A/N Written for death_ofme in the 2011 SSHG Exchange on LJ, my first exchange and my first SSHG story. JKR owns the characters and world. Luvsev owns my sincere gratitude for sorting out my many errors.
It was late afternoon on a Friday in May, seven years after the end of Voldemort. Hermione sat at her desk in her office reading a scientific journal.
The office was part of a small suite of rooms on the second floor above Flourish and Blotts bookshop in Diagon Alley. At the top of a flight of stairs next to the bookshop was a small landing and a wooden door with a glass window. Neatly lettered on the glass were the words "Hermione Granger, Private Investigator."
The suite was comprised of a reception area where Hermione's assistant held the front lines, a photographic darkroom and file archive, a potions laboratory, and a loo. Behind the receptionist's desk was the door to Hermione's office, currently closed.
The office would have been spacious if not for the floor-to-ceiling bookshelves covering all available wall surfaces and leaving space only for two doors, a large window and a fireplace. A polished oak desk sat in the center of the room with two comfortable guest chairs in front of it and a luxurious leather office chair behind it.
A large window faced Diagon Alley; the blinds were up, allowing a beam of spring sunshine into the room where it caught a bevy of dust motes in mid-dance, shone on some flyaway tendrils of brunette hair, and sparkled on the silk stockings covering a pair of shapely legs and feet propped up on the oak desk. The stockings ended at the hem of a grey wool pencil skirt, topped by a tailored white blouse. Black pumps with modest heels lay under the desk, and a conservative black witch's robe hung from a wooden coat rack in the corner behind the desk.
The stockinged feet stirred and shifted to a more comfortable position. Hermione turned the page of her journal and nibbled on a stray lock of hair absently as she focused on following the author's complex explanation of his most recent experimental results with Polyjuice Potion and its effects after death. She was not certain she agreed with the author as to what extent experiments on laboratory Pygmy Puffs could be extrapolated to human beings.
A knock at the office door broke the silence. Hermione lowered her feet and tilted her chair forward.
"Yes, Hannah? Come in."
A blond witch with soft brown eyes and blond hair, neatly braided, entered and said, "You asked me to tell you when it was three o'clock, Miss Granger."
"Oh, yes, thank you. I have to get ready for the St Mungo's ball this evening. I'll see you there with Neville, shall I?"
"Yes, we'll be there."
"Good, why don't you take the rest of the afternoon off to get ready since I'm leaving now?"
"Thank you, Miss Granger. I've filed all your notes from the Polkiss case and deposited the check with Gringotts. Here is your appointment schedule for Monday. I'll see you later," Hannah said, leaving the schedule on Hermione's desk before going back to her own and retrieving her handbag from a drawer. She was a very efficient assistant, and Hermione was lucky to have her.
Hermione slipped her feet into her shoes, took down the robe from the rack and threw it on over her clothes. She never knew if she'd have to blend in with wizard or Muggle folk on any given day, so she dressed to be able to do either easily. Taking her own handbag from her desk drawer, she warded the fireplace and her office door, then Apparated home, leaving Hannah Abbot to do the same for the outer door.
Hermione appeared in her own living room and began stripping clothes on her way to the bath. Tonight was a charity function benefiting the Janus Thickey Ward which she was obliged to attend.
She ran the shower until the water was hot, then stepped in. Soaping up the flannel, she carefully cleaned the sweat and grime of the warm day from her, washed her hair and tamed it somewhat with creme rinse. This would be a dress robe affair, so after she'd dried herself, she applied a sizable dose of Sleekeazy's Hair Potion to her hair as well before she charmed it dry and up.
Hermione hadn't really needed to leave early to get ready. She'd been to enough of these things that she had it down to a science. She wasn't going with a date whom she needed to impress, she mused as she stood naked in front of her open closet, considering her dress robes. That one, she decided, pulling out a deep bronze bias-cut affair that she knew clung nicely. It had garnered several complements the last time she'd warn it which had been two or three events ago.
She'd tried getting out of these things. She offered to donate money instead of buying a ticket, but the Director had told her confidentially that her showing up was much more valuable to St. Mungo's than the price of her ticket. While she wasn't Harry Potter, she was still a famous hero, and plenty of people would spring for tickets and attend in the hopes of meeting her. For Neville's sake, Hermione felt obliged to do what she could, so she bought her ticket and promised to go.
Hermione lay the gown over the bed and went to feed Crookshanks. Crooks was getting on in years, but was still her most reliable companion, and she never trusted anyone who hadn't passed his smell test.
Essential chore done, Hermione chose shoes and jewelry to go with the gown and pulled them out. Then she picked up the trail of clothes she'd scattered through the living room in her haste to get clean and hung them up or threw them in the hamper, as appropriate. Finally, she pulled out clean knickers, and a bra that wouldn't show under the low-cut gown, and put them on. There were still two hours before she needed to be at the dance, so she threw a dressing gown over and settled in to read for a bit. She came back to reality when Crooks was headbutting her ankles to warn her she'd be late.
"Thanks, Crooks," she told him, heading back to the bedroom to finish dressing. Ten minutes later, Hermione was pinning on her earrings and surveying the total effect in her mirror. Very nice, she thought. She looked elegant, self assured, even sexy. She picked up her clutch and Apparated to the event hall.
All the usual suspects, I see, Hermione thought to herself, glancing around the room. The Shacklebolts were at the head table, with the Potters, the Weasleys, their son George and his date Katie Bell, Ron and Lavender. Molly and Arthur wouldn't have been able to afford to come, but George had given his parents tickets, both as a treat to Molly who was still depressed over Fred's death, and as additional support to St. Mungo's, whose staff had worked so hard to help his brother Bill. The joke shop was doing very well, and George had enough money to be generous.
Over at a table near the front, but against a side wall, were the Malfoys Lucius and Narcissa, and their son Draco with his date Luna.
Hermione's place was waiting for her between the Shacklebolts and the Potters. She picked up a glass of wine from a passing tray and took a sip.
"Hello, Hermione," Nevile said, walking up with Hannah on his arm. "You look beautiful tonight, but then you always do." He leaned forward to kiss her on the cheek, then slipped his arm back around his Fiancée.
"Thank you, Neville. You look lovely too, Hannah. I hope you are having a good time."
Hannah smiled at her employer. "Thank you, I'm having a lovely time. I've been looking around for ideas for our reception. Only two more months, so much to do..."
"I'm certain it will be a wonderful wedding, Hannah."
"Miss Granger, so lovely to see you again," Lucius announced, bowing over her hand. He actually managed to sound as if he'd meant it. Hermione had been running into him at these events for years now. Any remaining dislike he may have felt for her was very carefully hidden; she was too important to snub, both in her own right and for having the ear of the Minister.
Hermione still didn't trust him, but he was a wonderful dancer not to mention a very attractive man, and she generally allowed him to partner her for one or two dances. Narcissa, she could see, was doing her level best to pretend she liked the Weasleys. No effort was too much where Draco's potential career was concerned.
Hermione put her wineglass down on a side table and put politics from her mind as Lucius effortlessly turned her around the floor, the silk skirts of her gown swirling gracefully to the music. He never said anything to make her uncomfortable, or touched her in any way not strictly appropriate. Of course his wife was sitting right by, but that never seemed to stop Arnold Peasegood, Hermione mused. Arnold was both a lech and an extremely competent Obliviator a combination that made Hermione uneasy in his company, even in a crowded ballroom.
The music came to a close and, with a graceful bow, Lucius thanked her for the dance and asked her to whom he should escort her.
"Harry, please."
Lucius brought her to the head table, rescuing her wineglass for her en route. Narcissa, deep in conversation with Molly, who was pretending not to see Hermione, smiled up at them as they passed around to reach Harry. Lucius bowed over Hermione's hand again and invited Mrs Shacklebolt to dance.
"Hi, Hermione, how's the detective business going?"
"Very well; we finished up a case just the other day. Honestly, you'd think a witch who'd thought better of marrying a Muggle could just leave him instead of ... Hello, Arthur! Congratulations on your new granddaughter. I hear little Victoire is over the moon about her new baby sister."
"Thank you, Hermione. Bill and Fleur are hoping you'll be by Shell Cottage for a visit soon. Molly's been there all week, of course, but she's back home now," Arthur told her, looking a little awkward.
"I'll Floo them tomorrow and ask when to come around," Hermione said. Arthur thanked her and left, and Hermione returned to her conversation.
"Well anyway, Harry, it was just an ugly thing to do, and I'm glad the MLE has her now."
"I heard a bit about it. I was just as happy to be on another case when the Aurors were called," Harry told her. Would you like to dance? Ginny's a bit tired and wants to sit."
"I'd love to."
Harry had turned into a pretty good dancer. He'd had plenty of practice since he was asked to this sort of thing constantly since the war. Hermione stood and accepted his hand to lead her out.
"I'm sorry about Molly, Hermione. It's just wrong that she's still being so rude to you."
"Don't worry about it, Harry. I can take a little rudeness without getting upset. She's your mother-in-law, you need to keep the family peace."
"It's just a shame though, even Ron thinks she's going on too much about it."
"How is Ron, by the way?"
"Good. He's doing well at work, and he's seeing Lavender again."
"Isn't Lavender married?"
"She and McLaggan are separated."
"I'm sorry to hear it, although I wouldn't have wished McLaggan on any woman. I'm glad Ron's moving on; Lavender will appreciate him better than I could."
"Well, you know how I felt, I'd have really liked you and he to be together, but it was pretty obvious to everyone except Ron that it really wasn't going to work. So, are we ever going to see you going with someone, Hermione? You look absolutely stunning in this dress; it's a shame to waste it on all us married men."
Hermione laughed. "It's not a waste, and I'm having a good time ... I can't help it all the good wizards are taken. I'm too picky to settle, Harry, and I just haven't found anyone interesting enough."
The dance ended, and Draco came by, claiming her for the next.
"Hi, Draco, how's Luna?"
"She's fine; she wanted to chat with Ginny a bit so I thought I'd dance with you and make my parents happy."
"Luna a bit much for them?" Hermione asked Draco, grinning.
"She's not exactly their type, is she? Besides, she's a pureblood, and while they like that, they don't want to be seen liking it, if you know what I mean. They'd much rather have me involved with you, for the appearance of the thing," Draco told her, rolling his eyes.
"You should remind them she's Harry's friend. In the mean time, since you dance nearly as well as your father, Malfoy, I'll indulge your little deception," Hermione told him with a smile.
"It isn't a hardship, Granger," Draco told her and, grinning, took the opportunity to turn her in a particularly flashy move and dip her daringly at the end.
Hermione sat with Fleur in the living room at Shell Cottage, admiring the newest Weasley. She had her mother's blond hair, at least a few wisps of it, and looked to have her father's eyes, although it was too soon really to tell.
"Bill's muzzair has been to see us yestairday, asking if we would talk to you about Ron." Hermione and Fleur both rolled their eyes identically.
"Does she do that a lot?" Hermione asked.
"She's here pretty frequently," Bill told her. "Because of the children, obviously, but also because her volunteer work is nearby."
"Volunteer work?" Hermione asked.
"There is an orphanage just a few miles from here, for kids afflicted with lycanthropy.
"There are that many? Does Greyback go after kids with no parents now?" Hermione asked, shocked.
"Not exactly," Bill answered, looking very sad. "It's just that some parents can't deal with it, they actually abandon their children if they get turned very young.
"That's horrible!" Hermione said. Fleur cuddled baby Dominique to her and glared daggers at the very idea.
"You have to understand it was one thing when he was biting nine and ten year-olds, but now he's going after really little ones toddlers even. They don't have any understanding of what they've become, or how dangerous it is. They need special care that most parents just aren't able to give. Mum ... I know you've been on the outs with her lately, Hermione, and I agree she's been pretty awful to you, but she's doing a wonderful thing at the kids shelter. She really cares for those poor kids."
"It's because of you, isn't it? She can't help thinking about how close it came to her own children," Hermione said.
"She hasn't said, but I think so, yes. I think it's good for her. I've been worried about Mum. She's never really gotten over Fred's death. I thought she was finally starting to cheer up a bit, but the last few weeks she's gotten worse."
"What is she doing?"
"She's sad a lot; she doesn't seem to be taking joy in the good things and she harps on the bad ones. She goes on about you leaving Ron and Charlie refusing to settle down."
"That's sad, but it seems typical for a long as I've known her," Hermione told him.
"It's just some of the things she says don't make any sense, and she'll pop out with things at the strangest times. Like last week she got all sniffy and said Snape should be making Wolfsbane for the orphanage."
"Snape? But he's been dead for years!"
"I know, and so does Mum. It was just weird."[Mr
"Have you thought about having her see someone? Maybe at St. Mungo's?" Hermione asked.
"If we could think of a way to get her to agree. Last time we suggested it she said if we really cared about her we'd have stayed by poor George at the final battle instead of gallivanting around."
Hermione stared at Bill in shock. "I'm sorry, Bill; I hope she starts to get better soon. She's seeing a lot of Mrs. Malfoy lately. Maybe your mum will listen better to someone outside the family. Maybe you could talk to her?"
Bill considered. "I thought the Malfoys were just sucking up all this time, but you are right, Mrs Malfoy and Mum seem to be close lately. Mrs. Malfoy even gave her a bracelet, as a thank you for her kindness to Draco. Mum wore it all last week while she was here. I see Mrs. Malfoy at Gringotts from time to time, I'll try to have a word. Thanks, Hermione."
"I see Lavender has been teaching you to dance," Hermione remarked to Ron as he turned her carefully around the floor. It was Hannah and Neville's wedding reception, and she was having a good time. The wedding had been lovely, and the party was spilling over with the bride and groom's happiness.
"Yeah, she doesn't like me to embarrass her so she's made me take lessons," Ron said. "We go together though, and it's been kind of fun," he admitted.
He was not going to dance like a Malfoy any time soon, Hermione thought, but it was nice not to be in fear for her toes. It was even safe to let him lead without worrying about collisions. What a pity he couldn't have learned while they were actually dating, she thought a bit wistfully. As Ron pivoted her, she gazed around the room at the many couples. Blaise and Seamus were looking particularly striking together, she thought. Neville had stood up for Seamus at their commitment ceremony, and Hannah had told her all about it. After they had exchanged rings and taken their vows, the lights that had flared green and red had made it look like Christmas. Hermione made a note to herself to dance with both of them and pay her compliments.
"How's your family, Ron? I heard from Bill that your mother is doing volunteer work?"
"That's right, at the werewolf orphanage. We think it's good for her to get out. Listen, Hermione, I'm sorry about what she said to you the other week. I think she'd had a bit much to drink."
"I know; it's okay, Ron. It was so sad how she was running on about Fred like that. I had hoped her volunteer work would get her out and thinking about other things more."
"We did too, but she's getting worse lately. She actually said if Moody had been there, he'd have saved Fred. It almost sounded like she blamed him for Fred's death. "
"She's been saying a lot of strange things lately. Have you considered … well, getting her help?"
"Bill tried, he offered to bring her to a Healer himself, but she insisted she's perfectly fine."
"Bill was going to talk to Narcissa, we thought Molly might listen to her friend better, do you know if he did?"
"He tried, but Narcissa said there isn't anything wrong with Molly that a nice shopping trip wouldn't cure, and offered to take her."
"Maybe she's right, and she only needs distracting away from her family for a bit. I'd send my best but, well, just tell your family I'm thinking of them, okay?"
When the dance was over, Ron walked her around the edge of the room towards their table, but she got caught up in conversation with Augusta Longbottom along the way, so he left her and went back to Lavender.
It was a dark, moonless night, which is rather overkill in Knockturn Alley, but the man waiting in the shadows there was meticulous about such things. If there had been moonlight, it might have shone off the multitude of silver spangles adorning his violet robe, or glinted on the half-moon spectacles perched on his nose. He pushed his long grey beard over his shoulder to make sure his hands were free and waited.
The alley was damp, smelly, and strewn with garbage. It led to the back door of one of the seediest pubs in Wizarding Britain.
He gripped his wand and tensed at the sound of footsteps, but did not move. There were two sets of footsteps, a couple walking. He relaxed a bit and returned to waiting.
After a long while, the pub door could be heard opening, and a single set of footsteps sounded on the cobbles of Knockturn Alley. They turned the corner into the alley and there was a dim glow of wandlight. The grey bearded man saw the glow brighten as came closer, the wand held by a hooded figure in a dark robe. He readied himself.
The figure came closer and slipped the hood down.
"You! What are you doing he...?"
"Avada Kedavra!"
The cracked walls and the garbage around the man lit momentarily in a flash of green light, then he slumped forward to the floor of the alley, which was once again in total darkness.