Find Your Way Back

Chapter 1 - A Starting Point

There is nothing like returning to a place that remains unchanged to find the ways in which you yourself have altered. --Nelson Mandela, A Long Walk to Freedom

Hermione Granger couldn't pinpoint exactly when it started.

There was no sudden realization, no specific day when she stopped in the middle of sorting archives to file during her job in the library at the Ministry of Magic and abruptly saw that this wasn't the way she had intended her life to turn out. There was no offhand glance in the mirror while brushing her teeth in the morning to notice that she didn't look happy any more. There was no unexpected death in the circle of her close friends and family to make her see immediately that she needed to, as her mother called it, "take charge of the circumstances." It wasn't like that at all.

Instead, it was a feeling growing inside her like a tumor, a feeling that she hadn't done things precisely right. It was hard for her to recognize, and even harder to Do Something about it--and she didn't know what it could be, anyway. Going to school with Ron and Harry for seven years had forced her to become accustomed to action, to things going on around her, puzzles always arising for her to solve. It wasn't that her life was monotonous now, exactly...interesting things happened, sometimes, and she felt constantly busy. There was something off, something she couldn't put her finger on, that made her feel like she was a leaky barrel, that she couldn't quite hold on to everything necessary and was continually spouting holes.

Ron told her she was imagining things when she tried one night to explain it to him. He cocked his head to one side and looked at her bemusedly, and it was evident he had no idea what she was talking about.

"Herm, sweetheart, you're delusional," he said, raising his eyebrows at her. "You're the most complete person I know. Isn't this what you've always wanted?"

"Maybe," she said, staring not at him, but at a coffee stain on their kitchen counter. Ron almost always spilled when he tried to pour it first thing in the morning. "I mean, yes, it is what I always wanted. I just can't tell if it's what I want any more."

"Hm," he said noncommittally, and went back to Quidditch Weekly, as she sighed. He hadn't understood. She stood up to leave the room and he called after her, "If you're going to bed, I probably won't see you at all tomorrow--I have an early morning at the shop and I'm going out with Oliver in the evening...we'll probably be out late."

"Again?" Hermione asked, pausing in the doorway to raise her eyebrows suggestively at him. "Things aren't getting serious with him, are they?"

Ron flushed nearly the shade of his hair. "I dunno. We haven't really talked about it."

Ron's announcement after the conclusion of their seventh year at Hogwarts had surprised Hermione, but not as much as learning, a few weeks back, that he was seeing Oliver Wood. Oliver was still Keeper for Puddlemere United, and Ron had made his acquaintance during the one season he'd played with the Chudley Cannons directly following Hogwarts graduation. He'd given it up after that, saying it was too stressful, and gone into business with Fred and George at Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, where he was in charge of advertising for the highly successful joke shop. Ron had moved into Hermione's flat in London after that, saying it would save them both rent money. She'd been dubious at first, thinking that they might curse each other into oblivion within a week, but both had mellowed out while growing up and the large flat allowed them both to have their own space.

"Well, good luck," she said, flashing a smile at him, "and you can tell me all about it the day after tomorrow. I think I'm going to go read for a bit and go to bed. 'Night."

"'Night," Ron replied without looking up, already back to his newspaper.

Hermione put on an ancient Chudley Cannons t-shirt she had shamelessly stolen from Ron's closet (although, by the size of it, he must have outgrown it while they were still back at school) and a pair of plaid flannel pajama pants and climbed into bed. Crossing her hands behind her head, she stared blankly up at the ceiling.

If she allowed herself to admit the truth, she wished she were still back at Hogwarts with Harry and Ron. While she'd hoped for years that there would someday be a time when they didn't have to have the threat of Voldemort hanging over their heads, since he'd been defeated just before their graduation her life no longer held any mystery or excitement. That should be a good thing, she thought dryly to herself. Really, who wants the world's most evil and dangerous wizard constantly after one of their best friends?

It wasn't like she necessarily wanted the threat of death hanging over her head. Hermione had been as glad as anyone when Harry had barely managed to defeat the Dark Lord and consequently saved the wizarding world. But something in her life had changed that day more than two years ago, as if she had lost a bit of herself that would never come back.

Kind of like Harry, she found herself thinking bitterly, and wondered what felt like the thousandth time over the past 24 months where he was, why he hadn't contacted her and Ron, when or if he'd be coming back....

Hermione rolled over and pulled the cord on her bedside lamp. As the room went dark, she pulled the covers up to her neck, and began counting backwards to fall asleep.

***

Ron was already gone the next morning when Hermione got up and stumbled into the kitchen in her bathrobe. He had evidently gone through the day's Daily Prophet already, as the sports section was spread out all across the kitchen table and the rest was sitting untouched on a chair. Hermione scanned through the front section as she spooned mouthfuls of oatmeal, murmuring "Scourgify!" to her dishes when she was finished.

A light fall breeze pushed her hair behind her shoulders as she walked to work, choosing to take the longer way in order to enjoy the uncannily pleasant October weather. Upon arrival at the Ministry's main library, she set to work, thinking only of file organization until midmorning when she was sidetracked by a set of papers on ancient Egyptian wizards, who were possibly the first to practice an advanced level of transfiguration. When, long past her lunch hour, she put them away in their proper place and turned around, she was surprised to find a familiar face behind her.

"Still playing librarian, I see?"

The three years since Draco Malfoy's refusal to join the Death Eaters hadn't made him lose his imperious drawl; he still spoke as if everyone he addressed was beneath him. But while his speech and continual smirk hadn't changed, his actions were 180 drastically different. It had taken a year of seeing his father in Azkaban to open his eyes, but once he'd seen the truth, he'd become a great ally to the Order of the Phoenix and a friend to Hermione.

"Did they teach you to sneak up on people in Auror training, or is that just a habit you've always had?" Hermione crossed her arms over her chest and looked up at him, eyebrows raised.

"I was a Slytherin, you know. We all did that kind of stuff." He smiled down at her, a rare sight. "It's good to see you."

Hermione half-smiled and stood on her toes to kiss him on the cheek. "I missed you, too." She frowned as he turned his head and a purple-black bruise became evident on his right cheekbone. "Draco, what happened to you? Where have you been?"

"Oh, everywhere," he said, with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Can I take you to lunch? I'll explain everything then."

Hermione agreed readily, somewhat baffled, and followed him out of the library, where they Apparated to an upscale cafe that Draco frequented. Despite being disowned by the Malfoy family, he still made enough money to live rather extravagantly.

"Good afternoon, Mr. Malfoy. May I tempt you with the specials of the day? We have a particularly succulent poisson et--"

"Excellent. We'll both take that, and a bottle of your best merlot." Draco handed the menus back to the waiter without even glancing at them.

Once the waiter had walked away back to the kitchen, Hermione hissed, "Do you even know what you ordered us, Draco? Were you even listening?" She paused. "Do you even know French?"

He shrugged. "Whatever they have is always good. Some sort of fish, I believe."

"And wine? It's only twelve-thirty, Draco--"

"I like wine. But that's not really the point."

Hermione made an exasperated noise, and was about to argue, when Draco said quietly, "I might know something about Potter."

Feeling short of breath, she had to wait a minute before saying, "Harry? How--when--where--"

He held up a hand to halt her. "I'm not positive about it yet. Just give me a minute to explain." He took a sip of his gin and tonic, which had arrived. "I was in a sort of club about a week ago, after a couple of days of trying rather unsuccessfully to track down this wizard, Graham Lee--nasty fellow, you've probably heard of him, always a supporter of Voldemort when he was around, although not so much as to become a Death Eater."

Hermione nodded; she had read in the Daily Prophet about Lee fleeing from wizarding law enforcement numerous times.

"Anyway, the club was in Paris, and it was a sort of...you know...dodgy place. More of a bar, really. So I was just having a drink, minding my own business, when this rather large chap with several friends runs into me, and the collision makes me dump my drink down my shirt. It was a nice shirt--one of my favorites, from Wizard Armani--"

"Draco, get to the point."

"Right, sorry. So I guess I get angry with this fellow, say something along the lines of, 'So you'd like to buy me a new drink? That's very generous of you.' I suppose he wasn't very happy about this, because he throws a punch that lands me flat on my back." Draco touched his face gingerly. "It split open, too, but I had that healed--the mediwizard said the bruising would fade in a couple of days. But anyway, as I was laying on the floor--only half-conscious, really, like I said, he was a big bloke and my head hit the tile when I went down--I distinctly heard one of them say, 'That kid better be careful, or he'll end up like Potter's going to, sooner or later." And he started to laugh, but one of the other ones shushed him really quickly, told him he shouldn't say that kind of thing in public, and they all left before I could get up and see what they looked like, because I hadn't really gotten a close glance before." He shook his head. "Dumb bastards. Of course, I suppose it wasn't really too smart of me to get mixed up with them--I should've just left it alone--Hermione? Hermione!"

She had hardly heard the end of his story--she had turned chalk-white and stared unseeingly at the tablecloth in front of her. Harry is in danger, she thought. Of course it had occurred to her before, but she had never before had her suspicions confirmed. Over and over she repeated the words, until it became a rhythm in her head: HarryisindangerHarryisindangerHarryisindanger--

A light touch on her hand surprised Hermione out of her stupor. She jerked her attention back to Draco. "Sorry, did you say something?"

He rolled his eyes. "I've only said your name about twelve times. Does any mention of Potter send you into a trance?"

She flushed. "No. Well--no, not really. You just surprised me, that's all. The place was in Paris, you said? Did you ask anyone around if they knew who the fellows were--?"

"One step ahead of you already. Once I came back into it and got up off the floor, I asked the bartender if he knew who they were, and he said they were regulars that came into the bar about once a week, usually on Friday nights." Draco paused. "I was sent back here yesterday to do some research, poking around about this Lee chap, and to have a little time off, because I've been working basically round the clock these past few weeks. I thought I'd come let you know and see if you wanted me to go back to the bar again next week, see if they were there again and if I could recognize them and find out more."

Hermione pursed her lips. "Don't you think they'd recognize you? I mean, you don't want to get hit again, or they could even Stun you this time--"

"I'll Polyjuice into someone, then. Another Auror, they'll understand. And I'll have my wand ready this time, trust me."

She hesitated. "I...I suppose so. I mean, I can go if you can't, it's...it's really important to me to find out if H-Harry's in danger, or kidnapped, or something." Harry's name was so unfamiliar on her tongue as of late that she tripped over the word.

Draco snorted indignantly. "I'd never let you go into a place like that. The men would be all over you in an instant--pretty girls like you are too...wholesome, I suppose, to ever go in there. The only way you'd learn anything is if the chap that punched me was trying to pick you up."

Hermione looked at him.

"Don't look at me like that, I hate it when you look at me like that...what? What did I do?"

"You just came up with our plan." She smiled beatifically at him.

"I can't believe you think it's a good idea to go seduce criminals. What if they really try something?"

She shrugged. "It's not like I can't Apparate away in an instant if they do. And you're still coming with me, right? You can keep an eye on me and make sure everything is going all right."

"But what if--"

"No buts." Hermione looked him in the eye. "Either you do this for me, or you don't. I'll go by myself if you don't come with me."

"Of course I'm coming with you. How many times do I have to say it: do you really think I'd let you go in there alone?"

"Good. Friday it is, then? Sounds good."

"I hate how you always win."

***

Despite the fact that she had tried to treat the whole affair as a joking matter with Draco after her initial shock, Hermione was very disturbed by the news that something could possibly have happened to Harry. At first, just after they'd left Hogwarts, she'd worried that something might have happened, but the thought had faded, and she had been left with what seemed like a logical realization at the time that he had just wanted to get away. Along with this new panic, even though she had reassured Draco that there was no way the wizards could kidnap her or try to seriously take her home with them, she was still worried. She wasn't even sure she had enough flirtatiousness in her to seduce them; it wasn't like she'd ever been good at picking up men, and she didn't honestly think she was so pretty they'd automatically drop to the floor and beg her for sexual favors upon sight.

Well, maybe they'd be really desperate. She hoped so.

She'd had, truly, so few serious encounters in dating. She could count them on one hand if she thought about it. Viktor Krum, Ron (before he knew he was gay), Seamus Finnigan, an intern at the Ministry of Magic when she had first started working there...

It had taken a week full of nights of awkward kissing with Ron up in the Astronomy Tower for Hermione to realize that she was really in love with Harry. Once, over Ron's shoulder, she'd seen him snogging Cho Chang, and had only been shaken out of her staring when Ron accidentally bit down on her lower lip hard enough to draw blood. The next day, she'd broken up with him, and he actually admitted he was relieved, and the possibility for romance with Ron was forever gone. Hermione, who had felt that Harry was more likely to fall in love with Hagrid than with her, had resolved to settle for someone else and had consequently dated a few other boys.

She was startled out of her thoughts by the front door of the flat opening. She frowned and checked her watch: it was one o'clock in the morning, much later than her usual bedtime. She considered dashing off to bed before Ron saw her, but reconsidered and decided she wanted to ask how his date with Oliver had been.

The door opened all the way and Ron stumbled in, in the midst of a yawn. He did a sort of double take when he glanced to his left and saw Hermione still stretched out on the couch.

Tossing down a briefcase on an old steamer trunk that was currently functioning as a coffee table, Ron asked, as Hermione was moving her feet so he could sit down beside her, "What are you still doing up? It's late, and don't you have to work tomorrow--"

She cut him off, forgetting entirely to ask about his date. "Draco stopped by today, and we went out to lunch. He's heard something about Harry." Quickly she summarized what Draco had told her.

Ron closed his eyes, frowning, for a moment, then opened them again. "So let me get this straight. You're going to try and get these blokes to hit on you, and see if they mention anything about Harry? And you think this is a good plan?"

"Draco'll be there if anything goes wrong, and I can always Apparate away if I get in trouble," she said, repeating the reasons she'd explained to Draco earlier. "I'll be fine. At the very least I can find out who they are."

Ron looked doubtful. "I dunno, Herm. Doesn't it make you nervous?"

There was silence for a moment as Hermione thought. "Not that part as much. Just--" She spread her arms wide. "What happens if I go through with everything and I end up finding him--Harry? I mean--he--he left--without--just--what then? I don't know." Hermione leaned back against the couch as if defeated.

Ron moved over to wrap an arm around her shoulders. "Hey. Relax. You don't have to worry about this part right now. Just do what you can on Friday, and see how that goes. Take things as they come."

She leaned into his chest, feeling it move up and down as he breathed. "Yeah. I guess so. I'm just--scared." Hermione said the last word very quietly, as if that might make it less true. It was hard to admit her apprehension, even to Ron.

After that, he didn't say anything, but his arm stayed around her for a long time. Finally, yawning, she murmured, "I'm going to bed," and stood up, stretching.

Ron stood up too, following her back to the door of her bedroom, where he told her goodnight and kissed her on the forehead. She pulled on her pajamas and climbed into bed, where she found it exasperatingly difficult to fall asleep. Thoughts and memories of Harry through the years whirled around in her head, and as she tumbled into unconsciousness she clutched the sheets and blankets so tightly that her fingers were sore the next day and she didn't know why.

***

Hermione's next day at work was a trying one. She knocked over an ink bottle on a stack of rare documents, tripped over her own feet into a bookshelf and knocked all the books on the floor, and mis-categorized an entire set of newspaper articles, forcing her to dig them all out again to put them in their proper place--all before noon.

Her scheduled lunchtime came as a very welcome break. She was putting on her jacket after picking it up from the coat rack by the door when someone said her name, startling her.

Whirling around, Hermione put a hand to her throat. "You're the second person to do that to me in two days...Ginny! What are you doing here? What's wrong?"

"I didn't know where else to go," the redheaded girl said miserably. "Dean...he..." she trailed off into sobbing, and put her hands over her face.

"Shush, Gin, it's all right. Do you want to come back to the flat? I was just going to go to lunch, but we can order something in--"

Ginny nodded, still crying, and the two of them Apparated back to Hermione's flat. "I came here before, but Ron was gone, and when I went to the joke shop, he wasn't there--Fred and George were, but I didn't want to talk to them..."

"That's understandable. Here--sit down and take some deep breaths. Take these." Hermione offered her a box of tissues.

Ginny wiped her face and laughed weakly. "I'm a mess. I'm sorry."

"Don't worry about it--I was useless at work anyway. Do you want to tell me what happened now?"

"Dean and I were having lunch, like we try to do once every week," said Ginny, and took a deep breath. Her voice was stronger when she resumed speaking. "It's hard with both of our work schedules, but we usually manage it...anyway, that's not the point. I don't even know how it started...we just got into a fight, I guess...I mean, every once in a while, we have little disagreements, but not anything like this before...not since we've been back together..."

Hermione nodded. She knew Ginny and Dean had been dating exclusively since Ginny had graduated a year earlier.

Ginny sighed and looked at her shoes. "He thinks we should see other people." Her voice wobbled on the last word, and Hermione winced in sympathy.

"What was it that you fought about?"

"He wants me to spend more time at the flat. We've been renting one together since June, but since I got the promotion I've hardly been able to be home. The thing is, it's really important to me that I do well on this next project...but he just doesn't understand. I don't know what to do. He said that if I couldn't make the time commitment, then he wanted to break it off and find someone who could." Tears began falling from her eyes again. "I--I think I might love him, and he wants to see other people..."

Hermione knew that Ginny really enjoyed her job as the features editor of Teen Witch Weekly. In the past few months, since she'd been promoted to run the department, the content had begun to change slightly--there were far fewer articles about cosmetic charms and attracting boys and more about serious issues: Hermione knew that right now the project Ginny was speaking of was a collection of interviews from various wizarding secondary school students about experiences with Voldemort. It was a time-consuming and difficult task to undertake, to do a piece on the Dark Lord that wouldn't offend anyone.

Patting Ginny's back, Hermione said, "Give him some time to cool off. He probably just spoke in the heat of the moment--I'm sure he doesn't really mean it. Explain to him how important your work is to you, and stress that you're really devoted to him. You might also promise to take a vacation or something with him in a while--maybe over Christmas, or in the spring, once things at the magazine have slowed down."

Ginny raised her head and smiled tremulously. "I guess so. I--I hope it all works out."

"What do you think about lunch now? We could order in, or go out, if you want to."

"Let's go out." She paused. "The Three Broomsticks, perhaps? I haven't been there in quite a long time, and I need to pick something up in Hogsmeade, anyway...and besides, Dean isn't likely to be there."

"Sounds fine to me," Hermione said, ignoring the little voice in the back of her head that said she had only ever been there with Harry and Ron. In the two years since the time she'd last seen Harry, she hadn't been back to the Three Broomsticks; it held too many memories for her to want to frequent it, as did the rest of Hogsmeade. But if Ginny wanted to go...well, then Hermione would accompany her. Don't make a big deal about it, she told herself, and tried to believe that it wouldn't be.

The two of them Apparated near to the entrance of the Three Broomsticks, standing outside for a minute as they followed a large crowd of wizards and witches at the door. A fellow in front of them held open the door, and Hermione trailed behind Ginny into the front of the restaurant.

The smell of spilled Butterbeer and Ogden's Old Firewhisky overtook Hermione for a moment; it was so familiar, even after two years; her and Harry and Ron--oh, Merlin. She took a shaky breath and closed her eyes for a brief moment. Don't think about them. This is now, with Ginny, not years ago with Harry and Ron.

Opening her eyes again, Hermione surveyed the place: little had changed since her last visit. Madam Rosmerta was still working there, albeit looking more worn-out than she used to, and the furniture hadn't been replaced (the tabletops were now looking rather grubby after what could be decades, Hermione supposed, of holding Butterbeer). The fireplace was still in the same spot it used to be, although it wasn't lit, and no one was crowded around it for warmth, as had been the case most of the time Hermione had visited the Three Broomsticks.

There were no other familiar faces as Hermione looked around. She still half-expected to see Lavender and Parvati giggling together, Seamus and Dean talking animatedly about Quidditch, Hagrid sitting over a giant tankard of whiskey...but the large room was mostly empty, as it was early afternoon on a weekday. That helped; Hermione felt her head clearing and smiled at Ginny, if a little forcibly, who was staring at her with an expression of mixed concern and confusion.

"All right, Hermione?"

"Yes, of course. Just remembering when I used to come here from Hogwarts." She prayed Ginny wouldn't force the subject, but the younger girl simply nodded and went to sit down at a table.

Both girls ordered salads and Butterbeer (despite the fact that the drink was a favorite of children, Hermione still found it to be pleasing to the pallet) and watched the few other wizards and witches sitting in the pub. Hermione and Ginny were close enough for the silence between them to be comfortable, and Hermione was even glad for the quiet as she tried to focus her mind on the present and ignore the memories of years past that seemed to be looming all around her. She shivered, even though it was midday and not chilly inside the Three Broomsticks. It's like they're ghosts, she thought, except they're not dead. Well, Ron isn't, anyway. Harry...

"So how are things going at the magazine?" Hermione found herself saying, thinking that perhaps Ginny could distract her. The silence of the pub was suddenly too heavy and full for Hermione to escape it.

"Um...pretty good, I guess. Like I said before, we've been working on this really challenging project about You-Know-Who"--Ginny still didn't say his name--"and that's been really...eye-opening, I guess I'd say." She hesitated. "In fact...I wrote a piece for it, like I hardly ever do, being the editor, about the time my first year when I was possessed, and that was difficult. But I'm really glad I did it. I think people need to know what it was like, even though it was so many years ago."

"I'll make sure to get one, then, and read it," Hermione promised, and was about to go on when Ginny interrupted her.

"I still have nightmares about it...sometimes. Not often, but every once in a while when I have a really bad day at work, or a fight with Dean..." Ginny touched her temples lightly, as if checking to make sure they were still there. "It's better now, now that You-Know-Who is gone. I'm still curious as to what Harry did..." she trailed off, not noticing how Hermione flinched at the mention of his name.

"Well, none of us will really know, I suppose," Hermione cut her off. "The important thing is that Voldemort's gone now, and can't ever come back."

Ginny caught Hermione's gaze. "Do you even know what happened?"

Shaking her head and looking down, Hermione said, "No, I don't, actually. And I'd rather...I'd rather we didn't talk about it."

"Okay," Ginny answered quickly, as if she had expected that response. "I'm sorry."

Hermione just shrugged, and opened up her Butterbeer, which had arrived.

They ate lunch without speaking, the only noises the crunch of their salads and the swallowing of Butterbeer. Finished, Ginny said, "You should probably get back to work now, shouldn't you? Thanks for going out with me. I appreciate it."

"Oh, you don't have to thank me, Gin," Hermione said distractedly, gathering her things after she'd glanced at her watch and realized how late it really was. "It was my pleasure. You should always come and see me any time you need to. I hope things with Dean improve."

"Me too." Ginny bit her lip. "I'll try and talk to him soon, I guess."

"I wish you luck. Goodbye." And Hermione Apparated back to work, where the afternoon went only slightly better than the morning.

***

The next few days continued in the same vein, and Hermione found herself very frustrated by the time the week ended, as well as increasingly nervous about implementing her plan with Draco. When he arrived at her flat Friday evening, she was in her bedroom getting ready, her fingers fumbling so badly with the clasp of her purse that she couldn't open it.

"Hermione, you here?" she heard him call. "It's Draco."

"I know who you are by now, Draco. You can come in here, I'm dressed."

He pushed open the door to her room, looking impeccable as always in dark gray trousers and a white polo shirt. Hermione found herself thinking that his trousers brought out the similar shade of his eyes, and wondered why she was suddenly considering something so trivial as that.

Draco gave her an incredulous look. "You're not going in that, are you?"

"What's wrong with this?" Hermione asked, her voice pitched higher than usual. She was wearing a knee-length navy dress that she generally reserved for special occasions.

"So many things that I couldn't begin to name them all; we'd be here all night. Let me pick something out for you, all right?"

"Oh, come on, Draco, it's not that big of a deal--they won't pay that much attention to what I'm wearing, they're male--"

"That's right, Hermione, they are male. Which means that if you're not showing as much skin as is feasibly possible without being arrested for indecency, they won't pay any attention to you."

She was speechless for a moment at that.

"Fine, then I'll wear this--" She pulled a black skirt from her closet that was considerably shorter.

Draco considered it. "I can work with that. Let me see it."

"I don't want you ruining all my clothes--"

"I'm not ruining them; I'm helping them. Let me see it."

She gave it up reluctantly, and was assigned the task of finding a suitable something to attire her top half as he pulled out his wand to fiddle with her skirt.

Hermione gave a shriek of dismay when she turned to see what he'd done to her skirt. "Draco! I'm not wearing that! That's for...for...for prostitutes!"

He gave a wolfish grin. "Hermione, sweetheart, I know you're naïve, but whores are what these wizards are used to. Trust me on this."

Gritting her teeth, she said, "Let me see what it looks like on. I'm not agreeing to it, I just want to see what it looks like." He handed it to her, and she ordered, "Turn around."

"Oh, but Hermione--"

"I'm sure you'll be seeing plenty of me in this anyway. Turn around."

He obeyed, if sulkily.

It stuck to her skin as she yanked it up--she'd never worn anything made of dragon leather before.

"Draco, my underwear shows in this!" she hissed furiously. "I'm not--"

"Speaking of that, I thought you might like--"

"No. We are not going there."

"All right, fine. But you're wearing the skirt."

"Never again," she said, and he grinned in victory. "And on top, I think this--"

Draco frowned and ruffled through the back of her closet. "What's this--ah. Why didn't you show me this before?"

"Because it's a...a...a nightgown!" She snatched it back from him, shoving it to the back of her wardrobe.

"A nightgown, hmm? I don't think you were doing much actual sleeping in it--although you probably didn't have it on for all that long--"

"THAT'S MY PERSONAL LIFE, IT'S NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS--"

"Okay, calm down, Hermione. I won't bring it up again." Draco held his hands out in surrender. "Let's just keep getting you ready, or we'll never make it there."

She glared at him, but said nothing. She could tell her cheeks were still hot.

He took the item clutched in her hand from her. "I can work with this, too. Let's see..." He muttered a few charms, and displayed the finished product. "Voila. How do you like that?"

"Just as well as the skirt." She pulled it on over her head, feeling the tight material cling to her skin. Looking at herself in the mirror, she tried to pull it down--"Draco, it's too short. There's a big space between the end of it and the skirt."

He sighed exasperatedly. "Yes, I know. It's supposed to be there. Don't you pay attention to fashion at all?"

"I happen to like the clothes I have, thank you very much. They're very practical."

"That's the problem with you, you're all about practicality when it comes to clothes--"

"Do we really need to have this discussion now?"

"No, I suppose not. We could set up a press conference, if you like--"

"Draco."

"All right, then, we'll move on to shoes. Actually, I brought some for you--saw them in a store and I couldn't resist." He brandished a pair of strappy black sandals with four-inch heels. "They might be a little difficult to walk in, but I think they'll look great."

Hermione sat down on her bed to put the shoes on, then yanked a pillow over her legs as she realized that Draco probably had a straight view up her skirt. He grinned at this, but didn't say anything.

She stood up and almost immediately began to topple sideways. Draco caught at her arm, obviously amused. "All right there?"

"I'm perfectly capable of walking on my own, thank you very much." She steadied herself on her bureau. "These are going to kill my feet, you know that?"

He had the grace to look sympathetic. "Yeah, I know. Just one night, though. And maybe if you really get far enough with these fellows you can take them off--"

Hermione closed her eyes.

***

Twenty minutes and an entire pencil of eyeliner (applied to Hermione by Draco, of course) later, they were finally ready to go. Hermione was putting on a leather coat that matched her skirt as she heard the pop of someone Apparating in and Ron came in her room.

"Gah!" Ron put a hand over his eyes, then looked at her again, as if he'd thought he was hallucinating. "Hermione, what's...that is you underneath all that, isn't it?"

"Of course it is," she snapped. "I'm trying to seduce criminals, remember? According to Draco, I have to look like a hooker--"

"I should've figured it was all you, Malfoy," Ron said sarcastically. He was still not fond of Draco, even though he was fully aware of all Draco had done for the Order of the Phoenix. "Trying to play out your own little fantasy--"

"Right, because this wouldn't be yours, would it? No, yours would be some Quidditch player all dressed up like a whore--Viktor Krum, maybe, he's rather handsome, don't you think?"

Ron had turned nearly the color of an eggplant.

Hermione wobbled over to stand between them before they came to blows. "Quit it, you two. Ron, Draco and I have to get going. I don't know when I'll be back. Have a good night." She kissed him quickly on the cheek and turned to Draco, who was still glowering. "Come on, let's go."

With a pop, they Disapparated.

***

Hermione knew that with her eyes open so wide in shock, she must look like she'd never been in a bar before--which, embarrasingly enough, was almost true. She hadn't ever been in a place where the waitresses wore so little, or--

"Draco." She tugged on his sleeve. "This is a strip club. You didn't tell me it was a strip club."

She was gratified to see a faint pink flush spread across his cheekbones. "I doubted I'd ever get you here if I did."

"Well, really, if it's for Ha--"

He put a hand over her mouth. "Don't say his name here. You never know who could be listening."

Hermione nodded, and he put his hand down and led her to a table. She wanted to ask him if this was where he'd seen the fellows last time, but didn't want to bring it up in case, like he said, someone was listening to them.

Draco put his hand up to signal a waitress, and one came over to them, wearing a skirt even shorter than Hermione's and something on top that could not be qualified as a shirt. Hermione looked away, flushing. Does Draco come to this sort of place often?

"A Jack Daniels for me, and a margarita for the lady. On the rocks."

The waitress took down their order and walked away. Draco's eyes followed her retreating figure, and Hermione was about to make a sarcastic remark when he said very quietly to her, "Don't look now, but there they are. The big blokes, in the dark jackets--"

Hermione glanced in their direction, trying to be subtle. They were large fellows, all wearing dark dragon leather jackets. Most of them were scarred and tattooed and generally rather dangerous-looking.

Draco murmured to her that he was going to change, with the underlying implication that he was going to Polyjuice, and quietly slipped away to the bathroom. The memory of the day she and Harry and Ron had taken Polyjuice in second year swam up in her mind...a small smile came to her lips as she realized that she'd never told Draco about that.

"Won't the waitress or someone else notice?" she said as quietly as possible after he had come back grimacing and holding his stomach, looking like an Auror friend of his.

He shrugged. It was strange to know it was Draco next to her, but to see a mid-twenties-aged man with sandy brown hair and hazel eyes. "People keep quiet here, generally. This isn't a place where you ask questions, because you'll usually get hexed--or punched, like me, I suppose. As for the waitress--" Draco brandished a Galleon, and when the waitress came to deliver their drinks, he slipped it in a place that made Hermione gasp indignantly.

When the waitress left again, Draco turned to Hermione. "Seriously. Have you never experienced anything like this before? I mean, you'd think, being friends with all those boys--"

"Ron's different," she protested. "I mean, even besides the fact that he's gay--"

"And I suppose Harry never took you to a place like this while you were still in Hogwarts, did he?"

"No," she said, avoiding his gaze, "Harry would never do something like that." She took a sip of her drink then remarked, "Hey, this isn't bad, once you get used to it."

Draco smiled. "Now you're speaking a language I understand. Listen, don't have another one, all right? Just enough to relax you, not enough to get you drunk. It'd be pretty useless if you got some information out of them but can't remember it tomorrow morning."

"I'm not stupid, Draco, I wouldn't go and get drunk, not right now, this is important." She fidgeted in her seat, trying to pull her skirt down. "When should I go after them?"

"Wait a bit, at least until they get settled with their drinks. Then I'll tell you what to do, all right?"

Hermione nodded, and took another sip of her margarita. She glanced around, unsure--unsure of what to do, how to act, what to say...

"So." Draco sat his drink down on the table. "Do you have a plan?"

"A plan?" Hermione's mind went blank. "Uh...no, not really."

He sighed and closed his eyes briefly. "I knew I should have come over earlier so we could talk about this."

"About what?"

"How you're going to attract them. I mean, no offense, but you can't be yourself."

"Yes, I can see how a librarian probably wouldn't be all that attractive to a group of thugs, even a librarian that looks like a hooker."

"Oh, there's nothing wrong with the way you look now," Draco said, sounding cocky. "I mean, I dressed you."

"I meant personality-wise, Draco. Although perhaps these fellows aren't really the sort to pay attention to that sort of thing, as long as I look like this."

"You don't exactly need a personality...more just like..." He hesitated. "You have to flirt, Hermione, and I mean really turn it up."

"I know I have to seduce them," she snapped. "You don't have to explain to me what 'seduce' means."

"All right, fine, don't listen to me. I just hope you can manage it--"

"Draco." Hermione's fingers were shaking slighlty; she wondered if the alcohol was already affecting her. "Please, let's not fight right now, okay?"

He relented, and they seeped back into silence. They were both keeping a careful eye on the table of wizards in dragon leather jackets, just across the room, while trying to look as though they were not keeping a careful eye on them.

"Okay," Draco said finally. "They seem pretty settled now...it might be a good time to go distract them."

Hermione found that her throat had gone dry, so she just nodded.

"Hey." Draco grabbed her arm. "Don't look so uptight. I'm right over here if anything goes wrong."

Nodding again, Hermione slipped out of his grasp and made her way across the crowded floor. Fighting the urge to pull her skirt down, she stopped in front of the table of wizards and smiled sweetly. "There sure are a lot of you fellows, aren't there? Do you think there's room for me to squeeze in?"

The biggest one of them laughed. "There's always room for a pretty girl like you. Here, sit next to me." He patted a chair, and Hermione sat down, taking care to make sure they all had a perfect view of her posterior before she did so. Without even looking at Draco, she could tell he was having to restrain from laughing at her performance.

Lowering her eyelashes coquettishly, she purred, "So where are all you boys from? Not from around here, I'd suppose--you don't sound French." Hermione adjusted her top, conscious that they were all staring at her breasts as she did so and practically drooling.

A smallish wizard, slightly balding, piped up: "A little suburb of London, Gr--"

Hermione made a mental note that they were located in Greenwich.

The one Hermione was sitting next to, who seemed to be the leader of the group, cut him off with a glare. "Quiet, Ted." Turning to Hermione he said, "London. We're from London."

"I used to live in London," she lied, as to throw them off course, just in case, "but now I'm in Liverpool. Flats are cheaper there, you know." Don't talk to them about real estate. Find out about Harry!

"And what do you all do for a living?" she asked, with another sultry smile. "I love wizards who are into the...darker side of things, if you know what I mean."

There were a few scattered guffaws. "'Course we do," Ted said. "That's what we're all about. Hangin' around in Knockturn Alley and seeing what we can find." Ted nudged the wizard next to him, and they exchanged a significant glance.

Hermione's heartrate accelerated. Did they kidnap Harry from Knockturn Alley? What would he be doing down there, anyway?

"Some of my boys, they talk too much." It was the leader again. "Forget what they say real quick, understand?" He winked at her, and she had to stop herself from shuddering.

"Aw, come on, G," Ted protested. "It's not like she's gonna tell anyone--"

G shot him another look and he stopped talking.

Hermione nodded in response to G's comment and tried to look like she was forgetting rapidly.

"And what about you, missy? What do you do?"

"I'm what you might call a street vendor." She raised her eyebrows. "My shop, though...it changes locations pretty frequently, if you know what I mean."

All the wizards grinned. It was obvious they knew what she meant.

"You sellin' tonight?"

Hermione tried to look dismayed. "No, I'm...with my boyfriend tonight, actually." She gestured at Draco-who-didn't-look-like-Draco across the room. "But if you're ever in downtown Liverpool, look for me - I'll be there."

"That we'll do," said G, indiscreetly looking at her breasts again. "What did you say your name was?"

"I didn't. It's...Jade." She chose the first random name that came to her mind.

"Jade, huh," G grunted. "That's not a common name."

Hermione looked at him and winked. "My parents were creative."

There were more chuckles around the circle, and G said, "We gotta hit another place tonight, so we're takin' off. You comin'?"

"Er..." Hermione hesitated. She really hadn't found out very much information so far. "If you're going," she said, and put her hand on his bicep, "then I'm going."

"That's what I like to hear," he said, and she squeezed his arm. While he was getting up from the table, Hermione chanced a look at Draco and motioned with her head that they were leaving. He understood, thankfully, and set his drink down.

"My boyfriend's going to follow along in a little bit," she said loudly, hoping Draco would hear and understand to trail them without being seen. G didn't respond to this; probably he didn't like it very much.

As they exited the club Hermione realized for the first time how cold it was outside; her leather jacket was back with Draco and she was left in her tiny skirt and top in the chilly October night. She tried not to look like she was freezing, as she didn't particularly want any of the wizards with her to try to warm her up.

The wind whipped Hermione's hair into her face; she tried to hold it back, but eventually realized it was futile and left it alone. She could feel her feet blistering, and sincerely hoped that they weren't bleeding in the shoes Draco had given her, as she was sure they were expensive. Why don't they just Apparate if this place is far away, and avoid being outside in the cold...well, it probably doesn't matter so much to them, they have jackets... None of the wizards spoke as they walked, so Hermione didn't either. She couldn't see Draco, but desperately hoped he was behind them.

Finally they reached what looked to Hermione to be another strip club. She sighed inwardly, but supposed it was probably to be expected.

"Here we are." G took her arm and gestured to the sign above the club. "This is Hercules."

Inside, it was very similar to the last place--which, Hermione realized, she'd never noticed the name of--except that there was a wizard supposedly dressed as Hercules inside, along with several waitresses scantily clad in Roman-esque costumes. G and the other men took seats at a table in a corner, and Hermione slid in beside them. She was relieved to see, as the others ordered drinks, Draco-who-didn't-look-like-Draco coming in nonchalantly through the door and taking a table far across the room. While G and his group were distracted, she gave Draco a tiny smile, and was glad to see him smile back at her, even if it was with someone else's mouth.

G leaned forward and focused his gaze on her. "So, Miss Jade, what are the chances that you'll give up your little boyfriend and go for The G instead?"

With a sudden stroke of brilliance, Hermione met his eyes and murmured, "It depends. What do you have to impress me with?"

G leaned back in his chair and grinned. It was not a pretty sight. "I've got somethin' pretty impressive in a storeroom back in London--the greatest kidnap in the history of the wizarding world." He lowered his voice. "Promise you won't tell?"

"Of course," Hermione said, adjusting her top again so that his gaze was drawn to her breasts. That sort of thing always seemed to help.

He hesitated. "No--really, I shouldn't've mentioned that. My boss'd kill me." He took a sip of some thick, syrupy-looking drink. "Just believe me that it's impressive. Everyone in the world'll find out soon enough, anyway."

Hermione winked at him. "I'll be waiting eagerly for that, then. If it all works out for you...then maybe I'll think about you." She stood up. "But right now--I should get back to my boyfriend, see, we have plans later--"

G grabbed her wrist so she couldn't move. "Not so fast. If I ever hear that you told anyone any part of what I just told you--you're dead, like that." He snapped his fingers. "Doesn't matter where you are, I'll hunt you down. You got it?"

"I won't tell anyone," she said sweetly. "Hopefully I'll see you later, G. Look for me in Liverpool."

With that, Hermione wrenched her arm from G's grasp and hurried back towards Draco. Neither of them said a word until they were back in Hermione's flat.

"Merlin, I'm freezing," Hermione gasped, and collapsed on the couch. "Did you know it was that cold outside? And you let me go out in this?" She gestured to her outfit.

Draco, who had returned to his normal appearance again, just shrugged. "I didn't expect you to have to go outside. Besides, it was all for the sake of fashion."

Contrary to his apathetic words, he picked up a blanket that was sitting by the couch, muttered a warming charm on it, and handed it to Hermione. She wrapped it around her shoulders, still shivering. "That was terrible. I tried so hard to look like I wasn't cold because I didn't want any of those--those bastards to put their hands on me."

Draco sat down next to Hermione and began to rub her arms. "Gah. You are cold. So what did you learn?"

Hermione explained everything to him in detail and gradually began to warm up. "So--I think that we need to go exploring in Greenwich, check out all of the storage rooms there, because I think they might have him. Obviously, we can't be positive it's Harry they're talking about, but I think it's pretty clear--Draco, are you listening to me?"

He wasn't.

"G," he murmured. "You said they called him G?"

"Yes, but--"

"I wonder if that's in any way connected to Graham Lee. Obviously, that fellow you were with wasn't Lee himself, but--"

"Draco--"

"--I should tell the rest of the Aurors immediately--"

"That can bloody wait!" Hermione exploded. "Listen to me. Did you hear what I said about them holding someone they've kidnapped in a storeroom in Greenwich? We've got to go there and search around as soon as possible--tomorrow--and see what we could find. They could decide to kill him soon!"

"Calm down. I know that. We'll go--tomorrow, I suppose, then." Suddenly he wouldn't meet her gaze, and he said, "You know this is a long shot, right, Hermione? I mean, what you've found out so far is great--but we don't know anything, this could be a trap, or a hoax--just don't get your hopes up is all I'm saying, all right? It could completely be a wild goose chase where we end up with nothing."

Hermione refused to think that way. Stubbornly she said to Draco, "But we're still going to go and see what we can find tomorrow. Or at least, I am."

He sighed, defeated. "Then I'm coming with you too. You know that. Why don't you come to my flat tomorrow and we'll go? I'll be up early; I always am."

She nodded, hardly listening.

"Here, let me get these off for you." Draco took off her sandals. "Merlin, your feet look terrible. And you bled on my shoes."

"Sorry. They weren't really my primary concern."

"It's all right. Do you want me to heal your feet? I can't do much, but--"

Hermione looked at him. "I didn't know you could heal."

"They taught us really basic stuff in Auror training. I can't heal them completely, but I can get rid of the pain and seal the wounds."
"By all means, go ahead. They're killing me."

Draco took Hermione's battered feet in his lap and pulled out his wand. She leaned back against the couch, much more relaxed now that she was warmer and, well, away from the criminals.

"There."

Hermione looked down with surprise to see that her feet did, in fact, look much better, and the blisters no longer throbbed. She looked at Draco in surprise and said, "Thank you. Much improved."

"I'm going home and to bed then," he said, gently removing her feet from his lap. "I'm knackered."

"Me too. I'll be over tomorrow when I get up."

Now standing up, Draco looked at Hermione and half-smiled. "You were great in there flirting with those guys. You should win an award or something--"

She threw a magazine at him, although it landed at his feet. "Argh. I hated it. Let's never do that again."

He shrugged. "Fine by me. Have a good night; get some sleep."

"You too," she said, and he Disappparated.

Without going back to her room, or putting on her pajamas, or even turning off the light, Hermione fell deeply into sleep.