As if possessed by a centuries old Jewish Bubbeh, Severus Snape solemnly uttered the following: "Oy vey."

Said Yiddish was in response to the scene playing out before him. A contingency of masked Death Eaters had started to swarm the Lovegood's slightly lopsided house, Potter and Weasley doggedly fighting their way out. Snape silently sent a stunner to a Death Eater who had managed to get a bit too close to the fantastically idiotic duo. His prodigy managed to cast a shield blocking any other minions from the area.

Snape met his student's dark eyes, almost collapsing in relief as Potter and Weasley finally remembered they were wizards and apparated away. The silent stunner he had cast wore greatly on him, so perhaps it was not so much relief as exhaustion. Before he could faint on the spot, he was helped to the soft ground.

Potter and Weasley had taken it upon themselves to cause trouble, yet again. Snape not so silently cursed them for not bringing Granger with them. He did this not for the first time, nor, certainly, for the last. If she were with them, he doubted the two death-besotted idiots would have even been able to voice their ludicrously ill-advised plan to visit Xenophilius Lovegood. After all, Lovegood's press had landed him in hot water, and he needed all the bargaining chips he could get to rescue his slightly barmy daughter.

While catching his breath and willing his magic to simmer down and let him live another day, Snape watched as his student removed his hood, revealing the dark, scarred face of Blaise Zabini. One of the finer sessions of torture on students had led to the burning of one half of his face. Not without some rumination, Snape had concluded Zabini now resembled the eponymous antagonist of The Phantom of the Opera—a musical he'd been forced to watch on numerous occasions with Dumbledore.

Brought from the underground of a Paris opera house back to the present, Snape was distinctly aware of a desire from Zabini to speak.

"Sir, are we sure they can be trusted to save our world? Potter and Weasley just walked into a trap to find out more about a children's fairy tale. And don't even get me started on Draco. He is smart, but I watched him get bested by a muggle display of Poptarts when I monitored him last." The half of Zabini's face that actually worked had screwed up in a look of worry.

Snape sighed, possessed yet again by that very same Bubbeh, who was, quite frankly, irked she could not return to her slumber in whatever the Jewish afterlife entailed.

"Oy vey."

::

Draco watched in grave silence and Granger began to frantically wave her wand over the leftover holy water in the flask Père Moreau had provided them. He listened as she muttered a series of incantations under her breath.

Suddenly, an utterly translucent bit of purple, sparkling mist floated above the flask before sputtering out and evaporating entirely.

"This water wasn't strong enough," she stated. "Or at least, the brain power that infuses it doesn't carry enough strength."

Draco closed his mouth, realizing that gaping is indeed impolite. His mother would kill him. "You can measure the brain magic infusing the matter of objects?" Draco asked.

Granger rolled her eyes in the universal sign of yes, duh, of course. "I did read your notes, didn't I? You could hardly expect me to do so much research without experimenting a bit on my own." Tuning to Moreau, Ganger asked, "Why wasn't that holy water's power stronger? Is it because it isn't old enough, or because of the decrease in religiosity in the region?"

Draco hit himself in the face. "Of course. France is not nearly as religious as it once was. In fact, I'd say it is largely unreligious. Père Moreau, do you have any older water? It would need to be older so that what little brainwaves attributed to it can steep."

Moreau laughed, his eyes crinkling a bit. "Draco, religion is not tea. Belief does not 'steep.' As for the older water, I must apologize. We stopped keeping water after the Revolution. There was a lot of broken glass after they pillaged and ransacked Notre Dame. As for the water," Moreau's hands mimed the word poof.

"Right, then any ideas where we might be able to find stronger water or relics?" Draco asked hopefully.

Moreau thought a bit. "The relics here could be useful, though they've been dead for a long time. The crown of thorns has seen better days. Not to mention the relics of saints. I'm not sure how much they would retain their magic after having been mummified."

Granger cut in. "I'm also unsure of what power they would be imbued in. Soul-cleansing and holy water makes sense, I'm not sure what a departed's toes would do for us."

Moreau barked a quick laugh before an epiphany seemed to strike. "I have it! Go to the source."

"There's a fountain of holy water out there somewhere?" Draco curled his lips into a confused sneer.

"No, I mean go to the religion's source. Or at least its modern one. Go to Rome—Vatican City."

Granger gasped in realization. "Of course! That's where the largest concentration of religious Catholic belief would be. And, maybe they'd have some older vintages of the holy water."

"What is it with you two and comparing our religious tools to drinks?" Moreau asked.

Ignoring him, Draco and Granger continued to plan. "We'd have to leave soon. Tomorrow at the latest," Draco began.

"And we'd need to make sure no one else has this information."

"I will not tell anyone, you have my word," Moreau cut in. "I will also write a letter to my friends in the Vatican. They will be happy to help you erase this evil from our world. When you get there, ask for a Monsieur Lazare. And whatever question you are asked, answer that it is in the tabernacle."

Granger smiled at him, her eyes sparkling. "Thank you so much for all you've done for us so far. I don't know how we will ever thank you."

Moreau kissed her on both cheeks before doing the same to Draco. "It is nothing, just promise to come and see me again after all of this is over."

Draco let the older man embrace him for a few more seconds before slowly pulling away. "You have our word. And we will visit you tomorrow before we leave." Looking into Moreau's eyes, there was a sadness there. Even more than usual. "Hopefully we will survive until the next time." Draco smile ruefully.

"Send my love to your mother," Moreau squeezed his hand before letting go. "I will start the letter now."

Draco nodded. "Come Granger, we've much to do." Thoughtlessly grabbing the small witch's hand in his, he climbed the stairs out of the crypt and began the trek to the metro station.

Granger cleared her throat as they made their way to their seats on the train.

"Malfoy, could I have my hand back?" She asked softly.

Startled, Draco accidentally squeezed her hand, causing Granger to wince. "Sorry, Granger," Malfoy said, dropping her hand quickly. "I don't know where my head's at."

"Up your arse?" Granger supplied helpfully, wry smile on her face.

Draco snickered. "Always so observant, Granger."

Granger relaxed greatly, her hand brushing back her voluminous hair as she leaned back in her seat. "Are we going back to the hotel? I could use some lunch. Maybe a nap."

"Not yet," Draco replied, his voice soft. "We've a message to deliver."

Before she could respond, Draco stood, beckoning her to the sliding doors of the train. The two walked in silence before Draco turned to Granger. He felt his features screw up in confusion. "You've no questions to ask me?"

Granger smirked. "I assume they will be answered in due time. You aren't one to give answers before you're ready."

Draco tried to shake the feeling of dread he had. Granger was far too smart for comfort. "Right, well one of the previous questions from breakfast will be answered at our destination."

Granger smiled knowingly. "I figured."

They sat in silence, Granger smirking smugly at the fact that she'd deduced who they were about to meet. Draco tried not to grimace at how very surprised she would be when they met their destination.

They walked for a while, following the sun shining on the cobblestones. Draco found it hard to believe that it was only the afternoon; they had, after all accomplished a lot on this day. When they finally reached the gates of Père Lachaise, he noticed Granger tense up. He could veritably hear the cogs turning in her brain, sense the trepidation in her rise the further they got into the cemetery.

When they reached the oldest tomb, Draco grabbed Granger's hands. "Here, this is how you do it," he said, as he put her hands onto the clasped stone hands for her.

He quickly let go of her hands once they arrived, feeling bereft of her warmth in the fog of the graveyard. The gloom of the wizarding side of the cemetery had not lifted a bit since his visit earlier.

Granger grabbed one of his hands and held it in both of hers. "Oh Draco, I'm so sorry," she whispered, her brown eyes filled with something akin to grief. He noticed the gradations in her eyes, the flecks of amber, the lovely swirls, the vortex of being.

"Your eyes, Granger," he began. Granger's eyes widened in what could be called anticipation. Draco lowered his face until his lips neared her own. "They look just like dirt," he whispered.

And like that, the spell was broken. Granger started laughing, dropping his hand as she brushed her hair from her face. "That's the last time I express compassion for you, Malfoy. You tosser."

Draco chuckled, the smile in Granger's eyes telling him that all was well. "Come on," he nodded toward his mother's grave, his hands now safely in his pockets. "We've someone with whom we must speak."

They walked to his mother's grave, the gold inlay of her name shining against the black marble. "Hello, Mother. Moreau sends his love."

He felt Granger gently pat his shoulder in condolences. Then, next to the grave, dust and dirt startle to tremble. As if a gust of wind was creating a gyre of the earth, the soil rose and fell to reveal the silver, wispy figure of his mother. Draco rolled his eyes at the theatrics of it all.

"Oh, Moreau!" His mother cooed. "I've missed him. How is he doing? Is he looking well?"

As Draco prepared to answer, he noticed the tensing of the witch next to him. It was as if she was winding up to do something, as if her ears were releasing smoke to offset the rage building inside of her. He turned to look at Granger in alarm, but the first thing he saw was her small fist aiming straight for his face.

Said fist made contact. Hard.

"Bloody hell, Granger!"

::

Hermione was livid. Here she was helping this terrible ferret of a boy, trusting him, befriending him, and he was turning into a Dark Lord mini-me? She shook her hand, trying to get the sting out.

"You foul, loathsome little cockroach!" She shrieked, ignoring the blood flowing prodigiously from Malfoy's nose down his chin. "I'm helping you destroy You Know Who's horcruxes while you're making your own? What are you planning? World domination? Well, that isn't going to happen! I will KILL you!"

"Granger, that isn't what this is! Let me explain!"

"No! I've seen enough!"

"Miss Granger," Malfoy's mother spoke softly, as if her voice were made of the same whisper of matter she was. "My son is not evil."

Hermione paused her rant to look into the sorrowful silver eyes of the specter in front of her.

"I am not a horcrux. I am not made of anger, and hatred, and fear," Mrs. Malfoy continued, sending a look of pity to her son. "I am made of love."

"She's made of memory," Malfoy added, waving his hand over his face to heal his nose. "Blimey, why do I never see that coming. At this point, I should bloody expect a punch to the face from you."

"Draco," his mother sternly cut in.

"Sorry, Mother," Malfoy said. "But you'd swear once in a while if your every waking moment was in the company of Miss Impulsive."

Hermione felt herself growing angrier. "Explain yourself, Malfoy, or I'll hex you and then go to Italy without you."

"Oooh, Italy! Draco you must take her to the villa. I remember your father and I spent a very romantic summer there when we were just a bit older than you."

Malfoy pinched the bridge of his nose. "Mother, not now," he said with the weariness of centuries. "To answer your angry, fist-punctuated question, Granger, my mother is not infused with a piece of my soul, nor is she a ghost. She's made of memories, the happy ones she left behind for me."

"I'm an image," Mrs. Malfoy added helpfully, holding out her arms to make the billowing wisps of her arms better observable. Hermione inched closer, gasping at the intricacies of her design. She was not smoke, but dust, anthropomorphized and glittering.

"How did you do this?" Hermione asked, turning to Malfoy with widened eyes.

"Magic," Malfoy replied with jazz hands.

Before Hermione could tell Malfoy just exactly where he could put an answer like that, Mrs. Malfoy cut in.

"Dear, would you go on a little walk. I'd like to speak with Miss Granger alone," Mrs. Malfoy smiled warmly at her son.

With a puff of air that sounded a bit like defeat, Malfoy nodded. "I'll be back in a few minutes. Make sure no one dies. A second time," Malfoy glared at Hermione.

Hermione merely rolled her eyes.

As Malfoy's back grew smaller, Mrs. Malfoy cleared her throat. Or rather made a noise similar to one clearing their throat. "Come, Miss Granger, let us sit."

Hermione gingerly joined the woman on the bench next to her grave. She prepared herself for the worst. The hatred, the vitriol, the insults about her birth, her upbringing.

"I am sure you know what I am about to say."

Hermione sent her a look that tried to say do your worst.

But, in an even more surprising turn of events, Narcissa Malfoy said, "Thank you."

Hermione let out a breath she did not know she was holding.

"Thank you for helping my son," Mrs. Malfoy continued. "Thank you for being with him, for believing him. He does not act like it, but he is grateful to you, and so am I.

"I know that Draco is not forthcoming with his emotions or his knowledge, and that's only gotten worse since he's taken on the persona of Hamlet, the mad prince."

Hermione felt vindicated in previously imagining Malfoy practicing lines with a little skull in his hands.

"But I promise," Mrs. Malfoy said. "Though this be madness, yet there is method in't"

What is with this family and theatre? Hermione thought.

"I think I've started to figure that out, Mrs. Malfoy," Hermione answered.

Smiling, Mrs. Malfoy replied, "I am sure of it."

"How did this happen?" Hermione asked, her questions finally bubbling to the surface.

"I am sure Draco will tell you when he is ready. But I do have something to ask of you, even though you've already done too much—much more than we deserve."

Hermione looked at Mrs. Malfoy, the silver of her person fading into a somber grey. "What is it?"

Mrs. Malfoy's smile morphed into one of sadness. "Could you help Draco learn to forgive himself? None of this was his fault, but he blames himself for it. I do think his decision to try to fight the darkness is his way of penance. But, I want him to know that it's ok if he doesn't save the world. In fact, it's ok if he only saves one person. And it's ok if that person is he.

"Honestly, I am confident you will save the world. He mightn't have been able to do it alone, but with you it is inevitable. But, Miss Granger, when you're done saving the world, could you perhaps save Draco from himself? Then maybe he'd be able to let go of me."

"You mean you could go on? To whatever is after this?"

"Darling, I am already there. The me you see is but an imprint. I am naught but dust and memory, a copy of a copy translated into dust. But holding onto a ghost of a ghost—that is not healthy. I am not real," Mrs. Malfoy appeared to appraise Hermione. "You, on the other hand, are real."

Draco began to emerge from the trees, walking towards them with a small scowl on his pale, pointy face.

"You'll help him, won't you?" Mrs. Malfoy plead.

"I promise."

::

Narrowly escaping with their persons intact after Xenophilius Lovegood tried to sic a mass of Death Eaters on them, Harry and Ron were pacing in a forest Hermione had once talked about after a summer camping trip.

Well, Ron was pacing. Harry was mostly trying to calm Ron down.

"They have Luna!" Ron cried out.

"Yes, I was there. I am also aware," Harry said, arms up as if trying to calm a skittish animal.

"We need to saver her," Ron said, his voice softer. "Who knows how long she'll last there. All her talk about gnargles and wrackspurts. They'd eat her alive. We need to find her. We need to rescue her!"

"Well, we very well cannot go walking straight into You Know Who's headquarters," Harry offered, remembering to redact Voldemort's name after hearing the news of the taboo from Hermione.

Ron looked at Harry with an expression of such intense agony that Harry was immediately swayed. He knew it was ill-advised, but who was he to stand in the way of such heroics.

"Or at least we can't go walking in without a disguise." Harry added.

For the first time since they had heard the distressing news of Luna's kidnapping, Ron smiled, determination in his eyes. "We've Hermione's Polyjuice reserves."

"And a stock of unsuspecting muggle's hair." Harry added helpfully.

"Are we going to come up with a plan?" Ron asked.

"We never did before, and it's served us well to now." Harry answered.

Ron smiled before settling into an expression of great seriousness. "Hermione cannot ever know of this. She would kill us if this mission doesn't already do the job."

Harry mimed zipping his lips shut and threw away the key. "Wouldn't dream of it," he added at Ron's look of confusion.

"Muggles are weird," Ron mumbled.

Harry fished around in his extendable bag for some drinking glasses, while Ron found the Polyjuice Potion and the needed hairs. Each putting a single hair in their drinks, the two raised their glasses in a toast and glugged it down.

Heaving at the terrible taste, and trying not to retch as the mixture transformed them, Harry and Ron looked at each other, nodding in approval at each other's new appearances.

Harry held his wand defensively before shooting a thumbs up at his redheaded compatriot.

Ron smirked before determinedly shouting, "Voldemort!"

A/N: A special thank you to LadyKatetheGreat for the kind and warm review. For you, I will do my very best.

Well, we're moving toward bigger things, though I think it might take another chapter to get to Italy. As for Harry and Ron, they really crack me up, and I really hope they don't die.

Hope you enjoyed this! It took me a while because I was in quarantine and feeling pretty uninspired while holed up in my little room. I hope all is well with you and yours.