AN: Sorry for the quite so late updates. Work and life have been consuming me lately.

MASTER'S BIDDING.

AUGUST 2, 1997 (Afternoon).

Hermione sighed for the third time as she sat by the couch in her mother's parlor room. Ginny and Harry were standing across her, talking in hushed tones. Hermione wondered what was happening with the two now. Last she heard, Harry had decided to call it quits between him and Ginny to protect her but that would make things difficult now that she was on the run here with them. Hermione loved Ginny like a sister but she couldn't help but wish that it was Ron who was here instead of her. A loaded sigh escaped Hermione's lips again at the thought of him.

"I think we should check up on Malfoy," Ginny said to everyone in the room. "It's been half an hour and he's still upstairs. He might've slipped and knocked his head or he probably has no clue how to use the Muggle bathtub."

Eager for something to do other than sit idly, Hermione jumped off the couch and volunteered to go fetch the blond aristocrat. She saw that Harry was about to say something so she turned on her heels and stalked off to the spare guest room she had dropped Malfoy off a while ago to clean himself up. Hermione was still a bit pissed at him from their earlier argument but it was better than being interrogated by her quite perceptive friend. She knew from Harry's glances during breakfast that he was itching to question her about what happened as soon as they were alone.

Once she reached the door, she knocked thrice before calling out Malfoy's name. When no one answered, she opened the door and peered inside. There was no sign of him and the Muggle clothes she had laid by the bed were still there, untouched. It was her father's clothes which she magically altered to fit Malfoy who was taller and bulkier than her father.

"Mr. Malfoy?" she tried again.

"In here," a muffled voice called out from the other side of the bathroom door.

Hermione made her way over and pushed the door open. "You need to hurry—"

The words got stuck in her throat at the sight of a half-naked Lucius Malfoy standing by the sink. Hermione knew that the decent thing to do right now was to turn around and wait for him outside but her feet wouldn't move. Her eyes traveled all the way from how the fluffy white towel was clinging snugly around his very lean hips, to the flat stomach, the glistening pecs, and the strong shoulders, all the way to his half-shaven face. Gods, is he really Draco's father? she wondered. Hermione couldn't remember the abomination that her classmate being this—for lack of a better word because her brain suddenly stopped properly functioning—unbelievably fit. Maybe the ferret inherited from his mother's side.

She remembered last night, how she had felt Malfoy's firm chest when she fell on top of him and the memory was now being replaced by his naked torso. Fuck, fuck, fuck!

"My eyes are up here, Miss Granger," a gasp escaped Hermione as she realized she had been staring at his chest longer than appropriate, her gaze immediately snapped up to meet with Malfoy's, and a much louder gasp escaped her lips this time when she noticed his chin and jaw were bleeding. Rivulets of blood trickled down his neck from the tiny nicks and cuts he'd made in his skin. Finally coming out of her stupor, she saw that Malfoy was holding a razor in his hand, his broken wand was sitting on the sink, behind the faucet.

"You're supposed to put shaving cream over it," Hermione huffed, the initial embarrassment of seeing him half-naked was gone, replaced by annoyance and slight worry. "How did you ever survive being an adult if you can't even shave properly?"

"That's what house-elves are for."

Hermione rolled her eyes and proceeded to open the mirror cabinet, rummaging for the shaving cream. She shook the can before looking at Malfoy skeptically.

"What?"

"Do you trust me?" she asked.

"No," he simply said.

"Fair enough," she sighed before plucking the razor from his hand. "But we need to get going and you're taking too long."

Surprisingly, Malfoy turned around and sat on the edge of the bathtub before gesturing to his face. If only he's always this cooperative. "Be my guest."

Hermione gulped down the nervousness that was creeping in. She had seen her mother shave her father's beard when she was young and looking back now, she realized that it was such an intimate moment, the way their faces were so close to each other.

"I thought you were in a hurry?" Malfoy drawled, looking completely bored out of his mind.

"We are. Now be quiet and let me do this," Hermione said, moving closer to him. She ended up having to stand between Malfoy's legs to be able to shave him properly and the movement caused the towel to hitch higher, revealing the rest of his pale white thighs to her. As she gently turned Malfoy's head to get a better angle, Hermione tried not to think about how close she was standing to him. She poured a small amount of shaving cream into her hands before rubbing it over his skin. She could feel the muscle move under her hands and bit the inside of her cheek to not run her nails over it lightly again.

If he were Ron, she wouldn't be this nervous. But Malfoy wasn't Ron, a small voice in her head reminded her as she touched the razor to his skin and started working in silence. It took her a few strokes until she got the hang of it, because this was vastly different from shaving her legs, and she really didn't want to cut him no matter how much he infuriated her. If she did, he'll never live it down.

After the last stroke, she dropped the razor in the sink and used a washcloth to clean his skin. She suddenly became aware of him staring at her face and not at her hands and felt herself blushing.

"There, all smooth now," she told him, stepping aside for him to get up. "We have to do something about those cuts though. They're still bleeding."

She went back to the cabinet, looking for a bandaid when a large hand clamped over hers, stopping her immediately. Hermione jumped at the sudden close proximity, Malfoy's naked torso was only a few inches away and she could practically feel the heat coming off from him. He smelled of aftershave and lavender—completely different from the citrus and earthly scent she had come to associate with him.

"You're a witch, are you not?" he purred, voice quite close to her ear and she tried her best to not visibly shiver. "You have a wand. Use it."

Hermione's nostrils flared at the statement. After the shite she just did for him, this was how he repaid her? By mocking her Muggle methods?

"You're a wizard, are you not? Then use your wand!" she snapped at him before stomping her way out of the bathroom. She knew his wand was broken and Hermione knew she was being petty right now but the man in front of her just always constantly found ways to rile her up.

"What happened?" Harry asked as soon as he saw Hermione entered the parlor room.

"Nothing," Hermione plopped down onto the sofa, ignoring Harry's questioning look.

"Well, is he still alive at least?" it was Ginny who asked this time.

"Unfortunately."

Hermione heard the two sighed in relief. She turned her head away and proceeded to fume in silence.

Lucius pulled the collar of his shirt up before flattening it down along his neck. He wanted to see how he looked like in these Muggle clothes but there were no full-body mirrors inside the room. The navy blue shirt fitted quite snugly and it didn't restrict his movements but the trousers were still up for debate.

Granger called them jeans. And Lucius saw that Potter was also wearing one. He had to admit that it was much roomier and lighter than his typical clothing and, if he was being honest with himself, quite comfortable as well, but the texture felt odd especially if he was not wearing any underpants.

He ran a finger across his now stubble-free jaw and sighed, remembering how Granger's hands deftly massaged the shaving cream onto his skin. Lucius can't remember the last time someone had caressed his face that way, had gently touched him with so much tenderness and care that he didn't even flinch knowing she was a Mudblood. Even Narcissa, his wife of almost twenty years, only showed her affection for him in the form of a quick peck on the cheek. It was disconcerting, the way he got lost in the moment. How he had felt a few minutes of peace in her presence that when she had stepped away, a sense of emptiness washed over him. And to gain some semblance of control, he did the only thing he knew best: he angered her.

Lucius regretted it the moment he heard the door slammed shut in his face. His jaw was still bleeding and his wand was lying broken by the sink. He should've asked her to heal him first before sending her away but her existence was unsettling him. It was a good thing that he knew about bandaids and other Muggle methods of healing from Severus.

Glancing at the pile of dirty clothes on the floor, Lucius debated for a moment whether to keep his Death Eater robes or leave them there before settling with the latter. His Death Eater mask already got lost in the chaos during the mission and he might as well not bring the rest of his regalia along.

As he entered the parlor room, he immediately spied Granger on the far end of the room, eyes looking anywhere but him while Weasley and Potter were gaping at him in shock.

"Oh, my god," Weasley gasped before pointing in his direction with both of her hands. "You look human!"

Lucius glared at the chit. He then flicked his eyes to Potter, daring the boy to say a word about his clothes.

Potter only blinked at him a few times before turning towards Granger. "We should go."

"Should we apparate directly inside?" Weasley asked.

Granger shook her head. "We don't know if the wards will accept him," she tilted her head in Lucius' direction and he hated how she spoke like he wasn't just standing there a few feet away from her. "We have to apparate outside."

"We should bring out our wands just in case they're waiting for us," Potter and Granger pulled out their wands from their pockets. "Hermione, are you alright side-apparating the three of us?"

Granger pursed her lips in thought. "I think I can." She held both of her hands for them to take. Weasley grabbed her left hand while Potter placed his hand around her bicep. That left Lucius her right hand. The one she used to hold the razor across his stubble earlier.

He suddenly realized that he'd been staring at her hand way too long when someone cleared their throat and he looked up to see Weasley impatiently tapping her foot.

Lucius clenched his jaw as he closed the distance between them and slipped his hand in hers. Something dark and warm flowed through him all the way to his chest and he noticed that he wasn't the only one affected. A gasp escaped Granger's lips at the contact but she still refused to look in his direction. He hardly had any time to ponder it further before he was suddenly squeezed through time and space, and into the dark void.

The apparition wasn't as pleasant and smooth as he was accustomed to and he nearly stumbled if it weren't for Granger herself holding his hand in a vice grip but considering that she was transporting three people, well, Lucius could grudgingly give her that especially since none of them seemed to be splinched.

Granger only let go of his hand when Potter asked her to do a quick sweeping check of their surroundings to make sure that no one was waiting for them behind the bushes. Looking at the row of tall, dilapidated houses, Lucius noticed a gap. Number twelve was missing and he couldn't see it despite being inside that house countless times before it became the Order's headquarters two years ago.

So, this is how a fidelius charm works, he mused.

When Potter gave the all-clear, Lucius felt his left arm tingling and his heart quickened its beating when he realized that his Dark Mark was quite faintly glowing.

"It's not safe to stay out in the open much longer," he said as he hastily tugged the sleeves of his shirt down to cover the glowing tattoo. "They might be hiding out there, waiting for the right moment."

"I don't see anyone," Potter shrugged. "But I guess we should head inside."

Weasley nodded her head in agreement and pulled out her wand to tap it against something invisible. And just like that, 12 Grimmauld Place began to slowly exist in front of Lucius, very much like the enchanted walls that separated Diagon Alley from the Muggle public. They all hurried inside and as soon as Potter closed the door, the gas lamps lining the hallway lit up, casting a flickering light into the gloomy space in front of them.

It looked just as Lucius remembered it: eerie, cobwebbed, the outlines of the house-elf heads on the wall throwing odd shadows up the staircase. The last time he had been here was when Orion threw a party for Regulus after taking the Dark Mark. There was a long, dark curtain to the side and the familiar troll's leg umbrella stand, which was now lying on its side as if it was knocked over by someone.

Apparently, he wasn't the only one who noticed this.

"I think someone's been here," Granger whispered to Potter and Weasley as she pointed to the umbrella stand.

"The Order did vacate the house. One of them, probably Tonks, knocked it over," Weasley answered.

"So, where is this jinx your father is talking about?"

Weasley pouted her lips and shrugged. "Maybe it'll activate if Snape shows up."

"Well, we can't stay here forever," Potter said yet the three of them remained close together on the doormat, backs against the door, scared to move farther into the house.

Lucius sighed, deciding to be the one to make the first move but stopped when a deep, raspy voice spoke from the darkness.

"Severus Snape?"

Something cold washed over Lucius and he felt his tongue curl backward on itself, making it impossible to speak. Before he had time to feel inside his mouth, however, his tongue had unraveled again. The other three seemed to have experienced the same unpleasant sensation as well. He heard Weasley made retching noises; while Granger stammered behind him, "That m-must have b-been the jinx!"

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Potter took a step forward as well and Lucius immediately saw something shifted in the shadows at the far end of the hall. And before any of them could pull out their wands, a figure had risen out of the carpet, tall, dust-colored, and terrible. He heard Granger scream and the curtains beside him suddenly flew open, revealing Walburga Black's painting who was also screaming bloody murder at them. The ghastly figure was gliding toward them, faster and faster now, its waist-length hair and beard streaming behind it, its face sunken, fleshless, with empty eye sockets and one of its hands looked like it was rotting. Lucius realized with a start that it was Albus Dumbledore.

Potter was shouting something and before it could touch them, the ghost-Dumbledore exploded in a great cloud of dust. Everyone was coughing, eyes watering, and Lucius looked around to see Granger and Weasley clutching each other like a lifeline. Potter was shaking from head to foot, still blankly staring ahead of him.

"That's the jinx you're talking about? As if that'll prevent Severus or anyone from going inside," Lucius scoffed while internally lamenting about needing to take another shower because of the dust that covered his entire body.

Beside him, Walburga Black's portrait continued screaming, making Lucius jump at the high-pitched sound.

"Mudbloods, filth, stains of dishonor, the taint of shame on the house of my fathers—"

Potter silenced the portrait while Granger, who had seemed recovered by now, cast a series of spells over the door just in case someone breached the fidelius charm.

"Is it safe to go now?" Weasley asked.

"I think we'd better check," Granger answered before raising her wand. "Homenum revelio."

When the spell revealed nothing, the three of them went upstairs to the drawing-room. Granger waved her wand to ignite the old gas lamps before perching herself on the sofa, her arms wrapped tightly around her. Weasley followed her and Lucius was about to sit on the other vacant chair when Potter suddenly doubled over and clutched his forehead, giving a cry of pain.

"Harry!" Weasley shouted as she and Granger slid beside him. Potter sat on the floor when he had finally recovered.

"You've got to close your mind, Harry!" Granger said in a frightened tone. "You know it's dangerous!"

Lucius knew about the mind connection. It was how the Dark Lord fed Potter the false images about Sirius Black being tortured, how they managed to lure him out in the Department of Mysteries. It was useful back then but right now, he agreed with Granger—not that Lucius would admit it out loud. It would be dangerous for him if the Dark Lord found out about what they were trying to achieve and if he knew that Lucius was helping them.

"I'm trying!" Potter gasped, still recovering from the pain. "It's hard to block him when he's feeling very angry."

"You've got to try harder, Potter," Lucius said. "You wouldn't want to endanger your friends by disclosing your location to the Dark Lord."

"Shut up, Malfoy!" Potter hissed, sending Lucius a scathing look. "You wouldn't be saying that if you knew where he is right now and what he is doing."

A cold, dark feeling settled over his chest, making his heart drop. "What did you see?"

The flash of guilt and pity that briefly passed over Potter's features was enough of an answer to Lucius. He strode over and yanked Potter by the collar, ignoring the protests from the two women, before shoving him onto the nearest wall. Lucius lifted Potter and pressed his arm against the boy's neck, anchoring him and choking him at the same time.

He pronounced each word with all the power he could muster. "What. Did. You. See?"

"Let him go!"

Potter's face was turning a bright shade of red, his veins popping out of his neck and jaw as he struggled to break free, nails digging into Lucius' arm.

"Your… wife…" he wheezed. "Torture—"

"Depulso!"

Lucius was suddenly flung across the room, his back hitting the wall before slumping down. The impact made his head spin momentarily and he saw Weasley crouched near Potter, patting his back clumsily.

"What is your problem?!" Granger yelled as she stormed over him, her wand pointed in his face. "You could've killed him!"

"That would solve all my problems then, wouldn't it?"

As soon as the words left his mouth, he regretted it. It wasn't Potter's fault that his wife was being tortured right now but he had let his emotions dictate his actions. Lucius saw the blow coming—the tilt of her shoulder, hitch in her breathing—but allowed it nonetheless when Granger slapped him viciously across the face. The slap landed with a jarring, stinging crack against his cheek. The sound of flesh hitting flesh bounced off the walls. Draco wasn't exaggerating when he said that Granger packed a mean punch but Lucius barely flinched, his fierce blue eyes locked on hers as her lashes began to glisten with tears.

He thought he gained more satisfaction from it than she did. Granger shook out her tingling hand, the same hand that held him only minutes ago. The same hand that shaved his face.

Why was that so easy for her? Didn't she know how many people were afraid of him? How many people screamed for his mercy? It was almost as many as the Dark Lord's victims.

"You bastard," she ground out, desperate to control the shaking in her voice.

"Au contraire, my dear. My parents were married when I was born," Lucius said softly, his hand coming up to cup his cheek. He rose to his full height as Granger took a step back. Lucius grabbed her arm with his free hand while she was still within arm's reach. Leaning down, he whispered threateningly to her ear. The familiar scent of vanilla briefly invaded his sense of smell. "Not many can get away with that unscathed, Miss Granger. Consider yourself lucky that we have that vow."

Lucius shoved her arm away in disgust before turning around to leave the room.

He had some planning and consideration to do.

Harry gripped the sink tightly with both his hands, the counter's edge was cold and hard as he stared at the mirror in front of him. He remained like that for long moments, him leaning on the counter for support and trying to remember how to breathe. His neck still throbbed from being pressed down by Malfoy but he was fine otherwise although nearly losing his consciousness was something Harry wouldn't want to experience again.

He wasn't angry at Malfoy for acting the way he did. Harry understood the feeling of helplessness, of being unable to save someone you cared about. He can still see how You-Know-Who repeatedly cursed Mrs. Malfoy over and over and he was sure that Voldemort intended to kill her if it weren't for Bellatrix intervening.

That was what boggled Harry the most. Bellatrix pleaded for the life of her sister. It contradicted what Malfoy had said earlier about the crazy witch who killed Harry's godfather.

She'd gladly kill Regulus as soon as she had found out that he had turned to the other side.

It wasn't making any sense to Harry and only served to give him a worse headache. He removed his glasses and splashed some water on his face before heading back to the drawing-room. Ginny and Hermione immediately looked up at the sound of his footsteps.

"How are you feeling?" Hermione asked. "How's your neck?"

"Fine," he flopped down on an empty chair next to them. "Honestly, Hermione. My head hurts more than my neck."

"He shouldn't have done that," she pursed her lips.

"I was kind of worried about you there for a second," Ginny said to Hermione.

"Me? Why?"

"Well, you did slap Malfoy Senior there," she said. "I was worried he might choke you to death as well."

"Where is he by the way?" Harry asked. "Is he still here?"

"He's still here. My wards on the door would've alerted me if he left the house," Hermione answered.

"We should leave him be," Harry sighed, not wishing another altercation with the Malfoy patriarch. They can't keep fighting all the time. "I think we should go and check Regulus's room before we eat dinner."

They started to climb the stairs by wandlight. On the second landing was the bedroom in which he and Ron had slept last time they had been here; he glanced into it. The wardrobe doors stood open and the bedclothes had been ripped back. Harry remembered the overturned troll leg downstairs. Somebody had searched the house since the Order had left. Snape? Or perhaps Mundungus, who had pilfered plenty from this house both before and after Sirius died? Harry's gaze wandered to the portrait that sometimes contained Phineas Nigellus Black, Sirius's great, great-grandfather, but it was empty, showing nothing but a stretch of muddy backdrop. Phineas Nigellus was evidently spending the night in the headmaster's study at Hogwarts.

"Someone was really here and it looks like they were searching for something."

"Who do you reckon it could be?" Ginny asked.

"It could be anyone," Hermione answered. "We should be cautious though. They might've laid some traps."

Harry continued up the stairs until he reached the topmost landing, where there were only two doors. The one facing him bore a nameplate reading SIRIUS. Harry had never entered his godfather's bedroom before and he had no plans on entering it now. He didn't think he could bear to be in a room surrounded by reminders of his godfather's life.

Harry felt someone squeezed his shoulder and look to see Hermione giving him a pitying look.

"I'm fine," he whispered, mostly for his assurance than hers.

"I know."

They continued past it towards the second door. There were deep scratch marks in the paintwork below a small sign. He paused at the top of the stairs to read it. It was a pompous little sign, neatly lettered by hand, the sort of thing that Percy Weasley might have stuck on his bedroom door:

Do Not Enter
Without the Express Permission of
Regulus Arcturus Black

"This is it," Ginny traced the letters on the sign with her index finger.

"Let's find out if he's the R.A.B. on the locket," said Harry. He pushed the door: It was locked. Hermione pointed her wand at the handle and said, "Alohomora." There was a click, and the door swung open.

The room was slightly smaller than Sirius's though it was as ostentatious. Slytherin colors of emerald and silver decorated the entirety of it. Under the bed, Harry found a collection of newspaper cuttings from the Daily Prophet, all stuck together to make a ragged collage.

"Wow," Ginny whistled. "Malfoy wasn't lying when he said that Regulus was a fanatic even before he became a Death Eater."

"But if he's the one who stole the locket," Hermione pondered aloud. "Then what happened that made him defect from You-Know-Who?"

Harry handed the clippings to Hermione. A little puff of dust rose from the bedcovers as she sat down to read it while Harry and Ginny continued to look around the room for likely hiding places and approached the desk. Yet again, somebody had searched before them. The drawers' contents had been turned over recently, the dust disturbed, but there was nothing of value there: old quills, out-of-date textbooks that bore evidence of being roughly handled, a recently smashed ink bottle, its sticky residue covering the contents of the drawer.

"We can try Accio-ing the locket?" Ginny offered.

Harry raised his wand and uttered the spell but nothing happened.

"There might be counter-enchantments that concealed it," Hermione, who had been busy reading the clippings about Voldemort, looked disappointed. "I don't think Regulus would just stuff it in a place that's easy to find."

"How the bloody hell are we supposed to find it then?" asked Harry frustratedly. "We can't just go over the entire house and search it manually."

Silence descended over them as they pondered over what to do until they heard Ginny gasped. "No."

"What is it, Gin?"

"The first time we were here, Mum made us clean the entire place. I remember Fred found a locket inside the cabinet in the drawing-room. We all tried to open it but we couldn't so we… we…"

Harry felt his insides go cold. He remembered that as well. They tossed that locket along with the other pile of rubbish.

"Kreacher," Hermione said. "He probably kept some of those things out of sentimentality—"

Harry didn't hear the rest of what she was trying to say as he bounded down the stairs two or three steps at a time. He caught a flash of red on his peripheral and noticed Ginny keeping up with him while Hermione was not far behind. They made so much noise that they woke Walburga Black's painting as they sped past it.

"Filth! Mudbloods! Scum!" she screamed after them as they dashed down into the basement kitchen and slammed the door behind them.

But Kreacher wasn't in his cupboard which contained a nest of dirty old blankets.

"Kreacher!" Harry called loudly. There was a deafening crack by the fireplace and the house-elf that he had so reluctantly inherited from Sirius appeared out of nowhere. Kreacher was still wearing the filthy rag in which they had first met him, and the contemptuous look he bent upon Harry showed that his attitude to his change of ownership had altered no more than his outfit.

"Master Potter," the elf bowed as low as he could manage but his voice dripped of contempt.

"I need you to tell me something," said Harry, his heart beating rather fast as he looked down at the elf, "no, wait, I order you to answer my question and I order you to answer it truthfully. Understand?"

"Yes, Master," said Kreacher who remained bowed.

"There was a locket in the drawing-room upstairs. When we threw it away, did you steal it back?"

There was a moment's silence, during which Kreacher straightened up to look Harry full in the face. Then he said, "Yes."

Harry heard Ginny and Hermione sighed in relief behind him. "Where is it now?"

Kreacher closed his eyes as though he could not bear to see their reactions to his next word and Harry felt his heart drop at the word. "Gone."

"Gone? What do you mean, it's gone?" Harry said fiercely, "Kreacher, I order you—"

"Mundungus Fletcher," croaked the elf, his eyes still tight shut. "Mundungus Fletcher stole it all even— even—" Kreacher was gulping for air. His hollow chest was rising and falling rapidly, then his eyes flew open and he uttered a bloodcurdling scream. "—the locket, Master Regulus's locket, Kreacher did wrong, Kreacher failed in his orders!"

The three of them acted instinctively and rushed to prevent Kreacher from hurting himself. Harry and Ginny held the elf down while Hermione pulled the poker away from his gnarly fingers.

"I order you to stay still and not punish yourself!" He felt the elf freeze and he and Ginny released him. Kreacher stood there, tears gushing from his sagging eyes. "Now tell me everything you saw and everything about that locket. I order you to tell the entire truth."

Kreacher then told his Master how he saw Mundungus Fletcher come out of the elf's cupboard with his hands full of the Black family possessions Kreacher had kept. How Kreacher tried to stop the thief and failed. He also told Harry the story about the locket. How Regulus asked Kreacher to do whatever the Dark Lord bid the elf to do and to come home once it was done. Kreacher told them about the cave and the hairs on the back of Harry's neck stood up. Kreacher's croaking voice seemed to come to him from across that dark water. Harry saw what had happened as clearly as though he had been present.

"But how did you get away?" Harry was surprised that his voice sounded low as if he was whispering. "I know that Regulus asked you to come back but how?"

Kreacher fidgeted his spindly fingers before looking at Harry with his bloodshot, confused eyes. "Master Regulus told Kreacher to come back," he said.

"I know, but you couldn't have apparated in and out of that cave," Harry ran his fingers through his hair. "Dumbledore and I would've apparated away if we could."

"Remember what I told you about elf magic when I started S.P.E.W.?" Hermione spoke, her voice icy. "Elf magic is vastly different from wizard's magic. They're bound by the same rules as us witches and wizards. They don't need wands to perform heavy magic and they can even apparate and disapparate in and out of Hogwarts when we can't."

Silence descended upon them as they digested Hermione's words. It did make sense in a way. Harry wondered how Voldemort could overlook such a thing. A deep voice behind him suddenly spoke, making him visibly jump. Kreacher looked up, eyes wide and it was probably taking a lot of effort from the elf not to grovel in front of the newcomer.

"A house-elf's highest law is his Master's bidding," Lucius Malfoy said as he entered the kitchen like he didn't just try to choke Harry to death moments ago. He was a bit worried about Malfoy's calm behavior but shook it off. "Regulus ordered him to come home, so the elf came home."

Harry felt Hermione stiffened beside him. Whatever was going on with his friend, Harry will get to the bottom of it, but for now, they need to find that thief. He knelt in front of Kreacher and looked him squarely in the eyes.

"I need you to do something for me, Kreacher. I want you to find Mundungus Fletcher for me and bring him back here in Grimmauld Place," Harry refrained from looking at Hermione for approval. He tried to speak to the elf kindly but he also wanted Kreacher to know that it's an order as well. "We need to find out where the locket is so… so we could finally finish what Master Regulus started."

"Find Mundungus Fletcher?" Kreacher croaked.

Harry nodded and watched as Kreacher bowed low to him before disappearing with a loud crack.

"And now we wait."

Hermione glanced warily every now and then at Malfoy. The four of them decided to retreat to the drawing-room while they waited for Kreacher to come back. They had been waiting for three hours and it was half-past eight now but none of them felt like eating dinner. Hermione wasn't worried about the elf. If Kreacher could escape a lake full of inferi, she was sure that Kreacher could easily capture someone like Mundungus Fletcher. No, it was not the waiting, the elf, or Harry's vision that was bothering her. It was the blond git sitting across her who was staring pensively into the empty fireplace.

She was suspicious about him.

When Malfoy tried to choke Harry, Hermione thought that he would let her friend go once Harry told him what Malfoy wanted to know but when he wasn't letting up and Harry's neck was turning a deep shade of purple, she had to act.

Rage. Power rippled through her as she pointed her wand at him and cast the banishing charm. For a moment Hermione thought she went too far and had gravely hurt Malfoy but his next word only made her see red.

You could've killed him!

That would solve all my problems then, wouldn't it?

The thought of Harry dead carved something deep within Hermione's chest. She suddenly remembered her parents and how the proverbial knife slid through her heart when she obliviated them. Harry was her only family now and she would tear through heaven and hell just to keep him alive.

And then she slapped Malfoy with all the physical strength she could muster. How dare he! It felt satisfying, the power she had over him at that moment, the way he was placed beneath her. That was until the quiet rage that flashed across his face made her take a small step back, remembering who it was she had just physically hurt.

To her utmost relief, Malfoy only stormed away but ever since then, Hermione kept a close eye on her surroundings. The lack of presence from him only served to heighten her anxiety and when he suddenly appeared behind them in the kitchen looking so calm like he didn't just have an explosive tantrum a while ago, Hermione almost broke her wand in half with the way she gripped it so tightly.

Now here they were. Sitting in a room awaiting Kreacher's return. No one dared to break the tensed silence except when Ginny asked an hour ago if any of them wanted to eat dinner.

Hermione decided to continue reading the book Dumbledore had bequeathed her. The Tales of Beedle the Bard. The book was fascinating even if you read it as an adult. There were instances where it was similar to Muggle fairy tales but one thing Hermione liked the most about these stories was that the author's witches were much more active in seeking their fortunes than the Muggle fairy-tale heroines. When Ron told them that he knew about these stories growing up, Hermione felt a pang of jealousy at that.

She was just about to turn to the next story when a thundering crack came downstairs.

A mass of struggling limbs was what greeted them in the kitchen. Harry pulled out his wand as soon as Kreacher disentangled himself from his captive and made a low bow to his Master.

"Kreacher has returned with the thief, Mundungus Fletcher, Master."

"I'm no thief!" Mundungus scrambled to get himself upright and was disarmed immediately by Harry before he could even raise his wand. It soared in the air and was caught by Hermione. "What's the meaning of this? I didn't do anything!"

"Quit the act, Mundungus," Harry snapped. "We all know what you are and what you did."

"I panicked, okay? You-Know-Who was coming straight at us an' I didn't want to die. I didn't even want to come along, never volunteer for that shite. I'm—"

"None of us ran away with their tails tucked between their legs," Ginny hissed. Hermione could tell she was about to hex Mundungus.

"Well, I'm not suicidal enough like the lot of you," Mundungus scoffed and that was when he noticed the other occupant in the room. "What's he doing here? Is he a prisoner or something? You do know he's one of them, right?"

Harry stepped in front of Mundungus' vision, obscuring Malfoy who was standing by the archway. "You don't get to ask questions here," Harry jabbed his wand under Mundungus's flabby chin. "That day you looted the entire house of its valuables. There was a locket in the cupboard and Kreacher said you took it with you. I want to know where is it."

"Why do you want it?" Mundungus narrowed his eyes at them.

"It's none of your business," Harry pushed his wand up further, tilting the thief's head up. "Answer the question."

"I'm not answering any questions," Mundungus replied tersely before pursing his lips shut.

Hermione could see that Harry was nearing the end of his patience but before she could speak, Malfoy beat her to it.

"Allow me to take a crack at ol' Mundungus here," Malfoy uncrossed his arms and stepped closer to them. "I'm sure all he needs is a little persuasion."

"I have nothing to say especially to a Death Eater scum like you. You think you're better than me, Malfoy? Just because you live in a fancy house with fancy clothes doesn't make you a better person. You're rotten inside just like me," Mundungus flashed them his crooked, yellow teeth.

But Malfoy only stared at Mundungus with a manic glint in his eyes that chilled Hermione's bones. The Malfoy patriarch proceeded to open the kitchen drawers looking for something.

"Aha," he pulled out a bread knife, running his thumb over the blade to test its sharpness. "I think this will do."

"What are you doing?" Ginny asked.

"I'm sure you wouldn't want to know, Miss Weasley. Now, I suggest you three run along now back upstairs and let the grown-ups have a little talk."

"We're not going to leave you alone with him!" Hermione protested.

Malfoy sent her a deathly glare and she was about to respond by sending a hex at him when she felt Harry's hands encircle her wrist.

"Come on, let's go," he said softly to her. Hermione was shocked.

"You're just going to let him do whatever he wants?" she yelled. "What is wrong with you?"

"There's nothing we can do," Harry insisted before glancing back to the short wizard. "Unless Mundungus talks right now."

But Mundungus merely looked away from Harry.

"I can't believe this," she said, exasperated. Hermione sent Malfoy one scathing look before storming out of the kitchens.

Hermione was standing by the window looking down on the street below. It was almost ten in the evening now. The inky blackness of the sky swallowed the view outside.

"Hermione," Harry tried again. He had been trying to talk to her but Hermione just couldn't bear to face him right now. Of all the people she knew, Harry was the least likely she believed would encourage such a thing.

It had been almost fifteen minutes now and Malfoy still hadn't come up. They'd heard screams downstairs and every single time it had gotten louder, the more Hermione wanted to come down and end it. If only Harry weren't blocking the way.

It was inhumane, the way they were doing this, letting Malfoy torture someone for information.

Hypocrite, a voice inside her head accused her and Hermione gritted her teeth together. The things she did before—the jinx she placed on the DA parchment, the way they left Umbridge in the Forbidden Forest—were things she had to do out of necessity. She never took any form of gratification from it, or so she tried to convince herself.

"Well, that was quick."

Hermione looked behind to see Lucius Malfoy standing by the door, the sleeves of his shirt rolled up, showing his Dark Mark. He was wiping something off his fingers—blood, to Hermione's horror.

"What did you do to him?"

"Do you really want to know?" he smirked at her and Hermione felt her blood boiling again for the third time that day. "Don't you worry your bleeding heart, Miss Granger. Mundungus is quite fine."

"Did he talk?" Harry asked.

"Of course, he did," Malfoy smugly said before frowning. "Although I don't think you would like what he said."

"Quit playing games, Malfoy," Harry snapped. "Where did he take the locket?"

"You're no fun," Malfoy sighed dramatically. "He gave it to someone, or rather, gave it unwillingly."

"To who?"

At this, Malfoy grin mischievously at Harry. "Why, your best friend, of course. Dolores Umbridge."

"Shit," Hermione heard Harry muttered.

"Not again," Ginny said before plopping down onto the sofa. She then looked up to Hermione and Harry. "What are we going to do about Mundungus? We can't just release him. He might talk."

"We're not going to kill him!" Hermione said shrilly.

"I'm not suggesting we kill him!" Ginny said defensively.

"Shame," Lucius clucked his tongue. "Well, if you're not going to kill him then I suggest you obliviate him."

The three of them looked at each other but Malfoy was looking directly at Hermione.

"I think Miss Granger should be the one to do it," he suggested. "After all, she's the expert at memory charms here."

Alarm bells went ringing in Hermione's mind and she wanted to strangle Malfoy then and there for bringing that up. She glanced warily at Harry out of the corner of her eye, gauging his reaction but she couldn't quite make out his expression.

"Fine," she seethed. Hermione purposely hit her shoulder against Malfoy's arm on her way out but he only chuckled in return which infuriated her more.

Downstairs, in the kitchen, Mundungus sat unconscious. Hermione wondered what Malfoy did to cause such screaming since Mundungus didn't sport any wounds on his face but her musings were soon cut short when she had gotten closer.

Hermione gasped as she saw seven of Mundungus's fingernails were peeled off along with some of its skin. Blood was still oozing from the wound and she immediately healed it as best as she could. She knew that it wouldn't cause permanent damage and the fingernails would soon grow back in time but still, it was inhumane, the way Malfoy did it. He didn't even bother to heal what he did.

She pointed her wand at his temple and uttered the spell, erasing everything that occurred here while planting false memories as to how Mundungus ended up with seven fingernails missing. It was sickening and she was fighting the tears that threatened to come out. She didn't want any part of this but it had to be done.

"I'm sorry, Hermione," she heard Harry said from behind. When Hermione didn't respond, he continued. "I was just so mad. I remembered how he abandoned Mad-Eye there to die and I wanted to make him pay."

"This," she pointed to Mundungus's hands. "This is what separates us from the likes of Malfoy, Harry. If we resort to these kinds of methods, we're no better than him. The end doesn't justify the means. Mundungus was right. He was in no obligation to risk his life and we shouldn't hold that against him."

"I know," he pushed his hands into the pocket of his jeans. "Are you still mad?"

Right then, Hermione had a brief glimpse into Harry's vulnerable side. The one that was unsure and insecure of himself. The one who second-guessed everything in his life. The one who had clung to any adult that showed him any affection.

"I am," Hermione admitted. "But not at you."

Harry seemed to understand who it was she was mad with. "What is happening between you and Malfoy?"

"Nothing. He just enjoys riling me up," Hermione shrugged and decided to change the subject. "We need a plan on how to get inside the Ministry undetected. How do we even know if Umbridge still has the locket?"

"I have a feeling she still has it," Harry glanced at Mundungus's unconscious form. "I think we should ask Kreacher to return him where he found him."

At Harry's call, Kreacher appeared in front of them and Harry gave instructions to transport Mundungus safely near where Kreacher found him. But before Kreacher could disappear, Harry reached inside his drawstring pouch to give the elf the fake locket as a token of appreciation for his efforts earlier, and on cue, Kreacher started wailing, throwing himself on the floor.

It took Harry and Hermione a good ten minutes before they managed to calm the elf down. They accompanied him to the cupboard where Kreacher tucked the locket safely inside the nest of dirty blankets. He then made a low bow to Harry and somewhat of a little spasm that should resemble a bow as well to Hermione. It was a start, she mused. The elf was probably having a cognitive dissonance right now.

As Kreacher disappeared with Mundungus, Harry suddenly stood straight and looked at Hermione with excitement in his eyes. "There's someone here who knows the ins and out of the Ministry quite well."

It took Hermione a second to understand who Harry was referring to.

Lucius Malfoy.

"Oh, bugger."

AN: The shaving scene there was a last-minute addition. I hope you enjoyed it as much as I did when I wrote it. Also, in the book, Remus visited Harry in Grimmauld Place and I just thought that it would be impossible to happen in this fic since he and Tonks would be busy looking after Ron and Draco.

Next chapter will be what I like to call, the 'Ministry Heist'. Also, chapter 2 of Morning After will be up within this week.