Here is another chapter. Not bad for a guy who had to cut his left arm off yesterday. Is he joking? Is he? ... Yes, but it was a serious contemplation. I argued with myself over it for hours. In the end I won. Or lost. Both I guess. That's the beauty of arguing with yourself.

But I digress ...

Of Note … a portion of the dialogue was taken directly from JK Rowling's The Half-Blood Prince. Enjoy ...

- Chapter Four -

Hogsmeade and the Beggar

The brisk cool air of autumn soon gave way to mid-October snow. As with every year, this meant that it was time for eligible students to visit Hogsmeade and throw their Galleons about for simple pleasures, frivolous novelties, and unique sweets and candies. It was an annual excursion that released some of the tensions that had built up to that point in the term.

Hermione gathered her scarf and hat and headed to the carriages with Harry and Ron. She glanced about, looking to see if Killian had made his way out of the castle. He had told her that he was not quite feeling up to the trip, but she held out hope that he was simply being difficult. If nothing else, Hogsmeade would offer them a vast amount of opportunity to disappear within the crowds ... or leave the crowds entirely.

The afternoon they spent at The Attics of Plutus the previous year was still one her most fond of memories. When they sat together afterwards, her head on his shoulder, their fingers interlacing as she pondered whether any of it could be real. The moment he assured her in his own way that it was. She could still remember the feeling, the rush of warmth and comfort, the desire to be no other place in all existence when he told her she was more than any simple vanishing woman behind a curtain.

As her carriage left, however, Hermione's hopes for another such moment dwindled. Perhaps he was sick. He had been looking a bit pale in the last few weeks. Hermione attributed it to his habit for late night studies—and not the ones that involved her.

He had been in the library for extended hours recently, sometimes reading through the dusty tomes until early morning. What he was so concerned about was beyond Hermione's understanding, as Killian's grades never seemed to be in danger of being considered even remotely unsatisfactory. However, over-preparing was one area where Hermione knew she had no room to argue.

As the image of Hogwarts faded in the distance, Hermione simply sat back in her chair with a heavy sigh as Harry and Ron discussed what shops they would haunt, what sweets they would ingest, and exactly how much of a pair of fools they planned to make of themselves. This would be good for Harry, Hermione thought. He needed to relieve some stress far more than anyone else she knew, including herself.

Unfortunately, as is most often the case, those who are under stress have a tendency to crack. And crack is exactly what Harry did when they encountered Mundungus Fletcher just outside the Three Broomsticks. Harry, apparently, had taken exception with Mundungus' attempt to pawn objects that he had stolen from Sirius' house, which was currently still doubling as the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix.

"Harry!" Hermione shouted as Harry pinned Mundungus against the outer wall of the Three Broomsticks by the throat.

"You stole that from Sirius' house!" Harry said in a tone of fury that Hermione had never heard escape Harry's lips. "That had the Black family crest on it!"

Mundungus gasped and choked, fumbling for words. It was apparent that he was trying, in vain, to come up with some form of acceptable excuse. Harry, however, did not appear to be in the listening mood as his choking grip increased with ferocity.

"What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place? Harry went on.

Mundungus continued to babble and struggle against Harry's grip.

"Give it to me!" Harry shouted.

"Harry, you mustn't!" Hermione pleaded as Mundungus began to turn blue.

Seeing that Ron had no intention of getting involved, Hermione reached for her wand. Before she was forced to use it, however, a loud bang filled the air and Harry's hands were thrown from Mundungus. Rolling through the snow, gasping for air, Mundungus gathered up his stolen wares and Disapparated with a crack. Harry tore into the area where Mundungus had previously stood, but it was too late. He was gone, leaving Harry to shout profanities at the sky.

Hermione saw Tonks, her bright and vibrant hair wet with snow, and assumed that she was the one who had released Mundungus from Harry's death grip. Tonks approached Harry and attempted to console him as he ranted on about Mundungus nicking all of Sirius' personal property. After a moment's banter, Tonks finally talked Harry into going inside the Three Broomsticks. There was nothing that could be done now, as she had pointed out. No need to be out in the cold.

Hermione shot Ron a livid glare as she followed Harry and Tonks inside.

"What'd ya have me do?" He shrugged defensively. "Harry had it covered."

Hermione decided she would not dignify Ron's remark with any sort of reply, instead following Harry and Tonks to one of the empty tables nearby while Harry continued to babble on. It was quite clear he was not going to let it go that easily. It was not surprising, though. Hermione would probably have felt the same way had she been in Harry's shoes.

"Just sit down and relax, Harry," Hermione suggested. "I'll get you something to drink."

With that, she made her way to Madam Rosmerta, who was in the process of being ogled by several overly hormonal teens. As she approached, however, Hermione caught a glimpse of someone passing by the side window to the Three Broomsticks. It was over in a fraction of a second, but the recognition was instantaneous.

"Killian?" she asked herself as she detoured to the side exit.

Hermione carefully opened the door and peered outside. The side of the Three Broomsticks opened into a rather secluded alleyway between several of the surrounding buildings. Hermione looked down and saw fresh footprints in the fallen snow. She followed the trail, making sure to erase hers as she went.

When she reached the end of the alleyway, she heard voices. She recognized Killian's voice right away, along with the tempered tone he would often use when trying to suppress his anger towards something. The second voice seemed familiar as well; Hermione just could not place it.

She slowly peered around the edge of the corner and saw Killian standing with, what appeared to be, a beggar in a tattered cloak with the hood concealing his face.

"His name is Dourlish," the beggar explained. "He can remove it for you. All you have to do is retrieve and deliver it."

"And why, exactly," Killian asked tersely, "am I retrieving this?"

"Better not to worry," the beggar answered. "Suffice to say that it's needed and necessary. You'll be notified when the time is right. Until then, just relax and sit tight. Everything is going as planned."

"Forgive me if I don't share in your enthusiasm," Killian scoffed.

"In time you will," the beggar assured. He reached for Hermione's ring, hanging from Killian's neck. "That's lovely," he remarked as he grabbed it and looked it over, massaging the silver with his fingers wrapped in filthy purple gloves. "You have yourself a girl, then?"

"If you intend on keeping that hand," Killian warned with a sharp and even tone, "then I suggest you remove it from my person."

"Watch your tongue, boy!" the beggar snapped, releasing the ring and waving his finger at Killian. "Currently, you still prove useful! But things change!"

"So they do," Killian conceded, unaffected by the beggar's aggressive tone. "You were once a Watcher. Look at you now."

Hermione could feel the tension between Killian and the beggar. It was painfully obvious that Killian detested the man. Why, then, would he agree to help him? And what was it exactly that he was agreeing to?

"So tell me," Killian continued. "Why is it that I'm being sent to retrieve it? Why not fetch it yourself? You're certainly free to travel, are you not? Or have they closed the gates to you?"

"We're all taking the necessary precautions," the beggar explained, gesturing to his tattered appearance. "Being inconspicuous is of the highest importance, things being how they are."

"Is that it?" Killian mocked. "Or is it that you're just as cowardly as the rest of your lot?"

Enraged, the beggar whipped out his wand and pointed it ferociously at Killian. Hermione nearly gasped, but was able to suppress it before any noise escaped her lips. Still, she reached for her wand. This situation was seemingly on the brink of volatility.

"Put that away, Yaxley," Killian said dismissively. "You'll embarrass yourself."

Yaxley paused for a moment. Even from the distance, Hermione could see a deviant grin appear under the tattered hood as he lowered his wand and readjusted himself. Killian however, simply stood there, stone-faced and unamused.

"You are full of acid and vinegar, aren't you, boy?" Yaxley laughed. "Your father was certainly right about you. Best be off, though. Wouldn't want to raise any suspicions. Besides," he added, "I have a package to deliver."

With a tip of his head, Yaxley turned and retreated down the alley, disappearing around the far corner. Killian stood there for a moment, looking down at the freshly fallen snow contemplatively before heading out of the alley from the direction he entered. As he passed Hermione, she pressed herself into the shadows of the corner between two buildings, waiting for several minutes to ensure that Killian was long on his way.

When she was sure the area was clear, Hermione cautiously peered up and down the alley before making her way back into the bustle of the Three Broomsticks. Her mind was a whirlwind as she approached Madam Rosmerta and ordered three Butterbeers. Drinks in hand and almost in a daze, she continued on to the table where Harry was still fuming about Mundungus.

. . .

"I agree that someone did it," Hermione said, exasperated. "But it wasn't Malfoy. He wasn't in Hogsmeade today."

"Yes, I heard you the first dozen times you pointed that out," Harry protested. "He's involved. Somehow he's involved."

Hermione knew it was pointless to argue, but that had never really stopped her before. Harry was so entirely certain that Draco had given Katie Bell the cursed necklace, there was nothing that would deter this line of thinking. They, along with Ron, had been going over it since they came across Katie and Leanne on the high road leading from Hogsmeade to Hogwarts earlier in the day. It was now several hours later, and Harry still refused to let it go, instead opting to walk it off in the halls. Hermione, thinking Harry might be in just the right mood to strangle someone again, decided to come along and help him talk it through. In actuality, Hermione had her own fears about the necklace and could use the walk herself.

As they wandered a rather aimless path through the school, they nearly collided with Killian rounding the corner adjacent to the library.

"Hey, Finn," Harry greeted with a mixture of warmth and distance.

"Hello, Potter, Hermione," Killian returned, glancing around cautiously.

"It's just us," Hermione assured Killian, who appeared incredibly distracted.

"You look awful," Harry observed. "You feeling all right?"

Killian's face was particularly pale, his eyes darker than normal, his cheeks hollowed. A lack of sleep would seem the logical culprit, but Hermione now doubted that was the sole culprit.

"A bit under the weather, I'm afraid," Killian explained with a weak smile.

"Is that why you didn't go to Hogsmeade?" Hermione asked, her voice sharper than she intended.

"Yes, actually," Killian answered calmly, his eyes meeting with Hermione's as if he were attempting to read her meaning.

Hermione was doing the same. Looking into his eyes. Not to see if he was lying, of course. Of that, she was already certain. It was more an attempt to find some sort of indication as to why he was lying. What he was hiding?

Harry, immediately feeling like a third wheel, coughed uncomfortably.

"You know," he suggested, "I think I'm going to head back to the common room. It's getting late. You two can—"

"Actually," Killian interrupted, "I'm off to the library."

"This late?" Harry asked. "They'll be sending you off in a few minutes."

"Professor Snape has given me permission," Killian explained. "I have a vast amount of studying to do."

"Really?" Hermione asked with mock surprise, looking for an opening to jump into the conversation. "I would think it odd for any professor to allow such a thing. Especially with what happened to Katie Bell earlier."

"What happened to Katie Bell?" Killian asked with genuine surprise.

"She was cursed," Hermione answered, gauging Killian's response.

"Cursed?" Killian asked, his eyes becoming more focused. Hermione could see that his mind was racing. "By whom?"

"Don't know," Harry answered, obviously not willing to share his Draco theory with a Slytherin. "She got a package at the Three Broomsticks. Had a cursed necklace inside. Accidentally touched it and … well, bad things."

"Is she going to be all right?" Killian asked, though he clearly was not taking any conscious part in the conversation at this point. His eyes had glazed over, lost in thought.

"Not sure yet," Harry admitted. "Let's hope so, though,"

"Yes, let's hope so," Killian agreed, shaking some clarity back into his head. "If you'll excuse me," he added with a tip of his head.

"Sure," Harry said. "I'll see you around, then."

With that, Killian walked around Hermione and Harry and continued towards the library. Hermione exchanged glances with Harry, contemplating. She then whirled around toward Killian.

"I'll come with you," she called after him. "I have studying I could do, as well. As long as Professor Snape has given permission."

Killian paused and turned around.

"I don't know that he's opened it up to all students," he said collectedly.

"Well, let him try and tell me that I can't use the library after hours after he's allowed one of his own House to do so," Hermione scoffed. "I'll go right to Professor Dumbledore with it."

Killian smirked, although this smirk was clearly covering his frustration. "I'm sure you would."

"Okay, then," Harry said to Hermione. "I'll see you in the morning."

"Bye, Harry," Hermione said as she headed down the hall after Killian.

"And what, exactly, will you be studying?" Killian whispered to Hermione as they walked along. "Seeing that you have no books."

"The same thing you'll be studying, I'm sure," Hermione answered, narrowing her eyes suspiciously.

Killian glanced over his shoulder to see that Harry was gone and then pulled Hermione into one of the empty classrooms adjoining the hall. Once inside, he quietly closed the door and turned to Hermione, who was already glaring at him with her arms folded.

"All right, what's going on?" he asked.

"You tell me," Hermione retorted.

"I'm sure I have no idea," Killian came back.

"Oh, please," Hermione scoffed. "Studying? How stupid do you think I am? For God's sake, Killian, look at yourself! You look a fright! What's happening to you?"

"I fail to see why studying would seem so odd to—" Killian began to explain.

"I know you were in Hogsmeade today!" Hermione interrupted.

"What?" Killian choked, caught uncharacteristically off guard by Hermione's assertion.

"I saw you there," Hermione went on, her voice slightly calmer now that she had Killian's attention.

"Did you? And what did you see, exactly?" Killian demanded coldly, advancing on Hermione.

Hermione retreated a step before catching herself. Don't be silly, she thought as she pushed aside the wave of fear that suddenly engulfed her. He would not hurt her. Whatever he was involved in, he would not hurt her. Why did she even find it necessary to convince herself of this? Almost as if he could read Hermione's thoughts, Killian immediately softened, staring at his hands, flexing them, calming himself.

"Hermione," he began, "you have to understand."

"Understand what?" Hermione asked. "Who was that man in Hogsmeade? What were you even doing there? Why did you lie to me?"

Hermione was emptying her head of all the questions that had plagued her since the scene in the alleyway behind the Three Broomsticks. She held out hope that there would be some simple explanation to make everything fall into place. Unfortunately, things never worked out that way.

"His name is Yaxley," Killian explained. "He's another … affiliate of my father's. I've been asked to retrieve something and deliver it."

"Retrieve what?" Hermione asked, feeling a bit more comfortable with the decreasing level of intensity in the room.

"I don't know," Killian admitted.

"What's in the letters?" Hermione went on. "You get them near daily now."

"Ever observant, aren't we?" Killian grinned, as his previous assertion of Hermione's spying was now confirmed.

Hermione crinkled her nose dismissively.

"In truth, I don't know," he admitted further. "The first one was from my father, explaining to me that I would be receiving more letters in the future, and that I was to pass them along to Draco."

"Killian," Hermione groaned. "What have you gotten yourself into?"

Killian straightened up and grinned arrogantly. "Nothing I can't handle."

He never lacked confidence, that much was certain. Still, Hermione did not feel at all comfortable with the situation. It seemed to her that Killian was playing a very dangerous game. She was beginning to have serious doubts about Killian's father, as well. Her only consolation was that it appeared Killian held the same doubts. Still, the image of Killian and Yaxley in the alley was burned in Hermione's mind … I have a package to deliver.

"Killian?" Hermione asked meekly. She had to ask. "Did you have anything to do with the necklace that—"

"No," Killian cut in abruptly, approaching Hermione and putting his hands on her cheeks, looking her dead in the eyes. "I would never."

"And Yaxley?" Hermione inquired further, locking eyes with Killian.

Killian had no answer to this question. Hermione could tell by the look in his eyes that he was not certain whether Yaxley was involved or not, but knew it was a possibility.

"We have to tell Professor Dumbledore," Hermione insisted. "We have to get help."

"No!" Killian said vehemently. "You cannot tell anyone about any of this. Promise me you won't."

"You can't be serious!" Hermione exclaimed.

"Hermione, you have to trust me," Killian pleaded. "Everything is going to be fine. Just, please … please trust me."

As Hermione looked up at Killian, a cold shudder ran through her body. Everything did not seem as though it was going to be fine. On the contrary, everything seemed to be spinning out of control at a rather quickened pace. But she trusted him. Against all her instincts that screamed the contrary, she trusted him. That was not to say that she was not going to keep a very close eye on everything that transpired, but she would grant Killian's request for silence. For now, at least.

With a heavy sigh, she Hermione closed her eyes and rested her head against Killian's chest as he embraced her without yielding. When she opened her eyes, she saw her ring hanging from the thin chain around his neck. Grasping the silver circle, Hermione began scrubbing the surface with her thumb, washing away the taint Yaxley had placed upon it with his filthy fingers, gloved or not.

"I'm sorry about your friend," Killian said.

"You know her, too," Hermione whispered, clenching her eyes shut and wrapping her arms around Killian's waist. "I know you do. Friend or not, she's still your classmate."

"I know," Killian assured, kissing Hermione on the forehead as he ran his fingers through her long hair. "And she will be all right. Everything will be all right. I promise."

If only she shared in his confidence.