. The shrill voices of birds rang out across the setting sun, the sky dancing with shades of blue, orange and pink.

After a shower she donned the dress Daphne had suggested, mint green with a pattern of pink hibiscus flowers with a flowing skirt. It was very unlike her – but it suited the island perfectly well. Abandoning an attempt to tame her curls, Hermione made her way to the outdoor bar along the bay, the surface of the water still and twinkling in the brilliant evening light.

"Your first rum punch is complimentary!" the bartender cried in a thick Caribbean accent, as he pushed a glass of some sort of pink concoction in Hermione's direction while she slipped into a seat at the bar.

"Oh," Hermione said, taken aback, "thank you."

She took a sip of the strong drink, nearly flinching at the gratuitous taste of rum. She nodded, forcing a smile while the bartender offered a cheeky grin and moved on to help the next patron.

Hermione glanced around; small groups of people sat at mismatched wicker furniture, sipping an assortment of drinks. Warm laughter carried across the air. She caught the eyes of a pair of men and averted her gaze.

A three piece band in one corner played a cheerful tune to the bright rhythm of steel drums.

The rum punch was delicious after the initial shock, and Hermione found herself ordering another, drifting to the railing looking out across the bay. Night had fallen, and the faint twinkling of distant stars hung over her; the birds sang louder still, an exuberant chorus echoing through the night.

Hermione turned, about to visit the bar for a third glass before turning in for the evening; a dizzy spell crept upon her as the alcohol took hold and she reached a hand back to catch her balance on the railing.

Her eyes lifted and she nearly stumbled over her feet in surprise; a man with a familiar shade of pale blond hair stood at the bar, leaning on one elbow as he stared out at the darkness of the night. Hermione watched as the man's lip curled at the coral-coloured drink that was presented before him; with a scowl he dropped the small paper umbrella onto the bartop and turned to walk away.

A breath caught in Hermione's throat when his gaze met hers and he stopped short.

Of all people – in all places – it was Draco Malfoy. In St Lucia. At the bar of the resort where she was staying.

Swallowing back her surprise, Hermione ventured forward, her eyes narrowing on instinct, despite the fact she hadn't so much as seen the man in years.

There was a slight knit to his brow as he stood in place, his chin lowered while he took a sip of his drink.

"Granger." One arched brow flickered. "Imagine seeing you here."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest and scowled when his grey eyes slid south to follow the movement before lifting to meet hers again.

"Malfoy," she clipped. "What are you doing here?"

"Having a drink." He took another sip of the rum punch, his gaze fixed on her in such a way that caused her to feel both irritated and flustered.

"In St Lucia," she huffed.

"Oh, right." Malfoy flashed an absent smile without teeth that didn't quite reach his eyes. "I own property here in Marigot Bay. I'm on a holiday. Lovely island, don't you think?"

"A holiday from what?" Hermione snorted. Last she had heard Malfoy didn't work.

"I run my own business." He hadn't looked away from her; his head tilted as he caught his lower lip between his teeth and he gestured to an empty table to Hermione's right. "Why don't you sit with me? It's been a long time, Granger."

Her gaze flickered back to the bar with consideration, but if Malfoy was here, Hermione didn't think she would be staying much longer.

"No, thank you," she clipped, moving to sidestep him.

Malfoy cut her off – the only thing her attempt to escape had served to do was put her closer to him – and he towered over her. His lips quirked into a crooked grin, even as his gaze roved the night behind her before settling back on hers. "I insist. Let me buy you a drink – just one – and then I'll let you go."

The bridge of her nose bore a small wrinkle as she assessed him for a long moment – then she sighed. "One drink."

"Hold tight," Malfoy said, the corners of his eyes tightening with a trace of a smile. "I'll get you one."

"I'll come with you," Hermione snipped, tension settling in her shoulders. There was no way she trusted Malfoy with getting her a drink. For all she knew he could take the opportunity to slip some sort of malicious potion into it.

He seemed to take no offense, that banal smile resting on his features once more as he purchased a rum punch at the bar and handed it to her, then walked alongside her back to the table.

"So," Malfoy prompted as he took a sip of his own punch, his eyes flickering across the dark foliage that surrounded the outdoor bar. "What have you been up to all these years?"

"I work at the Ministry," Hermione said, pressing her lips together, "in the Beasts Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."

"Fascinating," he drawled, stretching the word out. Hermione couldn't tell whether he was being facetious or not.

"And you?" she asked, out of politeness more than legitimate interest. "What does your business entail?"

His grey eyes swept to meet hers again. "Nothing too exciting, I can assure you."

Hermione nodded, taking a sip of her rum punch, grateful to note it tasted as the previous two had, even though she hadn't seen him slip anything into it. And he had no reason to drug her, that she knew of.

"What brings you to St Lucia?" Malfoy asked.

Baffled, Hermione glanced behind herself in an attempt to follow his sightline. But when she turned back he was smiling at her again, that same smile that caused her stomach to twist in a knot.

"I won a trip," she informed him, taking a longer sip of her drink. The quicker she could finish, the sooner she could escape this awkward, stilted conversation.

Almost instantly the thought inspired a deep-seated sort of guilt. Malfoy was being friendly enough; he hadn't said one rude word or shown anything other than interest in what she had to say. She hadn't seen him in years – maybe he had matured at some point along the way.

Hermione set her drink down on the table, settling into her seat. "How long are you staying here for?"

His lips quirked into a succulent smile as his grey eyes met hers; Hermione swallowed but couldn't quite look away. The years since the war, it seemed, had done him well. Where he had been all points and angles in his youth, the sharp lines now flattered his jawline and cheekbones.

He shrugged, the lids of his eyes slipping lower. Hermione felt a flush creep to her cheeks. "Two weeks? Maybe three. I haven't decided yet."

"Must be nice," Hermione said, sipping her drink once more. Her head was beginning to feel fuzzy again from the heavy amount of rum in the mixture. "I'm just here for the week."

Malfoy's gaze jumped back to her as if startled, and Hermione once again glanced behind her. His brow furrowed as his tongue flicked out to moisten his lips; his expression was vacant. She frowned. If he didn't want to talk to her he shouldn't have asked her to have a drink with him. She was simply trying to be nice and let bygones –

"I apologize for my inattentiveness," he drawled, interrupting her thoughts, that charming smile back on his features. "I thought I saw something moving in the bushes. Can never be too safe, don't you think?"

"I agree," Hermione said, releasing a heavy breath. She opened her mouth to say more and nearly jumped from her seat when a loud bell rang out across the air with a great clang.

Malfoy's eyes widened and his lips curled in amusement at her reaction. "It must be happy hour." He took another sip of his drink. He elaborated, "Two rum punches for the price of one. Now you'll have to stay with me for another, yes?"

Hermione felt the corners of her lips tug upwards in response to the warmth in his smile, her brain swimming in a rising tide of rum and sugar. "I suppose I'll have to."

"Excellent," he murmured, his chin dropping as he stared at her again, his grey eyes scintillating and intent. Hermione felt a hot flush rising in her cheeks while he signalled a passing waitress for a round of drinks. "So why don't you tell me about what you do at the Ministry?"

Hermione stirred with a groan, her eyes pressed shut at the insistent throb beneath her temples. The air sweeping through from the open window was warm, and it took a moment for her to recall where she was. Ebullient birdsong swept into the room in stark contrast with the unpleasant feeling in the pit of Hermione's stomach.

She rose from bed and fumbled through her bag for the small satchel of vials she had brought in the event that she overindulged and tossed back a hangover draught, grateful when the tightness in her head and stomach dissipated.

Perching on the edge of her bed while she selected an outfit, Hermione tried to recall the events of the previous night.

The outdoor bar – rum punches – grey eyes – an exhilarating smile –

Hermione froze. How many glasses of rum punch had she drank with Malfoy the night before? She lost count at five or six, but she thought there might have been more.

Relief swept through her with the comprehension that Malfoy was now nowhere to be seen – which meant she likely hadn't made any terrible, drunken decisions. But the way he'd stared at her had seared into the back of her brain and her stomach clenched at the thought.

She showered and dressed before making her way to the restaurant for breakfast.

But she stopped as she neared the central resort complex; Muggle police officers paraded about, questioning guests, while others secured an area just beyond her view with long lines of yellow police tape. Hermione's eyes widened as her gaze followed to see two officers walk past with a body bag.

Her chest tightened and she turned to another wide-eyed guest, heart skipping with a sudden terror, when a hand clamped down across her upper arm and tugged her sharply in the opposite direction.

She wheeled around, scowling as she saw Malfoy glaring at her.

"Granger, thank fuck," he hissed. "Come on!"

He tugged her into an alley behind the front desk office; his grey eyes narrowed while they swept the area, before Apparating her away.

"What are you doing!" Hermione exclaimed, batting at his arm where he still held her when they landed in a posh villa.

"Saving your arse," Malfoy huffed, releasing her as he walked away, running a hand through his blond hair. "You can't be going around alone. I was looking for you!"

"I just left my suite," Hermione said, despite her bafflement. "Why were you looking for me?"

Malfoy released a heavy breath, rolling his eyes as he shook his head. It was a sharp contrast from the friendly and charming version of him she had seen the night before. Had he been so intoxicated as to present an entirely different personality?

"Don't be daft, Granger," he muttered, glancing up at her from across the room. "Or did you not notice the murdered Muggles?"

"Of course I noticed," Hermione grit through her clenched jaw, "but what does that have to do with me? And why are you being such an arse today?" She flushed at the thought that she'd found him genuine and charming the night before; it seemed he hadn't grown up as much as she'd thought.

"I needed you to stay casual – and more importantly, with me – last night," he clipped, turning his back on her as he prepared a pot of tea. "You were being watched."

"Watched?" Hermione asked, her heart dropping into her stomach like a stone. "What do you mean? By whom?"

"Can you shut up and let me think for just a minute, Granger?" Malfoy breathed, pressing two fingers to his temple. He set a muffin on a small plate and slid it across the round table to her.

Despite the plethora of protests and questions boiling up within her, Hermione kept her mouth shut, her brain whirring in an attempt to process the information he had just shared. She broke a small piece from the muffin and nibbled at it.

When the kettle whistled Malfoy poured two cups of tea and settled at the table, gesturing with a nod of his chin to the opposite seat.

"I don't know who is watching you," he began, glancing up at Hermione as she sat down. He let out a sigh. "I'm not here on holiday. I'm a private investigator – and someone has brought you here in an attempt to kill you."

The air left Hermione's lungs in a violent whoosh while she stared at him, mouth hanging open, trying to find any humour in his words. But he merely grimaced.

"The DMLE only found out that you were being targeted three days ago, and instead of cancelling the trip, they hired me to keep an eye on you – and to find out who wants you dead."

Her mind spun with the information, and Hermione shook her head, not knowing where to begin. "Why not send Aurors?"

"Too conspicuous," Malfoy said, shaking his head. "Aurors are familiar, especially these days. Quiet, under-the-radar jobs are something of a specialty for me."

Hermione fidgeted with her teacup but couldn't bring herself to take a sip. "Who wants to kill me?" She frowned when he shrugged. "And why not tell me this last night? Why act?"

"I needed to keep you distracted so I could try and collect information. There's a possibility whomever is after you has someone here under the Imperius and if so, I need to find out who it is. If not, I need to discover who's after you." He glanced around the room. "Like I said, you were being watched. If your guard went up it would have been obvious I'm the one protecting you."

"So why tell me now?"

His grey eyes met hers again. "Because they haven't found you yet today. The protective enchantments I placed on you when I walked you to your suite last night haven't been disturbed."

"Enchantments!" Hermione exclaimed, indignant. Her ire drifted away at a pointed raise of his brows. "Did you say Muggles? As in plural? Why kill Muggles if they're after me?"

"Your guess is as good as mine," Malfoy grumbled. "But now they've created a messy crime scene and that means a headache for me. It could have been for a number of reasons but I imagine it was a message. They aren't playing around."

Hermione shook her head, feeling the beginnings of a headache coming on again. "Where are we now?"

"My villa," he bit out. "I told you I have property here. It's untraceable and warded against anything you can possibly imagine."

"So can't I just go home?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Why bother with all of this?"

"That's what I said." Malfoy shook his head. "I told them not to bring you here in the first place, but they're insistent on finding out who's after you – and more importantly – why they're after you."

"I'm not going to stay here and sit around as bait," Hermione growled.

"I won't force you to stay," he said, shrugging. "I thought it was a bad idea too, at first. But if you stick with me I'll keep you safe, and – " he held up a hand to quell her instant protests "– if we don't catch them here, they'll keep coming after you, and we won't have the upper hand next time."

He frowned, folding his arms across the table and leaning in. "They don't know you're aware of them. They don't have a clue who I am. If the murdered Muggles are a message, as I suspect, they know you have someone protecting you, but they don't know anything beyond that. If you stay, you and I can track these fuckers down."

Hermione rubbed at her eyes as she shook her head, feeling emotionally and mentally overrun. "How were you paying so much attention to this last night? Didn't you have as much to drink as I did?"

A hint of the grin she remembered from the night before crossed his face, and with a sleight of hand she would have missed had she blinked, he extracted a small vial from within the sleeve of his shirt.

"Two drops and this will neutralize the effects of any alcohol," he explained. "So I can appear to be drinking and distracted, but I won't lose any of my focus."

"Interesting," Hermione breathed, eyeing the clear liquid with interest.

"Thank you," Malfoy clipped, tucking the vial into a pocket. "I invented it."

With a deep breath to steady her nerves, Hermione sat straighter in her seat and met his gaze. "If it means we'll catch the people responsible for the deaths of those two Muggles, I'll stay. Just let me know what you need me to do."

He carded a hand through his hair, grimacing again. "Try not to make this any more difficult than it needs to be – I think it'd be safest if you move your things into here for the duration of your stay." When Hermione opened her mouth to argue, he held up a hand. "You'll have your own space, and this villa is protected with blood wards. I don't know what type of person – or people – we're messing with yet, but I don't trust the hasty wards I put on your suite last night to hold for long."

Hermione folded her arms across her chest, but there was something weary in his tone that caused her shoulders to sink. "Fine." She swallowed. "I'll try to trust your expertise."

He glanced up, brow furrowed as if surprised she had relented so easily. "Good. I'll Apparate you into your suite to collect your things so there isn't a disturbance to the wards in case someone is watching."

He held out an arm and Hermione took hold of his forearm; his gaze caught hers for a brief moment before he Apparated the two of them through what Hermione now recognized to be powerful wards.

Malfoy stood by the door like some anxious bodyguard, his gaze fixed on the window, while Hermione waved her wand and her things flew about and tucked themselves into her bag.

He hissed, ducking away from the window. "Someone was in the bushes just outside but I didn't catch sight of their face. We've got to go, Granger – now."

He snatched her bag from the bed and threw the strap of it across his shoulder, grasping her hand and Apparating them from the suite just as Hermione heard and felt the sizzle of magic – the wards being dismantled.

They arrived back in the kitchen of his villa and Malfoy released her hand. He muttered, distracted, "Help yourself to any of the guest rooms – up the stairs and to the right. I've got to go back and see if I can figure out who's trying to kill you."

"Malfoy –" Hermione began, her eyes widening as she took a step closer. "Don't you think we ought to stick together? I can come back, too –"

"No," he snapped, but then his face softened. "I'll be back soon. And if I'm not…" he grimaced, casting a glance at his watch. "If I'm not back in an hour, leave."

He cast a Disillusionment Charm on himself, and before Hermione could say anything more, he Disapparated.

It was a tense half hour in which Hermione selected one of the gorgeous, airy guest rooms on the upper floor, but she didn't feel right unpacking her bag while Malfoy was chasing some sort of dangerous lead. So she settled herself on the balcony, her every nerve on anxious end despite the breathtaking views from the hillside upon which the villa was situated, across the bay below.

She started but felt a rush of relief when Malfoy joined her some time later, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up and his hair disheveled. Her gaze lingered for a moment on the faded scar on his left forearm that had once been the Dark Mark but he didn't acknowledge her stare.

"I wasn't able to catch them," he said by way of greeting as he took the seat beside her. "They were concealed – I counted three of them. They dismantled the wards and got through; it took a while but they know you aren't staying there anymore. So whether they know you've been tipped off is yet to be seen, but we have to assume they know for the time being."

Hermione pressed her lips together as she glanced at him.

"I need you to think, Granger," Malfoy said, interlocking his fingers. "What cause would someone have to go to so much effort to try and kill you?"

"I don't know," he said, her voice dull. "I've been trying to think about it, and nothing. If it was someone with leftover discontent from the war –"

"You wouldn't be the only target," Malfoy completed, reading her intent.

"Right," Hermione said, nodding.

"I only had a couple of days to get acquainted with the situation, but it looks as if you're stirring waves in the Ministry. Could it be that someone isn't happy with what you're doing there?" He turned sharp grey eyes on her.

"But why?" she murmured, chewing her lower lip. "I certainly haven't done anyone any harm."

"I'm sure you haven't," Malfoy agreed, leaning back in his seat. "From what I've read, certain people stand to lose a lot of money if some of your changes in creature policy go through."

"Money?" Hermione asked, gaping.

"Finances, politics. You'd be surprised what money does to people," Malfoy said, his tone dark. "I've seen it my entire life; people willing to kill over a significant amount of money. Especially if they think they can get away with it. If, for instance, there is evidence of an unrelated Muggle killing spree at your holiday resort." He gave her a pointed stare, scratching the back of his neck.

Hermione considered his words for a moment. "I'm speaking as a keynote at the International Dragon Symposium next month in Madrid," she said. "We will be looking at major policy reform, which will affect breeding, keeping, and training, as well as enforcing harsher laws surrounding the poaching of dragons for their magical properties."

His grey eyes met hers with a significant sort of weight. "Dragon poachers?"

"It's been a growing issue the past handful of years and the Romanian dragon sanctuary isn't the haven it once was," she frowned. "Poachers go after them for their horns, fangs, wingtips, in certain cases, their venom…"

Malfoy exhaled a heavy breath through his nose. "Disgusting."

Something fluttered in her stomach at the declaration and her eyes met his.

"Let me reach out to my contacts in London; maybe we can find something here." He rose from his seat and returned a few minutes later with two glasses of lemonade, sliding one across the table to her.

"No rum, I hope," Hermione said, glancing at him as she took a sip.

"No rum." He laughed and glanced at her, his lips tugging up. "You know, Granger, you were a hell of a good time last night. I never knew you had it in you."

She shrugged. "Amazing what a surplus of alcohol can do. And you never exactly gave me a chance, did you?" she sniffed, raising a brow. "We've never run in the same circles, anyway."

"You're right," he said, chuckling as he took a sip of his own drink.

"From what I remember, you were charming enough last night," Hermione said, feeling a smile creep on. "Of course, now I've learned it was all an act."

He stared at her for a moment, his lips parted. "It wasn't all an act."

Hermione swallowed, her mouth suddenly dry; there was something in his gaze that left her feeling as flustered by him as she had been the night before.

An alarm blared through the villa and Hermione nearly leapt from her seat, her heart racing, anxious in her chest. Malfoy set his drink down and rose from his seat to walk downstairs; he returned several minutes later with a letter.

"Motion sensing wards," he explained, brandishing the sheet of parchment. His lips pursed as his eyes darted across the letter and then he grimaced, handing it to her. "Apparently, one of the other keynote speakers at your dragon symposium ended up in St Mungo's last night, in a failed poisoning attempt. I guess if all the speakers are dead, they can't hold the symposium and approve the policy, right?"

A gasp choked from her throat as she stared at the letter and then up at him.

"It sounds like your dragon poachers might very well be the culprit here," Malfoy said, swigging the last of his lemonade without re-taking his seat. "Let's get to work."

Hermione gaped at the vast array of magical instruments that whirred, danced and spun in what she could only surmise was Malfoy's investigative lair. Books were stacked on shelves along every wall, a workbench held several active cauldrons, and baskets were overloaded with ingredients.

"It's a sort of… collapsible room, if you will," Malfoy explained, reading the look on her face. "I usually keep it in London, but for this case it came along."

"Another of your inventions?" Hermione whispered, casting him a sidelong glance.

"Yes," he clipped. "Though it took years to get it just right."

A breath hitched in her throat. "It's really impressive."

Malfoy smirked. "Breathe, Granger." He scratched the back of his neck as he navigated into the room, a tilt to his head. "I'm trying to determine the best plan of action. If we're dealing with dragon poachers hellbent on murder, who knows what sort of equipment they've got. We'll need to neutralize them the best we can."

He pulled several round instruments from a shelf and placed them on an empty table, muttering, "Motion scanners." He strode around the room, adding things to the collection with a brief explanation, until Hermione was staring, wide-eyed, at the array of items.

"I was able to sneak in and register the magical signature lingering on one of the deceased this morning, before the Muggle police arrived," he explained as he walked, "and they were simple Avadas. So while the police and coroner are bustling around, distracted, trying to find a cause of death, these poachers are plotting your demise."

"You said the Ministry allowed me to go ahead with this trip as bait, right?" Hermione asked, her voice carrying across the room. Malfoy froze and turned on the spot, his expression guarded. She took a long breath. "What if that's what we did?"

"I saw three earlier, but we don't know how many of them there actually are," Malfoy explained. "And I won't be able to keep an eye on too many people at once. And they could have others Imperiused –"

"You won't have to," Hermione said, eyeing the collection of instruments he had pulled from the shelves. "Not if we set a trap for the poachers."

He stared at her for a long moment before his lips tugged into a smile.

The scene of the crime had been cleaned up since that morning, but there were still a handful of Muggle police officers pacing the resort, questioning tourists and employees. There were far fewer guests milling about than there had been the night before.

Feeling vulnerable in the open, Hermione cast a sidelong glance at Malfoy. Noting her gaze on him, he stared at her for a brief moment, but his attention was everywhere else.

"Excuse me," one of the police officers said as he approached the pair of them with a stern brow, his Caribbean accent thick. "Do you mind if I ask you some questions?"

Malfoy paid the man no mind as he gave a dismissive sort of twist of his wrist; the officer's eyes glazed over for a moment before he smiled and gestured they carry on. "My apologies. I forgot we have already spoken!"

Hermione's gaze met Malfoy's again as they continued on their way. He muttered under his breath, "Act natural, whatever you do. I guarantee there are eyes on us right now."

She pasted a banal smile on her lips as she sidled closer to him, slipping a cautious arm around his back as she tucked into his side. He refrained from flinching even as his body tensed beneath her hands, and then slung an arm around her shoulders, pressing his face into her hair.

"Interesting choice of natural," Malfoy breathed close to her ear.

"They saw us together last night, remember?" she reminded him in a tight smile, beaming up at him.

"Good point," he chuckled, tugging her playfully against his chest as they walked. "Remember the plan?"

"Of course," Hermione whispered through clenched teeth.

In hindsight, she hadn't quite considered the consequences of shoving herself into his arms; he was warm and strong, and she hoped he couldn't hear her heart racing. But she could feel his own heart beneath her hand – she wondered if he was anxious.

Snapping her focus back on the fountain ahead, she mused whether the poachers would realize what they had done – or whether it would be too late.

If everything went according to plan. And if it didn't…

Malfoy gave her a nudge, meeting her eyes briefly. He whispered, "It'll all work out, okay? I'm not going to let anything happen to you."

Hermione released a tight breath and forced another smile. He gave her a slow, crooked, breath-taking grin in return. Now he would most certainly be able to feel her racing heart. She averted her gaze to the fountain ahead of her.

He turned to her, dropping his face near her hair again. To an outsider, it might have looked like shared sentiments between lovers and Hermione felt her face grow warm.

"If anything goes south, get out, and don't look back," he whispered, his voice quick and efficient. "I've modified the wards at the villa so you can Apparate in, if need be. If something goes wrong, I'll meet you there."

A shiver crept down Hermione's spine, and she wasn't certain whether it was from his words, or his hot breath on the shell of her ear. She nodded, smiling up at him, and brushed her lips against his cheek. "Thanks, Malfoy."

Something passed his face which Hermione couldn't read, but then he drew back and walked away, his gaze lingering on her until he turned and carried on. Hermione released a sharp exhale and took a seat on the ledge of the fountain.

Careful to keep her eyes from scanning her environment, and minding her nonchalant expression, Hermione began to wait.

Hoping to Merlin all the while that this plan was going to work.

Hermione waited for the better part of half an hour, her mind racing as she feigned relaxation, making forced small talk with the other tourists who walked past. If this plan went wrong, the poachers could target any one of them next.

After the last of the Muggle tourists had trickled away Hermione glanced around, hoping Malfoy would have already cast the appropriate Muggle-repellent charms.

The sun was beginning to set, and as the sky grew darker, her nerves grew more frazzled. Her gaze snapped up, sharper than intended, at a distant sound. She couldn't see Malfoy – although she knew he was out there – and she wondered if it was him or her would-be killers.

For someone she had only re-connected with the night before, following almost a decade of shared animosity, she had been required to put an awful lot of faith and trust in him and his expertise as an investigator. She only hoped that faith hadn't been misguided.

After another tense ten minutes, Hermione heard rustling and crackling in the bush some distance behind her; she glanced back, slipping a hand into her pocket where she kept an enchanted coin Malfoy had given her. It began to tingle against her palm and Hermione jumped to her feet, scanning the bushes for movement.

She saw a figure dressed all in black, camouflaging into the shadows, and her heart stalled in her chest; she clutched the coin tighter and felt it heat up. Accepting the cue, she leapt forward, chasing toward the arranged destination and the figure in black flew out behind her. Her hand gripped her wand as she sprinted across the terrace, away from the fountain.

Hermione could hear the heavy pounding of his footsteps as he tore after her while she doubled back, drawing him to the correct position Malfoy had pointed out earlier, whispering beneath her breath as she leapt over a low bench, willing the trap to work.

She sensed his magic as he raised his wand, her eyes scanning behind her as she ran; the man dropped to the ground in a heap as if he had crashed into an invisible wall. Hermione released a sharp breath of air; the motion sensor they'd planted had worked. Sparing another quick glance back, she saw the man freeze in petrification, and ropes snaked around his limbs.

Hermione grinned into the bushes behind her, wondering if Malfoy could see her.

Then she carried on running in the opposite direction; his repellent charms must have sent any approaching Muggles out for an evening stroll away from the terrace and into the bar so Hermione was now alone. A thrill crept up her spine at the thought that there were at least two others after her, hidden somewhere in the blackness of the night.

For several quiet and overwrought minutes, the terrace remained dark and silent; her gaze darted in every direction, her quick breathing sounding loud to her attuned ears. Her wand was clenched in a white-knuckled hand, her body tight with tension. Her life was in the hands of Draco Malfoy.

Without warning, a second figure in black jumped out, his face masked, into Hermione's line of sight and she bit her tongue on a scream. She darted to the side, knowing approximately where she needed to lead the man – but he was so close, and with his longer legs he easily caught up to her, his heavy breath rattling her skull with crippling fear.

Grasping the coin tightly in her hand with nowhere to hide, Hermione cringed as the man raised his wand and uttered the curse that would claim her life – but nothing happened.

In confusion, the man stared down his wand into her eyes and tried again; as before, his wand merely sputtered and no magic flew forth.

Taking advantage of the man's distraction, Hermione swung with an elbow into the man's face – as Malfoy had taught her in a crash course of self-defense – and watched as he went down with a sickening crack to his nose. A tight breath of relief escaped her lungs.

The coin that served as a means of communication – and to protect her magic from Malfoy's magical disruptor device – hummed, reassuring, in her left hand as she quickly cast a Stupefy and an Incarcerous, leaving the second man bound and immobile like the first.

But Malfoy had said there were at least three – and Hermione's gaze swept the terrace before her, squinting once more into the darkness. It was a game of predator and prey – and she was still the prey.

Her heart leapt at a bright flash of blond, silver in the rising moonlight, emerging from the bushes and she moved in his direction, feeling an irrational surge of relief. If she had to be the prey – at least she had a protector.

But Malfoy paused, halfway to her, his eyes wide with something akin to terror.

With a sharp gasp Hermione froze on the spot as she felt something cool and sharp angle against the front of her throat. Her head tilted upwards to avoid the pressure of the blade, but through the edge of her vision she saw Malfoy set his wand down and kick it forward. She glanced at him the best she could manage; she had seen the impressive grasp he had on wandless magic.

His gaze met hers; there was something dark and significant in his eyes.

"Wand down," a voice hissed in her ear; she couldn't see her attacker but his breath was hot and rancid as it drifted into her face.

Hermione felt her lip curl into a sneer as she tossed her wand to the ground, feeling naked and vulnerable without it.

She could see Malfoy's hesitation and understood why; by the time he made a move her attacker could slice her throat open.

"Back away," the man snapped at Malfoy; he did as he was told, his gaze held on Hermione's the entire time.

"You aren't going to win," Malfoy said into the night, his hands clenched at his sides. "Even if you force them to cancel the symposium, the policy will still go through. None of this is going to matter, and you'll be in Azkaban."

The poacher hissed and adjusted his blade at Hermione's throat. She wanted to yell at Malfoy for goading the man – but something clicked in her brain. He was stalling to buy her time. But for what?

Her mind whirled as she scanned through the planted devices. With a Muggle weapon the magical disruptor would do nothing – the nearest motion sensor wall was some distance away and there was no way Hermione could force the man through it. The simulated explosives were elsewhere, and she knew the rope traps wouldn't reach them in time.

"The policy will be delayed," the poacher said with a dark chuckle that crept a shudder through her spine. "And by the time it's tabled again, we'll have taken all we'll need."

Hermione couldn't help it – a faint whimper escaped her throat as fear seized at her heart which twisted and morphed into a deep, encompassing anger. Something within her wanted to make this man suffer, in the same way he had made so many dragons suffer.

Grey eyes flickered with significance to her pocket where she still clutched the coin with her other hand. Her eyes darted about as she tried to figure out what he was getting at; they had planted so many devices that now she was forgetting the others in a moment of sheer panic, even as her mind clouded with her desire for vengeance on this last, unrepentant poacher.

Malfoy's hand tightened around his own coin, held in his clenched fist, and Hermione felt hers heat up and begin to emit a faint whistle. Suddenly remembering the last thing Malfoy had told her – the coins can be used as a last line of defense, if both are held with intent – a smile tugged at her lips as she grasped her coin harder, channeling as much of her raw magical core into it as she could manage.

A glass-shattering shriek flew forth from her coin; the man stumbled back, taking Hermione with him, swiping at his ear with his free hand.

She felt a sharp sting when the blade nicked her throat and she knew blood was trickling forth as she lost her balance in the man's grip. In her periphery, she saw Malfoy leap forward with a flourish of his empty hand and the masked man was blasted backwards; the dagger fell to the stone floor of the terrace with a clatter.

Hermione pressed a hand to her neck to stem the blood as Malfoy made quick work of tying up the man like his two comrades. His expression was dark as he approached her, collecting his wand and casting a rudimentary spell to close the cut.

"Are you alright?" he snapped, anxious, while Hermione picked up her wand and vanished the blood.

She glanced at him and his face softened; with a start, she realized she was trembling.

"Yes," she breathed, her eyes meeting his. "Thank you."

His brow furrowed but he didn't look away. "You did more than I did."

"But it was your plan and your tools and –" she choked on a sob, pressing a hand to her mouth in horrified embarrassment. Her chest was heaving with delayed adrenaline, and she forced her breathing to steady. She offered him a nervous chuckle and said, "Sorry, it's been a number of years since my life's been at risk."

Malfoy huffed a laugh through his nose and a slow smile tugged at his lips. "Right, that blasted Gryffindor hero complex." His expression shifted and he breathed, "It's all over, now. They'll be locked away for a long time."

Hermione pressed her lips together and nodded, unable to find the words. Malfoy averted his gaze and went about securing the three poachers, his lip curling in disgust as he stared down at them. She watched, her entire body worn with fatigue, while he sent a Patronus to his employer.

Within a handful of minutes, a team of Aurors materialized clutching Portkeys, and Malfoy stepped to Hermione's side as they made quick work of removing the immobilized murderers from the terrace.

"Miss Granger," one of the Aurors said as he approached with an apologetic expression, "I'm going to need to collect a statement."

"Of course," Hermione murmured, and she watched as Malfoy moved away again; across the terrace, she could see him collecting his investigative instruments and tucking them into a sack.

She answered the Auror's exhaustive stream of questions, and after the team had Disapparated, there was no evidence that anything unusual had ever occurred.

Malfoy sidled up alongside her again, his expression guarded. "Thank you," Hermione breathed, glancing at him. "I suppose you'll be returning to London. I'll collect my things from your villa – and probably return home myself."

He shrugged; she could feel the heat from his arm nearest hers. He said, his tone vague, "If that's what you want to do."

"Well, what else would I do? I suppose I could return to my suite here, but…" she trailed off, frowning, "it doesn't feel safe, or particularly enjoyable, anymore."

"Your suite didn't exactly survive the dismantling this morning," Malfoy said, his gaze flickering to hers. He shifted on the spot, brushing against her; Hermione couldn't tell whether or not it was intentional. "It's a shame you've won such a nice trip, and taken the time off work and everything…"

He averted his gaze, staring out into the darkness of the bushes.

"A shame," Hermione echoed, nodding.

"I have a suggestion," Malfoy said, his tone light and disarming. "You could stay at the villa for the remainder of your holiday." His grey eyes caught hers again. "And since I'm my own boss and I've just wrapped up a case, I could stay at the villa too, if you wanted company."

His fingers trailed along the base of her spine; that was definitely intentional.

She breathed, "I wouldn't mind company," as she shifted closer into his hold.

His lips curled into a smirk, his grey eyes searing as they met hers. "I had fun playing couple, earlier."

Hermione turned to him, smiling. "So did I. We could try again, and see how it goes." She caught his other hand, slipping her fingers between his.

Despite their words of the night before, a sense of caution persisted between them the next day and for the rest of the week. Hermione kept her things in her room, while Malfoy stayed in the master suite.

He insisted they go kayaking in the bay and out into the inlet – Hermione marveled at the wild crash of the ocean against the high rocks, a breath catching in her throat at the sheer wonder of it.

They lounged on the beach, sipping rum out of coconuts and nibbling on fresh coconut until Hermione nearly fell out of her chair and the two of them caused such an uproar of laughter the other beach-goers eyed them with suspicion and they stumbled back up the hill to the villa.

Malfoy took her ziplining further inland, and snorkeling in Anse Chastanet, a small, lush beach around the other side of the island. They dined every evening in the fine restaurants along the bay, sampling the local ale and rum punch at happy hour.

They rented a boat and visited the Pitons – the twin volcanic spires for which the island was known – and on the breezy ride back, the sunset spectacular before them, Hermione sank into his warm hold.

It was – so he claimed – the experience she should have had in St Lucia.

And for her part, Hermione couldn't remember the last time she had such a carefree, wondrous, joyful week in her life. Malfoy smiled at her like he had a secret, his grey eyes sparkling as they met hers, and her heart was heavy when the final day crept upon them.

"We can come back, you know," he said, glancing up at her while she packed her bag. "That is, if you want to."

Chewing her lip, she smiled. "I'd like that."

"Good," he clipped with a tight smile in return. "Remember the Portkey leaves in an hour."

Hermione nodded as he ducked out of her room and returned to his own. He had been the perfect gentleman; the smile lingered on her lips as she watched him walk away.

Twenty minutes later she delivered her bag to the kitchen beside the table where Malfoy had left the Portkey.

He walked up to her with a teasing grin. "Thanks for staying with me this week. Are you ready to go?"

She whispered, "My pleasure – and not quite yet." Then she tilted her head, lips curved into a smile, and grabbed him by the collar, tugging his face towards hers and their lips met with a heated clash as her hands sunk into his hair.

Malfoy growled something unintelligible and caught her bottom lip with his teeth, backing her into the wall of the kitchen as he kissed her with a spark that lit something in Hermione's core – and set her on fire when his tongue met hers.

She fumbled with the buttons of his collar, her fingers trailing the bare skin of his chest and abdomen as she made short work of his shirt and he tore away, his darkened eyes meeting hers as he tugged her shirt over her head.

"I didn't know –" he breathed, his chest heaving as his fingers toyed with the clasp of her denim shorts. "After what you'd been through –"

"The answer's yes," Hermione whispered, palming him through his jeans as the corners of her lips tugged up into a smirk. He cursed, dropping his head to her shoulder as she loosened the button of his trousers, and slipped one hand inside his shorts.

Malfoy pushed her own shorts from her hips and once she'd stepped out of them, swung her over his shoulder and carried her into his bedroom, a wicked glint to his eye.

And a half an hour later, while he was buried deep inside her – his teeth caught around one of her nipples, and Hermione groaning at the feel of him as she clutched his arse – their Portkey back to London glowed blue and vanished without them.

Author's Note (Again): I just wanted to pop in and let you guys know that this might be the last thing I post until later in December, when I have a couple more fest pieces coming out. I'm not doing NaNoWriMo but I've committed to writing 30k words in November with a small group of writer friends. This is in an effort to prepare my new WIP for publishing, with the hopes that I can start sharing it here in December or early in the new year, as it's presently sitting around 65k.

I appreciate your patience, and wanted to say that all the love for these shorter pieces I've been sharing lately has been just lovely - your kind words have helped me to keep my head on straight with life, and to know that so many of you are following my work is so humbling and gratifying. xoxoxo dreams