The remainder of Hermione's January meetings concluded without the need for a headache potion, the usual result of an extended conversation with Luna or any encounter with Lavender. They were frustrating, yes, considering that Ron made several attempts to reconcile with her via flashy magical floral arrangements; those had been firmly refused, as had visits from other attorneys contracted to the Cannons. Daphne had informed Hermione by personal owl that she had become disillusioned with her confreres and their mockery of Hermione's rejection of their elaborate charm campaign and her overall refusal to 'play quaffle'.

It was in the first week of the following month that the redhead, whose reputation was dropping more rapidly than elevation during a Wronski Feint, deployed what he believed to be an absolutely unbeatable weapon: his best mate, Harry.

"It wouldn't actually be a real reconciliation, Mione," the dark haired man pleaded, "just show up a few times with him. I'll even make sure that I'm at all of the same events."

Hermione rubbed the crease between her brows. "You hate your fame, Harry, so why would you think it necessary to make additional public appearances?"

His green eyes drifted sideways. "Well, in case Ron, um…"

"There!" She pointed an index finger at his nose. "You believe that it would not be safe for me."

"Not at all!" He argued, "You're the most frightening one of the three of us."

"And don't you forget it," she shot back. "No, Ron couldn't harm me, but he could sure make a nasty scene and that could jeopardize my job." She hissed at his expression. "And you knew that! Why in Godric's name did you agree to this idiocy?"

Harry hesitated before letting out a long breath. "The Weasleys," he muttered. "It's hard to fight them when they all gang up on me."

"All of them?" she asked with a pang of unbelief.

"Well, Molly and...Ginny."

"I thought Ginny was on my side."

"It's like this: she was half-promised a relief position with the Harpies, but the owners suddenly bailed on her. She and Molly believe it's due to Ron's bad behaviour getting plastered all over the scandal sheets. If that's the case, it's not fair," he shrugged, "but it's their team to manage."

"So it's all right for the mudblood's reputation to suffer," she ground out sarcastically. "Really nice family you're marrying into, Potter."

He flinched, more from hearing her call him by his surname than from referring to herself by the racist term. "Yeah, well, that's another thi–whoa!" He stood and stared at her head before aiming his wand at her.

"Harry James Potter!" she shrieked. "How dare you draw your wand on me!"

The door behind him crashed open and Harry felt wood jab at the base of his skull. "Potter," a low voice ground out, "you'd better have a fucking good reason for this."

"Malfoy?" he asked without moving. "What the hell are you doing here?"

"Waiting for the assistant department head to be free until I heard that she was at wand point. Now, as I doubt that you are about to take her into custody, please explain yourself."

"And quickly!" Hermione added, seeing several interested ministry personnel hovering outside her office.

"There's something alive in your hair," Harry stated.

"Her hair is alive, you imbecile," Draco growled.

"No, hiding behind it, idiot!"

Hermione raised one hand slowly. She had pulled her hair back into an untidy high ponytail earlier. As she did so, she felt her scalp tickled by tiny movements. "Oh, that's probably Pixie A." At the men's blank stares, she elucidated, "I have a pair of juvenile Cornish pixies who've holed up in my office. Lately they've become comfortable enough to come out to play. They like my hair, especially A." Her voice trickled away at the men's gobsmacked expressions.

Draco was first to find his voice. "Of course they like your hair, Hermione. It's like a nest to them." He tucked his wand away.

"Oi, Malfoy!" Harry growled, lowering his as well.

"What? It's fluffy and soft. Who wouldn't love her hair?" He grinned. "I'm rather fond of it myself."

"Watch it. And where do you get off calling her 'Hermione'? Damn Slytherin should keep his distance," he muttered.

"Possessive prat."

"Over-familiar git."

"As a matter of fact, Potter–"

Hermione raised her head from where she had buried her face in her hands. "Boys," she gritted out, "enough."

They turned to her together, not desiring to cease hostilities but aware that continuing in her presence would be an extremely foolish move.

"Apologies, Hermione." Draco bowed, eyes glittering when Harry's teeth ground at the use of her name.

"Yeah," Harry muttered, "sorry."

"First things first. Harry," she turned to him, "the answer is 'No, no, and hell no'. I don't care what kind of Weasley pressure is on you, you have no right to ask me to put up with any more of Ron's shite."

"But–" He broke off when she raised a finger.

"No," she stated quietly.

"Okay." His face that of a sulky toddler, he pointed to Draco. "Why are you and he so chummy?"

"That," she glared, "is None. Of. Your. Business. Now," she waved, "get the hell out of my office. Not you, Draco," she added when he pointed to his chest.

Harry's expression displayed his displeasure. "Just watch yourself with her, Malfoy," he growled as he departed.

"I always do, Potter," he riposted. When the door slammed behind the former Gryffindor, he turned to Hermione. "You owled that you weren't going to be home tonight. For a moment I thought you were throwing me over for Potter."

Hermione mimicked gagging. "Too incestuous for my taste. No, Minerva invited me to stay at Hogwarts this evening. Firenze told her that the stars had a message for me." she rolled her eyes. "First Luna and now the centaurs; I'm expecting the Delphic oracle to contact me next week. Don't they know that I consider divination a crock of hippogriff manure?"

"I can't say I disagree." He pursed his lips. "Do you suppose she has room for an extra visitor?"

"In that castle?" She laughed before inquiring, "What is your interest up there?"

"Oh," he stated casually, "I was going to send Madam Pince a prototype reader, but, after due consideration, I've decided to meet with her directly on needs specific to the Hogwarts curriculum." He gave a serious nod. "Some things are best done in person."

"That's a bit of a stretch, Draco, but I'll welcome the company. Do you think Trix…?"

"I believe Buffy can pause her vampire slaying long enough to pack us an overnight bag. Damn, I hope she doesn't stake any of my business partners."

Madam Pince had, to Draco's surprise, little problem in navigating the features of the Malfoy reader. She queried him on capacity and sturdiness while he shared the galleon amount for the physical unit bundled with the first-year digital content.

"I have contracts with most magical publishers for these intangible copies, as we refer to them. All agree that as there is no expense for parchment, ink, or employees to work the presses, taking out those costs provides a fair compensation for them. This is actually to their benefit," he interjected, "as they can now use those resources to publish a larger variety of books."

Interested, to an extent, in a future expansion in the book market, the librarian remained focused on what was in her hands at the present time. "So the student would pay one price for this," she indicated the reader, "and annual fees to acquire future years' texts. How will they be added?"

"We will set up transfer boxes at major wizarding bookstores to append the data...uh, information."

"Each year we have students who find themselves changing electives."

Draco pondered. "If it is truly inconvenient for them to travel to a bookstore and they do not want an occasional bound book for class, we could place a unit in the castle. There is just the problem of deciding who would be responsible for it. The task should not be onerous, as this would be used only in semi-emergency situations."

"Leave it to me, Mr. Malfoy," she declared. "Books are my domain, and, after all, this library does house copies of all of the textbooks in their original form. I will make sure that the service is not abused." She looked at her shelves, much barer since the war, with longing. "I only wish that I could lend out the whole collection in that way, without the risk of accidents damaging them."

Draco chuckled. "I recall a few unlucky tomes getting between Ron Weasley and food. I understand your feelings, but it will be some time before we have a large catalogue of titles. As we do not know how well our little product will be received, I am afraid this sort of research," he indicated the scattered students at tables, "will continue for some time."

"Well," she replied prosaically, "it was worth mentioning, at any rate. Now tell me, how accurate are those newspaper articles about you and Miss Granger?"

Hermione was ready to pull her hair out after her interview with Firenze. The centaur's conversation was abstruse at best, consisting of ambiguous words and vague allusions, and she knew that once she was back in the flat she would have to pull out her old astronomy texts to try and decipher the meaning.

McGonagall, however, had made an interesting discovery.

"I finally got around to renovating the headmaster's suite, and the elves came across a sealed alcove with some older titles. I know you were disappointed with what we had on our shelves when you visited last year, and thought that these might be of help."

"Thank you so much, Professor." Hermione carefully opened one leather-bound volume.

"I believe on your previous visit I told you to call me Minerva." She observed the younger woman over her glasses.

"Sorry, Minerva." Hermione flashed her a quick smile. "It's just a habit, especially since I am back inside Hogwarts."

When her attention returned to the books, McGonagall laughed. "I see that I am superfluous. Feel free to take them to the guest quarters and examine them at your leisure. If any of them could be of use, I will arrange for you to take them with you."

"Oh, I didn't expect that consideration!"

"You have always been an exemplary student, so I believe I can trust you. But before you leave, you must tell me how you came to be traveling with Draco Malfoy."

Next morning the two walked to Hogsmeade, heading for the public apparation point.

"Was your third-degree as intense as mine?" Draco asked.

Hermione's mouth twisted. "Probably not, but then I'm still in the habit of answering any question asked by a professor."

"Ah, your sometimes misguided respect for authority." He hitched his bag to the opposite shoulder before pulling hers out of her hand and taking the slight weight. "Did you at least have any success?"

She shook her head. "No, none of the volumes had useful information. There was one that mentioned ailuranthropes, but the data was too out-dated to be helpful. How about you?"

"I'm surprised that Madam Pince didn't chain me to one of her shelves so I could convert all of the books to the new format. Luckily, I convinced her that I was not personally involved in the manufacture, or you might have ended up with full run of the apartment." He frowned. "But I thought you had a message from the centaur?"

With a groan, she admitted, "It was worse than having a conversation with Luna. You know how they are: talk in circles ad nauseum about what stars are bright and which ones are dim."

"I hope Mars is behaving now, considering that hostilities ceased several years ago."

She laughed. "Nothing so regal as the god of war. No, something about a battle between a bellows and water snake weakening their neighbour. I never put much trust in divination."

"Interpretation can be a bitch," he agreed. "The Blacks–my mother included–were well acquainted with constellations. I believe I recognize those two."

"Hmph. Then since you're the resident expert, I'll let you dig through my old textbooks."

Hermione read the paragraph above Draco's pale finger. "'Felis, a constellation between Antlia and Hydra.' Bellows and water snake. Bingo."

"And Felis, of course, is a cat."

"And that helps me, how?"

"Unfortunately, it means that you may be working under a time constraint. Felis is the neighbour of the bellows and water snake, and it is weakening." He met her eyes. "Your were-cats, wherever they are, might be in a heap of trouble."