Follow Through

Within the darkness

You are the light

That shines the way

In this blind justice

I can be that man who saves the day

I'm there for you

No matter what

I'm there for you

Never giving up

You'll know it's true

You were there for me

And I'm there for you

"For You" The Calling

**

Do people ever knock you off guard?

Not just take you by surprise--anyone can startle you or do a little surprising thing for you that might make you gasp a bit, but still leaves you relatively unaltered by the incident. But have you been completely thrown off guard? Has someone ever truly, really, honestly, knocked you flat: rendered you speechless, took your breath away, and froze your thoughts in mid-sentence? Has someone ever done something that overwhelms you so completely that you simply cannot think or function making it somehow simple to knock you over with a mere flick of the finger? You are that surprised--and in a very, very good way.

Ron had a habit of having that effect on Hermione. He did it when he belched up slugs for her. He did it when he boldly stuck up for her in the midst of their awful row in third-year. He did it when he kissed her for the first time. He did it when he wrote scads of letters to her parents on her behalf. Hell, he had just done it a half an hour earlier when he had cleaned up her apartment with a flick of his wand. Ron Weasley could always knock Hermione off her feet, and little did she know that she had that same power over him.

There was something very special about this certain case, however, that Hermione would remember with a particularly special fondness. Years later, she wouldn't be able to precisely articulate just why this case was so special to her, but whenever she thought about that night, she always became very quiet, blushed a little, smiled a lot, and always sought out Ron immediately.

He had taken to her to the Auror headquarters. The entire Ministry was deserted at the late hour, eerily reminding Hermione of the fateful day in fifth-year when she, Ron, Harry, Ginny, Neville, and Luna had snuck in to the building to save Sirius. Prickles of edgy déjà vu tiptoed up and down her spine as Ron led her down the darkened corridor, deftly weaving his way through cubicles, tables, desks, and wayward chairs to arrive at their final destination: his office.

Hermione looked at him in confusion, but he didn't relent straightaway. He pulled out his desk chair. "Have a seat," he offered quietly. He knelt down in front of his desk drawers, tapping the handles several times, and muttering under his breath. A sharp succession of clicks indicated that he had just unlocked the mysteriously locked drawers she and Ginny had tried to explore several days earlier. He extracted a thick stack of files and parchment. "Here."

"What is this?" Hermione asked curiously as she hefted the heavy pile of papers onto her lap.

"A bit of light reading," Ron said flippantly. He sat on the edge of his desk, reaching over Hermione to pick up the stack of Death Eater photographs. "Thought you would want to follow along while I went."

"Follow along? With what?" Hermione pressed.

Ron didn't answer. He just held up the photo of a pudgy-faced Death Eater on the top of the pile. He nodded down to the pile to indicate that this particular Death Eater's file was the one on top. "He was the first one Harry and I caught. Sinclair Knox was his name. We managed to catch him in less than twelve hours. We got real lucky. Harry had been poking around this bloke's hometown, but he didn't try to make the arrest until I was officially on board. Harry always wanted to wait to start rounding up the Death Eaters until he had a partner--he told me he reckoned he had done enough fighting on his own to last a lifetime. He had been doing a lot of other stuff, of course, but now all we've been doing is trying to collect all the Death Eaters. We've gotten twelve of them already, but there's still over thirty to go. There's another team assigned to Death Eater arrests, too--Tonks, actually, and her new partner Wesley--but they've only gotten five."

Ron grinned widely at Hermione, not bothering to hide his competitive nature. Hermione, however, didn't return it. Her hand had frozen on the top of the collection of unopened files the moment she had realized what Ron was doing, and she had yet to recover from the shock. He started to launch back into his narrative, but paused when Hermione finally lifted her hand slightly to stop him from continuing. "Ron, what are you doing?" she asked slowly.

Once again, he didn't respond straightaway. Instead, he rapidly sorted through the pile of Death Eaters, tossing aside the ones that were still on the loose. "Telling you everything," he said matter-of-factly. He hesitated when he saw Hermione was still gaping at him. "That's what you wanted, wasn't it?"

"Of course I do," Hermione said instantly. "I just--I just thought that you--couldn't." She really wanted to say that she thought he didn't want to tell her, but that could open a whole mess of flobberworms she wasn't prepared to deal with just now. It was better to simply deal with the blasted Auror secrecy code than try to sort out the intricate details of the core of their relationship.

"I shouldn't," Ron agreed. "I could get sacked for this," he revealed cheerfully while settling down on the top of the desk.

"Then why are you doing it?" Hermione asked.

"Because I didn't realize until tonight just how much it's killing you to live like this." Ron slid his hand to cover Hermione's. "And I'm sorry--I should have known--I did know, but I reckon I just didn't want to have to deal with it, because when I'm away I try not to think about how miserable you are, because then all I want to do is just come right home." His eyes hardened with determination. "But not anymore," he vowed. "You can't be expected to live like this, and besides--" His thumb ran in comforting circles over the back of her hand. "I want to tell you."

Hermione's breath stopped in the back of her throat in that funny way only Ron was able to instigate. "Really?"

"Yeah," Ron replied earnestly. His eyes were straight on hers, so Hermione knew he wasn't lying. He was, however, slightly confused. "Do you think I like keeping things from you?"

For some reason, something deep inside of Hermione caused her to hesitate. "No," she finally replied, and although it had taken her a bit to find it, she knew it was the correct answer. "No, why would I?"

"Right," Ron agreed with his lopsided smile. "So shall I continue?"

She nodded, and he held up the photograph again. However, Hermione wasn't really focused on the scowling Death Eater. Her heart was too busy fluttering with thrilling excitement. He had known. She hadn't told him what she desperately needed, and he had known anyway. He knew what she needed. He knew her. Hermione had, of course, always known this, but when someone you love so fiercely is away for so long, you begin to doubt your own feelings. Absence may make the heart grow fonder, but it also makes the heart second-guess itself. However, all of those doubts had just been assuaged as Ron held up the photographs again. He loved her enough to risk losing his job.

An aggravating worm of guilt squirmed its way into Hermione's mind, and she almost told Ron to stop, because although she appreciated what he was trying to do for her, she didn't want him losing his job on her behalf. However, Ron's hand had moved down to her knee, and he squeezed it comfortingly. Hermione blew out a long, relieved breath. He had just told her without words that it was okay for her to be selfish just this once. Her happiness was one of the most important things in his life, and he had always vowed to fight to the death to preserve that, even if it meant sacrificing something else that he held dear to him. He loved his job, yes, but not as much as he loved her.

So he told her everything. He talked for hours. He told her every story of every case of every Death Eater he and Harry had pursued in the past seven months. He informed of her every danger he had faced, every spell he had used, and every trick he had pulled. Hermione learned that Ron knew more spells than even she had read about. Also, his training had taken longer than usual because they had taken the time to finely tune his empathic abilities so that now, to some level, he could now sense everyone's emotions. He had survived facing off with a manticore, and the most serious injury he had endured thus far was a nasty knock to the head after getting caught sneaking into the Macnair household.

Hermione hopped up onto the desk beside Ron and burrowed her fingers through his hair, examining the scar Ron had pointed out to her on the crown of his head. She winced as she felt the large, raised welt that had been caused by the blunt end of an axe. Apparently Ron hadn't woken up until the next morning, and probably would have been killed if Harry hadn't gotten him out just in time.

And she had never known until just now. She had never known that Ron had been inches away from death yet again. As thrilled as she was that he was telling her these things now, Hermione still felt profoundly horrified that all of these things had happened to him without her knowledge. Ron had a whole other life that she was not affiliated with in any way whatsoever. He had been living his life without her, and from the pride and keen interest in his voice, Hermione knew that he loved this other life, and she had no idea just how she felt about that.

This would have been the most disconcerting thing she learned from her boyfriend tonight if Ron had stopped before telling her about his most recent assignment. But once Ron decided to do something, he never held back.

"--and then we went to Germany to check out the Apparation approval form Malfoy had received during the war. Apparently, he had wanted to go over there for some reason, so Harry and I went to see if we could figure it out."

"And did you?" Hermione inquired, remembering the similar form she had found in Ron's desk the day she had snooped around his office.

"Yeah," Ron revealed after a brief hesitation. He slipped his arm through Hermione's so he could feel the reassuring pressure of her side against him and rest his hand comfortingly against her thigh at the same time. "They went to do research." His hand slid up and down her leg. "I reckon you know all about the Muggle concentration camps?" His grip on Hermione's leg tightened when he felt her flinch violently. "Yeah, I reckoned you did," he said unhappily.

Hermione twisted around to face Ron "Concentration camps? And he went during the war? He went for research during the war--for Muggles--they were going to do that to Muggles? They were going to do what they did to the Jewish population to innocent Muggles?" Her voice had adopted the frantically passionate voice that she used to fervently discuss S.P.E.W., werewolf rights, and other very important issues that Hermione was prepared to dedicate a lifetime to rectify. "Why didn't we know about this sooner? Why didn't we do something about it?"

"Because it didn't get started," Ron soothed, grabbing her hysterically flailing hands. "They were researching it--the war ended it before it could be implemented full throttle."

"So some of it had started?" Hermione pressed.

Ron hesitated again. "One of the procedures they were going to implement in these facilities," he explained slowly, "was to give Muggles magical powers from Muggle-borns." Hermione's fury abruptly vanished and was replaced with numbed shock. So that was why Ron and Harry had been so surprised when she told them the subject of her story. "We didn't know why they would do something like that, but I should have known to ask you." Now it was Ron's turn to shift his position. He was facing Hermione with avid interest. "Well?"

Hollowly, Hermione told him everything that she had recently discovered, starting with what had happened to Filch, all the way to her recent visit to Viktor and Hogwarts. Hermione only told him everything because she knew it was absolutely necessary for Ron to have this information. Otherwise, they could have trouble convicting the Malfoys with all of the charges pressed against them. When she finished, Hermione jumped to her feet, not caring that her abrupt action caused a cascade of files to scatter across the floor of the office. "So you knew?" Hermione accused bluntly. "You knew about what they were doing to Muggles and Muggle-borns and you didn't tell me--why?"

Even the empath extraordinaire Ron Weasley was quite taken aback by the abrupt shift of Hermione's emotions. And as usual, when Ron got confused and upset, he also became angry and frustrated. "Why would I?" Ron countered. "You knew that the Death Eaters were doing all sorts of crap to Muggles. I didn't realize that you had to know all of the specifics. Besides, we have no proof that this sort of activity went on. You don't believe anything unless there's some sort of long boring treatise or hard evidence proving it to be true."

"Don't get snippy with me," Hermione snapped. "We're not eleven anymore--we shouldn't still be arguing like we are. Talk to me."

"I am!" Ron insisted furiously. "You're just not listening!"

Hermione ostentatiously clamped her lips shut, sat back down in the desk chair, crossed her arms over her chest, and raised her eyebrows expectantly. She knew that this was the sort of reaction she would have had when she was eleven, but he just made her so mad.

"I just found all of this out," Ron reminded her. "How could I have told you? I was away for all of this time." Hermione stared down at her shoes. That important bit of information had unfortunately slipped her mind. Sensing her thoughts, Ron seized the opportunity to grab her hand again. "Hermione, listen to me, I'm really sorry, but you can't keep going on with this story."

"WHAT?" Hermione exploded.

"It would cause a panic," Ron explained reasonably. Hermione wondered if she sounded as condescending when she spoke to others with such earnest matter-of-factness. "You got all riled up when you found out what was going on--what do you think it's going to do to the Muggle-born population when they read about it?"

"They deserve to know about it!" Hermione disagreed hotly. "We deserve to know to protect ourselves from people like Malfoy. Do you really think that ignorance is really going to help us? You're just like Fudge if you really think that's true!"

"That's different," Ron denied furiously, loathing the comparison to the oily politician. "There was a real danger then--there was a war. We had to know in order to protect ourselves. But now the war is over, Hermione, and we've suffered enough. How is it going to help things by exposing the population to more pain?"

"Because it's obviously not over, is it, if the same thing is happening to Filch and if you have a job!" Hermione shouted back. "If it really was over, I wouldn't have this assignment, you wouldn't be working here, and we wouldn't be having this argument!"

She recoiled a step as she felt Ron's frustration and fury surpass his limits. With a tightly clenched jaw, Ron stormed to his feet without another word, exited his cubicle, and paced up and down the narrow hallway in an effort to calm his frazzled nerves. Hermione used the opportunity to take a deep breath and close her eyes. It never ceased to amaze her how Ron was able to stir up such fierce emotions inside of her. It took several moments of struggling to placate the furious fire raging within her mind and soul, and when she finally did, Ron slowly returned to the entrance of his cubicle. He knew that she wasn't finished with what she wanted to say, so he just waited with mute expectation.

"Ron, there's always going to be people out there who think like Malfoy. We have to protect ourselves from them, and the only way to do that is by knowing the truth--the whole truth--about everything that was happening during the war so we can instigate methods to assure that something like this can never happen again."

Ron pounded his fist into the flimsy wall of his cubicle, knowing and hating that Hermione was right. "I hate telling you about shit like this."

"I know," Hermione said quietly. She knew perfectly well what it did to Ron to watch her in pain, because she went through the same thing whenever she saw the injured look in his eyes. "But Ron, you have to."

Ron nodded jerkily, eyes on the ceiling. He knew if he looked at Hermione right then he would blurt out something he really wasn't ready to say. "So you're going to stick with the story. I can't talk you out of it."

"No," Hermione said determinedly. She laughed uncomfortably. "When have you ever been able to talk me out of anything?"

"Yeah," Ron agreed, echoing Hermione's awkward chuckle. "I just wish--" He trailed off; it was quite unnecessary to say anything else. Hermione knew what he was trying to say. Although he wouldn't change a hair on her head, he wished sometimes she wouldn't be so passionate and determined, because although he loved and adored those traits of hers, it tended to get her in a spot of trouble on a regular basis. And since he was away for so long and couldn't keep as close of an eye on her as he would have liked, he spent a fair amount of time worrying about her.

"I know," Hermione told him. And she did; she felt the exact same way about him and his job.

With a sigh, Ron finally felt ready to look at her again. The stare that passed between them was almost as intense as was the moment they had first confessed their feelings for each other. A lot had changed since that day by the lake five years ago, but the vast multitude of intense emotions that they shared certainly hadn't. There were still just as many issues to sort out, there was still just as much insecurity, and there was still just as much love for one another. It was funny how two people could come so far and yet, at the same time, feel as though they had just begun.

They had an entire lifetime to sort that out, however, Hermione reminded herself, and she risked a small reassuring smile. Ron returned the gesture, raking a hand through his hair tiredly. Hermione noticed the dark circles under his eyes and glanced at her watch. It was almost dawn.

"It's late. Why don't we finish this tomorrow?" she suggested.

"We can't," Ron said disappointedly. "I have to go to Scotland--we got a tip just before we came back that Lucius may be hiding out near Loch Ness--what's wrong?" he cut off hastily, catching the expression on Hermione's face.

Hermione didn't even bother trying to mask her disappointment. "You're leaving again?" They had just begun to sort out the touchy issues that had been bothering Hermione for ages, and now he had to go away again. There was also the fact that she always found it more difficult to breathe every second he was gone.

Ron closed his eyes and swore under his breath. "I thought you knew," Ron apologized empathetically. He stepped forward and stroked Hermione's curls. She instinctively leaned into his fingers. "We came back to make sure you were all right, but we have to be back in an hour or so."

"An hour?" Hermione glanced again at her watch. "But you're not going to have any time to get some sleep--you'll be exhausted."

"I didn't want sleep," Ron answered with his simple directness. Hermione smiled as her heart glowed pleasantly within her chest. It was almost as though he had said aloud the words 'I just wanted to be with you'. She leaned against his chest, grateful to have him in her life even if it was just for a few more moments. Ron dropped a kiss on the back of her head. "You're going to be careful, right?"

"As long as you are," Hermione promised into his shirt.

"Right," Ron agreed. "So I'll find Malfoy, you find the evidence to convict him, and we'll put him away together and then take a holiday back to Venice, sound good?"

"It sounds very good," Hermione agreed, although she was biting her lip apprehensively. She should have realized this was bound to happen. She should have known that this perfectly blissful moment was not going to last forever, but being the damned optimist she was, she had hoped that he would be back for a bit longer. He had been away for three weeks; she rather thought that he was entitled to a few days off. Her opinion on the matter of an Auror's workload, however, was irrelevant, so she remained quiet. She glanced up at him, and Hermione knew that her eyes very clearly radiated how she felt about this situation. She understood, of course, but at the same time, she really didn't want to let him go again.

Ron's fleeting light-hearted mood faded as Hermione's melancholic sentiments passed through his finely tuned empathic instincts. "I'll be back soon. I promise," he vowed seriously. Hermione knew from his eyes that he wasn't lying, but she also knew that Fate and Death's sinister plans could cruelly overshadow a person's most ardent beliefs. "I'm not gone yet," he reminded her, pausing only to lightly brush his lips over hers, empathically begging her not to be too upset with him so they could just enjoy the few minutes they had left with each other.

He didn't need to tell her twice. Hermione threw her arms around him, and for the remainder of their short time together, let him know with all of her heart and soul just how much she was going to miss him. She had learned from surviving a war that this was all you could really do in these situations. It wouldn't be prudent to bemoan the ways of the world when time with your loved ones was limited. Wallowing in despair never accomplished anything. But if you cherished the time you had--if you just held him as close to you as possible and allowed every iota of his being to seep into yours--then parting would be a little less painful.

It was still all too painful for Hermione, however. Before she was even ready to begin to think about unraveling her arms from him, he was walking her to the lift that would take her back to the streets of Muggle London, giving her a final fervent kiss good-bye and pressing the button to close the door to the lift.

Hermione flinched when the door of the lift closed with a snap, abruptly blocking her view of Ron's face. He was gone again.

**

"Can I help--good gods!" The concerned receptionist dropped the quill she had been holding and sympathetically poked at the lethargic pile of orange fur in Hermione's arms. "Your poor cat!"

"I know," Hermione said anxiously. She had returned home this morning to find that Crookshanks was still feeling quite poorly from the aftereffects of whatever awful spells had been used on him. He had been barely conscious and had yowled painfully whenever he tried to move, so Hermione had taken him straight to the clinic where Ginny worked. Ginny had inspected Crookshanks several times before, and Hermione would never take her beloved cat to anyone but her. Besides, Crookshanks was even more particular about whom he befriended than Hermione. Ginny was the only Healer of magical creatures he had left unscathed. "Is Ginny in?" Hermione asked.

"Uh, no," the receptionist sighed. "She called in sick again. We do have some of the other Healers here, though. I know Crookshanks is particular, but from the state he's in, I think someone should take a look at him straightaway--"

"What do you mean Ginny called in sick again?" Hermione interrupted. "Ginny's been sick?" That might explain why she hadn't heard a peep from her friend in the past few days.

"Oh, yeah, didn't you know?" The receptionist, whose love for gossip transcended even Lavender Brown's, leaned forward to relay the latest tidbit. "She's barely been in for days--she called us in advance to tell us she'd be late one day, and she came for a few hours, but it was really slow that day so she left early. Ever since, she's been owling or fireplacing in every morning, saying she can't be in. Apparently she has some really nasty bug, but she doesn't want to get checked out--says that she hopes it'll pass in a day or two." She appraised the perplexed Hermione hopefully. "Maybe you could convince her to see a Healer--we could really use her back here."

"Yes, I will," Hermione said thoughtfully. The last day Ginny had been into the office must have been the day they went to the Auror headquarters. Ginny had told her that she had to work late because of some emergency, but according to Emily here, Ginny had actually left early. Ginny had lied to her--but why?

Hermione faked a smile as she shook that disturbing thought from her mind. "Well, Harry did come home last night," she revealed. "Hopefully, he'll be able to set things straight. He is the only one Ginny ever listens to."

"Oh, that explains it." Emily popped her gum in joyful realization. "She looked like she had been crying this morning--she was probably just happy that he was home."

"Sure," Hermione lied, repositioning a sore and miserable Crookshanks in her arms. "That explains everything," she added, although in actuality it revealed absolutely nothing.

**

"Ginny?" Hermione knocked on her friend's door as loudly as she could. "Ginny? I know you're in there--are you sick?" She waited impatiently for about thirty seconds before pulling out her wand. "I'm coming in!" With a swift Alohomora and a couple of the more difficult unlocking spells that she knew Harry and Ginny used, Hermione had successfully opened the door and stepped inside. "Ginny?"

It didn't take her long to search the entire flat. The whole apartment was undisturbed, and Ginny wasn't home. This meant there was a very good possibility that she wasn't sick at all--unless Harry had taken her to hospital. Hermione dismissed that possibility hastily. If Ginny had been that ill, Harry would have contacted her and Ron, and he certainly wouldn't have gone back on assignment. No, Ginny must not be sick. She must be lying to avoid work, which meant that she was busy doing something else. It was obviously something that she didn't want to share with Hermione, either, if she had been lying to her, as well.

Hermione stood in the foyer for a moment, frozen in indecision. She had two possibilities. She could try to track down Ginny, who could be anywhere in the world, or she could continue investigating the Switching Spell plot. Hermione had a fairly good idea of where she would investigate that next; however, she had no idea where to begin to look for Ginny. Hermione bit her lip as she glanced about the flat in hopes of finding one final clue to solve this mystery. If something were really wrong with Ginny, Harry would have noticed it last night and probably would have come by to ask her to keep an eye on Ginny for him. Harry had always trusted her with Ginny. He would have told her if he thought something was wrong, and he would be the one to know. Just because she suspected something didn't mean that her suspicion was accurate. Harry knew Ginny better than anyone. If he was unperturbed, Hermione should be, too.

She had to let this go. Ginny was a big girl, and she had to logical about this. She couldn't help Ginny with whatever was troubling her unless Ginny came to her directly, or if she found clear evidence that something was wrong. Maybe Ginny was just tired of work. She certainly had seemed exhausted the last time Hermione had spoken to her. Maybe Ginny needed some time to herself, especially after seeing Harry again, only to watch him go straight back to his assignment. It wasn't like Ginny to grieve alone, but people change. Hermione just had to wait until Ginny approached her.

Hermione repositioned her bag and pulled out some parchment, quill, and ink. Carrying the items over to the decorative end table, she hastily scribbled a note:

Ginny,

I went by your office today and heard that you weren't feeling well. I just stopped by to see how you were doing. Please let me know if there's anything I can do. Send me an owl or just pop by my flat if you feel up to it.

Hope to see you soon!

Love from,

Hermione

Hermione folded the note and left it on the table where Ginny was sure to spot it when she walked in. Feeling slightly better, Hermione gathered her belongings and exited the flat, pausing to charm the door with the appropriate locking spells. When she had finished, Hermione lingered for a moment longer, sighing ever so slightly as she sent a silent prayer toward her friend.

Ginny, I really hope you know what you're doing.

**

Gregory Goyle was just going about a normal night's work, chatting casually with customers as he efficiently served them their drinks. He really was a surprisingly good bartender. Difficult spellwork really wasn't his forte, so a profession that required only rudimentary magical spells was right up his alley. He was paid just enough to support himself, he enjoyed the lively atmosphere of the pub immensely, and the career required no contact with anyone from his Hogwarts days. All and all, it was ideal.

That is, it was ideal, until Hermione Granger returned to the pub a few days after accosting him at home. At first no one paid any attention to her; they just assumed that she was another young witch with an infatuation for the Weird Sisters. It wasn't until she boldly stormed her way to the bar, pushing past paying customers and smacking her hand loudly against the thick wood, that people began to notice her.

Goyle might have had a brand new life for himself, but it still took him about twenty seconds longer to catch onto things than most. The majority of the pub had been staring at the bushy-haired woman before Goyle realized who was calling for him. He groaned loudly, unintentionally spilling the drink he was making. "Not you again!"

"Good to you see you too, Goyle," Hermione replied cheerfully with a fake smile. She quickly became deadly serious once again. "I need to talk to you."

"I'm working," Goyle said tersely, turning his back on her. "Who's next?"

Hermione was never one to be ignored. Without thinking, she made her way through the crowd, moving behind the counter to confront Goyle directly. Ron's brief return home had made her even more determined to find out what the hell was going on. If she solved her case, it could also help Ron's, and that would bring him back sooner. She had to find hard evidence to prove what she knew in her gut was going on with this bizarre form of Muggle torture, and she had to prevent it from ever happening again. Right now, questioning Goyle was the only way to achieve that goal.

"Hey! You're not supposed to be back there!" a customer shouted in disapproval. "You have to wait like everyone else!"

Goyle spun around at the sound of the customer's annoyed yell, and his scowl deepened considerably at the sight of Hermione five feet away from him. "Do you mind?" he growled. "If it's that important, you can wait until I get off in four hours!"

"This will only take a minute," Hermione said sharply, her brisk tone commanding the attention of everyone in a ten-foot radius. "I just need you to give me a name. Any name. A name of a Death Eater who did those spells on Muggles, a name of a Muggle who was turned into a wizard, a name of a Muggle-born who lost his powers, anything."

"I told you I wasn't going to tell you anything," Goyle refused flatly.

He tried to continue to mix the drink he had been working on before Hermione's interruption, but Hermione snatched the glass away from him. A customer whistled in disbelief at her audacity, but Hermione ignored him. "You have to," she insisted vehemently. "You're the only one who can help set this straight." Goyle tried to take the glass away from her again, but Hermione pulled it from his reach. "Come on, Goyle," she begged. "Do something right for once in your life."

Goyle thought hard. It looked like it hurt him to do so, but he thought hard. And of course, he came up with the wrong decision. "No."

"Goyle--" Hermione began warningly, but he cut her off.

"I'm not the only one who can help you," he reminded her angrily. "I'm nothing, remember? Talk to Crabbe--or Malfoy--he's the one you really want to find. And if you're so interested in learning about this rubbish they did, why don't you just ask Filch about it?"

Hermione let out a long sigh. Maybe if she explained this rationally and slowly to Goyle, even he would be able to understand the importance of this. "We can't find a current address for Crabbe--the Ministry has no record of him. Malfoy's been on the run for ages, so Merlin only knows where he is." She became very aware that several pair of eyes were peering curiously at her so she lowered her voice, somberly thinking about the owl she had received earlier that day. "And Filch died this morning, Goyle. The spell Malfoy used on him finally killed him." Goyle exhaled sharply, dumbly staring down at the countertop. "Come on, Goyle," Hermione tried again. "Don't let Malfoy kill someone else. Help me."

Goyle looked over at Hermione, his large awkward fingers clenching and unclenching in indecision. A raucous peal of laughter averted his thoughts, and the two former students returned their attention to the patrons of the rowdy pub. "You goin' to let a little lady order you about, Greg?" one of the wizards demanded in disbelief.

That settled it for Gregory Goyle. "No," he refused again, shaking his head stubbornly at Hermione. "No. I'm not helping you. I'm staying out of it." He gave Hermione a glare that had no real power behind it and stepped forward to escort her out. "Now, if you don't mind, I will have to ask--"

He stopped in mid-sentence--it's difficult to speak when the tip of a wand is jabbed into your Adam's apple. Hermione dug the wand point in a little deeper and smiled in such a way to remind him that she did have it in her to hurt him if he didn't comply with her requests. Goyle's eyes widened in real terror at that falsely sweet smirk--he had never forgotten how fiercely Hermione had decked Malfoy that sunny day in third-year. His coworkers and customers, however, were anything but frightened; they found the image of an average-sized, frizzy haired witch holding her wand to a massive, hulking wizard's throat incredibly hilarious. Most of them had collapsed over their tables, overcome with mirth while others hooted in approval of the entertainment.

"Whoa!" one wizard noted in exaggerated shock. "I didn't see that coming!"

"She's a fiery little one, isn't she?" his friend commented happily, and then set out collecting a pool for who was going to win the standoff.

"Show 'em what you got, missy!" a particularly drunk witch egged excitedly. The witch hastily threw two Galleons into the rapidly growing kitty the wizards were collecting in Hermione's favor before cupping her hands over her mouth and screaming in approval. "Kill 'im!" she added for good measure.

"All I want is a name," Hermione said in a voice as cold as the chilling breath of a Death Eater. "Just give me a name and you'll never have to see me again."

"I'll give you my name, love!" another wizard shouted hopefully. The crowd laughed, but Goyle and Hermione remained solemnly silent, eyes never straying from each others' faces.

"You don't know what you're getting into," Goyle warned again. "They'll kill you."

"Not if you kill 'im first!" the drunk witch interjected gleefully.

"I'll take that chance," Hermione informed him coolly. "Just give me that name."

The rowdy witch slammed her palm rhythmically onto the top of the bar, chanting 'kill him, kill him...' at the top of her lungs. The remainder of the patrons soon joined in, clapping their hands in approval. Goyle licked his lips nervously, eyes darting from the crowd back to Hermione. His face abruptly changed. For the first time in his life, he was struck with a good idea. He finally said something, but Hermione couldn't make out the words.

"What?" she asked loudly. She could barely hear herself over the din, so she irritably raised her voice as loud as humanly possible. "Shut up!" The noise only diminished slightly, but it was enough. "What?" Hermione insisted once again.

Goyle smiled, waving a meaty hand to gesture for absolute silence from the crowd. He waited until they had obeyed his request before speaking up once again. "Here's a name for you." He straightened up to his full height in satisfaction. "Dolohov. Anthony Dolohov."