"I told her! I told Hermione – first day of classes – to have McGonagall switch her when she got paired with you for prefect duties, Malfoy! And now look – shockingly, she's in trouble because of you!"

"We don't know she's in trouble," Daphne pointed out rationally, "just that she's missing."

But Ron either did not hear his girlfriend, or did not deign to respond. He was too focused on raving at Draco: "Why they even let you back into Hogwarts in the first place, is beyond me! They should have thrown you in Azkaban with the rest of your bloody family and left you all to rot."

The four of them – Draco, Ron, Harry, and Daphne – were stationed in the corridor a short way away from the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. They had initially interrupted Weasley instructing Greengrass on some of the finer points of wizarding chess… but the board game was now entirely forgotten. The moment Potter had informed them that Draco and Hermione had been in Paris the previous night and that Hermione was now missing in the city, Weasley had imploded. Draco was merely grateful Potter had thought to cast a muffliato on their part of the hallway before he broke the news.

Draco was clutching rather tightly at his wand in his robes pocket, but reminding himself not to use it. He focused on the sweet, sweet memory of Weasley burping up slugs in second year, after his botched attempt at a hex while using a broken wand. It was the saving grace that kept him from inflicting Ron with much worse, now. With an affected drawl, he posited, "Don't you just feel grand about initiating this conversation, Potter?"

Harry only shrugged, "Not my fault you cocked up, Malfoy."

Sarcasm dripping from his voice like poison, he spat, "I'm sure you're positively gleeful... looking forward to adding the icing to the cake…"

But Harry only shrugged a second time.

Potter had told both Weasley and Greengrass about the circumstances leading up to Hermione's disappearance, but had not yet mentioned the secret marriage. In fact, Draco decided that it had been notably absent from his debriefing. As Draco had assumed it would be one of the first things mentioned, he had to wonder what Potter was about. Perhaps he did not want to bring it up in front of Greengrass. Wise move.

They allowed Weasley to fume a while longer. Meanwhile, Daphne outdid herself at spearing Draco with glances that were full of questions and calculations. They had explained the bare bones of the mandala accident to her, but he was sure there were holes in the story. He did not have any spare time or effort to cede to her silent wheedling however - he was too annoyed that they were wasting valuable moments waiting for Weasley's ears to stop being crimson with rage.

"I – just – don't – get – why!" the red-haired wizard bit out. "Why would Hermione want to bother spending time with you? What the hell have you ever done for her? Insult her parentage, try to get her expelled, and then tangle her up in that alchemy… thing!"

"Very eloquent, Weasley," Draco drawled, pretending to examine his fingernails. "Have you finished carrying on?"

He kept waiting for Potter to mention that Hermione had opted to become a Malfoy without informing her two closest friends, but the words were never spoken… and he certainly was not going to do it himself. The other wizard's silence was loud in his own ears.

"Don't be jealous, dear," Daphne soothed, taking Ron's hand and patting it. "Hermione probably had good reasons, I'm sure."

"Jealous!" Weasley exploded. "Jealous! Why would I be jealous of some pasty, inbred, lying moron?"

Dropping her boyfriend's hand, her soothing countenance abruptly slid from her face. "Enough!"

Both former-Gryffindors turned to look at Daphne, as if only really seeing her for the first time. Draco, on the other hand, already knew Greengrass was hiding a harpy deep within, and was unsurprised at the sudden change.

"You can't just…" Ron tried.

"Oh, but I can," she contradicted. "You are not being very mature about this, Ronald Weasley, and I can't help but observe that the one who is suffering most for it, is Hermione."

He spluttered a bit at this, but appeared to be unable to form anything coherent in response. Meanwhile, Potter watched, waiting.

Daphne turned to Draco. "What was your plan? Head back to Paris to look for her?"

"Yes."

"Well, then I suggest we discontinue this argument – which seems to be mainly based on past grievances – and sort out the present. Don't you agree, Harry?"

"I do," Potter jumped in. "We need a plan, though. The path to Hogsmeade is still open for a bit longer yet, but we need to have a strategy for what to do when we get off the grounds."

Ron was still muttering under his breath, but his eyes had become wide, and he continued to stare at Daphne incredulously.

"Once we're in the village, we could Apparate to the house my godfather left me in London," he continued. "It used to be the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix during the war, so I know the international Floo was set up at one point. It might still be working if no one thought to dismantle the connection before abandoning the place."

"Sounds like a solid plan," Draco interjected, "except Paris is a very big place, Potter. How do you expect to find Hermione once we're there?"

The other wizard clamped his mouth shut. It seemed his plan only went as far as getting them to the city, which was no help at all, as Draco had just been there, himself. It was too bad... when it appeared Potter had carefully laid out the beginnings of a basic plan of action, Draco had begun lauding himself for his presence of mind in approaching his former rival for help. Now he feared he had been premature, and his high hopes receded somewhat. Daphne was silently watching the group, waiting for one of them to come up with a further solution.

"There's a secret chamber in the kitchens," Weasley spoke up evenly. He had become somber at last, though his face was still mottled red with anger. "I found it by accident when I snuck in for a midnight snack once, when Mrs. Norris was prowling around outside. There's a mirror in there that will answer any question truthfully, or show any place. We could ask it where Hermione is."

"Really?" Daphne queried, intrigued.

But Harry's brows had furrowed, "How long have you known about it?"

"Since just before Halloween, I think."

"Ron! And you kept it a secret this whole time?"

Oh, how the tables have turned, Draco thought smugly.

.

.

The chamber Weasley had spoken of was accessed through the kitchens. Draco had never been there before, but Potter apparently had. He took off down the corridor a short way, abruptly turning down a nearby side-passage, with his companions trailing behind. Draco followed just quickly enough to witness Harry reaching up to stroke a painting of a bowl of fruit; the pear squirmed and laughed before transforming into a green doorknob.

The kitchens were enormous and high-ceilinged, large as the Great Hall above it, with mounds of glittering brass pots and pans heaped around the stone walls and three wide, brick fireplaces at the far side. There were five tables identical to the ones in the Great Hall – and in the exact same position – presumably for ease of service. The place was teeming with house elves.

"Good afternoon, Mister Weezey, sir," one of the elves greeted with a curtsey. "You is here for snacks?"

"Not at the moment, Miffy," Ron answered. Then, looking thoughtful, he amended, "Though if you've got any of those lemon pastries, I wouldn't say no…"

The elf brightened and ran to fetch some.

Harry stared at Ron. "How can you think of your stomach at a time like this?"

"We don't know how long it's going to take to find Hermione," Ron defended as the little elf rushed back with a small platter full of a variety of desserts.

Draco grit his teeth. They were again wasting valuable time. Daphne noticed his discontent and wound her arm through his. Conspiratorially, she soothed, "I'm sure she's alright…"

"She had better be," he muttered back viciously.

"Ta, Miffy," Weasley thanked, looking pleased and stuffing an éclair in his mouth. "We need to visit the round room, too."

Laden with assorted pastries, the four of them were now being led by the little elf toward the back of the kitchens. Small alcoves were cut into the walls at regular intervals, leading to a pantry, a root cellar, a larder, and even a few spacious dormitories for the elves. Miffy brought them to the farthest corner, where the last alcove was little more than a shallow recess in the wall.

"Here we are!" Weasley announced, looking proud of himself.

Before them was only a blank stretch of wall. Draco was unamused.

"Ron," Harry began dubiously, "that's a wall. Just a wall. There's no mirror."

"It's through the door," Ron insisted, gesticulating to the solid wall before them as he stuffed another pastry into his mouth. He swallowed with some difficulty.

His three companions looked nonplussed. Draco was beginning to seethe with anger, while Daphne and Harry appeared only skeptical.

Here, Miffy spoke up, "Your friends is not able to see the entrance to Miss Helga's round room, Mister Weezey. Only Hufflepuffs can find."

Potter bent down to speak directly to the elf. "Only Hufflepuffs can find it? What's inside?"

Unlike the other elves that had made up most of Draco's experience of the creatures, Miffy spoke frankly, "When Hogwarts is started years and years ago, Mistress Helga designed the kitchens. She bringed elves from bad homes and lets them work here. She has an office right here, but only members of her House can find it…"

A secret room belonging to Hufflepuff, Draco assessed, reflecting that Hogwarts really did hide a plethora of secrets. Those bloody founders…

Automatically, Harry commanded, "Open the door, Ron."

Weasley reached forward to grasp at what appeared to be thin air and pulled, hard. A section of the wall slowly peeled backward and Draco felt the last of his skepticism slipping away.

It was very different from Ravenclaw's chamber.

Completely circular, the room stopped just short of cluttered. Much of the furniture – all a light, honey-colored wood – had been rounded to fit along the walls. Every three feet was a porthole-like window, giving a curious feeling like they had stepped inside an enormous beehive. One window, slightly larger than the rest, had a crack in it which had clearly gone unmended for some time, because through the gap, golden hops curled into the room, heavy with buds waiting to be harvested.

The entire place was covered in various flora. Cacti had been planted in broken teacups, which lined a window sill; six-foot-tall sunflowers struggled to hold up their weighty heads in a large pot, which dwarfed the writing desk and shelf beside it. A modest bookshelf (That would not even be close to adequate for Ravenclaw, Draco noticed) bore mostly recipe books and journals. The sunflowers had dropped a few wayward petals onto the stacks of curling parchment that littered the desk. A clay mug held down one such stack, while another was topped with a pair of small, reading glasses, and a used teaspoon which had left a brown stain on the parchment directly below.

As Draco stepped inside, he was accosted with a sudden, persistent feeling that he was trespassing on an unseen host's privacy.

"This... can't be real," Daphne gaped, her voice hushed. "I feel like I'm not supposed to be here."

"Nonsense," Ron protested. "It's cozy."

"I agree with Daphne," Harry put in quietly.

"If only Hufflepuffs can find it, it makes sense that a Slytherin and two Ravenclaws wouldn't be welcome," Draco deduced aloud. He wondered if Rowena's study worked in a similar manner.

A pair of muddy, dragon-hide work boots had dried beside a moderately-sized hearth. The sill displayed a bamboo plant, a couple of pewter goblets, a long, clay smoking pipe, and some glass jars full of chamomile and assorted dried beans. Someone had strung apple slices and whole cranberries across the front of the fireplace; these were wrinkled from preservation.

Displayed over the mantle of the simple brick hearth was a magnificent oval mirror bordered with ornate gold filigree, almost too magnificent for the rest of the room.

"The mirror answers questions or shows any place," Weasley repeated. He was polishing off another pastry as he spoke.

"How does it work?" Daphne queried. Her hand had come to rest on the back of a cozy-looking armchair near the fireplace, her fingers picking at a flyaway piece on a woolen cloak that was laid over the back of it. Some knitting was sitting, half-done, on the arm of the chair.

"Watch," Weasley instructed. The turned his attention to the looking glass, "Er, mirror?"

A small, stretched, imp-like face appeared in the glass, "What is thy bidding?"

"Woah!" Daphne effused, taking a sudden leap backward and nearly knocking over a small table that held a pitcher full of flowers and a variety of misshapen tomatoes.

Potter, on the other hand, took two steps forward. "We need to know where our friend is."

With a glib laziness, the ugly, little face in the looking glass smirked. "I can answer any question truthfully, also show you any place. The future is, for me, unforeseeable."

"Our friend is in France," Harry pressed. "Paris, to be more precise. We need to know her exact location."

"Your friend, hm? Looks to me as if she's found a new friend," the mirror remarked flippantly.

The face in the glass disappeared and was replaced briefly by a swirling mist until it settled on an image of Hermione sitting on an old-fashioned divan, a cup of tea resting precariously on her knee. She was gesticulating wildly as she tried to make a point about something or another, to someone. A blot of ink had smeared across her fingers and she was laden down with several pages of parchment that were covered in her own shorthand. On the opposite side of a coffee table, was an older wizard who appeared to possibly be in his early fifties. His face bore some lines and his black hair was streaked with gray, particularly over his ears. He was well dressed and sported a small, pointed goatee.

"At least we know she's alright," Daphne breathed, her eyes still wide as she gazed at the image in the mirror.

"Where is this place?" Harry demanded.

The mirror gave a long address in French.

Weasley blinked, "Er…"

"I know where that is," Draco realized. "It's a road of private residences. We walked down it last night."

Had she really been right under his nose nearly the whole morning as he and Kassem had searched? He wanted to scream in frustration, but he also wanted a cigarette. He knew that neither would help him in his current predicament - which frustrated him only further.

After thanking the mirror, the foursome departed the chamber. Draco immediately felt his anxiety ebb somewhat upon stepping back into the kitchens; Hufflepuff's chamber had certainly not made him feel very welcome.

"That mirror would have come in handy so many times…" Potter remarked as they made their way back toward the corridor outside. His face had darkened like a raincloud.

"I know, mate," Ron consoled gently, clapping a hand on his friend's back. "We could've saved Sirius. But none of us were Hufflepuffs then, and only badgers can find the place."

"Yeah," Harry agreed morosely. After a beat, he changed the subject, "Wonder if there are any other mirrors like it?"

"I asked it last time I was there, and there was only ever one other. Apparently it went to a Queen in Denmark or Germany or something, centuries ago. The maker gifted the other one to Helga Hufflepuff."

A look of wonderment stealing slowly over his features, Harry listed, "The Chamber of Secrets, Ravenclaw's study, Hufflepuff's round room… I wonder if there's a secret place belonging to Gryffindor, since the other three founders have one..."

"Well, while you're wheedling over what could be, I'm going after Hermione," Draco announced, bringing them all back to the task at hand. His patience had finally run its course, not that he'd really had much to begin with. His fingers were still itching for a cigarette.

"We're coming, too," Weasley reminded him sourly.

"Potter can come," Draco acceded. "The rest of you can stay. You're too hot-headed, Weasley, and Greengrass is only here because she was in the wrong place at the wrong time."

"If anyone's staying behind, it's you, Malfoy," Ron snapped, reddening again.

"Hermione is more than our best friend, she's essentially our sister," Harry agreed.

Daphne voiced, "I don't want to stay behind."

"We're coming," Harry concluded. Then, eyeing Daphne, he added, "And an extra wand can't hurt."

Draco dearly wanted to hex the lot of them but resorted to rolling his eyes, knowing he was outnumbered.

Once it became clear they were not going to argue over this any longer, Weasley turned to Potter and cautioned, "You realize that Ginny is going to be furious she didn't get to come…"

Harry grimaced. "I know."

.

.

Finding Hermione was a spectacle all on its own. The mirror had given them an approximate location in the name of the road she was located, but all of the tall, brick buildings looked the same.

Harry and Ron had solved this problem by casting their Patronuses to find her. While Weasley's silvery Jack Russell terrier was not what Draco would have considered impressive, Potter's ghostly stag was. He felt out of place and just a tiny bit inadequate. Judging from her awkward stance, he suspected Greengrass was feeling similarly.

This was only driven home when an otter Patronus twisted its way through the street toward them and in Hermione's voice, entreated, "Stay right there. I'll be on the sidewalk in a moment."

An otter, he reflected, relief flooding his entire body at the sound of her voice. Of course. It was the perfect Patronus for her.

As promised, Hermione appeared moments later on the front steps leading up to an average-looking building, tall and thin, between other equally tall and thin buildings. They looked like apartments. She spotted them moments after Draco laid eyes on her, and waved vigorously, catching their attention.

Thank Merlin, she's safe. He knew Theo had assured him she was, but what if he had been wrong? Not that he really ever had...

The moment they approached, she closed some of the distance between them and, flustered, began, "I'm so sorry, I didn't mean to scare-"

"You had us all worried sick!" Weasley cried, in an unintentionally apt impression of his own mother.

"I'm sorry, I lost track of the hour…"

It then seemed to sink in how odd it was to see the assembled group before her, actually together.

"Why are all four of you here?"

The general gist of the story came out in a seamless explanation that passed from Potter to Weasley, back to Potter, and finishing with Weasley. Hermione simply nodded at the whole thing, eyes wide with forthcoming apologies. Draco began to feel a little left out, the way the three of them simply locked onto one another. He shuffled his feet and Daphne elbowed him, sending a sidelong smile of reassurance at the same time.

Finally, Draco demanded, "Why didn't you tell me you had left?"

All four of them turned to look at him. Hermione puffed up, looking contrite but exhilarated. "I'm so sorry, Draco. It's just… I was hungover, and probably not thinking straight when I left to get some coffee this morning. I only meant to be a couple of minutes, but I ran into someone completely unexpected."

In the back of his mind, Theo was taking a step back from him and protesting, If I help you, she ends up with someone else other than you.

In his most infuriatingly cutting drawl, he quizzed, "And who would that be?"

"The Comte de Saint-Germain! Or, well, he goes just by 'Germain' these days…"

"Who?" Ron wondered cluelessly.

Eyebrows furrowed, Draco sharply prompted, "The alchemist?"

"Yes," she nodded vigorously. Her entire body was vibrating with excitement. "Come inside. I think he can help us."

Moments later, they were being ushered into the building she emerged from, and the five of them ascended a steep, narrow staircase to the top floor of the apartment building. The man they had viewed in the mirror was seated in the same armchair he had been hours ago, now sipping at what looked like brandy from a double old-fashioned glass.

He did not look in the least surprised to see them. "These are your friends, Miss Granger?"

So this is the famous Comte…

"Yes, sir. This is Harry Potter, Draco Malfoy, Ron Weasley, and Daphne Greengrass," Hermione introduced.

Interesting thing to see where I stand in the line-up, Draco noted blandly. Though he was somewhat placated by being at least placed before Weasley, if not Potter.

"Please come in and have a seat," Germain welcomed. "It isn't every day I can invite English war heroes into my home."

A stab of guilt followed by a spike of anger flashed through Draco. He had never been one to make a scene when he could have been misconstrued as the victim however, so he quietly followed the others inside, biting back his thoughts and opinions in favor of scowling at everything.

He had to admit, the Comte's apartment was interesting. In some ways, it reminded him of Ravenclaw's secret chamber hidden at the castle, only tidier. He might have been more intrigued if it were not for how angry he was with Hermione.

Almost the whole story came out, told mostly by Hermione. Meanwhile, their host had set about using magic to make them tea. He did it wandlessly from his armchair, Draco noticed. Impressive.

"…And Germain thinks it's a good idea to continue testing out my theories on the truth-compelling powder and the Veritaserum," Hermione prattled on. She seemed to already know how furious Draco was with her, and was not meeting his eyes. "In fact, I have a ton of notes toward that theory now, thanks to him."

In an ungainly manner, Weasley turned to their host and queried, "So, you're an alchemist?"

"I am," the Comte nodded. Their tea was now - also wandlessly - floating out around the room to his guests.

"Did you ever meet Nicholas Flamel?" Potter asked, accepting his cuppa from the air.

"He was my instructor," the man answered. He had a strange sort of accent, like a person who spoke many different languages frequently and could not remember which was his mother tongue any longer. "I knew him, and his wife, Perenelle, quite well. We spent much of his final days together."

The Boy Who Lived sipped at his teacup, surveying his host over the rim. "You must have a philospher's stone of your own."

Knocking back the remainder of his brandy, their host did not answer and only set aside his empty glass.

"That's right!" Weasley brightened. "I'm sure Hermione told you all about that, ah, alchemy thing she and Malfoy got messed up in. You could lend them your stone so they can unbind themselves!"

"Ron," Hermione reprimanded, frowning.

"What?"

"I'm afraid I cannot do that," Germain said frankly.

"Well, why not?" Weasley wanted to know.

"I can't simply give it to anyone who asserts that they need it," the alchemist patiently explained. "Regardless of how highly I may think of Miss Granger's intelligence and enthusiasm for the magical world, the philosopher's stone was a wondrous discovery unlike many others. I am grateful that Nicholas chose me as his apprentice to learn the ways of such an ancient art, but it's unnatural for humankind to live forever, or to remain without disease, or to be rich beyond imagination. Everyone would want to stake a claim on it."

"I wouldn't," Harry contradicted flatly. "I helped destroy one."

Germain surveyed the Boy Who Lived, an inscrutable expression on his face. "You are, indeed, a singular wizard, Harry Potter."

"But this isn't like that," Ron protested. "They only got bound by accident, and this would be a one-off…"

"Ron," Hermione interrupted again. "Stop, please."

"But Hermione…"

"Were I to take on an apprentice with whom to share the secret with, I might consider this vastly intelligent witch sitting amongst you," Germain conceded. Hermione's cheeks tinged pink at the impressive compliment. "But one of the final things Nicholas and I agreed on before he departed this life, was that this one remaining stone was never to be shared, and that one day I would be the one to destroy it… when the time came." The man drank deeply from his brandy before adding, "Any witch or wizard that delves into alchemy does so with their eyes open. Consequences can be lasting and uncomfortable, it's true... but that is a part of living one's life with magic."

The five students stayed only long enough to finish their tea before Potter hinted that they should be getting back to Hogwarts. Draco was glad of this; he had not drank any of his tea, as his sour mood had persisted throughout the meeting and had turned his stomach. Though he could not put his finger on exactly what it was, something about Germain unsettled him.

After wishing them a pleasant journey back to Scotland, the alchemist bid Hermione a separate adieu. Lightly kissing her hand, he encouraged, "Your intelligence is your biggest asset in overcoming the obstacle before you. I have great faith that you can discover the answer to your predicament. Use the notes you took from our conversation, and heed your own theories… maybe, you will even go beyond."

"Thank you, sir," she responded, eyes shining hopefully.

He considered her a moment longer. "Perhaps, Miss Granger, you will one day make your own philosopher's stone... and two hundred years from now, we will meet again. But until then…"

Draco could feel his jaw clench.

.

.

Author's Note: Back in Chapter 47, plainsong813 won my secret door prize and got to pick a scene or plot point to appear in this story. Here is that chapter (finally). Many, many chapters ago, I got a different request to write a scene where we got to explore the Hogwarts kitchens. And here we are...

I did not use a beta on this chapter, so any mistakes are my own.

Reviews are like manna: they give me life. I appreciate every, single one. Thank you.