They should be investigating. Contacting Mundungus for an update, interviewing people in Verdell, searching the sanctuary until something new clicked. Instead, Hermione and Draco were stuck at a bonfire.

Charlie had been primarily responsible for the guilt-tripping. Tonight was the first time no one in their group had night patrol, and it would have looked suspicious if she and Draco had rejected the proposal—especially after last night's post curfew excursion. They couldn't risk Charlie learning of their investigation.

The log wobbled beneath her, only stopping once Draco placed a hand on her jostling thigh. His placating touch was an instant comfort.

"Thirty more minutes," Draco whispered. "Then we can leave."

For once, her curfew was a blessing: an assurance that she and Draco would still have alone time.

To investigate. Just to investigate.

Or at least, that's what Hermione kept telling herself.

When Draco didn't move, Hermione couldn't combat the deluge of wandering thoughts, remembering how natural it had felt to wake up next to him. Wondering what it would feel like to do so again, this time, without barriers. Warm hands, directly on skin, exploring her body like an uncharted landscape. Wrapping her tight in his embrace. Holding her, kissing her—

"Granger?"

She jolted back to reality, having clearly missed whatever Draco had said.

Firelight illuminated his concerned gaze. "Something wrong?"

"I'm fine," she said, mildly distracted by his hand atop her thigh. "Tad cold is all."

A smile replaced his worry. "I can fix that."

He conjured a blanket over their shoulders, and Draco nestled closer, fueling more heat than the thick fabric itself.

"Better?"

It was impossible to determine if her flush was due to the fire or Draco's proximity. "Much."

"Good." His thigh brushed against hers. "Now"—Draco jerked his chin towards Charlie and Julia—"is it me, or was something off between them earlier?"

Draco wasn't wrong. During dinner, Julia had been reserved, much like when they'd gone to the Dennfyre. Was this not the first time she and Charlie had fought, even in the past week? Perhaps Charlie had insisted on this bonfire in hopes of lessening their palpable tension by surrounding them with friends. Much to Hermione's relief, it appeared to be working.

Mostly.

While Markus and Aurel prepared mugs of fire-warmed butterbeer, Charlie and Julia sat on their log, as close as they had been during the first bonfire. They chatted, laughed, smiled. A far improvement to what Hermione had overheard the night before. But behind Julia's smile, Hermione detected the strain: the effort required to keep the facade in place.

Hermione nudged closer, and Draco pulled the blanket tighter around them. Her voice was low. "Have you ever seen Charlie and Julia argue?"

"As in, seen it myself?"

"Or heard about it after the fact."

Cackling fire filled the silence before Draco whispered, "Once. A few weeks back. Charlie complained about how Julia didn't want to come with him to that engagement party."

Her brow wrinkled in confusion. "But Charlie told me she had to stay here and work with the Short Snouts."

Draco shrugged. "There are at least a dozen other Short Snout Keepers who could have covered for her. If you ask me, I think she thought it was too soon to meet his family. It's only been a few months. And can you blame her? I wouldn't want to spend an entire weekend celebrating that worthless weasel either."

"Hey!" Hermione jabbed him with her elbow and a smile broke across Draco's features. "That 'worthless weasel' is your best friend's brother!"

"Your point?"

Hermione glowered, and Draco cackled.

"C'mon, Granger." His smile took up half his face. "Did you really think I was going to sacrifice an opportunity to poke fun of Weasley?"

"His name is Ron."

"Not happening."

"It's his name!"

"So is Weasley."

"Ron."

"Weasel."

"Are you really that stubborn?"

"Are you really that surprised?"

"Merlin, you're difficult." She scoffed, but it held no fire.

His grin turned boastful. "Old habits die hard."

"Says the wizard who changed countless other ways."

A quirk pulled at his lips. "I have to draw the line somewhere," he toyed, leaning in closer. "But, hey, give me some credit. I've changed where it really counts." Draco angled her chin till her stare met his, slate grey meeting deep chestnut. He smirked. "Granger."

Her heart hitched, their bodies so close, she could practically feel her name spoken from his lips. Two syllables. Not four.

Intermingled breaths filled the space between them. "I'd think you incapable of saying my given name if you hadn't said it last night."

Calloused, gentle fingers threaded through her hair. "I save that for special occasions."

The grip grew firm, and their lips were brought back together. After last night, kissing Draco was as easy as a Thestral gliding through an early spring breeze. Heart-stirring and yet so comfortable. She rested her hand on his cheek and leaned into the kiss, soft lips pulling at hers as the fire glowed beyond her closed eyelids. Everything else melted away.

How easy it would be to stay in this moment: two people finding peace in one another while they basked in the simple pleasures of friends and firelight. No hurt dragons, no stolen blood, no missing eggs. For these few brief seconds, they could be just that. But as nine o'clock neared, it would soon be back to business.

When they pulled away from the kiss, Draco straightened out the blanket around their shoulders, right before Markus approached them with hot butterbeers.

"Get a room, you two."

Markus winked, and Draco tugged the drinks out of his hands.

"Oh, piss off."

Hermione snickered as Draco handed her a mug and she rested her head on his shoulder. The investigation could wait a few more minutes. Until then, Hermione would relish the downtime that she and Draco had with one another—much to the attention of everyone else at the bonfire. Even Julia was smiling at them.

This time, her smile was sincere.

Nine struck sooner than desired, and after the kiss, no one was surprised when Draco said he'd escort Hermione back to the Dennfyre. Everyone could assume what they wanted. This was innocent. With the dragon eggs hours from hatching, anything else had to wait. Come daybreak, it would be too late to save Norberta's missing egg.

Her room at the Dennfyre was near unrecognizable as a sleeping quarter. Since learning about the impending dragon hatching, Hermione made an excuse to leave the sanctuary and gathered more research content. Hardly an inch of comforter was visible beneath the sea of backdated Reporterul Roman newspapers, and the walls had become a collage of interconnected notes and theories. She expected at least one quipped remark at the parchment-covered chaos but Draco sunk right in.

They searched the newspapers late into the night, candles burning to their bottoms before the wax magically regenerated. Again and again, they searched the history of the Seven Brothers, the reports of their previous conquests and speculation for what they were plotting next, but the truth remained that she and Draco still didn't have enough to go on.

When the clock struck midnight, Draco slammed a book shut. "Another bloody day done," he groused, exhaustion heavy in his tone. "One more day. If we just had one more day. But no, I wasted a whole day getting those Galleons for Mundungus and that coward is likely laughing all the way to the bank with my money." Draco scowled. "Instead of getting information from him, we're stuck scouring through old newspapers hoping for even a scrap while who knows what is going on right now."

Hermione sighed. Even she had to admit that this was going nowhere.

"I keep hoping that something in one of these articles will make something click," she said with a resigned slump into her chair. Her eyes drifted to the wall of connected theories. "That somewhere in here, I'll find a hint about who is selling the blood to them."

Draco huffed. "It would be a hell of a lot easier if we had a map tracking everyone."

He tossed a newspaper to the side, but Hermione instantly perked up.

"That's it!"

Searching the room, Hermione dug through their notes, books, and newspapers, trying to find something that would work. Her notebook lay at the bottom of a pile of books and Hermione flipped open to its back. The parchment tore from the binding in an unceremonial rip, leaving jagged edges and a blank canvas primed for magic.

"Care to clue me in on whatever brilliant idea you just had?"

"I need your map of the dragons."

Draco opened his pouch and handed it to her, but his curiosity wasn't sated. "How is this going to help?"

"Because we're going to modify this magic to make a map of all the keepers within the grounds."

Draco looked astonished. "That's possible?"

Hermione snorted. If only he knew how often they had used the Marauder's Map at school. But that was a story for another time. Instead, she pulled out her wand and began the Duplication charm work.

"Not only is it possible, but one already exists," Hermione said as a burnt orange glow illuminated the outline of the grounds. She tapped the original map, then the blank parchment, and ink mountains appeared on the page. "Charlie told me this morning that the night patrol created one on Friday and have been using it to monitor keeper movement."

He assessed it with a frown. "This must violate at least half a dozen personal privacy laws."

Hermione tilted her head and raised an eyebrow. "Ends justify the means?"

"Said the Gryffindor?"

He raised an eyebrow back at her, and Hermione grinned.

"Maybe your Slytherin is rubbing off on me."

Draco had no further objections.

Hermione cast the Homonculous Charm on the map and dots instantly scattered across the lined landscape, all adorned with floating labels. With a quick Engorgio and subsequent Sticking Charm, Hermione enlarged the map and covered her one spare wall like wallpaper. Hundreds of dots gathered in the keeper cabins, everyone in their cabins at such a late hour. Her gaze fell to what used to be her cabin—empty—then Draco's—empty—and Julia's—also empty. Continuing to search, Hermione found Julia's dot in Charlie's cabin, where she hoped the couple had fully resolved their argument and were now soundly sleeping.

"There," Draco pointed to a spot at the entrance between the visitor section and the dragon grounds. "That's where the night patrol is located."

Three dots gathered next to each other in what Hermione knew to be one of the supply rooms, not far from the mess hall. Doru was on patrol that night, along with two keepers whose names Hermione didn't recognise.

She pointed at their labels. "Who are they?"

"Traian and Filip," Draco answered and Hermione resisted the urge to roll her eyes.

"I know how to read," she quipped. "But who are they at the sanctuary?"

"Common Welsh Green Keepers."

Hermione was surprised. "But aren't the keepers who work with Welsh Greens all new to the sanctuary? Why would Doru be with keepers so young?"

"Not these two," Draco explained. "They've been here almost as long as I have. Just prefer to work with the Welsh Greens."

Hermione couldn't argue with that. But if he had been there longer than Traian and Filip, that begged a different question.

"So why aren't you a part of the night patrol?"

Draco tore his gaze from the map to look at her. "Would you really prefer that I be out there all night, wasting my time with some rubbish patrol that couldn't prevent an egg from being stolen, instead of being here with you?"

Her cheeks flushed. "Obviously not. I'm just wondering how the different members of the night patrol were chosen."

Draco ran his hand down his face, visible exhaustion crinkling the edges of his eyes. "Beats the hell out of me. You'd have to ask Charlie. Maybe if I asked, I could have joined, but I'm not trying to kiss up to Doru by volunteering for that shit."

Maybe for Draco it would have been that easy. Others, not so much—particularly Julia. And Julia didn't seem to give two Knuts about kissing up to Doru. She just wanted to be respected.

Hermione thought for a moment, then said, "There are many reasons why keepers would volunteer to do the night patrol, first and foremost, the dragons. If Traian and Filip work with the Welsh Greens, they likely want these attacks stopped just as much as we do. They just don't know how else to help."

Draco huffed. "Then they aren't motivated enough."

"Or don't have the resources and intellect to do it themselves."

A brief chuckle curved his lips. "Was that intended to compliment me, be a humblebrag, or both?"

"A bit of both," Hermione admitted with a sheepish smile. "But also a reminder that as difficult of a situation that we're in, we're also fortunate to have the ability to help."

Draco simply stared at her after that, as if having never considered that before. She could see how that was true: Draco came from a world of privilege. He probably had never taken a step back to consider how much privilege he still had, even without all his family money and the power that used to come with his last name.

He seemed to take the comment to heart, returning his attention to the wall-sized map, falling deep into thought. They remained like that for several seconds, both scanning the map for anything useful or out of place, until Draco said, "What we need is a motive. A reason why someone who works with the dragons would be willing to hurt them."

"I have little doubt money is an integral factor," Hermione said, having spent part of the day pondering the same thing. "You said so yourself that the keepers make next to nothing."

Draco scoffed. "Oh good, so that only narrows us down to fucking everyone."

"Not everyone," Hermione corrected. "Charlie would never harm the dragons, even if he was desperate for money."

His features fell flat. "Everyone's morals become greyer when they're put into impossible situations. You never know what someone is dealing with personally."

Her heart constricted at the pain in his voice, not needing Occlumency to know what memories presently coursed through his mind. Even Hermione was no stranger to desperation. The war had made them both do things they never would have thought themselves capable of doing otherwise. She considered herself lucky that her parents' memories could be recovered, but nothing could erase that lingering guilt of an alternate reality in which the Obliviation team had failed. And if that was the guilt that she lived with, Hermione couldn't imagine the encroaching thoughts that plagued Draco.

Soft footsteps led her forward, and she wrapped her arms around him, eyes wide as she stared up at the struggle swirling behind his gaze.

"Good people can do bad things," she said, body flush with his. "I want to believe that whoever's stealing the dragon blood is still a good person. Just like you."

Their chests were close enough that Hermione could feel his heartbeat through his shirt. The hard pounds rapped beneath his rib cage and she held onto him until they slowed to a normal rhythm. But even then, she didn't let go.

They stared deep into one another, light replacing the melancholy that had tainted Draco's gaze just a few moments earlier. She knew Draco would one day forgive himself, the way she already had. But until then, she would more than willingly remind him again and again. Draco was a good person. He was. And Merlin, she still didn't want to let go.

"Thank you," came his soft whisper, words a gentle caress into her ears. He swept his fingers through her curls, leaving his hand at the base of her neck so they remained less than a breath apart. "I don't know how I would have gotten through this week without you."

He leaned in to kiss her, and Hermione knew this would never be enough. She craved more of him, to feel that kiss beyond just her lips. To peel that black shirt off his body and explore his torso proper. Run her hands over his Ridgeback tattoo while his touch roved over her in equal fervour. She wanted to learn every inch of his body, discover everything they could be together, if only they had more time.

But they had to wait. The dragons came first. They had to come first.

As they fell back into research, the clock ticked in the background, a constant reminder of time counting closer and closer to morning. Hermione flipped through her notes, solidifying the timeline of events, while Draco arranged a list of keepers based on the dragons they worked with and how long they had been at the sanctuary. Mundungus said he had been trading blood five to six months ago, so that eliminated anyone who had joined the sanctuary since then. But with the culprit using a voice changing spell during transactions, they didn't have much more to go off on.

Seconds turned into minutes, minutes turned into another hour gone. Hermione tried to remain focused on the research, but as time continued to tick, the task became increasingly difficult. Not due to exhaustion—although that did play a factor. There were only so many hours someone could stare at the same parchments before the words started to blur together. But it would have been far easier if Hermione didn't keep glancing over at Draco every few seconds, her mind and body at war with one another over which was the main priority.

As per usual, her brain proved victorious.

Most of the time.

She faltered when she caught glimpses of Draco adjusting his bun, tapping a quill against his chin, or worse, looking back at her. Each time, she forced herself back to the research. Back to the real priority. But when twenty more minutes of research passed and they reached for one of the pinned notes at the same time, her heart nearly stalled at even the briefest contact.

She snatched her hand away, and Draco chuckled.

"Afraid that my touch will hurt you?"

Her cheeks flushed. "No, I'm afraid it will distract me."

A smirk pulled at his lips. "And is that a bad thing?"

"Of course it's a bad thing!" Hermione quipped. "We've been at this for hours and still haven't discovered anything new!"

"Then maybe that's a sign that it's time to call it a night."

She gaped at him. "But the egg—"

"Is still missing. I know," he said, tone soaked in disappointment. "But face it, Granger. We're going in circles. Staring at the same information, hoping something new will click, when we're only running ourselves dry."

She opened her lips to object, but Draco spoke first.

"I can't risk you spiralling into that same exhausted state you were in when you first arrived at the sanctuary."

Her protest died on her tongue.

His gaze grew gentle and Hermione let out a sigh. She had spent all night trying to prove otherwise, but Draco was right: they had nothing new. It didn't matter how many times they reviewed what they already had. Too many puzzle pieces were still missing.

She breathed in deep, not ready to submit just yet. "Ten more minutes. That's it. Then I promise to stop."

Draco tilted his head, a silent challenge of whether even those ten minutes were necessary, but he soon recognised the compromise for what it was.

"Fine," he eventually resolved. "But if you insist on ten more minutes, then I insist on you doing it my way," he added with a smirk.

Hermione didn't trust that expression.

"And just what exactly is 'your' way?"

Draco walked behind her and swept her hair over one shoulder. "A little stress relief while you research."

One hand wrapped around her waist as Draco pressed kisses up the curve of her neck, just below her jaw, right behind her ear. The tension she hadn't realised was stiffening her posture immediately relaxed and she sank into his embrace.

"That's it, Granger," he whispered. "Now talk me through it. What's going on in that brilliant brain?"

"I keep wondering why things have changed the past month," she started while Draco continued to pepper kisses up and down her neck. "No one knew these attacks were happening until Nevarth got sick. Which means—"

His hand travelled under her jumper and her words fell away at the sudden warmth of his long fingers brushing lightly over her skin.

Even with him pressed against her back, she could still sense his grin. "I'm afraid I didn't catch the end of that thought."

"Which means the culprit started getting sloppy, more desperate, or both," she half-mindedly finished, attention pulled between theories and the intoxicating feeling of Draco's tender touch. "The Appare Vestigium Charm showed us that the culprit filled five or six syringes before they were interrupted, which makes me think that they were originally only taking a couple of syringes worth of blood until a month ago when… when… the Seven Brothers… Oh, God. Oh."

Coherent thought was no longer possible when Draco dipped his hand beneath her waistband and his fingers found the slick heat between her thighs. Her breathing hitched at his touch, the beginning sparks of fire already forming inside her core. She rolled her hips along with his movements as her eyelids fluttered closed and her head fell back onto his chest.

"Keep talking, Granger."

Merlin, if he didn't feel so good, she would turn around and curse him right now. But for the love of all things magic, she couldn't will herself to stop, savouring the way his fingers slid along her slit as she forced logic back onto her tongue.

"The Seven Brothers. They, they must be increasing demands. Forcing the culprit to steal more blood. And the egg."

"Mhmm," Draco hummed against her throat. "Sounds like a reasonable theory."

A single finger pressed inside her and Hermione drew in a sharp gasp. Already, she could feel her body cling to him while licks of pleasure pricked and tingled her senses. With each push of his finger, he slid in easier. Deeper. Her mind grew fuzzy, unable to consider anything else other than the heat welling inside her and the urgent need for more. Desperate gasps left her lips, made all the more audible when he entered a second.

"I don't recognise those words," came his smug retort. "Any more theories you have to tell me?"

His fingers curled, right as his thumb found her clit, and the first spots of stars speckled her vision.

"No. No more research. More of this. Dear Merlin, more."

She could feel his smirk before he turned her head and captured her lips in a proper kiss.

"If the witch insists."

He unbuttoned her jeans and shoved them down with her knickers past her ankles, allowing his fingers to plunge even deeper at a new angle. Hermione keened at the touch, the ardent strokes in all the right places, as her hips moved along with his ministrations, rubbing against the aching stiffness still trapped inside his trousers. It brought her back to that morning: waking up next to each other in this very same room, and the memory stirred a new wave of wetness. She arched against his arousal, purposefully this time, and Draco groaned at the sensation.

"Granger."

In that moment, Hermione didn't care which name he used. All she wanted was for him to never stop touching her, completely weak for this. For him. And yet, she still craved more. His other hand rested atop her bare thigh, keeping her in place as his fingers continued to stroke and caress her, but she needed it higher. And she fervently needed more than just his fingers.

The thought almost escaped her mind when Draco found a sensitive spot and sparks flared inside of her. Whimpered cries left her lips before the words choked out in panting gasps.

"Oh my god, Draco. Please. Fuck me."

His thumb pressed harder onto her clit and Hermione tipped her head back with openmouthed pleasure, right as Draco growled, "If this is the way you feel around my fingers, I cannot wait to fill you properly."

He hooked his fingers and rubbed the sensitive spot deep within her walls while his thumb continued tortuous circles. The sensation overwhelmed her, almost to the point of breaking.

"Please," she rasped, but Draco only sunk his fingers in deeper.

"Not tonight. Not when we're tired after hours of research." He leaned forward and voiced directly in her ear, "The next time you ride a dragon, you'll do so properly. Now come."

His touch grew tortuous and orgasm crashed over her, sending ripple after ripple of pleasure jolting through her system. Never before had she climaxed so intensely by someone's fingers alone, and when her senses returned to normal, the smug expression on Draco's features was all she needed to confirm that he absolutely knew it.

He examined her post-orgasm state with a boastful grin. "Now that's my ideal way to end a night of research."

She quirked an eyebrow. "And you think we're done?"

He raised an eyebrow back. "I already told you we're not having sex tonight."

"Then it's a good thing there are other ways for me to return the favour."

With a wandless flourish, Hermione charmed away the newspapers and pushed Draco back onto the bed. He stared at her in amazement as Hermione sunk to her knees and undid his zipper, the wizard all too willing to help in the process of removing his pants and trousers. He held his hands on top of hers as she guided them down his legs, freeing his already stiff erection.

To say she hadn't pictured what Draco looked like underneath his shower towel would have been a lie. Everything else about his body was impressive. It stood to reason that this would be no different. His cock curved upwards, and Hermione licked her lips at the sight of it. It was thicker than she was used to, and definitely longer. The uncertainty of how to take something of that length should have sent shivered nerves through her, but all Hermione felt were tingles of excitement—particularly when she glanced up to discover the look of unabashed anticipation in his expression.

She settled one hand on the mattress and began to work the other one up and down his shaft. A sharp hiss echoed from above when her thumb brushed over the precome already accumulated at his tip, easing her movements as Hermione continued to stroke him. Draco's moans filled the room, made all the louder when she slid her tongue up the length. He jerked forward.

"Dammit, Granger. Stop teasing."

She traced his cock with another long lick, earning her a guttural groan, then pulled away with a smirk. "And is there something wrong with teasing?"

"Not unless you want me to finish before you even begin."

Her smirk widened. "Then let's fix that."

Her hand wrapped around the base of his cock, and Draco bucked into her touch. She relished in his reactions. There was a pleasurable power in the knowledge of her being the one to make him feel like this. She wanted to savour the moment. Bask in the sight that was Draco Malfoy on the brink of losing control—a sight made only sweeter when she pushed further forward on her knees and took the first few inches into her mouth.

"Fuck. Fuck." His hands entrenched into her hair as she sank deeper. "Keep going."

He was already deeper than Hermione was accustomed to, but she continued anyway, taking all of Draco's length till she reached the base. His content grunts made her fill with equal pleasure as she pressed her tongue up its underside. Each bob back down stirred a different sound from Draco. Sharp inhales, drawn-out moans, heaving rasps. And each time, he gripped her hair harder, clearly resisting the urge to thrust into her throat. Even so, it didn't take long before his cock started to twitch.

"Granger, I— Granger, I'm gonna—"

He tapped her shoulder and released his grip, but Hermione stayed in place, hollowing her cheeks as she continued to suck. He tapped her shoulder in another warning before his salty release coated her tongue. Draco cursed through his climax while his cock pulsed inside her until he was fully spent. When he finished, he removed himself and pulled Hermione upward, bringing their mouths together in a deep kiss.

"I stand corrected," he said with a grin. " That is my ideal way to end a night of research."

Hermione flushed. "I can't disagree."

She joined Draco on top of the mattress and they both settled under the sheets before charming out the lights. The September chill nipped the bare half of her body but was made warm again by the heat of Draco's hold. While the puzzle of the investigation still had countless missing pieces, she and Draco fit together with effortless ease. Her head on his chest, his hand around her waist, her legs entwined with his. Two pieces seamlessly matched.

Yet Hermione couldn't help but think of a centuries-old Japanese tradition in which broken objects were fixed with gold: a reminder that our cracks, our flaws, are a part of our history that only add to its beauty. Embracing the imperfections instead of casting things away as unfixable. Yes, she and Draco fit together, but not without gaps. And that was okay. Better than okay. They were two individuals who had several cracks from the past and present, but together, they could fill the gaps with gold.

Perfectly imperfect.

Slow, contented breaths passed between them as Hermione trailed a finger up and down his arm, unable to quiet a small voice in the back of her mind. He had been so open with her last night and this morning, and she wanted to be just as open with him.

"I didn't tell you the whole truth the other night." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "When you asked… when you asked why I came to the sanctuary."

Draco blinked and she knew he was listening, no room for judgement in their gold-filled crevices. But her tongue felt like sandpaper, the words like ash. Not even a thousand miles and a week of distance had healed the sting. But not confronting what pained someone was no way to live. She and Draco had taught that to each other.

"I… I told you that my work feels stagnant. And that's true. Has been true. But last Tuesday, my department sent me a memo saying that we lost funding from my Merpeople Outreach project. The Ministry reallocated more funds to Games and Sports, leaving less for Magical Creatures." She let out a heavy exhale. "And on top of everything else, that was my breaking point. That project was one of the few things I had been able to successfully do, and now it's lost funding not because it wasn't good, but because it wasn't a priority. And that feels like the story of everything I've done there."

Her eyelids fell shut. "I'm tired, Draco," she croaked. "I miss feeling like I'm making a difference."

He swept his fingers over the front strands of her hair and sealed it with a soft kiss to her forehead.

"That doesn't diminish the good your program had while it lasted, nor the good whatever you do next will have on the Wizarding world. This is only a minor setback," came his gentle assurance. "You'll think of something. The Hermione Granger I know always wins in the end."