A/N: Well, it did take me some time but finally the third chapter is done. I was wondering how far I could go into the actual plot (yes, I'm looking just as much forward to it as you guys are), but soon had to realize that wasn't yet possible because I hadn't introduced HER (gasp!). Mind you, I haven't written much about her in this chapter, only laid the foundation for her entry in chapter 4, which I think will immediately start off with the new term. But where are my manners? I can bore you to death after you've read this chapter, too, so I'll just do that and cease my insolent babbling now.

Enjoy!

Insanely yours,

Pace

Chapter revised: 2005-12-01

Inspiration: 'Reality' by Dionne Ferris

Matchmaker

Matchmaker, matchmaker, make me a match.
Find me a find; Catch me a catch.
Matchmaker, matchmaker, look through your book
and make me the perfect match.

- From "Fiddler on the Roof" (musical)

Chapter 3 – Reality

Harry Potter and Ron Weasley stared intently at the fireplace, waiting for the flames to turn into a brilliant shade of green, as they had been doing for the past four and a half hours. Occasionally, Ginny Weasley would step into the living room to join them, but after a few moments she would sigh and lament about the injustice of it all, which would earn her a hard look from either her brother or his best friend and she would leave the room again, feeling unwelcome.

Of course Harry and Ron agreed wholeheartedly: it was absolutely unfair that Hermione, the brightest witch to attend Hogwarts in the last century (in their humble, anger-biased opinion anyway), was to remain hauled up in the muggle world because her father seemed to think he could protect her against the rise of the Dark Lord more efficiently than someone else – like a quite capable and powerful wizard by the name of Albus Dumbledore, for instance.

It was also unfair because they needed her – not only to proof read their essays or ask her for help with their homework (though that was a nice side effect of being friends with her), but to be there. They were a unit, a team, a magical version of Alexandre Dumas' infamous musketeers (which had yet to find a suitable D'Artagnan); they belonged together like a seeker, his broom and the golden snitch!

The separation – which still seemed to be permanent unless that fire would flash green this instance and Hermione would step out of it – had taken its toll on the two young wizards who were both still caught in the wake of their last 'adventure', if one might even be able to call it like that. Personally, Harry though that 'stupidity' might be a more suitable way of phrasing it.

His curiosity, his thick-headedness, his pride and his godforsaken recklessness had cost Sirius Black, the closest thing to a parent Harry Potter could have ever have had, his life. The guilt weighed on him as heavy as the task he had realized would be his to complete. And with the guilt came the questions and the blame.

Why hadn't he told Snape of what he had seen? Because he had been ashamed for violating the professor's privacy when plunging his head into that pensieve. Because his father had been just as bad, if not even worse, as he had been told by the sourly Potions Master over and over again and he was ashamed for his father's actions. Because Snape would have known that he, Harry, hadn't practiced Occlumency at all, had never bothered to do as he had been told to, had never once, not even when he had still received lessons, cleared his mind and attempted to protect himself from Voldemort's mental attacks; because he simply hadn't thought of it. Because he had been too proud, too thick-headed – how often had he mentally scoffed at Hermione when she insisted that Snape was trustworthy (why else would Dumbledore trust him)?

And he had paid the price.

But with the knowledge that all this was his fault – more so his own, he had realized, than Dumbledore's, although he would have loved to place more of the blame on the old wizard – came also the realization of mortality.

Sirius had died. Sirius, whom he had loved so much, had simply died. Snuffed out like a too bright candle. Who would be the next one to loose his or her life because Harry Potter insisted on being a reckless brat? Who would be the one paying the price for him getting into trouble the next time? Dumbledore? Remus Lupin? Tonks? Mr. Weasley? Ron? Hermione?

The thought chilled the boy-who-lived to the core; the thought of their mortality, the thought of the moment their eyes would turn dull and hollow as their bodies lost warmth, their precious life leaking out of them, filled his mind with angry panic. How was he to protect them? How was he to ensure their safety? How could he prevent something similar from happening again?

All those questions and what-if's that occupied his mind, the agonizing pain and blood-chilling fear of loss that kept him from thinking straight had formed a chaos in his head that had started to settle down, rooting itself in his persona to slowly take over. And no matter how hard he tried, he couldn't sort things out, couldn't place anything anywhere because it was so hard to separate the pain, the fear and the uncertainties and he simply knew he wouldn't manage it on his own, he needed help.

The adult members of the Order of Phoenix treaded carefully around Harry; as if afraid they might scare a wild animal. Even Mrs. Weasleey, who had drawn him into a suffocating hug when he had finally arrived at the order's new headquarters (Grimauld Place was no longer an option as Kreachers wasn't bound to any of them and thus could bring all their plans to the attention of the Dark Lord – provided he'd allow them to actually enter the house again) kept her distance from the black-haired wizard. The only one not scared by the wild look in his friend's eyes and the uncharacteristically harsh tone of voice was Ron and his presence helped to keep Harry's demons at bay, if only barely. But to face them, to look each and every one in the eye, to admit his mistakes and accept them, he needed more than Ron's silent support.

ooo

"Mister Malfoy," Mr. Petersen said, nodding his head. His two partners remained silent.

"Gentlemen," Draco said in a voice that belied his current state of surprise, nodding his head in a curt greeting as well. Out of the corner of his eyes he saw his mother, dressed in pale, cream-colored robes, sweeping towards him elegantly to place a kiss on either of his cheeks.

"Mother," he said more softly, mirroring her actions. A soft cough could be heard and Draco's attention immediately snapped back to his guests.

"But please, do sit down," he said amiably, gesturing at a couple of armchairs near the fireplace, leading his mother to the chair his father usually occupied. "Would you care for some refreshments?" the young man continued and before any of the lawyers could reply, a house elf popped up, looking rather expectantly.

"I believe a cup of tea would be nice, don't you?" Narcissa Malfoy asked and an affirmative murmur met her ears. Draco nodded to the elf which immediately vanished.

Silence was thundering in the blond wizard's ears. He noted that his father's lawyers didn't look as if the news they were bringing would be good ones. In fact, they looked as if they didn't want to be there in the first place. They weren't going to end their business relations, where they? He pushed that thought away vigorously. No one severed ties with a Malfoy – it didn't matter whether the Malfoy in question was Lucius Malfoy himself or his 16 years old son. His family was a force to be reckoned with and if these shysters knew what was good for them, they'd make sure to stay on his good side.

The house elf returned, serving Narcissa and the lawyers a cup of tea each, placing a plate with delicious-looking treats (he ached to pick one up and pop it into his mouth) on the centre of the small table around which the chairs were grouped. Draco noted with satisfaction that it hadn't brought him pumpkin juice or butterbeer. It was important that these men saw him as an equal and not as a meek substitute for his father - having pumpkin juice or a butterbeer during a meeting such as this might well be capable of undermining his efforts. He suddenly realized he hadn't sent his mother away and was starting to regret it –it felt as if it were reducing him to a little boy clinging to her robes.

Draco had opted to stand next to the chair of his mother rather than sitting down, knowing that while standing he was a good deal taller than his guests; it also allowed him a much better view of each of them. The blond wizard waited for them to become comfortable (as comfortable as the occasion would allow them to become) and just as Mr. Johnson was reaching for one of the delicate treats on the plate, he said calmly: "I assume you are here because of the letter I sent you this morning."

Mr. Johnson jumped slightly and his hand retreated from the plate. He placed it on his armrest, casting a shy glance to his partners. Mr. Bowent seemed to have expected something like that because he was smiling slightly and Mr. Petersen was openly sizing Draco up.

"Remarkably, I must say," he finally said. "Your father has taught you well."

Mr. Petersen took a sip from his tea then placed the cup gingerly on the table to rise out of his seat. He was tall, almost as tall as Lucius, and he had well-kempt, wavy grey hair, that fell loosely to his back. His strong jaw and receding hair line gave his face an almost aristocratic look that was unfortunately ruined by his chubby, red nose. Still Mr. Petersen was an impressive man who knew how to carry himself in a way that left no doubt about why he was one of the best lawyers in the entire Magical Community.

"Indeed, that is why we are here," Mr. Petersen said, his tone of voice shifting to cool professionalism. "You are of course aware that the situation is quite serious. Your father's regrettable decisions to return to the Dark Side and his ah… shall we say unwillingness to abide in Azkaban have undoubtedly put the Malfoy family 'on the spot', if you excuse my colloquial wording. As the officials are now fully aware of the return of He-who-must-not-be-named they are naturally looking for allies, especially among the old pureblood families whom have had ties with Him in the past, such as yourselves. It is our believe, however, that as long as you, Mr. Malfoy, as the current head of the Malfoy family, pledge allegiance to the ministry, no evil shall befall your family from that side."

Narcissa's questioning gaze was met with Draco's apologetic one. "The ministry has informed me today that in regard to recent political developments we will have to face several examinations," he said quietly. His mother's eyes widened. "A failure to comply on our part can result in anything from house-arrest to a disowning of the Malfoy family."

"Of course none of that is remotely close to happening, Mrs. Malfoy," Mr. Bowent hurriedly assured the shocked witch in front of him. "The ministry won't take any actions against you or your son as long as you are willing to cooperate. As for your husband…" he said delicately, "we are not sure whether him being under the influence of the Imperius Curse will in some way soften the ministry in regard to his past and future actions." Draco felt a heavy weight being lifted from his heart, although he was careful not to show it.

"And what should we do now?" Narcissa asked, turning her still shock-widened eyes to her son. The weight that had been lifted off him by Mr. Bowent's words came crashing back down instantly, feeling even heavier than before.

"Whatever you decide on doing, Mr. Malfoy, you will have to do it soon, before you return to Hogwarts, preferably," Mr. Petersen said. His sharp green eyes bore into the younger wizard's steely grey ones.

"How…" Mr. Johnson coughed then repeated less timidly: "How have you treated the subject of your father's political orientation in public so far?" Draco met the shy wizard's gaze and was surprised to find the man shrinking back into his seat as if hoping it would swallow him. It seemed Mr. Johnson was ashamed for opening his mouth at all.

"I have in no way dealt with my father's 'political orientation', as you put it, Mr. Johnson, in public. I believed it was best for us to remain out of the spotlight for a while. Neither my mother nor I have participated in social gatherings recently and we won't do so for as long as I believe it necessary," Draco answered calmly. Mr. Petersen nodded his head and Mr. Bowent added a quiet "Wise choice".

"Have you had any contact to the press?" Mr. Petersen asked carefully and he sighed as the young wizard nodded his head.

"A magazine for teenagers has requested an interview with me. I have yet to write them my answer," Draco replied.

"Which magazine?" Mr. Johnson asked, leaning forward, much less shy than before. Without replying, the young wizard stepped over to his father's desk and picked up the letter Teen Magic had sent him, handing it over to the now completely transformed Mr. Johnson.

"You haven't had any contact with the press since you have returned from Hogwarts?" the older wizard asked and received a curt nod as answer and suddenly, he smiled. It was a strange smile for a person like Mr. Johnson who had seemed so shy and almost invisible – it had predatory qualities.

"Francis?" Mr. Petersen asked carefully. There was a moment of silence and when Mr. Johnson finally raised his voice to answer, the transformation that took a hold of him whenever dealing with the press had been completed.

"I believe that we have just found a solution to your problem, Mr. Malfoy."

ooo

"Of course I understand your point of view – I would have expected no less from a man such as yourself, Dr Granger, and where Hermione's safety is concerned I must say that I agree wholeheartedly with you. What kind of man would I be if I wouldn't? Ensuring a child's safety is indeed one of the most important tasks that fall upon a parent as well as upon a teacher or mentor, and I for one have no intentions of exposing your daughter to such dangers as she faced at the Ministry of Magic ever again, if I can help it.

"I admit that it was my failure that has made it possible for Hermione and her friends to be lured so easily into a trap that could have very well resulted in your daughter's demise and the mere thought scares and angers me just as much as it must anger and scare you. I have failed to protect the most precious treasure you have trusted me with – your daughter's life – a failure which would have never occurred if I hadn't made crucial mistakes. I can only tell you how much I regret what has happened and hope that you understand that I am only human and thus cannot be perfect, thus am entitled to make mistakes.

"However, there is one thing that neither you nor I must forget, one mistake we mustn't make: we are talking about Hermione here; we are talking about a person, not about some item or some pet that cannot decide for its own.

"No matter how much we want it, neither of us has the right to lock her up in her room, to deny her the things she has a right to do. Imprisoning the one thing we love will eventually lead to its loss, for it will seek to liberate itself of forced safety regardless of the dangers it'll have to face afterwards, on its own." Dumbledore paused, looking sternly at Andrew Granger.

"And I would rather not have her wandering around on all alone because she has seen fit to flee her parent's home."

Hermione held her breath, watching both her father and her headmaster intently. The ever present twinkling in Dumbledore's blue eyes was nowhere to be found right now and her father made a quite pained face.

"Andrew," her mother said quietly, taking his hand.

"Liz," he replied softly, squeezing her hand. "I don't want my child to get hurt. I don't want to lose her. I'm scared," he admitted.

"If you didn't want me to get hurt, you shouldn't have ever had me. You shouldn't have taught me how to ride a bike – you knew I had a rotten sense of balance. But you did. I scraped a few knees, twisted my wrist once but in the end I got the hang of it and my sense of balance has improved so much ever since, don't you think?" Hermione asked.

"You shouldn't have let me make friends, either, because sometimes friends hurt you. As a matter of fact, you shouldn't have let me interact socially with anyone because people can be so cruel. Also, it might have been better then if you hadn't taught me to stick up for what I think is right; you should have never taught me that there are things worth risking everything you have," she added thoughtfully. The room fell silent.

"You don't know what you're talking about," her father eventually said, immediately regretting it.

"Yes she does, Andrew," Elisabeth Granger said matter-of-factly. "She's been there. She's faced it all and she's willing to go on because she knows it's the right thing to do."

"So you're not worried about her then when she goes off and chases some dark wizards, people that have the power to kill her, that will kill her just because you and me are 'muggles'?" her husband snapped.

"Of course I'm worried! I'm petrified of the thought of what they could do to Hermione! But if I were to protect or shield her from all the evil and all the pain in this world, well, then she's right – we might have just never have had her instead! It's impossible to protect someone from the whole world, Andrew; surely you can see that, too? Besides, it's Hermione's life we're talking about here and don't you think she should be the one making the decisions?" Elisabeth answered.

"Not if she's making the wrong ones!"

"If children were to do only what their parents thought to be right or wrong then we wouldn't be married right now, Andrew Granger! You wouldn't be a dentist, either! Who are you to say if her decisions are right or wrong anyway?"

"I'm her father, damn it! Doesn't that count for anything?"

"Of course it does," Dumbledore said gently. "But please, take a moment to think of the future, Hermione's future."

"She can become a dentist, too," Dr Granger said sullenly.

"And how should she do that?" his wife asked tensely. "You know very well that her education doesn't really count in… in our world. Which school would take her and not ask questions about the whereabouts of 5 years worth of report cards and testimonials? Or should we give them her Hogwarts grades? Are you prepared to explain to her new headmaster what Transfiguration is or what she covered in Potions and Charms?"

"You make it sound as if she belonged to an entirely different world," Andrew Granger murmured and suddenly Hermione understood what the problem was.

"That's the problem, isn't it? It's not that I've been in 'mortal danger' – I've been before and you still let me return. Reluctant, yes, but you let me return. The problem is that you think I'm no longer part of your world. You're scared I could turn my back on you and choose to life solely in the wizarding world," she said in amazement. Her father's gaze dropped to his hands

ooo

Genevieve Bontemps shifted ever so slightly from one foot to another as the man in front of her flipped through her papers. She knew it was a standard procedure but that didn't ease her tense mind one bit – Merlin, how much more time did that guy require to read her passport? He wasn't reading it letter by letter, was he? She'd like to be at Hogwarts some time before September 1st, if somehow possible.

The customs official made 'hm' and Genevieve tensed even more. He flipped back to the first page and began to compare her face with the picture it held. She forced herself to stay calm under his scrutinizing gaze, willing it to be over soon. The customs official, a wizard who looked at her as if he expected her to be He-who-must-not-be-named in disguise, tilted his head to the side as if contemplating whether the woman in the photo (who was by now frowning at him) was the same one as the one standing in front of him, smiling nervously.

Genevieve tried to see herself the way he had to be seeing her: a brunette witch with dark blue eyes that was sporting a nice tan (her photo-self's skin was a healthy peach) that wasn't exactly tall – 159.5 cm, always insisting on that half centimetre – but appeared to be at least 164 cm; what high heels could do for a woman was magic of an entirely different kind. She had a rather plain face, its only outstanding feature being the wonderful skin she had been blessed with and that had never given her a hard time in her teens or any time afterwards for that matter.

"Ms…" the wizard began and she hurried to state her last name.

"Bontemps."

"Ms Bontemps… you may pass," he said and snapped her passport shut, handing it over to her, smiling. She felt a relieved smile crawl over her face and accepted her papers back with a soft thank you.

Once she was past the terminal, she looked around questioningly. Where to go now that she was finally back in Britain and had a few hours to kill before catching the Knight Bus to Hogsmeade?

"Excuse me, miss. Are you Vivi Bontemps, by any chance?"

ooo

July 31st had Draco Malfoy sitting in the parlour of Malfoy Manor together with a pretty young witch named Ann Christie, a journalist for Teen Magic, giving his very first interview ever and enjoying every moment of it. It had Narcissa Malfoy standing nearby, marvelling at her son's maturity. It had Messrs Petersen, Bowent and Johnson standing behind their young client like a wall of juristic knowledge and cunning, every now and then nodding or shaking their heads when Draco's eyes searchingly met theirs.

It also had Harry Potter shrieking with joy over the best birthday present ever – the return of his friend, Hermione Granger – and Ronald Weasley jumping around them excitedly, looking very much like a squirrel high on caffeine. It had Ginevra Weasley playing pranks on her older twin brothers, Fred and George, in honour of Hermione's return; with Remus Lupin torn between sadness and happiness as he watched the youngest members of the Order of the Phoenix squealing, yelling and laughing their relief out, knotted together in a tight group hug. It had Alastor Moody looking almost wistfully as the anger and grief slipped off Harry Potter's face while Albus Dumbledore sighed contently at the sight of the hugging children. It had Molly Weasley trying hard to suppress her sobs and fighting her tears as she clung to her husband's arm, who was patting her hand gently. It had Nymphadora Tonks burning with jealousy and Minerva Mc Gonagall hoping for the best, clutching three envelopes with OWL results tightly.

July 31st had a rather moody Severus Snape, too, who was sitting in front of his fireplace, glaring at a piece of parchment that now held only one name and Lilaea, the enchanted portrait of a nymph, pouting at the Potions Master because he wouldn't let her take his mind off it. It had the poltergeist Peeves zooming through Hogwarts' corridors and aisles, yelling at Argus Filch to polish that armour or scrub this floor because the castle looked as if it had been inhabited by savages for the last 500 years and he wouldn't allow it to look like that because she might arrive any moment! It had most Hogwarts' ghosts startled and somewhat amused over the poltergeist's obvious agitation while Rubeus Hagrid was sitting in the Forbidden Forest – ignoring the centaurs' threats – in front of his half-brother, Grawp, reading bedtime stories to him.

It had Genevieve Bontemps sitting in The Three Broomsticks, nursing her first butterbeer in years and talking animatedly with Madame Rosmerta in one corner of the pub while Dr Fillibuster was arguing with the owners of Zonko's about their plan to replace his range of products with the new, highly popular Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes. It had Honeydukes totally empty and its owners enjoying a picnic up at the Shriecking Shack.

It also had Andrew and Elisabeth Granger worried out of their mind about their only daughter's safety and Victor Krum writing a long letter to that very girl.

It had Tom Marvolo Riddle wake up from an afternoon nap and feel ecstatic for a reason he couldn't exactly pinpoint. It had Bellatrix Lestrange seducing her husband to join her in a bath and Peter Pettigrew examining his silver hand once again. It had Lucius Malfoy staring blankly at the horizon as if expecting an army or Aurors to appear there any moment now.

And it had Sirius Black, sitting on a cloud to the left of his long-dead friends, James and Lily Potter, desperately wishing that things could have been different.

A/N 2: Where did we leave off? Right, Silver Eyes Bright and darklighttogether kindly pointed out that I didn't make enough paragraphs in my dialogues, which ended up making them confusing. I'd like to thank you for that because to be honest I didn't recall that rule at all, but that's because I always sucked at grammar – whatever I say/write in English is always the infamous 'gut feeling' which is a good thing when translating but can make for some embarrassing situations during conversation or writing, hehe. I have paid attention to the paragraphs in this chapter and have corrected the mistake in the earlier chapters as well (good thing were only in the beginning so far).

Also, duj provided me with some nice background info in her review and pointed out another mistake of mine – when I had Snape ask Lilaea who Susan Bones was, my main criteria was finding a character from Hufflepuff, not bothering (I'm honest, I really DIDN'T bother) that Snape's main criteria was her being muggleborn and Susan only fit the first requirement. Since it's really a stupid mistake to make on my part, I've corrected this mistake as well and as long as Sally-Anne Perks doesn't suddenly turn out to be a pure-blooded witch in Slytherin (which, knowing my luck, she probably will) all's well.

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