A/N: Well that took longer than I expected. I appreciate all of your patience with me and the slow updates. I hope it's worth the wait!
Soon, I will be updating previous chapters for minor edits (rewording, correction to spelling, etc.), so I apologize for the multiple emails you may receive! For the most current updates on chapters to come, follow me on Instagram annonymouslyblonde or find me on discord anonblonde#1691
Happy reading!
Tension encased the flat the next morning as Hermione called for training after breakfast as if the previous day's discussions never occurred. Ron and Harry shared a wary glance before following her into the living room, the chairs from the previous day already returned to the blue plastic mats they dreaded. After lunch, they were gone, at least, replaced by a large table laden with intel files and maps as the centerpiece of the room.
"You asked for it," she muttered, beckoning them closer.
While Ron drug his feet to prolong the research, Harry greedily took in all the information she offered. For days, they continued their schedule, training in the mornings before settling behind stacks of papers in the evenings. The tasks given to each of them were clearly not the priority: small skirmishes in even smaller Wizarding villages, reports of Muggles witnessing magic that were clearly underage magical outbursts, and, Ron's personal favorite, a rowdy bunch of pixies who took residence in a pub off the Irish coast and were only subdued after swimming in a barrel of bourbon.
After a particularly riveting file about a witch who charmed a Piccillo to follow her ex-lover around all day, Harry chose his own research project: the updated stack of Death Eater intel he personally requested of Kingsley. His mind had been preoccupied with Death Eaters since finding her almost a month ago with a Dark Mark. And after a dozen files, his hunch paid off.
"Hermione," he called from his plush chair. Despite several offers and an unoccupied chair next to him, Hermione insisted on sitting in a stiff wooden one tucked into the table. He waited for her to finish her note and look up before continuing. "The girl that caught you, you said her name was Morgan, didn't you?"
"I did. Why?"
"Was that her first or last name?" he continued, nervous that the information he'd found was no good.
"Suppose I don't actually know." She looked away from her notes to meet his gaze. "We usually went by last names, though. Why?"
"See, I was thinking more about that Dark Mark you said she had, but I was wondering if it was due to Death Eater ties even though she was probably too young, and I-"
"The point, Harry," she huffed, pinching the bridge of her nose. "Quicker."
"I found a Morgan," he finally said as he moved to sit next to her, placing the file in front of her. "Barnabas Morgan, to be precise."
"Lots of people's last names are Morgan. Why are you so sure this is her?"
"I don't think it's her. I think it's her father." Intrigued, Hermione pulled the file closer to skim as Harry explained. "After the first round of intel, call it a hunch, but I asked Kingsley to send me all the Death Eater files we had. Barnabas Morgan was a lower-ranking member, and according to this, he had a daughter about the age you mentioned."
"That would make sense," she mumbled, circling certain passages of the file. "As I said, I imagine a lot of Death Eaters and their families probably fled. As lax as the government is, both Wizarding and Muggle alike, America would have been my first choice too. We should check into more of those files, and make a list of any with unknown whereabouts. We'll have to get in touch with Kingsley soon for updates."
"More papers?" Ron groaned and dropped his own on the floor.
"Perhaps another round of combat training then, Ronald?" she asked cooly with a raised eyebrow toward him.
As a shudder cut through him, he held a hand toward his best friend. "Give me a file, Harry."
With a new task set before him, Harry settled in compiling lists of possible leads, grateful to finally feel of use.
A short list of twenty-three location-unknown Death Eaters emerged once all the files were sorted, a few with recognizable names, but most lesser pursued fugitives. With a more manageable idea of who they may be looking for, an idea took shape in Harry's mind of what their next step should be. Even though he was fairly sure Hermione wouldn't like it one bit.
"You know," Harry began tentatively over breakfast one morning, "there is someone I think might be able to help us with this list. An expert, you could say."
"A Death Eater expert," she questioned, carefully salting the scrambled eggs before her. "I'll bite. Who?"
"I think we should bring in Draco."
The fork in Ron's hand slipped from his loose grasp with a loud clang. His eyes widened towards Harry before he leaned back to ensure he was clear from the line of fire between Hermione's wand and Harry's doomed face.
"You must have met another Draco in the last four years because surely you couldn't possibly mean Draco Malfoy." Her voice was icy, and she stabbed harshly into the mound of eggs on her plate, eating them with far more force than required.
"He could give us infor-" He tried but was cut off by a humorless laugh.
"Ask the former Death Eater for information on his comrades. Because that's not completely mental at all!"
"He's working with the Ministry now," he explained and reminded himself she hadn't been there for his trial or sentencing. Harry looked to Ron imploringly for support, but Ron simply shrugged and kept his mouth shut, not even opening it to shovel in food. "He has for the last four years. Giving the Ministry information and helping to plan raids on hideouts. And quite frankly, he isn't bad at it."
"I dosed the Minister of Magic not a month ago. You really think I'm going to trust Malfoy?"
Ron gaffed at the admission, his face going slack with shock, and the legs of his chair banged against the floor as it dropped back on all fours. Figuring it must be a joke, he turned towards Harry, looking for the punchline.
"I'm asking you to trust me," Harry said, evaporating all thoughts of joking from Ron's mind. "And frankly, I don't care if you drug him, but trust me when I say Malfoy's intel is good."
Hermione stared blankly into her now empty plate like it held some sort of answer. Nothing added up, because how did the boy who nearly killed Malfoy just six years ago in a bathroom become a man that now trusted a former Death Eater? It was complete lunacy. But so was everything she had experienced in the last four years. She had grown from a swotty schoolgirl into a refined, disciplined soldier. Draco Malfoy still felt like an even further leap.
"What alternate universe have I fallen into where Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, trusts a purebred bigot?"
"One where he helped me look for you!" He shouted, slamming his fists against the table. His cheeks flushed with frustration and rage. "When you went missing, Malfoy helped me sort through more of the back channels looking for you. He even put out half the reward for your safe return."
Once again, Ron was blindsided, having assumed the reward displayed in every Prophet article was entirely from Harry. While he knew Harry spent a great deal of time sorting through every possible lead, he never suspected one of them had come from Malfoy.
"And that's supposed to be enough to wash away years of bullying and torment he put me through? Put all of us through?" She turned a hard look on Ron, who shrank further into his seat. "You've forgiven him as well I suppose?"
"Me?" he squeaked, then cleared his throat. "I didn't know anything about that. I still hate him."
"I'm not saying it erases everything," Harry interjected before the conversation could rehash Malfoy's worst hits. "But I would think you of all people should know that we can't be defined by the things we do in desperation."
Her eyes blazed with a dangerous fury. The air around them filled with an electric charge Harry was sure had to be her magic as if it would reach across the table and electrocute him.
Swallowing down his discomfort, Harry tried to reason with her. "If he has information we can use, isn't that worth trying? Are you going to reject intel just because of the source?"
"Bad intel can be deadly," she spat back, an angry flush coloring her neck.
"Malfoy's intel for the last four years has been good. This is the closest thing to a lead we have."
"Fine," she conceded after a moment, pinching the bridge of her nose. "But I will interrogate him before I tell him anything. Potion and all."
"I'll pour it down his throat for you," he agreed, pleased with himself for winning the argument.
Ron eyed both of them cautiously before tucking into his breakfast with renewed gusto.
Wand drawn, Harry rounded on Hermione several paces back, waiting for the tell of her movement. Previously, her weight shifted back before she threw her next spell, but the tell had been corrected at some point during all of her training. He hadn't been able to suss out a new one from her yet.
"You're stalling," she warned, circling to her right and forcing him to do the same. "If this weren't training, you'd be dead."
Baited, he sent a trademark Expelliarmus towards her, sending her wand flying end over end toward him. As he reached to grab it in victory, her weight landed hard against him, arms wrapping around his torso and sending them both to the ground. Breath whooshed from him when his back hit hard against the conjured mat. Remembering her previous instructions, Harry pitched sideways before she could pin his hands. Movement. Movement was good. He staggered back to his feet as Hermione lithely popped to her own. She watched carefully as he circled to the left in an attempt to off-balance her with her non-dominant side.
"Using an opponent's weak side to your advantage. Good," she approved. "But I'm just as capable with my left as I am with my right."
During their circling, he'd allowed her within reach. She dropped low and swept her leg through, knocking his feet out from under him. His head snapped harshly against the mat, temporarily dazing him, but it was enough to give Hermione the upper hand. She sat heavily on his chest and pinned his hands above his head, ending their session.
"Really, Harry?" she admonished and leaned closer, her hair curtaining them as she did. "Expelliarmus? Why do you always insist on such a menial charm? Of all the spells you've learned, that's still your go-to?"
Harry took a moment to catch his breath. How she could still talk after their sparing, he would never understand. "Well, you once said in first year that being expelled was worse than death, and I've learned better than to question your judgment."
Whether it was the sheer lunacy of his logic or the fact he even remembered the comment, she couldn't help but burst out laughing, rolling onto the mat beside him. The sound of her genuine laughter sent a shot of something akin to pride through him, to be the reason for it. "And I question your sanity."
"Didn't think you had it in you to laugh anymore," Ron muttered as he dropped into a chair at the edge of the room. "Course, I suppose Harry always could make you laugh."
"Alright then, your turn. Dueling and sparing practice. Come on."
"You know, I would, but I've already showered and packed all my things," he offered with a casual shrug. "Suppose it'll have to simply wait until after this mission."
Calling it a mission was perhaps generous, particularly for Ron's assignment. Once the decision to use Malfoy for information had been made, another glaring issue made itself known: how to trade information with Kingsley. Staying in secret, Muggle hideouts ruled out nearly every Magical means of communication, leaving just the Muggle ones left. A mobile phone was the best option. The matter of getting the device to the Minister of Magic was a more arduous task, however; one that required days of arguing and striking down plans before something finally worked. With no access to the Floo network, an inability to Apparate directly to his home, and an unwillingness to use Ministry channels, the options were limited and would require outside help.
The loose plan, as much as it set her teeth on edge, was to split up. Ron would go to Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes under disillusionment to pass a phone and burn code to his father. Arthur would have to design some excuse to see the Minister, but as head of his department, that would be far easier than Hermione's original plan of breaking into the Ministry once again, perhaps more forcefully than last time. It was the most elaborate game of telephone she had ever seen.
Meanwhile, she and Harry would travel to Draco Malfoy in what she felt was a foolish grab at information. When she expressed such sentiment, Harry told her, "One of two things will happen: Either we get valuable information, or you get to kick Malfoy's arse to Merlin and back. Win-win if you ask me."
The seduction of more information was too alluring for Hermione to disagree. While cautious about the obstacles ahead for the day, she was confident it wouldn't be too difficult. The most unexpected hurdle came in the form of attempting to pull a very curious Ron out of the Tesco she bought the phones from.
"But look at all the different flavored crisps!" He spun towards them with at least five different bags in his arms. "Harry, how come you've never gotten these dill pickle ones?"
Harry made a face at the green-colored bag and moved past Ron, muttering, "Because that's disgusting."
"And unless you have Muggle pounds," Hermione interjected, snatching the bags away to place them back on the shelf, "you won't be getting them either."
Ron was in a less-than-pleasant mood when they parted at the entrance of the store. With a nonchalant wave, he cracked out of existence with instructions for Kingsley and a cheap prepaid phone. Now alone, Harry dropped the glamour and took her elbow, Apparating them to a row of modest townhouses. Hermione raised an eyebrow but said nothing as Harry directed her towards one three doors away from their landing.
She didn't like being in the open this long, especially with Harry no longer disguised, but they knew Draco would need to see Harry in order to even open the door. That didn't stop her from worrying about being exposed. As they walked up the steps to number 247, she tightened her grip on the wand strapped to her arm.
The surprise on Draco's face was nearly enough to make the trip worthwhile. To see the perfect, polished Draco Malfoy with his jaw dropped gave her a thrill of satisfaction that was quickly dissolved by standing on his front stoop, exposed.
Harry directed her through the door ahead of him, pushing past Draco's stunned form, and shut it behind them. When the door clicked, Draco came to himself again.
"I wasn't expecting you, Harry," he muttered as he raised the wards around the building again.
The casual way Harry's name came from Draco Malfoy startled her. Despite his suggestion to meet with Malfoy, she expected some modicum of the tension of her formative years no matter what Harry said about bygones passing. She honestly had never even been sure Malfoy knew Harry's first name before.
"And Miss," he addressed her with a courteous but curious look.
Harry wanted her to come as herself on this mission, but Hermione had vetoed the idea completely. The disguise had become a comfort to her. Armor. She allowed the glamour to drop, expecting his welcoming demeanor to disappear with it. As blonde hair lengthened to a brown mass, Draco sucked in a sharp breath.
"Granger!" Draco shouted and stumbled back a step. The shock from before morphed into utter astonishment. Missing for four years and Hermione Granger, Gryffindor's Golden Girl, seemed to be choosing his doorstep as her first appearance in the Wizarding World. The Prophet would have an absolute field day with that one.
"Malfoy," she returned, still solidly against this plan no matter what he may or may not have done after her disappearance. Standing in the middle of his foyer did not change that.
With a sharp shake of his head, Draco offered to take their coats and led them into a comfortable sitting area before setting about tea. Part of his parole had forbade him from owning a house elf, and he couldn't have been happier for the stipulation. Tea somehow tasted better when brewed by one's own hand, something he had learned to appreciate in the last few years.
The sitting room was homey with plush couches and knick-knacks collected from travel along the mantle, a far cry from the cold sheen of the Manor he grew up in. Harry remarked as such when Draco returned, balancing a tray.
"All thanks belong to Astoria," Draco said while setting out cups and saucers. "She refused to live in, quote, 'the most uninhabitable bachelor pad' she had ever seen."
Harry gave a good-natured chuckle, remembering what the place looked like before. Astoria wasn't far off base. The flat hardly had any furniture the last time he had visited, and nothing nearly as comfortable as the couch he sat on now.
Hermione, however, was nothing short of impassive to the decor. Her eyes remained fixed on Draco as he attempted to hand a saucer to her. She held post near the door, prepared to bolt at the slightest sign of trouble.
"Hermione." Draco's voice cracked over her name, forcing him to clear his throat and start again. "Hermione, I'd really like to apologize for… well, everything. I was a right prat in school, and you didn't deserve any of that. Especially not what Aunt Bella did to you. I'm so very sorry for the pain my family and I have caused you."
Waving him off, she made a remarkably unbecoming grunt as she plopped into one of the chairs. All of her concerns evaporated, seeing how soft Draco Malfoy had become.
"Child's play compared to this."
He paled at the remark and sank into the seat opposite Harry with a skeptical look in her direction. This was not the swotty school girl he remembered.
"Cruciatus and cursed blades are child's play, are they?"
"I'm not even sure how many times I've been Crucioed since then. And we won't even discuss blade scars," she huffed, rubbing at an unseen scar on her bicep. As his jaw slipped lower, she let out a haughty laugh. "Pick up your chin, Malfoy. We have business to tend to."
"B-business?" he stuttered out, a little afraid of what business this new Hermione may have with him.
"Yeah, sorry, Draco," Harry jumped in before Hermione could frighten him further. "Unfortunately, this isn't a social call."
He turned expectantly towards Hermione, giving her the space to explain; however, she sat resolutely and stared straight through Draco as if she could determine the validity of his information that way. It was a look Draco had become accustomed to anytime he ventured into Diagon Alley or Hogsmeade. The few times he was required to report to the Ministry.
"What do you need to trust me?" Draco finally asked.
"Nothing in this world would make me completely trust you," she hissed, hand unconsciously drifting to her left arm - whether because of his tattoo or her scar there, he wasn't sure.
"Perhaps, but you apparently need my help." Elbows on knees, he leaned towards her as if confiding a secret. "What do you need from me to let me help you?"
"Take this." She placed a small vial of blue liquid on the table. Without breaking eye contact, he popped the cork and threw the whole thing back in one go.
"You don't even know what it is," she remarked, impressed at the gusto.
"Don't need to." He sputtered slightly, wiping at his mouth with the back of his hand. "Harry said you need help. You wouldn't kill me if you wanted help. Doesn't taste like Veritaserum, but I'm guessing it's something similar."
"I see you're sharp as ever."
He reclined in the seat, neatly crossing his legs, and waved her on to continue.
"Tell me your most embarrassing secret," she commanded.
"I still have nightmares about Moody turning me into a ferret," he told them without a moment's hesitation even as his cheeks tinted pink. "Embarrassment tactics, Granger? Seems more like Weasley's style."
She relinquished a small, amused smile. "Merely gauging the effectiveness. Shall we continue?"
At the slight incline of his head, Hermione launched in, rapidly firing question after question at him. Harry was rather impressed with the sight, Draco meeting her interrogation with all the poise of a diplomat. A clock somewhere in the house let out ten chimes as Hermione finally reclined back in her own seat.
"Satisfied?" Draco asked in the cold, posh drawl she was accustomed to.
"Enough." With a swoosh of her wand, files from the bag at her thigh began spreading across the coffee table. In a blink, it stretched into a large, sturdy table meant for war plans.
"What's all this?" he asked as he tugged open the file closest to him.
"Files on people of interest," she told him. "I need to know whatever you know about the people in these files and any other Death Eaters who may have ties to the United States."
"Why?" When neither Harry nor Hermione answered, he asked, "Does this have anything to do with your disappearance?"
"You don't need to know that to give me the information I need."
—-
For hours, Draco poured over intelligence files, giving Hermione the same information he had given the Ministry when they asked him to compose them, but her prodding brought back long-forgotten memories that she scribbled down.
Halfway through the piles, Draco took a moment to roll up the cuffs of his oxford. The restriction was suffocating, and he still wasn't sure why he felt the need to wear them daily in the comfort of his own home. Some habits refuse to die as quickly as others.
The flash of ink drew her attention, eyes tracing over each line of the tattoo. For weeks during Academy, she fretted over her decision to use one for herself, if it would be a red flag or whether she had gotten it correct enough. In the dead of night lying in her bunk, she stared at the curve of the skull, the direction of the snake's head, trying desperately to remember if the tongue was knotted once or twice and hoping the split-second decision wouldn't end up getting her killed.
"Sorry," he muttered, quickly yanking the sleeve down and fastening the cufflink again. "Sometimes I forget. Tried everything, but I can't get rid of it. Once you're marked, you're always marked."
Something she knew well. Brands didn't disappear; they sunk deeper and deeper until they touched the soul. The brand of a blade, of a wand, of the past. It left its mark on all of them.
"I was actually more curious if I had gotten it right," she told him, eyes still picturing the dark ink hidden under crisp white cotton. "I had to wear the mark myself for three years."
His eyes drifted to her concealed arm now, and she tracked the movement looking at her own black knit sleeve. For reasons she didn't fully understand, Hermione slipped back into her cover and rolled her own sleeve up to reveal the inked-in Dark Mark covering her scar. Draco hissed in shock, shoving his own sleeve up to compare. The memory of the Dark Lord's mark must have seared itself into her mind because each line and curve was identical to the genuine brand on Draco's forearm.
"It was part of my glamour," she explained. "I understand what it's like to do horrible things to survive."
"You wore it to hide your scar. Dark magic over dark magic. Clever," he breathed as he ran a finger down the middle of her arm, the scar underneath only noticeable by touch. A bitter laugh rushed from him. "Imagine if Voldemort could see a Muggleborn bearing his mark."
Hermione barked a laugh, causing Draco to nearly topple from his seat. "The irony alone may be enough to bring him back from the other side."
"No," Draco cracked, his face paling at the mere mention of the Dark Lord returning. He was finally in a good place. Nothing would take that from him now. "Don't even joke about the possibility."
"Right," she muttered and dropped the charms, replacing the tattoo with a scar and sliding her sleeve back into place. "Uhm, hand me that file then, would you?"
After obliging her request, Draco excused himself to the kitchen under the guise of checking on Harry and their lunch. Harry jumped and quickly returned to stirring the soup, having been caught eavesdropping.
"Has she been like this since you found her or is this hostility especially for me?" Draco asked as he poured himself a glass of bourbon.
"Been like this since she came back," Harry murmured over the pot. "Thought she'd take Ron's head off the other night."
"Weasley's involved too, then?" Harry nodded as they lapsed into silence. Draco took his time considering the fruit bowl before selecting a perfectly shining green apple to slice. "She's changed."
"Yeah," Harry forced out as he filled each bowl with a couple of ladles of soup.
Despite being nearly sure of the answer, Draco asked, "Do you know what happened?"
"She won't talk about it," Harry admitted wearily. With a heavy sigh, he rubbed a hand over tired eyes. "I've gotten a bit out of her, but it's like trying to get that damn egg from the Horntail again."
"She's internalizing it like she always has. Too busy making sure you didn't get yourself killed to worry about her own problems."
"Watcher, Malfoy. Someone might mistake your interest for, well, interest," Harry laughed, but noticing the far-off look and half-slack expression, a new thought struck Harry. "Wait. Are you interested?"
"I was always so awful to her," he reflected, clearly pulled back to a different time. "Absolute prick, really. I think it was jealousy."
"Jealousy?"
"Yeah. A Mud-uh Muggleborn witch besting me at everything? Damn right I was jealous. She was-" He cleared his throat, still trying to get used to the idea that Hermione Granger was, in fact, very much alive and in front of him. "Well, she is brilliant, so naturally gifted. Everything I was supposed to be, while simultaneously being everything I was supposed to hate. I tore her down because I didn't know how to handle that."
Harry eyed him suspiciously, unaccustomed to seeing vulnerability from his childhood rival. "Draco, do you fancy her?"
"What?" he nearly shouted, finally snapping out of his reverie. "Don't be ridiculous. Of course not." When the silence weighed too heavily, he continued rambling, "Well. Maybe. At one time, long ago. Fourth year perhaps? We all saw her differently. But no, I don't fancy her. Don't tell my fiancee about this."
Harry laughed and settled more comfortably against the counter. "Speaking of, where is Astoria? Finally realized she can do better?"
"Hardly," Draco scoffed, glad for the change of topic to something far more comfortable. "She's visiting family out of the country. Looking at a possible wedding venue, in fact."
"Hey!" Hermione shouted, startling them both. "You two planning to pull your weight with this or shall I leave you to your kitchen gossip?"
"How much of that you think she heard?" Draco whispered, suddenly aware of the lack of silencing charms around them.
"I've been thinking more about the Death Eaters that aren't in these files. What about all the ones that disappeared after the first war and never returned?" she questioned as the men re-entered the sitting room. Harry moved to her side and placed a bowl of soup near her elbow that she promptly ignored.
"I don't know anything about them, but I'm sure my aunt would." He winced bringing up his aunt, eyes drifting down to her arm and mentally mingling a dark mark with the engraved Mudblood he knew was under it. With a slight shudder, he continued. "She would have known everything about the lot of them. She had this uncanny way of having information on just about anyone. I remember father trying to get into her study while she was in Azkaban to see her records."
"Can we get those?" Harry wondered aloud.
"Not today," Draco explained around an apple slice. "Aunt Bella kept her files under a nasty concoction of spell work. It'll take time to break."
Harry winced and rubbed one of the scars on his forearm. He had not forgotten that nasty spellwork inside the Lestrange vault deep in the depths of Gringotts.
"Can you do it?" Hermione asked skeptically, also remembering their experience with Bellatrix's work.
Draco scoffed and reclined back in his seat. "Don't be ridiculous - of course I can. Father merely lost patience with the task. It's going to take some time though. A month at the earliest, I'd say."
"In the meantime," Harry continued as he thumbed through the thick stacks of files they already had, "we'll take this to Kingsley. Set up with the American Ministry to bring-"
"No," Hermione interrupted and summoned the files out of his hand, directing them back into her bag. "We can't go through official channels. Not on their end. For now, we use the information to identify any threats here."
"Why? What was the point of all this if you didn't plan to use the information?"
"Because they managed to infiltrate their Ministry, haven't they?" Draco questioned. It only made sense why she would be here asking instead of using this connection with Kingsley. "They've actually managed to make it into the American Ministry."
After a gauging sweep of her eyes, Hermione offered him a slight nod. "Thoroughly taken it over, if I had to guess. It's why I couldn't go to them when I was in trouble."
When her watch chimed an alarm, Hermione stood, brushing off imagined dust from her trousers as the boys jumped to stand with her. After another sweeping look around the sitting room, her eyes settled once again on Draco, cold and piercing, yet not as dead as he remembered when he first opened his front door. Armed with new information, he thought the look might even be hopeful.
"Thank you, Malfoy," she forced out and offered a hand to him. Hesitantly, he shook it, clearly as uncomfortable as she was. "This information has been useful."
"Of course. I'll pass along anything I find to Kingsley. I assume he has a way to pass it to you."
"He does," Harry said, also extending a hand to Draco in a far more familiar handshake. "Thanks for this, Draco. We really appreciate the help."
With an awkward round of goodbyes and continued thanks, Harry and Hermione once again transfigured their appearances before slipping back into the Muggle world.
A/N:A huge thank you to possumwrites as all ways for beta reading, taking my 3 AM messages, and always keeping me going with this story.