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2.

It's nearly teatime when a note addressed to me comes through the Scrub Tube. I can guess the contents but I read it anyway. "Only ten minutes early," I say to myself. "My how times have changed." I'm about to drop the slip of parchment into a bin of other porous refuse that can't be reclaimed with a Terminal Scourgify; Bell will incinerate the whole mess of it at the end of the workday.

But, thinking on Bell, I hold onto the note. "Oi, fancy a school reunion?" I call to my coworker who is peering into no fewer than four cauldrons aligned on his work bench.

"Is it above ground?" Bell is already snuffing out the flames under three of the cauldrons. "I could do with a spark up."

That's Bell for you. Doesn't matter the occasion, any chance of getting smoke break in and he's your man. He's also not the sort to step away from a potion with promise so I add three more to the tally of failures. The fourth has been cooling for a while so there's still hope it'll congeal into something useful.

"Who is it that's requesting the honor of our presence?"

I send the note at him in the shape of a paper plane, floating it straight and true so he snags it out of the air neat as a pin. It takes longer to unfold than to read. "H. Weasley? H. Weasley? Which one's H. Weasley? Baba Yaga's tits, it was hard enough to keep track of Weasleys before they started procreating. Who had an H-something? Not George…Bill?" Bell has the note between his fingertips by a corner, squinting at it through truly atrocious horn-rimmed glasses he somehow pulls off, more or less.

"Bit behind on your correspondence, are you, Bell? I tease lightly. "Hugo Weasley is Ron's eldest."

"Hugo!" Bell said triumphantly. Still wrong, of course but I let him have his moment. "He would have graduated in spring. Wanting a job, maybe? I hear Ron's are good in potions."

"Funny, I hear Ron's are good in everything." But Ickle Ronnikins is not the Weasley I'd credit for the note or the brains. "Still the wrong Weasley though."

"You're being annoyingly mysterious, Malfoy," Bell says, placing his wand in the Scrub Tube to meet us on what we affectionately call The Other Side and what is, in reality, every bit of the world that is not inside this laboratory.

"Granger," I say, relenting and stepping into the decontamination chamber. I see confusion and then dawning recognition crest over my friend's face before I close my eyes futilely against seven scrubbing spells hitting all at once.

I wait for him on the Other Side, leaning against the doorframe in the vestibule that is mostly taken up with the chamber. I'm still blinking furiously when he comes out doing the same. Magical cleansing or not, one never gets used to the feel of freshly scrubbed eyeballs. "H," he says, emitting a string of bubbles that burst into cherubic giggles. "Hermione Granger Weasley. Married Ron right out of school, Mother of Hugo and Rose, conveyor of brains and, presumably a note requesting a meeting with a notorious old enemy."

"Now that we're all up to speed," I say, sweeping my arms at the utilitarian steel staircase, clowning gallantly. "After you, Kadmir."

"Don't mind if I do, Draco," he minces in the same tone. Then, after a few steps, he turns on the stair, mouth open to say something which turns into something else as he sees I've pulled down the hood on my Iso suit and am fixing my somewhat flattened hair. "Sure," he says with a long-suffering sigh. "You primp for your funeral. I'll wait. It's not like I'm gagging for a smoke."

"Malfoys always look our best for two kinds of people: old lovers and old enemies," I reply smoothly, doing a pretty damn good job at masking how hard I'm wondering if Granger is still an enemy and why now?

"Ah," Bell says with the same lascivious grin I find myself wearing on occasion. "That explains why Narcissa looked particularly fetching last time I came round the manor for supper."

"Oh that?" I say, volleying the barb. "That was nothing for Mother. Wouldn't expect you to know though, with the sort of women that give you a second look."

"Jealous." Kad scolds, rocking on the edge of a step. "So," He pauses then says in a rush, "You think Granger's here to curse your teeth into toes after all this time?"

"I'm sure Mrs. Weasley is a virtuous woman of strong moral fiber who wouldn't carry school boys sins so far into adulthood she'd attack a wandless man."

"Tell yourself that in the mirror this morning, did you?"

"Several times," I reply, with a theatrical swallow of fear. It does nothing for the worm of actual anxiety in my stomach.

"In all seriousness, Malfoy," he says, turning to begin his ascent once again. "I'm willing to smoke and provide back up at the same time. It'll be a stretch but if she decides to murder you, I'll at least get you a head start."

"Back up?" I start my own climb up the stairs to the lifts. "Why'd you think I let you go first? You're my shield and sword for the opening volley."