Hermione took her last bow of the evening and left the stage smiling, the band playing over her departure. As she walked into the wings, she could feel her energy linger and run its course through her body. She made her way around the narrow stage hallway till she came to her dressing room. It was quite simple and a little small, but she wasn't one to be caught up on such things. Next to the door was a small Victorian chaise lounge that despite looking worn and aged was still as comfortable as the day it was purchased. There was a dresser on the other side of the wall that kept the gowns she would be wearing the rest of the week, with a vanity next to it facing the doorway. It was quaint, with the walls done in a soft beige color and covered in framed photographs of musicians and singers that performed at the club. It made Hermione a little sad to think that the only 'home' she had consisted of stages, the dressing rooms, and hotel rooms. She wasn't complaining, her life was good and she took care of herself, but what woman didn't want a home to go to every night?

She sighed and took a sip from the cup of prepared tea that sat on her vanity. Thankfully, the tea was still warm and after taking another sip it instantly soothed her sore throat. Sitting down on her vanity stool, she glanced up at her reflection, taking in her makeup and hair. Her makeup only needed a little touch up, and with the light's beating down on her, thankfully, that was her only problem.

When she reached for her case of powder, the pictures she tucked into her mirror caught her eye. Her best friends from her school days, Harry Potter and Ron Weasley, where in one photo looking very debonair standing side by side at the Governor's Ball a couple years ago, but she knew better. They were quite a trio at school, and while she was considerate with her studies they would be badgering her to no end. She smiled at the memories and hoped to see them again, despite their schedules—she as a wanted singer, and them as Government officials.

Harry was working as a government official in London's Parliament, working between the British Armed Forces and the War office. Ronald was a stationed in India as a liaison between the Indian government and London and rarely had the time to visit anymore. They were surprised that she herself wanted to be a singer, not being very social during her time at school, but when they heard her at her first venue they were taken aback and joined in with the admiring crowd. While Ronald went abroad, Hermione managed to stay in touch with Harry despite the speed at which her career was taking off.

The next photograph, hidden behind her jewelry box, made her heart cringed whenever she looked at it, still not understanding why she even kept it. Maybe it was a reminder to her, or maybe she was a masochist in how feeling the rage build up within her and drive herself in her work. The picture was clear and professionally done, taken from the shoulders up. A man with blond almost white hair, in a formal suit looked seriously into the camera and into her. In the corner of the photo scrawled in a neat but slightly messy cursive read:

Thinking of you, love Draco

She scoffed at that statement: love. If she ever saw him again she would—

"You were brilliant tonight," said a voice behind her.

Hermione's body stiffened and her eyes widen at the all too familiar voice. Glancing in her mirror, she saw him leaning against the frame of her doorway; his dark charcoal grey suit appeared black in the lite room and his blond hair and pale skin made his appearance looked intimidating. But against Hermione's stubbornness, wit and rage, the man standing behind her was as intimidating as a boy in his father's suit.

She stood up but then quickly regretted her decision because he stared with a powerful hunger that made her go weak in the knees but she managed to steady herself by leaning back on her vanity. She swallowed her emotions and focused on the most dominant one that was surfacing.

"What the bloody hell are you doing here?" she spat, breaking his lingering gaze.

Shaking his head, he grinned. "Hello to you too."

"Drop dead."

"Oh," he tsked. "Not very nice, you can at least be a little civil."

"Civil?" she gasped, shocked as she advanced towards him. "That's rich coming from a pompous prat, that doesn't even have the decency and respect of a grown man to—"

Draco flinched in anger and grabbed her by her arms. "Don't. You have no idea—"

"Hermione!" Harry interjected, snapping Hermione and Draco out of their spat.

Hermione took a breath and turned her attention to her friend, while Draco stepped away trying to shake off his frustration.

"Harry," she said, giving him a hug. "How is Luna?"

"Never better," he answered, "And how are you? Obviously singing well."

"Yes, well, things havebeen a little busy, but nothing I can't handle."

"Same old Hermione," he said, holding her at arms length. "Unfortunately this isn't a social call, we have something to ask you."

She glanced over at Draco, who avoided eye contact and found interest in the photographs on the wall.

"Of course, please take a seat," she said. "Would you like some tea? Or did Draco drink all the booze?"

"Um, no we're fine," Harry said, slightly uncomfortable at her.

Hermione sat down at her vanity with her tea in hand. "So what do you need to ask?"

"Well," Harry started, sitting on the chaise. "Draco actually…wanted to…"

Hermione glared at him over the top of her cup.

"Well, yes, never mind," he said, clearing his throat and continuing. "For the past couple months, plans of the government's security have gone missing. Plans for attacks, evacuations, military attacks, everything. Not only does this put this country in danger, but other countries as well, whoever is an ally with the British Forces. The war office is afraid that whomever stole the plans will sell this information to the highest bidder and with these plans they know everything, where we'll go, how we attack—"

"Which people to hurt," Draco interjected, looking straight at her.

Hermione shifted at his gaze but kept her attention on Harry.

"Do you have an idea who took the plans?" she asked, concerned.

"We believe it to be a man by the name of Cormac McLaggen, he works along side Bartemious Crouch."

"The politician that ran for Prime Minister?" Hermione asked, her brow furrowing. "How are they acquainted?"

"He's friends with Crouch's son, Barty Crouch Jr.," Draco answered dryly. "Family favor I suppose. He's too young to be considered seriously but Crouch keeps him as his confidant."

"Crouch is the Secretary of State for defense now," Harry continued, "Closed up but McLaggen is a loose cannon. He's in an untouchable position, but we know that McLaggen's involved but we don't have enough to convict."

"So why are you telling me this?" Hermione questioned. "How could I possible help?"

"McLaggen enjoys women," Draco explained bluntly. "He spends most of the time at pubs and restaurants surrounding by women that can't think for themselves. Of course, half the time he's too drunk to notice."

"And you believe a drunk stole government documents?" Hermione snapped at him, her voice dripping with sarcasm. "Really?"

"Hermione, we're working on this lead," Harry explained, distracting her from Draco, who looked ready to fight. "We believe he has the documents and probably just waiting for a high price. We need you're help to expose him and salvage the situation. We need you to get close to McLaggen, and hopefully get close to Crouch too, if you can distract these men something might slip that we can use against them."

Hermione took a breath, "Harry, this is really dangerous, not for me but for you. You're planning to arrest a verypowerful man that can destroyyou. Your family, your career…do you reallyknow what you're getting into?"

"I know, weknow."

Draco turned his head away.

"This isn't a career maker for us, our nation is in danger, and we need to keep it safe. You don't have to do this, but it's the only way we can get any ground in this case."

Hermione glanced at Harry then at Draco, who was leaning against the wall refusing to make eye contact. She felt compelled to help, for Harry's sake and England's, but the thought of having to be around him…

She shook the thought out of her head. She couldn't make this personal, Harry needed her help and England was a target with no defense. The answer was simple.

"What do you want me to do?"

*REVISED*