January 1927

Hermione dropped all pretense of propriety as she left the party, digging in the inner linings of her coat for her silver pistol. There was a knife strapped to her thigh, too, but she didn't intend to let anyone get close enough that she'd need to use it. She'd been so careful to keep her walk graceful, her back straight, her poise perfect for these three long months. But now she removed her heels, threw them in the Spree River as she raced in her stockinged feet through the streets of Berlin. There was no point in maintaining the mirage now— not when they knew.

It wouldn't be long until her absence was discovered, and when that happened, Grindelwald would come looking for her. Already she could hear the car engines starting, could see the floodlights blazing on. The best she could do was run for it. No one would be coming to save her, she knew that much.

She ducked through two alleys until she found herself under a bridge, checking furtively over both shoulders. The first wave of cars had fallen for her first set of turns, but they'd be back. She only had a moment. She was thankful for the darkness afforded by the new moon, but cursed the fact that she was working blindly as she pulled a long pin from her hair and the sword-shaped brooch from her belt. She felt along the side of the bridge until her fingertips found the faded outline of the old access hatch. She forced the two pins into the cracks until she found the old locks, working the bits of metal against each other until it popped open.

Footsteps sounded on the path behind the bridge, sharp German orders and the sound of barking dogs in the distance.

Heart beating fast, Hermione reached up and hauled herself blindly into the hollow corridors hidden inside the stone structure of the bridge. She swung the access hatch closed, leaving herself in total darkness.

Something scuffed against the wall behind her, and she stilled. She wasn't alone. She reached for her knife, but a hand shot out to grab her wrist. She couldn't scream, for the Police were outside, and—

"Shh. It's me. It's okay." A match slid across the wall and a candle was lit, revealing the scars that marred Bill Weasley's face. "Ginny said you'd need backup. Harry's up there, following the Police."

Hermione's grip on her knife didn't loosen.

Bill's frown, already concerned, deepened. "Hermione, what the hell happened? Where's Theo?"

Hermione shook her head.

Bill's eyes widened. "He didn't make it?"

"No," Hermione shook her head. "I didn't warn him, and you shouldn't either. It was him, Bill. This whole time, it was him.""

December 1925

Theodore was a good dancer, it turned out. His blue eyes flashed as he led her through a waltz, and didn't miss a beat when the music picked up into a much more lively jazzy variation. He turned her in twirls, led her into a dip, and set her back on her feet before she even had a chance to register that he'd wrapped his long fingers around her waist.

"So, you've been operating in Germany, Mr. Nott?" Hermione asked, ignoring the flush rising to her cheeks. "How is Mr. Malfoy doing? I haven't seen him since our training days."

"That's right, I forgot the two of you would know one another," Theodore remarked. "He still complains about Harry Potter on a weekly basis. If I didn't know better, I'd think he had romantic interest in the man."

"Well, he'd be headed in the wrong direction if that were the case," Hermione pointed out, with a glance in Harry's direction. He and Ginevra had given up on the dance floor, and he appeared to be feeding her the olive from his drink. Hermione rolled her eyes.

Theodore followed her gaze. "I don't imagine that her brothers will be pleased about that."

"You know Ginny?" Hermione raised an eyebrow.

"I know Charlie and Bill," Theodore clarified.

"That's right, Charlie was in Prague before Romania," Hermione remembered. "I assume you trained there?"

Theodore shook his head. "Stationed, actually. During the Great War."

Hermione's face must have betrayed her surprise.

"What?" Theodore asked.

She shook her head. "Nothing, really. I think I just assume everyone has been around here as long as I have."

"I came over from military intelligence," Theodore said with a smile, those sparkling blue eyes trained on hers.

"Oh, one of those," Hermione sighed.

"You sound disappointed," He led her into a spin.

"Not particularly, I just find the military a bit too… regimented for my tastes."

"I think you might find I'd surprise you." His eyes gleamed as he tugged her into a spin closer to him. The song ended then, and she found herself pressed up against his chest.

"Little does, so if you can, I'd be impressed." Hermione murmured.

"Another dance?" Theodore asked, cocking an eyebrow.

Hermione shook her head. "I've some friends to say hello to."

"Friends," Theodore said, as though he had just learned something of enormous importance. "I didn't think secret agents were allowed to have those."

"Secret agents never tell one another that they're secret agents," Hermione said, reaching up to tuck an errant curl away from her face. "Perhaps I'll find you later?"

"Or I'll find you." Theodore lifted her hand to his lips, brushing a kiss across her knuckles. "A pleasure, Miss Granger. I look forward to seeing you again."

Hermione made the rounds from there. The Delacour sisters had indeed made it to the party, as had the three eldest Weasley brothers in addition to Ginny. Hermione approached Percy, who had been in her initial training class in London, and had been her handler on any number of missions since.

"Percy, how are you?" She greeted him with a kiss to the cheek.

"Hermione, I thought you might be here tonight. I'm well, how are you?" He was polite as ever.

"Oh, I'm enjoying Manhattan as much as ever. I have to ask, though, why have only four Weasleys shown up tonight? We can usually count on all seven of you to liven up the parties."

Percy frowned. "You don't know?"

Hermione picked up a drink off a passing tray and took a sip. Kina Lillet, nasty stuff. She made a face and set the glass back down. "Know what?"

"Ron's decided to retire and make a go at civilian life." Percy sighed. "I tried telling him he could get a perfectly fine desk job if he didn't want to deal with the action, but…"

"But he always did want normal and traditional, even when we were in training," Hermione remembered. "Ah, well. I imagine it can't be easy, carrying on your family's legacy the way you all do."

Percy shrugged, the motion genteel on his slim frame. "He's attending a culinary school now, if you'll believe it."

"And the twins?" Hermione asked.

"Oh, they're here tonight. I'm surprised you haven't seen them," Percy said. "Oh, Hermione, I have to go— Minerva's just walked in, I need to confirm a few things."

Hermione had scarcely bid Percy goodbye when her own supervisor appeared at her elbow and led her aside. "Kingsley. What can I do for you, sir?"

Kingsley cut an imposing figure in his sharply cut suit. Elsewhere in New York, he might have needed to keep a lower profile, but the Agency frequently fond it useful to have operatives in every social class on every continent to which they had access. Kingsley had cut through the ranks in record time, served in the military along the way, and amassed more status than the rest of the New York office put together.

"How close are you to finished with the Obscurus file?" He asked, voice low.

Hermione's brow knit together. "Nearly finished. And I've already secured the files you asked for from Broadway and finished the translations from the Schuyler library. Why?"

"Always ahead of the game…" Kingsley adjusted the watch chain hanging from his breast pocket. "I know I promised you a longer assignment, and I know you wanted to continue working with Potter."

"But that won't be possible?" Hermione had been around long enough to know what was coming next.

Kingsley tilted his head slightly. "It seems not. There's… a situation arising in the European offices."

"Why me?" Hermione frowned.

"Simply put, we are certain of your loyalty." Kingsley sighed. "This kind of work… we used to rely on dynastic spycraft, loyalty based on family ties."

"But with the way things have fractured of late, you need someone with no internal familial ties to the Agency." Hermione pursed her lips.

"And someone who has been around long enough that we can trust you." Kingsley took a sip of his drink. "I wouldn't pull you from here if we had other options."

"But you don't." Hermione inhaled deeply, exhaled. "Fine, then. I'm a little surprised you don't have Harry on this one as well. He came in at the same time as I did, and with his parents…"

Kingsley shook his head, almost imperceptibly. "We considered it. But his skills are needed elsewhere, for similar reasons."

Hermione, recognizing that she wouldn't get much further with this line of questioning, inclined her head. "All right, then. How much time do I have?"

"You ship out to Berlin in three days. Bill Weasley will be transferring with you. Oh, and Hermione?"

She looked up. Kingsley looked more worried than she'd ever seen him.

"When anyone asks, you can say you're transferring. You can even say it's to Europe. But the situation is… delicate, and even inside the Agency, we don't know who we can trust right now."

"You're worried about a leak," Hermione realized.

"A mole. Some documents that go as high up as Albus's office have gone astray. Some operatives of other organizations seem to know about our prior missions. It's not ideal, and with Grindelwald on the rise…"

"You're that worried about a policeman?" Hermione questioned.

"No, we're that worried about a mass weapons producer with a police background and a destructive agenda aiming to run the German government. He's going to be appointed as the chief intelligence officer to the German president tomorrow, not that the general public knows it yet." Kingsley swallowed, the lines in his face tightening. "This operation… I won't lie to you, it's going to be a difficult one. Even for you."

"But we do what must be done, right? Invictus et occultus." Hermione's fingers found their way to her sword pin. "Shall I find a black stone for the pommel?"

"No." Kingsley reached into his pocket and handed her a silk handkerchief. "I've a diamond for you. It'll be a new division. An inner circle, if you will. We'll be issuing them in the next few days."

"I see." Hermione felt around the edge of the silk square for the diamond sewn between its layers. This was serious, then. Deeply so. "Is it three days to put my things in order, or do I have to be gone in?"

"Three days until you're in Berlin. Don't worry about your apartment, or your projects here. We'll have someone keep an eye on the place, it will be here whenever you return. We'll send a car for you."

Hermione nodded. Berlin. This would be interesting.

And we're off! Just for some context, as I received some PMs about this: Calvin Coolidge would be the US president at this time, with Prohibition, segregation, and all the glamour of the 20s in full swing for those who could afford it. Paul Hindenburg's the German president, under the Weimar Republic. The time between the wars is an interesting one, so I'm doing my best to do the history justice here, even as I fill it with an international spy agency.