Author's Note: The question so many of you lovely readers had regarding a ghost's ability to write is answered rather immediately in this chapter, because Thorfinn would, of course, have a similar curiosity on the matter.
Chapter Sixteen
Hermione's brow furrowed as she waved a hand at Thorfinn over her shoulder—he was, once more, turning the slip of parchment this way and that in his fingers, his expression wary, as though he expected The Grey Lady's ghostly visage to come pouring forth from the looping ink scrawl at any moment. "I told you, she must've guided Professor McGonagall's hand to duplicate her writing style. The choice had to be specific—intentional, so that I would recognize it."
"So . . . ." He crinkled the bridge of his nose as he let the parchment drop back to the tabletop. It seemed the only time this hadn't bugged him was when they'd been sleeping. And, well, maybe for a few fun hours after they'd gone to bed, but before they'd fallen asleep. He did not like ghosts. It appeared that every time one thought they knew the limits of a spirit's abilities, there came some gruesome shock about 'oh, look at this thing no one ever knew they could do before!,' so he made an effort to never say to himself that he knew everything about them—or about any subject, for that matter. "Are we saying she, I dunno, showed her through her own movements, or perhaps took—um, took hold of the good professor for a few moments, there?"
"Well, I'm not certain how she actually accomplished it, of course, but I trust my sister, and I trust Minerva McGonagall." She was well aware one of Thorfinn's fears about ghosts was whether or not they might truly have the ability to possess the living. Hoping her assurance that she trusted both the living and non-living parties involved, she turned to face him while she grabbed her beaded bag and stowed her wand inside it. "I'll write her back, figure out some way to code the message, after I get home from this meeting with Kingsley."
He sat up a bit straighter where he lounged on the sofa and stretched. They'd had a nice, relaxing breakfast—of sorts, but she'd been correct that cold pizza actually was strangely delicious—and leisurely coffee. As soon as that was finished, however, she'd been in a mad rush. First she'd popped off to the market, meanwhile he'd had a shower followed by a delightful nap, and now she was buzzing about, ready to run off to the Ministry. He knew she said these were the tasks she'd see to today, but with how fast she was hurling herself at her to-do list, it was as though she'd forgotten entirely that this was supposed to be a vacation. Hermione Granger, Sabina Slytherin, whichever name she called herself, the girl had maintained an inability to relax for very long. He wasn't entirely sure if she was naturally this way, or if her life had truly been such a constant blur of events that she'd never learned how to take it easy for longer than a span of twenty-four hours.
He'd much rather they just lazed about today, picking at whatever she'd stocked in that refrigerator. That was the correct word, wasn't it? But she was determined, and so he thought the sooner she handled this, the sooner she would get back and they could proceed with his plans for the rest of the day—which were, literally, none at all. Well, unless one counted eating and lounging together a plan.
"We'll have lunch when I return. I shouldn't be more than an hour or so," she said, as though reading his mind—though he was rather certain that wasn't all that far from the truth, as eating and sleeping were both activities fairly close to his heart.
"Oh, all right. Shall I start reading through these books, then, while you're gone? See if anything lines up with our search?"
Hermione frowned thoughtfully. They had decided that, being in on the truth, Professor McGonagall had probably sent volumes she thought might help—that the books had not simply been a distraction to get that tiny, yet so vitally important, message to her—but the young witch had agreed to not let herself get mired in research for the next few days. It meant something that Thorfinn was offering to do some poking about while she met with Kingsley.
Finally, a smile won out. Leaning down, she planted a kiss on his forehead. Pressing her face into his hair, she drew in a deep breath. It was odd smelling the scent of her shampoo from his clipped, yet still somewhat shaggy golden mane. The almost girlish notes of apple blossoms somehow complemented the softness of her Viking's hair, though. She couldn't help dragging the tips of her fingers over his scalp in gentle, lazy circles.
His eyes drifting closed, he uttered a satisfied rumbling sound in the back of his throat at the attention. "You should go, before I get used to this."
"Oh, all right. But I'll be doing more of this petting when I get back. I love playing with your hair," she admitted, a pleading edge to her tone.
"Mmm," he breathed the sound as he reached up, cupping her face in his hands and pulling her down for a kiss. "Me, too. I say, no matter what happens—go, stay, conquer the Ministry and establish our own empire—"
"Stuff it with that!"
He snickered. "Whatever our future is, I say this lovely petting thing you're doing should become a daily routine."
"Only if it's a two-way street, that."
"Oh, 'cause I don't spoil you enough?"
Hermione laughed, swatting his shoulder gently as she straightened up. "Speaking of, do please keep an eye on Salazar." She glanced toward the armrest of the sofa, where her tiny basilisk was contentedly snoozing. He slept a lot, but she supposed that made sense with how very much growing his little body was preparing to do over the next handful of months. That had to take a lot out of a creature. "I'm worried he might get scared if he wakes up and I'm not here."
"We will be fine by ourselves for a few hours. No need to get all flustered and concerned. I know what you told me. No loud noises that might draw the neighbors' attention. Don't go outside, don't answer the door, and if that thing over there," he said, pointing at the telephone, "starts making noise, just ignore it."
"Good. Oh, I am just worrying. I think . . . ." For a moment, she just let herself turn over this newfound nervousness in her mind. Just looking at him, her eyes locked with the now so-familiar gaze of Thorfinn Rowle, she realized the source of her unease. "It's because you won't be with me. I don't scare easily, and I feel foolish saying this out loud, but ever since this began, you've become a constant for me. Always there to make me laugh, or argue with me, or just to quietly stand by and make sure I don't fall apart."
Thorfinn sat forward, his shoulders sloping a bit as he exhaled a sigh. "I know, but the only way I could accompany you would be to take that damned potion, again. And, I've got a feeling that your friend the Minister won't buy the reticent act I was able to pull off on Longbottom yesterday. He'd at least expect Malfoy to say some—"
Pop.
The couple turned toward the distinctive sound of someone come out of Apparition. Though muffled, Hermione felt sure it had come from outside the backdoor—really the only place it could've come from was outside the house, as she and Thorfinn had both cast wards on all possible entry points, and the main structure of the house, itself. Drawing her wand, she held it defensively as she heard Thorfinn rise from the sofa while he snatched his own weapon up from the coffee table. He moved to pull her behind him, which she appreciated, but she shook him off, instead heading through the house beside him.
A knock sounded, followed by an unfortunately familiar voice. And oh, he did not sound happy. "Granger? You'd better be in there."
They each breathed a relieved sigh, Thorfinn lowering his wand as Hermione stowed hers back in her bag. Oh, bollocks. She suddenly remembered that she would have to keep her 'new' wand carefully guarded while she was in the Ministry. If anyone asked, she'd claim she was not carrying her wand on her—it was a personal meeting with her friend the Minister of Magic, she had no reason to think she needed a weapon on her person for that! Yes, okay, that sounded plausible.
"Draco? Hold on."
"Speak of the bloody devil," Thorfinn said with a laugh, shaking his head.
Hermione opened the door and stepped back, allowing the very displeased-seeming Malfoy heir into her Muggle home. He looked from the witch to her wizard, and back.
Thorfinn feigned a chipper note as he asked, "So, what brings you by?"
Hermione and Draco both stared at him in disbelief.
"I don't know, I don't know." Draco shook his head, uttering a pained laugh as he tossed his hands in the air. "Maybe I felt like a letter simply would not do to ask you to stop using my face!"
The witch folded her lips inward. She recognized that tone, all right. For all the grief anyone gave him, a furious Draco Malfoy was not something to be taken lightly.
"Oi." Thorfinn held up his hands, lowering his voice to a more appeasing register. "It wasn't planned! That . . . Longbottom bloke showed up unexpectedly and I wanted to get him out of the house before Salazar woke up and came looking for his mum. Hermione Granger suddenly deciding to take in a pet snake would've been a bit tougher to explain than you being here."
Draco arched a brow, nodding. He supposed he could be reasonable about the matter. This was a tough situation for the pair, and he couldn't know what it was like for them, but he could hardly let them keep dragging his visage out whenever it was convenient.
"Okay, okay." He wiped his hands down his face in an exhausted gesture. It was early in the day, but he was already so tired just standing here with them. "Is there anything else I should know? Anything at all?"
Hermione and Thorfinn shared a look, both blurting out completely different answers. "I made it look like I'd just gotten out of the bath, so might want to act abashed next time you run into him," was the wizard's response as the witch said, "He was in a towel when he was you and he peeked!"
Both young men turned to gape at her.
Oh, now . . . Thorfinn didn't fear Draco Malfoy, but he could recognize rage as well as anyone, and at the very least, that was an emotion to be respected. "Of all the things you could say?"
The expression on Draco's face said he might just have a meltdown before he decided how to feel. After a moment, however—and much to Hermione's surprise—his posture eased. With a pensive frown curving his lips, he gave a sideways nod. "Honestly? I'd probably have done the same thing in his shoes."
Thorfinn gestured toward Draco as he met his witch's bewildered gaze. "See?"
"Is this . . . curiosity some male thing?"
The males in question exchanged a glance before both nodding, replying in the same breath, "Probably."
She slapped a palm against her forehead. "Men." She would never be inclined to check out her breasts if she had to Polyjuice herself into another girl! Wait, would she? Oh, bloody hell, now they had her thinking this sort of nonsense! Bastards, the both of them. Worse, that Draco was absolutely unconcerned with the other wizard having seen his bits meant that he was well aware of himself as being, ahem, 'not little.'
The witch gave herself a shake, sobering her ridiculous thoughts. "All right, well, regardless, I'm due at the Ministry. So, Draco, if you don't mind—"
No one—possibly not even Draco, himself—expected it when the youngest Malfoy interrupted her with the words, "I'll go with you."
"What?" Hermione and Thorfinn said at once.
"Look, my dad's right, you need to be careful wherever you go, and as it's clear this lummox isn't going with you—"
"Oi!"
"Someone should be there. Since half of Wizarding Britain—though, maybe it's the whole of it by now, thanks to you two—already thinks we're together, I'm a logical choice." Draco shrugged. "Maybe we can even stage an argument and put on a show of breaking up! Put me out of my damned misery. C'mon, maybe it'll be fun. You and me, screaming at each other. Like old times, yeah?"
A half-grin curved her lips. "You just really want people to stop thinking we're dating, don't you?"
"Well, you do have to see that this spot you've both put me in is not easy for me. I mean, it's not even about you. People believe I'm in a relationship when I'm not. It's . . . confining."
"Draco, you're a more logical thinker than that. The only reason it would be a problem for you is if . . . ." Her voice trailed off as her brows shot up. "You've got your eye on someone!"
Thorfinn, for his part, feigned a scandalized gasp.
"Oh, both of you shut up." Draco turned back toward the door. "Granger, let's go."
She gave Thorfinn another kiss before she turned and skipped after the other wizard, seeming positively jubilant over the potential gossip. "Who is it?"
"I haven't even said there's anyone!"
"Oh, c'mon! Tell me!"
"I will not!"
"So there is something to tell?"
"Dear God, Granger! Would you just-"
They kept bickering right up until they Disapparated from outside the back door. Thorfinn laughed, shaking his head as he went to the kitchen to get a fresh cup of coffee. Honestly, it was a blessing those two couldn't stand each other.
"Maybe a big, messy break up is a bad idea," she said, her whispered voice thoughtful as they walked through the corridor toward the Minister's office.
One of Draco's brows arched up into his hairline. "And here I thought you'd jump at the chance to get all shrill with me."
"No, no." Waving her hands, she halted and turned to face him. "What I mean is we don't know what's going to happen going forward with . . . let's call it my family issues. There might be times we have to be out in public together that will be unavoidable. That will be harder to explain if we've parted on bitter terms."
"So, you're suggesting an amicable, mutual decision to break up so we can remain friends—God, you and me as friends. How far the mighty have fallen, yeah?"
In spite of herself, Hermione laughed. "You referring to you or me when you say 'mighty?'"
He frowned in thought and nodded. "Both, I suppose. You've always been a bit terrifying."
"Aw, thank you!" She glanced about, ensuring no one was close enough to overhear them. "Besides, I'm a girl—"
"So I've noticed on occasion."
Sputtering a giggle, she nudged his shoulder. "Shut it. What I mean is, it's always easier for a girl—especially an ex who still holds a boy in high regard, despite their relationship ending—to put in a good word with another girl."
Draco gaped at her for a few heartbeats. "You are really dying to know who it is, aren't you?"
She nodded, not bothering to look embarrassed at being called out on her curiosity. "Well, yeah, o' course, but we have become friends. I genuinely want to help you."
"Hmm. I do suppose you sort of owe me for running amok with my look-alike all over the Britain."
"Again, yes, but not the only reason." She shrugged, offering a small grin. "C'mon, then. Spill it."
Heaving a sigh, he mimicked her earlier gesture, glancing about over each shoulder before responding. "You remember that blonde Slytherin girl from our year, Daphne Greengrass?"
Hermione nodded. She'd actually gotten on rather well with Daphne—shocking for most anyone who was a member of Draco's House—from what she could recall of the very few times they'd interacted during shared classes. "Daphne, really?"
He lowered his gaze to the ground, looking actually sort of adorable as his mouth pinched to one side and he shuffled a heel against the tiled floor. "No, not . . . not Daphne. Her sister."
For that, Hermione had to think for a moment. After searching her school-based recollections, she remembered Daphne's sister, Astoria. A year behind them, Astoria was just as pretty as the elder of the Greengrass girls, but her hair was a rich brown instead of golden, and where Daphne had large, sparkling blue eyes, Astoria's were a bright, brimming green.
Well, it was no wonder Draco was falling all over himself just talking about her. Astoria Greengrass was lovely in so many senses of the word.
"I see," Hermione said, smirking as she turned and started down the corridor again.
His brow furrowing at her amused expression, he rushed a few steps to catch up to her. "Why is that funny?"
"Not funny, just . . . you're sure she's not too good for the likes of you?"
The wizard rolled his eyes. "Ha-ha. Okay, if we're breaking up amicably, then we have to find some way to get the word out."
"Right." She nodded, knowing he was correct. If no one knew they'd 'broken up' it would be the same for poor Draco as if they hadn't. "We need to let it slip to someone who'd be just itching to tell people."
"Someone who's not good with 'secrets' and loves gossip," he tacked on.
They both paused mid-step, turning their heads to share a look. "Pansy," they agreed in the same moment.
By the time they reached the Minister's office, Kingsley was waiting outside the door. Hermione did not like the way he was watching her and Draco as they approached.
His dark-eyed gaze traveling over the other wizard before turning his attention on her, Kingsley said, "Hermione . . . and Malfoy." It wasn't really a greeting.
"Something wrong?" she asked, immediately feeling her stomach turn itself inside out at his gravely serious tone.
He started to nod, but then stopped himself. "I think it's a matter best discussed behind closed doors."
"Well . . . ." She swallowed hard. "Can Draco hear whatever you're going to tell me, too?"
Though his broad shoulders slumped in resignation, Kingsley answered, "That is entirely up to you."
Nodding, she latched a hand around Draco's wrist and followed the Minister into his office. Once inside, even with the door closed behind them and a silencing charm in place, she did not sit. Nor did she relinquish her grip on Draco's arm. Malfoy, to his credit, made no move to disentangle himself from her, seeming to understand that holding onto him was keeping her grounded.
"Well?" she said again. "What is it?"
His stern expression evaporating in favor of a compassionate look, Kingsley didn't take his seat, either. Instead, he took a cue from them, standing before his desk and leaning his hips back against it as he folded his arms across his chest.
"It's your parents," he started, pausing far too long for her comfort.
Hermione's heart jumped into her throat at that pause. "Are they all right?" She might've been ready to let her Muggle parents go on to live a life without her, but the thought of something happening to them still pierced through her chest, as cold and sharp as if she'd never sent them away.
Kingsley winced at the tremor in the witch's voice. As young as Hermione Granger was, she was still one of the strongest people he'd ever known. "We—I'm sorry to tell you, but we actually have no idea. We can't find them."
Her knees buckled and if not for Draco's supportive frame beside her, she'd have collapsed to the floor as she choked out a cry of shock. "What?!"
