Madam Umbridge Home for Wayward Girls

by A.Lovely.Villain

Hermione's life takes a dark turn after the death of her parents, leaving her at the mercy of a tyrannical Matron. Her new home is more prison than sanctuary, haunted by ghosts bearing terrible, bloody secrets. Though she's surrounded by troubled young women, it's the men in her life who teach her freedom comes at the greatest price of all. Victorian AU, Tomione, Dramione, no triad

4. Smoke Demons

A/N: So, this chappie was sposed to be about half the length, but Hermione's appointment with Dr. Riddle got a little out of hand… I hope ya'll don't mind ;)

---

Begin at the beginning,

And go on till you come to the end:

Then stop.

. . .

"What do you mean we're not going to do anything? She's been missing since yesterday afternoon!"

"You will do well to remember who you are speaking to, Ms. Patil. I do not appreciate the tone in which you address me. I also do not recall requesting your presence in my office."

"This is utter bullshite!"

Hermione stepped forward, pulling her friend back as she lunged towards the desk.

"I think what Parvati is trying to say is that we're concerned about Lavender's welfare, considering the time frame in which she's been missing."

Umbridge glared daggers. "I don't need you to translate simple English, Ms. Granger. Nor do I recall asking for you to come here either. But seeing as you both lack the most rudimentary of manners I find myself unsurprised. However, I refuse to entertain such wildish antics. Ms. Brown is not missing, she is a runaway, and most importantly, she is prohibited from ever setting foot within this institution ever again."

Hermione's eyes and mouth widened, shock running through her. Parvati thrashed in her grip. "You vile, loathsome-"

"Thank you, Ms. Patil, for further illustrating what a model of propriety you are."

"Screw your propriety! My friend is missing! She's all alone on the streets of bloody London because you're too busy dusting cat sculptures to send out a search party!"

"That is enough!"

"Parvati," Hermione hissed, still restraining her. "Stop, this isn't helping."

"What's it matter? She isn't going to help us or Lavender no matter what we say or do. She hates her, hates all of us. She'd be happy to see us all disappear."

Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line, unable to articulate an argument when she knew the statement was true.

"Are you both quite done? Leave this office at once and I'll consider only giving you each a week's worth of house arrest."

Hermione blinked, releasing Parvati in order to step closer to the desk herself. "What? You can't do that!"

Their Matron's smile was sweet and venomous. "I think you'll find that I absolutely can, Ms. Granger. You might be used to being a big shot in your old life. But here you'll find you're merely a resident living under this roof due to my good graces."

"You receive a monthly stipend from my solicitor."

Umbridge's smile fell. "It's hardly worth the burden of your upkeep, I assure you."

Hermione clenched her fists. Parvati stepped beside her, planting both hands on the desk and leaning in menacingly.

"You won't get away this you disgusting toad!"

"That's two weeks house arrest for you both!"

Hermione exhaled steam through her nose, gripping her roommate's arm and forcefully pulling her towards the door.

"We can't leave!"

"We can and we will, we're not doing Lavender any good by lingering here any longer."

"But-"

"Parvati!" she hissed, willing the girl to look at her. "Trust me, we need to leave. Now."

Parvati blinked, expression stricken. Hermione held her gaze steady, trying to convey the message silently. Finally, her friend relented, allowing Hermione to lead her the rest of the way to the door.

"Have a wonderful, productive day girls!" Umbridge called in their wake, voice high and gleeful.

"That bi- umfh!" Parvati squealed into Hermione's palm.

"Shh! We're already under house arrest for two weeks thanks to that mouth of yours! Now keep quiet until we get back to the dorm!"

Parvati shook the muffling hand away, stepping out of Hermione's grasp. "I'm not going back to the bloody dorm! I'm going to look for Lavender!"

Hermione crossed her arms. "Obviously. We both are."

Parvati blinked, tense shoulders lowering. "You're coming with me?"

Hermione raised a challenging brow. "Who snuck out two night ago to drag her back to the room before Filch came round?"

Parvati swallowed, nodding. "Thank you, Hermione. I need all the help I can get. I'm really worried. This isn't like her. Something is wrong. I know it."

Hermione shared the same sentiments but felt it better left unsaid. Hope was their greatest weapon at the moment.

"We'll find her. But we can't rush off into the city on a whim. We need to figure out a plan. And thanks to Umbridge we're going to be watched like a hawk by Filch and her other minions. We need to be clever about this."

"In that case, I'm really glad you're helping."

Hermione smiled, but the expression lacked the warmth it usually conveyed. They were both too worried to find any shred of amusement in the situation.

"Come on," Hermione started down the hall. "Let's get to the dorm so we can strategize in private."

---

The large oak door of Grimmauld Manor rattled on its hinges, the frantic pounding echoing through the vaulted entryway, across the marble flooring and up the grand staircase, which Harry currently jogged down, scowl firmly in place.

"Bloody hell, I'm coming!"

The noise continued to reverberate through the Manor, he was amazed the wood didn't splinter beneath whatever battering ram was on the other side.

He was too angry at the unexpected interruption to bother looking through the front windows to see what awaited him on the other side.

"Alright! Jesus Christ!"

He swung the door open, nearly toppling over as a body charged in, broad shoulders knocking into his, making him stumble back.

"Your friend is a vicious harpy, Potter!"

Harry's eyes narrowed, rubbing his sore muscle from their point of impact. "Please, come in, Malfoy."

"I can't abide her! She's mad! Utterly insane! She needs to be officially diagnosed so they can admit her into a proper hospital!"

"Good day to you as well. I'm great, thanks for asking."

"I don't know what's triggered the madness, some latent hysteria or that destitute domicile she insists on staying at. Maybe there's something in the water affecting their cognitive function."

"Sounds like the most rational explanation."

"You have no idea-"

"Correction, I don't care. Now get out."

Draco stopped his rapid pacing of the entryway, blinking, as though noticing Harry for the first time despite his venomous ramblings.

"Did she say anything to you?"

Harry rubbed at his eyes. "Draco, it's barely 9 am, when would she have spoken to me?"

"Yesturday."

"No, idiot. I haven't spoken to her since the cafe. And if I had, I wouldn't tell you anything she confided in me. Now get out." He gestured to the open doorway.

"I need a whiskey." Draco strode past him towards the front parlor.

Harry sighed, slamming the door shut. "It's barely nine in the bloody morning!"

"I'll mix it with coffee!" Draco called over his shoulder.

"Fucking hell…" Harry pinched the bridge of his nose, eyes closing, only to snap back open at the sound of something crashing to the floor from the next level up.

Draco stopped mid-step, glancing at the ceiling, then to Harry. "Do you have company, Potter?"

Harry tucked his hands into his trouser pockets. "It's a cat."

Draco raised a pale brow. "You don't own a cat."

"It's a poltergeist."

Draco tipped his head. "A poltergeist cat?"

"Precisely. The feline met a rather violent end after it woke me up to complain about another cat that continuously avoided its company."

Draco turned towards the window. "I didn't see another carriage out front." His mercurial gaze swept over Harry from top to bottom, eyes lighting on the details of his ruffled appearance that he overlooked upon first entering.

"Which means your guest had to of arrived in your carriage last night." He smirked, eyes fastening to Harry's narrowed emerald gaze in pure delight. "Who are you fucking, Potter?"

"I am deeply offended by-" he was interrupted by the sound of floorboards creaking loudly overhead. Draco's smirk grew into a full-fledged grin. Harry sighed deeply, shaking his head.

"Fantastic."

"Who is it, Potter? Some bird from Holywell? You have to be careful with those, half of them carry a bawdy pox that'll make your prick snap off."

"Is that what happened to yours then? I wondered how Hermione came to carry it around in her purse next to your bollocks."

Draco's amused expression fell like a dead weight, eyes narrowed to slits. "At least I don't have to pay for sex, Potter."

"At least I'm having sex, Malfoy."

Draco blinked, smirk returning. "You admit it then? You have a kept dame upstairs?" His eyes flickered to the landing above.

"Don't even think about- goddammit!" He sprinted after Draco, tackling him halfway up the stairs.

"Bloody hell you lunatic!" Draco groaned in pain as the hard unforgiving wood bit into his shins and side.

"You aren't even welcome downstairs, Malfoy!"

"Is she missing an eye or something?"

"What?" Harry dodged an elbow that flew at his face, barely clipping his jaw.

"A bum leg?"

Harry landed a shot just below the blonde's kidneys, causing him to hiss in pain but unfortunately not shutting him up.

"Or does she have a set of hair boys dangling down low?"

"Fucking hell. Get. Out!" He managed to twist the blonde's arm behind his back, yanking him up with him as they stumbled to their feet, trying to keep balance against the railing.

"I just want to see, I promise, I won't say a word."

"And a horse won't shite in a stable."

He hauled the blonde back down to the first floor, grunting in exertion.

"Do you kiss her with that mouth?"

"Goodbye, Malfoy."

"Wait- is it someone I know?"

Harry struggled to open the door and keep Draco in his grip. The blonde's eyes narrowed, then quickly widened. "Oh god, it is, isn't it?"

He thrashed wildly, nearly slipping free before Harry managed to tackle him to the ground once again.

"It's too early for this bullshite!" Harry yelled, trying to pin the flailing figure beneath him to the marble.

"I agree, so just tell me who's upstairs and I promise I'll leave."

Harry glared, jaw ticking. "Fine."

Draco blinked, body going still as he panted. "Really?"

"Do you actually promise to leave if I tell you?"

Draco wet his lips, nodding eagerly. "Yes, I'll go and never return."

Harry raised a brow, alleviating the man of his weight as he pulled into a sitting position. Draco held his gaze a moment longer before rolling his eyes. "Okay. I promise not to return this week."

"Even if Hermione does something to drive you crazy?"

"I promise to take my violent frustrations out on her instead, yes."

Harry sighed, running his fingers through his wild mane to settle the dark locks. "Good. We both know you enjoy it when she slaps you around."

"Stop stalling. Who's upstairs, Potter?"

Harry exhaled slowly, stealing himself, finally bringing his gaze up to meet the blonde's. Draco held his breath, muscles tense with rigid anticipation. Harry swallowed tentatively, finally opening his mouth.

"Alright… it's… your mum."

Draco blinked. Harry held his serious and somber expression for another full beat before his face split across the middle in a shite eating grin.

"You bloody pillock!" Draco lunged forward, toppling Harry onto his back while the man laughed wildly.

"You asked!"

"We'll see how hard you're laughing when I break your bloody arm!"

"Why don't you try growing a sense of humor along with a new cock, Malfoy?"

Draco glared, swinging a fist at Harry's face, which he narrowly dodged. They were ten years old again, wrestling in the backyard of Malfoy Manor while their fathers talked business and their mothers watched in amusement.

"I'm going to-"

He stopped short at the sound of horses approaching, their fervent keening and rapid pounding growing louder.

"Another guest, Potter?" Draco glanced down casually, forearm still lodged against Harry's neck.

Harry tipped his head back, gazing upside down at the door. "It's nine in the bloody morning!"

"Closer to nine thirty now, I'd say."

Harry rolled his eyes. "Get off me."

"Is that how your mistress says it when the hour's up?"

Harry reared his knee upward, Draco rolled away just in time to avoid being hit square in the groin.

"Hey! Penalty!"

"Idiot," Harry hissed as he pushed to his feet. "Try acting like an adult."

"You're just bitter I got more shots in," Draco straightened out his rumpled cravat as he stood.

Harry bit back a reply, striding to the window and pushing the sheer curtain away to gaze out at the circular drive. Draco meanwhile inspected his reflection in the entryway mirror, adjusting his tie and running long deft fingers through his pale locks.

"I admit, I thought my day was going to be pure hell when you first arrived," Harry said, still looking through the pane. "But now it's quickly shaping to be the best day of my life."

Draco blinked, shoulders going tense, head snapping to the side. "No."

Harry smiled, letting the curtain fall back into place as the carriage outside came to a stop. He turned to face the blonde, face alight with glee. "Yes."

Draco backed away quickly, hands fisted at his sides. "What the hell is she doing here? Did you know she was coming?"

"I promise, this is solely the universe rewarding me for putting up with your unbearable presence my entire life."

"Potter, she can't see me."

"She's already seen your carriage, she's staring at it right now," he peeked past the curtain again. "Oh, nevermind, now she's walking to the door."

Draco swallowed, glancing about desperately. "I can't- Potter, I-" he inhaled sharply. "Harry, please."

Harry sighed, shoulders dropping. "Fine." He tipped his chin towards the back of the house. "Use the servant's entrance, sneak around front. I'll cover for you."

Draco nodded, eyes bright with appreciation and panic. "Thank you."

"Yeah, yeah."

Draco spun on his heal, sprinting down the hall and disappearing around the corner just as a delicate knock sounded behind Harry. He shook his head, eyes lingering on the landing above. So much for his quiet morning in.

He turned around, opening the door for the second time that day, this time to much more enjoyable company.

"Hello, Milady. To what do I owe the pleasure?" He stepped aside, allowing her to walk past.

His easy grin faded when he saw the expression on her face. He quickly shut the door behind her, stepping in and placing a hand on her arm. "Mione, what's the matter?"

"Is he here?"

Harry blinked, his mind taking a moment to catch up. "Oh, Malfoy?"

"His carriage is out front."

"He's out back looking at something, he'll be gone in a minute."

"He's out back looking at something..." Her flat tone and raised brow told him all he needed to know about the state of her mind, despite the blonde's earlier insistence otherwise.

"Alright, caught me. He's hiding from you, sneaking around the Manor like a burglar trying to evade the police."

She sighed, shaking her head. "I'm sorry he came to you again."

Harry shrugged, pulling her into his side and walking her through the entryway towards the parlor. "It's not your fault he's a whiny little wanker, luv."

"Harry."

"I'm sorry, are we pro-Draco this morning? You came to the wrong house if you want to sing his praises."

He released her, walking to the settee and sprawling back with a groan, muscles still sore from his early morning tussle on the stairs. She hovered in the middle of the room, shoulders tense.

"I'm in the right place, I just didn't expect to see him here," she glanced about the familiar space before her gaze fell upon him. "Harry, I need your help."

He blinked, leaning forward with his arms on his knees. "What's wrong?"

She swallowed lightly, shifting on her feet. "One of the girls at the Home has gone missing. My roommate, Lavender. She's been gone since yesterday morning and the Matron won't do anything about it. She thinks she's runaway but I know that's not the case. She has nowhere to run to, and even if she did she'd never-"

"Wait, Mione, slow down. Here, come sit by me."

Hermione took a deep breath, doing as bid, sitting next to him and slumping against his side as his arm wrapped around her middle, pulling her in. She rested her head against his shoulder, closing her eyes.

"Harry, I'm so scared for her. Lavender isn't… she doesn't... " She sighed, pausing to find the right words. "She's very pretty. Vivacious and carefree. She's the type of person you want to be around, so full of life and energy. But the wrong person would target her for all those qualities, hurt her. I'm terrified something awful's happened but I have no means of finding out where she is."

Harry rested his chin atop her head, inhaling deeply. "It's alright. I'll ask around, send word out. We'll find her."

She pulled back slightly to glance up, meeting his emerald gaze. "Thank you, Harry. I knew I could count on you."

He smiled, dropping a quick kiss to her forehead. "Always."

---

Twenty minutes later Hermione was getting back in her carriage, pockets lined with cash that Harry had to practically force upon her to pay the driver and fill her coffer in between her measly monthly allowances from the solicitor.

He used to send her money every week while abroad only to learn the Matron opened everyone's mail before allowing messages to pass in or out, and Hermione never saw a farthing of what he sent. So he showered her with funds when he was back in London to ensure the bills made it directly into her hands, however unwilling she was to take it.

In exchange he took the name and description of the missing girl, promising to do everything in his power to find her. He didn't like the thought of Hermione running around London by herself, speaking to members of society's underbelly who were most likely to know the girl's whereabouts.

He wanted her to stay with him the remainder of the day, the remainder of her life if she saw fit, but she staunchly refused his pleas, as always. This time insisting she was under house arrest and was skirting a more severe punishment if caught off grounds. A part of Harry wanted to lock her away upstairs, forcing the Matron's hand, making it so Hermione had no other choice but to stay. Here. With him. Where she'd be safe.

But he knew better than to try and clip her wings. She'd only end up resenting him. Hermione was a grown woman and as much as it frustrated him to no end, he couldn't force her hand.

He watched her carriage pull away, disappearing up the drive, grinning as she leaned out the side window, waving farewell to him before disappearing around the corner, as was tradition since they were children.

"Are all your mornings so eventful?"

Harry sighed, stepping back and closing the door.

"As of late, apparently."

"I had no idea you were in such high demand."

Harry smirked, glancing over his shoulder at the figure leaning against the upstairs banister.

"What can I say? I'm a popular guy."

"Hm. I can't imagine why."

Harry raised a dark brow, eyes gleaming in the sunlight streaming through the large bay windows and reflecting off the crystal chandelier.

"Perhaps you'd like a personal demonstration?"

"I thought I already had one of those last night. And two this morning."

Harry licked his lips. "Those were just warm-up exercises."

The figure sighed, rolling their eyes to the vaulted ceiling. "Bloody hell, Potter. Do you want to keep making terrible metaphors or do you want to fuck me?"

Harry flashed a wolfish grin. "Believe me, I want nothing more than to bend you over that railing. But unfortunately, I have to run to the city and find Mione's missing friend."

"You'd do anything for her, wouldn't you?"

He didn't hesitate. "Yes."

"Should I be jealous?"

Harry tilted his head, eyes roaming their figure from bottom to top. "You've never been jealous a day in your life."

They laughed without humor. "You'd be surprised, Potter. Not everything was sunshine and roses growing up in my house."

Harry's expression sobered. "I know."

"I can't abide such heavy subject matter this early in the day," they turned, heading for the bedroom. "You go play knight in shining armor, I'm going back to bed."

Harry watched his lover disappear down the hall, taking a deep breath as the sound of a closing door followed.

Yes, his mornings were far more eventful as of late.

---

"Stop here, thank you."

"I can drop you off at the front, Miss."

"I'm afraid that will only ensure my imminent demise. The corner is fine."

The driver pulled the reins, the horses slowed their pace and came to a stop along the crosswalk. Hermione pulled a few bills from the hidden pocket in her skirts and handed them to the man as she descended the carriage.

"Thank you, Miss, have a good day."

"You as well."

She navigated around the newsstands and trolleys lining the sidewalk, weaving between throngs of morning shoppers and people heading to work. She gazed ahead, heart lurching in her chest as her destination came into view.

The Home dominated the block, the tall and imposing structure a testament to gothic architecture, equipped with stone gargoyles along the buttress, their menacing eyes turned downward, watching the street, following her every movement.

She followed along the tall rod iron gates, hood drawn over her face, keeping her eyes averted to the pavement as she slipped through a set of loose bars near the back, at the far end of the makeshift garden that existed for the sole purpose of deluding pedestrians into thinking the Home well managed. The squeezing maneuver was a tight fit that few residents could fit through, and even fewer knew existed. Leave it to Lavender to know every in and out of the building.

The adventure-seeking girl was only too excited to share her vast knowledge with Hermione, no doubt in the hopes of enticing her new roommate to sneak out with her one night. Hermione had always refused, but now she wished she hadn't been so adverse to Lavender's lifestyle. Perhaps she would have confided more in Hermione had she been more accepting. At least then Hermione may have a handle on where Lavender skipped off to yesterday afternoon, where she may be now.

Instead, Hermione was utterly in the dark, rendered all but helplessly reliant on Harry's ability to lead the investigation. She couldn't abide feeling powerless, and yet it seemed it had become the running theme of her new life.

She dashed behind the privacy shrubs as she made her way to the kitchen doors, hoping Luna had left them unlocked as promised. She and Parvati enlisted the help of a handful of residents they trusted to help cover for them as they launched the search for Lavender. Luna had been an easy selection and even easier sell, eager to assist however she could.

Parvati had recruited Hannah, who was also eager to help in the wake of her misplaced guilt, feeling responsible for Lavender's disappearance as Filch had assigned her the task of keeping an eye on the girl while they shopped the market. Hermione tried to assure her that there was nothing she could have done to stop Lavender once the girl got an idea into her head, but Hannah's eyes still looked plagued when they parted her company that morning.

Hermione was almost to the door when a sharp sound drew her attention, rendering her still, head searching out the source of the noise.

A frantic birdsong.

Hermione blinked, eyes landing on a black-billed magpie, larger than most, markings utterly beautiful, perched atop the lowest branch of a silver birch.

Her heart raced wildly as the bird's chest heaved, equally frantic, head cocking to the side, gaze locking onto Hermione's. It had golden irises, like an eagle. She swallowed, feeling some electrical current in the air snap along her skin as she held the bird's penetrating stare.

And suddenly, one thought surfaced above the rest, echoing off every corner of her mind.

It's a warning.

As soon as the words took root the bird fell silent, launching into flight, wings flapping effortlessly. She squinted, trying to follow it's ascent but losing sight almost immediately, as though it disappeared into thin air.

Unease seized her by the throat, cutting off her airway. She spun around to face the door, muscles tensed. She slowly pulled the handle and let out a short sigh of relief when it gave way beneath her touch, opening silently. She slipped inside, closing the door behind her carefully, standing on tiptoes, doing her best to make as little noise as possi-

"There ya are!"

A large hand gripped her shoulder, whipping her around. She cringed, recognizing the grating voice before she saw the equally grating face.

"Knew someone was up to somethin when blondie snuck down ere earlier," Filch said with malevolent glee, releasing her shoulder to seize her wrist in an ironclad grip, bruising her pale flesh and grinding her bones. She bit her lip to prevent herself from crying out in pain, unwilling to give the vile man the satisfaction.

"Wait till Madam sees ya! Yer in fer it, girly." He pulled her along behind him as he limped rapidly through the kitchen and towards archway leading to the hall. She reared back, twisting her arm, but he pulled harder, nearly taking her off her feet.

"Stop that! Yer good and caught, no point fightin me now!"

"Precisely, so release me this moment!"

"What are ya on about?" He scowled over his shoulder.

She scowled back. "I'm already caught, there's no point in running, so there's no point in you detaining me like a criminal, I'm not going anywhere!"

"Ha!" he barked without humor. "I don't trust a single one of ya ta do what ya says ya gonna do, so shut up and keep walkin!"

She bit back a scream of frustration, digging in her heels as he hauled her down the large open corridor, residents stopping along the way to watch the spectacle with varied expressions. A few looked gleeful, amused, but most looked concerned, flashing Hermione looks of sympathy. She avoided their gazes, not wanting to encourage anyone to try and help, not that they would, but nevertheless she didn't want to implicate anyone else in her crime.

"Stop doin that!" he yelled, voice echoing down the now silent hall, everyone giving up the rouse of focusing on anything else but their parading figures. "Walk!"

"Let go of my arm and I will!"

"You stupid little trollop, I told ya I-"

"Mr. Filch."

The smooth baritone seemed to surround them from all sides, rendering them both still in their mutual struggle, heads swiveling to find the source. Her heart leaped into her throat as the gathered crowd at their back parted to make way for the tall, darkly clad figure to emerge.

"Perhaps you can explain to me why you're abusing one of my charges?"

She blinked, warmth suffusing her chest as he referred to her as his.

"Dr. Riddle…" Filch's yellowed, sallow skin turned even clammier, throat bobbing as he swallowed audibly. "I… I caught er, see… she were sneakin around when she's sposed ta be-"

"Unhand her at once."

Filch's expression pinched in abject annoyance but he slowly released her, circulation flooding back into her hand as his calloused fingers gave way. She instinctively backed away, towards the Doctor. He in turn stepped forward, placing himself between them. An impenetrable wall. She tipped her head down, hovering at his back, her face half hidden by his broad shoulder.

"Is this how you normally treat the residents?"

There was an excited murmur among the girls, a wave of whispers echoing off the walls as they watched the exchange with eager eyes.

Filch shifted uncomfortably on his feet. "She was caught breakin the rules!"

"I don't care what she was caught doing, if I ever see you place your hands on one of these girls for any reason whatsoever I assure you, I will throw you out on the streets myself. Do I make myself clear?"

Hermione swallowed, breath lodged in her throat, eyes fixated on his beautifully enraged profile. His tone was lethal, brokered no argument, gave no ounce of leave. Filch physically wilted beneath the treacherous storm in the Doctor's eyes.

"I… I…"

"It's a simple yes or no."

Filch's eyes flickered to Hermione, narrowing once more. "Yes." He bit out, jaw ticking.

The Doctor glanced down at Hermione as well, turning to face her so sharply she drew back, cringing on instinct as his hand reached for her bruised wrist. He paused, arm held aloft, eyes alighting to hers, still bright with emotion but his expression no longer deadly.

"May I?" he asked softly, for her ears alone.

She swallowed lightly, nodding, lifting her arm for his examination. His touch was light, fingers cold, but the moment his fingertips moved from the fabric of her sleeves to the bare sensitive skin of her inner wrist she felt lightning strike, following the path of her spine. She rocked on her feet, gasping.

"Does it hurt?"

She felt a flush steal her cheeks, mortified, tempted to feign greater injury to cover for her reaction to his touch. But she knew he'd be able to detect a sprain or fracture easily, and furthermore, she didn't want to lie to him. So far their interactions had been based in raw, naked honesty, and she didn't want to change that now.

"No."

His eyes held her steady, one hand supporting the weight of her forearm and the other gently encircling her wrist in stunning contrast to the way Filch held her moments before. She felt her pulse thrum madly against his thumb, his skin rapidly warming against hers, becoming a scalding heat.

"You'll bruise." Their gazes remained firmly locked. "But your hand is still attached, despite his valiant attempt to rip it off."

She blinked, brow pinching until she saw the flash of dark amusement ripple across his face. And just like that, the suffocating weight left her lungs, the stress of the last day, the last week, the last year, melted away in that brief instant.

"That's too bad. A severed appendage would surely qualify me for disability services. I could have earned up to ten shillings a week."

His pupils expanded rapidly, his mouth curving into a secretive smirk. "Dare to dream big."

Her heart skipped a beat, the rest of the world falling away around them, until someone giggled sharply and the resounding murmurs echoed through her skull, pulling her from the smoky abyss and back to the crowded hall. She drew her arm away at the same moment his hands released her, both taking a sharp step back from the other.

Hermione glanced down as the Doctor turned to face Filch once more.

"I will have to report this incident to the Matron."

Panic seized her but she forced her limbs to remain still.

"As you bloody well should! I told ya, I caught er sneakin about, she needs ta come with me ta see the Madam right now!"

"And where exactly did you catch her sneaking about?"

She bit her lip at the Doctor's clipped tone, terrified he'd turn his ire on her for breaking the terms of her house arrest.

"The back garden, comin in through the kitchens like a common thief!"

"And between discovering her entrance and hauling her down the hall like a cow to auction did you stop to ask her why she was in the garden?"

"It don't matter why she was-"

"Precisely. Because had you taken but a moment to make such an inquiry you'd know that Ms. Granger was merely taking inventory of the herbs, as I requested."

Her heart nearly burst from her mouth. Filch blinked, gaze flickering rapidly between them. "But- I- you never told me she was-"

"I'm sorry, Mr. Filch," Dr. Riddle folded his arms. "Am I to understand that I must inform you of every task needed to perform my function as primary physician?"

Filch swallowed again, the girls whispered more sharply, the crowd steadily growing in number.

"She didn't say nothin bout any inventory."

"Perhaps she was a bit distracted by your violent efforts to wrench her arm from the socket." He released the man from his lethal stare to glance at Hermione once more. "I will take care of the matter, Ms. Granger. You may go."

She couldn't breathe, couldn't blink, too shocked to move.

His eyes narrowed, darkened. "Go."

She snapped out of her daze, nodding quickly and spinning on her heal, only to face a wall of onlookers blocking her path to freedom.

"All of you!" The Doctor shouted, voice reverberating off the walls and ceiling like the voice of God Himself. "The show is over! Get back to where you need to be or I'll summon the Madam to repeat the instructions!"

That was all the threat needed to break apart the sea of girls like an icepick. They scattered in every direction, laughing, shouting, eager to spread the gossip.

Hermione hesitated a moment longer, glancing over her shoulder at the image of Filch and Dr. Riddle speaking in low voices, the former hunched and defensive and the latter towering and lethal, but she couldn't hear what they were saying.

She took a deep breath, still shaken to her core from the last ten minutes, and hurried down the hall towards her dorm.

---

Harry walked along the busy campus of the Royal Polytechnic Institute, eyes scanning the crowd outside the School of Engineering.

"Oi, Boot!"

The lanky man turned from the group he was standing amongst, chatting near the main stairs.

"Potter! Long time no see, mate. What are you doing here?"

"Good to see you. I'm looking for the old man, he around?"

"Yeah, he was in the last lecture with me, ended about ten minutes ago, he should be out anytime."

"Thanks, mate."

"So you're on leave?"

"That I am."

"Kill any pirates?"

Harry laughed. "Unfortunately not."

Terry shook his head. "Too bad. Come close to killing any?"

"So far I've only come close to killing my friends. Let's hope I have the strength to curb my homicidal urges."

"What's the fun in that?"

"Good point. Oh, I see him now. I'll talk to you later, mate."

"Alright then, goodbye, Potter."

Harry smiled, tipping his head in farewell as he strode past the milling crowd to the edge of the building.

"Nev!"

Neville halted his rapid pace down the walkway, glancing up from the open book in his hands. "Harry?"

"In the flesh."

Neville laughed, snapping the book shut and stepping in to embrace him. "Blimey, I thought you weren't getting back until next week."

"Last minute change of plans."

"No one tells me anything," he said without heat, slipping the book into his leather satchel.

"How is Cambridge?"

Neville smiled. "It's fantastic. I'd stay there year round if not for Gran. Luckily the Institute offers summer programs so I can stay on track."

"On track for what? To graduate in half the time?"

"I'm doing a double major."

Harry shook his head. "It's astounding we share the same blood."

"Barely. Remember when Mione made us trace our entire family trees for her genetics project?" His eyes were bright with amusement, but it quickly faded, expression sobering. "How is she? I've written a few times but haven't heard back. I don't know if she gets regular mail or not where she is."

Harry sighed, clamping a hand on his friend's shoulder and directing him down the path.

"Actually, Mione's the reason I paid you a visit, I need to ask you a favor."

Neville raised a brow. "A favor for you or her?"

Harry smirked, a knowing glint in his eyes. "Does it matter?"

Neville swallowed, blushing lightly. "No, of course not. I just... I just worry about her is all."

Harry nodded. "Me too, Nev. Me, too."

---

Hermione checked both ways down the corridor before sliding inside the room, still a bit frazzled from the morning's encounter.

Luna immediately stood from the bed and crossed the room. "Hermione, I'm so sorry, I didn't know Filch saw me sneak into the kitchen-"

"It's okay, it's not your fault."

The blonde nodded, though her eyes still look burdened. Hermione was about to reassure her further when her gaze lighted over her shoulder to the room's third occupant. Hannah sat on the foot of Parvati's bed, looking equally anxious.

Hermione sighed. "Does the entire Home know?"

Hannah sent her a sympathetic look. "It's all anyone can talk about."

Hermione trudged past Luna, shaking her head. "Lovely. Umbridge is sure to catch wind of it then."

"But didn't the Doctor step in?"

Hermione chewed on the inside of her cheek. "How much did you hear?"

Luna walked over, sitting beside Hannah. "Girls are saying the Doctor defended you to Filch. Defended all of us. Said he wasn't to place hands on anyone ever again."

She nodded, wondering if they also heard that the Doctor claimed she'd been working in the garden on an errand for him. The other residents wouldn't have cause to doubt the lie but Luna and Hannah knew the truth, and would likely read more into his assistance than Hermione was willing to face at the moment.

"Were you able to talk to the others?" She thought a change in topic best.

"Yes, the other girls agreed to keep an eye out and ask around when they're able to go on market runs. No one has any idea where she could be. They haven't heard anything." Hannah provided, eyes sorrowful.

Hermione deflated. "Thanks, girls. I thought it prudent to ask but I wasn't expecting much. Lavender didn't hang out in the typical places, I doubt anyone here knows exactly what she got up to outside these walls." She paused, saddened. "Not even me."

A somber silence filled the room before she was pulled free from her daze by a memory. "I spoke with my friend, he's going to help us search out a lead. He knows practically everyone in London through family, friends and the Navy. I think he'll be our best bet."

Luna nodded. "I think Parvati's connection will be useful, too."

Hermione swallowed nervously. "She isn't back yet?"

Both blondes shook their heads. She sighed, dropping onto her own mattress in a graceless heap.

"Shite."

---

Harry came to a stop outside the red painted door in the alleyway.

"You didn't have to come here with me, Nev. You've already done plenty by spreading word around the campus."

Neville shrugged. "I don't mind. I didn't have any plans for the day beyond studying. At least this gets me out of the house."

Harry raised a dark brow. "It certainly does. I feel I should warn you again-"

"Bloody hell, Harry, I'm not a child, I know what goes on in these places."

Harry nodded, smirking as he rapped his knuckles against the door. "Gird your loins."

Neville shook his head in amusement as a small window at eye level slid open, revealing the top half of a man's face. "Password?"

"Egbert."

The window slid closed, the sound of clicking locks quick to follow.

"How did you know that?"

Harry flashed a silver grin over his shoulder as the door opened. "I have my ways."

They stepped over the threshold and past the doorman into the smoke-filled hall. Neville immediately started choking on the bitter cloud surrounding them.

"Careful," Harry hit him on the back a few times. "It's opium. Try not to breathe in too much of it or I'll have to carry you out."

"How the hell am I supposed to do that?" He hacked another breath. "The air's filled with it!"

Harry shrugged, walking further along the hall, past several sheet draped doorways. "I'm sure you'll figure something out, you always were the smart one."

Neville wiped at his tearing eyes as he followed in Harry's wake, covering his mouth with the crook of his elbow, gaze narrowed. Harry stopped at the last open doorway, this one covered by a beaded curtain that glimmered as he pushed past. Neville swallowed tentatively, immediately coughing anew.

They stepped into the main room of the opium den and emerged in a fresh haze of white smoke. As it settled around them the details came into view. A large oriental rug covered the floor, a massive hookah at its center, pillows scattered about the ground with sprawled bodies atop. Men and women, all looking to be under the age of thirty, eyes red-rimmed and hooded, no one bothering to even look in their direction.

Harry scanned their faces, shaking his head. "I don't see him."

"What does he look like again?"

"Our age, blonde, smug."

"And what does smug look like exactly?"

"Handsome and punchable."

"Got it."

Harry backed out of the room, Neville turned to follow but jolted still when he felt something wrap around his ankle. He peered down, blinking as he was met with the face of a smiling young woman lying on the ground, long dark hair spilling across the carpet.

"Hello…" her voice was raspy, eyes dim and lifeless. "Stay and play with me."

Neville's brows drew together as he gently pulled his leg away from her outstretched fingers. "Not today, luv."

She giggled, unaffected by his rejection. "Tomorrow then?"

He swallowed, heart beating unsteadily in his chest. "Sure."

He looked away, though he could still see her vacant eyes in his mind. The brief encounter had a profound effect upon him, taking root in his chest. He started to take a deep breath but caught himself before he choked on another lungful of smoke.

By the time he made it back into the hallway, he saw Harry stepping away from a sheet, moving onto the next room and peeking in, shaking his head as he pulled back. Neville was about to ask what they planned to do if he wasn't here when Harry peaked into a third room, emerald eyes gleaming.

"Got you."

Harry stepped inside, the sheet falling back into place behind him, leaving Neville alone in the hall with a thrumming pulse and throbbing head. He was starting to feel the effects of the second-hand opium. His vision hazed at the edges, thoughts slowing.

He walked to the white sheet in a half-trance, slowing extending his hand out to push it aside. He had to blink several times to process the image within, a fresh plume of smoke filling his vision.

"Hello there, McLaggen." Harry's voice sounded deep and sinister, causing Neville to freeze in the doorway, the sheet draped over one shoulder.

There was a short gasp, feminine.

"And what's your name, luv?"

Neville squinted and the forms took shape, a man sprawled over a chaise lounge, a girl lying across his lap in nothing but a shift, seemingly asleep, and another scrambling to put her corset back on.

"Potter? Is that you, mate?" The man asked, barely rousing.

"I'm not your mate."

The girl trying to redress was clumsy, wobbling on her feet, and tripped over the chaise leg. Harry shot forward and caught her before she hit the ground. She blinked up at him with wide, glossy eyes.

"Careful," he murmured, eyes scanning her face closely. "Your name wouldn't happen to be Lavender would it?"

She swallowed and shook her head. He sighed, tipping her upright so she could regain her footing and releasing her.

"Wrong hair color. What about her, what's her name?" Harry pointed to the sleeping figure on Cormac's lap, curled up like a kitten. The girl at Harry's side shrugged. "I don't know."

He sighed, shaking his head and directing his focus to the man on the chaise. "How long have you been here, McLaggen?"

Cormac blinked slowly, eyes narrowing. "Potter? Is that you?"

"Bloody hell." Harry groaned, pinching the bridge of his nose beneath his glasses. He glanced over his shoulder at Neville. "Do me a favor, Nev? Go back to the main room and see who's coherent enough to speak. See if any of them have seen or heard of Lavender Brown."

Neville nodded, eyes lingering on the sleeping girl on Cormac's lap before he backed away into the hall, unsteady on his feet. Harry groaned, suspecting he'd be carrying his friend out after all.

He turned back to the girl at his side, watching as she pulled her dress over her shoulders. "You know a Lavender Brown?"

She pulled her long brown hair free from the collar. She shook her head, glancing to the doorway with obvious desperation but seeming frozen in place, as though waiting for Harry to dismiss her.

He narrowed his eyes, wondering if she was a paid companion or merely looking to supply her habit for free by hanging out in these places. He didn't know which would come as the bigger insult if he asked. So instead he tipped his head towards the exit.

"You're free to go. I need to ask your friend some questions, you can have him back after."

Her eyes darted down to Cormac's drowsing form, eyes narrowing slightly. "He's not my friend."

Harry nodded. "I share in your sentiments. In that case, would you like to stay, watch me rough him up a bit?"

Her eyes snapped back to his, a look of confusion melting away into amusement. "Could I help?"

Harry barked out a laugh, tipping his head back. "Sorry, luv. I'm afraid I don't have time for that, but I like your way of thinking." He tilted his head, examining her more closely. "What's your name?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Susan."

"Susan," he repeated slowly, watching her blush spread down her neck and decolletage. "I'm looking for a missing girl by the name of Lavender Brown, blonde, your age and just as pretty." Susan shifted on her feet, swallowing lightly. "Would you mind keeping your eyes and ears open for me?"

She blinked, watching half dazed as he reached into his coat lining and extracted his calling card, name on the front and address on the back. "If you hear anything give that to the coach driver and they'll take you to me."

Her eyes darted back to his.

"No worries, I only want information, nothing more."

She bit her lip as she slowly took the card, studying the letters along the front as though decoding them. He blinked, realizing she may not be educated.

"I'm Harry."

She glanced up sharply, eyes narrowed. "I know how to read."

He smirked at the scorn in her voice. "My apologies."

"For the record, I'm not what you think I am."

"I make no assumptions, I assure you." That was a lie, he assumed he'd enjoy conversing with this woman under different circumstances. She obviously had pluck brewing beneath the surface, reminding him a bit of his best friend. He liked women with backbone, regardless of their circumstances.

Susan slipped his card into the pocket in her skirts, backing away to the door. "I'll keep an ear out."

She darted away behind the sheet before he could bid her a thank you or farewell. He sighed, turning back around and scowling as the sound of snoring filled the room. Cormac was passed out, head tipped back against the top of the chaise, a thin line of drool cutting a path down his chin and neck. The girl in his lap was so still she didn't seem to breathe.

Harry hunched down, shaking her lightly and sagging in relief when she murmured sleepily, eyes slowly blinking awake. He already knew by her hair color she wasn't the girl he was looking for, and the vacant expression she wore told him she wouldn't be providing him any worthwhile information.

So he gently helped her off Cormac's lap, holding her arms as she swayed heavily on her feet. "Hello, luv," he said softly, feeling like he was handling a fawn learning to walk. "I need you to head into the main room for a little while, can you make it there on your own?"

She nodded while her eyes drifted closed once more, her frail body slumping into his.

"Fucking hell," he murmured, sweeping her into his arms and laying her gently on the floor, out of the way. She immediately curled up into a ball and fell back asleep.

Harry backed away, focusing the full beam of his fury at Cormac who was currently passed out, snoring so loudly it reverberated off the walls.

"Wake up, idiot!" Harry kicked him in the shin, boot colliding hard with bone.

"Ah fuck!" Cormac sprung to life like a snapping bear trap, his body folding in half as he clutched at his abused leg and tipped to the side, head against the cushions. "What the hell- Potter?"

"We've already established that. Sit up. I'm tired of this bullshite."

Cormac blinked rapidly, still slumped over. Harry growled, grabbing him the suspenders and yanking up upright.

"Bloody hell what's your-"

"Now listen good, because I'm only going to ask you this once before I resort to more drastic measures," Harry hissed menacingly in his face. "I'm looking for a girl by the name of Lavender Brown. I know you're intimately familiar with her. Where is she?"

Cormac swallowed, expression pinching. "All this for a strumpet? She's used goods mate, you're better off- Ow! Fuck!" His head snapped back from the impact of Harry's fist.

"You didn't follow instructions, McLaggen. I asked you a question. Where is she?"

"You bloody bastar- Jesus okay!" He cringed back as Harry drew his fist back once more. "Alright! She's up at the Girls Home on Bromley!"

Harry's eyes narrowed. "That's where she's supposed to be," he ground out, jaw ticking. "She's been missing since yesterday."

Cormac wiped at his bloody lip, blinking anew. "I don't know anything about that, mate."

Harry shook his head, taking to his full height. "I'm not your mate."

"Obviously."

"Where else could she be?"

"How the bloody hell should I know?"

Harry scowled. "You run around with her at least once a week, where do you take her?"

Cormac drew his brows together, still pressing against his rapidly swelling lip. "How do you know about that?"

"I have my sources."

"Who? I pay good money to keep people quiet."

"I'm asking the questions here, Mclaggen."

Cormac scowled in return. "I have no idea where the stupid bint is! If I did I would tell you, she isn't worth getting my face split open."

"What a gentleman," he glanced to the girl sleeping on the floor. "And what about her, do you even know her name?"

"These places aren't for sharing names, Potter."

"Just drugs and disease."

"Get off your high horse you smug prick."

Harry's knuckles cracked as his fists clenched anew.

Five minutes later he was helping Neville down the hall, his friend's arm slung over his shoulder as he half supported half dragged him towards the exit.

"Sorry, Nev, didn't mean to take so long."

"S'fine… did you get whatdya needed?"

Harry smirked at the man's slurred speech. He wasn't happy Neville was high as a jackdaw but he couldn't help but find twisted amusement in seeing the most straight-laced of his friends decidedly unlaced.

"I got a possible lead, as well as the opportunity to blacken his eye. So, all in all, I'd say our excursion into sin was quite successful."

Neville hummed, eyes heavy. "S'good. Let's get some cake."

Harry chuckled. "Alright, Nev. Let's go get some cake."

---

Hermione spent five minutes hovering at the end of the hall that led to the large clinic doors.

Her vivid hallucination from yesterday still haunted her. She only found the courage to progress when the doors opened and a girl slipped out, another newer resident who was several years younger than Hermione and therefore housed in a different dorm.

The young girl paused briefly in her tracks upon seeing Hermione standing like a suit of armor at the head of the corridor. Hermione woke from her dark trance and forced herself to smile. It felt strained and grotesque on her face. The girl smiled meekly in return before quickly ducking her head and darting past.

Hermione let out a slow breath, stealing her nerves and proceeding down the hall, eyes fixed on the doors, terrified to glance down and see bloody footprints dotting the stone…

Stop that.

She bit her lip as she came to a stop at the barrier, debating whether to knock or simply walk in. She decided it was a public clinic, meant for anyone's use, not the Doctor's private office.

Does he have a private office? Or was the desk in the clinic where he intends to work from?

She shook her head of the thoughts, quickly pulling open the door before she could talk herself out of it. Between her last encounter within this hall and her interaction with the Doctor earlier that morning, she had every desire to flee.

Yet she stepped inside, accepting her fate, eager to meet it even. The anticipation was often worse than the experience itself. Unless it wasn't.

Her stomach somersaulted as her eyes immediately fell upon him. He stood at the front of the desk, writing something on a clipboard, his back to her and head tilted down. She blinked, his presence still jarring to her even as she knew what to expect.

He was dressed in fine black trousers and a charcoal vest that reminded her a little too much of Draco's suit from their last encounter. She swallowed, noticing his rolled up shirt sleeves, forearms exposed. He wasn't wearing a medical jacket, she wondered if he turned his nose up at that convention as well or was merely trying to appear less intimidating to the residents.

Most of the girls here had never been to see a doctor beyond their initial admission to the Home. And Hermione had a sneaking suspicion the previous physician wore his full medical garb in their presence, anything to seem more authoritative and controlling. The thought gave her a chill.

"Ms. Granger. Right on time. I should expect no less."

She stood at attention, his back still facing her as he focused on whatever he was writing. She began to fidget. She expected him to mention her earlier encounter with Filch, ask her questions, perhaps scold her a little. At the very least she expected him to mention his role in saving her from a dark fate at the hands of the Matron.

Instead, he kept his focus upon the papers before him, addressing her without an upwards glance.

"There's no need to hover at the door. You're more familiar with this place than most."

She released a nervous breath as she stepped deeper into the large room, closer to the windows, peering out at a row of privacy bushes lining the rod iron gate. Night was descending, the sun quickly fading. She tilted her head as she saw a small figure dart past, barely discernible through the gaps in the leaves.

She wondered if it was Colin on his rounds to ignite the gas lights. Soon the street would be awash in the soft glow of moonlight and flame, turning the city into another creature altogether. A dangerous creature perhaps, but Hermione longed to stroke her fingers through its sleek dark fur nonetheless. She was so cooped up, so restless-

"Ms. Granger."

She spun on her heel, blinking rapidly. She'd almost forgotten where she was. For just a moment her fears were forgotten.

But her nerves rattled full force as Dr. Riddle's attention was directed solely upon her. He'd stepped no closer, but his eyes rendered her motionless.

"Given your background, I'm sure you know what to expect, to an extent at least."

She swallowed, throat dry, and nodded.

"Good." He released her from his thrall, glancing once more at the clipboard in his hand. "I need you to remove your dress and corset. You may leave your shift and everything beneath it in place. Use the privacy screen to your left."

She took a deep breath, hands clenching at her sides as she cut a path to the standing screen, taking shelter behind it as she was relieved of his presence for a few blessed moments.

Stop this madness. There's nothing to fear. You're acting like a juvenile.

She tried to swallow past the constriction in her throat as her clumsy fingers pulled at the stays and binds at the front of her dress, loosening the top enough to pull it down her waist and over her hips, letting it fall like a corpse around her feet. She closed her eyes as she started unlacing her corset.

Her ivory shift came to her knees, her bloomers and camisole beneath. She wore black stockings up to her mid thighs, the only flesh truly exposed was her arms which were already visible thanks to her cap sleeve dress. But being without the additional layers made her feel wildly bare, vulnerable. She couldn't abide the feeling. Not in the presence of a stranger, no matter his profession.

She hesitated behind the curtain for several beats. Her movements had stopped, the Doctor no doubt knew she was done undressing, but he made no comment, no urge to hurry her along.

Finally, with great resignation, she emerged from behind the curtain. The Doctor still gazed upon his clipboard but his eyes didn't move, his body looking tense, rigid, much as she imagined she appeared.

She bit her lip, hovering outside the screen, shifting from stockinged foot to foot, before his eyes slowly shifted upward, locking onto her. She froze.

"Excellent." His voice sounded deeper, but surely she was just imagining it, frazzled as she was. He blinked, drawing back and lowering his clipboard. "Please, take a seat on the table."

She turned her head until she saw a raised table in place of one of the cots. It had thin padding and a clean sheet pulled over the top. She took a deep breath and walked over, hoisting herself up. He approached, every step sending her heartbeat higher in her throat. As he stood before her their heights were slightly more level, though he still gazed down at her.

She held her breath, wondering if now he'd mention the incident from earlier, when she was raw and exposed before him, less likely to formulate lies.

"I pulled your medical file from the records. Your previous physician was Dr. Murrow at St. Bartholomew's?"

She blinked, once more thrown off pace by his purely professional demeanor.

"Yes."

He glanced to the clipboard once more, lifting a page.

"You were hospitalized for three days following smoke inhalation."

She didn't respond, seeing as he held her medical chart in his hands and bore all the answers anyway. He glanced up sharply. "You failed to mention you were in the fire as well."

She tentatively wet her lips. "I was…" she glanced away, picking at the fabric of the sheet with her blunt nails. "I was downstairs when it broke out. They were able to drag me out in time."

She didn't bother to go on, detailing that her parents were upstairs, trapped in the burning bedroom, the hallway a river of hungry flames. She didn't mention that she could still hear them screaming her name, not for help, but in a desperate plea for their daughter to flee, to get out.

"You suffered no burns?"

She shook her head, throat drawing to a close once more.

He examined the papers. "This is rather outdated, I need to ask you some questions to modernize it as well as determine the necessary course of exam."

He seemed to be speaking more to himself than her so she remained still and silent until his questions prompted her to speak.

"Do you drink or smoke?"

"No."

He scribbled along the margins with a pen, the scratching of the nib the only sound beyond her chaotic heartbeat.

"Do you partake in at least thirty minutes of physical exercise per day, such as walking or performing manual labor?"

She blinked, his voice was flat, toneless, almost unnerving in contrast to the passion he normally spoke with.

"Yes."

His eyes darted up, scanning her body, making her rear back on instinct.

"You are underweight. Unfortunately, the clinic lacks a scale. Not that I'm surprised."

She wet her lips. "Perhaps it's for the best."

His gaze snapped back to hers, narrowed. She swallowed, almost afraid to continue but speaking purely on adrenaline. "Some of the older girls here are preoccupied with their image, they may abuse the scale and resort to drastic measures to obtain a more favorable weight."

Something in his eyes flashed. "Is that what you're doing?"

She flushed. "No, I-" she broke off, unsure how to continue. "I don't care about my appearance, I mean, I do, but it's not- I don't- I wouldn't-"

"Take a breath, Ms. Granger." She inhaled sharply, head a whirlwind. "Yesterday you told me your greatest dream is to turn grey and wrinkled before the age of thirty. I don't deem that as someone obsessed with outward appearance."

She flushed deeper at his recollection of their earlier conversation. It felt somewhat sordid to think about now, in this clinical setting. She was having trouble equating the man from yesterday, from this morning, with the man who stood before her now, eyes emotionless and flat.

"I may lack a scale but I do have my other tools to obtain vital readings. Please extend your right arm."

Her brows drew together in confusion, but she did as bade. He smirked lightly as she held her arm at a ninety-degree angle from her body. His hand gently clasped her wrist, pushing it down to forty-five degrees. Her heart skipped a beat at his touch and softened expression.

"Like that," he murmured, releasing her and stepping away to his desk where a black medical bag sat open. She watched with great curiosity as he emerged with a stethoscope in one hand and a foreign looking device in the other.

"What is that?"

His smirk widened. "I wondered if you'd seen one before. It's called a sphygmomanometer, it's a new invention out of Austria. It measures the pressure of one's blood flow."

She tilted her head, eyes alight. "Truly? What a remarkable invention!" She bounced lightly in her seat. "How does it work?"

His smirk transformed into a pleased grin. "If you sit still, I'll show you."

She nodded eagerly, her earlier discomfort forgotten in the wake of such a learning opportunity. She never got exposed to anything new these days. Little less in the field of medicine.

"This is a pneumatic cuff, it wraps around your bicep and is controlled by the manual pump on this end," he held each piece aloft for her to view. "I will constrict blood flow through the brachial artery." He wrapped the two-inch band around her upper arm, she watched with rapt fascination.

"I will then loosen the band and release the blood flow in a controlled manner. The mercury manometer will measure the pressure of release for me. I just have to use the stethoscope to determine at what pressure the blood flow is starting and at what pressure it's unimpeded."

She shook her head, hanging on every word. "This is incredible. May I watch?"

He laughed shortly, eyes no longer flat and lifeless but bright and endlessly deep. "That is up to you. The procedure does not require you to close your eyes."

She smiled as well, too excited to feel embarrassed. He tightened the cuff into position and began squeezing the pump. "Remain still and silent."

She nodded, watching the dial on the end change, not understanding the readings but no less intrigued. She jumped slightly when she felt the cold sensation of metal pressing against her chest, tugging at the neckline of her shift. She glanced up, eyes fixed on Dr. Riddle's look of concentration as he listened to her heartbeat.

She had no doubt he was being subjected to a cacophony of sounds, her heart beating wildly at his new medical device and close proximity, his upper thighs lightly grazing her knees.

She bit her lip, too overwhelmed to move, to blink. After a few long moments, he released the valve and the air started to hiss free, the pressure slowly easing around her arm. His eyes darted to the meter and then he promptly slid the band off her bicep.

"You're at one twenty over eighty, which is within the healthy range but right at the cusp of hypertension. No doubt due to the stress put on your heart because of your size."

She blinked, shifting awkwardly at his casual reference to her slight form but her curiosity burning brighter. "What do those numbers mean?"

"The first refers to the amount of pressure in your arteries during the contraction of your heart. The second refers to the pressure of blood between beats. I have a chart I can show you later listing the ranges. Data is still being collected of course, given the rising popularity of this method."

"It's amazing. And I thought the stethoscope was an ingenious bit of design."

His smirk returned. "Are you familiar with the history of the stethoscope?"

An electrical current ran up her spine, words emitting before she had a chance to think. "It was invented by Dr. Laennec in Paris, its original design merely a wooden tube for listening through one ear. He created it because he was uncomfortable placing his head to women's chests to listen to their heart."

He shook his head, walking back to his desk and depositing both items back into his black case. She wasn't sure whether to be flattered or embarrassed by his silent reaction, his expression a cross between pleasure and amusement. She chewed on the inside of her cheek as an admonishment for rambling like a school girl eager to please the tutor.

"Alright," he headed back towards her. "Now I'm going to examine your lymphatic and thyroid systems, as well as check the condition of your spleen and liver."

She nodded, rendered mute as he came to stop directly before her, heat radiating from his form. Or perhaps it was radiating from her. She couldn't be certain. She sucked in a sharp breath as his hands lifted to her face, blinking rapidly, thinking he was going to touch her cheeks when his fingers slid beneath her jaw, tilting her face upwards lightly.

"Tell me if you experience any discomfort or pain."

She swallowed thickly, closing her eyes. His fingers were just as cool as they were in the hall this morning, wrapped around her wrist. But now they slid beneath her jaw, pressing into her skin, then around the back of her neck, tipping her head forward as they pressed the sensitive skin at her nape. Gooseflesh rose along her arms. She bit her lip, willing her reactions to calm.

"Lift your arms." His voice sounded closer, deeper.

She opened her eyes, gasping lightly at seeing his face so close to hers. She lifted her arms on instinct, holding her breath as his hands pressed the glands beneath, only to continue pressing into the skin, skimming down her sides. One large hand splayed casually along her right hip, his other gently prodded at her spleen. Her breath hitched.

"Does that hurt?" She could feel his breath along her face, it was cool, just like his touch, smelling of spearmint.

"N-no." She blushed hotly at her broken speech. She swallowed, trying again. "No, it doesn't hurt."

"Hm." He hummed low in his throat, rendering her silent once more. He checked her liver next. "Everything seems to be in order."

She stared fixated at his shoulder, unable to meet his eyes. He was a doctor, she knew this rationally, and had received many medical examinations throughout her life, as paranoid as both her parents were about their daughter falling ill to disease. But having this particular man touch her so felt nothing like the past exams, despite the fact he hadn't variated from the norm.

"I need to ask you some rather personal questions now, Ms. Granger."

Her heart thumped painfully in her chest as he finally took a step back, grabbing up his clipboard once more and writing along the margins before pinning her beneath his intense gaze, which was perhaps the only thing that kept her rooted to the table as he spoke.

"Are you intact?"

She felt herself separate from her body, watching someone else answer the questions in rigid stillness.

"Yes."

He didn't blink, eyes carefully focused upon her. "Are you sexually active in other ways?"

She released a slow breath. "No."

His eyes darted between hers before briefly flickering to her mouth. Her heart lurched. His eyes snapped back up. "You don't engage in any form of physical congress with members of the same or opposite sex?"

The question threw her, unused to such phrasing. She wondered if anyone would openly admit to engaging in sexual acts with their own gender. It was technically an arrestable offense, if not merely swept beneath the rug to never be referenced openly. But she supposed as a physician he was entitled to such information from his patients. She didn't think he'd use it against them.

You don't know this man, Hermione.

She swallowed tentatively. "I… I don't… not with women." She blushed furiously, shifting uncomfortably in place.

He raised a dark brow, eyes glowing. "With men?"

She thought her entire body would burst aflame. She prayed for it to happen, to put her out of this awkward misery.

"I don't… I mean I don't normally. I just recently, nothing sordid. I mean-"

"Ms. Granger."

She fell silent, inhaling sharply.

"I am your physician. You don't have to be embarrassed. But I must know what type of activities you engage in so I know how to best treat you."

She swallowed, stealing her nerve. "I've never been with a man, I'm intact. The most I've engaged in is kissing."

And heavy pawing…

She bit her lip, hands curling into the thin padding beneath her.

"And how recently have you engaged in kissing?"

Her brows furrowed.

"Is that important?"

"Yes."

She blinked. "Um…" Oh god, she really didn't want to say it… "Yesterday morning."

Something in his eyes flashed, rendering her motionless, caught. But then he merely gazed down, writing more along the margins.

She felt sick to her stomach, though she didn't understand why. She'd done nothing wrong. Despite what society might try to instill within her, Hermione considered her body her property and her property alone. She was free to do whatever the hell she wanted, with whoever she wanted, whenever she wanted.

Her embarrassment quickly turned to anger, thinking that the Doctor stood in silent judgment of her. As though she disappointed him somehow. Like he expected better of her. Like engaging in mere kissing made her less of a person, less of a woman-

She blinked, thoughts scattering like feathers to the wind to make room for the memory of Parvati's speech from lunch the day before.

Bloody hell, is this how I made Lavender feel all those times I lectured her about Cormac?

She felt doubly sick, this time with guilt. She desperately hoped she got the opportunity to apologize to the girl in person.

Don't think that way! You will see her again-

"In light of your admission, I see no reason to refer you to a gynecologist for an internal exam."

She didn't even know such a thing had been a possibility. She sagged in relief.

"However I will be performing an external one."

Her relief flew out the window like a frantic bird.

"Lie back. I will inspect your dermis as well, there have been recent cases of infection spread through vermin and I need to check your limbs for bites or abscesses."

She blinked, in a numb stupor, slowly drawing her legs up and pivoting around, trying to maintain her steady breathing as she laid flat on her back, gazing at the high ceiling but seeing nothing beyond the thick cloud overtaking her vision.

Breathe. Just breathe. This is perfectly normal. You've reached majority, it's only natural for your reproductive health to become a part of the exams.

She swallowed thickly as he approached, standing at her side.

"Will I be the first to perform an external exam on you?"

Something about his phrasing caused her pulse to throb harder.

"Yes."

She cringed at the blatant apprehension in her voice.

"There's no need to worry," his voice sounded softer now, less clipped. "I will simply press along the outside of your pelvis to check for any lumps or abnormalities. I can also check your inguinal nodes for swelling. Let me know if you feel any discomfort."

She nodded mutely, feeling tears form along the corners of her eyes. She was too far gone in her anxiety to be embarrassed. His hands hovered above her for a moment. She shifted slightly, wondering the cause for his delay, when she felt his eyes alight upon her. She glanced up, locking gazes, utterly helpless to hide.

"Were you aware physicians in medieval times believed a woman's womb could move about her body?"

She blinked, his question so unexpected she barely noticed his hands make contact with her lower abdomen. His eyes remained firmly locked with hers as he pressed gently. "They called it wandering womb syndrome, and affiliated it with a myriad of afflictions, such as irregular cycles, sore arms, stiff neck, cramped feet, even anxiety and nerves. Basically, anything that caused discomfort was attributed to a displaced uterus."

She tilted her head, studying his profile as he glanced down, eyes tracking his hands as they lighted upon her. She became mesmerized by his voice, her earlier unease pushed steadily aside.

"Naturally, the prescribed treatment for such an ailment was regular sexual intercourse," the corner of his mouth tipped up in dark amusement. "Only with one's husband of course, because the female body would know the difference and only be set right by her husband's touch."

She tentatively wet her lips. "I had no idea the uterus was so astute."

"Astuter than the human brain, it would seem. Luckily the doctors of the time were on top of such things. And as for unmarried women, the cure was strict diet and prayer."

"I think they got the better end of the deal compared to their married counterparts."

His face alight with a wry smirk. "I am inclined to agree with you." His fingers pressed lower, lower, causing her breath to catch. "Thank goodness we've come so far in women's health, wouldn't you agree?"

Something in his voice spoke volumes far beyond his words, as though he didn't actually expect her to agree. She suspected he was trying to distract her, and she knowingly took the bait, desperate for the escape.

"I hardly consider us far removed from medieval times in that regard. Women's reproductive health and mental health are still synonymous. The London Surgical Home continues to perform a ghastly amount of clitoridectomies each year to address any condition they deem to label hysteria. God forbid a woman is branded a nymphomaniac or, worse yet, guilty of masturbation. She's liable to be locked away from society for the duration of her life."

Her impassioned speech was cut short by the sensation of his fingers tracing the contours of where her thighs met her pelvic bone. She swallowed heavily as his heated touch lingered, pressing gently, then firmer, igniting warmth through her shift and bloomers and skin, all the way to her core. Her reaction frightened and confused her.

"I take it you aren't a proponent of modern hysterical theory?"

She exhaled slowly, willing her mind away from his touch and back to his words. It was difficult. "I consider all three of those words nothing but a long oxymoron when used in conjunction."

He startled her with a sharp laugh, deep, genuine and delighted, setting her nerves aflame. He shook his head, wry grin back in place. "I've never heard it put that way, but now I shall never be able to think of it as anything but."

She felt a blush spread across her cheeks and found herself rambling to distract from the fluttering sensation within her chest. "After the trial of Lewis Payne in Ameri,ca the legal definition of insanity was addressed publicly for the first time. Its definition has nothing to do with the female condition, its source considered one of the mind, not the body. And yet the medical field still operates under the archaic belief that the uterus is a powder keg set to blow at the slightest provocation, turning half the population into raving lunatics at a moment's notice."

His hands slid along her hips, seeming to grip them slightly before releasing her all at once. She bit her tongue, startled by the coldness that settled across her skin absent his touch. His eyes met hers, burning bright.

"You speak quite passionately about such things. Do you have any interest in upending the system, Ms. Granger?"

She blinked, heart racing. "What do you mean?"

The corner of his mouth tipped up, eyes narrowing slightly, darkening at the center. "You know exactly what I mean."

She wet her lips. "I planned on training to become a nurse. Like my mother. But then we heard about the Medical Act that was being pushed steadily through Parliament. My parents told me to hold out and wait for it to pass so my father could back my admission to medical school when the time came." She swallowed lightly. "It's being presented in the next few months for final voting. But even if it passes, female applicants need a licensed doctor to recommend them to the board. Without my father's backing, I won't qualify regardless of my test scores."

Something in his eyes flashed. "Surely one of your father's associates would vouch for you?"

She smiled sadly. "To do so would be putting their reputation on the line. Though the Act may pass, it will not be met with open arms. The proponents will still face great onslaught to their careers. Anyone considered a supporter will be targeted by those against the reform. My father may have been willing to put his name on the line, but I couldn't ask anyone else to do so for me."

His eyes studied her, rendered her motionless. "You are far too caring for your own good, Hermione. It will only lead you to ruin."

She blinked, pulse thrumming at hearing her first name from his lips at long last. He stepped closer to her head, leaning in slightly, stealing the breath from her lungs as he gazed down upon her.

"Some things in life are so important they must be taken, no matter the cost to others. Sometimes it's okay to be selfish. Necessary even."

She felt dizzy despite her prone position beneath him. She swallowed twice before finding her voice.

"It's never necessary to be selfish." Her voice sounded frail, weak, young. She hated it.

He watched her in the thick, ominous silence that followed, she worried her frantic heart would leap right out of her chest. Then he slowly raised to his full height, stepping back. The spell was broken, the lights lifted, the rest of the room was brought back to stunning clarity.

"I will examine your skin for worrisome blemishes now." He spoke as though the previous exchange hadn't occurred.

She blinked, dazed as he walked to the foot of the table.

"I'm going to remove your stockings."

Her breath caught in her throat. She hesitated, replaying the words in her head though she was certain she heard them correctly. He didn't ask permission, didn't request that she remove them…

She gasped as she felt his hands slide under her shift, dragging the thin barrier up above her knees as he grasped the dark fabric of her stocking, fingertips grazing the sensitive skin of her mid thigh. She swallowed thickly, rendered limp as he pulled the fabric down one leg, over her knee, past her calf, and then a hand cupped the back of her ankle, raising her foot to remove the scrap of fabric entirely.

She let out a sharp breath, blinking rapidly as the cool air danced along her heated, exposed flesh. She braced herself, tamping down the urge to gasp anew as he repeated the motion on the other legs, this time his fingertips seemed to skim a trail down the back of her knee and calf, making the muscles tense reflexively.

Once both legs were bared to his eyes he proceeded to rake them with his gaze, though he didn't touch them. Still, his eyes burned at hot as a physical touch. She averted her own to the ceiling, trying to regulate her breathing once more.

"I see no bites or abscesses, no moles," perhaps she imagined his brief pause, "No flaws."

Her heart skipped a beat and then thudded so painfully she jolted lightly. He stepped away from the table.

"I've seen your arms already to know they are the same. But I would like to examine your wrist more closely. You may sit up."

She worried she wouldn't be able to, rendered as nerveless as she was. She bit her lip and slowly pulled herself into an upright position, keeping her knees together as she slid them around the side of the table to dangle off the edge.

She slowly gazed up and met his eye as he held a hand out expectantly. She took a deep, grounding breath, and raised her arm, placing her hand palm up in his. His fingers curled around the appendage, ensnaring it. He rotated it slowly in either direction.

"Pain?"

She shook her head.

The fingers of his other hand grazed along the faint blue and purple tracks along her pale flesh, deeper in hue than this morning.

"Bruising looks to be the worst of it. Lucky for Filch."

She blinked at his casual statement, detecting the note of hostility brewing beneath the surface. She nervously wet her lips, deciding to take the plunge rather than skirting the edge any longer.

"Thank you for defending me against him this morning."

His eyes snapped back to hers, silence in their wake. His gaze was steady, intense, expectant.

She pushed ahead, every vein in her body throbbing.

"I don't usually- I don't normally break the rules or sneak about."

He raised a dark brow, something in his stare igniting. "Such as hiding in stranger's wardrobes at three in the morning?"

She swallowed. "It was two in the morning actually."

The corner of his mouth tipped up. He still held her wrist captive.

"Semantics. Why were you sneaking out of the Home in the first place?"

His eyes flickered to her mouth and back, she realized with a jolt he probably thought she had run off to meet up with a man, the man she admitted to kissing yesterday.

She couldn't afford to think that man's name at this given moment or she'd surely implode.

"I was searching for my missing roommate," she blurted out, equally desperate to explain and to quell her traitorous thoughts.

His fingers tightened their hold on her arm, she cringed. He blinked, releasing her so suddenly her limp arm smacked into her knees.

"Missing roommate?" His tone had changed to something new. Something she didn't recognize, not as the intensely passionate man or the staunchly professional doctor. Whatever this new persona was seemed darker, intenser than the others.

"When did this occur?"

She pulled out of her reverie. "Yesterday morning. Lavender went with a few others to pick up groceries at the market and disappeared. They lingered behind to search for her for several hours before returning. Me and my other roommate tried to coordinate a search party but Umbridge refused. She claims Lavender ran away and is expelled from the Home. But I know that's not the case. I don't know what happened, but I know that she didn't run away. Not without saying goodbye."

She found it immensely cathartic to discuss such things with someone other than Harry. She wondered if the doctor would care about her plight.

"So you took it upon yourself to go searching through London for her yourself?" He didn't sound accusing, merely curious.

She debated on how much to tell him, but decided she owed him at least some of the truth in light of his help this morning.

"I visited a good friend who I thought might be able to help gethe t word out and organize a search outside of Umbridge's control."

Mentioning her intent to undermine the Matron seemed to intrigue him, his expression pulling free of the shadows enough for his eyes to gleam in the weening sunlight. "You're certain she didn't run away? Or skip out to bed down with friends for a few nights?"

Hermione didn't hesitate. "I know with every fiber of my being that Lavender would have returned to the Home if she had the power to."

She blinked, deflating at her own declaration. She already knew the truth in her heart but had been unwilling to face it, unwilling to break hope or resolve. But in his presen,ce she had only the naked truth at her disposal.

"I know that something bad has happened."

He held her gaze, expression unreadable, before finally breaking the tense silence like a rubber band. "I will speak to Umbridge."

She jolted, rearing back. "Really?" She couldn't keep the excitement out of her voice. Of all the reactions she'd been expecting, that hadn't been it.

He looked slightly amused by her outburst, then his expression sobered. "We are tasked with protecting those assigned to our care. She went to the market on an errand and disappeared. It is no different than if she disappeared from under this very roof. Allowing her to go without at least attempting a search is unacceptable."

She swallowed, throat tight. She felt her eyes burning and blinked, desperately fighting the tears. Her relief was so overwhelming she could only manage to whisper a small, "Thank you."

He tilted his head, eyes roaming her body. But this time it didn't seem to be in a purely clinical fashion…

Before she could process the moment fully his eyes met hers once more and he nodded. "You're welcome."

Several minutes later she was stepping out from behind the partition, fully clothed, feeling overly dressed for the first time in a long time. While laying about in her underclothes and shift had seemed mortifying and awkward at first it somehow felt like a second skin by the time Dr. Riddle told her the appointment was finished.

She was disappointed to find him seated behind the desk, deep in paperwork by the time she emerged. He didn't glance up at the sound of her footsteps. She rocked awkwardly on her heels, unsure what to say, settling on a simple farewell.

"Good evening, Doctor."

His head snapped up, eyes flat and emotionless. Her least favorite persona. "Good evening, Ms. Granger."

Se hesitated a beat, hoping he'd tell her to sleep well, a cheeky allusion to their first encounter. But he merely glanced back down to his work, dismissing her.

She swallowed down the sour emotion that brimmed within her and started for the door, ready to escape.

"Ms. Granger."

Her heart leapt, she spun on her heal, eager, alert. He continued to gaze at his paperwork as he spoke.

"You will do wise to heed my advice. Stay within these walls unless given explicit permission otherwise. The Madam seems particularly keen on expelling residents, and I won't always be there to save you."

She blinked, something in his words making her blood run cold beyond the everyday threat of Umbridge's scorn. She nodded silently, then realized he wouldn't be able to see the gesture with his gaze averted.

"I understand."

"I was hoping you'd agree. But alas, I cannot control your actions, merely attempt to influence them."

She intertwined her fingers before her, looking down. She could easily promise to stay confined to the Home but she knew it would end up being a lie. She didn't want her first promise to him to be something she knew she couldn't keep.

"I'll take your advice to heart," she settled on instead, gazing up at his deep chuckle.

He was looking at her now, eyes bright despite the rapidly darkening room. "See that you do."

She was about to turn and leave when he called her attention once more, sending a thrill through her limbs.

"Hermione…"

He held her gaze for several beats, the setting sun casting the clinic into long shadows, his face transforming into a beautiful and lethal mask.

"I assure you, your missing friend will turn up."

She held her breath, sensing something dangerous in her midst, watching, waiting...

"One way or another, they always turn up."