A/N: This one's a bit longer than the first. I hope you like it!


Chapter Two:

Sitting at the front desk with a half-eaten wrap and a cup of coffee that had gone cold, for lunch, Hermione browsed through the articles on Afterlife, giving them yet another read in the three and a half hours since she'd opened up the bookshop that morning.

She had nothing against operating a bookshop. In fact she was rather ecstatic when Kingsley had initially told her that she was going to be working there for the duration of the mission. She had a special place in her heart for all things literature. But she'd have liked some human interaction. It was no secret that the Muggle world had changed quite a lot in the years since she had left it all behind. The larger part of the Muggle world had no interest in books anymore. It was all about smartphones and social media and other means of distraction. She'd nothing against those things — not really — but she'd have appreciated some interest where her shop was concerned.

The last time she'd spoken to anyone besides shop clerks, and Draco, was three days ago. A teenager had come in looking for a part-time job. Given the state of the shop, she couldn't afford to hire anyone, even part-time, but she wished she could have. At least that way, she'd have had a human being to talk to.

Breathing out loudly, Hermione leaned away from the computer, tilting her head up at the ceiling hoping that it would just open up and swallow her already.

Maybe the idiot was onto something, she thought. Maybe I'd feel better if I were to meet someone … have a bit of fun.

Naturally she'd never have allowed herself to actually go through with something like that — a fiery one-night-stand during what felt like an endless mission — but the thought was nice.

The last time she'd slept with someone, was before the mission.

One of the blokes at the Ministry had taken her on a date. He was a little older than she was used to, but he was nice. It might have worked out had she not gone off to Vancouver two weeks after they'd met.

She couldn't even explain why. That was the worst part about going undercover. Nobody outside of the Auror Office could know, and even then it was higher-ups only.

He's probably seeing someone else now, she figured, not even sad about it at this point.

Suddenly, her stomach started to rumble, seemingly displeased with the lunch that she'd nibbled on earlier. All that talk of fish and chips had given her a craving that a wrap just couldn't satisfy. On a whim, she leaned towards her computer and searched the words 'new fish and chips place', waiting five long seconds for the results to pop up.

To her surprise the first result seemed to be the exact one that Eric had mentioned the other night. It was close to home and had five star reviews across the board. With one look at the photos that the restaurant goers had posted on Yelp, Hermione gulped down on the wetness which soon filled her mouth, and decided on the spot that she not only needed those fish and chips, she deserved it.


"Excuse me, professor, can you help me with something?"

Draco lifted his gaze from the Facebook profile he'd been scrolling through. His morning class had only just finished. It was customary for a few of the more eager students to come to his office and ask him questions after the lecture. Thinking it was one of them, he glanced up, instead meeting eyes with the last person he had expected to find at his office on a Thursday morning.

"Anna, what in the world are you doing here?" Draco demanded, throat hitching as he noticed a couple students look over at them as they passed by the door, probably wondering what words were being exchanged between Professor Grey and the beautiful, slightly younger woman who'd come to see him.

She wasn't a student at the university, but she did work at the Starbucks down the street. Most, if not all of the students who were interested in women, referred to Anna as the 'hot redhead' or the 'Starbucks thot', whatever thot meant.

"You don't look very happy to me …" she deduced.

Swallowing the urge to tell her that he absolutely wasn't happy, Draco walked over to the door of his office, nudging past her as he abruptly closed it.

Anna smirked, dropping her Kate Spade bag to the floor as she came towards him. "That's more like it, Professor Grey."

"No, no —" the wizard uttered, avoiding contact as best he could. "Anna, stop. We can't do this right now."

"It won't take long," she assured him, smiling as she dropped down to her knees and reached for his belt. "It never does when you're with me."

Draco gulped hard, freezing for only a second before he backed away again, bringing the barista to her feet. "This … this has to stop."

"What's going on with you?" Anna asked, finally noticing that he was serious. "I thought you loved my blowjobs."

"I do," he said without thinking, face screwing after. "I mean, I don't. I mean, it's not that there's anything wrong with the way you — I just —"

"It's her, isn't it?" the barista gathered, frowning as she looked to him.

He glanced off to the side, mostly to avoid eye contact. "If you're referring to my wife, then —"

"I'm referring to the ugly bitch who's always calling you when your cock is either halfway down my throat or pounding my pussy like a fucking horse."

"Anna, have you absolutely lost your mind?"

She breathed out, coming towards him again, this time slowly. "Okay, I'm sorry. I just … I found this new toy at the sex shop near my apartment, and I couldn't wait to try it out with you, so here I am."

Draco rubbed the exhaustion from his face. "You can't be here."

"Why?"

"Because this is where I work," he explained, clearly. "People here are already whispering about the state of my marriage, and why my wife is never at any social gatherings or events at the school."

Anna folded her arms. "Well, maybe you should take that as a sign that it's not working out with her."

"You don't know that."

"I think that I do," she snorted. "So, is this why you canceled on me for later this week?"

"Yes, amongst other reasons," Draco said to her, rather curtly.

"Okay, okay. So, let me get this straight. You think you can fuck me repeatedly for five months, and then magically go back to your wife like nothing happened?" Anna inquired, borderline amused. "You really are a piece of shit, you know that?"

He didn't even bother arguing it. "Trust me, you have no idea."

Slowly losing her smile, the barista looked to him with angry tears pooling around her eyes all of a sudden. "So, this is it? No breakup sex? Nothing?"

"We were never together," Draco said, not exactly in the way he'd intended. "Y-you have a boyfriend, don't you?"

"Had," she corrected, the light in his office bouncing off the tears in her eyes. "I broke it off with him. For you. And this is how you repay me!"

"Anna, listen. I —"

"No! I come all this way to see you and you're just going to drop me for no reason? Because I'm pretty fucking sure you don't love your wife. I hear the way you talk to her over the phone. It's like she's your sister or a … or a coworker or something."

He flinched at the last part, releasing the tension in his system as he came towards Anna, rubbing her shoulders. "I'm sorry. If I could, I'd do it all differently, but I can't," he explained to her in a calm, soothing voice. "There's just … there are things that I have to do, things that need my attention right now. I can't be going off having sex with you, whilst my wife is handling all of it on her own."

"What's the matter? Is she sick or something?" the barista asked, dully.

"Something like that, yes."

"Whatever," Anna sighed, hurriedly wiping her eyes as if she were ashamed to even have reacted that way. "I'll go then."

Draco looked to her as she grabbed her bag and approached the door. "I'm sorry," he said to her, one last time before she glanced back at him and then vanished, out of sight.

Twenty Minutes Later

The entire restaurant smelled like home, or at least like the chip shop in Brighton.

Collecting her order from the counter, Hermione nodded thanks to the girl who'd prepared it, the rumbling sound in her stomach growing louder as she tried to look for an empty table. There was a high school nearby. Most of the students seemed to have taken a liking to the new chip shop.

"Caroline!" someone called out, from the far end of the restaurant. "Caroline, over here!"

Hermione turned around, following the sound of the voice to find her neighbour, Eric, and by his side, a pretty blonde woman. Presumably his girlfriend.

There was a twitch of uncertainty in the witch's gut. She'd nothing against Eric, or his girlfriend, but she much preferred eating alone. But of course, there was no empty spots apart from the one at their table. Ignoring the uncertainty, Hermione proceeded towards them, carrying her tray with her as if she were a weird high school girl who had been invited to sit with the popular group at lunch.

"It's good to see you!" Eric greeted, smiling as they three of them sat down together, glancing to his girlfriend after. "Gemma, this is Caroline … the neighbour that I was telling you about," he explained, gladly. "And Caroline, this is the love of my life, Gemma."

Hermione's eyebrows bounced up at the last part. "Well, then …"

Gemma chuckled. "You'll have to excuse Eric. He always gets like this when we're having good food," she noted, smiling as she held her hand out. "It's nice to meet you, Caroline."

Shaking hands with her, Hermione nodded in agreement. "It's nice to meet you as well. Eric said you two have just moved here. How are you liking the neighbourhood?"

"Oh, it's beautiful. The air is fresh and the people are so nice," Gemma explained. "It wasn't like this in New York."

"Is that where you're from?"

She nodded. "Manhattan. We bumped into each other when I was walking my dog one morning, and we've been together ever since."

"That's beautiful," Hermione said, quite sincerely at that.

"How did you meet your boyfriend?" Gemma asked, casually munching on her food.

"Oh, er … he's my husband, actually. And we met at a party when we were in our early twenties …" the witch recalled, having gone a solid three months without having to repeat the story.

"Is he here?" Eric asked. "I'd love to meet him, ask how he likes the Tesla."

Hermione tensed, feeling slightly embarrassed now. "No, he's at work, I'm afraid. He teaches at the university. Business."

"Oh, a professor? He must be a really smart guy," Gemma said, kindly.

"I mean, I guess so," Hermione shrugged without thinking.

The couple looked to her blankly for a second, their attention soon drifting to Gemma's phone as it started ringing.

"Oh, shit. It's work. I should take this," she uttered.

Eric carried on eating, unbothered as his girlfriend got up and went outside to answer the call.

It was silent for a few moments after. Hermione got a good start on her food, sighing periodically due to how good it tasted. It wasn't as good as Brighton, but it was beautifully close. She dabbed the corners of her mouth with one of the napkins, leaning back in her chair after just to breathe.

"Good, right?" Eric asked.

She laughed, nodding to him. "I'll have to bring my husband one of these days."

"You definitely should. We can all come here together if he likes it," her neighbour offered.

"That sounds like a nice idea, actually. I can't remember the last time we went out to eat together …"

"Sounds like he's a busy guy," Eric said, in no particular way. "Does he work a lot?"

Hermione gave it a moment of thought, quickly shrugging. "It's nothing like that," she reassured her neighbour. "We just … we both prefer to cook our meals at home and eat there instead of in a crowded restaurant."

"Oh, definitely. Sorry if my question came off rude. I didn't mean anything by it."

"That's okay," she said, brushing it off.

"Well, hey … if you and the husband are free later, why don't you come around to our place?" he asked. "Gemma and I are throwing a game night. A couple of our friends from back home will be there. We'll have good food and great wine."

Her chest squeezed at the sound of that. A fun night with friends. "I'd love to …"

"I feel a but coming on," Eric gathered.

"But," Hermione said, reluctantly as ever. "Jason and I have already made plans for tonight."

"Date night?"

"Er … yes," she decided. "Date night."

In actuality, of course, Hermione hadn't any such plans. Instead of a date night with her husband, she was going to spend her evening at the darkest, seediest nightclub in the city, on her own.

And she couldn't have been more thrilled about it.

Later That Night

Draco pulled up to the curb, looking to Hermione as she tugged at the skirt of her dress.

"You're going to make a tear in it if you keep doing that."

She scrunched her lips into a frown. "Did you have to pick something so … suggestive?"

"Granger, you're going to a nightclub."

"Yes, so?"

"So, you have to blend in a little," he furthered, as if it were obvious. "It's not even that short."

Rolling her eyes at him, Hermione grabbed the door handle, the cold air from outside slipping in as she opened the door just a crack.

"Wait, wait. Before you go …" Draco uttered to her, suddenly leaning over.

She glanced back at him, a swift hitch in her chest as he reached over to fix her hair — or rather Nora Winters' hair. That was the name and identity she was taking for the night. Unlike Caroline, Nora was from LA instead of London, had wavy auburn hair instead of straight brown hair, and a love for anything and everything designer.

The witch looked to Draco with question marks in her eyes as he tucked a lock of hair behind her ear, only then looking down at the tiny earpiece that he had in his hand.

Without a word, he placed it carefully in her left ear, covering it with the same lock of hair which he had brushed aside earlier.

"Now we can talk when you're in there," he explained, casually.

Hermione hesitated, having recognized the earpiece from her ex-boyfriend's joke shop otherwise known as Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes.

To her knowledge the earpiece itself was largely sold to Hogwarts students who were looking to chat to friends from different Houses after hours, during detentions, etc. She'd never used one herself, especially not for a mission where countless people were relying on them to get the job done, but she hadn't the time to take a look at the reviews.

"I'll meet you at Waterfront Station in two hours," she said, just as they'd planned. "If anything goes wrong, or if we lose contact at any point, don't go looking for me. Inform either Harry or Kingsley, and secure the house as best you can."

He flinched at the last part, but nodded anyway. That was Ministry protocol. If one partner went missing, it was the other's job to make sure the mission was still afoot. "Two hours," he echoed back to her.

With that, Hermione took a deep breath and then opened the door, stepping out onto the sidewalk after which Draco slowly but surely pulled away from the curb in front of Waterfront Station. He had agreed to drop her off a few blocks away from Afterlife just to be on the safe side. There was a good chance the bouncer from the other night was working the door, and they hadn't the desire to risk it. Not when there was only two of them.

Forging onward, Hermione calmly made her way past the many pubs and restaurants which lined the streets of Gastown, the bright lights of Afterlife penetrating her thoughts as she approached it.

As expected, there was a long line of people waiting to get in.

She had never gone clubbing in Vancouver before, only in London a few times with the girls, but those were all wizarding clubs. Everything she knew of Muggle nightclubs, she had learned from the films and television shows that had watched during those long summers at her parents' house. In the last of those summers, she had also learned to drive, having felt that it was necessary at the time given that she was of age, and still technically Muggle-born by blood. She'd no idea that the ability to drive would ever come in handy.

On a mission no less.

Quietly thinking back to how annoyed Draco was when Kingsley told him that he'd have to learn to drive for the sake of the mission, Hermione couldn't help but smirk, feeling quite pleased with herself for already having learned.

"Hey, beautiful …"

Her thoughts were cut short as she reached the entrance of the nightclub, swiftly taking notice of the group of young men who were huddled outside, staring her up and down as if her dress were see-through.

Narrowing her eyes at them, she approached the door the way Draco had told her to, a quickness in her chest as the bouncer let her through without the slightest bit of fuss.

"I guess I look good tonight," she whispered under her breath, only then remembering that Draco could hear her through the earpiece.

"I told you they'd let you in," he said, her muscles locking when she heard his voice through the earpiece.

The sound quality had taken her by surprise more than anything else. It was insanely loud inside Afterlife. Loud, hazy and crowded, as it were something out of a drug-induced hallucination. She supposed that was the point, though.

Unlike the nightclubs she'd been to back home, Afterlife was three floors. The first floor was the main one, where the club-goers were dancing and grinding and making the most of their nights, smoke and lights and speakers everywhere. The second floor was a bit calmer, and had more of a lounge feel to it, complete with tables and bottle service and three very shapely dancers on stage, entrancing everyone who dared to enter. The third and last floor was guarded by two very burly bouncers, their arms folded across their wide chests, and the familiar upside martini glass symbol stitched to their t-shirts and the backs of their black leather jackets.

Hermione knew within seconds the third floor was where she needed to be. If there was anything to find, it had to be on there. The only question was how.

Climbing up the spiral staircase between floors, she made her way to the second floor, and took a seat in front of the bar there, which was significantly less crowded than the one on the first floor. Gently placing one leg on top of the other, she slowly fingered through her hair. Again, the way Draco had advised.

She glanced to the bartender as he approached her.

"Hey, there. What can I get you?" he asked, his name-tag reading Aaron.

Hermione smiled, but not too wide. "I'll have a whiskey neat. Thanks."

"One whiskey neat coming right up," he said, getting to work within seconds as he walked away.

There was one, maybe two moments of wait before that nagging voice in the back of her head — or rather, the inside of her left ear — returned.

"Whiskey? Bit strong for someone who drinks twice a year."

Hermione rolled her eyes even though he couldn't see her, discreetly turning her head to the side as she muttered a quick response. "Just because I don't drink with you, doesn't mean I don't like to normally."

"Yeah, yeah. Let me know when something interesting happens."

Nodding thanks to the bartender as he slid her drink over, she swiftly ignored the voice in her ear and had a sip of the whiskey. Although there was a bit of a burning sensation in the back of her throat, it was nothing compared to warmth and the quickness of firewhiskey. Still, she enjoyed it, quietly taking note of the fact that she'd not had a drink at all since her first month in Vancouver.

Draco went out drinking all the time, of course, and in all fairness, he always offered to bring her along, but she had gotten used to saying no. Not because she had anything against his coworkers, but more because she felt out of place amongst them. Much like how Ron had felt when she had brought him along to her Ministry work gatherings. Quietly coming to terms with the fact that he wasn't simply unsupportive and self-involved the way she had thought, and said directly to his face before they had finally broken up, her heart sunk with guilt.

"Sorry to bother you, miss, but … can I get a look at that ID?"

Snapping back to reality, Hermione glanced to the right to find a tall, handsome Afterlife worker, beside her. Like the others, he was wearing the leather jacket with the symbol on it, but there was a distinct kindness in his eyes that was absent in the bouncers and even the bartender.

Suddenly remembering that he'd asked her a question, she parted her lips, a little bit of whiskey dribbling out, and spilling on the lap of her dress, accidentally. "Shit …"

"You've destroyed the McQueen, haven't you?"

Hermione ignored the voice, hurriedly opening her clutch and pulling out two pieces of ID.

"Thanks," the handsome worker said to her, taking one look at the ID. His eyebrows bounced up a moment later. "Nora Winters?" he asked, looking to her.

Pausing a second, she nodded. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

"No problem at all," he said, handing her back her ID and then reaching into his back pocket for what looked like a stamp of some sort. "Someone was supposed to check your ID and stamp you when you entered," the worker explained. "Sorry for the inconvenience."

"Oh," Hermione practically laughed, the knot in her gut quickly unraveling. "That's okay."

In the quiet that followed, she extended her hand, breath catching in her throat as he stamped the back of her hand with quite a bit of force.

"Sorry. That didn't hurt, did it?" he inquired, a curious glimmer in his dark green eyes.

Hermione opened her mouth to say yes, but the voice in her head — the actual one, not Draco — urged her not to. "Not at all. I'm just a bit tipsy from the drink, I think."

"Of course, of course. Well, if you need anything at all, come find me, Miss Winters. The name's Ian," he introduced, shaking hands with her briefly.

Without meaning to, she gave him the hand that he had stamped, which had gone all sweaty after he'd demolished it with the stamp.

"Ian," Hermione repeated as they separated. "I'll do that."

Smiling to her briefly, he nodded his head in farewell and than walked off, vanishing behind the two bouncers that were guarding the third floor.

The witch quickly turned back around, pounding her whiskey to combat the nerves that suddenly exploded in her stomach. "That was weird," she whispered, covering her lips a little to keep from drawing attention to herself.

"What happened? Do you think he meant to hurt you?"

She chewed her bottom lip in thought, taking another drink of whiskey. "I don't know. It was just … off. There was something off about him. First he was nice and then he was …"

"Suspicious," Draco finished.

Hermione nodded, glancing back at the bouncers again, a young woman of roughly the same age and shape as Hermione walking past them, escorted through by an Afterlife worker whose overall vibe was quite similar to that of Ian's. There was a twitch of curiosity in her gut at the sight of it, and without a moment of wait, she turned to the bartender who had served her earlier.

"Hey, excuse me, would you mind telling me what those big guys over there are guarding?"

Shifting his attention to her her, Bartender Aaron peeled his lips apart, hesitantly. "Uh … it's just VIP," he explained. "Private rooms, lap dances … that sort of thing."

She nodded along. "And what kind of people are allowed up there?"

"People who can afford it," Aaron shrugged. "Or just whoever Kharon wants."

"Kharon?"

"The guy who owns the place," he clarified, pouring a reddish drink over a row of shot glasses before one of the servers carried them away on a tray, and into VIP. "Rich as shit, owns half the city and speaks five languages."

Hermione remembered just then that she had read about Afterlife's owner in the articles. In them, they had referred to him by his real name, Sebastian Beauchamp, though she supposed that was a bit boring compared to a name like Kharon.

"Can I get you another drink? Aaron asked.

"Oh, no, I'm fine, tha —"

"Say yes. Keep him talking."

" — Come to think of it, I could totally go for another," Hermione blurted, cheeks flushing.

"What would you like?" the bartender asked, unperturbed.

"Um … maybe one of those red things you made earlier?"

"An obol? Great choice," he said, getting started on it. "I have to warn you, though. They're a bit strong."

"That's fine. I could use a good, strong drink," Hermione decided. "Have you been working here long?"

Aaron shrugged, mixing and shaking. "Just under three weeks now."

"Oh, so you weren't working here when the thing happened?"

"The thing in the papers?" he asked, shaking his head no after. "I came in after they fired the last guy. He was apparently the one who leaked the story."

Hermione's eyebrows twitched up.

"Bit shit at keeping secrets, isn't he?"

Clearing her throat, she leaned over. "Well, you're doing a great job."

Aaron glanced up, smiling. "Thanks. I've only started bartending, so I was a bit intimidated to be working in a place like this, but the people here are all really nice. Nothing like how they say in the news."

"What's Kharon like … if you don't mind my asking?"

"Oh, he's great. I figured a guy like him would be too busy to hang out and remember names, but he's really on top of his shit," Aaron explained, pouring Hermione's drink into a glass and sliding it to her. "There's nothing that happens in Afterlife that Kharon doesn't know about."

She took note of that. "Cool."

"Yeah, definitely," Aaron nodded, sparing a second before he leaned towards her. "If you want to go up into the VIP section, your best bet is to be seen," he whispered, darting a quick look at one of the many security cameras inside the nightclub.

Hermione followed his line of sight, nodding to the bartender in thanks and placing her payment, along with a generous tip, onto the counter, and then getting up. Drink in hand, she sauntered off to the far end of the second floor, away from the bar and the dancers, and towards the reflective glass wall, a beautiful view of the city on the other side.

Without a care in the world, she turned her back to the window and glanced at her reflection over her shoulder, sticking her bottom out as far as she could as if checking herself out.

There were cameras on either side of the wall, suspended along the top corners, and after a bit of posing and unnecessary touching of the hair and the sides of her waist, she felt both cameras turn to her, focusing in.

"You've gone quiet. What's happening?"

She smiled to herself. "Don't you worry about it, Professor Grey."

"Professor Grey?" he snorted. "Someone's had a bit to drink, haven't they?"

Without saying a word she carried on, swaying to the music now, and coming to a slow, reluctant stop as she felt a tap on her shoulder.

"Miss Winters?"

She calmly turned around, unsurprised to find Ian. "Hello, again."

"Hello," he greeted, bowing his head to her. "If you're not too busy, the owner of Afterlife would love to make your acquaintance."

"In VIP?"

Ian nodded. "Right this way."

Collecting her breath, Hermione followed Ian to where the two, burly bouncers were standing. In the back of her mind, she knew that meeting with the owner could very well go horribly wrong, especially if he had sent that bouncer after Draco the other night, but there was no point in hiding and living in fear of the unknown.

"Be careful, Granger."

She gulped down on the anxious lump in her throat, instinctively smiling to the bouncers as they made way for her to pass through. Ian led the way, one or two steps ahead of her. They climbed up the spiral staircase and to a pair of large double doors. Ian opened them for her, motioning for her to proceed.

"Thank you," Hermione nodded to him, passing through the doors and into VIP.

Unlike the first and second floors of Afterlife, the third floor was almost completely silent. There was some music pouring out from within the private rooms, where Hermione was sure all sorts of activities were taking place, but other than that, VIP was a lot calmer and dimmer and quite a bit hazier than she had imagined.

The room was circular, two corridors on either side, presumably where the private rooms were located; an ornate, divan-style, blood red sofa in the middle; and a small, circular table in front of it, on top of which there was a shimmery, red crystal of some sort. Like the mood crystals they sold in gift shops. On the sofa, there were three people. Two women, one of whom Hermione had recognized from earlier, and an otherworldly looking man who was dressed in all black.

White hair, caramel skin as if he'd just come back from a trip, and a sharp, angular face.

Only one name came to mind when she saw him.

She stopped in her tracks as he glanced up, his lips fixing themselves into a smile at just the sight of her.

"Nora Winters," he greeted, speaking the name as though casting a spell. "It's good to meet you. I'm Kharon."

Hermione tensed, but only a bit. "So I've heard."

"Ian, be a good boy and escort these beautiful young ladies back to the main area," Kharon said, speaking to his worker. "I'd like to speak with Miss Winters in private if you don't mind."

Ian promptly did as he was asked. "At once, sir."

In a matter of seconds the circular room was empty. It was just Hermione and the owner, Kharon. Even the music in the private rooms had slowly started to fade, leaving only the distant thump of the music downstairs, and the pounding inside Hermione's chest.

She wondered if Kharon could hear it.

She wondered if Draco could.

"Do have a seat," Kharon said to her, motioning to the sofa.

Ignoring the quickness in her chest, Hermione came forward, taking a seat beside the club owner, just a foot away.

"I couldn't help but notice that you have an obol," he began, nodding to the drink in her hand — the one she had ordered earlier. "How do you like it?"

She glanced down at it, having forgotten for a moment that she had it. "Um … I'll try it now …" the witch decided, bringing the glass to her lips and tilting it back, slowly.

To her surprise, it tasted quite minty.

Like a mojito but less tropical and more velvety.

Swallowing the drink, she felt her body react to it rather quickly. All of a sudden, her brain went fuzzy, and her skin felt numb all over. For a split second she thought she had been drugged, but the sensation lasted only as long as it took for the drink to go down her throat and into the depths of her body.

Something about it didn't feel right.

With every ounce of strength that she had, Hermione kept a straight face, smiling as she held the glass in her hands, delicately.

"That was really good," she lied, placing what was left of her obol on the table.

Kharon kept his eyes on her, fixated on the subtle changes in her expression. "For some reason, I thought you wouldn't like it."

"Why's that?"

"Just a thought," he said, reaching into his back pocket for what appeared to be a remote control of some sort, pushing the larges button.

Hermione stilled, the dimness in the room suddenly flooded in pale, blue light as one of the walls that she thought was empty, came to life in the shape of dozens of monitors, all of them showing different parts of the nightclub.

"I saw you the moment you entered, Miss Winters."

Something in her gut gently squeezed. "Did you?"

Kharon nodded, pushing another button on the remote control, after which all the monitors came together, and the scene before them was the one that had taken place just a moment ago.

There Nora was, staring at herself in the reflection on the window, swaying to the music as if she knew someone was watching.

"You're quite special, you know that?"

Hermione tensed. "How do you mean?"

"Unlike the girls who were in here earlier, you didn't put on a show for everyone. You put one on for me," the club owner explained, reducing his voice to a low murmur as he uttered the last bit.

Skin prickling with discomfort, she instinctively held her breath as he leaned towards her.

"I like that about you, Miss Winters. I like that very much," he added, whispering the words right into her ear, so close to the earpiece that she half-expected it combust. But it didn't.

In fact not a sound had escaped the earpiece since she'd entered VIP.

Hermione closed her eyes as he came a bit closer, her throat clumping up.

"What do you say we go into one of the private rooms?" he suggested, the warmth of his breath traveling down her neck. "Only if you'd like to, of course."

Every inch of her body was shouting no, but she couldn't just pass up the opportunity to be alone with him. There was too much relying on that night, too many people who were counting on both her and Draco to do the job. And in that moment the job consisted of getting the answers that she needed.

Any chance that she had to put the club owner in a vulnerable position, she had to take.

She simply had to.

"I'd like that," Hermione said, bringing a flicker of surprise to Kharon's eyes, and then a wave of desire.

Quietly rising from the sofa, she followed the club owner into the corridor on the left, wondering just how many women he had lured to these private rooms, and how often. As they passed by one of the rooms, she could have sworn she heard moaning.

"Here we are …" Kharon interjected, unlocking the door to the room at the end of the corridor.

Hermione forced a smile, brushing past him as he held the door open for her.

The room was a lot larger than she had expected. Larger and furnished as if it were something straight out of an erotic vampire novel. Candelabras, velvet and large, haunting portraits. There was also a one-way window overlooking the city, a bar, a fireplace, an enormous television, and of course, a bed.

"Uh … would it be okay if I used the bathroom really quickly?" Hermione asked, turning around to look for Kharon, only to find him by the bar, pouring out two drinks. Both of them obols.

He swirled his glass around, taking a slow sip whilst staring at her in that way. The same way the young men had stared at her outside of the nightclub. Had she not known any better, she would have thought that he had taken her dress off with only his eyes.

"Go ahead. The other hallway … first door on your right."

Hermione nodded to him, racing out of there at once and into the corridor. The moaning from the other room filled her eyes as she sped past. Without stopping, she charged into the other corridor and yanked at the first door on the right, relief bursting through her chest as she raced inside and rapidly pressed the door closed with her back against it.

The quiet click of the lock soon filled the silence, and without second thought, she turned the tap on, creating enough background noise for what she was about to do next.

"Hey … I'm alone now. Why haven't you been saying anything?" the witch asked, brushing the earpiece with her fingertips. "Kharon's waiting for me in his sex dungeon. What should I do?"

Waiting ten long seconds for a response, she lowered the water pressure, fearing he couldn't hear her through it.

"Can you hear me?"

Again she waited, and again she was left with nothing, not a word from her partner. Just silence. Cold, hard, deafening silence.

Ignoring the sinking feeling in her chest, Hermione lifted the skirt of her dress, yanking her wand out from the holster along her thigh, and with it, she tried to send the signal. She had spent about an hour and a half at the nightclub, meaning it was nearly time to leave. There was a good chance that the earpiece had malfunctioned, and that Draco was out there, waiting to hear from her.

She balanced her wand in the palm of her left hand, closing her eyes and concentrating.

Slowly the sinking feeling in her chest went away, and she imagined Draco. Not Jason. Draco. In all his pureblood glory. The two or three times she had given him the signal in the past, the image of his face had been enough to make her wand — and subsequently his — grow hot, but this time she felt nothing.

Holding on for a solid minute, she eventually opened her eyes, staring down at her wand as if she barely recognized it.

"What's happening?" the witch uttered out loud, growing tense. "Why isn't it working?"

She closed her eyes and clasped her fingers around her wand this time, hoping it would make the difference she needed, but it didn't. She felt no warmth. In fact she felt nothing at all, not a single ounce of magical energy. For the first time since she had stepped foot into Ollivander's and come upon this wand as a young girl … she felt nothing.

Something wasn't right.

Focus.

Focus, Hermione.

You have to focus.

Setting aside the rush of fear in her chest, Hermione got her phone out and hit the home button, a slew of text messages and missed calls filling the screen within seconds.

From: Jason Grey

What happened?

I can't hear you anymore.

From: Jason Grey

The sound cut out when you entered VIP.

From: Jason Grey

I know it's not the earpiece.

George Weasley said they've never malfunctioned.

What's going on over there?

From: Jason Grey

We have twenty minutes left.

If you can hear me or if you see these messages, please say something.

From: Jason Grey

Fuck protocol.

If you're not here by midnight, I'm going in.

Hermione read the messages five times over, quickly realizing there was more at play within the walls of Afterlife than she had originally thought. So far she had met three of them. Ian from VIP. Aaron the bartender. Kharon the owner. All three of them had left their mark on her in some way. Ian with the stamp, Aaron with the drinks, and Kharon with the … well, the creepiness.

Slowly trying to calm her nerves, Hermione shoved both her phone and her wand back inside her clutch and turned the tap off, popping her head into the corridor after to make sure it was clear.

To her relief, Kharon was nowhere to be found.

He's still waiting for me in the other room.

As quietly as possible she slipped out of the bathroom and straight to the large, double doors that she had entered through earlier. The moment her fingers grazed the handle, she heard one of the other doors open and then close, followed by a pair of footsteps.

It's him!

Without the time to waste, Hermione opened the doors and ducked out before he saw her. Down the spiral staircase, past the bouncers and out of VIP. It was only when her heels touched the wet, glistening sidewalk outside of Afterlife, that she released the breath she'd held in, running toward Waterfront Station as if her life depended on it.

In a matter of minutes she made it, darting a look around the area only to find Draco's car parked about a block away. He noticed her immediately, jumping out of the drivers seat and meeting her on the sidewalk as she raced towards the car.

"What in Merlin's name happened in there?" Draco demanded the second she got there, the usual mix of contempt and mockery in his tone, gone. In fact he sounded rather worried. "Granger —"

"Don't call me that," she snapped, her cheeks flushed from running, and her eyes brimming with panic. "We need to leave. Now."

"First just tell me what hap —"

"For Merlin's sake, get in the fucking car!"

Momentarily frozen, Draco slowly but surely did as his partner had demanded, climbing into drivers seat, and pulling his car away from the curb, onto the main road and towards the bridge before daring to even look at her.

Inside, her heart was still racing.

She'd no idea what happened, how to explain it. All she knew was that her magic had been taken from her, however briefly, and that she had never in her life felt more helpless or afraid. That was including the time that she had found herself petrified in her second year, that was including the time that Bellatrix Lestrange had tortured her at Malfoy Manor, and that was including the time that she and her friends had nearly died, trying to defeat the darkest wizard ever to have lived.

All those times, she had still hoped, believed that she could pull through. And she had. Every last time. But that was only because she'd had magic to fall back on. She'd had her wand, her endless hours of reading and memorization. All sorts of history and spells and incantations and potions.

This time was different.

This time she'd had had only her Muggle instincts, and she'd realized very quickly that she had neglected to nurture those instincts, to build on them and to make sure they were just as strong, if not stronger than her magic.

She thought about that the entire drive home, pulling herself out of those thoughts as they arrived home.

Draco pulled the car into the driveway, turning it off and then looking to her, the soft glow of the outdoor lights reflected in his eyes as he waited for her to say something.

"It's more," Hermione uttered, speaking the first and only words that came to mind. "It-it's much more than we thought."

There was a brief pause wherein Draco said nothing, the tiny flecks of silver in his eyes, shining through the brownish hazel contacts that he had gone, as per his Jason Grey disguise.

"Hermione, what happened to you back there?" Draco asked, having addressed her by her given name just once in the many years they'd known each other.

It was after his family had been pardoned for their war crimes. Without telling anyone, including her friends, Hermione had vouched for him to the Wizengamot, after which he'd sought her out and dropped to his knees in front of her as if she'd saved his life.

In many ways, she supposed she had.

She closed her eyes, trying to keep calm as she explained it to him. "I don't know for certain, but I-I have reason to believe they're either part of, or working with The Collective, and that they've developed some sort of … device or … or substance … to combat … to combat magic."

Slowly, it began to rain, tiny droplets pitter pattering along the roof of the car and the windshield, streaming down the glass as they sat there in silence.

"That's why the earpiece stopped working," Draco gathered, his voice distant, but the look in his eyes rigid.

Hermione nodded. "My magic is back now. I can feel it. B-but there was moment in VIP where it just … it was gone," she disclosed. "Not just the earpiece. My wand as well. I touched it and I … I felt nothing."

The fear in her voice was as plain as day.

"You're right," Draco said to her, simply. "This is much bigger than we thought."

"What do you suppose Kingsley would have us do?" she questioned.

Pushing his hair back, he shrugged, at a complete and utter loss. "We'll just have to keep at it … find out as much as we can and report back once we know exactly what we're up against."

The witch breathed out, nodding once before facing him. "You said you were going to speak with that boy … the one who was assaulted," she carried on. "Did you?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm afraid not. According to his social media, he's visiting his parents in London for the time being. He won't be back for another week."

"Well, that leaves just one person then."

"The old bartender," he presumed, receiving a look of confirmation.

Collecting her breath, Hermione kept quiet for a moment, piecing it together in her mind. "We'll find him, keep an eye on Kharon and the others, and carry on as normal. For all we know, they're watching us."

Draco nodded in approval, absorbing her words as they unbuckled their seatbelts, and proceeded to the front door.

As the wizard was fetching the keys from his coat pocket, Hermione glanced to the left, at one of the neighbouring houses. The lights were on in the living room and there was music and laughter pouring out, distantly muffled by the sound of the rain.

For a split second she could have sworn she saw someone through one of the upstairs windows, a tall, shadowy silhouette angled directly towards her, staring. By the time she blinked it was gone, replaced by the shape and shadow of a swaying tree branch.

"You coming?" Draco interjected, holding the door open, following her line of sight.

She snapped out of it immediately, nodding to her undercover husband in thanks on the way in.

With a muted click, he closed and locked the door behind them, securing it with magic as well, as they peeled off their outerwear and stepped out of their shoes.

"Granger …" he began, just as she was about to walk away.

She glanced back at him, lifting her eyebrows questioningly. "Yes?"

He peeled his lips apart as if to say something, the words clinging to the back of his throat, quite anxiously. "N-nothing," he eventually decided, tilting his head down as he brushed past her. "I'll see you in the morning."

Chest hitching inside her dress, Hermione stood there in silence, confused as the sound of Draco's footsteps had gradually vanished behind a closed door.

Focus.


A/N: Thanks for reading! I'd love to know what you think so far.