You've Got Owls!

Ch. 7

"You're doing the right thing, Hermione," Ms. Silver murmured. She just nodded and swallowed nervously.

Vanessa patted her hand and gave her a helpful smile. They both flicked glances at the conference room door, their hands folded impatiently on top of the long chrome table.

"He should be here any minute now," Silver whispered. Hermione braced herself.

With a subtle popping noise, a thick cloud of white smoke materialized in front of the door. They heard a faint coughing sound, and out stepped Draco Malfoy.

"Mr. Malfoy!" Silver exclaimed warmly. "Come, come in." He gave her a curt smile and strode confidently over to the conference table. Placing his hands delicately on the edge of the table, he nodded politely at Vanessa and Hermione.

"Hello, Ms. Wyeth - Ms. Granger," he smiled and extended his hand. Hermione looked at him in confusion, wondering why he was being so...gentlemanly. She had been prepared for snide insults, bitter insinuation - anything but this! As he leaned over to clasp her hand, she looked up and thought she saw a flicker of something like sorrow, or hope, or warmth, in her enemy's usually ice-hard eyes.

"Please have a seat," Ms. Silver motioned. Draco blinked, as if woken from a reverie, and abruptly sat in his chair. "Now, we have come here to conduct business, so let's not have any childish fighting, is that understood?" She looked pointedly at Hermione and Draco, who were now hastily avoiding each other's eyes, each for different reasons.

"Yes."

"Of course," Malfoy smiled icily. "I have come prepared to make Ms. Granger a deal she won't resist."

Hermione glowered, eyeing him with her arms now crossed against her chest.

"Cut the fancy language and spit it out, Malfoy," she said. He grimaced and then began removing some papers from his bag.

"I will buy your firm out...for..." he rustled through his papers, then drew one out with a satisfied smirk and laid it in front of Hermione.

Her jaw dropped.

"You're absolutely insane," she whispered, like she didn't believe it.

"Yes, actually, I've known that for quite some time," he said softly, looking at her.

"Let me see," Vanessa insisted. She grabbed the paper, read it, and gasped. "That's really three times it's worth! What in the world are you thinking?" She slammed the paper down in front of Silver.

"I don't want to be outbid, Ms. Wyeth, of course," he answered coolly.

"Why in the hell so desperately?" she exclaimed.

"Ms. Wyeth - language..." Silver tried.

"Because," Malfoy hissed, his voice like water on metal, "I happen to absolutely covet the mastermind who runs your firm, and know very well that if I don't buy her out, she'll never agree to work with me."

"Me?" Vanessa asked hopefully.

"No," he said. "Hermione." For a moment, Hermione's gaze flickered up to Draco's face and their eyes locked in some kind of solemn exchange. Hermione felt a slight ripple of intrigue flutter in her bloodstream as their leveling stares met and melded seamlessly. Draco's eyes' coldness guttered slightly, and in a moment of almost surreal openness, they displayed a strange, unreal loyalty, as if initiating a challenge - or, perhaps, making a promise.

Yes, Hermione was sure it was a promise. As sure as she had ever been. But what of, she couldn't dare to guess, and what possibilities the carrying out of such a silent pact might entail, she could never have known.

*

"Well, it's the first time he's ever called you by your first name!" Vanessa said chirped loudly over the buzzing of the office building. Hermione looked up from where she had been packing files into watertight boxes and heaved a gigantic sigh.

She looked around the office, at all the employees in their cubicles, busily packing away their things and making last-minute arrangements by wand. It was a week before Christmas, the usual time for vacationing, happiness and relaxing, but this year it made Hermione's heart heavy with grief. She bit her lip, watching as her longtime co-worker heaved a box of equipment onto her desk to be carried away.

Cheer up, Hermione, she thought to herself. It's not like you won't be seeing them again. No, it wasn't. Since Malfoy had bought out the firm, they were all still together - though many of the less able Aurors would probably be fired within a few months. But most of them had been divided up between the many sections of Dragon Enterprises and, after the holidays, would separated onto their respective floors, offices and supervisors. Hermione would take her place alongside Draco, Pansy Parkinson, and Gabrielle Delacour on the 'board of big-cheeses' (as Vanessa bitterly called it) - which would mean a significant raise in power and income. Hermione smiled wryly for a moment, remembering how Silver had insisted that Draco lower his offer for the sake of decency, frustrating his evil plan to make her and Vanessa obscenely rich. Still, they had both made off with a nice bundle of cash - which would, Draco assured them, be mere pocket money once they got their paychecks from Dragon. Hermione laughed at how insanely proud he was of his company's wealth, though she had been surprised he had offered her a top position. She had expected him to have her filing in the Owl Room or something like that.

Three hours later, the office was completely empty. Everyone's desks had been packed up and apparated to their respective new homes, merry christmases and happy holidays had been said, coats had been slung on, brooms dragged out, and final goodbyes said to the place that, for many of them, had been a second home. Hermione stood in the middle of what had used to be her cubicle and looked around at the deadly empty room, suddenly looking so big and vast and cold. She had told Vanessa to go on, that she was going to say her last goodbyes to the place and then be off. The younger woman had nodded, understanding immediately that this was something Hermione needed to do alone.

She heaved a deep sigh and stuck her hands in the deep pockets of her winter coat, looked down at her shoes as if to find the right words to say goodbye to her dream.

"This is silly, isn't it?" she whispered, not to herself, as she walked slowly around the room. "Just because I'm losing the firm doesn't mean I'll lose the memories, right?" She paused, as if waiting for an answer, but getting on silence in return. Her face broke out into an easy grin as she laughed quietly. "You're right, of course." Her smile faded slowly as her brow wrinkled in confusion. "I just...I've been okay here, you know?" Her voice was cracked with tears and her eyes began to shine furiously. "After you were killed, I thought I would never make it," she whispered, biting her lip to keep sobs as bay. "I thought I'd die...but then I didn't...I made it through somehow, I kept myself on track by thinking about work. When I was at work, it was like I could be near you - feel you - but not have to think about you. I...I could let myself linger here after hours, doing work, numb, but warm inside. I couldn't do that at home." Her voice cracked and tears slipped down her face. "That's why I stopped going - I couldn't bear to see dad because I would think of you, and how it was all my fault, I should have known they'd find you, and I just couldn't take it!" It felt like a huge, heavy, many-pronged anchor of immense weight was being dragged up out of the depths of her body, wrenching out an awful sadness. Her eyes shone as she batted at her tears with an aimless hand and tried to collect herself, leaning against the cold pane of an office window for support.

"I shouldn't be holding on like this, Mom, I know," she whispered haggardly. "I should call dad - I should accept. I need to leave. I know this - I feel your presence like an addiction here, and it's been destroying me." She gazed thoughtfully out the window at the soaring white statute of Dragon Enterprises. "I just wish...I wish..."

She shook her head, unable to commit such foolishness to words. Through a blinking veil of tears, she could almost see her mother - tall, wiry, gracefully beautiful, just as she had been before death claimed her. Head wrapped in a scarf to hide the effects of chemotherapy, shining white teeth glimmering as she grinned, embracing her daughter, sodden and soiled from the chase, in a proud, loving hug.

"Oh mom," Hermione gasped, shaking her head. "I've been running. Running from the truth. They scared me off. You told me never to do that - you told me to seek the truth, trust the truth, find freedom in the truth. But, God, I've been running."

She turned, folded her arms over her chest and stared back at Dragon Enterprises pure, stoic bulk like it was a mirror that might show her her own soul and all the secrets of life and happiness.

When she spoke again, her voice was firm with determination.

"I will find the truth."

*

Chapter 8

Dear London,

Today my Auror firm closed down. It was bought out by another firm, Dragon Enterprises. You probably didn't know that I owned a firm. I did. It was my dream...and I made it happen. Until now. I'm sick. I'm miserable. Christmas sucks.

Love,

HG

"Mr. Malfoy?" Blaise repeated icily, this time with a lot more force. Draco looked over at her in amusement. Ever since he had coldly broken up with her, she had gone out of her way to be extremely rude towards him.

"What is it now, Ms. Zabini?" he shot back, mildly enjoying the expression of ugly bitterness that twisted her way upon hearing her formal name pass from his lips.

"O'Toy is on line 6, he says it's urgent. Stock dropped," she said curtly. Draco sighed, and looked back at the letter in his hand. "Well?" She arched her eyebrow impatiently.

"Ms. Zabini, will you please tell Mr. O'Toy that I will call him tomorrow - oh, and call the flourist's shop for me. I need a bouquet of daffodils on my desk in ten minutes."

"But, Draco! Did you hear me correctly? Stocks DROPPED!" she seethed, looking at him furiously. "Besides, you can't just walk out of the office, it's a workday!"

"Blaise," he said, smiling sinfully. "I own the company." Then, shooting her his famous devil-may-care grin, he flipped his hand, gesturing for her to scurry along. Her lips contorted in hate, and she whipped around, stalking loudly out of the office.

"Do remember those flowers, Zabini!" he called after her, snickering to himself.

*

Hermione slouched against the back of her molding couch, flipping through channels on the WHTV (Wizard Hologram Television) in front of her.

"Magical Music News here, I'm Kenny Schouder. Today, punk-angst rocker witch Violette Duchanoky of 'Violette and the Sinners' was found dead in the basement of her Surrey mansion, apparently from a potion overdose of Creativity Serum. As fans mourn her..."

"Next," Hermione grunted and the hovering image of the sand-blonde man in tight jeans and a black CRYPTITE cut-off t-shirt reading the musical news in front of a display of signed guitars faded. It was instantly replaced by black and white footage of an old wizarding war on the Magical History Channel.

"As the battle of Merlin's Creek drew to a close, hundreds lay dead from hexes, curses and potion bombs. The war raged on outside England - but in London, a different kind of war was being fought, between Ministry workers and voters, as two important bills - The Young Wizards and Witches Power Emancipation Act and Auror Firm Independence Act - struggled their way through debates." Hermione watched in amusement as the footage changed to old paintings of Ministers in white wigs arguing heatedly over the issues, along with clippings of political comics. "Critics of the AFI Act were loud and prosperous - as this 1786 comic depicts the Prime Minister Quincey falling from the sky onto a Quidditch pitch, the rest of the ministry, and then all of England, following after him. The comic reads - 'Is Quincy off his broom stick?' But try as they may, those who did not want Auror firms becoming independent from the Ministry were rapidly losing their arguments as the war came closer and closer, and the Ministry could no longer afford to fund the Magical Law Enforcement forces for much longer. In 1788, the act was voted in, and Auror firms became independent all across England, causing the recession to loosen its savage grip on the devastated country. In 1789, as the war finally penetrated England, however, the YWWPE Act would be pushed aside - yet again delaying the freedom to use magic to all children..."

Hermione sighed as her interest in the program wavered. She shoved aside the dirty plate that had held her dinner and stumbled to her feet, wrapping her bath-robe tightly around her.

"Off," she grumbled sleepily, watching as the hologram flickered and vanished, along with the sound, leaving her flat empty and silent.

She crawled reluctantly off her couch, and shoved her hands in the pockets of her faded yellow housecoat. Stepping gingerly over the pre-Christmas debris that scattered the floor, she made her way to the window, over which a shade was tightly pulled. Throwing open the shade, she squinted miserably at the light of day flooded her apartment that just moments ago had been dark as a vault.

"Morning," she moaned, through a pepper storm of coughs. Slumping wearily against the wall, she looked at the clock.

It had been a day since the office had closed for the holidays - or, rather, forever - and a day since Hermione had been attacked by a sudden bout of winter flu. She had spent most of the last day in bed, or on the couch, flipping miserably through channels, while sipping tepid tea and laced with Pepperup Potion (which failed to get her anywhere in the quest for strength). Now she looked around her dingy apartment sadly. There was no way she could travel like this - even using Floo powder or a Portkey would drain her of her remaining strength. She'd had to wand call the Weasleys and tell them she would delay her visit until getting better. Of course, Ron had insisted that if she wasn't fit enough to come by Christmas eve, the entire clan would apparate into Diagon Alley and they'd all spend the night at the Leaky Cauldron. And, of course, Hermione had refused to make the family go through the trouble, and assured them all that she would make it to the Burrow by Christmas Eve, come hell, high water, or the return of the dark lord.

She sighed and drooped into a chair amidst another hacking fit. Her whole body shook, and she grasped at the hem of her housecoat desperately until the coughing ceased, and her body, drained of its energy, lolled back into the chair.

In the meanwhile, she'd be spending one of the most miserable pre-Christmas weekend of her life. When she should be at the Burrow with Harry and the Weasleys, laughing, joking around and having fun, here she was stuck in this cold, lonely apartment with nothing to do but lie around and cough herself to death.

Oh dear. How would she get through it?

Looking around in boredom, she thought briefly about phoning her father. But the idea was immediately brushed aside by a wave of bitter, sad feelings. Trying to forget about it, she cast about for another, more cheerful subject. Immediately, Harry's new romance with unlikely lover Milicent Bullstrode came to mind.

Immediately she began laughing, holding her sides because the imagery was too hilarious. Harry and Milicent! Now that was a funny thing to think about.

Thinking about Harry made Hermione think about their last visit, at the movies, when they had run into Draco Malfoy and his simpering girlfriend Blaise Zabini - and what Harry had said about 'everyone changing'.

Hermione reached for her cup of tea and downed a few hearty gulps. Maybe Harry was right - maybe even Draco Malfoy could experience a change for the better. After all, the day they had signed off the company, he had been polite and respectful - the perfect gentleman! But then again, Hermione reminded herself, that could have been just an act for Silver's benefit. More likely than not. But still...the way he had looked into her eyes when he had complimented her! Whoa, that was way more than a compliment, honey, an annoyingly condescending voice sounded off inside Hermione's head. That man paid big-time just to land you on his staff! That was something else, and you better believe it!

Oh shut up, Hermione thought, blushing. Her eyes strayed back up to the clock on the wall. It was a magical clock she had gotten from Ginny a while ago for her birthday, which read out all the important events occuring at each given time. At seven, it had 'Waking up and getting coffee', at five, 'Arriving from Work' and whenever she had a visitor approaching, it would tell her that too. The hands pointed at the space where twelve o'clock would be on a normal clock, but instead something strange and new was written in its place. She got up abruptly and walked over to the wall.

Draco Malfoy Arriving at Doorstep.

Hermione gasped, and nearly lost her balance. She blinked twice and looked again, just to make sure she was hallucinating. It was still there.

Dear God.

She looked frantically around her flat, at the crazy, slatternly disorder and panicked. She was in a housecoat drinking cold tea, and vestiges of last night's dinner were still clinging to the crusty plate and glass sitting on top of the coffee table. Her house was a wreck...not to mention she hadn't washed her hair since getting sick... She held up a piece of her hair and sniffed. Okay. But what about the mess? How could she let Draco have the pleasure to see her like this, miserable and practically having a nervous break down? He was probably here to gloat anyhow. God, I should have known!

She smacked herself on her head and hurriedly slung off her housecoat, grabbing an old, albeit clean, Backstreet Wizards T-shirt and climbing into it. She scampered around the room, piling all the dirty dishes into her arms and running into the kitchenette to bury them in the sink, while using one hand to pull up a pair of blue jeans. She heard foot-steps on the steps and took a peep into her disastrous bedroom and quickly slammed the door shut, just before hearing the ominous taps of doom coming from the front of the flat.

Swallowing, she made her way to the door, and opened it, leaving the chain on.

"Who is it?" she snapped, her voice rasping from the effects of the flu. A tall young man materialized out of the darkness. Draco was dressed in his work suit, and carrying a large bouquet of daffodils, a huge smile on his face. Hermione pinched herself to make sure she wasn't having some kind of sick nightmare.

"It's Draco Malfoy..."

"Flowers?" she spat, interrupting. "Good god, Malfoy, never thought I'd see you with daffodils."

"Yeah," he said, grimacing down at the flowers. "Join the club."

"Come to gloat?" she asked icily. "Because if you are, I'm rather busy at the moment."

"You are not busy!" he laughed scathingly. "That's ridiculous. What in the world could you be doing?"

"Okay, Mr. Ferret, you don't have to own a gigantic firm to be busy!" she retorted. "I just so happen to be...er...uh..." He was grinning. "Christmas wrapping!"

"Oh yeah?" he challenged, eyebrow raised. "How interesting. May I see?"

"No," she spat. "Go away."

"Can I come in?"

"No."

"Please?"

"No!"

"I brought you flowers, though...don't you want them?" he asked. She looked down at the flowers reluctantly. He looked like he might be hurt if she didn't take them. She wondered whether that just made her want to reject them even more.

"Why would you bring me flowers?" she asked, looking suspiciously up at him.

"I heard you were sick."

"From who?"

"Not the point," he said. "Please, can't I come in? For just a moment?" She sighed and unlocked the door.

"Okay, fine." Opening the door all the way, Hermione stepped back to let him through. He walked carefully through the door, looked around, surveying his surroundings with a hint of amusement, but was silent, nevertheless. She crossed her arms and leveled him with a disconcerting frown, and he swallowed nervously.

"Um...nice place you have here," he murmured. "Interesting attire." His eyes lit up with amusement when he saw her shirt. Defensively, Hermione grabbed a sweatshirt lolling on a nearby chair and wrapped it over the shimmering logo of the boy band.

"Vanessa left it here," she grumbled, glowering.

"Of course," he nodded. "Well then." He regarded her thoughtfully, like he was trying to think of something to say. His eyes trailed up to her pale, haggard face and his lips tightened in sympathy. "God, you look terrible."

"Thanks," she spat sarcastically, eyes narrowing.

"No, that's not what I meant...not at all!" he exclaimed, eyes widening in realization. Hermione saw a flicker of sadness, sympathy, in his eyes. "I...I just..."

Hermione felt a cough rise in her throat and in a second she was doubled over, hacking violently and covering her mouth.

"Oh jeez," he exclaimed. "What should I do? Water. You need water..." Running his hands through his hair, he scampered across the kitchenette, grabbed the nearest glass and filled it from the tap. Then he rushed back to her side and handed it to her, helping her to pour it down her throat.

After a moment, her coughs subsided and she gasped gratefully, her body reeling from the intensity of the fit. As the room spun before her, she leaned against the wall, and clutched her wheeling head. Draco saw her wavering and impulsively scooped her into his arms just before she collapsed.

Before she knew what was happening, Hermione was being carried through her apartment by Draco, into her bedroom, where he laid her gently on her bed. Feeling groggy and drugged, she climbed under her blanket and closed her eyes.

"You go to sleep," she heard Draco saying. "I'll let myself out. Don't worry."

*

She didn't worry. Instead, she dropped right into a deep, sound sleep, totally unaware that she was doing so in the presence of her...almost-worst enemy...the man she had just minutes before been scampering about to impress with her 'composure' and 'solidarity'.

No, Hermione seemed blissfully ignorant of the way she had behaved in front of Draco (not at all her fault, of course). Had she been a bit clearer in the head, she would have cursed herself for first of all running into a coughing fit with him in the room, secondly letting him pick her up, and thirdly, leaving him unchaperoned in her flat where he could be sorting through her personal files and digging up her dirt, or something Malfoy-ish like that.

She was much too sick to be thinking any of this, as was the case. In fact, she was in no condition to do cursing of any sort, and so slept heavily for a long, tedious while.

When she woke, still a bit groggy and feeling a little disoriented, she stretched, yawned, and remembered the events of earlier that day. Looking around her in confusion, she saw that she was in her bedroom - or at least a room that looked remotely like it, but was a lot cleaner than when she had fallen asleep. The dirty clothing had been swept away and washed, papers reorganized, books shelved, clutter put in its rightful places and the floor scrubbed to shining. She had new sheets and quilts on her bed, and on the nightstand at her side, the bouquet of daffodils were sitting happily in a white vase while golden evening light sliced through the open curtains of the window.

After a moment of rubbing her eyes, she swung herself onto her chest and leaned over the bed, lifting the dust skirt to peer underneath. The clothes and rubbish she had kicked there were gone, too. Hermione squinted in confusion, wondering what had been going on while she was asleep.

She heard a clattering of a dish in the kitchenette, and then a crash as something metallic hit the floor, and a sworn exclamation. Jumping, she sat up, swung her legs over the bed and prepared to rise. But as her feet touched the floor, she rollicked violently backwards, heaving a sigh of sudden exhaustion. Realizing she probably shouldn't be walking, she climbed back onto the bed.

"Awake?" somebody called cheerfully, and a dark, muss-haired head poked around the door frame, green eyes twinkling.

"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed joyously, grinning. The man grinned, put down the soapy pan he had been holding and went over to envelope her in a big hug.

"How are you doing, sleepy head?" he asked, seating himself on the edge of her mattress.

"Okay - better, definitely. Why are you here?" she asked.

"Malfoy called the Weasley's by wand," Harry shrugged. "He said you were really sick, and I came over as fast as I could."

"Oh, Harry," Hermione said, smiling. "You didn't have to." His eyes widened in innocence.

"I know! Malfoy said he'd be happy to take care of you, but thought you might consider it an invasion of your privacy - especially since you'll be colleagues now," Harry explained.

"Malfoy? Take care of me?" Hermione gasped incredulously.

"Yup," he nodded.

"Well," she laughed, looking around the clean room. "You've obviously done a great job yourself. Who needs Malfoy?" He looked nonplused.

"What do you mean by that?" he asked.

"The room - the flat, it's all so clean!" she exclaimed, waving her hand at the shining floors and neatly organized room.

"I didn't do that," Harry said, shaking his head. "It was like that when I came in. Honestly, Hermione, you had a messy flat? I wish I could have seen that!"

"What..." Hermione stammered. "Then...then how did it get like this?" Harry grinned as if to say I-Told-You-So.

"Malfoy's house elf, I guess."

"Malfoy?"

"He even left a note - you're supposed to call him when you wake up," he said.

"Malfoy?" she repeated dumbly.

"I told you," he snickered, sliding off her bed. "Everybody changes, Herm."

"And I told you," she fumed irately under her breath as he swept out of the room, "that Malfoy will always be an evil prat!"

But she really wasn't so certain anymore.

*

Two hot showers, a nap, and a meal later, Hermione was feeling much better. She felt much more rested, and Harry had helped her look up a potion that successfully repressed her incessant coughing. She had sent Harry back to Weasleys as soon as she was on her feet, telling him she would rest a few more nights in her flat and then come in time for Christmas Eve.

The sun slowly sunk beneath the horizon, and Hermione lit her lamps one by one. The hologram TV buzzed in the living room, but she had long abandoned it as a source of entertainment. After making herself a pot of soup and eating till she was full, she looked at the clock and saw it was only seven. Not feeling at all tired, she finished cleaning the dishes and pots. When she was done, a small piece of paper caught her eye taped to the cabinets.

Hermione - I called Potter. Didn't think you'd want me hanging around here -Call me when you get up, just so I know you're okay.

Hermione grinned slightly. He was acting so out of character lately, but she couldn't figure out why it didn't unnerve her. It didn't seem like he was faking it, though it should, in fact it felt...like she was finally getting to know the real Draco.

She looked at her clock again and decided to take her broom out for a spin around the Alley. She was out of good books, so might as well stop by the library, and maybe she would even drop by to see what kinds of things a rich, successful wizard like Malfoy did on the Friday night before Christmas.

Thirty minutes later she was whizzing over the dark, empty Rochester Drive. Hermione lowered her broom as she saw the tall, sprawling colonial looming at the end of the road. She brushed over the gates, and landed softly on the granite walk, hopping the steps to the formidable black oak doors.

Rap. Rap. Rap.

Hermione waited, drawing her thick winter cloak around her tightly. After a few minutes, the door opened slightly, and the thin, greenish face of a house elf appeared a couple of feet off the ground.

"Is Mr. Malfoy in?" she asked, leaning down to better see the tiny face. It scrunched up and nodded hurriedly.

"The Master is having dinner in his suite," he replied in a squeaky voice. "I will tell him he has a lady caller."

"Oh no," Hermione insisted. "Look, don't bother him. I'll just go up myself."

"Go up...yourself?" the elf asked dumbly. She smiled assuredly.

"Don't worry, he's kind of...expecting me." The house elf took a moment to consider this, finally decided it would be okay, and swung the door open, admitting her. She stepped inside the large marble foyer and gasped, seeing the long corridor of gilded mirrors and the grand, crimson-carpeted staircase that wound up into the higher levels of the house.

The elf helped her out of her cloak and pointed her up the staircase.

"His suite is on the fifth floor, miss, inside the gold doors." With that, the little creature scurried away mysteriously, apparently busy somewhere else inside the bowels of the mansion. She grinned to herself, wondering how she was ever going to correctly navigate her way around this monstrous home, and began up the stairs.

After five flights, two trace-backs, three wrong doors and numerous dark, narrow, ominous passages which led to absolutely nowhere, Hermione found herself standing outside the twin golden doors of Malfoy's suite. The handles of the door were silver snakes, and carved in the face of the door was a large M. Laughing slightly at this characteristic familial pride, she knocked.

There was a soft curse from within, a clattering of dishes, and foot-steps. Suddenly the door swung abruptly open, and a pale face peeked out and snapped in an exasperated, annoyed voice, "What is it now?" Hermione could not help it as her prepared words dissolved into laughter at Malfoy's irate face. He quickly realized who it was and his face softened, and he smiled at her amusement.

"I'm sorry, I thought you were that house elf back to bother me again," he said, shrugging. He waited impatiently for her to stop laughing, but when she didn't, said, "I'm glad to see you're better again, but would you please tell me what is so funny?"

Hermione sobered quickly, shaking her head.

"I have absolutely no idea," she informed him and put her hands on her hips. "Well? Are you just going to stand there or are you going to let me in?"

He blushed - something Hermione didn't know he ever did.

"Oh, of course, I was just eating dinner," he murmured, stepping aside and letting her pass. Hermione entered the sitting room of his suite with a twinge of amusement on her lips as she observed the sumptuous seating arrangements, Slytherin colors and bold, unimaginative display of wealth. On a table in front of the Hologram TV was a plate of what had been Draco's dinner, lying abandoned next to the worn, open copy of Kurt Vonnegut Jr.'s "Breakfast of Champions".

She walked over to the table and picked up the book casually, flipping it over as if she had never seen it before.

"American Muggle literature, Malfoy?" she asked snidely. "I would have never guessed." He grinned in slight embarrassment and snatched the book away from her.

"It's really good," he admitted. "Ever read any of his stuff?"

"Are you kidding?" she balked, eyes shining. "When I was ten, I was obsessed with Vonnegut."

"Oh really?" Draco asked, sitting down on the couch. "What happened?"

"I discovered Bram Stoker," she grinned, sitting beside him.

"Another great!" he exclaimed, beaming. "Pity he had such an odd perception of vampires, though. They aren't all blood-sucking demons, you know." Hermione allowed herself a half-smile.

"Hey, I never did get a chance to thank you for...er, helping me," she said.

"Knock me down a notch to Second Worst Enemy, and we'll call it even," he laughed suavely.

"You already were," she said. His eyes widened in confusion.

"Was I?"

"I'm an Auror, you prat," she grinned. "You-Know-Who is my worst enemy. That makes you second already!"

"He gives you a job, though," he pointed out.

"Hm, I should have considered that when making my worst enemy list," she said thoughtfully. "Oh well. Too bad."

Just then there was a hesitant knock of the door and Draco rose to get it. The little house elf stood there, panting from exertion.

"Would...Master...have his cocoa...now?" the poor thing gasped between breaths.

"Yes, thank you Quentin."

"And will...the lady...be joining...you?"

"Yes, I believe she will. We will be served in the dining room, thank you very much," Draco nodded curtly. The little elf nodded and put a finger to his temple, as it committing this master's words to memory.

"Yes, sir."

"Oh, and Quentin?" Draco asked as the elf turned to leave.

"Yes, Master?"

"I told you before, you can use my broomstick on the stairs. It's in the foyer."

"Oh, Master, I would not dream of touching such a valuable item," the elf gasped, eyes bulging. "I'm sure Master Lucius would be displeased." Hermione's ears pricked up immediately and she turned her intent eyes to her host's half-turned away face. She thought she saw the flicker of a pained grimace hovering for an instant on Draco's face.

"Master Lucius is not here, Quentin," he said softly. "This is not his home."

"You still have contact with Lucius, Draco?" Hermione asked incredulously when the elf was gone. "He's a Death Eater...it's against Code." Her eyes narrowed suspiciously as Draco's hand went instinctively to the forearm of his robe.

"House elves," Draco sighed, shrugging off her concern. "They don't realize this stuff. I haven't seen Father for a decade, nearly - but they have their loyalty, and they still believe they'll serve him again." With a sigh, he rose, and extended a hand.

"Join me for cocoa?" he asked, smiling widely. She shrugged her shoulders, storing away her new suspicion to the back of her memory for later rumination.

"Of course." She laughed. "Poor little Drakey has to have his cocoa before going to bed!" she teased. He rolled his eyes and led her out of the room.

"Whatever, Granger, take your cheap shots at me while you still can..."

The rest of his threat was smothered by the eruptions of both of their laughter.

Ch. 10

Hermione sat in one of the crimson plush chairs in the dim office, many floors above Diagon Alley, watching the winter rain slat down from the large plate glass window. She fiddled impatiently with the hem of her beige traveling cloak, and chewed her lip thoughtfully.

The door opened suddenly behind her and she turned to see Silver slip inside her office, bright purple robes swishing as she closed the door, flashed Hermione a warm smile and took her place behind the desk.

"Ms. Granger," she said, eyes sparkling, as her hand enveloped the other woman's in a welcoming handshake. "I'm glad you could find time before your vacation to visit me."

"It's nothing really," Hermione said, smiling. "After all, you are letting me use the ministry floo system to get to the Weasleys."

"Well, we wouldn't want one of our top Aurors to be splinched while trying the Apparate with a flu, you know," she laughed.

"Mya," Hermione began, clearing her throat. "I think I can guess what this is all about." The woman arched a dark eyebrow.

"That is?"

"My firm's case...against Lucius Malfoy," she replied firmly.

"Yet again, you have outguessed us all, Ms. Granger," her superior said with a warm smile. Hermione trained her brown eyes on her clasped hands and took a deep breath before looking up.

"Look," she said. "If the Ministry wants me to drop the case because I'm with Dragon Enterprises, that's fine."

"Ms. Granger!" Silver exclaimed, pleased. "I'm thrilled. I thought you would be reluctant to give a case to another supervisor."

"Ordinarily, I would be, Mya," Hermione nodded. "However, I think I know why it would be best for me to not bring the case to Dragon Enterprises." Silver looked at her solemnly.

"It's not that we at the Ministry don't trust Draco," Silver said quietly. "The bonds of kinship are thick and complex. We know where Draco's loyalties lie in morality - he is sworn to the light side, and we believe him fully. But nobody can say where his loyalties will lie when he has to choose between the success of his job...and the life and freedom of his father." She sighed. "Nobody can predict it...and I, for one, would rather not try my luck on this."

"Exactly," Hermione nodded. "Draco might be liable to do anything to save his father - even if he does hate the dark side, and hasn't spoken to the man since Narcissa died - he's still family. He could mess up any leads we have on finding Lucius - our biggest tie to Voldemort." She took a breath. "This is why I have to ask you a huge favor."

Silver looked at her suspiciously. "Go on."

"Don't give the case to another firm." As soon as the words were out of her mouth, Hermione wondered what she was doing.

"What?" Silver gasped. "Hermione! We can't do that!"

"Let me explain!" she exclaimed. "I will take the case." She saw the testy look in Silver's eyes and hurried on. "Not with Dragon - secretly! Vanessa will help. We're the only ones who knew the key information on Lucius, anyhow. No one will need to know."

"Ms. Granger, I don't think..."

"Mya," Hermione said, shaking her head. "There is no one...no one...who knows the Lucius case better than I do. Vanessa and I have devoted our careers to this case - we've been on it together for two years, I've been on it for five. If anyone can crack this case, it's me."

"What makes you so sure of this?" Silver asked, her eyes flickering with questions. Hermione prepared to lay all her cards on the table.

"I have reason to believe that Draco may still be in contact with his old friends..."

"Hermione!" Silver exclaimed dangerously.

"...How does he get his contacts?" she challenged, rising to her feet. "He's got the most contacts in the Ministry! Where does he get his leads? He certainly doesn't get them from the light side!" Silver also rose.

"Ms. Granger, you realize you are challenging the integrity of a member of this administration? A co-worker? I will not tolerate that kind of behavior!" She slammed her fist on the desk for emphasis.

"Please, Mya," Hermione pleaded. "I can use Draco's contacts to get to Lucius - I just know it! Please, you have to let me do this!" Silver's face darkened softly, and she swallowed.

"And if I don't?"

Hermione felt tears rising in her eyes and she gripped the desk angrily.

"Mya," she gasped, "did Dumbledore or Vanessa ever tell you how my mother died?"

"Some muggle disease...cancer, right?" Silver asked. Hermione took a ragged breath and concentrated on her fingers.

"No." She shook her head, blinking back tears. "She was murdered. By Death Eaters. The Killing Curse." She looked up at Mya's face, which softened with sympathy, her warm brown eyes flickering with sorrow.

"Oh, Hermione," she sighed. "I'm so sorry...I had no idea!"

"It was a warning, Silver," Hermione continued in a whisper. "I got too close - so close! A little bit more and I'd have had him. So they raided my home - I don't know how they knew where my parents lived. But Mom was the only one there. And this...just confirmed to me that Lucius was the key to Voldemort, and the entire war." She swallowed. "I could never tell anyone - not even Harry or Ron - because nobody could know that Lucius was being tracked. So I told everyone that the cancer relapsed. Our office was ransacked, our files stolen. Dumbledore thought it would be a good idea to lay low for a while - not give up, but just stop making presentations to the ministry. He thought someone in the ministry was giving information to Lucius."

"You suspected Draco," Mya said slowly.

"At first, yes. That's why I didn't want to join Draco's firm. I blamed him for my mother..." She shook her head. "I don't know what to think, now. The only person on this earth who knows Lucius' past and habits as well as I do is Draco. So you see, you were right - we could be the team that ends the war. With my background knowledge and his contacts, we could crack Lucius' cover, and with him, bring down Voldemort." She lowered her voice to a whisper. "Draco wouldn't even know!"

Mya sighed and sat wearily down in her chair. Hermione followed suit, feeling drained after her confessional. She watched her superior intently as she rubbed her temples.

"Okay," Silver whispered, nodding. "Okay, you can have it." A grin spread across the younger woman's face. Silver looked up. "But remember, Ms. Granger, being an Auror is not about getting revenge. It is not about you or your mother anymore. It is about the collective fight. Remember that though you would willingly give your life to catch Lucius, and your mother died at his hands, many others may feel the repercussions of your actions - those close to you and distant. So, and mark my words, do not work out of anger. Work out of dedication."

"Yes ma'am," Hermione nodded. Mya grinned.

"Now, I think you have an appointment with a fireplace, Ms. Granger," she said with a laugh. Hermione checked her watch and started, jumping up and grabbing her bags.

"Oh my goodness!" she exclaimed. "Thank you, Mya! I'll see you in a week!"

"Remember to speak carefully!" the older woman yelled, watching as Hermione dashed down the corridor.

*

Ch. 11

"I don't believe that prat," Ron sniffed indignantly as he opened the door, his arms crossed against his chest as her surveyed his two best friends with a look of incredulous disdain.

"What?" Harry exclaimed, laughing.

"I can't believe he had the nerve...the bloody gall....to just knock on Hermione's door...after all he's done!" the redhead shrieked. Hermione and Harry both rolled their eyes.

"Well hello to you too!" Hermione said cheerily, shoving past him with her arms burdened with presents.

"Ron," Molly Weasley yelled, her head poking out from the kitchen in a fuzzy cloud of orange red, "close that door already! You're freezing the house!"

"Yeah," Fred seconded, jumping up from the couch to help Hermione and Harry with their packages. "You can interrogate them later."

"Hey, Fred, George," Harry nodded, beaming. "How's the off-season?"

"Brilliant, mate," George piped up, appearing beside his twin. "Giving us lots of time to patent new recipes to sell to Honeydukes, of course."

"Harry! Hermione!" three male voices shouted simultaneously. Everyone looked up at the top of the rickety stair case, where the two older Weasley boys, Bill and Charlie, and Mr. Weasley, were, tromping down to the living room laden with colorfully-wrapped boxes and bags, grinning at their guests.

"Wonderful! Wonderful to see you two!" Mr. Weasley exclaimed, depositing his packages quickly under the scrawny, threadbare tree that was leaning dangerously to the side which had been coated with gigantic red and green glass balls. "Do you like the tree?" he asked, following Hermione's curious gaze. "I've been reading up on some old Muggle Christmas traditions, and decided to rig this up. Molly thinks it's rubbish, of course, but I think it's quite brilliant," he explained excitedly, rubbing his hands together and admiring his handiwork. Hermione and Harry exchanged glances.

"Well," Harry said cheerily, "I think it's terrific for your first tree."

"I honestly don't know why anyone would put a tree in their house," Ron grumbled. "It's such an eyesore."

"Oh, I think it's great," Charlie grinned. "Gives the house a little bit of the out-doors. Makes me feel right at home, actually."

"You would," Molly Weasley interrupted, emerging from the kitchen covered in flour, a large white apron covering her holiday robes. "I think it's ridiculous - and it's going to be a nuisance to clean up."

Arthur Weasley opened his mouth to protest, and the two adults disappeared into the kitchen to argue by themselves. Hermione and Harry deposited their presents under the sad looking tree and Bill conjured coffee, and they all sat down to catch up on what one another had been doing over the last couple of months.

"Where's Ginny?" Hermione asked a few minutes into their conversation. "I haven't seen her since Harry dragged me to the women's college Quidditch cup at her University."

"Which was a terrific game, mind you," Harry put in.

"Gin's staying with Seamus' family in Ireland this year," Bill said, conjuring a few packets of sugar from the kitchen and watching them rip apart in midair, sprinkling his black coffee.

"I thought they'd broken up," Fred said, looking up.

"Last week," Ron nodded. "Got together again a few days ago."

"Crazy kids," Charlie shrugged.

"And Percy?" Harry asked. "I haven't seen him, where's he?" The twins exchanged glances.

"Working," Fred said, with a roll of his eyes. "Or so he claims." Ron rolled his eyes.

"The twins think Percy has some kind of romantic involvement keeping him away for the holidays," he explained.

"Speaking of boyfriends and girlfriends," Hermione said, looking at Harry, "When are we meeting...."

"Oh!" Harry exclaimed, interrupting her. "Oh yes...well....she's on a spiritual retreat in the Japanese mountains for the holidays, actually, but I'll be bringing her around for Easter, probably."

"Girlfriend?" Ron exclaimed. "Harry! What have you been keeping from me?" All the rest of the Weasleys looked up curiously, and Hermione squirmed under Harry's glare, wondering if she shouldn't have mentioned anything.

"Oh, it's really nothing," he shrugged. "Hermione," he hissed suddenly, snatching her arm and dragging her to her feet. "Would you come with me for a moment...?" Hermione grinned nervously at the Weasley boys as Harry dragged her from the room and down the hallway.

"You haven't told him yet?" Hermione exclaimed, as soon as they were alone.

"Are you crazy?" Harry nearly shouted. "No I haven't told him! Can you imagine what he'd do?" She could see his eyes bulging even in the half-light.

"I can't believe this!" she laughed. "You were preaching to me about befriending Malfoy, forgiving and all that crap, and you're too scared to tell him you're dating a Slytherin!"

"I..." Harry tried weakly. He gave her a sheepish look and sighed in resignation. "Okay, okay. I'm a total hypocrite."

"Y'think?" she exclaimed. He shrugged and shoved his hands in the pockets of his robes, shuffling from one foot to the other.

"Well, at least you're not in love with Slytherin," he grumbled. "I only asked you to be tolerable."

Hermione gave him a watery grin.

"Yeah," she said as they walked back to the living room. "It's not like I'm in love with him or anything."

*

Hermione stayed the rest of the holiday week with the Weasleys. Mr. Weasley had insisted she and Harry teach the family Muggle Christmas traditions, so much of the vacation was spent leading them in off-tune versions of carols, untangling cords of fairy lights, nailing the twins' old socks to the fireplace mantle and explaining how to wrap gifts without magic. They laughed, chatted, played charades and even witnessed a cameo appearance by Ginny and her on-again-off-again boyfriend, Seamus. As much fun as it had been, Hermione was all too glad to be heading home by Friday morning, excusing herself by saying she had a lot of work to do before her new office would open up again.

Which was not a lie. Draco had taken the liberty of calling a post-Holiday "head" meeting on Sunday, and Hermione already had a lot of work to clear up before the rest of the staff returned from their vacations. She was aware she hadn't written to "London" in a few weeks, and was beginning to miss their conversations. She was also eager to begin her work on the covert Lucius case, and saw the weekend as a great opportunity to snoop around the deserted office and hopefully find some tip-offs as to Draco's contacts. Also, deep inside her heart where honesty reigned, she could possibly have less professional reasons for wanting to return to London early. Namely, a certain handsome, smart, surprisingly affable employer (who just happened to be one of her worst enemies) named Draco Malfoy.

Not that she would have ever admitted that to herself.

So, whatever the reasoning, she found herself pedaling through the deserted streets of Diagon Alley's business district (she preferred a little exercise every once in a while - besides, her broom was rather temperamental) early Saturday morning. The backpack slung over her shoulder conveyed a letter, a small cardboard box of photographs and pens she kept on her desk and, inside a secret compartment in the lining of the pack, the files of the Lucius case.

She wheeled her bike to a stop beside the huge, formidable white tower office building, carrying huge silver letters on the front that read "Dragon Enterprises" and flashed intermittently green. Hermione looked down at the business card in her hand, which read the same words. Beneath it, the Dragon emblem, a menacing-looking snake, wound around the company's slogan: "Where the ambitious come first".

Hermione almost laugh out loud. Only Draco would come up with a slogan that pretentious. But, she reflected, he did need something catchy to put up on the billboards that encouraged investors to buy his stocks on the Diagon Alley stock exchange.

She bypassed the fancy-looking broom parking garage and set her bike against the front steps, conjuring a cord and using a locking spell to secure the bike to the silver railing. Then she took her backpack and hurried up the steps into the front lobby.

The secretary's black cherry desk was deserted, but on the front, next to a bundled pile of witch's Bridal magazines marked "trash", was a copper nameplate reading "Blaise Zabini". Hermione raised her eyebrows, cast a look around the empty lobby, and slipped behind the desk.

A Muggle laptop sat on the desk among piles of disorganized files, no doubt with a magical hook-up like the ones Hermione worked from. She took out her wand, tapped the keyboard and whispered, "Excitarum, laptop." When the machine stayed silent, she began rustling around hurriedly in the desk drawers, until she found what she was looking for underneath a self-help booklet called On the Rebound: How to Deal with Being Single Again. Blaise's wand was long, thin and ebony, and when Hermione gave it a test shake, it spouted a few pink fireworks. She wondered absently why Blaise would leave her wand at the office, but then figured she had just forgotten. She always had been a little air-headed.

Hermione repeated the opening spell with Blaise's wand, and the computer stirred slowly to life. After a few seconds of furious whirring, a mechanical voice asked for her password. Hermione clenched her fists, frustrated. How was she to know the password? Then, a small grin began creeping across her face.

She put her fingers to the keyboard and typed in a guess.

"Confirmed," the computer voice said. "The password is IloveDraco. Please wait."

Suppressing a snicker of satisfaction, Hermione sat back to wait. When the computer had fully booted, she accessed Draco's files and ran a search through his personal contacts. With lightning-quick skills gained from years of experience with magical computers, she was able to hack into his personal database, and scan it for unusual names.

The list was nearly clean, except for one Zabini had obviously forgotten to hide. It wasn't much, but it assured Hermione that Draco was still talking to his old buddies, and would probably be hiding some much more important names in his own office. She jotted down the name and information on a slip of paper and looked at it.

Goyle, Vincent.

She tucked the paper in the pocket of her sweatshirt with a smile, logged off the computer, put the wand back in it's place and wiped the keyboard with her sweatshirt (always coming in handy!). Satisfied that she had left her presence traceless, she went over to the fireplaces that lined the lobby walls in place of elevators, little chrome slots full of floo powder, and decided to have a look in Draco Malfoy's private quarters.

*

The office was large, and offered a sumptuous view of Diagon Alley. The movers had been in yesterday to furnish the place in expensive Italian imports recommended by Draco's own personal interior designer. But Pansy flitted around the room, checking frantically to see that everything was in place, that the curtains were exactly the right color (crimson and gold, to his quiet disgust) and that everything was exactly right.

"Calm down, Pans," Draco sighed, rolling his eyes. "She'll love it. For heaven's sake, quit rattling those drawers, you're driving me insane!"

"I just think they're a bit loose, Draco," the black-haired woman complained. "What if they fall off when she uses them? What a disaster that would be!"

"Indeed," he drawled sarcastically. "You're absolutely right. She's one of the most experienced Aurors in London, she's battled more Dark Wizards than you can even name, but she probably wouldn't know to perform a simple fixing spell on drawer, for God's sake!" The other woman looked up, flushed from anxiety, and sighed, waving her hands in frazzled gestures.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry - you're right," she exclaimed. "This is just a huge investment for the company and I want everything to go right." She shot him a meaningful look and dug around in her purse, retrieving a small bottle of tiny white pills. Draco looked on in vague amusement as she took off the cap, and guzzled a few, glaring at him. "Don't look at me like that! It's not contraband!"

She strode to her side and took the bottle from her hands as she continued rummaging through her purse.

"Lockhart's Special Relaxing Pills?" he read incredulously, looking up at her. She was lighting a cigarette and puffing away angrily.

"I'm under a lot of stress," she grumbled, taking a long drag.

"Apparently," Draco smirked, shaking the almost-empty bottle and handing it back to her. "Look, Pans, it's Christmas," he began coaxingly.

"Oh, God, don't get sappy on me."

"Well, okay, be the antichrist. But it's your vacation - and you've earned it. So why don't you apparate home, get out your copy of Pretty Witch and drink yourself into happy oblivion until Sunday afternoon," he suggested in a sweetly patronizing voice. "And I'll take care of Granger and the company until then, okay?" She gave him a quizzical look. "Oh come on, Pans, I own the business! I can handle it! You can relax for one weekend, I promise!"

"I don't know," she said uncertainly. Draco grinned in encouragement.

"Remind me, did I not give you the best Christmas present you've ever gotten since you became an atheist and your family disowned you?" She smiled sheepishly.

"Five hundred shares in WizardCom," she nodded happily.

"Exactly," he said. "And what did you give me? Nothing! So now I'm giving you a chance to give me something equally as nice. NOW GET OUT AND GIVE ME SOME PEACE!"

"Fine!" she huffed. "I know when I'm not wanted!"

"Finally," he breathed, eyes rolling heavenward. She shot him a glare.

"Remember not to OD on those pills, Parkinson!" he yelled after her as she began dismantling before his eyes. "I want to see you at the office meeting on Sunday, no hangover excuses allowed!"

With a final pop, she vanished.

*

Hermione was not feeling very dignified at all.

She was crouched behind the desk of her new boss, on her hands and knees, fully immersed in a tangle of cords so thick it was reminiscent of the time Mr. Weasley tried to take apart her company laptop while she was visiting. But, unlike Mr. Weasley, at least Hermione knew what she was doing.

"It's a simple matter of rewiring the databases on the hard drive," she murmured to herself, voice slightly slurred due to the cord she had clutched in her teeth while she busily worked on two more with her hands. "That way, if I can dismantle the protective charms, I can hack into the M drive, without detection." She was glad she had taken those extra Mechanical Magic courses for credits during her last year at Hogwarts.

Her ears pricked up as she heard the floor of the office creak suddenly, and looked up. A figure was approaching through the hallway. Dropping everything, she ducked back under the desk and wedged herself underneath the wires, holding her breath.

"Note to self: enroll Parkinson in Magical Substance Abusers Anonymous and make another attempt to convince her to give up red meat," a familiar voice drawled faintly. "Also, get self ear-plugs, and make sure Granger knows simple fixing charm, as Parkinson seems to think entire building is falling apart." Hermione could not suppress a loud, short laugh at this. The newcomer froze, his foot-steps ceasing, and she went cold with fear.

In a moment, a pale blonde head was hanging upside down over the edge of the desk, two sharp silver eyes peering curiously at her, crouching amongst a confusing mess of computer wires.

"Oh, hello Ms. Granger," Draco said, eyes widening in mock surprise. "Got lost? You are aware that your office is down the hall, are you not?"

"I...er..."

"Well, I suppose things are confusing for you," he interrupted. "Seeing as your office didn't even have different rooms, save a complicated floo system. I would have thought, however, you'd know how to operate it...but...I'll give you the benefit of the doubt here, Ms. Granger."

"Dr..."

"I do, however," he continued, eyes flickering with amusement, "find myself wondering how you got underneath my desk with my thousand Galleon computer system in your teeth...." Hermione grinned sweetly, spat out the wires, and thought fast.

"I...er, I got to my office all right, Mr. Malfoy," she explained. "But I couldn't seem to access the network, so I thought I'd just climb in the root and see if I could fix the problem. But, no worries, it's all fixed. Bug's out." She flashed him a convincing smile and emerged, stumbling to her feet. He too straightened up, hands in pockets, and watched her with satisfied amusement.

"Oh, well then, I guess gratitude is in order on my part," he said, stretching out a hand. "Thank you ever so much." Hermione took his hand suspiciously, naturally wondering at his sickly-sweet trust that seemed almost a mockery of her quick alibi.

"I guess I'll be getting back to my office, then," she said, withdrawing her hand from his firm, warm clasp.

"Yes," he nodded, with a hint of reluctance. She turned and scooped up her backpack. Draco picked up the sweat shirt she had left on his desk and handed it to her with a small smirk. Their eyes locked for a moment, steely gray meeting warm brown, and neither removed their hands from the sweatshirt.

"I..." Draco began. Their trance was broken by the fluttering white movement falling from the sweatshirt pocket and settling on the ground. Hermione's eyes widened as she recognized it and she froze. The slip was folded into thirds so that only one word could be seen written in her tidy scrawl, but it was enough to make Draco pale suddenly and Hermione dive to snatch it up - Goyle.

She quickly crammed the paper into her pocket and whirled up to face him. He didn't say anything, but gone from his face was the bemused smirk. Instead, his lips were set in the all-too-familiar cold line, and his eyes were void of the glittering warmth their had held just seconds before, replaced by stony gray. Hermione flinched involuntarily as she looked at Draco, feeling as if she had taken a sudden trip with a Time-Turner back to their Hogwarts days, when she would spot him, Head Boy to her Head Girl, in the library, and they would swoop past with an indifferently cold glare. The only difference was that back then, this glare would have made her want to slap him on the face for being so cold, but now, all she felt was a sickly guilt inside her stomach, like a child caught stealing after she'd been trusted by herself.

"I'll...I've got work to do...." she stammered, and ran from the room, from the remorseful feeling that was gathering inside her, but most of all, from the betrayed hurt in her employer's cold eyes.

Chapter 12

Dear London,

Thank you for the special Christmas letter. (The moving pictures of Muggles decorating a tree came in very useful at a friend's house. You know the artist? I really liked the work.) It really cheered me up. As it is, I just got back from the office and I feel positively miserable. I think one of my friends suspects that I've been going behind their back. You know how it is in the industry. Everybody gets so suspicious - and rightly so, too - and everything gets mangled. I have to admit the situation was pretty incriminating, but right now I'd do anything to convince my friend that I wouldn't ever do anything like that to him. I know our pasts together have been rocky, but I trust him. Nevertheless, to convince him of my loyalty would mean revealing some deeply personal, painful information...and that, professionally, I cannot do. So all I can do is hope he'll trust me that I'm making the right decisions. Hard to do in this business, isn't it?

Sometimes I don't understand life. I spend my entire existence trying my hardest to do someone in, and then when I finally like them, they think I'm trying to do them in! It just isn't fair. "If life was fair we'd all be much less interesting people" - that's what my mother used to say. She died years ago.

I look forward to hearing from you. How was your Christmas?

Love,

HG

Draco stared blankly at the letter in his hands. The word "friend" seemed to leap off the page at him. He closed his eyes, wondering when he began to care whether anyone liked him or not.

He took a deep breath and got out his quill.

Dear HG,

I know your intentions were good, and I'm sure your friend trusts you very much. Perhaps his initial suspicion was just the product of too little sleep, which can always lead to an over-active imagination. I don't know how he could think, for a moment, that someone as obviously honest as you would be deceiving him! Or perhaps he just remembers the painful years in the past when you two weren't so friendly, and is afraid your camaraderie has all been a farce, a ploy to get closer to needed information - which must deeply hurt someone who has hardly ever had any real friends. Give him some time, and he'll get over it. Just don't give up on him. He'll come around, I'm sure.

Sometime Aurors tend to be suspicious more out of fear of finding out those whom they trusted were deceitful than defense or their life or career. It's hard to find people who can be trusted, and loneliness can be a terrible thing.

I'm glad you liked the card.

Love,

London

P.S - My Christmas was uneventful. I kept thinking of you. I hope yours was better.

*

After hours of debate and postulation, Hermione Granger woke up early on Sunday morning and prepared to fly to the office for the planned meeting. After the events of the day before, and her accidental run-in with Draco, she had fled the office and locked herself in her flat. She was certain that Draco had seen the paper, and was sure he was smart enough to realize she was digging into his files. That made her a threat. What would happen? She had unhooked her wand from its connection so as to avoid calls, and performed a variety of charms over the flat for protection. She expected nothing less than a full-on Death Eater raid.

After a few hours it became apparent that Draco did not plan to annihilate her just yet. A few months ago she wouldn't have put it past him to murder her right there in the office, but now she had her doubts about whose side the man was really on. She reasoned he wasn't going to 'get rid of her' until she actually knew something. Besides, it wasn't possible that he could know she was tracking Lucius. She would have been dead ages ago.

No, she decided, Draco was either completely ignorant of what she was really doing, or he didn't know what to do about it. But what weighed on her mind even more than the risk she had put on her own life and safety, was the thought that Draco might have trusted her - and that she had violated that trust.

"Shut up, shut up," she hissed to herself as she got out her broom. "This is business, Mione, not a trashy romance novel. I am tracking Lucius. Draco can rot in hell for all I care, remember?"

Well, she had never been very good at being honest with herself.

*

Draco Malfoy had been up half the night at his London yacht, apparently taking his own advice and drinking himself into a stupor on Odgen's Old Firewhiskey. Anyone who might have been privileged enough to witness this situation may have found it odd, especially had they known what had happened at the office hours earlier. In fact, there was probably no one in the entire world - not Lucius, nor Dumbledore, nor Voldemort himself - who would have guessed why Draco was so upset.

This was because Draco Malfoy had a secret locked inside his mind. He had a plan, a mission, that no one save himself knew of. And Hermione Granger had just reminded him that day of how far deep he was. There was no turning back.

He reached for his wand in a sudden wave of determination.

"Pans, I know you're probably not there, so I'm just going to leave this with your Voice Owl," he said after dialing his co-workers number. "I just wanted you to know that I've moved the meeting an hour later, okay? Oh, and there's a magical construction team doing work on the lobby - so Apparate into my office. I've already called Granger and Delacour, so don't worry." He dialed Gabrielle's number, and left a similar message for her. Then he put his wand down, guzzled another shot, and sat back to wait for the fish to take the bait.

*

"Hello?" Hermione called, her voice ringing off the walls of the deserted lobby. "Draco? Ms. Parkinson? Is anyone here?"

A note taped to the secretary's desk caught her attention, and she went over to read it.

Hermione - Gabby and Pansy are already here. Just take the floo to my office. (Draco)

She pursed her lips as she read the note over again. Strange, she thought, I didn't see any other brooms here. She shrugged off her concern. Maybe they had apparated here - yes, probably. The weather was probably too wet out for I-Only-Wear-Designer-Cloaks-Draco, and his posse. She snorted in laughter, and made her way to the floo fireplaces.

She picked a pinch of powder in her fingers and threw it into the smoldering logs of the first fireplace. Immediately, the flames flared up green and sparkling. She stepped into the fire, and shouted, "Draco's office!"

She felt the roar of the fire, and hugged her bag to her chest. In a moment, the whizzing spinning sensation had stopped, and she opened her eyes, standing on the threshold of Draco's office, which looked exactly as it had before.

It was completely empty. The computer sat open and whirring on the desk, and the lights were on, but there was no sign of Draco, Pansy or Gabrielle. Hermione walked cautiously into the office, and peered around the corner into the hall, ears pricked for noise of any sort. The entire building seemed completely void of life.

Confused and more than a little peeved, Hermione made her way over to Draco's desk. Slumping into his chair, she let her eyes wander up to his computer screen. Her eyes nearly bulged out of her head when she saw what lay open on the desktop.

It was his contact list.

Of course, it was all in code, but Hermione wasn't one of the best Aurors in England for nothing. She had seen almost every Dark code ever conceived, and though this one was new, it followed the typical pattern of her usual work. In a few minutes, she had decoded the names and whereabouts of several old Slytherin schoolmates. Certain that she had unwittingly stumbled upon immediate access to information that would crack the Lucius case, she got out her notebook and pen and quickly copied the entire list. She considered conjuring a disk and copying the link off, so she could run it for further links later, but decided against it. It was already suspicious enough that Draco would leave highly secret information on his desktop - not more than 24 hours after she had been practically caught snooping around his office unauthorized. Any simple magical mechanic could trace a disk that touched a drive, and track her, and she didn't want to risk that. Besides, had these not been desperate circumstances, Hermione wouldn't even have trusted the information left up so nonchalantly. But, she figured, she had limited options. She had just finished when she heard a loud crash down the hall, and jumped from her seat.

"Hello?" she called.

"Hermione?" answered a voice that could only be Draco's. She hurried to the hall and saw the tall blonde man standing by a door. He smiled when he saw her. "Oh, there you are! We've been waiting!"

"Oh, sorry," she said, flustered. "But you said to come to your office and..."

"Yes, that's my fault," he said, leading her down the hall. "We decided we'd have more room in the conference room."

"Well, I...I'm sorry for holding you up," she apologized. Draco swung the door to the conference room open and flashed her an easy grin.

"Don't worry about it," he said. "Now, Ms. Granger, I want you to formally meet Ms. Delacour, our media secretary...."

*

Over the next few weeks, things began to slowly settle down. Hermione's office mates made a quiet transition to Dragon, and she herself was very pleased with the new setup. She found herself doing a lot less tracking, and a lot more chases. Ms. Parkinson seemed ambitiously willing to satiate Hermione's every need, and Ms. Delacour, while rather snobby and a tad useless, was at least civil to her new co-worker. Draco had either threatened her new staff into revering her, or her reputation was enough to impress them, because, though it was comprised of many old Slytherin rivals, nobody seemed resentful of her authority - to her face. Her staff was efficient and able, and she was moving ahead at a fast pace.

Even Draco, after their awkward run-in, treated her with a kind of distant courtesy and friendliness that she had not expected. They chatted amiably at work, and Hermione found herself oddly attracted to the confident, airy man. As she got to know him better, she was more intrigued. He was more than civil to her, and they even had a few cups of coffee together at Café Three on occasion.

As the new year rolled along, she and Vanessa made steady progress on the Lucius case. Down a few floors, Vanessa was keeping her ear to the ground concerning Draco's acquaintances, and running searches on the contacts Hermione had discovered. Hermione herself was wary of acting on the contacts - suspicious that such an easy discovery must be a trap - and thus did the only thing she knew she could do in such a situation: ask Dumbledore.

She called the school by wand and was told that the Headmaster was away in Romania helping the new Minister of Magic sort out a top-secret issue, but would be back within the fortnight. So Hermione scheduled an appointment for tea the following Wednesday and waited on her information.

Meanwhile, Harry went back to Bulgaria, and Ron was whisked away by his new job. Hermione immersed herself in her work, and wondered whether it was wise to get close to Draco Malfoy, when she was using him to get to his father.

In her mind, she knew it wasn't wise. But in her heart, she knew something was happening that was far too interestin to be ignored.

Chapter 13

Dear HG,

Our correspondence has been very enjoyable these past few months. I have really liked getting to know you. You've made me realize many things about my life that weren't satisfactory. Up until I met you accidentally, I had no idea I was so unhappy. I simply thought this was as good as it got, and to make the best of it. But talking to you helped me realize I don't need to do things as my father planned them, and that it is no crime to follow your own dreams once in a while.

I've also realized something else: I can hardly stop thinking of you. I feel like I've known you forever. You are one of - no, singly - my closest friend. And I'd like to take that a step further. I realize that you may be hesitant to try meeting in person again, seeing as what a disaster it turned out last time. But let me assure you, nothing - not even the dark lord himself - is more important than meeting you now.

Would you consider it?

Your friend,

London

The lucid-skinned man finished reading the letter with a disdainful curl of his lip. His dark eyes flickered over to the hooded figure that sat at the long table beside him, hands clasped in deep thought.

"I want nothing more than to kill her," the pale man lisped. "She is a danger to my son. Clearly she has him under some sort of spell - there is no other explanation for this madness." He gestured at the letter, which he was holding gingerly by the tips of his fingers.

"I tell you, Lucius," the hooded man rasped. "She is getting closer. Too close. I thought we'd warned her, but she is determined."

"Then let me kill her, my Lord," the man exclaimed. "We'll eliminate her threat!" The hooded man lifted his head, eyes glittering red with devious malice.

"No," he laughed dryly, a sick, twisted grin mangling his features. "I have a much better plan."

*

The car pulled up the driveway of the English suburban home late that night. Immediately she knew something was wrong - the door had been wrenched off its hinges and thrown on the lawn, a few windows were smashed in, and a dark shape floated hazily above the plumes of smoke shooting from the roof.

She sucked in a terrified gasp, and ran for the house, shouting. Tearing through the living room, she stepped over crashed furniture and shards of broken glass, her eyes filled with hot tears. She had seen this similar scene thousands of times before - except now this was her home, the picture in the broken frame was of her grandparents, and the couch that now lay in ruins was the one she had grown up playing on. The house was silent, she moved through the kitchen and up the stairs witnessing similar destruction, her throat choked with sobs. She wanted to call out, but she was afraid of the doomed quiet that might follow.

She found her in the bathroom, draped limply across the side of the tub, a spat of scarlet blood on the corner of her mouth. She collapsed onto her knees, shaking the cold body furiously, tears blinding her.

"Mom? Mom!" she sobbed. The woman's bald head wobbled as she was shaken, and her dead eyes rolled emptily inside her head. Her face was stricken with a look of terror - a look Hermione had seen many times before in her work - the mark of the Killing Curse.

Suddenly she was drowning in screams - her own. The body slipped from her arms to the floor, and she staggered to her feet, shaking her head, unwilling to believe it.

"Why?" she shrieked. "Why did you take her? You cowards!" she screamed. "You cowards, for not taking me instead! I'm the one you want! Not her! You cowards!" Her voice rang out against the hollow walls of the bathroom. Clenching her fists, she went to the smashed window, and yelled out into the night: "You cowards! You'll pay for this! I'll hunt you down, you bastards, I'll make you pay!"

She listened for a reply, but heard only the cold wind echoing across the deep night sky.

*

"So you're really going to do it?" he asked with a teasing grin.

"Yeah," she nodded, reaching for the paper cup he held in his hands. He rolled his eyes as she took it from him and sipped.

"Oh come on," he said. "He's probably some lonely old wizard in his 70's hoping to score a date with a hot witch like you." Hermione pulled an indignant face and slapped him playfully on the shoulder.

"I'm insulted!" she exclaimed.

"You would be," he laughed, taking back the drink. "Most witches would love to have me call them hot, you know." She looked up at him fondly.

"Well, I'm certainly not most witches." She grinned wickedly. "Most witches! You mean Blaise Zabini." Draco indulged in a laugh.

"But really," he coaxed. "London575? You don't even know this guy. Have you ever asked him what the 575 means?"

"It's just a number, Draco."

"Yeah," he rolled his eyes. "It probably means he has 575 warts on his nose."

"Hey!"

"575 times he's splinched himself while Apparating."

"I'm warning you, Malfoy..."

"575 points dropped on the London wizarding stock exchange that day," he said. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"That would make him you," she scoffed, folding her arms crossly. "Which he most certainly is not - he is far too sensitive to go around mocking other people's owl names."

"Yes," Draco conceded with a strangely contemplative glance at his companion. "He would never do a thing like that."

The day was bright and warm for mid-February, and the stores on Diagon Alley was celebrating the early spring by opening their doors and windows, and holding sidewalk sales up and down the street. The Alley was packed for the sunny Saturday, as many wizards and witches from London poured in to take advantage of the discounts and soak up the good weather. Hermione watched a group of hags studying some copper cauldrons, and a group of eager children hopping excitedly up and down outside Quality Quidditch Supplies, jostling to get a closer look at the window display. It reminded her of her own school days, when she and Harry and the Weasleys would meet here before Hogwarts. Back then, things had been carefree and happy, save Voldemort's annual attempt on Harry's life. All that had changed in her fourth year when the Dark Lord had once again risen, and Hogwarts and the Ministry were set at odds. Dumbledore braced for war, and when the first attacks came, brutal and violent, the Ministry was finally convinced. Their Aurors had done a good job keeping the Death Eaters down in those last years, but the future remained uncertain for all the Hogwarts graduates, including Hermione. She, along with many of her classmates, had decided to go into Magical Law Enforcement. Their mission had been to wage the war quietly, so that children could grow up without having to know fear, death or destruction.

She saw Draco watching the same children, and involuntarily slipped her hand into his and gave it a comforting squeeze. He looked down at her, blonde hair falling slightly across his pale forehead, and smiled.

"Looks like we're doing our job, right?" she said.

"Death Eaters haven't been active for nearly a year," he murmured. "Something's brewing, Hermione, I just know it." His eyes flashed a meaningful silver, and Hermione noticed the way his fingers tightened around her palm.

"Silver thinks they're disbanding," she offered.

"I know. But Silver doesn't know these new Death Eaters - she's too analytical. Maybe last generation may have disbanded, but these are too desperate. They're going to see it to the end," he said.

"You're right," Hermione agreed. "I've been thinking that for a while now." He grinned.

"Well, well, you're not too bad for a Mudblood, are you?" They both laughed.

"The question is, what exactly are they planning?" she asked. He turned away, and shook his head wearily.

"I really don't know," he said sadly. "I wish I did."

"Well, look," she laughed. "I don't want to talk about work. I hardly get to see you when you're not mouthing off about stocks plummeting or Ministry reports."

"It's not just about stocks anymore," he said. She stared at him in disbelief.

"You know, a few weeks ago, I wouldn't have believed you meant that," she chided. "I've always thought you were in the Auror business for the money and the power." Draco grinned wickedly and pulled her across the street, where they passed the gate into Diagon Alley's Magical Park.

"Well, I have to admit, that was certainly part of it," he admitted. Hermione tipped her head back and laughed, soaking in the clear blue of the sky and the warmth of the sun on her shoulders. Grassy fields rolled out beneath them on the path, and below, in a colorful playground, some children in play robes were scampering around, their parents sitting on nearby benches, reading the Daily Prophet.

"Draco, some people might call you evil," she grinned, "but I think you're just fine." He looked down at her, an open smile spread across his face, and squeezed her hand.

"You know, Granger, that may be the nicest thing anyone's ever said to me," he laughed. "I think I'm blushing."

"You'd better not," she warned, tipping her head to the side. "I'd never let you live it down."

"Don't worry," Draco laughed. "M..."

"- Malfoys never blush," she finished for him with a long suffering sigh. "Yeah, yeah. Whatever."

The two exchanged glances, each one with eyebrows raised in incredulous challenge, and Draco's mouth opened as if with some retort - but before he could speak, they both erupted in laughter.

*

"She was in the love with the ruler of Spain?" Ginny asked incredulously. Hermione rolled her eyes as they wriggled their way through the Saturday night crowd at the Wizard Cinema Triplex. She skirted around a dark pool of spilt soda and pulled the still-aghast Ginny out of the path of a stampeding toddler.

"Pay attention!" she exclaimed, yanking her friend back into the real world.

"I'm sorry," Ginny said, exasperated, "I just can't BELIEVE it."

Hermione shrugged and sighed, standing on her tiptoes and searching over the mob of shoulders and heads for their theater.

"Oh, look, it's up there," Ginny pointed. "145, right?" Hermione looked down at the golden ticket she was holding, on which was scrawled - Not Another Hogwarts Movie! 7:10, Saturday - Cinema #145.

"Yeah," she nodded, squinting. "Where's the escalators? Oh, over there." She quickly spotted the suspended red carpet that was moving from the Triplex's first floor to the second. Already, many wizards and witches clutching popcorn and soda or the sticky hands of children were being carried up to the second floor.

They dashed to join the end of the line, and hopped onto the carpet, which slowly glided upwards. Hermione shut her eyes as she was overcome with dizziness, and pressed her hand up against the No-Fall invisible barrier wall.

"Anyhow," Ginny continued, waving her arms in large gestures. "You know who that had to be? I mean, at the time - you know who was ruling, and she specifically said she had an affair with 'the man who ruled Spain'. But I still can't believe it!" Her voice rang with disgust. Hermione peeped one eye cautiously open and regarded her friend with amusement.

Ginny had done quite a lot of growing up since Hogwarts - ever since she found her true calling (political journalism) and went on to the English State University for Witches to study. She was still rather petite, with flaming red curls, and, a Weasley to the core - her ears had a nasty habit of growing bright pink whenever debating Fudge's credibility, Castro, or the current bills in the Ministry.

"Actually, Gin, I have no idea what you're talking about." Ginny gaped at her.

One thing about Ginny's extensive political knowledge was that she often expected everyone else to have memorized the Ministry history of every single European country too.

"Grindelwald, Hermione!" she exclaimed, the words tumbling from her mouth. "It has to be! I majored in Spanish politics in Grad. School."

Hermione sighed wearily as the carpet delivered them to the second floor and they got off. That afternoon, while Hermione was staying over the weekend at the Burrow, she, Ginny and Mrs. Weasley had all gone out to lunch together. Ginny was getting over her most recent break-up with Seamus, so Molly told them about her first love - with an infamous Spanish wizard dictator, as it turned out. Ginny, whose mind quickly turned from moping over Seamus' slatternly behavior to world politics, was furious with her mother for being involved with the man who was probably responsible for inspiring both Hitler and Voldemort.

She laughed as Ginny continued to rant, and directed her friend into the portal to their theater. As they wandered through the dark, half-empty aisles, popcorn in hand, several people shot the loud red-head looks of evil intent and hissed rather rudely for her to shut up.

"Ginny," she whispered as they finally found a seat in the back. "It's not such a big deal...I mean, it's love, right? You can't stop love...besides, maybe he was really cute."

Ginny glared at her over her huge container of coke.

"That's not the point," she quipped.

"Yeah, well," Hermione sighed, "I mean, she can't help it, can she?" Her friend looked at her strangely.

"Hermione, what are you getting at?"

"I...just..." she fumbled awkwardly. Then, garnering her courage, she turned to her friend. "What if I told you I was in love with Draco Malfoy?"

"What?" Ginny gasped, brows furrowing in shock.

"Hypothetically, Gin," she continued hurriedly. "The point is, Malfoy's the scum of the earth, truth?"

"Truth," she grumbled.

"But you wouldn't hate me, would you?" She looked at her friend searchingly. "Would you?" For a moment, Ginny just blinked blankly, chewing on her lip, deep in thought.

"I don't really understand how this relates to Grindewald," she said finally. Hermione gave her an exasperated look as the feature began.

"Ginny," she whispered, tugging on her shirt. "Ginny, I have a confession to make."

"Yeah, what?" Hermione gulped and stared back at her friend for a moment, trying to push the words out of her mouth. Tell her, Hermione, she thought, tell her now!

"I..." Her voice faltered. "I didn't vote last Ministry election," she finished hurriedly.

"WHAT?" Ginny exclaimed loudly, making the entire theater turn to glare at her.

Ch. 14

Dear Ms. Granger,

I apologize profusely for the delay in this reply. My office informed me that they received your letter over a fortnight ago, while I was away on business. I did, however, see to your letter as soon as possible. I do wish I could review your dilemma immediately, as it is most surely important. As it is, I have an extremely pressing matter on my hands concerning some suspicious remarks made by the American President, the rise of the Dark Lord, and a case of an odd growth sprouting up among the student population here. As you can see, my hands are very much full. I do not wish to turn you away, but I trust you will understand. While the rise of the Dark Lord and the tragic epidemic of student illnesses may be one thing, wherever the Mr. Bush is concerned, matters don't usually mend themselves. (No matter how many Memory Charms we try, we can never seem to get through his thick skull...)

So, I will stop by your office as soon as this havoc lets up.

My sincerest apologies,

Albus Dumbledore

P.S - I do not think you will need my help at all. I am sending you something that I have a feeling you may find useful. It is, however, an updated edition. One can simply vocalize the event he or she wishes to go back to, and be sent immediately. Utilize it, and you will find your situation ameliorated.

Hermione stared at the piece of parchment in her hands and blinked, her mind whirring to decode her old Headmaster's cryptic message. She heaved a sigh, and dropped the letter hopelessly onto her desk. The entire letter was extremely strange - in all her life, Dumbledore had never failed to be there for consultation on any matter, even when the Dark Lord was rising again at his strongest. As for the bits about the American President and the growth at Hogwarts, Hermione puzzled on whether this was the truth, or just another example of Dumbledore's increasingly batty sense of humor.

Brow furrowed, she slumped back into her chair. She would just have to figure out what to do about Draco herself.

She picked up the envelope and something heavy slid out and rolled onto her lap. Staring at it curiously, Hermione picked it up, a wave of nostalgia washing over her as she recognized it.

Holding the weighty Time-Turner by it's chain, she allowed herself to smile, remembering the events of her unfortunate Fourth Year when she had used it in school. Time Turners were definitely useful - but how would one help in her current situation? She wanted to know if she could trust Draco's contact list, or if it was just a ploy. She also wanted to know why Draco had not simply murdered her in cold blood when he caught her rummaging around in his office. She wanted to know whether or not Draco Malfoy was a Death Eater, why Blaise Zabini had left her wand in the office on holiday, and why Draco would leave a suspiciously incriminating list of names and addresses on his desk top for all to see! She did not want to take a day trip back in time to muck up what was already a tangled and confusing web of lies, suspicions, and possibly mislaid trusts.

Suddenly she was seized by realization.

Could she, possibly, go back to an occurrence that would one of these mysteries? With the 'new' Time-Turner, could she find out why Draco had left the contact list up that day, or why Blaise's wand had been lying around her drawer on winter holiday?

Hermione cast a glance at the door, which was locked. The curtains of her office windows were drawn, even though it was after hours, and she was sure she was alone. She slipped the Time-Turner around her neck and held it tightly.

"Take me back to when Blaise Zabini left the office for winter break," she said. The world whirled around her, and she sucked in a gasp as the colors of her office melded and broke and streamed together, spinning rapidly in a thread of unadulterated thought, faster and faster and...

Hermione opened her eyes. She was standing in the entrance hall of the office building. Sun streamed thinly through the windows as, outside, wizards and witches in a hurry bustled past on icy, mid-December streets. She turned her head at the busy clacking of a keyboard, and saw the petite brunette sitting at the front desk, typing busily away.

"Oh hello Hermione," Blaise spat bitterly, looking up. Her melodramatically malicious glare turned on the other witch. "I didn't see you there," she said coldly.

"I...I just stopped by to...er, see Draco," Hermione stammered quickly.

"Shall I call him?"

"Oh, no...don't bother," she said, shrugging. "You must be eager to get out of here...for the holiday, that is."

"Actually," Blaise sneered, "I am. I'm just about Apparate to London. I'll be spending Christmas in Paris." Hermione watched carefully as the woman shut down her computer and began packing her purse.

"Apparate?" Hermione gasped in spite of herself. "You...need a...a wand to Apparate!" The other witch shot her a menacing look.

"I know that, Ms. Granger."

She slung her purse over her shoulder and whipped out her wand - a long, redwood-colored object. Hermione's jaw dropped as Blaise muttered the spell underneath her breath and vanished in a pop.

Just then, she heard foot-steps trotting rapidly down the hall. Panicking, she looked furiously around her, and spotted a broom closet a few feet away. Diving inside, she closed the door all but a bit, so that a sliver of light let her observe the pale-headed figure who strode confidently up to the abandoned desk. Draco Malfoy cast a furtive glance around the room, and then took something from his robes. It was a deep ebony wand. Pursing his lips, he flicked open the drawer of the desk and shoved the wand inside, underneath a pile of books.

Then, he took a few steps away from the desk and took a wizarding cell phone from his robes.

"Rochester Drive, please," he spoke into the phone. "Yes, hello Quentin," he continued after a brief pause. "I seem to have left my wand at the house. Yes, could you please send my broom? No, don't bother looking for it. I'm sure I know where it is. Yes, thank you."

As he clicked the phone closed, Hermione's heart sank in shock and puzzlement. Her mind was too stunned to form any other thought, save: What is going on here?

*

"So it wasn't Blaise's wand at all?" Vanessa asked, incredulous, for the third time. Hermione sighed and nodded, taking another sip of her coffee, heavily laced with Pepper-up Potion. "And he told his house elf that he'd lost his wand?"

"Yes!" the other witch exclaimed.

"So this all means..." Vanessa trailed off, groping desperately in confusion.

"The wand I used to hack into the database was Malfoy's," Hermione repeated. "Which probably means Draco added Goyle's name to the contacts, which means he probably wanted me to find it, which means he probably purposely left his contact list with all that dirt up on his desktop that day."

"That's ridiculous!" she exclaimed. "Why would Malfoy want you to find a possibly incriminating list of contacts, all of which are, or were at some time, Death Eaters?" Hermione sighed in resignation and slumped back against her chair.

"I don't know. Maybe he's on our side?" she suggested hopefully. Vanessa gave her a skeptical look.

"Hermione, girl, this is Draco Malfoy we're talking about. That list wasn't a nostalgic keepsake from his Death-Eater meeting play date days - it's proof. Proof he's the Ministry mole we've been hunting for so long...perhaps the very one that gave Lucius the tip-off about you, which..." Her tone died on her lips and she shook her head apologetically. "Never mind. I didn't mean to upset you."

"You really think Draco told Lucius I was onto him?" Hermione asked. "How would Draco know?" Vanessa rolled her eyes.

"Hermione! Draco Malfoy is living proof that money talks! He has that place at his fingertips, considering he makes a certain amount of donations!" she exclaimed. "Not to mention the fact that he's pretty much the Magical Law Enforcement's golden boy, with all the dark wizards he's been dragging in lately."

"That's just it, though!" Hermione countered. "Half of the names on that list were Death Eaters he's put behind bars himself! Now, supposing he was truly still in contact with his father, and was a Death Eater, how do explain that to Voldemort? 'Oh, I'm sorry, Mister Dark Lord, I know I'm supposed to be your faithful servant and all, but today I just caught another of your minions and handed him over to the enemy'?" She pounded the kitchen table for emphasis. "Is that plausible at all?"

"Well, maybe he's on orders to root out weaknesses, you know? He can pose as an Auror and get all the Ministry's secrets, while disposing of anyone not loyal enough or suspicious without Voldemort having to dirty his hands!"

"I don't believe it," Hermione said firmly, shaking her head. "You should have heard Draco the other day. The way he was talking, he's either fully on the light side, or a really terrific actor."

"I wouldn't put it past him," Vanessa snorted. "I can't believe this. A few months ago you abhorred the idea of even working with Malfoy - and now you're standing up for him? What did he do, brainwash you?" Hermione slumped to avoid her friend's critical stare and spoke into her hands.

"It's just not logical," she insisted. Vanessa shook her head.

"Okay, fine. But we have really valuable information here - fallen into our lap rather suspiciously as it may be - but I intend to use it to bring Lucius Malfoy down, once and for all," she steamed. "Are you going to help or not?" The brown-haired witch looked up at the other woman, face creased in distress.

"I need time," she gasped. Vanessa's eyes narrowed, but Hermione bit her lip in determination. She knew it sounded crazy - and the evidence was there, not to be ignored. But there was something else, some insane recent development that begged attention even more; the way their relationship had vaulted from competitive respect to sarcastic friendship to an unbreakable companionship which ran strong with a twisted trust that came of the similarly intense will to prevail. She and Draco shared something no one else could touch - not Vanessa, not Harry, not Ron. It was their furious drive to win, their relentless, maddening search for the truth, their faith in their own respective minds that could get them out of countless situations. It was the way Draco was the only one who understood why Hermione would stay all night in the office getting to the bottom of a possibly helpful bit of information. It was the way they could talk animatedly for hours about the books they had read, while the waitress at Café Three watched in unnerved detachment and their coffees cooled. It was the way both couldn't stand to be late. It was the way she loved to peer in on Draco while he yelled at his financial analyst on the phone with a passionate outrage - and the way he pretended to be annoyed when she teased him about it later. It was the way they both could count on each other to be equally dedicated to everything they did.

But more than this, Hermione knew, it was the way she shivered when Draco's hand accidentally brushed hers at a conference. Or the way her heart seemed to freeze and speed up at the same time when he cast her a wicked smile from across the hall. It was the way she felt, so safe and happy and satisfied, in his presence. But, more frighteningly, it was the way she knew, without a doubt, that she would do anything he asked of her, no questions asked - something she had never felt for anyone in her life ever before.

It was the way she felt. The feeling she denied. The word she couldn't bear to say but every moment that she kept it hidden it squeezed from her an excruciating pain.

Trust? Yes. Friendship? Yes. Affinity? Yes.

Love?

...yes.

Ch. 15

Dear HG -

I'm glad you agreed to meet me! I'll see you at one fifteen on Saturday afternoon by the fountain at the Diagon Alley Park. I'll be the one in the Weird Sisters T-shirt.

And don't you dare even tease me about that.

(London)

Hermione straightened her skirt and looked critically into the mirror. Her reflection stared quizzically back at her, looking strangely odd in the lacy, effeminate get-up she had borrowed from Vanessa, who had agreed to give her time to think after their argument the fortnight before. Flashing herself a test grin, she sighed wearily and busily stripped off the frilly skirt and blouse.

The cuckoo clock on the wall erupted in alarming chirps, and the tiny wooden bird popped out, squeaking: "One o'clock! One o'clock!"

"Oh, shut up!" Hermione exclaimed, turning to the bird. "Can't you just give me a moment of peace?"

"You have fifteen minutes to get to Diagon Alley Magical Park to meet your mystery man, my dear, and I'm going to make sure you get there on time," the bird chirped back in an annoyingly busy-body fashion. "Now, is that what you are wearing?"

Hermione looked down at the abandoned outfit on the bed.

"No!" she exclaimed. "Too tight, too itchy, too lacy. Totally impractical."

"Well then, what are you going to wear?" the bird inquired. She chewed her lip for a moment and then tugged on her jeans and T-shirt, shrugging. The bird suppressed a haughty snort. "You are going to do something with your hair though?"

She shot the bird a withering glare.

"No!" she exclaimed. "My hair is..." she trailed off. "Well, if he doesn't like me the way I am, screw him. I'm not going to slather my hair with chemicals for anybody's viewing pleasure, thank you very much." Her eyes narrowed. "No matter what anyone else thinks of me, I'm not totally out of character."

The bird rolled its eyes in a distraught manner, as if despairing for her poor charge, but Hermione had already snatched up her bag and was hurrying out the door of her flat, shouting, "I know you think I look like a nerd, but wish me luck!"

"Good luck," the bird sighed heavily as the door slammed. "I have a feeling you may need it."

*

Hermione hurried down the sidewalk, hand nervously clutching the Time Turner

chain that was looped around her neck. She had been wearing it ever since her argument with Vanessa, as if as a reminder that she had a pressing decision to make, and soon. Every day she was aware that time was running out, but she had long since made the only choice she was able to: to forge on with the hunt for Lucius, but without the information that tied Draco to the Dark Lord. This had taken a considerable amount of thought, but in the end she had realized that, no matter the evidence, and no matter how hard she'd deny it, she really cared for Draco Malfoy, and didn't believe he had anything to do with the Ministry mole.

In fact, this meeting couldn't mean less to her. She and Draco had been out for a walk before she hurried home to change, and while they were talking, Hermione had realized this man she was meeting could be Mr. Right himself, the perfect object for adoration, the man of her dreams - and she really didn't care. After all, she had Draco. Who could need anything more?

Months before, at their first attempted meeting, she had been excited and nervous. She had dressed up, done her hair, even tried some make-up. She had wondered in agony - was she pretty enough? Would he like her? In fact, she had been more relaxed verbally sparring with Draco than she was waiting for her so-called Dream Date. It was while thinking about this that Hermione realized if it came down to a decision between the man she was writing to and her rather eccentric, sometimes malevolent, wickedly clever business partner, the choice would ultimately have to be Draco.

She rounded the corner of the park and made her way past the play grounds of young wizards and witches to the fountain at the center of the park. In the break in the trees, the sun ran down in bright streams from the sky above. She shed her sweater and sat down on the marble benches by the fountain, which was a huge marble statue of some bygone Minister of Magic, standing majestically in robes of white, her head held high as a spurt of water arced from her lips.

She checked her watch, which read one fourteen in glowing red letters. Hermione bit her lip and sat back, hoping she wouldn't have to wait long. If it were Draco, of course, she knew he would arrive in exactly one minute, and not a moment later. Reminding herself firmly that this wasn't Draco, she set about observing a bunch of young witches playing Exploding Snap on the picnic bench a few yards off.

It soon got boring, and she looked back at her watch. It read one fifteen. With a heavy sigh, she prepared to wait another five minutes...

"Excuse me, is this seat taken?" spoke a cool, amused drawl. Hermione looked up and saw a tall, blonde-haired man standing in front of her, silvery eyes glinting mischievously in the sun. He was wearing a loose black T-shirt with the Weird Sister's logo scrawled across in bright green.

"Draco?" Hermione gasped, beginning to smile. "You...you..."

"I just thought you might be interested in knowing," he said, "that the 575 is the number of mismatched socks I have in my possession. And yes, I did count them all myself. People do odd things when they're lonely and bored."

"You..." she stammered on, struck nearly speechless. He raised a platinum eyebrow.

"Is that look supposed to be of horrified shock, or pleasant surprise?" he asked.

"I..." she said. "I hoped it was you!" The blonde man's pale features broke into a huge smile. Hermione jumped to her feet and dropped her back as she felt his arms pick her up and enclose her in a warm embrace.

The world spun dizzily. Is this what happens when you realize the person you're madly in love with is also in love with you? Hermione thought as everything whirred faster. She felt a distinct pull on her navel as everything started to go black. No! This is what happens when you travel by PortKey!

*

She landed with a soft thud, and her eyes sprung open. In a moment, she had her wand clutched in her fingers, and she was looking around in panic.

"Ah," hissed a chilly voice. "Speak of the devil. Or, the two of them."

She blinked. She appeared to be sprawled on the cold stone floor of a dimly lit room, cavernously built of stone and dripping with glowing nitre, reminiscent of the dungeons she had raided in her younger days. Two discernible figures stood over her, cloaked in heavy black, faces shadowed in the half light. A short, wiry figure holding a torch that was guttering dangerously moved rat-like in a circle around her, wand poised at her throat.

"Use that, Mudblood, and I'll blast your little boyfriend to pieces before you can say 'Lumos'!" the rat-like figure squeaked dreadfully. Hermione scrambled backwards with a yelp of surprise, her left arm flailing into something solid behind her.

"What in...ow!" came Draco's muffled voice. Hermione looked over her shoulder and saw him struggling to sit up, cursing colorfully as he searched desperately for his wand with one hand and massaged his head with the other.

"Draco, my son," one of the black figures drawled coldly. "Refrain from profanities, will you? Really. You'd think I'd bred you better than that!"

"Lucius Malfoy!" Hermione exclaimed before she could stop herself. The glowering figure tipped back his hood and turned to her, revealing a lividly pale face and two sharply blue eyes.

"Hermione Granger," he spat disdainfully. "We finally meet." His electrically blue eyes spoke volumes. Hermione's mind whirled quickly, honed from years of experience, and she knew in a second what that look meant. Her face flashed incredulous disbelief for a moment, and then hardened in fury and anger. She felt a hand on her shoulder.

"Get away from her," Draco snarled up at his father. "Or I'll..." Hermione rolled her eyes coolly and turned to face her betrayer.

"Please," she said. "Don't be macho on my account, Malfoy." Her eyes sharpened. "I should have listened to Vanessa. You were in with these thugs from the start, weren't you?"

A crisp, cackling laugh knifed the air and the shorter cloaked figure whirled on her, bright red eyes glinting.

"So the Mudblood finally gets it," he sneered. "Good job. At least you'll die enlightened." She narrowed her eyes in a hateful glare.

"Hermione, I swear I didn't know anything about this..." Draco began feebly, looking at her imploringly. It tore at Hermione's heart to see his silver eyes bent so pleadingly, but her mind warned her against heeding such a whim. She had already made such a fool of herself, and if she proceeded to trust Draco, she might never get out of this mess - thus screwing the entire Lucius case for good and burying all evidence with her own body. But a part of her - the part of her that remembered the genuine warmth in his smile when she had leapt (so foolishly!) into his arms just moments before - begged her to at least give him the benefit of the doubt.

"Just tell the truth, Malfoy," Hermione spoke, her voice leveling in its calm coolness. "Are you, or are you not, a Death Eater?" Draco's eyes flew wide in hurt honesty and his lips froze. Hermione saw the depths of lost despair in those eyes, and it shredded the hope she had harbored for him. She cast her eyes down in bitter defeat, and drew in a heavy breath, shaking her head.

"I don't believe it," she whispered, almost not of her own volition, as if some depth of her heart had clawed its way to her throat to cry out.

"Go on," Lucius laughed, chuckles pinging like steel. "Show the little Mudblood."

Eyes not leaving Hermione's face, Draco's fingers inched at the sleeve of his shirt, sliding it up his pale arm. Her face hardened when she saw the glowing green tattoo of the Dark Mark.

"Brilliant," she said, with cool detachment. "Truly brilliant, to combine the Port Key charm and the summoning power of your mark to kidnap me. Wonderfully orchestrated. Just bloody brilliant." Her voice was edged with bitter sarcasm.

"Hermione!" he exclaimed, pale gray eyes flashing with earnest tears. His voice constricted with emotion. "You have to believe me! It wasn't my choice!"

"Of course it wasn't," Lucius said smoothly, moving fluidly toward the pair. "He's been like that since he was a child. Fifth year, actually. And I'm inclined to be rather honest - Draco knew of none of this, so really, don't credit the brilliance to him."

"He's not?" Hermione asked softly, to no one in particular. "He didn't do it?" Draco opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by the slow icy hiss of the other figure. "That's true, what he said?"

"It is," Voldemort snickered. "In fact, little Draco has been acting oddly...unfaithful...to the Death Eaters of late." Hermione stared in amazement at the Dark Lord's ruby glittering eyes. "Things like...leaving his wand around for certain people to stumble upon, or...giving access to the complete list of contacts to any innocent bypassing..." Hermione's eyes began to widen and she glanced in disbelief at the pale headed man, but he watched his father with somber eyes filled with terror and pain as he spoke.

"Dropping hints about things to come," Lucius sneered. "Things that have gotten lesser men killed without a second thought."

"You were leaving a trail for me!" Hermione gasped. "You were..."

"Helping you track Lucius," Draco finished, raising his chin defiantly. "Why did you think I wanted you in my firm so much? Pansy certainly isn't that annoying."

"Why would you want me to find your father?" she asked in whisper. For a moment, their eyes met, and Hermione was taken back in time to the scene in Silver's office when she had signed her business away, and their eyes had met in a silent pact. Suddenly she understood the nature of that bygone exchange. Though it had eluded her then, when Draco signed his contract to pay her for her firm, he wasn't just paying in money. He was taking away her business, but at the same time promising her the only success in her career that had ever really mattered.

"Because," he said, his voice a ragged hiss. "I'm sick of seeing people killed. I'm sick of these freaks who made me think I was worthless because I didn't want to torture people. But most of all," his eyes narrowed in harrowing disgust. "I'm sick of being a Malfoy."

"What?" Lucius and Hermione both shrieked incredulously.

"That's right," Draco smirked evilly. "I grew up with all my choices made for me. The world had it all planned out - where I would go, what I would say, what I would do with my life." He raised an eyebrow in an artful sneer. "People feared me, and I was molded into something worthy of that fear. Nobody ever gave me a chance to choose - no one." He looked over at Hermione and his gaze softened for a moment and his tone dropped breathlessly. "Harry Potter. Now there was a kid with choices. He was born and he could be on the light side, that was okay. No one questioned his motives. Everyone believed in him." He shook his head. "But no one ever let me think for myself," he spat. "Oh yeah, the world had me all figured out. Draco Malfoy, evil, cold, good for nothing. No one but Dumbledore would believe a word I said." He blinked back a tear and his voice was ragged and cut. "Do you have any idea how much that hurts?"

Hermione smiled in spite of herself. Her hand snaked out and caught Draco's wrist.

"You don't have to be Harry, Draco," she whispered. "I love you, and I trust you the way you are." His blue eyes lifted and met hers, opened wide with accepting honesty, and a weak but true smile spread across his face, and reflected onto hers.

"I love you too, Hermione," he whispered.

Lucius cleared his throat.

"If I may break up this little party," he lisped. "Now that everyone has exchanged true love vows, my son Draco is going to kill you."

"What?" Draco shouted, looking up at his father angrily. "Yeah right!" He seethed in rage.

"Refuse and you refuse life as well," he hissed dangerously, leering towards his son. "This is your last chance to redeem yourself for your sins."

"Screw you!" he spat, eyes flashing, squeezing Hermione's hand. "I couldn't even kill her if I tried - she's a far better Auror than I'll ever be!"

"Fine then," Voldemort chuckled softly, reaching inside his robes for his wand. "I'll off you first, and then your little girlfriend."

"No," Draco choked moving towards the witch. "Kill me, but leave Hermione out of this."

Hermione watched the Dark Lord draw his wand, her mind spinning. His eyes glittered maliciously as he prepared to kill the man she loved. Do something! She hissed. Anything! Without knowing what she was doing, she grasped the Time Turner beneath her robes with clammy hands.

Looking into the red eyes of Voldemort, she suddenly had an idea.

"Take me back to when I received Dumbledore's letter," she whispered.

"What's that, girl?" Lucius spat.

"Ava..." began Voldemort.

Hermione clutched the Time Turner desperately as the world smeared in colors before her eyes, whizzing and turning faster and faster and...

*

She blinked twice as the room materialized around her. The oak-paneled walls, dark mahogany desk and computer showing its glittering Snitch screen saver, assured Hermione that the Time-Turner had, indeed, worked. She was standing behind her desk, a letter in her hand, Time-Turner around her neck. One quick glance at the letter and her confidence completely dissolved.

Wracking her head desperately on the desk, she slumped into her chair, cursing.

"What in the world am I supposed to do?" she wailed. "In...ten minutes...Past Me is going to walk through that door...and not have any idea that in a few weeks Draco will be dead! Shit! What was I thinking!"

Suddenly something on the parchment caught her eye. It was a sentence she hadn't seen before, glittering magically in red:

Write me if you find yourself in a desperate situation.

Of course! She had no time to try and comprehend her Headmaster's impossible ingenuity. She grabbed a fresh parchment, a quill, and began furiously writing.

Dear Prof. Dumbledore,

Be at the dungeons Malfoy Manor on the 2^nd of March, at exactly one-fifteen. DO NOT BE LATE.

I trust you understand me.

P.S Bring Harry, Silver and Pansy with you! And anyone else for that matter!

Satisfied, Hermione folded the letter, slipped it into an envelope and hid it under her robes. She darted to the doorway and looked cautiously out on the corridor. Past Her was not there yet. She quickly slipped from her office into Draco's, and shut the door, breathing heavily.

"Hermione?" a voice asked. Hermione's heart slammed fast against her rib cage as she turned slowly, recognizing the voice.

"Er..."

"I just saw you outside, through my window," he asked, eyebrow raised. "You certainly are fast." Hermione quickly decided this was no time for pleasantries.

"No time to talk," she gasped, looking frantically around. She spotted Draco's silvery owl perched on the edge of his desk and lunged. Draco's eyes widened in alarm and grabbed her wrist before she got to the owl.

"Hey! I was about to use..." He never got to finishing that sentence. Hermione decided to do something she should have done ages ago...or rather, now...and reached out, caught his face delicately in her hand and pulled their lips together in a swift, searing kiss.

She wasn't sure if he was paralyzed by shock or revulsion, but when she pulled away, he stared speechlessly at her.

"Trust me," she hissed, glowering down at him, "like your life depends on it. Cause it does."

He stared at her, frozen, as she tied the letter to his owl's leg and sent it off to

Hogwarts. He was still staring when she turned around.

"Now," she commanded, "close your eyes." He blinked in confusion. "I said trust me Malfoy, do you know the meaning of those words?"

"I..."

"Just a moment," she insisted. She watched a tableau of mucked emotions pass through his beautiful gray eyes - hope, trust, confusion, questioning. She hoped he wouldn't make her do something drastic. But, surprisingly, he nodded slowly, and closed his eyes.

"I don't know what this is about," he said steadily. "But I'm counting to ten."

She sighed in relief and took out the Time-Turner.

"Take me back to Malfoy Manor, please," she commanded. The room melted in a shifting haze of color, and began to whir like a carousel ride gone crazy, around and around, faster and faster and...

*

"Ava..."

"I wouldn't do that if I were you, Riddle," someone snickered. Lucius, Voldemort and Pettigrew whirled around to glare at the dark-haired woman who had just appeared behind them. Hermione's eyes widened in horror as Cho Chang sneered insolently at them, her wand not even drawn.

"And why not?" the Dark Lord laughed icily.

"Oh, I just have this feeling a few people about to join us won't be particularly pleased if you kill the two top Aurors in the country," she answered, raising an eyebrow. Suddenly, popping sounds erupted around them, and Hermione whirled around. Masses of Aurors began to appear in a circle around them in work robes, wands drawn and faces set in stone. Three more pops added a calm Dumbledore, a worried Harry and an insanely outraged Pansy Parkinson to the scene.

"You imbecile!" the rather frightening woman screeched. "You touch one hair on the heads of my bosses and I'll send you to hell for your pains! Do you know much stock I have riding on these two?"

"Hate to say I told you so," Cho smirked.

"Yes, well, Pansy can get a little carried away sometimes..." Dumbledore sighed.

"...Where stock is concerned," Draco grinned. The starry blue eyes of the Headmaster observed the young man with cool composure.

"Mr. Malfoy," he said pleasantly. "So glad to see you whole and alive."

"And you have Hermione to thank for it, don't you forget," someone grumbled. Everyone looked up and saw a red-haired, rather disgruntled-looking Ron Weasley materializing by Harry's side, robes a bit torn and some debris littering his hair. Harry's face was washed with relief.

"Oh good," he exclaimed. "I thought for a moment there you'd gone and splinched yourself again."

"No," Ron shrugged, un-sticking a grimy scrap of garbage from his sleeve, "just got dumped in some Muggle dumpster. Sorry for the delay, everybody."

Icy laughter broke through the air.

"This, Dumbledore?" Voldemort lisped. "This is what you expect to defeat me with? This...riffraff?" He had turned to face his old enemy, eyes glittering madly. A few of the less hardened Aurors stepped back.

"Yes, actually," Dumbledore replied calmly. "This is how I plan to defeat you."

"Say goodbye," Harry sneered.

"Good riddance," Ron spat.

"Imperio," said Cho Chang.

Everyone turned to see her, wand now amazingly in her right hand, aimed at the Dark Lord's back. For a moment, the air in the room shifted, and everybody watched to see what she would do.

The Ravenclaw seemed to be thinking very hard. Suddenly Harry took up his wand and said, "Imperio". He was followed by Ron, Pansy, Silver, Dumbledore and eventually the rest of the Aurors as well. Everyone seemed to be concentrating very hard.

Thunk.

The Dark Lord slumped to the ground. Lucius and Pettigrew screamed shrilly, but were quickly stupefied by Aurors who jumped aptly from the hordes.

"Take them back to HQ," Silver was commanding her Aurors. In a few minutes, the back up, Peter, Lucius and Voldemort's body were gone.

"Brilliant!" Hermione exclaimed. "You struck Voldemort with Imperius when he wasn't expecting it, and then commanded him to die! Wonderful!"

"Oh," Dumbledore shrugged. "That was the easy part. You did magnificently - using the Time-Turner like that. That is commendable." Cho Chang strode up to Hermione and helped her to her feet.

"Well, even as Minister of Magic, this has been quite an eventful day," she said wearily. "I think I'll pop back to my house, board myself up against the press and have a very long nap." She disappeared with a pop.

"Me too," Dumbledore agreed. "The Daily Prophet will be outraged, though. I wouldn't want to see the state of my owl box when this news gets out." He yawned and flicked his wand, dissolving himself instantly.

"Well," Pansy clucked. "You two certainly have a way of getting yourselves in trouble. I expect you in tomorrow morning though, for a press conference. We need all the publicity we can get." With that, she, too, disappeared.

"Slave driver, that woman," Ron said, shaking his head in sympathy. "Imagine that, I may just pity you, Malfoy."

"Come on, Ron," Harry said, his eyes glittering mischievously, "we should get to the Burrow. Your mum will be worried sick."

They took up their wands and disappeared in an instant.

Hermione was left alone in the Manor with Draco.

"That is a conspiracy," the pale-headed wizard drawled. "That was definitely a conspiracy." She turned around, grinning.

"You mean killing Voldemort or sneaking off and leaving us alone together?" she asked. He sighed heavily and looked at her with bright silvery eyes.

"Are you...still mad at me?" he asked tentatively. She laughed.

"Would I have gone through a mad time-defying dash just to save your life if I was?" she asked. His face broke into a smile.

"But I still don't understand how they got past all the wards," he said.

"Dumbledore probably shut them down weeks ago," she grinned, "when he got my letter."

"And Cho's wand appearing suddenly?"

"Nothing a little Invisibility Handkerchief can't explain," she said, picking up a small, silvery piece of fabric from the floor. Draco smirked.

"And to think I was under the impression that they were completely and utterly useless," he sighed. His eyes turned serious. "Look, I'm sorry..."

She moved closer.

"Don't be. You did exactly what you should have. And now it's all over," she said, grinning. "Though I do wonder how long you knew who I was?"

"The night at Café Three," he conceded guiltily. "I should have told you, but I didn't think you'd believe me." He blushed. "Plus, I thought you might reject me."

"Back then, yes, I would have," she nodded. He smiled wickedly.

"But now?" he asked.

She wrapped her arms around his neck and leaned in.

"Now?" she asked innocently as their lips neared. "No, somehow I don't think I'm going to be rejecting anything at the moment."

~fin~