"We have a problem," Zabini said the moment she entered the parlor.

She paused in the doorway and gave him a level glare. "We have a problem, Zabini?" she said, raising one eyebrow. "What the fuck is that supposed to mean? And before you answer, let me tell you 'we have a problem' is not something I want to be hearing right now because it can mean so many things, most of which I do not want to think about at this moment."

He folded his arms over his chest and looked down at her. She hated that. It always made her feel small and fragile. Yes, maybe she was small and fragile, but she did not like having it shoved in her face.

"Do you have something more important to be thinking about, Miss Granger?"

She tilted her head back and somehow managed to look down her nose at him. "It may not be more important, but it's a damn sight more pleasurable. And stop calling me that."

"I spoke to Harry Potter while you were sleeping, Miss Granger," he said as though she had not spoke. "I thought perhaps the Potters might have a place for you to stay until the Ministry can return your property to you."

"Yeah," she said. "I'll bet Ginny Potter had a thing or three to say about that."

He smiled. "Indeed she did. Would you like me to tell you what she said?"

He was teasing her, but he was also serious. "I've known Ginny a while, Zabini," she said, "and anything she said, she probably learned it from me, so I'll just use my imagination if it's all the same to you."

"Neadless to say, you were not extended an invitation," he said.

"Neadless to say," she repeated wryly.

"Miss Granger," he said patiently, then paused. "Will you come in out of the doorway, please?"

She looked around at the entryway and grinned. "I've developed rather a fondness for doorways all of a sudden, Zabini," she said. "Why don't you just tell me what the problem is?"

He swiped a hand through his curly black hair and grumbled something under his breath that sounded like, "…if I'd known …never would have taken the bloody job."

"Bet you wish I was back in prison right about now, don't you Zabini?" she asked him.

He shot her an irritated look. "No, Miss Granger—"

"Stop calling me that," she snapped, losing her patience. "If it bothers you so much to be entirely informal with me, then call me Granger, like Malfoy does, but for Christ's sake, stop with the 'Miss'."

"Hermione then," he said. "No, I do not wish you back in prison. Believe it or not, I quite enjoy your company. I find you … amusing."

"I amuse you?" she said. "Wow, Zabini, you sure know how to flatter a girl, don't you?"

He made a frustrated growling noise in the back of his throat. "We are getting off of the subject, here, Hermione," he said. He saw her unwavering and defiant glare and said, "If you want to argue with me, then by all means, I will accommodate you. But not now. Now we have a problem."

"Yes, you've said that already," she said. "Are you ever going to tell me what kind of problem it is? 'We have a problem' is a bit vague, you know. It could mean 'the world is going to explode', or it could mean 'we're out of sugar'. You have to be more specific."

He smiled faintly. "It is somewhat between the two," he said.

The way he said it got her attention and she finally came into the room and sat down on one of Lavinia Zabini's pretty little divans. "Tell me," she said flatly.

"The Ministry sent six Aurors to Miss Lavender Brown's house this morning—"

"Morning?" Hermione looked around at the light coming through the giant picture windows. "I slept through yesterday and all night?"

"Well, yes. Though it was almost dark when we left the Ministry," he said.

"Oh," she said. She waved her hand and said, "Anyway, what were you saying?"

"The Ministry sent six Aurors to Miss Lavender Brown's home. When they got there, the house was empty. Completely empty. Right down to the floors and the bare walls." He pinched the bridge of his nose like he was developing a headache. "Tobias Skimble was very upset by the whole thing, let me assure you. He has promised that his best Aurors are hunting for her everywhere. They will catch her, Miss—er, Hermione."

Hermione sat there for a while waiting to feel whatever it was Zabini apparently thought she should be feeling. There was nothing. No fear, no anger, not even indignation. Nothing. Well …not nothing. There was that cold objective part of her whispering softly in her ear. And the thing about that voice was; she always listened to it. That voice had saved her life more than once.

She stood up abruptly. "Zabini, can I borrow some money?" she asked.

He looked a little surprised, but he said, "Yes, of course. How much do you need?"

"Enough to buy a wand."

Draco walked in just in time to hear that and lifted both pale eyebrows at Zabini. "Are we going shopping?"

Zabini shrugged. "So it would seem."

"This should be interesting."

Hermione didn't know why he was so amused until they entered Olivanders wand shop and a wizard and witch with their little boy took one look at her, and then Draco standing behind her, and decided they would shop somewhere else.

"What was that about?" She muttered to Zabini when they were gone.

"You haven't seen the Prophet recently," he said calmly. "You've been all over it for a month, and now that Draco's out, well …"

She glanced at Draco, who was peeking into a wand box on one of the middle shelves. He saw her looking and dropped her a cheeky wink. He didn't look that bothered by the negative attention, so she decided that she would not be either.

"Good afternoon," said a soft voice.

Hermione looked around to see Olivander staring at her with his odd silver eyes. "Hermione Granger," he said. "We meet again. I read about you in the Prophet. Unfortunate business. Very unfortunate."

"Hello Mr. Olivander," Hermione said, smiling at him. "I … well, I need a wand."

"Yes, you would, wouldn't you?" he said. "They broke your other one, yes?"

"Er—yes, they did."

"Terrible," he muttered, moving down one of the isles of wands. "Just terrible. Fine piece of work, that wand. Seven and three-quarters inches. Vine wood and dragon heart-string. Very powerful. Shame." He didn't even glance at Draco, who was rummaging around in the same isle. He snatched the box he was in the process of opening out of his hand, blew the dust off of it, making Draco hack and sputter, and passed the wand inside it to her. "Try this one. Oak and phoenix feather. Eleven inches. Very flexible."

Hermione took the wand, but it was snatched out of her hand almost immediately.

"No, no," he grumbled and moved past Draco down the isle. "Here, try this. Holly and dragon-heartstring. Six and a half inches. Rather whippy."

Another wand was thrust into her hand, but she had hardly even lifted it when it was taken away again.

"Try this," Olivander said, thrusting yet another wand into her hand.

She must have tried a hundred wands, but every one was snatched from her fingers to be replaced by yet another. Olivander seemed to become more and more exited with every wand that did not suit. Finally, he put a long black wand into her hand. "Ebony and unicorn hair. Twelve and a quarter inches. Quite springy. Go on, go on, try it."

She took it and felt the instant warmth that she remembered when she bought her first wand here at the age of eleven. She waved it once and little silver and green sparks shot out of it and danced around in the air for a moment before they faded.

"Yes, yes, yes," Olivander said eagerly, climbing down from the movable steps he'd been hanging off of. "Very nice, very nice. Odd though. Very odd."

She smiled at him. Olivander was a bit eccentric and he had a taste for the dramatic. "What is odd Mr. Olivander?"

"Well, aren't you a Gryffindor, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"I was," she said. "In school."

"Yes, well, then it is very odd that when you waved that wand, it emitted green sparks instead of red ones," he said. "But the wand knows far better than I what is in the heart of a witch."

"Right," she said. She didn't want to be rude to the old man, but she thought he was probably reading a lot more into it than there really was. "Well, er—do Malfoy next."

Draco jumped and turned around with an open wand box in his hands.

Olivander snatched it away from him and shoved it back on the shelf. "No, no, not that one," he said. "Follow me."

Half an hour later she and Draco both had wands—his was fourteen inches, willow and dragon-heartstring, very swishy—and they all left the wand shop.

"Well, if that is all," Zabini said, "we should probably be going back. My mother will be harassing the elves right now. Threatening their lives if they don't have supper ready by seven."

Hermione looked around. "But it's not even three o'clock yet."

He smiled enigmatically. "Was there somewhere else you wanted to go, Hermione?"

"No," she said automatically, then, "Wait, could we maybe …?"

He lifted a brow. "Yes?"

She glanced at Draco, who didn't appear to be even paying attention, then said in a subdued voice, "I wanted to visit Ron."

"His grave you mean?"

"Of course his grave, Zabini," she said. "Did you think I wanted to hold a séance and have a conversation?"

He smiled. "No, of course not. Let's go visit Mr. Weasley then, shall we?"