Hermione pulled out her wand and floated the sheet back up and over Albus Dumbledore's body. "Rest in peace," she said, touching one hand softly to the man's forehead before turning to go.

"That was a waste," Draco muttered. He managed not to stomp his way out of the tomb, but it wasn't easy. Nothing about his job had been easy, and he'd been so sure it would be. Use Hermione to get to Potter. Get the Hallows – or their location – from Potter. Pick the blasted things up and deliver them right back to his contact at the Ministry. Maybe cast a few spells with the wand, just to feel that sort of power under his control.

None of those simple things had happened. Instead, he was spending far too much time in Scotland, he'd found a dead body instead of the stone, and he'd broken into a grave for nothing.

Hermione, at least, had been mostly pleasant. Certainly, pleasant to look at, among other things.

Hermione, who followed him out of the crypt, turned her back to him and fumbled with a wand to get the door shut up again. Nothing quite like locking the barn door after the horse had been stolen. When she was done, wand tucked neatly back into her bag, she began to walk briskly away, back toward Hogsmeade.

"Wait." Draco had to hurry to catch up with her. "Where are you going?"

"You can't apparate from the grounds of Hogwarts," said Hermione as if that were self-evident.

"And also, water is wet," Draco said

"I beg your pardon?"

Draco shrugged. "I thought we were stating simple facts. You can't apparate from Hogwarts. Water is wet. Hermione Granger has a mole right above her – "

"That's fine," she said hurriedly. "What I meant was, if we want to get back to London, we'll have to get off the grounds of the school. You didn't leave anything in that inn, did you?"

He had not, and once they reached the edge of the grounds, she took him by the arm and side-along apparated him to London. Draco shook himself to get that horrid feeling of passing through the void off his skin. The streetlights showed a pretty, narrow side street. Cobblestones marched up to whitewashed walls with numbered doors. Pots filled with flowers sat next to most of those doors, and Draco was sure if he inhaled deeply enough he'd smell the money in the air. No one poor lived here.

Hermione knocked with a sharp rat-tat-tat on one of the doors.

"Where exactly are we?" Draco asked with more than a little annoyance.

Before Hermione could answer, the door opened, and Ginevra Weasley squinted out at them. The warm smile she wore for Hermione turned far cooler when she spotted him.

"Malfoy," she said, moving her lips around the syllables with obvious distaste. "Why is he here?"

"Long story," Hermione said. "But he's fine."

"That," Ginny muttered, "has never been the problem."

"Hullo, Red," Draco said. He dragged his eyes from the hair bundled up in a sloppy topknot to the bare feet. Her toenail polish was as flawless as ever, and no one could fault the way Quidditch kept her in perfect form. He liked hair a little curlier, perhaps, and the flannel pajamas were not to his taste, but he'd admired her well enough back in the day. "You're looking well."

She rolled her eyes but opened the door wide enough for the two of them to come in. "Can I get you anything?" she asked. "A nice spot of tea?"

"It's three in the morning," Draco pointed out. Whiskey would be far more appropriate. He didn't trust people who tried to solve all the world's problems with boiled leaf water. It might be very British, but it was also unreasonably optimistic.

"So that's a yes, then," Ginny said and began to fill a kettle. "Do you still like Earl Grey, Hermione?"

"Yes, please."

Draco couldn't help but notice she didn't ask him what he wanted, which was about the level of hospitality he should have known to expect. Ginny set the pot on to boil, pulled down four mugs, and began to set up a tray with milk and sugar.

"Four?" Draco asked. He made a point of looking around the room at the three of them. "I know maths can be a trifle difficult, Red, but I always gave you credit for being able to count."

A light clicked on in the hallway and feet shuffled down the stairs. This was fabulous. Hermione not only planned to discuss their situation with Ginevra Weasley but also with whatever poor sot she'd managed to convince to live with her. Draco felt sorry for him, whoever he was, until the poor sorry sot in question appeared in the doorway, stopped short, and fixed decidedly unfriendly eyes on him.

"What are you doing here, Malfoy?" Harry Potter asked.