Hermione looked at the pile of clothes strewn across her bed. What did one wear to an interrogation? It occurred to her to wear white. White was plain and neutral. It would make her look innocent; completely and utterly innocent. But she tossed the white blouse to a corner, knowing that they'd accuse her of trying to look virginal. Then she considered wearing black because it was somber and serious but it was also the color of mourning which felt wrong for the occasion. After that, she thought about pinks and purples, browns and beige, yet nothing seemed right.

Sighing in exasperation, Hermione checked the time. If she didn't choose something soon she'd be late and armed Aurors would be knocking down her door. There was nothing she could do to avoid it, but there was a slow-creeping dread as the seconds ticked on. The truth was that she was afraid; terrified of the questions they would ask and the things she might be forced to speak of.

Looking around her room, she realized that all she'd managed to do in the last half hour was to empty out her wardrobe and make a mess of everything. Cursing the Ministry, she began putting her clothes back. She paused. There, hanging in the corner was her old school uniform. The Gryffindor colors seemed to mock her.

Where dwell the brave at heart, their daring, nerve and chivalry set Gryffindors apart.

Where was her courage now?

She toyed with the hem of the grey school skirt recalling how Draco's fingers would slide beneath them. The way his eyes would roam over her when she was clad in nothing but red knickers.

If he were still alive, he wouldn't recognize the person she'd become now. The witch he'd fallen in love with was the one who'd had the nerve to slap him, who'd dare to speak Voldemort's name out loud when everyone else was too afraid. Who was she now? Because she certainly didn't feel like Hermione Granger, brightest-witch-of-her-age, heroine and golden girl. She was irrevocably changed and there was no going back. So, who? Who was she? Beneath it all, who was she?

And she knew…

She knew what people really thought of her. To the Pureblood elite, she was the Mudblood who had seduced and brainwashed Lucius Malfoy's son. To others, she was the girl who had bedded one of the most notorious Death Eaters in wizarding history and made him a turncoat. Her jaw clenched with determination. Maybe it was time to remind the Ministry that they weren't dealing with an ordinary girl. Maybe it was time to remind herself.

Hermione stripped down. She'd finally decided what to wear.

Stepping out of the dancing green flames of the fireplace, Hermione glanced around. The Ministry was fairly quiet on a late Friday night. Probably why they'd chosen now to hold the interview. The fewer people in the building, the better. The stragglers that were still around stopped and stared.

Good.

She walked with her chin raised high, eyeing the fountain in the middle. No matter how many times she'd come to the Ministry, her mind always pulled her back to the first night she'd come here when she'd been hit by Dolohov's curse. A shiver ran down her spine, telling her she needed to run.

Harry was waiting for her, his mouth agape.

"Hermione," he whispered urgently. "What are you—have you looked in a mirror?"

"Of course, I have," she tutted. "Don't be silly. I've worn dresses before."

"I know, but," and he blushed, averting his eyes. "It's just that—well, it's a little tight and… it's very white."

"And?" she pressed innocently.

He adjusted his glasses, smiling awkwardly at the few employees who passed them by, shooting Hermione furtive glances, some boldly staring. Harry moved himself to block people's view of her.

"Well, it's a little see-through and the color of your… of your..."

"Of my what? Spit it out, Harry."

"Your knickers," he cringed. "And your other underthingy—"

"My bra?"

He adjusted his glasses again. "Well, you can kind of see that they're… well, they're lace," he said looking right at her breasts. "And bright red..." Harry cleared his throat, turning his head away when he realized he was staring at her.

"I don't care," she shrugged.

"But Hermione—"

"We're late as it is," she said pushing past him. "Let's go."

They went through security and she was forced to turn in her wand. He continued to shift awkwardly next to her as they stood in the lift, a blush creeping up his neck. She bit back a smile. She'd never seen Harry so worked up and embarrassed before. But she supposed he'd never seen her like this. She was always just Hermione, big knit jumpers and jeans.

"Look," he said, clearing his throat for the third time. "Two agents from UNSC are here. Answer their questions as best as you can and you'll be out of here in no time."

She rolled her eyes. "Right, whatever, I shouldn't even be here."

"You have a connection to this case—"

"It's because I used to fuck a Death Eater," she translated.

His jaw fell open again for the second time that day. He snapped it shut. "Don't be as crass when you're speaking to them. They mean business."

The lift opened and they stepped out. She followed Harry, her ire mounting as she drew closer to the room he was leading her to.

Harry opened the door and allowed her to enter first. There were two people seated at the table—no, not people—suits. She cringed.

"Miss Granger," said the woman as she stood. "I'm Special Agent Davies and this is Special Agent Finn. Thank you for agreeing to this interview."

She almost retorted that she hadn't agreed to a single bloody thing when Harry shot her a look of warning.

"Let's begin, shall we?" said Agent Finn.

Brilliant, she thought. He's American.

She unfolded and folded her legs, trying to get comfortable on the steel chair. They both looked to be a decade her senior, both perfectly coiffed from head to toe—and Harry was right, they looked like they meant business. Except, she wondered who was going to play the role of good-cop and who was going to play bad-cop.

Taking a deep breath, Davies drummed her manicured fingernails against the steel table. "Where were you between the hours of ten and eleven pm on May 12th Miss Granger?"

"I don't—" Hermione faltered. "Was that a Friday?"

"Saturday," supplied Harry.

"Right. I was at home."

"Alone?" interjected Agent Finn.

Hermione's eyes cut to him. His eyes bore into hers, scrutinizing.

"Yes, alone."

"Doing what?"

"In bed," she replied. "Sleeping."

"Alone?"

Her jaw clenched. "Yes, I've already said I was alone. I got home, took a shower and dressed for bed. I tried to read a little but I was tired. I fell asleep."

Agent Finn held her stare as if trying to figure out whether or not she was lying.

"Can anyone corroborate that Miss Granger?" asked Davies.

"No," she snapped in frustration. "Because as I've already said twice now, I was alone."

The woman cocked an eyebrow at her. "You didn't phone anyone or—"

"No. I rarely use my telephone."

"What were you reading?" she asked drumming her fingers against the table again.

Hermione averted her eyes. She hated this. Hated this prodding into her personal life, hated having to answer questions she didn't want to answer. "Crime and punishment," she murmured reluctantly.

Agent Davies gave a low quiet hum and shared a look with her partner. "Interesting…"

Hermione knew how it sounded.

"And where were you before you were at home?"

"I don't remember," she answered honestly. "I..." She couldn't even remember what she'd eaten yesterday for breakfast, let alone what she'd done weeks ago.

"Weren't you with Krum at Hogsmeade?" said Harry quietly.

Hermione clucked her tongue. "Of course," she said, chiding herself. "My friend was visiting that weekend. I was with him for lunch and—"

"Krum?" asked Davies.

Agent Finn was twirling a pen between his fingers. "Another boyfriend?" he supplied. Davies scoffed and shared another sly smile with her partner.

Hermione's hands clenched into fists in her lap. "No," she corrected. What did they mean another? "He's an old friend."

Davies folded her arms. "Let's talk a little about your previous relationship," she said, assuming control of the interrogation.

"My previous relationship?" she repeated pointlessly.

"The deceased in question," she clarified.

Hermione blinked. Draco had been called a number of things in the last few years—Death Eater, turncoat, Mudblood lover, blood traitor, vigilante, there were a few who'd even gone to the extent of calling him a romantic, but this was new.

The deceased in question.

"Were you ever aware of what Draco Malfoy was doing?"

And there it was...

The rumors… hearsay. In the garden of Eden, it's the serpent that entices Eve to take a bite of the forbidden fruit. In Rita Skeeter's version of what happened, in the book she'd written, Hermione was the snake. Unfortunately, people are quick to believe whatever they read and Theodore Nott could do nothing about the books which had already been sold. The rest he'd burned and invited her to watch.

"Miss Granger?"

"No," she said. "I didn't know."

And I didn't tell Draco to kill them.

Harry cleared his throat to get their attention. "Death Eaters were disappearing but it was widely assumed that they were defecting."

"We were on the run ourselves," added Hermione softly.

"Oh, yes," scoffed Davies. "You were busy breaking into a high-security bank and waging a war."

Hermione frowned. "We were trying to survive," she snarled.

"Miss Granger," said the woman with a heavy sigh, "we see the," and at this, she made air quotes with her fingers, "Muggle-born question as a wizarding issue, not ours. The thing is, no matter what some may think, these er… er—"

"Purebloods," supplied Finn, the 'r' rolling off his tongue. "Fanatics, ma'am."

"That's right—Purebloods—no matter what they think or say, you are not one of us."

Her fists clenched wanting very much to leave this room. "I was born in London. My parents are—"

"Inconsequential," she cut with a tight smile. "Let me be blunt, Miss Granger. Your heritage means nothing. When it comes down to it, you're one of them. You are not a citizen of Britain. Perhaps on paper, but not really. What you are—what you all are," she said looking pointedly at Harry, "is a high-security risk, and our job is to ensure that we keep the wizarding world apart from our world, to keep from letting wizarding issues becoming our issue."

Hermione ground her teeth.

"Now, when was the last time you saw Draco Malfoy?"

"Malfoy Manor."

Davies began scribbling something down in her notepad. "I thought he was at Hogwarts when Voldemort fell?" she said without looking up.

"You asked when I last saw him, not where he was last seen."

She heard Harry exhale loudly behind her. His frustration with her was evident. This entire investigation was putting a strain on him and on their friendship.

"Please cooperate, Miss Granger," said Agent Finn. "Otherwise, we'll be forced to do something unpleasant."

"Like what?" she spat.

"Strip you of your British citizenship, for example," Davies offered coolly.

Hermione glared at them, her eyes darting from one suit to the other.

"So," she continued brightly. "Are you acquainted with a creature named Niz?"

"It's Nix."

She gave Hermione another tight smile. "And how do you know Nix?"

"He was Draco's house-elf."

Agent Finn took a manila file that had been lying on the table and handed it over to Davies. She took it and leaned back languidly in her chair as if this interrogation was a great inconvenience.

"In an interview conducted by the M.L.E, the elf confirmed that—and I quote—Master Lucius called Nix to the dining room. When Nix went, all master's guests were asleep in the pumpkin soup. Master asked Nix to take Master's dinner guests deep into the woods and leave them there. Nix did as he was told… that's all. End quote.

"That's all," she repeated with a low chuckle.

Hermione folded her arms. "He isn't responsible. Elves can't help but follow orders—"

The detective sucked her cheek making her look older than she was. "By our laws, he's an accessory to murder, after the fact."

Hermione pursed her lips.

"First two victims were poisoned," she added softly to herself.

"Snake venom," supplied Finn.

She gave an indelicate snort "Rightttt," she drawled. "Snake venom… In another interview conducted by the M.L.E, Mrs. Malfoy, née Narcissa Black confirmed that Voldemort, née Tom Mar-volo Riddle—Christ, the names you people have—was inhabiting the household and was frequented by Death Eaters… yada-yada-yada—ah, here it is—pumpkin soup was served at around 20:05. Antonin Dolohov and Thorfinn Rowle began to foam at the mouth and died. She confirms that her son did not seem surprised and continued to eat and complimented the elves cooking—"

"He was under severe stress—"

"Miss Granger, you're a nurse, aren't you?"

"Yes," said Hermione releasing a sigh. "Going to threaten to take that away from me, too?"

"Hardly," she scoffed as if she hadn't just threatened Hermione a minute ago. "Study any psychology?"

She gulped, dreading the direction the conversation was taking. "Only one or two classes," she answered.

"Do you recognize the first signs of psychosis?"

"I can't recall," she clipped.

Agent Davies leaned forward as she rested her elbows on the table. A slip of a smile tugging at her lips as if she knew something Hermione didn't.

"Solitary behavior, highly introverted, erratic mood swings, paranoia—"

Hermione's cheeks reddened with anger. "I don't care what your file says," she spat. "I will not sit here and listen to you degrade him! Take away my passport, my citizenship, I don't care—!"

"You've suffered a great loss, Miss Granger." Her voice fell, becoming soft, consoling, almost understanding. "I lost my mother recently. Breast cancer... It's hard to lose a loved one, isn't it?"

"I didn't lose him," she choked, the anger practically suffocating her. "He was taken away from me."

"And you wanted retribution."

"Yes," she admitted softly. There was no point in denying that.

"But you're not the kind of girl to go around murdering people, are you?" she said with a tilt of her head.

She shook her head firmly. "Look, I told you, I haven't seen Draco since 1998. You can corroborate everything else with the M.L.E.—"

"You're beautiful…"

The statement startled her. Her cheeks reddened. What was she supposed to say to that? Deny it? Thank her for the compliment?

"I, er… I don't know."

"No, you are," said Davies with conviction. "You're stunning… the kind of stunning that blinds a man, makes him lose his mind. The kind of girl that says to kill Corban Yaxley, and they go out of their way to do it for you…"

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. There was no good cop, bad cop. Agent Davies was clearly in charge here and she'd just managed to make herself transparently clear.

"There's nothing to indicate that Draco Malfoy is alive and yet Corban Yaxley is dead. Someone is responsible, and if it's not you, it's because of you."

"Go to hell."

Davies eyes narrowed on her. "You like dangerous men, don't you, Miss Granger—?"

"Excuse me?" she scowled.

"The rush, the unpredictability—"

"No!"

"I bet Draco Malfoy was a rollercoaster ride for you—"

"That's enough!" burst Harry, who Hermione had forgotten was there.

Davies shot him a warning. "Another word and you'll be interfering in an official—"

"No, she's done. She answered all the questions she's going to answer. Hermione, come on, let's go—"

"I'm warning you—"

"Agent Davies," said Harry abruptly, "I was hunted by one of the most powerful and deranged wizards in history. What makes you think I'd be intimidated by you?"

To give credit where credit's due, Davies didn't so much as blink. She stood slowly from her seat. Her hand settled on the gun holstered to her hip and she smiled. It reminded Hermione so much of Umbridge that it was frightening. "For starters, Mr. Potter, you are not dealing with wizards anymore," then her smile faded into an ugly grimace, "and I am not a man."

A few heartbeats passed as Hermione watched with trepidation, wondering if it would take longer for Harry to draw his wand, than for her to draw her gun.

Her hand fell to her side.

"Agent Finn," she ordered whilst continuing to stare at Harry. "Escort Miss Granger downstairs. I need a moment to speak to Auror Potter."

Finn stood, grabbing her arm.

"I can walk myself out," she hissed, wrenching it free and storming off. She heard soft footsteps behind her as he followed her out, down the hallway, and to the lifts. The doors pinged open as soon as she pressed the button calling for it. Stepping into the lift, she tried to close it quickly. The sooner she could be out of this Godforsaken building and with these people, the better. Her irritation mounted when Finn stepped in too, his foot catching the doors just in time as they were closing. Hermione pressed herself against the opposite wall of the lift, the full weight of Finn's eyes on her. Perhaps she'd made a mistake to think that dressing like this would make a statement, would make her feel brave again. Maybe it just made her vulnerable. Her cheeks flamed… she should have come wearing a gunny sack… and possibly snuck in her wand in said-gunny sack.

"What the hell are you staring at?" she hissed, her eyes hot and angry, finally daring to look back at him.

And there was an eerily familiar expression on his face. An almost meditative and equally invasive quality to the way he was watching her. His eyes fell down to her legs and up her form in slow perusal till they met hers again.

Hermione pressed her back against the wall of the lift. There was something unsettling beginning to coil tight in her abdomen.

A perfectly arrogant eyebrow arched up. "Nothing ma'am…"

The lift doors dinged opened and she had to physically stop herself from running away from his penetrating stare.

She waited for Harry in the lobby. Only because she needed his authorization to retrieve her wand and leave.

As soon as he'd gotten her clearance for the return of her wand, Hermione muttered, "That didn't go well, did it?"

Harry ran a hand through his hair. "That went badly. Honestly, Hermione, Saturday night and you were in bed."

"Well, I was!" she retorted back. "It's the truth."

"A lie would've sounded more convincing—and you shouldn't have dressed like this for the interview—"

"I was trying to make a point!"

"What point would that be exactly?"

Hermione shrugged. How could she possibly explain what she'd been feeling to Harry?

He cursed. "I knew they had an angle bringing you in," he muttered, cursing again.

"So, what?" she said. "Harry, it's not like I actually did anything wrong. You… you know that, right?"

Harry took her by the arm and pushed her back behind one of the large statues so they were both out of sight. "Of course, I know you didn't do this but it's bad that they think you orchestrated it."

"It's not bad, it's ridiculous," she whispered. "They're making me out to be some kind of siren for God's sake."

"Well—"

Harry stopped speaking, his eyes following something over her shoulder. She turned to look. Not something. Someone. Theo had just walked into the lobby with someone she didn't recognize. That's when it dawned on her that she wasn't the only person who had been summoned. And the other person was probably another Auror escorting him in.

"Look," she said quickly. "I just want to go home."

He nodded. "Alright, let me take you."

"Thanks but I'm a big girl, Harry. I'll take myself home. Just… I'll see you at the wedding, alright?"

His eyes danced over her face, trying to decide what to do.

"Yeah, alright," he said finally. "I'll see you soon."

Hermione hugged him and thanked him for being there for her. He assured her he'd always be there. "You and Ron are like family. Of course, I'd be there for you when you're being accused of murder."

She hit him playfully on the arm. "You're awful," she smiled.

He shrugged and began heading back upstairs. Hermione, on the other hand, was in no way spending tonight at home. Slowly, she made her way to a fireplace and then to Nott Manor.

She waited for him in his bedroom, pacing up and down, unable to sit still for one moment, only able to churn over what Theo was saying at this very moment, of the secrets he might be confessing to. She had never told anyone of his Dark Mark. Only a handful of people knew and most of them were dead.

Hermione needed to make sure he hadn't divulged anything to the Ministry or to the UNSC. It might implicate her further.

After fifty excruciating minutes, Hermione heard soft footfalls.

"What the hell are you doing here?" said Theo, dropping his raised wand as he realized it was her.

She didn't answer him. "The Ministry called you in as well?" she asked.

He nodded.

"Is everything alright?"

"They wanted to know more about Draco," he told her. "That's all."

She was relieved to hear it hadn't been anything else.

"Can I stay here tonight?"

It blurted out of her before she had even thought it through.

His head snapped up and his eyes surveyed her dress, her red knickers showing through.

"To sleep," she corrected quickly. "I just… they called me in too, and I don't want to be alone right now."

He rubbed his face, looking utterly haggard. "It wouldn't be appropriate," he muttered.

"Please, Theo," she begged, wringing her hands. "Please."

His expression softened. "Fine," he conceded. And something of what Davies had said struck true. She could be very persuasive.

"I'll sleep on the floor," he supplied.

"Your bed is huge. There's plenty of space for both of us."

He stared at it as if he'd never seen it before. His throat bobbed, she assumed thinking of the last time they'd both shared his bed.

"I guess…" he said after a moment.

Hermione exhaled in relief. "Could I take a shower? And have something to wear?"

He nodded mutely and went to open his wardrobe. She thanked him as he handed her a large t-shirt and baggy pajamas.

"Witches first," he said offering her the use of the bathroom. "New toothbrushes are in the drawer under the sink."

When she emerged from her long shower thirty minutes later, the bedroom was empty.

"Theo?"

Frowning, Hermione returned to the bathroom and flipped her hair over, drying it with a towel. It didn't bode well to go to sleep with wet hair.

"Theo?" she called out again.

There was no answer so she put the towel away and went looking for him. Maybe he was in the library or in his study. She didn't have to wonder for long because as soon as she stepped out of his bedroom, she saw light coming from down the far end of the corridor, from the study.

She padded down the hall, the stone floor cold against her bare feet.

"Theo?" she called out, turning into the room.

Hermione startled.

"Blaise, hi."

Blaise stood from the sofa, looking as surprised as she was.

"Well," he said slowly. "If it isn't our favorite Gryffindor… here… in the middle of the night," and then he turned his head to look at Theo who was sitting opposite him in an armchair, "and in your clothes."

"It's not what it looks like," said Hermione tugging the shirt down. "I was just…" Fuck. She was at a loss for words. "I'm just going to go to bed," she said to Theo with an apologetic look. "I didn't mean to interrupt."

And then she made a show of shutting the door. As she turned to leave, she heard Blaise's voice rise and come through the door.

"To bed? Are you fucking kidding me?"

"To sleep, she's just—it's been a difficult week. She doesn't want to be alone."

Hermione padded back, staying close to the wall beside the door and listened.

"Yaxley is dead. Goyle is in protective custody and you, my friend, are their number one suspect—with Hermione Granger in second. So, tell her to go home—"

Theo hushed him. "Lower your voice—and I tried, she won't go."

"Then, make her or is this not your fucking house?"

"She's scared, she needs to feel safe right now."

"Listen to me very carefully. Those Muggles aren't letting this go. Kingsley is under serious fire and it's only a matter of time before you become his scape goat—because we both know they'll never arrest Gryffindor's Golden Girl, not even if she's the one who's behind it—which by the way, isn't such a far off—"

"No," he cut. "She couldn't have. This is Hermione Granger we're talking about—"

"Exactly. The same witch who fell in love with a Death Eater, who impersonated Bellatrix Lestrange and broke into Gringotts—"

"That's different—"

"And that thing she told us about Skeeter? Keeping her in a jar?"

Hermione heard Theo let out a soft laugh. "I'd have squashed Rita like the insect she is."

"Probably best not to repeat that—but that's not the point. Hermione Granger is dangerous and the Ministry needs to know that."

Hermione's stomach turned.

"You want to put everything on her."

"They'll never in a million years prosecute her, but if we could just plant a seed of doubt—"

"Blaise, if you say a single thing to tarnish her name, I swear on Salazaar's grave, I will ruin you. I will make public every single sordid deal you have ever made, the ones Pansy doesn't even know about—"

"If you're not careful, you could go to Azkaban!"

Theo scoffed. "So what? What do I have to lose—?"

"Don't play the martyr, Theo!"

"I did not do the things they are accusing me of!" shouted Theo suddenly. "Besides their evidence is all circumstantial—focus on that and leave her out of this."

"Fine, but as your lawyer, I will say this… your close relationship with Draco's father, it's motive, it warrants further investigation on you and if during that investigation they find out you're involved with Hermione Granger…"

Blaise let the sentence die on his lips.

"Well," there was a pregnant pause. "Then they have nothing."

"If that's true then why, of all places, did she come to you? Why not Potter or Weasley? Her friends—who are Aurors. Why is she wearing your shirt? She could be setting you up—"

"Poppycock!"

"You are playing a very dangerous game, Theo. If it wasn't you and it wasn't her, then… what if Draco really is alive? What if he finds out about your relationship—?"

"There is no relationship!"

"It's one thing to feel it but another to act on it—understand? As long as you haven't done anything."

"What?"

"Have you acted on it? Have you slept with her?"

Hermione inhaled, holding her breath. Before she could exhale she heard Theo utter lie, after lie, after lie.

"No, never. Not even a kiss. We're just friends. Draco would've wanted me to look out for her is all. I've explained this to you before."

Blaise seemed to let out a sigh of relief. "Good, because I was getting worried. It's just a little strange is all…" Another sigh and then he cursed. "Alright, let's sit down and go over everything. I have the case file here. Also, there are some papers you have to sign, but this is for the sale of stocks, probably best we sell before all this gets out. This news will affect the..."

She stopped listening and began to tiptoe back to the room. Sleep would not come so she didn't even bother. She waited in bed, her back to the bedroom door. A bed so large it was bigger than a king. A custom mattress she'd assumed. The softest most comfortable thing she had ever had the luxury of laying on.

The bedroom door creaked open an hour or so later and Hermione felt her body stiffen at his arrival. She heard without looking, the sounds of him closing the bathroom door, of running water, but mostly she could only hear the drumming of her heart against her ribcage.

She felt the bed shift as he climbed in, bringing heat with him. Pretending to stir, she turned around softly.

"I'm sorry," she murmured. "I didn't mean to show myself."

"It's fine," he muttered turning his back to her. He extinguished the lights and said nothing else.

Hermione waited and listened. As soon as he was asleep she floo-ed home. Her presence there could only harm him.