Severus Snape frowned to himself, as he strode out the door. He had specifically told Miss Granger to change her appearance, if she was going to leave the house. While a good idea in of itself, she could easily slip through his fingers just as deftly as she would through the Death Eaters' fumbly paws. He walked down the near-alley that was Grimmauld Place, his mind more on scraps and snips of interactions with Miss Granger than on where he was walking - trusting to his feet to continue as he bid them at the start.

Snape blinked as he strode out onto the main throughfare. Oh, it wasn't the cars (which would have astonished many a wizard) - but simply the hubbub and bustle. It was far from what he remembered, when he had gotten the Malfoys' their London residence. Then, it had been inhabited, even humming. But it was nothing compared to the boneshaking rumble coming out of the commercial street now. Snape glanced at the streetlights - newly lit. It was growing dark - he'd best be quick if he wanted to check the alleys. And quick he was, with practice gained as a spy - walking down three blocks in each direction, peering (without seeming to) into any dark corner. There weren't even any layabouts around. Was that suspicious? Snape considered, before finally throwing the thought in the dustbin.

Assuming she's not in the library (by far the most likely place for a library mouse like Miss Granger), Snape frowned, and paced up and down the street. Nothing for it, Snape thought, but to try every place on the block. Snape spared barely a thought for why he was looking so intently. With long hours of introspection, he already knew the answers: first, he was a competitive man - and hated to lose; second, not finding her (if she was close by) would call into question his abilities as a spy. And there was already enough questioning of his loyalties, he didn't need any questioning of his abilities.

Start with the lights and the noise, Snape thought suddenly - if she's looking for distraction, well, any Gryffindor would find the loudest (most annoying) one possible. Snape strode into the establishment creating that bone-rattling racket, only to discover that everyone was facing the stage. On the stage, there was an African, chanting some sort of syncopated poem, set to music. Luckily, he spoke in English, or Snape would have found it impossible to understand. As it was, the strangely melodic accent combined with the syncopation made it nearly indecipherable.

With impatience borne of too many days spent in the Potions Lab (or listening to the Dark Lord drone on), Snape cloaked himself in an arrogance that would have surprised most of Hogwarts, owing as it did to several dozen dinners spent with the estimable (by someone, Snape just wasn't sure quite whom) Lord Malfoy. With his characteristic groundeating stride, Snape strode up to the stage, stepping onto it and wheeling to face the crowd.

The African onstage smiled as he ended his performance, and passed the microphone to Snape with a grin. "Break a leg," the man's white teeth grinned skull-like out of his dark face. The looks Snape was getting from the dark-skinned audience were not openly hostile (and Miss Granger was certainly not there, he thought. She'd have done something to show herself, if she saw me scanning the room.), but Snape sensed that not performing (like a trained dog!) was not acceptable. Calming his mind, settling into the discipline that his few friends knew him for, Snape pretended to be nervous, shifting the microphone from hand to hand.

Finally, as the tension grew in the room, Snape spoke.

I thought I found a unicorn in the concrete jungle,

I must have been mistaken - it was really just fungal.

A monstrous beast, mushrooms everywhere,

I gasped a breath - and then I just couldn't care.

Once I dreamed I could just leave everything behind

I strode around the world, but I just couldn't find

Something to shove in the hole in my heart

It's bleeding now, I'm just falling apart.

Lacking someone else to give the mic to, Severus Snape dropped it, his black eyes raking the audience, his foreboding visage as intimidating as before he spoke. The audience was dead silent, as he strode around the edges, leaving the way he came. As the door swung shut, Snape heard snapping of all things, and someone's hushed whisper (all the easier to hear, fool), "Who was that?" For a moment, and only a moment, Snape was tempted to throw his voice back, and respond, "Nobody." Nobody indeed.

Draco Malfoy considered the porcelain face beside him. Slowly, and after a good bit of thought, he spoke, "Questions, I suppose."

"Oooh, I quite like questions. I must ask - how can a question be what's wrong? It's the answers that prick, isn't it?"

Draco Malfoy gave an elegant shrug (it was a practiced motion), "Not when you don't have them. When you don't have them, the questions poke at the answers you thought you had, and the ones you thought you didn't as well."

"Troubling questions, then? Perhaps, maybe, a problem shared is one that's lighter?" Hermione Granger looked at him confidently, yet without being assertive. It suited the conversation - filled with implications - here the implication was that she expected to be able to help, but was unwilling to demand or impose.

"Perhaps, but that's personal. Now after you've told me what brings you here, well then..."

"I'm in dire need of better company and some pleasant conversation as well, honestly."

"Tired of dealing with bairns and the like?" Again, that doesn't fit. Hermione thought crossly. That's Northern, not Welsh at all.

"Only if you mean mental six year olds."

"As in crazy, or merely regressed?"

"I don't think they've ever progressed from being six, despite being a good deal older." Hermione said primly, and was rewarded for her mock governess impression with a surprisingly hearty laugh that rippled around the room. Neither the bartender, nor the serving maid, nor the lot at the bar looked over. "I suppose that might qualify as crazy, yes. I suppose it must!" And Hermione graced her drinking companion with a wide smile that both laughed at her wit, and her erstwhile companions.

"I trust my company will suit better, chopsing though it may be." Draco Malfoy was suddenly struck by how odd it was to be using decent repartee with a Muggle of all things! A muggle! Still, he supposed, she made a better conversational partner than Pansy Parkinson.

[a/n: welshisms would be helpful, reviews will keep me writing. Snape doesn't realize that he sent a signal by dropping the mic. I dedicate this traipsing into having Snape rapping to Gene Merman, who also stumbles into rap competitions.]