Follow Through

Something has changed within me

Something is not the same

I'm through with playing by the rules

Of someone else's game

Too late for second guessing

Too late to go back to sleep

It's time to trust my instincts

Close my eyes and leap

"Defying Gravity" from Wicked

**

"Kingsley is at a hearing," Hermione reported to Ginny, who was waiting impatiently at the entrance to Auror Headquarters. "They don't know when he'll be back, but they think it could be sometime soon." She gestured toward the masses of cubicles jammed into the cramped quarters. "They said we could wait in their office."

Ginny glanced at her watch and nodded in agreement. She could spare a few more minutes. She had managed to wheedle her manager into letting her have the morning off, but she was due back at the clinic in a little over than hour. If Kingsley didn't return soon, this trip down to the Ministry would have been a waste of time.

The two women started to weave their way back to Kingsley's notably larger cubicle. Ginny, however, soon became distracted when she saw herself waving merrily from a frame lovingly hung on a wall inside one of the cubicles. "Hey," she said softly as she stepped curiously into the tight space. "It's Harry's office."

Hermione followed her friend inside and smiled. Yes, it was quite evident that it was. A Gryffindor pennant hung on one wall, along with a photograph of Sirius and his parents at their wedding. Ginny waved happily from the picture of her and Harry that had been taken the day she had graduated from Hogwarts, and the final picture was one that Hermione had herself and was one of her favorites. Colin Creevy, as always, had been snapping pictures outside the day after the Quidditch final in fifth-year. She, Ron, and Harry had been sitting under the tree by the lake, and when Colin had noticed them, he had snapped a picture. Granted, it had taken a bit of goading for Harry to agree to it, but eventually Colin had gotten his picture of the famous trio. Ron had seemed all too eager to capture the memory of that day, and her smile widened as her eyes rested on him. He was wearing one of Mrs. Weasley's classic sweaters, and his hair was raked upward, as he had been running his fingers through it all afternoon. It had made his hair look rather messy, mind you, but it was attractive all the same; it had given her the terrible urge to run her own fingers through the windswept strands. He was grinning almost cheekily at the camera, and his tiny photographic self kept adjusting his hair so that it stayed the way he liked. Harry was leaning back against the trunk of the tree, somewhat in shadow, but his face was still clearly visible. His expression wasn't as happy as she would have liked it to be, but Harry had smiled whenever he had watched Ron tell the story of winning the Cup. It was that same smile that was plastered across his face right now, a very natural, proud, and almost nostalgic smile that was so very Harry. And Hermione herself didn't look half that bad; her hair was only a little bushy, but you couldn't tell since she had gathered it to one side and was keeping a cautious hand on it just in case it started blowing all over the place. She was a fairly photogenic girl, so all in all the image of the three of them sitting there in the bright sunlight had been a wonderful moment to capture on film.

Colin had considerately given her, Harry, and Ron a copy. Hermione's currently resided in her desk at the Prophet, and apparently Harry had thought to take his to work, as well. She wondered if Ron had followed suit. Hermione stood on her tiptoes to peek over the wall Harry's desk was pressed against. She would assume that partners would have adjoining cubicles, but the little she could see of the desk on the other side was devoid of any sign that it might be Ron's. Ginny was studying the photo of Harry's parents, so Hermione wordlessly left the cubicle to explore the other side. She cautiously took a step into the new cubicle. No personal items adorned the walls or the desk, so she couldn't tell if it was Ron's or not. No one jumped in and demanded what she was doing in their office, so Hermione risked a glance down at one of the piles of parchment. Her heart skipped; the paper was covered in Ron's handwriting. It was his office. This was where he spent so many hours of each day, the same hours that she spent wondering where he was and if he was all right. Touching the chair lightly, Hermione could easily envision Ron kicking back in this chair, the screws squealing in protest as he leaned back as far as he could to yell at a coworker down the narrow hall, or to speak to Harry over the wall. She saw him so clearly and vividly in her mind that it was almost as though he was right there next to her, cheekily grinning up at her with his eyes sparkling--good god, she missed him.

"He's here."

Hermione's head jerked up. "What?"

Ginny was running her fingers curiously over the wooden surface of Harry's desk. Her gaze had grown very distant and glassy, much like Ron's did whenever he became absorbed in his empathic ability. Ginny had mentioned that empathy ran in her family, but she had never indicated that she shared Ron's innate gift. "I think he's here," she repeated. "Well, he was here," she amended after sensing Hermione's palpable exhilaration. She was staring down at a piece of parchment resting on top of the desk. A drawer was open, indicating that she had been going through Harry's things. "He wrote this today," she explained, pointing to the date that had been written in the top right-hand corner. Frowning, Ginny thumbed through the rest of the piles of parchment on his desk. She took a seat in order to inspect the possibly confidential documents more closely, not appearing to care that if anyone passed by the cubicle she would be caught red-handed.

"Ginny," Hermione hissed as she pushed herself up on her tiptoes, allowing Ginny to receive the full effect of her reproachful stare. "What do you think you're doing?"

"Finding Harry," she replied without any remorse. She shook her crimson curls out of her eyes and let out a long sigh of annoyance when her hasty search yielded no more results. "He wouldn't keep important information out in the open anyway," she reminded herself pensively. Her eyes lit up, and she bounced up in Harry's chair. "Look on your side!" she ordered Hermione. "Ron's a total pig--I bet he left something important out!"

"I am not going through Ron's things," Hermione whispered, scandalized. "I couldn't do that to Ron! Besides, it would be an invasion of privacy--even if Ron did leave something out, I couldn't use it for the story."

"This isn't about the story--this is about finding them," Ginny shot back. "So either you do it, or I will," Ginny threatened offhandedly as she pushed back her chair, poised to join Hermione in Ron's cubicle. Hermione still refused to move, and Ginny halted; she knew Hermione would use magic on her if she had to. She would have to use good old logic to win this argument instead of force. Ginny fought a frustrated breath; she hated being logical at times like these. "Think about it, Hermione, if you were gone for over two weeks, what do you think Ron would do?"

Hermione sighed. She knew exactly what Ron would do. "Just because Ron would go through my things doesn't mean that I should," Hermione pointed out with raised eyebrows.

Ginny opened her mouth to retort, but she found that she had nothing to say. She repressed the urge to stamp her foot and instead studied her stubborn friend hopefully. "Come on, Hermione," Ginny pleaded openly, her eyes as wide and anxious as they were when she encountered Tom Riddle. "Don't you want to find out what's happened to Ron?" It wasn't often that she flat out begged, and although it went against every independent bone in her body, she was doing it anyway. Harry was much more important than her pride. Still, she uncomfortably shuffled one foot and looked around to make sure that no one else could witness it. "Please?" she begged under her breath.

It was at that moment Hermione realized that Ginny missed Harry just as much as she missed Ron; the two women just dealt with their loss in very different ways. Ginny put up the façade of a carefree, competent woman who was perfectly fine on her own, while Hermione just accepted her fate as a woman hopelessly in love who could live independently, but chose not to. Ginny distracted herself from the pain, while Hermione embraced it. Neither way worked particularly well, which was why both women were feeling the strain more than usual lately.

Hermione bit her lip. Ginny was absolutely dying to find out where Harry was, and Hermione didn't think she could say no to her dear friend when she looked this desperate and concerned. Her eyes wandered from Ginny's stricken face to the crowded surface of Ron's desk. The haphazard piles of paper did appear to be rather intriguing. There might be something useful that could help them along; even if they did find something, that didn't mean she had to use it for her story. She could just use the information to steer her on the right course and find out the facts for herself. Besides, there were so many secrets in Ron's life--she was dying to learn at least one of them, even if it meant snooping around.

If that wasn't enough to convince her, Ginny boldly stuck the final prick of the knife. "Can you even do it?" she challenged. "Or are you only brave when Ron and Harry are around?"

Hermione knew what Ginny was trying to do. She was trying to purposely injure Hermione's pride, knowing that Hermione, being the stubborn defiant woman that she was, would undoubtedly want to prove that she too was a true Gryffindor even if she did happen to like to follow the rules and do all of her homework two days before it was due. It was a tactic that Ron had often tried on her, and Hermione regretted to admit that it usually always worked. Although she was as logical as Renee Descartes, she was also as stubborn as a Weasley.

"Fine," she muttered while dropping back down into Ron's desk chair. She rifled through the assorted stacks of parchment. They all appeared to be processing forms, requesting funds for supplies for potions, "props and costumes" for undercover work, transportation fees--

"I think they're out of the country," Hermione whispered as she skimmed the request for permission to Apparate overseas. In order to ensure that a plethora of wizards and witches weren't Apparating from country to country at any given moment, wards were often placed on the borders of different countries. They operated very similar to the wards that protected Hogwarts; they prevented anyone from Apparating directly there unless they received consent from both Ministries. If anyone wanted to Apparate across a border, witches and wizards had to Apparate to a holding building, much like the customs stations in Muggle airports, before proceeding on. Ron was attempting to skip all that hassle with his special request to go straight to his destination. Only in extremely special circumstances were certain wizards allowed to Apparate directly from country to country, since it took a bit of rearranging and difficult spellwork to lower the Apparation border at a specific time prearranged with the traveler. He would know to Apparate at a certain time, and pop--he'd be there. She flipped over the parchment and found that it was stamped with approval. "They got permission to Apparate straight to Germany."

"Germany?" Ginny repeated as she leaned against the wall separating Harry and Ron's cubicles, one leg kneeling against Harry's desk. "Why would they be going there?"

"I don't know," Hermione said absently as she found two piles of newspaper clippings. "But look at this." She rapidly thumbed through one of the stacks in plain sight so that Ginny could see the photos of numerous, twisted faces marred and bloated from the over-usage of Dark Magic. "They're all escaped Death Eaters." She stopped at one that had a large red X through the center of it. She extracted it from the pile and held it up for a closer inspection: it was William Macnair, the would-be executioner of Buckbeak. He had also been one of the many minions trying to kill them at the Ministry in fifth-year, and was the horrible man who had relished in beating an eighteen-year-old Harry Potter into a bloody pulp.

"Captured April 18^th, 2001. Tried May 16^th, 2001. Plead guilty and sent to Azkaban May 17^th," Ginny read aloud. She bent forward, peering at the back of the clipping. Hermione flipped it over, and sure enough, Ron's spiky hand had scrawled out those words. "They're rounding up all the escaped Death Eaters, aren't they?" Ginny continued. She hopped up onto Harry's desk to take a handful of the clippings. "Not just Malfoy--but all of them." Her shocked voice conveyed that Harry still hadn't told her the whole truth about his latest assignment.

Hermione nodded as she continued to search the pile. About a quarter of the pictures already had bold red Xs through them. "I'm not very surprised," she commented neutrally, although her stomach was shaking. Ginny and Hermione knew as well as anyone that their respective boyfriends suffered from as many personal demons about the war as they had. Annihilating any remembrance of the atrocities that had been committed was their way of working through their grief. And that meant finding every last single Death Eater and making sure that justice was served.

"Did they kill any of them?" Ginny asked hollowly as Hermione started flipping over all of the clippings with Xs.

Hermione didn't like the idea of either of her best friends killing people, even if it was for the greater good of their society, but she scanned the photos anyway. "All of them say captured except--" Hermione broke off when she noted the date on one particular piece of parchment. She turned it over, and although she fully expected to see his sneering face once again, her heart still lurched nauseatingly. "Except for Dolohov."

"Killed in action on May 9^th, 1998," Ginny read. She glanced over at her friend, who had grown even paler. "Hermione?"

Hermione was too caught up in her thoughts to reply. Something was trying to worm its way to the forefront of Hermione's mind. Something buried deep inside of her was desperately was trying to break free from the shackles of her subconscious, but she didn't have the strength to allow it just yet. The truth wouldn't set her free today. Hermione continued to contemplate the face that plagued her dreams. There was something about the sinister smile that was chilling Hermione more than usual. She hadn't actually seen Dolohov's face since the night he died, and the sight of it leering at her, laughing at her from beyond the grave, made her more than a little sick to her stomach. Hermione wished she could just claw and tear the photo into tiny pieces, wiping clean the haunting echoes of her past. But she couldn't--even if the visible evidence was gone, the memories would still remain. Until she found out just what had been done to her, she would never be able to reconcile herself to the past. "I'm fine," Hermione said abruptly as she dropped the photo. She faked a small smile. "I just really hate him."

"Did you ever find out--" Ginny began uncomfortably.

"No." Hermione roughly dug through the pile and extracted the photo of Lucius Malfoy. His foul, pointed face was unmarred by a telltale red X, and the back of the photo was clean of Ron's almost indecipherable writing. "No luck yet." She changed the subject, holding up Malfoy's picture for Ginny to see.

"What about Draco?" Ginny asked as she uncomfortably bent forward over the wall dividing the cubicles. Both women hunted quickly, but to no avail. Draco Malfoy was not in the stack.

"That's odd," Hermione frowned and leaned back to push her hair out of her eyes. "I thought they were looking for Draco."

"Maybe it's in that one," Ginny suggested as she scooted to the left to inspect the second pile of photos.

"Oh, no, it's not," Hermione intervened, and her cheeks turned bright pink. "Those are actually mine--my articles from the Prophet, I mean." Ron had painstakingly cut out and collected every single one, keeping them in a neat pile in a protected corner of his desk.

"Oh." Ginny smirked fondly down at the articles and then up at Hermione. "You know, I think somebody loves you," she said in a singsong voice.

"Maybe because Draco didn't technically become a Death Eater, he's not in the stack," Hermione said in lieu of an answer, although her cheeks had not yet returned to their normal color. "He never was officially initiated."

"But they're still going to catch him, aren't they?" Ginny frowned. "They're not just going to let him get off after all he did to you."

"To all of us," Hermione corrected. She held up the photograph of Lucius Malfoy. "We know they're definitely looking for him, and my guess is if they're hunting for Lucius, they're going to search for Draco as well, whether it's ordered by the Ministry or not. I know for a fact that Ron has been waiting for the chance to punch Malfoy in the face, and I'm fairly certain Harry wouldn't pass up that opportunity either."

Ginny raked a hand distractedly through her hair, remaining quiet as she thought carefully. She hopped off Harry's desk and came around to the other side to join the search without leaning uncomfortably over the divider. "Do you think they're just looking for them because of what they did during the war, or do you think they're up to something now?" she continued as she wound her way around to Ron's cubicle.

"I'm hoping it's the first option," Hermione said as she scooted her chair back to start trying Ron's drawers. "I don't even want to think about what they could be up to now--" She finally found one drawer that wasn't protected with magic and yanked it triumphantly open. Once again, although it had absolutely nothing to do with what she was searching for, her heart flipped joyfully and a smile crossed her face. "Oh."

There were five photographs carefully arranged so that each was clearly visible. They were the pictures that he had carefully kept his desk clear of. He had the one of her, Harry, and Ron sitting by the lake under the beech tree. There was the one of his entire family in Egypt the Daily Prophet had run on the front page in third-year. And the other two photographs, much to her delight, were of her. There was one of her and Ron playfully fighting in each other's arms at the Burrow that had been taken the day he had taught her how to punch someone square in the face. The final photograph, arranged squarely in the center of the arrangement, was just of her, curled up in an armchair and contentedly reading a heavy volume. It was a marvelously well-taken photograph; just by glancing at it, you could feel Hermione's spirit radiating from the picture. She didn't know if it was because a skilled photographer had taken it, or because Ron looked at the photo so often, but she could empathically sense that whenever he opened this drawer he was reminded of everything wonderful in his life that he was fighting to preserve.

"He looks in there quite a bit," an unfamiliar, deep voice boomed out merrily, tearing Hermione's attention from the drawer.

Bugger.

Hermione and Ginny both whipped around guiltily. Hermione quietly slid the drawer shut while Ginny positioned herself in front of the desk to shield Hermione's efforts to cover-up their indiscretion. A tall, sandy-haired wizard was standing in the entrance to the cubicle, his eyes twinkling with friendliness as he stepped forward to gesture to the drawer. "You can go ahead and take a look--Ron would want you to see." Hermione obeyed although she didn't look again; she was too busy trying to find out who on earth this person was. "It helps remind him of what he's fighting for. He puts it in the drawer just in case--criminals get herded in here all the time, and he didn't want them to see how important you are to him."

"Please." Ginny rolled her eyes. "You only have to talk to Ron for five seconds to know that he's head over heels for her."

Hermione glanced over at Ginny with surprise. It wasn't like her to be so openly rude to someone she had just met. Usually she waited until she got to know the bloke before she insulted him. The man just smiled, however. "Don't fret, little one. Harry keeps the photo of you out in the open because he always said that he would love to see a Death Eater try to take you on. Thought it would give him a good laugh."

Ginny appeared to be somewhat mollified, but it was now Hermione's turn to become a bit sharp with the stranger. He was rattling off private information about her best friends rather readily. "I'm sorry, but how do you know Ron and Harry so well?"

"Oh, sorry." He stuck out his hand. "Drake Bond. I've worked with your friends a few times."

"Nice to meet you," Ginny said as she shook the wizard's hand. Hermione noticed that he held on to Ginny's hand longer than necessary and seemed most reluctant to let Ginny's hand slide from his fingers. "You're an Auror I assume?"

"Yeah," Drake then shook Hermione's hand, and as he flashed a welcoming smile at her, Hermione realized why Ginny was so ill at ease. This man was good-looking-- very good-looking. He was very good-looking in the way that a certain evil teenager who had come out of a diary had been attractive. His eyes were a very bright blue, even bluer than Ron's, and they penetrated right through you, making you feel naked and exposed. Hermione wondered if he'd had any experience with Occlumency, because with that stare Hermione wouldn't have been surprised if the Auror could read thoughts that she didn't even know she had. "You know they're out on assignment, right?" he asked. "They won't be coming in to the office today."

"We know," Hermione explained, although they both knew they'd secretly hoped to find them here. "We're waiting for Kingsley Shacklebolt."

"Well," Drake said as he took a step closer. "I am his assistant--perhaps there's something I could help you with. Mr. Shacklebolt won't be back for at least another hour."

Hermione suppressed a grimace. She didn't have an hour to wait. Ginny didn't either, so she just sighed and shrugged to let Hermione know that she didn't care if she talked to this Drake Bond or not. Hermione didn't trust this guy enough to confess how worried she was about Ron, so she concocted a different reason. "I'm a reporter for the Prophet," she explained. "I'm covering the possibility of Squibs transplanting magical abilities into themselves with some sort of Dark Magic, and I think the Malfoys may be behind it. I just wanted to see if Kingsley had heard anything that could be useful. I've been trying to locate Draco Malfoy, but the manor has been deserted, so I was going to ask if he knew anything about where the Malfoys could be."

"Or you know that Ron and Harry are investigating the Malfoys and wanted to see if they could help you out, or better yet, if Kingsley could tell you where they are," Drake interpreted wryly.

Hermione didn't even bother trying to deny it. "I just want to be make sure that they're okay. They've been away for quite some time," she explained earnestly.

"They are," Drake said offhandedly. "I can't tell you anything more, but I swear, they're doing just fine." He appraised Hermione for a moment. "Interesting story you have brewing though--any leads?"

"Not yet," Hermione answered. "I have a few ideas, but nothing concrete."

"Well, if you do decide to continue with it," Drake advised, "have an open relationship with us. Some reporters make a deal with us to be as open with information as possible, and we'll give the full scoop when everything is solved. It'll end up helping both of us out in the long run."

"Certainly, but why do you think I wouldn't continue with this story?" Hermione asked.

"Because it's the Malfoys," Drake said matter-of-factly. "They've tried to kill you before. My guess is that they'll do it again if they realize you're investigating them."

That annoying fact should have instilled a deep sense of terror in Hermione's bones, but she only shrugged. She was rather used to having someone wishing her dead; it would be just like the old days. "I'll take that chance," Hermione answered almost casually. She stuck out her hand. "Thank you for your help. We'd better be on our way."

"Wait just a minute. Here," Drake reached behind Ginny to rummage through Ron's desk for a blank bit of parchment. It took a good while to find one, causing the clutter on Ron's desk to become even more chaotic, but he finally found it along with a quill and ink. He tore the piece into three equal pieces and began scrawling away on one of them. "I know it has to be awful not knowing anything about Harry and Ron, and I'm sorry I can't tell you anything, but here's what I can do--here's my home address--if you need to get in contact with me at any time, let me know. And if you don't mind, you could give me yours in case I need to find you." He handed off the quill to Ginny, but she declined.

"I live with Harry," she reminded him. "Shouldn't you have his address on file?"

"Oh, right," Drake admitted sheepishly. Ginny gave Hermione the quill so she could write her contact information for them.

"Isn't this a bit unusual?" Hermione asked as she nevertheless began writing neatly on the piece of parchment.

"Well, yes," Drake conceded wearily. "But procedures are a bit odd lately with this particular investigation. We just need to know your whereabouts, especially if you're covering the story, if we learn anything useful, or if we have to--" He broke off awkwardly and looked away, folding and refolding the paper Hermione had just handed him.

"If you have to send us the letter?" Ginny finished stoically for him.

The letter. Hermione's heart stopped at the thought. The letter. She didn't even want to conceive of the possibility of receiving one of those owls. The letter that was sent to you if the unthinkable happens. The letter would probably end her world as she knew it. The letter that was sent if an Auror was killed in action.

"It's just a formality," Drake reassured poorly. He shoved the folded parchment into the pocket. "It's procedure."

"But it could happen?" Hermione asked.

"It could always happen," Drake reminded her almost coldly. He finally seemed to be annoyed by the constant barrage of questions. "That's the business we're in."

"But it could happen soon?" Hermione rephrased the horrible question. "They've never asked for our addresses before--what's different about this assignment?"

"I'm not at liberty to say," Drake said stiffly. He glanced at his watch. "Now, if you don't mind, ladies, I must be on my way." With a curt nod and not another word, he strode out of the cubicle.

Ginny raised her eyebrows. "People come and go so quickly here," she noted sarcastically. Hermione didn't respond to the weak joke; she only folded her arms over her chest and fell back into Ron's chair, brow furrowed in thought. "What do you think?" Ginny inquired quietly after giving Hermione a moment to process her thoughts.

"I think," Hermione said slowly, not because she was still trying to find the right words, but because she really didn't want to have to hear them out loud. "I think they are in real trouble this time."

"As opposed to the fictional trouble they've faced before?"

"You know what I mean," Hermione said with a trace of impatience. "I think something is really wrong, Gin."

Ginny looked down at her pumps and swallowed hard. It was just as difficult for her to here the words as it was for Hermione to say them. "I thought so," she confessed. "I didn't want to--but-I knew--" Ginny's brief flash of vulnerability vanished as she straightened up and abruptly changed her line of thought. "So what are we going to do about it?"

"Well, I'm a journalist," Hermione replied matter-of-factly. She reorganized Ron's desk so nobody would know that three pairs of hands had been wrongfully rummaging through the top-secret piles of parchment. "I have a story. In order to write this story, I need to speak to the Malfoys, so do I intend to find them. And if Ron and Harry happen to bump into me along the way, so be it."

"So we're really going to find them? We're going to take on the Malfoys?" Ginny clarified uncertainly. Hermione nodded and a broad smile lit up Ginny's face. "Wicked. So." She raised herself up to her full height of five feet, three inches, and squared her shoulders. "What do you want me to do?"

Hermione was about to respond, but suddenly she found herself back in time, at the Malfoy manor, when Harry had told her that he needed her to look after Ginny because she was the one he trusted the most. She had broken Harry's promise that night, and if Ginny became involved with her assignment, she would be breaking that trust once again. There was no doubt in her mind that this was going to be dangerous. Drake had flat out told her that the Malfoys would mark her for death again when they found out about her investigation. If Ginny helped, Ginny would get sucked down along with her. Both of them would be targets.

But Hermione was choosing to be a target--she was ready to be a target. Granted, it wasn't as though she wanted to get into trouble and lay her life on the line; she just needed a drastic change, otherwise she was not going to survive waiting for Ron to return to her. She was going to occupy herself while he was away, and if he happened to bump into her while she distracted herself from his plight, that wasn't her fault. Besides, she had to admit that she missed this sinking, yet uplifting feeling. She hadn't been involved in an adventure of this sort in a long time, and now that one was so close, Hermione could practically feel her adrenal glands gearing up, thanking her profusely for allowing them to be useful once again. Her skin was humming, her nerves tingling with anticipation--Hermione was ready. She was ready to take on the world and fix the mess that arrogant bastards such as the Malfoys had caused just for the fun of it. Hermione was ready for an adventure. She was so tired of playing the role of the anxious girlfriend who sat at home, wringing her handkerchief and staring teary-eyed a photograph of her lost loved one. Something had to change. Hermione had been playing it safe for the past three years, cautiously building a life for herself in a post-war, ultra-conservative world, but now she was tired of it. She longed for the thrill of battle, the lust for adventure, and the cold and hot tingle that trickled up and down her spine seconds before she launched herself into the thick of the unknown.

Hermione wasn't the only one who had the right to willingly choose to throw herself into danger, however. Ginny had that same prerogative. If she truly wanted to help, Hermione didn't have the right to stop her. Ginny was just as much of a true Gryffindor as she was; they were both unable to step aside and let others solve the plights of the world. They had to do something. Hermione couldn't technically stop her friend once she made her decision, but she could do her best to advise her friend to make a more prudent choice than she herself was making at the moment. "Ginny, are you sure?" she asked softly. "These are the Malfoys we're talking about--"

Ginny set her jaw in the stubborn way the twins did and gave her the recalcitrant look she had inherited from her mother. "Harry and Ron don't have to be the only ones who get to save the world," Ginny replied stoutly. "Lucius Malfoy was the one who gave me that diary." She folded her arms determinedly over her chest and looked Hermione straight in the eye. Her eyes shone with years of repressed anguish and anger for the man who had brought Tom Riddle into the secret recesses of her mind. She was nowhere near ready to move on with her life after that ordeal, but she wasn't going to rest until she did everything she could to push herself in the right direction. "How can I help?"

"Okay." Hermione gave in. "I'm going to try to track down Goyle this afternoon--you take Crabbe. Try the Ministry records or something. See if you can locate an address, or where he's employed, or anything at all. Anything you can find about him would be useful. Meet me at my flat later tonight and let me know if you've found anything." Ginny nodded emphatically, but Hermione still hesitated. A sudden feeling of apprehension and doom washed over her. "Ginny, are you sure--"

"Yes." Ginny returned just as insistently. "I have to go to work now, but I'll get straight to work afterward. I promise." Ginny flashed a terse smile, and without further ado, breezed out of the cubicle. There were not many people in the world as feisty and determined as Ginny Weasley, but that didn't stop Hermione from biting her lip in trepidation and blowing out a sigh, still harping on the sick feeling in the pit of her stomach. It was time for her to take a risk, throw all caution to the wind, she knew that, but knowing it didn't stop the nagging voice of reason from reminding her that now there were two people who could fall flat on their faces in their attempt to fly.

**

Hermione never knew what inner instinct had told her to search for Gregory Goyle first, but nevertheless she had found herself later that same day using the Prophet's resources to locate the bigger and thicker of Malfoy's bodyguards. She hit the jackpot almost straightaway: Goyle was holding down a job as a bartender in Edinburgh. Hermione wasted no time mapping out the quickest route by Floo powder and immediately headed up to the Scottish capital.

The magical district of Edinburgh was carefully hidden in a small side street off High Street, masked by the nearby hustle and bustle of tourists making the trek to Edinburgh Castle and other historic landmarks. Despite the rapidly falling dusk, Hermione managed to locate The Weird Sisters with no difficulty. The pub was named after the infamous rock group--the same band that had played at the infamous Yule Ball in her fourth-year, because this is where they had first played before being discovered. The group's success had increased business in the almost failing bar, and the owners of the pub had been so grateful that they changed the name to The Weird Sisters, reminding the public that this had been the starting point of one of the most popular wizarding band's careers.

The pub only had a few patrons when Hermione first arrived; the big rush of customers wouldn't begin for another couple of hours. It was at the beginning of that prime time that Gregory Goyle was due for work, Hermione was told by the easygoing bartender on duty. She was welcome to wait for him to arrive, but if she needed him sooner, would she like to have his home address?

It was at this point that Hermione had to make a choice. Did she waste her time sitting around this very public, and therefore very safe, pub and wait for him to arrive so they could meet in public where there would be very little danger? Or did she take a chance and go to his flat where they could have a private meeting? He could be totally honest with her, or could he Avada Kedavra her without anyone else being able to help. Did she play it safe, or she did take a risk that involved greater rewards and direr consequences?

Hermione took the address.

It was almost completely dark when Hermione found the three-story complex tucked in a quaint, quiet square near the famous clock tower. Scotland's fierce wind was causing her hair to fly almost straight backward, whipping in her face as the gales cut sharply through her coat and scarf. Only a few people scurried about at this time; all of the more intelligent inhabitants of the city preferred to stay indoors, safe from the wind's mighty bursts.

Perhaps it was the lack of people that made Hermione so ill at ease. She glanced warily over her shoulder to make sure that no one was behind her, watching her every move. Someone had been watching her earlier that morning without her knowledge; who knew if someone was doing it again right now?

Let them watch, Hermione abruptly said to herself as she sailed up the path to the front door of the complex. She couldn't get caught up in irrational paranoia; she had a job to do. She rang the bell briskly, bouncing on the balls of her feet to stay warm. If she stood still for too long she had a feeling the wind would knock her flat.

"Yeah?" Goyle's scratchy, disembodied voice echoed from the speaker.

"Gregory Goyle?" Hermione said into the speaker.

"Yeah?" Goyle repeated. "Who is it?"

Hermione hesitated. She had a feeling that if she told Goyle who she was, she would not be admitted into the building. "Delivery," she finally said vaguely, praying that he hadn't gained more than two brain cells so he wouldn't ask any questions.

"Oh. Cool." The door buzzed to indicate that the imbecile on the third floor had unlocked it, and Hermione gratefully shoved her way in out of the cold. She took two stairs at a time to the top floor and rapped authoritatively on Goyle's door. The lock rattled as he unchained the door and he opened it expectantly. His characteristically blank face stiffened in surprise. "Oh. Granger." He rubbed a nervous hand against the back of his neck. "No hope you're a delivery girl, eh?"

"I'm afraid not," Hermione answered with a polite smile. She nodded toward the flat. "May I come in?"

"Uh. Well." Goyle looked about him in vain hope of an escape. "I was on my way out," he lied. "Yeah. I'm leaving. I have to go to work."

Hermione knew that he wasn't due at the pub for another couple of hours, but she didn't let him know it. All she did was smile and shrug. "Well, I'll walk with you. I only need a minute or two."

"Uh. Okay," Goyle said dejectedly, knowing he was trapped, but having not a clue how to get himself out of it. He snatched up his robes and wand and emerged from the flat. He mutely led the way down the three flights of stairs, clumsily sticking his massive arms into the sleeves of his robes as he went. Hermione almost had to run to keep up with the Slytherin's long stride. She waited until they had taken several steps into the chilly night air before speaking.

"Goyle, I need to find Malfoy; do you know where he is?" Hermione demanded without preamble.

"No," Goyle replied flatly, not even looking in Hermione's direction as he barreled down High Street with Hermione trotting at his side.

"Well, when's the last time you saw him?" Hermione tried.

"When I left Hogwarts."

"You haven't seen your best friend in three years?" Hermione pressed in disbelief.

That finally stopped Goyle. He ceased walking and whirled around to look at Hermione dead on. "He's not my best friend," he denied coldly. "I haven't seen the bastard since school--I haven't wanted to see him since then."

Hermione stepped back, a bit taken aback. Goyle had always been the silent stoic one at Hogwarts, so it was very odd to see him so impassioned about his ruined relationship with Malfoy. Goodness, it was odd just to hear Goyle speak--Hermione had never heard Goyle speak so much in the entire time she knew him; she had never known that Goyle's voice was remarkably similar to a fifteen year old girl's.

"Goyle," Hermione explained calmly. "I have to find him. I have a very important story, and I need his help--that's all, I swear. Besides, the Aurors are looking for him, so it would be for his own good if he just came in and defended himself before he's brought in by force."

"Isn't he wanted for about twenty different crimes?" Goyle recalled.

Hermione fought a sigh. This was not the proper time for Goyle to finally use his brain. "Yes."

He chuckled and resumed his pace. "So wouldn't it be smart of him to stay away from the Aurors?"

Hermione didn't bother answering that question; instead, she swiftly changed tactics. "You don't seem to want the best for him," Hermione reminded him urgently. She wasn't normally one to press someone to extract revenge on his or her enemy, but she had to get the information from Goyle. It was always the silent ones who observed the most. "Perhaps bringing him in would be for the best." Goyle didn't rise to the bait, or maybe he just didn't understand what she was insinuating. "What did happen to you two anyway?" Hermione asked in honest curiosity.

Goyle stopped once again. He contemplated the stars for a moment and let out a long breath. "It's not about what he did--it's about what he didn't do," he answered cryptically.

"What are you talking about?" Hermione inquired gently.

He gave her a sharp look, and Hermione knew that she had finally pressed her luck. "You want to know?" Goyle barked. "Ask Crabbe--he's the favorite," he said mockingly. He stomped away from Hermione toward the door to the pub, face snarled in pain at the memory of being friends with two people who preferred to shut him out rather than spend any real time with him. Hermione bit her lip to hold back her sigh. Now she had a better idea of what had happened between Goyle and Malfoy. In her younger days, she had occasionally felt left out of the close, fraternal bond that Ron and Harry had formed almost immediately, and the thought of feeling that way for almost ten years caused her to feel a bit sorry for Gregory Goyle.

"Goyle--" Hermione tried to stop him from striding away without another word, but mercifully Goyle felt the need to get something off of his chest. He cut her off, words he longed to say firing out of his mouth.

"Look, Granger, loads of shit went on during the war--shit that even a genius like you didn't know about. The Muggle attacks weren't the only things that they were doing to the Muggles--there were plans, there was so much more misery planned for your lot that you could ever imagine. We were going to destroy them if Potter hadn't stopped them in time." He stopped to take a breath. "But just because the Dark Lord is gone doesn't mean that it's over."

Hermione moved her head ever so slightly, her eyes never leaving Goyle's face. Now they were finally getting somewhere. "What are you talking about?" she repeated. "I haven't even mentioned Muggle attacks. What does that have to do with anything?"

"I know what you're covering--you're looking into what happened to Filch," Goyle informed her. Hermione stared in surprise. How on earth could he know that? "I can't tell you much, but I can tell you that shit still goes on," Goyle said slowly and emphatically, ironically mimicking the way that his friends would speak to him, believing that he was too thick to be spoken to at a normal speed. "It's. Not. Over. They still do shit to Muggles."

"They do what they did to Filch to Muggles?" Hermione demanded harshly. "Why?"

He smiled mirthlessly. "Magic doesn't change everything for good," Goyle replied cryptically.

Hermione gave him an inquiring look, but Goyle didn't divulge any more details. "You seem to know an awful lot for someone who claims to not have been involved with Malfoy and that lot for three years," Hermione observed suspiciously.

Goyle didn't deny it. He just took another step toward Hermione, towering over the young woman. "Why did you come to me?" he asked, changing the subject entirely.

Hermione blinked in confusion, but still answered honestly. "Because when you're looking for someone that you can't locate, you go to their family and friends."

He nodded as if he had known the answer all along. "Weasley told you that, eh?" Goyle guessed. "Learned it in training?" Hermione nodded silently. "Yeah." Goyle mirrored Hermione's gesture, nodding his head slowly. "Y'know, Auror school isn't the only place you learn that. I learned it in my training, too."

Hermione's chest froze momentarily. She knew exactly what training Goyle was referring to. He fixed Hermione with a very sincere, concerned stare. "I'd be careful, Granger. Your friends are already sticking their noses in where they don't belong. What's going to happen when you start doing the same thing?"

"Is that a threat?" Hermione asked tightly, arms folded over her chest.

"More like a prediction," Goyle corrected. "So I wouldn't be asking those sorts of questions anymore, unless you want some trouble." He jammed his hands into his robe pockets. "Now is there anything else you want to ask? I really haven't seen Malfoy in ages, I swear. I heard about Filch at the pub, and I'm pretty sure that he was behind it, but I don't know why he did it, and no, I am not willing to go on record with that information." He moved his hands out of the warm cocoon of his pockets to pull his hood over his head, protecting his face and ears from the icy wind. "So are we done?"

"Yes, we're finished," Hermione said thoughtfully. She was typically a good judge of character, and she could tell that he really wasn't lying--he didn't know where Malfoy was. Goyle grunted, and without another word, he shuffled off into the night. Hermione hugged herself for warmth, but she didn't move out of the wind, lest the slightest movement break her train of thought.

It was so odd to see Goyle under these circumstances. She had never seen him without Malfoy and Crabbe at his side, and he had hardly said ten words to Hermione throughout the ten years she had known him. He had always just been the mute protective tree who planted himself at Malfoy's side, dumbly knocking aside all those who attempted to harm his friend. He had practically been a robot, functioning on autopilot and only obeying the commands of others rather than following his own instincts.

However, now he was free. He was no longer under the thrall of Draco Malfoy. He wasn't doing very well, but at least he was on his own. He was free, and in Hermione's opinion, that was one of the most important things to be: independent.

That didn't mean, however, that he didn't still communicate with those who had Death Eater sympathies. Goyle obviously still knew inside information about what they were up to, and there was the distinct possibility that he passed on information, as well. And of course, that meant that the enemies Hermione had always fought to avoid would know that she was investigating the fire. She could very well be in a world of trouble.

Edinburgh was a naturally eerie city at nighttime. The home of Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hyde, the spirit of Macbeth, and the many other ghosts that haunted the city's cobblestone street in the shadows of darkness only added to the atmosphere. The full moon shone brightly upon the city, casting a greenish glow over everything. It was the ideal setting for a ghost story or a ghastly crime, and Hermione was standing in the middle of this eeriness all alone, with the threat that Goyle had made still ringing in her ears. She gripped her wand tightly and glanced about her. Trouble was coming--she could feel it in her bones.

The events of the past couple of days had changed Hermione, however. The lust for adventure had been welling inside of her for ages, and she couldn't stop the inevitable. She was tired of just thinking about how she was going to change her life and begin an adventure. Now she was actually going to do it, regardless of what Goyle had said. She may be endangering herself and everyone she held dear, but she could protect them, and herself. She could do it. She could do anything.

So let's do it, Hermione thought unflinchingly as she whirled around, returning to the store she had Flooed into. No matter what Goyle, Ron, or anyone else said, she was following this through until the very end. Regardless of the consequences, she was going to find Draco Malfoy.