That evening they started the more unorthodox retrievals. Draco insisted they would start with Laurence Bagnold, who turned out to be as inept at warding as he was at everything else. Apparating to Coventry, locating his Time-Turner, and returning to Granger's apartment took less than twenty minutes.
"We could have this wrapped up in a few nights, Granger!" Draco was high on adrenaline and the thrill of doing something more exciting than writing bank drafts.
"Call me Hermione. Now that we've committed a crime together, I think we can use first names. Draco."
"Right. Hermione." He tried it out, trying not to sound like Weasley.
"Well done. Wilkie Twycross will be tougher – his wife used to be an Auror."
"What, in the Dark Ages?" Twycross had been ancient, even when they were at Hogwarts.
"Yes, during the first war, so we'd better watch out. No more plain sailing."
Draco realised he had better step up, as Granger couldn't be expected to have the basics drilled into her like he had. "This time, we're doing it properly. Alibis, lookouts, the lot."
Draco wished he hadn't bothered Apparating home for dinner – Granger had used his absence to make sure they would fail ignobly.
"We do need a lookout, you said so yourself," she said when he complained.
"No. No, no, no, no way in hell, NO. You're not drafting in Longbottom to be our stakeout – do you want to end up in Azkaban? You probably wouldn't," Draco said bitterly, "but I would. The Wizengamot would just love a chance to send me there to rot."
"I didn't think about that." She chewed on her revolting plastic pen. "Maybe it's best if Neville and I go in, and you stay outside."
"And put the future in Longbottom's pudgy hands? I think not."
"Who are you going to ask, then? Your mother?"
"Blaise. I'll ask Blaise." Thank Merlin he had someone to ask.
"He works for the Ministry. He'd get the sack if we're found out!" Granger always found a flaw, as long as it was someone else's plan.
"What about Longbottom: don't you care about him? What if he gets caught?" Draco tried guilt.
It didn't work. "Neville sells plants out of his grandmother's house. She'd even bail him out if it came to it. Neville or no one." Granger tried to stare him down, which would have been funny if she hadn't been better at it than him.
"Potter, then. Why isn't Potter here?" Draco was no more fond of the Saviour of the Wizarding World than Potter was of him, but he knew who his money would be on in a fight between him and Longbottom. Besides, they'd probably give Potter a medal if he was caught housebreaking – he was the Boy-Who-Lived-Twice, after all.
"Harry," Granger said bitterly, "is busy getting the splinters out of his arse from spending the last six months sitting on the fence, trying to appease both Ron and I. He agrees that something must be done, but he's too afraid of offending Ron to help."
"I always thought Potter was as much use as a chocolate wand." At least Draco had the satisfaction of being proven right.
"Apart from the numerous times he saved your life, you mean. At least he's agreed to provide me with an alibi if I'll need one."
"I assume the offer doesn't extend to me." Gryffindors had some cheek complaining about favouritism, when they always had each others' backs.
"I sent him an owl this morning. You're dining with him and Ginny as we speak. We'll be spending the night."
"Hm." Draco couldn't think of anything to say to that.
Granger sensed victory and pounced. "I'll send Neville an owl and ask him to meet us here at two. Don't be late."
Longbottom looked bigger than Draco remembered, but he still melted into the shadows like he'd been bred to skulk. Draco tried not to look impressed, and nodded curtly to Hermione.
She raised her wand, and all the streetlights flickered and died. He could have sworn he heard her mutter "Bloody Ron," but apart from agreeing with the sentiment he didn't see why she'd dredge it up now. Fortunately, she seemed fully focused on their task as they made it across the garden wall without a sound. There was a momentary pause when Draco stepped into the pond, but he managed to extricate himself with only a drenched ankle.
Unfortunately, a Drying Charm was out of the question unless he wanted to set off the wards, so Draco had to put down his foot extremely carefully to avoid sloshing. He lagged behind Granger – Hermione – who made it to the French windows and got them open somehow before he'd even reached the patio.
She gesticulated into the dark, silent house with her wand, and he shrugged. They had to go in, or this whole malarkey was useless, so what did she want to tell him?
Her whisper was hot and urgent in his ear. "I think I can dismantle the ward with wandless magic – it would make things a lot easier."
He nodded – what was she waiting for?
Draco listened out for Longbottom's signal – an owl's hoot – and any noise from inside, but the garden remained quiet. He almost thought he could hear someone snoring, and was straining to figure out if it was only his imagination when she elbowed him.
"Let's go in – I've put up a Silencing Charm." She was still whispering, but no longer stretching up to reach his ear.
"Great." He used the opportunity to dry his foot, and sighed in relief before following her inside.
Did people really live like this? There were piles everywhere, of parchments and books and Muggle magazines – on tables, on chairs and on any available surface, including on top of lampshades. There were even piles on the floor, and the faint light from Hermione's Lumos showed a meandering path from the couch to the door. Draco stepped carefully between the piles, and joined her in the middle of the room.
"What do we do now, then?" They hadn't counted on being able to use magic, so Draco had spent the evening watching Muggle crime TV. He was even wearing gloves.
Hermione used her wand again – it looked like another ward. Then she simply said: "Accio Mini Time-Tuner!"
Something rustled in the corner, and Draco narrowly avoided being hit in the head by the little disc spinning into Hermione's outstretched hand.
"Oh, for fuck's sake." Draco knew she was going to be unbearable afterwards – why hadn't he thought of doing an Accio?
Hermione interpreted his disgust correctly. "We still have to get out of here."
"Can't we Apparate?" Granger may crow about her superior wandwork later, but at least he wouldn't get his feet wet again.
"I didn't remove all the wards, just a few."
"You've been slacking off, then. Come on, let's get out of here." That was the moment Draco chose to step on something he later learnt was called a 'sensor'. Apparently, the Twycrosses dabbled in Muggle security – the high-pitched beeping sound was a bit of a giveaway. The sound was so loud that Draco couldn't think, never mind come up with a way of getting out of there.
"Move!" Granger forged a path directly the window by blowing the piles into confetti, and pushed Draco out in front of her. She only paused to cast a Shielding Charm behind them and then ran for her life, only catching up with Draco when he stumbled through the pond.
"Quick, Neville's over here!" she hissed.
"There's fish in here – I can feel them!" Draco almost fell over backwards when something large wound its way between his legs. How big were these things? He took one giant step to finally get out of the water, grabbing Hermione's outstretched hand. They scrambled up Longbottom's rope and landed on the other side, just as a beam of light hit the wall inside the garden.
"Let's get out of here," Draco panted. The others had already started spinning.
This mission thing was exhausting. Maybe Draco would be better in a supervisory capacity, rather than at the coalface. He might suggest it to Hermione later.
"I don't believe this – another cancelled meeting!" Granger stuck her pen into her hair with vehemence. Draco wondered what it would feel like to stick his hands into it – it looked dense but very soft, like a solid cloud. He didn't noticed he'd stretched his hand out until he almost was touching it – he snatched it back so quickly he was surprised she didn't comment on it.
"With whom?" he asked belatedly.
"Kingsley – something urgent has come up, and he can't see me today. Well, this is bloody urgent, too!"
Draco had almost forgotten the only reason they were painstakingly working their way through a stolen customer list was that the Ministry was displaying its usual efficacy and sense of urgency in the matter.
"Won't he feel stupid if the meeting doesn't happen because time is broken?" he asked.
"Yes. Only if time breaks down he'll never know, but still."
"Yeah. Why don't you tell him in a letter?"
She glared at him. "Why do you think I haven't? Unfortunately, Kingsley is a busy man. His secretary screens all his letters for him."
"So?" Draco was admittedly not employed by the Ministry, but he was fairly sure the impending collapse of time fell within the Minister's responsibilities.
"His secretary is Percy Weasley." She started writing her reply, pressing down her revolting pen so hard that Draco wouldn't be at all surprised to see "Dear Kingsley..." etched into the desk afterwards.
"Oh. So we're on our own, then?" He had almost forgotten about the Order of Merlin, but it must be a sure thing now. Weasley might succeed in holding Granger off temporarily, but if he knew her at all she would cut through him like melted butter. When she finally got to brief the Minister, she wouldn't mince her words. And for once, Draco would be recognised as part of the solution, rather than the problem.
"I almost want to finish it all off ourselves, just to prove we can do it." She tied her response to the Ministry owl's leg and let it out through the window, slamming it shut afterwards. "Who's left?"
Hermione had finally allowed Draco to update the list, too – although he suspected she hung back after he had left to check he had done it properly. It must be a welcome change for her to have competent co-conspirators.
"Tiberius Ogden, Sachin Singahal, James M. Walden and Pansy Parkinson."
"Four." Draco was impressed, despite having been there for one hundred and forty one of them. "Why the M? Is there a James N. Walden out there who didn't get one?"
"Maybe he's American. I've never heard about him. Have you?" She leafed through Notable Magical Names of Our Time, more as a token than a real attempt to find him. Draco knew very well all remaining names on their list had been cross-referenced to kingdom come.
He really should have swallowed his pride and worked with Hermione at Hogwarts – imagine all the time he could have saved. Draco glanced down at the faded mark on his arm. It was hidden by his sleeve, but he knew exactly what it looked like. He might have avoided some rather costly mistakes, too.
"I'll go and see Ogden – he must have received Minerva's letter by now." Hermione had made up her mind while Draco was woolgathering. "You can look for Walden – don't you have all the back issues of the Daily Prophet at the Manor?"
Great. Now she was giving him assignments.
Draco couldn't quite remember which of his ancestors had decided it was a good idea to archive all the scurrilous gossip printed in the Daily Prophet, in case it came in handy later. It had been one of the brighter ones, judging by the well-thumbed volumes dating back several centuries.
Working from home had its advantages, he decided as he devoured the cheese-and-ham toastie delivered by the house-elves. Hermione would probably rather self-combust than bring him lunch. It was very quiet here, though – no excited "Aha!"-s when she found something interesting, or badly withheld excitement with every owl arriving at the window. Several times, he read something interesting out loud, only to remember there was no one else there.
As the clock above the mantlepiece struck five, he gathered up his notes and Apparated to Bowling Green. Hermione walked through the door a few minutes later and collapsed in her chair, dropping her bag on the floor with a heavy clunk.
"Tough nut to crack?" Draco asked.
"I wouldn't say that." Hermione tried to smooth down her hair, but that ship had sailed hours ago.
"Why are you looking like you've gone a round against a Hippogriff, then?" Maybe she had decided to hunt down the mysterious Walden on her own. Draco felt disappointed for no good reason – he ought to welcome Granger doing the donkeywork.
"Tiberius Ogden," she said, curling her upper lip, "is a lecherous old man with hands like an octopus. It was all I could do to get out of there with my clothes on."
"Fuck."
"Yes, that would about sum it up."
"What did you do to him?" Draco reckoned Ogden deserved whatever he had got, but it would probably be better if the Department of Magical Law Enforcement didn't get involved. Especially as Hermione worked there when she wasn't on temporary leave, rounding up Time-Turners.
"I didn't do anything to him!" Her expression of wounded self-righteousness suggested it had been a close call, however. "Heaven help him if I ever run into him again, though. As it is, I got this." She smiled, Ogden temporarily forgotten, as Draco's eyes sought the little golden disc between her thumb and index finger.
"You got it!" They were fucking brilliant, that's what they were.
"The only reason Ogden isn't seeking urgent attention in St Mungo's is that he did agree to give it to me. Three left now."
"Not for long," Draco said, his mind racing ahead to what he'd say to Sachin Singahal in the morning.
"Please take this cheque for 15,000 Galleons" turned out to be sufficient. Draco tried to beat him down to twelve thousand, but Singahal wasn't stupid. If someone was this keen on buying a Mini Time-Turner, he was going to make them pay.
"That couldn't have gone better," Hermione said once Singahal had left the anonymous Muggle pub he'd suggested as a rendez-vous, and she could join Draco at his table.
"Yes, it could. I could have bargained him down to ten thousand if you had given me a few days." He nodded to the Muggle behind the bar, who was bright enough to bring out a second gin and tonic to Hermione without being asked.
"You could have your bum pinched by Tiberius Ogden instead, if you prefer. That's free."
Draco groaned when Hermione reached for her battered notebook again. "Oh, give over, Granger – it wouldn't kill you to enjoy the moment for once."
"In this salubrious location?" She looked around at the slot machines and faded curtains, brightened up by the occasional poster – apparently, last night had been karaoke night – wrinkling her nose delicately at the smell of beer. It was a nice nose, Draco was surprised to notice. It suited her – a dainty one wouldn't have looked right.
It was funny how you got used to seeing someone's face every day, only to realise you hadn't really looked at it properly. There were only three names left – soon he wouldn't be seeing Hermione at all, unless they ran into each other at some Ministry function where she was the golden girl of the Ministry and he was invited on a sufferance, only because he still had money.
Hermione would probably say hello to him – even before he had got to know her properly, Draco did her the justice of recognising that she didn't use people only to toss them aside afterwards – but then she would stick to her own. Once they'd had their heads extracted from their respective arses, she would undoubtedly be welcomed back into the fold of Weasleys and Potters and other assorted Gryffindors.
Draco's brief sense of elation evaporated completely, and he drained the bottom of his bottle before putting it back on the table with a little too much force. "You're right. Let's get back."