Hermione knew they would have to lie. Blaise was carrying Ron's body on his shoulder, and Ron's arms were swinging limply behind his back. After getting everything in order in the classroom, they headed to the infirmary. Draco walked alone in front while Hermione walked alongside Blaise who was carrying Ron. The moonlight lit up the stone walls as they passed the large windows. They had all cleaned themselves with the Tergeo spell as their clothes were thickly stained with Hermione's blood.

Draco pushed open the doors to the infirmary. Two beds were occupied by sleeping students. Madam Pomfrey was bent over one of them and turned her head toward the entrance. She approached them and Blaise turned his back without saying anything so she could look at Ron's face.

"Mr. Weasley?" she said. "Again? What did he do this time?"

"He was stupefied," said Draco. "Twice. We were... dueling. Just for fun."

"Eighth year and still dueling..." she grumbled. "Put him down on that bed, Mr. Zabini. Will that be all?"

Blaise complied and let out a breath of relief.

"I'd like you to examine Granger, please," Draco declared, his jaw firmly set.

Madam Pomfrey immediately looked at Hermione, scanning her from head to toe.

"She was hit by the Sectumsempra," he continued.

Hermione didn't know why she couldn't say a word. Somehow, Draco was taking up all the space and taking care of everything.

Madam Pomfrey immediately placed the back of her hand against Hermione's forehead, before taking her hand and directing her to the nearest bed to sit down. "How are you feeling, Miss Granger?" she asked, already preparing the bed for the Gryffindor to lie down on.

Hermione shrugged. "I'm a little sore. My head hurts. But I'm okay, I assure y—"

"You're running a little fever." She turned to Draco and gave him a stern look. "This is a very dangerous spell, Mr. Malfoy, which I only learned about a little less than two years ago, when Professor Snape brought you here himself."

The blond Slytherin swallowed and blinked. "We did the counterspell on her."

"She was very lucky. Miss Granger, lie down. You'll be spending the night here."

Madam Pomfrey rose to fetch some vials and potions with restful and regenerative properties. The brunette did not lie down immediately and tried to catch her partner's eyes. The latter was actually looking at the bedside table. A sort of guilt nagged him. As much as he wanted her to be examined, it was his fault that she was in the infirmary, again.

"You should go back," she intimated, forcing a smile.

He rolled his eyes and shook his head. "Where?"

"Finish the rounds."

He smiled slyly and put his hands in his pockets. "It takes two people to do that."

"Blaise is there."

"That's right, here I am!" blurted the latter, who was only a few metres away from them.

"Nothing will happen to me while I'm here," she reassured him. "I have my wand. And Ron will probably wake up soon."

"Weasel will sleep all night," Draco spat. "And it's pointless to affirm that nothing will happen to you. Looks like we never know."

"I promise I'll be in class tomorrow," she said simply, finally deciding to lie down. "Just go, Draco."

"I hate promises…"

Madam Pomfrey returned with a tray on which several vials were displayed. Blaise walked over to Hermione's bed and held out his index finger. Not knowing exactly what he was hoping for, she took it in her palm and Blaise smiled, moving his index finger as if they were exchanging a handshake. Draco frowned. They were strange.

"See you tomorrow, Mia," Blaise said before breaking off contact.

Draco, hands still in his pockets, took a step towards her bedside and looked down on her face. He gave a weak smile. "I better not see Weasel before you tomorrow," he muttered. "Good night, Granger."

The two Slytherins left the infirmary. Madam Pomfrey gave Hermione a Strengthening potion and Essence of Ditany. To Ron, she gave a Sleeping Potion. The sheets tickled her, but she said nothing. The nurse muttered a few incantations to calm her mind and relax her muscles.

"I don't know who cast that spell on you, Miss Granger," she sighed, "but just for fun or not, that duel could have killed you."

Ron didn't wake up until the next morning, and Hermione waited for Madam Pomfrey to give her leave. She had slept well, uninterrupted and peaceful. She felt perfectly refreshed and no longer had any discomfort. When he flickered his eyes and finally opened them, he looked around in confusion.

"What the—?" He noticed Hermione, who was standing beside a bed looking out of the window. She immediately turned and walked over to him.

"Ron, everything's fine," she said.

"What happened to me? Why can't I remember—"

Hermione bit her lip. Her friend's face froze.

"It happened to me, didn't it?" He looked into the brunette's eyes and finally noticed that the bed next to his was unmade. His eyes widened. "Bloody hell, Hermione, don't tell me you've spent the night here too!"

She didn't answer and lowered her head.

"Hermione, what have I done to you? Please, I hope I didn't... Oh, God—"

"Sectumsempra," she whispered.

Ron closed his eyes and rested his head on the pillow. "Are you okay?" he asked after a moment.

"Yes, I am. Draco and Blaise were there when it happened. They were able to apply the counterspell."

"I'm so sorry..."

"It's not your fault," Hermione smiled weakly at him. "Don't worry about it anymore. I'm fine. Everyone's fine."

"I don't get it! I was with Harry and Neville in the library and we were 'advancing' our NEWTs study. Hey, don't make those eyes, it was going well. The last thing I remember is getting up to put the books back."

"Don't you remember going back to Gryffindor Tower with Harry and Neville?"

Ron shook his head, eyebrows furrowed.

"You attacked us while we were doing our rounds, and it was ten o'clock. When did you leave the library?"

"Around eight o'clock..."

Hermione frowned back. "You were under a spell for two hours and nobody noticed?"

Madam Pomfrey came out of her office, files in hand, and walked towards them. Ron and Hermione didn't say another word to each other and the nurse gave Ron his leave. The two Gryffindors headed for their respective dormitories. If they hurried, they would have time to catch some breakfast.

Draco hadn't slept all night. He was tired, of course. He felt confined within the four walls of his own room. But all of Blaise's words were running through his head like an incessant film. The shame wouldn't leave him, and it tingled in every corner of his body. He, Draco Malfoy, a Pureblood and more experienced than wizards his age, was letting his magic act out of him? Since when? Why? Why now? How to control it? Had he managed to convince himself all this time that it was Granger's magic when deep down he sensed it was his own?

He could no longer deny that he truly cared for her. Just the thought of her, the little smiles he could bring to her lips, the curve of her neck as she bent over her homework and absently stroked the tip of her quill against her cheeks, her hand clenched on her wand, sure of herself, ready to defend him against Weasel.

His stomach twisted.

She had taken the spell for him.

What the fuck was happening to them?

Early in the morning, an owl landed on his windowsill and Draco, already up, opened it at once. He instantly recognised his mother's big black owl. He unhooked the envelope and opened it. His mother's neat and elegant handwriting covered a small piece of thick, ivory parchment.

Draco,

I've heard some disturbing news this week. I'm concerned about some events that may be unfolding as we speak. I'd like to meet you on Saturday, if possible, to discuss it with you and see if you're alright.

I know you can't come to London, so I can meet you in Hogsmeade, at Mrs. Goldstein's salon.

Let me know what time that suits you.

Love,

Narcissa

Draco folded the letter and sighed. Finally, he decided to answer right away. He hastily scribbled a few words, politely, and mentioned that Saturday, 1:30 p.m. would be convenient. Maybe he should talk to his mother about these episodes of uncontrollable magic...

He showered and dressed for breakfast. He felt like heading to the infirmary but changed his mind. He was walking, eyes straight ahead, when suddenly he saw her turning the corner at the end of the corridor. An automatic grin lit up his face and he hurried on. Hermione's face, seeing that blonde head in the distance that she knew so well, glowed. They stopped in front of each other and the Lioness realised just then how embarrassed she felt. What was he supposed to think of the fact that she had shoved him away to take a spell head on? He must have thought she was stupid. Hugely.

"Hi," they said at the same time.

They cleared their throats. Hermione noticed that his face was drawn and a little pale. Had he slept?

"How was your night?" he asked.

"Good. I'm fine now."

He nodded, not hiding the relief on his face. "Where were you going?" he continued.

"To get my books for class."

"Weasley's awake?"

"Oh, yes he is. He's fine. Obviously, he doesn't remember anything."

Hermione shared with him what Ron had told her about his evening in the library the night before. Draco let out a long sigh that made his cheeks puff out. Finally he scratched his head. He still had the urge to hex Weasley in any way he could to make him pay, but he knew Hermione wouldn't forgive him.

"Aren't you going to eat something?" he asked to change the subject.

She shook her head and turned up one corner of her lips, looking uncertain. "No... I'm not really hungry."

He rolled his eyes. "You should eat at least one thing."

"I don't—"

"Just one thing, Granger. Anything. Pomfrey let you go hungry?"

"No, she offered me a—"

"Anything edible on the table. Please."

She grunted and gave up. "Fine…"

She turned on her heels and continued down the same path as Draco. They entered the Great Hall at the same time, but parted ways. The Slytherin kept his eyes on her until he saw her take a piece of toast in her hands and bite into it, with a meaningful look in her eyes. With her mouth full, she then gave him a funny look, as if she was winking with both eyes at the same time. Which he found adorable. He bit his cheeks to hold back his overly broad smile and went to crash at his house table, next to Pansy who was reading the paper. She didn't even look at him.

That evening, when Hermione and Draco finally found themselves in their shared common room after their school day, they had sat down to catch up on their Heads responsibilities. The two Prefects in charge of planning the Christmas Ball had —already— submitted their first outline, which the Heads had to approve before they could submit it to McGonagall. They also took the opportunity to read the reports from all the Prefects about all common rooms state, bathrooms, and workrooms. The Prefects were allowed to write down comments or any other suggestions anonymously to improve any aspect of school life or discipline at Hogwarts.

Hermione reviewed the reports while Draco tackled the anonymous suggestions, and they consulted each other when they needed the other's advice.

"Kingsley got back to me," she announced. "He'll be seeing Harry, Ron and me in his office on Saturday."

The Slytherin abruptly rested his arm on the table, the parchment clutched between his fingers. "You're bringing Weasel? After what happened last night?"

Hermione looked up from her reports and stared at him for a few moments in disbelief. She too let her papers drop back onto the table. "It wasn't his fault, you know that! He was cursed!"

Her partner shook his head in annoyance and looked back at the files without answering. Yes, he would have liked to go with her. Again. He would even have been willing to spend the day with Potter if Weasley wasn't there. Hermione sighed loudly, on purpose, and refocused on her things. After a few moments, Draco suddenly straightened his head.

"Wait a minute," he said. "Saturday?"

"Yes, Saturday afternoon."

"Fuck!" he growled.

She frowned. "What?"

"My mother wants to meet me on Saturday. She says it's important."

"So meet her."

She didn't seem to understand that he was upset because he wanted her to invite him to the Ministry and that this option was now no longer possible. This inflamed him. Did he now have to spell it out for her? Didn't she also want him to come with her? To assist her in her research? To protect her? If even one of her best friends could hurt her, who could possibly look after her?

Finally, the Lioness, faced with her partner's furious silence, raised her eyes to him. Her gaze softened. She felt like hugging his head in the way one would comfort a child who was wounded. She understood. He would have wanted to come. She laid her quill gently on the table and reached for his arm, placing her fingers softly on it.

"You know I'm going to tell you everything anyway," she smiled mischievously. "You're part of the team."

Draco's whole arm flared as soon as her fingers were on him, but he did not move. The wonderful tingle warmed every muscle in his body and he felt himself relax. Hermione kept her hand on him for a few seconds, perhaps a few seconds longer than necessary, before withdrawing it.

A trace of mockery grazed his smile. "If I see you come back in tears again, who do I curse?"

She stifled a laugh and shook her head at the absurdity of her thoughts. He continued to browse through the suggestions cards when his eyes fell on one that nearly made him choke. He hid his surprise and instinctively placed the paper aside, heart beating a little faster. Fucking ridiculous. He made a mental note to himself to throw it away later.

He rested his gaze on her. His eyes always found a way back to her. He just wanted to try again all that proximity they had shared. Why not indulge in it more often if it was so enjoyable? Did she feel uncomfortable when touched?

"Granger?"

"Mhm-hmm?" She nibbled the tip of her quill between her teeth.

"How have you been feeling since... the Grayson episode?"

Hermione's face flashed with visible embarrassment, but she controlled her expression quickly. Memories, clear as a bell, came back to her mind. As fresh as if they had happened the day before. Discomfort ran through her abdomen, chest, and navel. She looked down at the table and turned her quill between her fingers.

"I still think about it," she admitted. "I dream about it sometimes. It's still too sensitive to let myself think about it for long periods."

Draco swallowed. He nervously tapped an unknown rhythm on the corner of the table. "And... does... when someone touches you, are you... bothered?"

"You mean when you touch me?"

The Slytherin's heart leapt in his chest and nearly tore his chest apart.

Hermione gave an amused chuckle. "I know where you're going with this, Draco. And the answer is no. There's a difference between holding the hand of someone you know and being... restrained by a stranger behind a pub."

Someone you know. That was enough for him. After an hour, they got up to put their things away and go to bed. The Slytherin loosened the knot in his tie and rubbed his hair, which became tousled. Hermione let her eyes wander over him a little too long, before looking away, cheeks flushed.

"Good night, Granger."

"Good night."

Draco closed the door to his room and Hermione finished sorting the files. A small blank card fell to the floor. The brunette picked it up and turned it over.

Get together already!

Hermione rolled her eyes and tore it up. Her heart was pounding.

Hermione, Harry and Ron had a sense of déjà vu as they apparated into London. However, this time they didn't look like three Ministry employees and there wasn't a whole horde of Death Eaters chasing them. Harry and Ron were standing close to Hermione and still making sure to look around for any sign of danger, and Hermione had her wand hidden in her sleeve. She was convinced that anyone, absolutely anyone, could appear before her, under Impero, and attack her. Even here, even surrounded by Muggles.

Hermione walked over to an ATM machine. With her Muggle debit card, she withdrew some cash since she had given the savings she had brought to Hogwarts to her parents. Ron marvelled at the process and Hermione had made a habit of hiding her code, but with Ron she didn't care. On the way back, they would probably have time to stop at Gringotts so she could convert some of it into wizarding money.

Finally, they slipped into a red, dusty phone box and dialled the secret code to activate the lift. With a thud, the booth slowly descended to the ground and they were momentarily engulfed in darkness. Five seconds later, they were in the Ministry's entrance hall. The hall was swarming with wizards in black robes or wizarding clothes, scrolls and files in hand or fluttering behind them. Numerous planes of papers were flying in the air and in all directions.

A young wizard hurriedly came to meet them. "Miss Granger? Mr. Weasley? Mr. Potter?"

"In person," smiled Hermione.

"Follow me, please. I'm Minister Shacklebolt's personal assistant. My name is Carter."

"Pleased to meet you, Carter."

They crossed the first level and headed for a back corridor. Several wizards raised their hats or nodded as they passed. Everyone recognised them. It goes without saying that they were still considered war heroes. Finally, they ended up in front of a closed door.

Carter knocked twice and entered. "Mr. Shacklebolt, your visitors have arrived."

Kingsley, standing behind his desk and looking dazzling in his emerald robes, raised his head and stood up in a polite gesture. "Thank you, Carter."

The assistant closed the door behind the trio. The Minister walked around his desk and warmly shook Hermione's hand between his own. "Miss Granger, I'm glad to see you. How are you?"

"I'm... I'm fine, thank you."

"How are your parents?"

Hermione stammered a few words and closed her mouth. She regained her composure before answering in a composed manner. "Fine. They've decided to extend their holiday in Canada."

"That's wonderful! It will do them good. Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, welcome. It's good to see you again."

He shook their hands in turn and motioned for them to take their places in the chairs in front of his desk. A sparkling tray sat on a small serving trolley nearby, with a teapot and four small china cups on it.

"May I offer you some tea?"

"Please," agreed Hermione.

Kingsley poured them tea and returned to his desk. He crossed his slender fingers in front of him and looked at Hermione. "I understand, Miss Granger," he said finally, "that you were looking for a particular address."

The brunette nodded and sipped her tea before answering. She had no desire to lie to Kingsley, but she would try to see how far withholding truths would take her.

"This is actually the address of my brother's ex-girlfriend," she replied. "We'd love to have a chat with her."

Kingsley frowned and nodded slowly, seriously. "I assume it's about... well, your brother."

Hermione agreed. "I'm... I'm learning a bit more about my brother's past. And I'd like to find more answers. It helps me to understand."

The Minister blinked. His eyes shone with sympathy. He took a piece of blank parchment and a very long red quill. "What is the name of the person you are looking for? And if possible, tell me as much about her as you can."

"Angela Jenkins. She has black hair. And blue eyes. Pureblood, I think. At Hogwarts, she was in Ravenclaw. She lives in Bloomsbury. At least, that's the last current address I know of."

Kingsley finished writing down the information Hermione was telling him and raised his wand to the paper. Immediately it folded into a plane and flew away, slipping gracefully under the door.

"That's brilliant," said Ron.

"I'm sending a memo to Mrs. Hornby, who is the head of the Wizengamot archives. She'll be able to gather all files corresponding to this information. Then I'll let you dig around."

"Do you think there's more than one Angela Jenkins?" Harry asked.

"It is possible, yes. I rather think that there may be several combinations of this information possible."

"Thank you, Kingsley," Hermione replied.

Thirty minutes later, Mrs. Hornby had brought all the files that had the characteristics described by Hermione into an empty office. Shacklebolt had allowed them to be alone and had warned his staff, including Carter, not to disturb them. There were dozens of files stacked on top of each other.

"I've got an Angela Jenkins here," Ron announced, eyes glued to his file, "former Hogwarts Hufflepuff, now author of several erotic novels. Blonde."

"That's not her," said Hermione, rolling her eyes.

"Angie Jenkins," Harry read aloud, "Seeker for the Wigtown Wanderers Quidditch team. Black hair. Twenty-seven years old."

"Too old," sighed the brunette.

They continued to search for a few minutes, going through each file.

Finally Harry spoke again and raised a file to his eye level, frowning. "I have an Ivana Jenkins here. Former Hogwarts Ravenclaw. She's a Healer at St. Mungo's. Black hair, blue eyes. Bloomsbury. Twenty-eight years old."

Hermione looked up. "But Angela's not twenty-eight. She's not even three years older than us."

"That's probably a family member, right?" said Ron. "A cousin, a sister?"

The Gryffindor put down the files in front of her and pondered. She might have thought she knew Angela Jenkins simply because she had been in a relationship with Samuel, but in the end, that meant nothing. She knew nothing about Angela. Perhaps she had managed to falsify her own information. Maybe she had left the country. Maybe she had a whole family she didn't know about.

"Let's keep looking at the other files, and if we don't find anything closer, we'll take our shot with Ivana."

They did just that and spent another twenty minutes going through each file.

"I think it's Ivana..." Harry finally said, putting the last file down.

Hermione sighed. This wasn't going as planned, and she hated it. She reached for Ivana's file and Harry handed it to her. "Let's write down the address and let's just go," she grumbled.

"Maybe she's at St. Mungo's on her shift," Ron pointed out.

"Maybe, or she's on leave. We just have to see for ourselves."

The brunette wrote down the address on a blank piece of parchment and stuffed it in her pocket. She put Ivana's file back with the others. She'd been to Bloomsbury before, so she'd be able to apparate there as accurately as possible. They tidied up the files and methodically placed them on the desk as they had found them.

They returned to Shacklebolt and thanked him warmly. Just before they left and Carter led them back to the hall, the Minister laid a heavy but gentle hand on Hermione's shoulder.

"If you need anything, Miss Granger, just let me know. If I can help in any way to unravel the mystery of your brother's passing, I would be honoured. You should know that we still have Aurors patrolling near your neighbourhood. We are still trying to solve the few thefts that have occurred since."

"Thank you, Kingsley. Really."

They had apparated to Bloomsbury, on Long Lane Street. They walked up the street, silent, only glancing left and right once in a while to check the addresses. Three minutes passed, during which time Hermione had wondered what she was going to say to Ivana. Or Angela. It didn't matter who it was. She thought Angela was the one who owed her an explanation, but Hermione was showing up at her house unannounced, so she didn't know what to expect.

"Why didn't you tell Kingsley everything?" Ron asked, "We couldn't have a better ally than him..."

"I know," replied Hermione. "But the letter I received threatened everyone I care about if I didn't behave. I'm afraid that telling my problems to the Minister of Magic is not considered wise."

Ron shrugged, but deep down he understood her reasons.

They turned towards the entrance to the house noted on the parchment. The house was made of elegant bricks, wind chimes hung from the roof, which created a soft melody. There were also clean, sparkling windows. The curtains were not drawn.

They climbed the steps to the small wooden veranda, then Hermione knocked three times on the vinyl door. Several seconds passed before the door opened and revealed a young woman slightly older than them, with medium-length black hair and blue eyes. The resemblance to Angela was striking, and Hermione even believed that it was really Angela who was standing in front of her.

"Ah, the golden girl..." the young woman smiled wryly. "I was wondering when you'd come by. It's about time!"

Harry noticed immediately that the woman was suspicious and had a cold look on her face. A strange unease passed through Hermione at the woman's words.

"Angela?" she tried.

The young woman looked at the three of them without saying a word and let out a small sarcastic laugh. "Try again!"

"…Ivana?"

"Yep!"

"I'm sorry to bother you," Hermione apologised, her cheeks burning. "You obviously recognise me. I knew Angela at Hogwarts, she was dating my brother and—"

"Oh, spare me the story, I know it."

Hermione stammered and Ron shifted his stance, uncomfortable under the palpable tension. The brunette gathered her courage and looked more confident. She would not let this woman intimidate her.

"Would it be possible to meet her?" she asked. "We would like to talk to her. Please."

Ivana laughed and tossed her hair over her shoulder. "Are you fucking serious?"

The Gryffindor blinked. "Y... Yes."

The young woman was silent for a few moments, examining the 'golden girl' from head to toe, before scanning Harry and Ron, assessing the degree of their honesty. Yes, they were all serious. Her face broke down slightly, but the hardness remained on her features as she snapped.

"Get your facts straight. Angela died last summer."

She slammed the door in their bewildered faces.

"It wasn't so much that I was in search of answers. In fact, I was wary of the whole idea of answers. I wanted to climb all the way inside of the questions and see what was there."
Dani Shapiro

oOoOoOoOo

Oh God. It thickens. *Sadistic laugh*