Harry Potter had never taken well to following orders. Age had not yet mellowed that rebel streak. And even though Hermione was ostensibly in command, Harry had liked that Malfoy felt entitled to boss him around even less. Thus, as he left Hermione's flat that night, Harry had no intention of keeping the conspiracy to himself. Help was needed, and help is what he would get.

His first stop, therefore, a few days later, was Neville's thriving greenhouse business. Harry often relied on Neville for key potions ingredients for his apothecary, so he knew it would not look suspicious to any theoretical watchers for him to pay his old friend a visit. Neville was only too happy to see Harry and eagerly showed him his latest hydroponically grown hybrid, mermandrake root. "Good for healing potions, reduces congestion, and effective for drowning victims and water-breathing tonics."

"That's great, Neville." Harry feigned enthusiasm for the writhing water plants, and ordered two-dozen for his shop. "I actually wanted to ask your expertise in regards the magical properties of certain plants?"

"Oh? Which ones?"

" Let's step into your office." Harry ushered Neville into the back room, and cast several strong privacy charms, much to Neville's dismay. "I recently . . . acquired. . . an extract that appears to have magical effects on those who ingest it. But this extract tests negative for any spells cast upon it, and the plants from which it comes do not appear to have magical origins. Have you ever heard of such a thing?"

"What sort of effects?" Neville's brow creased as he took in the seriousness of Harry's demeanor.

"I'd really rather not say."

"Harry. . ."

"Trust me on this, Neville. If I tell you, you're going to have to take an unbreakable oath of silence, and I don't want to force you to do that."

"Harry. What's going on? You know the war has been over for fourteen years. Are you feeling alright?"

"Oh I know that." Harry spat, "This wasn't my idea. This has nothing to do with the war. In fact, I don't know what all it's about, only that it's deadly serious."

Neville looked away, paced to his desk, and slumped to his chair. He had a wife, a business, a good life. Now Harry was here, asking him . . . god only knew what, but it couldn't be good. Harry had a spark in his eyes, a spark Neville hadn't seen since Harry's wedding day. Harry was excited. He'd always claimed to want a quiet, simple life with no fame, or life-threatening danger. But here he was, with implications of vague threats, up to his eyeballs in gods only knew what sort of conspiracy. Was that what Neville wanted too? A dash of fire in his comfortable middle-class life? He still bore the scars from Hogwarts. Both mental and physical. They all did. An entire generation scarred and twisted.

After a long silence, in which Harry pretended to inspect Neville's herbology journals, Neville sighed.

"I'll take the bloody oath."

What else could he say? No matter how he tried to forget, he still remembered the sense of purpose, of being a part of something, of being somehow set apart from the general public, of being special. It was like a drug, so addictive that he couldn't escape its thrall, despite the equally strong memories of what it was like to quake with fear, to never know if you were going to live long enough to see the morning, much less lose your virginity, graduate, grow old.

---

Harry's next stop was Luna Lovegood.

Age had not appreciably grounded the blonde woman, although her hair had gained a few prematurely grey streaks since the days of their youth. "Hi Harry," She greeted from across her expansive desk. A desk littered with notes and pages torn from obscure journals, as well as a random assortment of blurry photos. Yes, the newest editor of the Quibbler had taken to her career with a vengeance, publishing articles that were, if possible, even more outlandish and controversial than those her father had put forth in his day. "Are you feeling alright? Have you picked up a quagblartbug infection?"

"I wouldn't know." Harry demurred, idly shifting Luna's notes and papers around, as he tried to decide how to broach his concerns with her.

"Mmhmm. . ." Luna sat back and watched Harry twitch, "It's been a long time Harry. But I knew you were coming. The wrandywracks have been sighted in Dover, after all."

"What does that. . . Oh Never mind. I'm sorry not to have kept in touch better over the years"

Luna cocked her head to the side, "Oh that's alright Harry. No one else does either." Somehow she didn't seem bothered by this, and in that moment she reminded Harry of Hermione, alone in her idiosyncratic isolation.

"The thing is. . ." Harry started, "Well, umm. The thing is, you know more about unusual species and infections than anyone else I know." He could only hope that some percentage of her quirky ideas and beliefs had some bearing on reality. After all, she'd been right before.

"Why thank you, Harry." Luna beamed happily and adjusted her frog's leg earrings.

"So, I was wondering if you might know of any creature or, say, conspiracy that might intend ill towards the wizarding race? I mean, besides Dementors or Dark lords."

"In what way? Goblins don't exactly love us, nor do centaurs, giants or dragons, but it takes a lot to get any of them stirred up to actually start a war."

"What about some more subtle attack?"

"Oh!" Luna exclaimed brightly, "This is about the impending extinction of wizarding kind isn't it?"

"Wait. . . You know about that?" Harry shook his head in disbelief.

"Of course I do! Luna reached behind her, pulled open one of her overflowing filing cabinets and grabbed a yellowing back issue of the Quibbler, "I've been writing articles about it for years. But I just can't seem to get anyone to listen. Did you see my editorial in June?"

"I should have known." Harry muttered under his breath, "I bet Hermione doesn't read the Quibbler.

"Luna, you don't drink pumpkin juice, do you?"

"Oh yes! Every day. It's good for your skin, and helps to ward off pore mites, you know." Her brow furrowed in confusion.

"But that's not possible."

"What's not? I've yet to find a pore mite on me since before I was too young to drink pumpkin juice."

And so, Harry explained. When he was done, Luna blinked at him, "You mean, all these years, no one actually saw my articles?"

"Why did you think no one ever asked you about them?"

"I just assumed. . ." She trailed off, sadly.

"That no one took you seriously because it's the Quibbler. . ." Harry finished, "Oh, Luna. I'm so sorry. But it might be for the best, Hermione thinks that people who try to out the population crisis have been targeted and killed. If the conspirators thought that you could get the word out, you'd have been attacked."

"But if pumpkin juice does all you say, then why can I remember?"

"I don't know, Luna, I just don't know."

They sat there awhile together in silence as Luna absentmindedly fiddled with the papers on her desk.

"I know!" She burst out finally, "Maybe it's like with Thestrals?"

"How do you mean?"

"Well they're invisible."

"But we know they exist."

"That's not the point, Harry. It's not a spell that makes them invisible. It's something inherent in them that makes it so you can't see until something changes in your memories. I believe my father once told me it was something in their skin, but I'd have to look it up to be sure."

"Oh, whereas pumpkin juice affects our memories so that we cannot 'see' the truth."

"Right, either way, there is a direct link between perception and an extrinsic factor."

"Hmm. . . that could be a lead." Harry agreed, "And if we could find the trigger that altered your perception despite the pumpkin juice then we might be one step closer to figuring out who could have done this. Luna, you're brilliant!"

When Harry finally took his leave, Luna sat down to brainstorm, smiling serenely at the compliments Harry had given her. It had been far too long since someone took her seriously, and she was astonished to find how much she missed it. She was just worried that Hermione might not be too pleased that Harry had recruited her. Luna was pretty certain that the other woman had always looked down on her in school. Luna might have been eccentric, but no one could ever say that she was stupid.

---

Much later, in the comfort of his own office, Harry nibbled on his quill and stared at the list of all the muggleborn witches and wizards his age or thereabouts, that he and Hermione and Malfoy had brainstormed at their last meeting. Words were not his thing, but he hadn't wanted to bother Hermione over such a little thing, when she already had so much on her plate. He'd figure it out eventually. Besides, working on this was a good way to avoid telling Hermione about his recruitment of Neville and Luna. Of course, what he was working on now was going to lead to involvement of a good many people in the more benign aspects of Hermione's multi-pronged scheme. At least, that was the hope. If they couldn't drum up interest, then they were going to have a much harder time of it than they could handle anyway.

Thus, a few days later, all across Britain, selected people opened their morning post to find a survey by mail, a true novelty in the wizarding world. And one with markedly strange questions at that.

What aspect of muggle medicine, if any, is more effective than the equivalent magical treatment?

If your muggle family were in need, what potion or elixir would you most wish for them to be able to receive?

Do you know what a computer is? Why do you think the wizarding world has no equivalent? Would you find it useful?

Do you know what a mobile phone is? Why do you think the wizarding world has no equivalent? Would you find it useful?

Why not use a fountain pen?

The questions went on in some length like that. Muggle goods that might be integratable into magical life. Magical goods that might be possible to sell to muggles, without tipping the consumer off to their true provenance or nature.

And at the end, the promise that all respondents would be automatically entered into a raffle for fabulous prizes and a dream vacation get-away to the south pacific.

Across the nation, curious folk sharpened their quills and started writing.

Hermione would be thrilled by the number of replies, and even more so by the diversity of their answers. It was time for her to turn to more practical commodities than industrial waste management. At least, until she could find a way to continue that endeavor without exhausting her depleted magical reserves.

---

"Granger, we have a problem."

"Oh joy. Something new and different."

"No, really."

"What is it then?"

"My father." He hadn't wanted to worry her while she was still weak, but now that she was at least able to get out of the flat, albeit by muggle means, he wanted her to be prepared for the eventuality of a new confrontation.

"What, how?" She wasn't fool enough to insult the sensitive Malfoy by asking him if he'd failed to cover his tracks adequately.

"Even after years in Azkaban, he has to have his fingers in every pie." Draco scowled, irritated by his father's inability to keep his nose out of his business, or perhaps by the way Granger's pulse had picked up at the mere mention of Lucius. "He's got contacts in the ministry, and spies in our company. And . . . I was less than discrete in borrowing some books. . ."

"Shit." Hermione wanted to yell at Malfoy and demand how he could have been so careless, but not only did she not have the energy, she knew it was inevitable that once one person knew about her schemes, more would follow. Harry was only the first. Malfoy had been none too pleased about that addition to their inner circle. If she had slipped up in letting him in, then how could she begrudge her co-conspirator his indiscretions? "What does he know?"

"I haven't told the meddling old bastard a thing, if that's what you're asking." Draco sneered.

"Malfoy," Hermione began placatingly.

"Yeah, whatever. He knows I'm on about something muggle-related. He's found out a hell of a lot more about my dealings at the ministry than I would like. Apparently the office gossip network there is a lot more indiscreet than I could wish. Secretaries can't fucking keep their mouth shut when I see their bosses, and they know far more than they should about what I've been lobbying for – Granger, This is serious. How is it going to look to the world to know that I've been sullying my hands with this shit? The Malfoy name has a long and glorious pureblood lineage. . . .It's not going to look good." Draco ran frustrated hands through his perfectly coifed hair. "What the hell were you thinking? You should be the one meddling in ministry affairs. At least from you it's believable."

"Malfoy – Draco." Hermione tried again, "You've been doing wonderfully. Really. Look at what you've actually managed to accomplish in a few months. Do you think I could have done that? Do you think any one of them would have actually taken me seriously? Remember, the founder of S.P.E.W., the know-it-all that everyone our age despised in school? And what have I done since then? I disappeared for 14 years, and now I run a startup that perpetually teeters on the edge of insolvency, not to mention flirting with the definitions of legality. Honestly. Whereas, you and I both know full well, all the war did was topple a few psychotic extremists. What there is of our populace still respects purebloods over all else, and many still hold the Malfoy name in high regard despite your unfortunate role in the war. (And even less fortunate personalities.)" She couldn't resist throwing in as an aside, "Even if for no other reason than because your family still controls a sizeable percentage of the national GDP. What's good for the Malfoy business is good for Britain. So as long as all your actions can be explained in terms of promoting Malfoy Industries, though not in such a way as to preclude competition, then they'll continue to bite."

"Right," Draco drawled sarcastically, "That's why I've been using blackmail and legilimancy to work my will, because they all respect me so much."

"Having an edge never hurt." Hermione shrugged.

"Uh-Huh." And people had always thought Granger a goody-two-shoes. Hell, he himself had been convinced of it as well. Shows just how little anyone really knew her. In truth, she could be hellishly uptight about many things, but playing by the rules was not one of them. If she hadn't been born a mudblood with such a minimal shred of self-preservation instinct, she could almost have been a Slytherin. Draco shook his head and forced himself back to the topic at hand, "Getting back to my father. Granger, I think he also knows about you. My secretary told me he'd been poking around in shipping and receiving and accounting. I know he was concerned as to where my sudden windfall of raw materials was coming from. He may have figured it out. ."

"We knew that was a risk we'd have to take. . ."

"Yeah, but what are we going to do when he decides to take matters in his own hands? Father has never been one for watching from the sidelines."

"What can he do? Announce to the world that you're, what exactly? Stealing from me? We can draft some sort of contract."

"It's worse than that. When I was trying to find a way to heal you that didn't involve blood magic or," Draco shuddered theatrically, "Sex magic, I took a bunch of dark magic texts from our library." Hermione knew that much. The books were still sitting on her desk, where she had taken to perusing them herself. "He thinks I'm working some kind of dark magic mojo."

"Well, given his proclivities, I shouldn't be surprised."

"Yeah well, father is now obsessed with keeping the family name clean. I'm afraid he's going to think I'm as much of an idiot as he was at my age. . ."

"What, you've got me ensorcelled and you're conspiring to over throw the government and exterminate all muggles?" Hermione laughed, "Because that went so well the last two times around."

Draco frowned, annoyed by her levity. He knew he'd been a right prat as a child, spoiled, whiny and brainwashed. A year in servitude to the dark lord followed by a stint in Azkaban had purged that shit right out of him. He would never be a nice man, or a warm man. That was not the Malfoy way, but neither was he about to repeat his father's mistakes. It galled him to think that his father might still think of him as the spiteful, angry child he once had been.

"I'm serious, Granger."

Hermione took in the look in his eyes and quenched her laughter. He really did mean it. "So what do you think he's going to do?"

"Well, he's tried confronting me. Before he had evidence. I denied everything. But now that he has some facts, he might try again. . . But what I'm really worried about is that Father has always been big on cleaning up my messes. If he thinks I've done something to you, he might try and eliminate you before . . ."

"And he wouldn't consider that I might have done something to you?" Hermione sniffed, plainly peeved at the way people were always underestimating her.

"Possibly, but you're a cipher. I mean come on, Granger, even your friends haven't got a clue as to your abilities. Has Potter even asked why your magic is so low? Or why you kept the most insanely suicidal quantity of blue champagne around as this country has ever seen? Or why you used dark magic on me? You know he's been wondering about it for ages. Does he know how you're powering how many 'muggle' waste management systems around the world now? Or about the warehouse full of bottomless barrels? You've only barely let him touch the surface of what we're doing. And you call him your best friend. Bloody hell, I know more about you than he does."

Hermione sniffed back a tear at that last statement. It was, after all, probably true. How had that happened? How had she shut out her friends so completely, yet let this man in so close? She'd told herself that she'd been protecting them, but even now after Harry had forcefully involved himself in her little conspiracy, she was keeping him at arm's length, and she couldn't even explain to herself why.

"What's done is done." She murmured at last, "we'll just have to figure out where to go from here." Involuntarily she rubbed her chest, as she watched Malfoy breathing in time with her. Who knew, maybe Malfoy senior would prove useful in the end.

"In the meantime, are you ever going to tell Potter the truth? And what about my father?" Draco was growing impatient, his fingers restlessly tapping to the beat of Granger's heart.

"Tomorrow, I'm supposed to go out with the boys," Hermione sighed, "I suppose it's only appropriate that since Harry clued in after one of our beer nights, that I tell him everything after another." And a few drinks would give her a needed dose of liquid courage. "As for Lucius," She enunciated the name with great distaste, "we have several options. We could obliviate him, or we could lie like hell until he finds out the truth. But have you considered using him?"

"Are you an idiot? Are you weak in the head as well as everywhere else? Just because he spent years in prison, it doesn't mean father likes you. Hell, most days I still think Mudbloods are a plague upon our earth." Draco didn't give a damn if he upset Granger, "Polluting, filthy, noisy, and violent. Only difference is that I can see that we're not much better, there's just fewer of us, and individually we have far more power than those sheep. But I still don't like them. To father, you're still uppity scum. Worse than the sin of being bourgeoisie or nouveau riche. Do you think he'd help us with deregulation? Help to promote this insane cultural shift that you propose? No. Of course not. Now all he can do is throw his conservatism into protecting the status quo, protecting our family name from further shame and our assets from the vultures that tried to strip it from us."

"You forget three things, Malfoy." Hermione chided, her jaw set as she forced herself to overlook his insults.

"Yeah, what's that?"

"He's a pragmatist and a survivor, and he's not stupid." Slimy, arrogant, racist, and deeply unpleasant, but still. "You hate me too, and I don't exactly adore being forced to work with you, but look at us. We know what's at stake. What good is your pedigree, your estates and your wealth, if we're all extinct in a generation or four? I don't expect him to do things my way. I wouldn't trust him further than I can throw him no matter how many imperios I cast or unbreakable oaths I bound him to. But still. Never rule out a potential asset unless you absolutely have to." Besides, it wasn't like she thought Malfoy Junior was following her plan exactly either. She'd just have to be ready to keep them from imposing their agenda on top of all the other schemes they were working to ensure their own survival.

In the meantime, they'd just have to be ready to deal with Lucius' suspicions when the time came.

ToBeContinued...

---

Oooh.. A chapter that finally got more than two reviews! Yay! So yeah, sorry for erratic updates, the muse is not so much with me these days. I am getting old, lazy, and inertia-ful. That and stressed out from work and housemate conflicts, etc etc etc. you know how it is I'm sure. Yeah, I need to get out more, much more than I need to write this. Will either happen? Who the hell knows? Probably not. One thing is certain, tomorrow I will be slicing up bits o' people's brains. Happy new year to me. Happy new year to you.