Long-hidden Skies

Chapter Five

This Just Keeps Getting Better and Better

Hermione had finally fallen into a fitful sleep near dawn, and it seemed as if her eyes had been shut only moments before she was jerked awake by incessant and insistent barking. Pulling a pillow over her head, she vainly tried to block out the growls, scuffling, scraping and pounding feet, and what sounded like a herd of hippogriffs trooping up and down the front stairs. She bolted upright, however, when a fierce roar rang through the house, seeming to shake the floorboards and vibrate her bed. One of her mirrors dropped to the floor and splintered.

"Oh, my God," she gasped, pressing a palm to her racing heart.

The next moment, her door slammed open and a blur of orange fur and a yapping curly-haired terrier tore into the room, followed closely by a massive black leopard. The large wild cat paused by her bureau for a split second, bunching its sleek muscles before effortlessly springing on top of the bed to stand over her, teeth bared and tongue panting. Crookshanks leapt up onto her bedside table, knocking over a glass and mewling loudly in protest as his tail swished into the pool of spilled water. The dog, after a few stunted attempts, managed to scramble up her covers to insinuate himself past the panther and then started to enthusiastically lick her face.

"Ew... Merlin, Colin, get away." She lifted an arm and pushed him off her, his cheerful yelps sounding suspiciously like chuckles. "Urgh," what a zoo, she thought, falling back against her pillows.

The light that shown through the bottom of her shaded window was a weak gray, leaving the bedroom encased in shadows. "What time is it?" she asked on a yawn, then quickly whipped a palm up and added, "Don't you dare."

The panther tilted its head, yellow eyes slightly mocking.

The last thing she needed was for both men to Transfigure back into human form. "I've no desire to have you two naked in my..." She trailed off, aware of how horrible that sounded out loud. Sighing, she placed a hand on the leopard's thick neck, urging him towards the edge of the mattress.

A deep, seductive growl rumbled up from his chest as he dipped his head, eyes almost slits, and she hastily removed her hand, recalling that Blaise or not, the leopard was still a wild animal... a very large wild animal, with sharp, pointy teeth and vicious looking claws. Clearing her throat, she said, "Um... well... you could at least leave while I get dressed."

In response, the black cat yawned widely and lowered himself to sprawl across the end of her bed. Colin followed suit, planting his furry body by her side, resting his head on her stomach with a contented sigh. Crookshanks, purring, curled up in a ball by her head.

Bemused, Hermione took their actions as permission to snuggle back into her covers, thinking that they must've just been up for a bit of early morning play, and that they weren't quite ready to leave yet. Which suited her just fine, considering her exhausted state, and she fell easily back into a light snooze, the surrounding animals a comfort.

Breakfast, when the four finally roused themselves, was an odd affair. Blaise was dressed in jeans and another of her dad's old sweatshirts - this one featuring a cartoon mouse and a caption that read, "I'll date when it doesn't involve others" - and eating an omelet at the kitchen table with the morning paper spread in front of him. He was feeding bits of bacon to Colin, who'd already scarfed down a bowlful of scrambled eggs and half of Crookshanks' morning kibble.

When the dog started to scratch and whine at the sliding glass door, Hermione put down her fork and watched incredulously as Blaise got up to let him out into the backyard. "Why is he still a terrier?" Hermione asked.

Blaise shut the door and shrugged. "It's what he's been for the better part of ten years."

Hermione cocked her head to the side. "But you don't mind being in human form?"

"Neither of us mind it, Granger. But if you're asking if we prefer our Animagus forms, then yes, we do." Blaise shoved a forkful of cheesy eggs into his mouth and lifted the Berkshire Press up in front of his face.

"But you're not..." She trailed off, gesturing at him with a hand.

Blaise crinkled his newspaper back and arched a brow. "A panther?" At her nod he explained, "The panther makes you nervous."

"Well, not nervous really..."

"Nervous," he stated matter-of-factly, then bent his head to the morning paper again.

Hermione toyed with the bits of egg left on her plate. Finally, she asked quietly, "Where are we going?"

Blaise sighed and folded up the paper, placing it next to his plate, correctly assuming that he wouldn't get to read it in peace without answering all of Hermione's questions. "Diagon Alley," he said.

"So we'll floo to Order Headquarters from there?"

He shook his head. "Only way in or out of Headquarters, other than to Apparate, is to floo from Beauxbatons."

"How is it, then? How bad is it over there?" she asked, tracing circles on the table with her forefinger and gazing out into the backyard, watching Colin chase birds around her feeder.

"I couldn't really tell you," Blaise said with a shrug. "Haven't been to the Order in years."

Hermione gave him a sharp look. "You know what I mean."

"You want to know about the New Ministry?"

She nodded.

"I'm not the one to really tell you that either."

Frustrated, Hermione grabbed her and Blaise's dishes and pushed back from the table, moving to place them in the sink. "You must know something," she threw over her shoulder.

"All I know," he said, his tone grim, "is that you, the little Weasley and Potter are the only ones who can end it."

"Kill Voldemort, you mean," she said harshly, turning around to lean against the counter, her arms crossed over her chest.

Blaise didn't flinch at the use of the dark wizard's name, nodding gravely instead. "That's what Dumbledore believes."

Hermione frowned. "But you don't?"

"McGonagall fears it will be a slaughter," he stated flatly. "You weren't meant to fight him."

"Thanks for your vote of confidence," she said dryly, despite the skein of dread that slithered up her spine, "but I thought the whole point was that we wouldn't fight him. I thought we were simply going to give Harry back his powers."

"We'll try, of course, but McGonagall suspects it will only work if the one who cast the spell originally, continues it."

Hermione moved forward and dropped down into her chair again, fingers gripping the edge of the table. "So you mean that Voldemort has to begin ripping the last of Harry's magic out of him for the spell to be reversed?" she asked incredulously.

Blaise nodded. "He has to extract it from you and Weasley too, which is why the risk is so great. Potter's magic in your bodies is still a foreign matter and would be easily released upon your death."

Hermione blanched. "He doesn't need to rip anything from us. He just needs to kill us."

"Yes."

"Well, that's just fabulous."

"We're going to do all we can to protect you," he said, hands clasped in front of him on the table. "They can't touch you with anything less than an Unforgivable. Any harmful spell, at least."

Hermione stared at him. "What?"

"Tribe Protection Spell," he said simply.

"But you used a Stunner on me yesterday," she protested.

"Ah, but that was earth magic, tribal magic. I can do anything I please to you," he grinned wolfishly.

Hermione harrumphed. "That doesn't make much sense to me."

"Don't you trust me?" he asked mockingly.

Hermione surprised even herself when she answered emphatically, "Of course. I've always trusted you, Blaise."

Blaise's eyes widened just the slightest little bit, the irises darkening to near black. "I'm glad," he said gruffly.

They stared at each other for a few moments, Hermione fidgeting awkwardly, but unable to drop her gaze. She thought about their conversation the night before, and wondered what was going through Blaise's mind as he watched her intently, his eyes predatory even in his non-Animagus form. He couldn't have been serious about loving her. Of course, he'd explained that he wasn't in love with her, or... had he? He hadn't strictly said that he wasn't. And there had been something in his eyes... something indescribable and passionate and... warm. Loving. Oh, Merlin, he couldn't be in love with her.

Their silence was finally broken by a muffled bark and Hermione, relieved and thankful, jumped out of her seat and rushed to let Colin back into the room.

Latching back onto their conversation about the Protection Spell, she asked, "What if they hit me with an Unforgivable?"

"Unfortunately," Blaise drawled, "you'd succumb to the hex, although it could possibly be less severe. The Killing Curse, for instance, probably wouldn't be able to kill you."

"This just keeps getting better and better," she muttered to herself. "When are we leaving?"

"As soon as wonder dog here gets his act together."

The terrier cocked its head to the side.

"Not in here!" Hermione shouted before Colin could Transfigure himself back into a man. She'd never been around two men as unabashed about their nakedness as Blaise and Colin. It was unnerving to say the least.

Blaise chuckled and pushed Colin out of the kitchen was his foot. "Go on, do as the lady says. You can't ride the bus as a dog."

Colin whined.

"Nope, human or bust, kid."

After one last doomed-to-fail plea with his big brown eyes, Colin scampered out of the room and up the stairs.

Blaise shook his head and glanced at Hermione. "Everything packed?"

"All that I'll need," she said, a touch of sadness in her tone.

"You know this doesn't mean you can't come back," Blaise commented sympathetically.

"I know." Hermione ran her fingers along the countertop, her eyes taking in the bright yellow walls she'd painted the summer before, the scarred kitchen table her dad had fixed up from a flea market, the cross-stitch her mum had given her one Christmas. "But it'll never be the same, will it?"

Blaise didn't bother answering. They both already knew it never would be.

******

Colin was the epitome of bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, his terrier-ness shining through in full force. It was enough to wear Hermione out just looking at him and once they'd boarded the bus, Hermione found herself drifting off, closing her eyes and letting her head fall against his shoulder.

When she surfaced sometime later with a yawn, she asked thickly, "Where are we?"

"Outside London."

Hermione fidgeted a bit in her seat as she straightened, her nervousness increasing at the thought of gaining their destination. What would they think? Had they missed her?

She allowed herself a small smile. Of course they had. It was Ron and Harry, after all. They'd spent eight years nearly attached at the hip. Having Colin and Blaise flanking her just wasn't the same.

Blaise's voice penetrated her thoughtful haze.

"What?" she asked.

He was leaning across the narrow isle. "I said we need to head into Ollivander's the back way."

"Why Ollivander's?" Hermione asked, glancing out the window beyond Colin.

Blaise poked a finger inside Crookshanks' carrier to scratch his nose. "He's an old friend of Dumbledore's," he said. "And," he added, looking up, "he's got an unmonitored floo."

The bus jolted to a stop and Hermione braced herself on the seatback in front of her.

"What was that?" Colin asked.

"Not sure," Blaise said, craning his neck towards the front of the vehicle. "The driver's getting out."

"Flat maybe?" Hermione suggested.

Blaise looked thoughtful. "Maybe," he said slowly.

"But you don't think so," she shrewdly guessed.

"Look," Colin cried, pointing out the window.

A bright blue light flashed amongst the trees, and then another one, followed by a loud crack.

"All right," Blaise said calmly, rising to his feet. "Let's go. Out the back." The Muggles on the bus hadn't quite figured out what was going on, understandably, and gave them odd looks as they made their way towards the back of the bus.

"You can't carry that," Blaise said, gesturing towards the tomcat's carrier. "We might have to make a run for it, and Colin and I will need our hands free."

"I'm not leaving him," Hermione hissed.

"We're not," he explained. "Let him out and he can follow us. He's smart enough to get out of harm's way."

Hermione nodded, and when they reached the Emergency Exit she placed the carrier on an empty seat and opened the top. Crookshanks hopped out with a concerned meow and Hermione gave him a wavering grin and rubbed his head.

Blaise noticed her slightly shaky hand and said, "Don't worry. Remember, they can't touch you with anything other than an Unforgivable."

"You'll be fine," Colin piped in, somehow still managing to sound cheerful. It must've been bone deep.

Hermione pressed her palms together and her stomach clenched as Blaise reached for the handle.

"Stay low," Blaise said, one last caution before he opened the door and plunged outside. Colin urged her forward and she jumped onto the ground, staying in a half-crouch as she glanced around. Her heart skipped a beat. Four black-robed figures were standing just outside the back of the bus, their wands poised.

She wasn't quite sure what happened next. It was for the most part a blur - flashes, shouts - and Colin. She remembered Colin and being shoved under the bus by him, which really didn't make much sense to her at the time, but she didn't fight him. And then the ground in front of her exploded into fragments, spraying pieces of concrete and gravel against her face, and she heard the punch of metal and the screams from the inside of the bus. Bullets. They were using Muggle guns.

She couldn't tell how long she was under there, her eyes tightly closed, huddled almost in a fetal position against a mud covered tire, but suddenly, it grew very, very quiet. Cautiously, she opened her eyes and then Colin's face was in front of her, concern and a certain amount of anger etched into his features. Crookshanks peeked out at her from within the circle of his arms and meowed plaintively.

"They're gone," he said.

"What? Gone?" In the distance she could hear the whirr of approaching sirens.

His smile was small but genuine. "No match for Blaise," he said. "Come on."

He reached out a hand to help her out and she spotted blood on his palm.

"Did you get hit?" she rushed out, quickly scrambling to her feet.

He shook his head and nodded over at Blaise.

"Winged," Blaise said briskly as he stalked over to them. "Nothing to worry about." He cursed softly. "I wasn't expecting that. It doesn't make any sense." He turned to Hermione, a tightening around his mouth that she hadn't seen before. "You could have gotten killed... they wouldn't want that to happen yet."

Yet. Hermione swallowed hard. "How did they find us?" she asked as they moved into the growing crowd around the bus, blending in as best they could. For the most part, they were ignored, and Hermione had a suspicion that Blaise was responsible for their anonymity.

Blaise gingerly rubbed his arm. "Must be you," he said absently, thinking out loud. "They can't trace Creevey and I... we don't use the same magic patterns. When your memory returned..." He trailed off, stopping suddenly on the sidewalk, and then narrowed his eyes at her. "Have you performed any magic?"

"I don't even have my wand."

"I didn't ask if you had your wand," he snapped. "I asked if you'd performed any magic."

Hermione glanced down at her feet. "Well..."

"When, Granger?" he growled.

Her head shot up. "Don't use that tone with me, Zabini. You never said I couldn't use magic. And besides, it was involuntary."

"When?" he asked again, only in a slightly softer tone.

"At the bus stop. I..." she grimaced, "I used to swirl the fallen leaves around when I was little and... waiting for the school bus. I didn't even know I was doing it, honestly, until after."

Blaise was silent for a moment, visibly trying to get a handle on his temper. "Okay," he said finally. "All right, so that's where they pinpointed us. We'll need to go a different route then. They probably can guess we were headed for Diagon Alley. We can't risk getting trapped there."

"Zabini," Colin started, head cocked to the side, "what about..." he lowered his voice to a hush, "the Wick Owl?"

Blaise stared at him speculatively, and then after a moment said, thoughtfully, "That might work. Granger, how much Muggle money do you have left?"

"A couple hundred. Why?"

"The Owl doesn't come cheap," he replied archly.

"The Owl?"

"He's untraceable, like us," he went on, "but he doesn't like being disturbed."

"But who is he?"

"Doesn't matter."

"Is he an Animagus, too?"

"Doesn't matter," he repeated, more firmly this time. "For enough blunt, he'll help us out."

"But... how do you even know him? How does Colin know him?"

He arched his brows. "He's in the business of knowing our business, so the Tribe simply returns the favor," he said cryptically.

Hermione was dying with curiosity, but knew she wasn't going to get much more out of the man. "Well, how do we get to him, then?"

Blaise gazed up and then down the street. "We walk."

******

Draco slouched down into his seat, only half listening to Dumbledore as he spoke to Potter, gazing out the small, square office window. The sky was gray, threatening rain, and Draco's mind's eye turned to sun and warm sand and salty breezes that poured inward from the ocean. Soon, he thought. Soon.

He noticed a lull in the background voices and blinked over at the white-haired man behind the desk. "What?"

"I was simply applauding your good deeds for the Order, Mr. Malfoy. Your dedication is admirable."

Draco snorted. "Obligation, more like."

Dumbledore smiled at him, blue eyes twinkling. "I think you underestimate yourself; I don't think anyone could have asked for more than what you readily gave."

"But you did ask," Draco protested.

The old Headmaster shrugged. "Requested, perhaps, but you always gave more than was required, or even dreamed of."

"It wasn't voluntary, I assure you."

Dumbledore arched an amused brow. "I'm not sure I know what you mean."

"The bloody wizard's debt," Draco snapped out, straightening slightly in his chair.

"Wizard's debt?" Potter asked, eyes curious. "To Dumbledore?"

"Oh, not me," Dumbledore said lightly.

"But..." Draco trailed off, staring into the old man's knowing eyes. "But why else...?"

"Perhaps because you truly wanted to, Draco?" Dumbledore suggested gently. At the younger man's confused countenance, he added, "You've a good soul, you know. Deep down, beneath all that pride."

"But I willingly..." he trailed off, horrified by his own actions.

"If it makes you feel any better, you were still under the impression of a debt owed to me."

Draco nodded his head emphatically. "Yes, you're right. I wouldn't have done it otherwise. If I'd known... But then," he furrowed his brow, "who...?"

"Stopped your father from killing you?" Dumbledore finished for him.

Draco swallowed. "Yes. That."

"I believe that was Miss Granger's doing."

He groaned and sunk back down into his seat. "Good Lord... Granger?"

Potter chuckled and clapped him on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Malfoy. I doubt she'll ask too much of you."

"She'll probably want me to help you defeat Voldemort," he spat out irritably. "Damn it, I thought I was out of this mess. I want to get burnt to a crisp on a private island, surrounded by a bevy of nubile, scantily-clad women."

"Stop whining," Potter said with a laugh.

"I suppose you'll want me to look after the Mud--ow!" He glared over at Potter, who was idly toying with his wand and humming.

Dumbledore cleared his throat. "Actually, I think the Tribe has that covered, although I'd appreciate you letting Hermione stay with you, Harry."

"Of course," Potter nodded.

"Well, if that's it, then..." Draco got to his feet.

"Not exactly, Draco," Dumbledore said, leaning back in his desk chair, his fingers steepled under his chin. "I'd like you to stay with Miss Weasley."

"I'd love to help out, really," Draco said, clasping his hands behind his back, "but I'm afraid I'm desperately needed on the coast of Majorca."

"You can't be serious, Malfoy," Potter demanded. "You can't just leave."

"I assure you I have no qualms about it at all."

Dumbledore gazed at him silently. "It is, of course, your choice, Draco."

"Of course it is," Draco stated imperiously. "Although, left to her own devices the little Weasley would probably end up at the compound again. She has the survival instincts of a chipmunk."

Potter raised an eyebrow, but refrained from commenting.

"She'd probably wander about by herself," he went on, "thinking she's bloody invincible, and then get eaten by a deranged goat. Calling out to the Weasel," he muttered absently, shaking his head, "at a Death Eater compound. What was she thinking? I mean, contacting Granger was bad enough. Then she went ahead and tripped over her own feet, you know... She'd probably choke on her toast if I wasn't there to slow her down. I woke up this morning with her practically curled up in a ball on the floor, all pathetic and mewling. Scared out of her wits, I'm sure. Idiot girl needs a keeper..."

"Excellent," Dumbledore cut into his tirade. "I knew I could count on you."

"What?" Draco asked, eyes wide.

"You just volunteered for Ginny-watching duty," Potter explained, a lopsided smile gracing his face.

"I did not," Draco ground out, affronted.

Potter nodded. "Afraid so."

Draco groaned, his gaze bouncing between the grinning men. "Damn."

******

Ginny sighed into her tea, both hands cupping the small mug as she sipped. The morning had been hectic and wonderful in turns, and she was already completely knackered again.

Bill's twins had eaten their weight in cookies, which simply served to make Nick as talkative as Anthony. Angelina's booming laugh had been a constant in the small kitchen, taking an immeasurable amount of pleasure watching Mel dress down Andrew for every little infraction of manners. Her mum had watched her with an eagle eye as she choked down two stacks of fluffy pancakes, alternately clucking in disapproval at Ginny's reckless behavior and beaming with obvious pride.

It wasn't until she had cleaned her plate that the family started to wander off to their respective homes. Fred had been particularly solemn when he'd hugged her goodbye, admonishing her to never do anything so incredibly stupid again.

Ron left last, pulling a reluctant Mel and Andrew behind him. The two had been desperate to hear about her and Malfoy's adventures, especially since she'd let it slip that the blond man had been a spy. Andrew was an obnoxious little brat, but it always amused Ginny to see how easily Mel could handle him. She'd gotten the best of the Weasley genes; wily, mischievous, and just mean enough to keep Andrew in a tight rein.

She sighed again. The cottage felt empty.

The door slammed and Ginny near jumped out of her skin, sloshing lukewarm tea over her hands. Moments later, Malfoy strode into the room, his hair a bit disheveled, but otherwise looking as perfect as always, a smirk gracing his lips.

"Honey, I'm home," he fairly chirped, bending to peck her cheek when he reached her side. "What's for dinner?"

Her skin tingled where his warm lips had been and she unconsciously lifted a hand to rub her face. "What are you doing back here?"

He frowned as she wiped off his kiss. "I suppose you wouldn't believe me if I said I found you irresistibly attractive, and wish to spend the rest of my days producing Weasley-Malfoy hybrids?"

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Have you been drinking?"

"Why yes, my darling Weaslette, I do seem to recall consuming a rather large amount of fire whiskey with my lunch." His brow crinkled in thought. "Or was that my lunch? Ah, well, doesn't matter." He reached down and grasped her arm, then snaked one of his own around her waist, hauling her to her feet. "Right, then, no time to waste."

"What?" Ginny was too stunned to struggle out of his grip. "You weren't serious, were you?"

"As a moose." He paused and bit his lip. "No, that can't be right..."

"Malfoy," Ginny growled impatiently.

"Hang on, I'll get it."

"I don't need you to 'get it.' I need you to let go of me."

He gazed at her silently, and she noticed a slight sway to his stance. She was amazed he wasn't slurring his words. Finally, he said, "Pink babies."

"What?"

"Pink... I think they'd be pink, don't you? Red and white make pink."

"I'd really love to know what's going on, Malfoy," Ginny snapped. Why on earth was Malfoy talking about babies?

He leaned down and stage-whispered, "I'm just a teensy bit drunk."

"I noticed," she murmured dryly.

"And you need a keeper," his breath was hot on her neck, "so the world doesn't swallow you whole."

Ginny's eyes widened as his hand drifted south to settle on her bum. "At the moment I'd say it was the opposite."

Suddenly he slumped against her, resting his forehead on her shoulder, and muttered, "I don't feel too good."

"No, I don't imagine that you do. Come on, Malfoy, let's get you lying down." She urged him out of the kitchen and down the hallway to her bedroom, pushing him down onto the bed. Struggling with his clothes, she slipped his robe from his shoulders and yanked it out from under him.

When her fingers clasped his belt buckle he murmured, "Knew you couldn't resist me," but she ignored him, moving to jerk off his boots and then sliding his trousers off after them. He was boneless and uncooperative, but she could feel his eyes, narrow slits, watching her every move.

After pulling the covers up over him, she scoured her bathroom for a potion to knock him out, and returned to the bedroom to find him staring at the ceiling, humming and rapping the headboard with his knuckles.

"I bet Hawaii's beautiful this time of year."

"I'm sure," Ginny agreed, lifting his head up and slipping behind him to prop him up, then tipping the potion to pour down his throat. "Be a good boy, Malfoy, and swallow."

He arched a thin pale brow, but swallowed obediently, then turned his head to nuzzle into her breasts. "Come away with me, Gingerbread," he said, his voice muffled by her robes.

"You're off your rocker," she said, amusement lacing her voice as she pressed him back against the pillows and stood.

He groaned in protest and caught the end of her sleeve. "Just you and me and twenty or so half-naked natives."

Ginny bit her lip to keep from grinning. "Sleep it off, Malfoy. You'll feel better in an hour or two."

"No, I won'," he slurred, slowly succumbing to the draught. "I'll jus' be soberer."

"Truly a tragedy," she muttered. Malfoy was much more pleasant while under the influence.

******

It hadn't been a good idea. Honestly, it hadn't. He happened to be one of those unlucky people who went straight from being pleasantly buzzed to worshiping the porcelain god, sober as a fish. None of that amiable drunk stuff for him, oh no. None of that slurred speech and hooded eyes and slumping against doorframes. There was never any forgetting who he was. He was always Harry Potter.

He flicked his eyes to the doorway to see Lucius hovering just outside the bathroom. "Not now," Harry groaned, sliding down to press his cheek against the cold floor tiles.

"When, then?" Lucius sniffed indignantly.

Harry pushed himself up on his hands and knees, clamping down on the nausea still roiling about his stomach. He really shouldn't have spent the afternoon getting pissed with Malfoy. "I hate you," Harry groused, stumbling to his feet.

"You're quite fond of me, actually," the blond man countered, reaching out to steady Harry in a rare display of thoughtfulness.

Lucius was a crazy bugger, but he wasn't without his methods. And if Harry skipped afternoon tea, there would be hell to pay. Civilized wizards had tea every day. Without fail. Or Lucius would be forced to come after him with a sharpened spoon.

An aging Hedwig sat on her perch in the den. The much younger barn owl, Hercules, was already into the biscuits Lucius had laid out for the birds. Harry sank down into the sofa cushions and closed his eyes, the scent of hot scones making his stomach lurch.

"Sugar?"

"No," Harry groaned.

"Cream?"

"No."

"Am I interrupting something?" an amused voice called from the doorway.

Harry would have jumped up and kissed the older man if he didn't think he'd end up puking all over the table. "Remus, thank Merlin. Please, have some tea?"

Lucius frowned. "I'm afraid we weren't expecting you, Mr. Lupin. There simply isn't enough to share."

"He'll have mine, then," Harry said, gazing up at Remus desperately. "Please?"

"Have you poisoned it, Luke?" Remus asked with a grin, seating himself beside Harry on the sofa. He'd taken a shine to the addled Malfoy almost immediately, reveling in riling up the blond man.

Lucius looked affronted. "I never meddle with tea, Remy."

Remus chuckled. "Doesn't hurt to ask." He turned and glanced down at Harry's pained expression. "You, my dear boy, have been drinking."

"Lucky guess."

The werewolf took a sip of tea. "I was actually on my way to Severus', and thought I'd see how you two were fairing." His voice dipped lower. "Hermione should be here any day now."

"I know." Harry managed a smile. "I can't believe it, really. It seems too good to be true. I'll have to clear out all of my old school junk from the spare bedroom to make room for her."

Lucius' cup clattered onto the table, tea spilling onto the owl biscuits.

"Are you all right, Luke?" Remus asked, head cocked in concern over Lucius' fumble.

The blond man didn't answer, his hands lying slack in his lap, his mouth curved up in his thin lipped smile of pleasure.

"He's gone off again," Harry said with a sigh. "At least I don't have to stay here and smell those nauseas scones of his."

"I think they smell quite delicious," Remus said, popping one into his mouth.

Harry watched him chew with barely veiled disgust. Scrambling to his feet, he clutched his stomach and said, "You know the way out, Remus," and stumbled from the room.

******

"You've got to be kidding me," Hermione said, gazing up at the worn sign attached to the equally warn and tumbling down building. The paint was old and chipped, but it clearly read 'The Wick Owl' in large, obnoxious bubble letters. It looked to be either a hole-in-the-wall pub or a porn theater.

"Does look a bit dubious, doesn't it?" Blaise asked idly.

Hermione glanced askance at him. "You mean you've never been here before?"

"Not personally, no," Blaise said, his arms full of cat. "I believe that was one of John's rare recognizance missions."

"Come on, then," Colin said, scampering up the stoop ahead of them and pushing open the door.

Hermione sighed and followed, stepping into the dank building with more than a little trepidation. Dust motes spun in the open doorway, the small square of sun spilling into the foyer of the dim room. As her eyes adjusted to the lack of light, she shifted her feet and clutched Colin's elbow. There was a scattering of mismatched tables and chairs around the empty pub, and a long wooden bar stretched the length of one wall. "I don't have a good feeling about this."

"Well, well, what do we have here?" A burly figure moved out from the shadows, a thick, dark beard covering more than half his face. "Two bite sized rabbits," his black gaze moved over Hermione and Colin, then past them to fix on Blaise, "and one fit-to-spit wildcat."

Blaise nodded in greeting. "Been a while, hasn't it?"

The man grunted, and then beckoned them further into the room, wiping a palm over his grungy t-shirt. "Never long enough."

As Hermione passed the gruff man, she felt his eyes narrow intently on her, and she nervously hedged closer to Colin.

"You're a tense little rabbit, aren't you?" the man asked, his voice laced with rough amusement.

Hermione swallowed and tilted her head back to look him square in the face, curling her fingers into tight fists. "Just cautious."

He swept her form with an assessing glance, pausing for a split-second at her balled up hands. "All right, then," he muttered, almost amiably. "All right." He moved behind the greasy, scuffed bar and took out two stout rocks glasses, pouring a few fingers of fire whiskey in each. "What can I do for you?"

"We need to get to--"

The dark man cut Colin off with a glare. "I was speaking," he said slowly, "to the little lady." Shoving one of the whiskeys towards Hermione, he emptied the other glass with one swallow.

Shooting a wary glance at Blaise, Hermione stepped up to the bar and wrapped her fingers tightly around the glass. She took a small sip, then, sensing the man's eyes upon her, quickly poured the rest of the amber liquid into her mouth. Grimacing as the alcohol slid down her throat, she somehow managed to refrain from coughing.

"Good lass." He grinned at her, baring square, yellowed teeth. "Now, what do you need from me?"

Unused to drinking much of anything alcoholic, least of all hard liquor, Hermione felt just a bit light-headed and found herself smiling back at the man. "We need an unmonitored floo to get to Beauxbatons undetected."

He waggled his brows. "A bit of espionage, eh? Always fond of screwing over the New Ministry, the bunch of pillocks."

Blaise cleared his throat and moved to Hermione's side, a dark scowl on his face. "We've got--"

"I'm dealing with the girl," he growled. "Now take that ball of orange fluff and sit your arse down over there." He gestured to the far side of the room with a large hand. "Not one more word, Zabini, or I'll kick you and dog-man out and keep the rabbit here for myself."

Blaise's palms itched, and he wanted desperately to level the man with a well-placed Stunner. He could take the larger man out easily, but they needed the bastard to get out of England, and the Owl knew it. Tightening his hold on Crookshanks, he retreated to the corner and Colin eagerly followed his example.

"She's got you two nearly housetrained, I see," he laughed derisively. "Now, then, what do you have for me?" A wicked glint lit his eyes. "You?"

"What? I..." Hermione, eyes wide, gazed incredulously into the Owl's amused face. "I'm afraid, Mr.... Owl, that there's a specific reason why I have to get to Beauxbatons."

"Not asking for your hand in marriage, lass," he smirked. "Now, what'll it be?" She sensed a slight scuffle coming from the corner of the room, and the man held up his palm. "Calm down, you two. Let the lady answer."

Steeling herself, she stared unflinchingly into his dark eyes, smiled tightly at him and said, "I'm not an option, Mr. Owl."

"Just Owl will do," he said, straightening up to his full, imposing height. He reached out and ruffled her hair. "You're a sweet one, rabbit. Floo's over there," he said, hooking a thumb over his shoulder.

Hermione opened and closed her mouth dumbly, watching as he picked up a rag and starting wiping down their whiskey glasses. That was it? "Er... thank you?"

"What do--"

"You two," the Owl bit out, pointing at Blaise and Colin as they approached the bar, "hundred pounds each. Rabbit's a freebee."

Hermione drew the last of the Muggle money out of her pocket, only to have the Owl's roughened hand close over hers.

"I said you didn't need to pay."

She swallowed thickly. Somehow, she didn't think it would go over all that well with him that she was the only one that had any money. "It's theirs," she said hastily, stuffing the notes into his palm.

He grunted, scowling over at Blaise, but took the payment from her, shoving it into the back pocket of his jeans. "Powder's in the urn," he commented off-handedly.

Blaise leaned down to whisper in her ear as they stepped up to the hearth. "You handled yourself well."

"He's frightening," she hissed back at him. "I'm going first."

"He's fascinating," Colin put in, a small smile gracing his face as he reached for the urn.

"You think so?" Blaise chuckled dryly. "Then you're going last."