Hermione sputtered, moving her chair back a fraction. Her fingers inched lower towards the holster under her skirt, but she wasn't sure if she was going for the phone or the wand. "Wha...Henry. What in the hell are you on about?"

"I'm being serious. How many hours have we spent together in that building late at night? How much do you really know about the old guy mopping your floor, and yet you've spent hours alone with no soul but mine in the building? You know nothing, really - but you came to this pub with me, trusting me and never once doubting my intentions towards you. Even though you know you're being followed - yes, don't look so shocked. I know all about it. Sometimes I wonder about your reputation as the brightest bulb Hogwarts has seen in decades."

"How in the bloody hell do you know anything about me...damn you. You're following me? How do you know about...about Hogwarts?" Hermione was outraged, fascinated, and terrified, all at the same time. This man only occupying a corner of the shadows of her mundane existence, the everyman working joe who emptied her trash and sang little funny songs as he mopped outside in the office halls...was apparently a wizard? Something most certainly did not add up, and Hermione's healthy skepticism was kicking in fast.

"No, I'm not following you...not exactly. Calm down, calm down. I am not the one you need to be wary of, Hermione Granger. I'm on your side."

"I wasn't aware there was a bloody side to be on! Henry. Make sense. Quickly, or I'm leaving." She stood up, hand now firmly grasping her new wand, and she was very much prepared to use it - the stray Muggles in the vicinity be damned.

"You can take your hand off the wand and lower your voice, young lady," Henry said patiently, in an almost amused tone. "First of all, it won't do a thing to me to try and curse me - and such behavior in a pub full of Muggles! Secondly, I'm the one that arranged for you to have the bloody thing in the first place. I thought you'd already have figured the rest out, but you've obviously had your head so deeply up your arse that I feel like it's time to spell it out to you. You are in danger. Bad people want to hurt you, to detain you and do bad things to you. You must protect yourself and stop giving so much of yourself away. I can only do so much for you, Hermione. I can't stop real, live, dangerous people from maiming or killing you. I can only arm you with the truth. Will you listen?"

Hermione sat down again, jaw clenching shut, as she pondered Henry's words. Her hand never left the safety of the wand as they sat in silence, watching happy, laughing clutches of people walk by. Finally, she muttered, "Let's start with the obvious. Why are you following me? And why...oh, bloody hell. You're breaking the law, both wizarding and Muggle, and I'm not in a mood to get entangled in any intrigue tonight. Get away - if someone sees you..."

"Relax, please," Henry said. "I want to be very clear that you're in no danger from me. Let's just say I'm no longer a part of the wizarding world - I am in the same position you are, for very different reasons. I've been working as the night janitor for the firm to get close enough to you to know your business, and see what would happen. I'm just an observer in this unfolding drama, my dear, but I was right about my suspicions. I have many more things I need to tell you - everything I know about who you can trust, and who you cannot. For example, there is a spy at the office - I'm not sure of this person's loyalty. Please trust me. If you don't, Hermione, I understand, but there are things you must know. Before it's too late."

Hermione's mind was reeling at the implications of just the surface of Henry's allegations, much less what could be bubbling under. "Look, Henry. I'm not entirely sure that I have a drop of drink at my flat, and I think I need a draught of Guinness. Maybe two. Do you mind? Can we make small talk and pretend like you didn't just drop a bombshell on me, and enjoy the people walking by? Maybe we can even get up and dance...they do karaoke on Mondays and Thursdays, I'm fairly sure..."

Henry looked around, a worried look crossing his wizened face for a moment. "There are only two truly safe places for you right now - this isn't one of them, even with me here. Keep your wand at the ready." Henry nodded to the barkeep, holding up a finger to indicate he wanted a pint brought to the lady.

Hermione relaxed fractionally, and realized that she had pressing needs to attend to before she began to delve into whether Henry was delusional or actually had information that could help her. She certainly sensed no danger in the area, despite Henry's obvious unease. "I...excuse me for a moment? Nature calls, you know."

"No." Henry said. "I cannot stress this enough – you're not safe. We really need to go."

"Yes, and I really need to go, too." She stood up, waiting for him to stop her. When he didn't, she left and headed for the loo.

By the time she returned to the table, she found a pint of Guinness - and no Henry. He was simply gone. She waited a few more moments before she realized she had been ditched. Moreover, it occurred to her that the old man had obviously been talking nonsense. She'd never felt even a speck of magical energy in his presence, which was a dead giveaway these days. She had been duped by a delusional, but probably harmless, old man. At best, Henry must be a Squib - he'd heard of Hogwarts and blathered something about her wand, so he wasn't ignorant of the magical world. However, something was obviously amiss with the man if he would drop a bombshell about danger and spies and intrigue and unsafe pubs, and then just leave her with her thoughts and the bill.

One thing was for damned sure. He was spying on her, and that wouldn't do. At all. She'd have a long talk with Karen in the morning about this strange incident. She knew it would give her supervisor unwanted ammunition to attempt to kick her out of the office at a decent hour in the evenings, but that was fine and dandy if this old delusional Squib was going to be watching her every night

Fury at the absurdity of the entire situation threatened to overwhelm her, especially deep into her glass of the fine pub stout. How dare that old fuck scare the living daylights out of her and then walk off? Gathering her things and throwing a few pounds on the table, she headed towards the door. On the way towards the exit, she brushed past a man that made all her alarm bells go off - the magical aura the stranger possessed was strong, and also resonated a certain familiarity. A sharp, nauseating fear hit the pit of her belly as she turned to see the man's face as she passed, but she had missed her opportunity to catch him because of his brisk walk past, as if he were in search of another person. She saw the back of his bandana-covered head, and his attractive body in tight jeans and American cowboy boots, but he vanished into the darkness of the back room of the pub quickly. Dare she follow him?

Hell no. The guy is obviously a wizard, and they hate you, remember, girl? Get a grip, and get on home. Just get away from this godforsaken place and head to the only place you are truly safe - the loneliness of your hollow construction project on the Internet, your cold empty bed and those bottles of merlot you have stashed for emergencies. Just go.

She turned abruptly back towards the door to leave, crashing straight into a very tall man walking into the pub. "Sorry," she mumbled, looking at the floor and trying to get around the man as fast as she could - she could feel that it was another very powerful wizard. She didn't want to see the disappointment and disgust on yet another person's face tonight - or ever again, for that matter. She was tired of being Hermione Granger right now and wanted this whole stupid nightmare to move along out of her life and terrorize someone more worthy, not a simple designer of no consequence for a tiny web shop in Nowhere, London, UK.

"Allow me," said a hauntingly familiar voice. The man held the door for her. "Miss Granger." She gasped when she realized who this wizard in front of her actually was.

Lucius Malfoy, looking at her with surprised eyes that were alight with barely-suppressed mirth, made a grand gesture that she should feel free to depart. She fled into the night; she was unwilling to exchange pleasantries with a man who had killed her friends, and was frankly panicked to find out that he was free. Hermione found the nearest niche in between buildings and grabbed her wand. "I was told to use this in dire emergencies. Well, bugger me, if this isn't one..." She Apparated directly to her building, running up the stairs and into the flat in record time. Panting as she closed the door, she smirked once to herself. I'm getting some exercise running up those bloody stairs.

She couldn't at all be sure who - or what - Henry would turn out to be, or which oddly familiar wizard Boots and Jeans might have been. However, anyone meeting Lucius Malfoy couldn't possibly be good news, and it was clear that a prearranged meeting must be the case given the thoroughly Muggle location. Lucius had been dressed as a Muggle, but had an odd assortment of out-of-style clothing on. It would have been highly amusing if not for the fact that the butcher of the War was somehow out on parole. It didn't make sense - Lucius should have been Dementor-fodder in Azkaban for his entire life, not sauntering casually into her neighborhood pub. On her block. It could not be a coincidence.

Perhaps this is what Henry was trying to tell her. Maybe, after all, he wasn't just a weirdo that was trying to make her life more complex than it already was.

~*~*~*~

Draco's cell phone rang just as he spotted his father. He looked at the caller ID, and groaned. He knew he couldn't answer.

~*~*~*~

Miles to the north, a frustrated wizard cursed being at the mercy of a young, brash, arrogant wizard who had a job that was beyond his capabilities. It was time to take the Granger matter into his own hands. While he currently trusted Draco more than anyone he was in contact with, and his intelligence on various subjects had always been good, he knew that Draco had some other agenda to which Severus was not privy. It obviously didn't have to do with sex as he could nearly bet Lucius' motives included, but something was definitely curious in Draco's demeanor. He was fixated on her every move, and had insinuated himself into her life much more than a good spy ever should.

He'd meant to ask Draco for some truth-telling tonight, but the damn fool wasn't answering his phone. Impatiently, he checked his computer to see if she had perhaps written another of her entries, and worried about Dumbledore lurking only a few floors above. Snape counted on Albus being too self-absorbed to notice Draco's handiwork among the clever disguises they had contrived; but back in the day, very little had escaped his master's notice. He wondered how long this borrowed time would last.

He couldn't wait any longer. It was, perhaps, time to go to Hermione and explain it all rather than sit here, be frustrated, and wait for events to unfold. He paced the room, pausing every few minutes to check again and see if she had posted, slamming his fist into the table after the fourth fruitless effort.

*~*~*~*

Now that she was inside her apartment, Hermione felt a strange sense of calm come over her. She had always felt fairly safe in her tiny flat as long as the door was locked, though she certainly had no reason to feel that way given the fact that there were magical adversaries involved in her life who could blast that door open without effort. Putting her fingers to her temples, she rubbed for a few minutes and then decided on a hot bath and that last Guinness she knew she had tucked in the produce bin of the icebox- no need to crack open a bottle of wine after the pint of Guinness Henry had stuck her with at the pub, unless she wanted to spend the night vomiting it all up.

First things first, though - guilty diversions to take her mind off the bizarre scene at the pub. What was going on with her LiveJournal friends today? Yes, that's right...a little surfing, some email, and a check-in with her tried and true buddies. Maybe her new friend, that Bat person, would have posted something snarky in his journal that she could rip apart mercilessly. That would feel very nice, indeed. It had been so long since she'd gotten to confront a troll...quite literally. She opened her backpack and retrieved the PowerBook, flipping it on and loading her email and LiveJournal clients while she poured the Guinness into a glass and started the bathwater. What would she say about her day? It would certainly need some creative editing, but maybe her friends could give her some advice if she phrased it blandly and obliquely enough.

Hi guys, my nightly check-in.

I actually went to our pub tonight - you know, the one you guys always tease me about not coming to when you're all there. I had a date. No, really. Well, okay, not really. It was very strange and I don't know what to make of it - the guy who cleans my office tells me that someone's stalking me. See, it's not just me being paranoid. Unfortunately, I think the janitor must be the stalker. Who the hell knows why these things happen - I mean, why can't I find some nice older, wiser, hot Pierce Brosnan-looking guy and settle down? Holy hell on a platter, I'd take Patrick Stewart too. Alan Rickman?

Oh yeah, they're all taken. Oh well.

Which reminds me, I've been meaning to ask you all about good (but not terribly expensive) vacations. I need to get away from it all - no offense to you guys, but I need to be cut off from my entire life for a week. It's long overdue. Any hints? Oh, yes, if there are actual single men in any of these places, that's good too.

I solemnly refuse to whine about anything in my life, even having utterly odd coincidences (meeting up once again with someone from my old life, who was in jail until recently. Long story, which I am not sure of entirely, so I'll leave it at that.) No whining. Just beer. Peace and love, friends -

Mood: quixotic
Music: Duh. You all know I'm on a Duran Duran kick. Don't say a prayer for me now, save it till the morning after.

~*~*~

"Father."

"Draco, my son. You're looking very, very well. Did you see Miss Granger?" Lucius asked nonchalantly, looking down at his fingernails as if running into both his son and his prey at the very same time was an occurence that happened daily.

Draco was well-trained. He knew exactly how to look when he was confronted with issues that might compromise a subject's security, or otherwise bring about emotion. "Granger?" he looked at his father blankly.

"Don't play ignorant, boy. It doesn't suit you. I know what you said before. It's rubbish," the elder Malfoy said coldly, before bursting out in a laugh. "Buy me a drink. It's not every day your old man walks so free in the streets of London...and by the way, go visit your mother."

"I know why you're here. You're wrong, you know. About me. You think you'll get something for nothing, and I assure you, it's not possible."

"Your point?"

"It's my business to know these things."

Lucius rolled his eyes, affecting a dramatic sigh. "You're still a child, and I tire of your games. Let's get to business, shall we? You have debts to me. It's time to repay them. Now. And with a certain amount of interest..."

Draco went completely white and had no snarky rejoinder, for the first time in years, and contemplated whether even death would free him from what his father was certainly planning to ask him to do. He had known, deep down, that Lucius would call his bluff, and had been prepared to follow through with whatever would be necessary – no matter what the personal or professional cost. It was not for anyone else to understand. Not even Professor Snape could hear this part of the tale. Malfoy loyalties and debts were tricky indeed to sort through, and as much as Draco had thought through this before the meeting tonight, he could not find a way around his father's iron-clad words.

~*~*~

Ready for bed and with a towel wrapped around her head, she checked her email. Bats50 had responded to her entry, and she felt a spark of excitement at the idea of the verbal sparring that could follow any snarky comments the Bat had thrown her way. As she began to open the mail, she heard a scraping at her door. She went and looked through the peephole with apprehension. It was Henry. Just what she needed, of course. Was it too much to ask that she spend one night as an ordinary Muggle these days?

"Go home, Henry. I'm asleep," she said through the door, irritated at the distraction from her computer.

"Can I come in?"

"If you can come through a locked door."

"Did you just give me your permission to come in through your door?"

"As long as it's triple locked, as it is, be my guest. Knock yourself out." She turned to return to her laptop, anxious to read Bats50's latest sarcasm so she could blind him with her wit and charm, the obnoxious goat.

Suddenly, Henry stood in the room, causing her to stumble backwards and catch herself on her desk chair. Henry held up his hands to show her they were empty. "I didn't get a chance before I saw the Malfoy brat approaching to warn you, and I can't let him see me. I had to leave before telling you the rest, but I've been behind you every step of the way tonight. I've been out here on your doorstep for well over an hour, debating whether or not to bother you tonight or leave you alone."

"I would have preferred 'left alone', thanks."

Henry ignored her. "I'm...well...there's no point in being coy now: I'm a spirit. I've departed, but I'm still here, and apparently I'm haunting you. And, er, speaking of spirits...do you have anything to drink?"

Hermione methodically stepped back behind her kitchen bar as if in in a trance, automatically uncorking a Merlot and filling two glasses. "You can drink?" Hermione said. "I thought ghosts..." her eyes narrowed suspiciously. "You don't look the least bit like any spirit I've ever met."

Henry shrugged. "Hermione, believe me when I tell you that I am more alive now than I was my entire flesh-and-blood existence. No, I don't normally drink. The drink's for you - you'll need it." She was flat-out distrustful of anyone who changed identities on her - much less those who claimed to be ghosts that had no problems pushing brooms in office buildings, and could simply appear in her flat without so much as a flick of the wrist. Something didn't add up, but she couldn't articulate it just yet.

Curiosity at his dire warnings radiated through her brain. What if he wasn't crazy - what if he had real, necessary truths for her? She knew that she had been feeling overconfident at not having been attacked again, and had somehow convinced herself it was an isolated incident. She still had no concept of what the actual mayhem had been about in the first place, or why she had been spared - and by which hand. Had it been Henry? No, the voice wasn't as familiar as his was to her after nearly a year of knowing him, though at the time it had tickled long-buried memories. If Henry was dangerous, why hadn't he attacked her on any of the multiple occasions that they had been alone in the office? He had mentioned the office and her flat as being safe places - why was that?

Come to think of it, any magical attacker worth his or her wand would have simply broken in to one or the other and taken her - Henry did seem to have a point about the vulnerablity of her usual route home, but the safe zones didn't make much sense. And he certainly had no problem getting into her door.

"Circe, Fridwulfa, and Merlin, girl! I'm trying to save your arse and you're sipping and staring off into space. Give it here," Henry said, grabbing the untouched second glass she had poured and tossing it back in one gulp.

"I thought you said ghosts couldn't drink."

"I said that I didn't drink, I never said I couldn't. Let me introduce myself properly, my girl. I am Aberforth Henry Dumbledore, at your service."


~*~*~*~*~*~*~
A/N: Grateful sloppy kisses and hugs go out to Kalina, Pigwidgeon37, and OzRatBag2 for taking a beta gander at this chapter and helping me beat it into submission. You guys are so awesome.