SORRY FOR THE WAIT. Oh my god. This chapter was such a struggle to get out. I don't know why. Hopefully in the future things will get moving a little more quickly and I won't bore you or myself with retelling the ministry infiltration scene.

"Well, she's done well for herself," Ron said flatly. "Good for her."

The lack of sincerity in his tone was rather telling of his true thoughts.

Harry nodded casually over his Daily Prophet, which he held open in front of him, his face angled low to appear as though he were reading it. Ron sat next to him, his hand playing with his new mustache that Hermione had given him with the disguise spells she had used. Harry, on the other hand, was clean-shaven, but his hair was longer and lighter in color, and he had spots that threatened to overtake one cheek. Harry also had a cleft in his chin, which Ron had laughed at.

Umbridge's cottage sat about a block and a half away from the bakery. They had all surveyed it before splitting into pairs, agreeing that based on their intel (graciously handed down to them by Ginny and Pansy from Tonks), they would watch her from two different locations.

It was surrounded by a tall, wrought-iron fence that was bordered by equally tall hedges on the inside. All they could actually see of the cottage was the roof that boasted a jaunty little chimney that seemed a bit like a stubby finger poised to wag at them.

They'd been sitting at the bakery across the street for well over an hour, their cups of coffee continually refilled by the only employee at the shop, a tall and lanky woman who looked as though she hadn't slept very well in a while. She had served them and shuffled back to the counter. The last time Harry had glanced back at her, she had dozed off again, her head buried in her crossed arms, leaning against the counter. Bright, cheery music played from a radio behind the counter. The place smelled of baking bread and coffee. Harry had eaten very little that morning, and found he had no appetite regardless of the temptations surrounding him.

"Did you expect anything different?" Harry finally said. "Regardless of the things she did at Hogwarts, she ran to the Ministry the second Dumbledore came back, and the Minister was only too happy to hire her on there."

"It makes me sick," Ron said angrily in a low voice. "There's never going to be justice, is there?"

Harry shook his head. "I wouldn't pin my hopes on it."

They said nothing more and continued to wait.

Hermione and Draco were situated closer to Umbridge's house, disguised and crouching somewhere to get a closer view. They had rummaged through the box of things Fred and George had given them the night before and found several pairs of Extendable Ears and a new matching product named Extendable Eye, which worked exactly the same, except it showed whatever was happening wherever the fake eye had been placed. Although its cord could magically elongate to the length they needed, they had expected (and promptly discovered) wards around the former Professor's home, which rendered them useless, and so Hermione had stuffed them back into her bag, their wrappers untouched.

"She's coming out," Draco muttered.

Hermione shoved the galleon back into her pocket and tried to quietly crawl closer to Draco's viewpoint. They'd found a huge hedge on the property next door, and after making sure they were not visible, they had crept behind it, intent to stay there and wait. Draco had gotten the idea to hollow out the hedge from the inside—it was big enough for two people to sit inside, after all. A cramped fit, but one with a good view and that kept them well hidden from every angle. They hadn't needed to worry about being seen, anyhow. They had watched several residents leave for work already—some on their brooms, some by the tell-tale sound of Apparition, and the rest must have been through Floo. Someone had even taken a car. The property they were trespassing on was vacant. Hermione had dared to take a peek into an uncovered window and had seen the bare, dusty interior. No sign of life. She had found herself wondering if Umbridge's presence next door had anything to do with the quitting of this house.

I wouldn't want to be neighbors with her, either.

They'd made quick work of customizing the hedge and had crawled inside. It was a little uncomfortable but they could see loads better already, and that was all that mattered.

Hopefully we won't be here for too long.

Her legs ached for a good stretch.

Hermione focused on the front door and saw it opening, saw the loathed shade of pink that she had grown to avoid, the mop of perfectly curled brown hair, the rotund form of Jane Dolores Umbridge.

A shiver of hatred ran through her.

She felt pressure on her hand and found Draco was holding it, though he hadn't looked away from their target either.

He must be feeling it, too.

She squeezed his hand in return.

They'd wondered whether Umbridge would Floo or Apparate to work, but she was leaving her house instead, the door closing loudly behind her, and looking as self-satisfied and unlikable as ever, they watched her walk down the street.

"Just like Tonks said," Draco murmured. "She's heading toward the bakery."

"I'm on it," Hermione replied, already warning Harry through her galleon. He and Ron would be ready and waiting.

With the message sent, she let her hands fall back into her lap. Draco took her hand again gently. He was still staring at the house, a slight frown on his face. His thumb rubbed over her scar absently.

Tonks had sent what intel she could that wasn't classified—they'd been intrigued to learn that the Order had been watching Umbridge, too, though Tonks hadn't told them why. It was easy enough to guess, what with Umbridge's notoriety and marked racism. Hermione wondered for how long the Order had been watching her, if they had even uncovered anything useful. They had watched her often enough to know that Umbridge was a daily patron of the bakery Harry and Ron were waiting at, and that from there she Apparated to the Ministry's entry point.

Umbridge was not married and lived alone; that was general information. But Hermione found herself wondering with a morbid sort of curiosity what sort of hobbies Umbridge might have besides collecting things with cats on them and buying only pink clothing. Somehow, she didn't picture Umbridge as the sort of person who even had hobbies, or wanted them, for that matter. She seemed very much the sort of person who lived for their work and ideologies-a trait Hermione once would have really admired until she had discovered firsthand how badly that might turn.

She held Draco's hand more tightly, drawing out her wand with the other. Now came the trickier part.

"Are you ready?" she asked.

Draco looked back at her and nodded.

"Merlin, it smells amazing in here," Ron said, looking wistfully at the glass counter, where an array of freshly baked goods glistened invitingly. "I'm so hungry I want to try everything."

"Once we're done," Harry said, fiddling with the galleon between his hands, his coffee untouched. "Can't have you distracted by pastries."

"Too late." Ron craned his neck, his eyes intent on the pastry display. "I know which one I want. I can already taste it."

His stomach rumbled loudly.

The Galleon flashed hot in his hands. Harry almost fumbled it, and glanced down at it.

"She's coming," Harry muttered, reading Hermione's message on the coin. Just like Tonks had said: 8:30.

Their table was half-hidden by another pastry case display but that allowed them a good view through the front windows.

"D'you think Hermione'll want something from here, too?" Ron asked.

There was no time for deliberation. There was the jingle of the bell at the door as it opened, and after what felt like a curious pause where time seemed frozen and Harry steeled himself for the inevitable, came the familiar staccato of heeled feet. Harry forced himself to look straight ahead and act as naturally as possible, one hand gripping the warm galleon, the other thumbing idly at his napkin, but his grip was too tight and the scars on his hand that they had forgotten to conceal stood out vividly in his skin.

I must not tell lies.

Likewise, opposite him, Ron had gone pale and was sipping at his coffee for far too long though it was clearly still too hot, glancing to his side as the woman in pink walked past with an expression as though he anticipated seeing an Acromantula.

Harry shot him a quick look.

Relax!

Ron nodded, wincing, and looked out the window, trying to compose himself lest he give them away.

Umbridge had taken no notice of them, every ounce of her being shrouded in pink and a wretched sense of self-confidence. Harry suppressed a shiver of hate, too aware of his wand hidden away in his pocket—but so close in his reach.

If he wanted to, he could just take it out and get her right here—

"Hem, hem," they heard her say to the sleeping young woman at the counter. "Sleeping at work again, Betty?"

Ron grit his teeth together so sharply that Harry heard it quite clearly.

"The usual for you, Miss Umbridge?" The young woman (Betty, apparently) sounded sullen and sleepy.

"Yes." There was the sound of coins being set onto the counter rather rudely. "Make it quick."

They heard the sliding of the pastry case doors, the wrinkle of a paper bag being opened, the till being used.

By now Hermione and Malfoy would be casing her home, probing for any security measures she might have up. The locket had to be somewhere among her possessions—although now it occurred to him that if she had truly known the locket's importance and value, it would have made more sense for her to lock it up at Gringott's. His stomach plummeted—were they wasting their time? Were they looking at the wrong place?

Fuck.

At the very least, the other two back at Umbridge's place could try their best to see whether the locket was there or not. Once Umbridge was gone, he and Ron would go back and help them and search the property as quickly and stealthily as they could. Then—and he wanted to groan with the enormity of this task—they would have to figure out how to get a look at her Gringotts vault. It was a lot of work. But they had to be absolutely sure. There was very, very little room for mistakes here. Dumbledore's wasted arm flashed in his mind's eye. Pain gripped him briefly-he fought hard to shake it off. Now was not the time. But it was hard not to miss someone who had very much been a father figure to him.

The transaction had been short. Umbridge got her usual (two blueberry scones and a steamed pudding, according to Ron later, who had noted this with great interest). Betty told her to have a good day in a tone that belied she didn't mean it, and Umbridge turned away from the counter without acknowledging it and now came the staccato footsteps back to the main door.

As she made her way toward them, Umbridge stared straight ahead, her usual simpering smirk not yet on her face, perhaps due to the early hour. Her pink robes looked finer than he remembered. Harry found himself wondering how much the Ministry paid her to fulfill her hateful anti-Muggleborn policies. He gripped the galleon harder and told himself not to look her in the eye—he would surely glare and she would find that odd, if not suspicious. But his eyes were disobedient and wanted to have a look anyway—they awkwardly traveled up and paused in horror at her throat, staying there until she had completely passed him. She held her wares tightly in her hand and waved her wand for the door to open for her, and stepped out busily into the street, one of her scones already half-eaten.

They heard Betty sigh from behind the counter, and then mutter an Accio to summon a broom. The sound of sweeping began faintly in the background.

They watched as Umbridge turned on her heel and Apparated away.

It was over as quickly as it had begun. Ron and Harry looked at each other, deliberating what to do next. Ron had briefly forgotten his hunger, shaken by the encounter though it had by no means been accidental. He took another sip of his coffee.

"That was awful." He shook his head, glanced at the counter, where Betty had retreated into the back room. "I know it wasn't that long ago, but it felt like we were in her classroom again. Eugh." He looked at Harry. "Fancy getting something to eat?"

He frowned, seeing Harry's expression.

"What's wrong?"

Harry leaned across the table, his eyes now urgent.

"She's wearing it," he hissed.

There was a loud clang from the backroom as something fell. They heard Betty swear.

"What, pink? I know. That's her thing, innit."

"No—Ron, she's wearing it. She's wearing the locket."

Now Ron went pale.

"Oh." He sighed again and looked at the ceiling. "Fuck. Great. Of course she is."

Harry was already informing Hermione through the galleon.

"They're already done and are waiting for us at Gri—at home. We've got to go," he said, casting a suspicious look around the otherwise unoccupied shop as if spies had suddenly entered it. He stood so abruptly his chair scraped and skittered backward. "Now."

They hurried out the door, tossing their mostly unconsumed coffees in the bin. Ron cast one last longing look at the pastry display, his stomach growling.

Hermione looked peeved when Harry and Ron found her back at Grimmauld Place, sitting at the kitchen table with her arms crossed.

"Where's Malfoy?" Ron asked.

"Right here," said Malfoy as he entered the kitchen, a half-eaten green apple in his hand.

"How did it go?" Hermione asked. "Did you see her?"

"Wish we hadn't," Ron said, grimacing. He sat down at the table opposite Hermione, took out his wand to take off his glamour charms.

"She's wearing the locket," Harry said grimly.

Hermione looked stricken. Malfoy had paused mid-bite.

Hermione recovered first.

"Wearing it?"

"Yeah. She walked right past us. I saw it. I felt it."

"What do you mean, 'felt' it?" Malfoy asked, looking curiously revolted.

Harry shook his head. "I don't know… I just did. I think it's the negative energy coming off it. It was the same with Riddle's diary."

Malfoy barely suppressed a flinch at the use of his former master's given name.

"So we needn't have waited outside that woman's house in a scratchy bush all morning."

"Hey, none of us could have known she'd actually wear the damned thing," Ron replied.

"I know," Malfoy said, sighing. "I just wish we'd found something useful. Her home's heavily warded, but we already suspected that. For someone who really likes to poke into everyone's business, she's terribly protective of her own privacy. We had a hell of a time trying to cross into her ruddy yard and couldn't even manage that."

Hermione sat still at the table, her hands around a cup of tea she had summoned, staring at the wall, thinking deep.

"At least knowing that she wears it saves us from having to break those wards somehow if that's even possible," she said. "How long might that have taken us?"

"So somewhere in between her home and the Ministry," Draco said slowly, "we've got to strike and grab that locket."

Harry nodded.

"There's no time to waste," Harry said. "We're doing this the day that potion's ready."

"We need to get hairs, then," Draco said. "When will that be?"

They all looked at Hermione.

"Tomorrow," she said. "If all goes well."

"Excellent," Harry said. "Malfoy and I will go and get the hairs we need."

"Er—why not all of us?" Ron asked.

"You and Hermione will need to stay here and make sure the potion goes according to plan," he said. "Otherwise that'll set us another month behind."

"Alright, I guess." Ron cast a sidelong look at Malfoy.

Hermione looked at Harry, a question in her eyes. He stared back, revealing nothing. She sighed and met Draco's eye. Draco looked just as eager as Harry did about their new shared mission.

"I trust both of you to come back intact."

Draco cracked a smirk.

"If I come back with any limbs missing, I'll trust you to send Moody a note of thanks for his shoddy Apparition training."

"Count on it," Hermione said seriously.

They woke up even earlier the next day. Hermione found herself ready in minutes and waiting outside Draco's door, about to knock when it opened and he nearly walked into her raised fist.

She had surprised him—he halted at once, their eyes locked, and then he stepped backward carefully, but took her hand in his and brought it to his lips.

"Good morning," she said softly.

"What's Potter planning, that he wants us apart?" He asked.

"I don't know," she said. "But please be careful, and mind your temper."

"I'll be the epitome of patience, my dear," he promised, smiling.

"Don't tease me," she said as he gripped her hand more firmly and pulled her in closer, pressed a kiss to her lips.

They parted and she tried to give him a stern look when really all she wanted was another kiss.

"I want you both back in one piece. I don't care if you two snipe at each other the whole time, but I don't want to hear that even a single jinx was cast between the two of you."

Draco kissed her again, wishing they could fall into bed and waste the morning together. He did not want to release her, but when the kiss had deepened and was at risk of turning into something more, judging by their active hands, Hermione broke from his lips and pulled away.

"Promise me," she said, slightly out of breath. Her eyes were warm but worried.

"I promise, sweetheart," he said. "We'll get it done and be back as soon as we can."

They went down the stairs together and found the other two in the kitchen.

"Ready?" Potter asked, rising from his seat. He grabbed his robes from the back of his char and pulled it on.

"You're disguising yourselves, right?" Hermione asked, frowning. "Don't tell me you're going out just like that."

"Of course we are," Potter said a little too quickly. He took out his wand but Hermione was already there with hers, holding him by the chin as she carefully cast a mix of glamour charms that turned him out blonde and brown-eyed with a long face scattered with freckles.

She came to Draco next, he had to stoop a little for her to be able to work on him. He couldn't see how her design came out in the end but trusted her enough to know it would hold, and that it was as convincing as Potter's. She took his left arm next, made sure the Dark Mark was fully covered by his sleeves.

"Mark," she said, looking at Draco, and then turned to Potter. "And Paul."

Potter grimaced. "Paul?"

"You look like a Paul," Draco said, and heard an explosive snort from the table where Weasley had barely contained his laugh.

Hermione caught his eye and gave him a look that was meant to check him but only had him wanting to trap her against the wall and snog her until she forgot all this Mark business.

"Pick yourself another one, then!" She said. "Just don't use your real names."

"Paul will do," Potter said, shaking his head and approaching them. "We'll be going to the Muggle entrance of the Ministry. The one hidden in the loo. I reckon we can find people to get hairs from there quickly enough."

"Just be careful," Hermione repeated. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a Galleon, handed it to Draco.

"I've charmed another one just in case you get separated," she said. "If anything bad happens, find each other and come back here at once. Don't give anyone a chance to see who you really are. Knock them out if you must, but be sure to Obliviate them."

Draco raised a brow, surprised.

"If it keeps us hidden another day…" she said, and he nodded.

He didn't know how, considering all he'd learned about her in the past year and a half, he was surprised at that subtle streak of ruthlessness inside her. He had seen it, experienced it, too. There was something about it that both impressed and aroused him, that she could appear so innocent at one moment and then be seconds away from striking one down the next. He remembered her punch from third year again, how absolutely floored he'd been by her ever since, and pretending it was not the case, that he had not been afraid of her for some time after.

His thoughts snapped back to the current as she spoke again, unaware of his flashback.

"Above all," she said, almost pleadingly, "communicate. We're all working together now. I know it's weird. We all feel it. But we have to make this work regardless of personal feelings. One little mistake can see us caught before we've really begun anything worthwhile."

They nodded and Hermione stepped back, her own galleon clutched tightly in her palm.

"Keep us updated," she said.

Potter hugged her.

"Back soon," he said. "Promise."

Then it was Draco's turn. She'd gone pale, held the side of his face, and gave him a quick, crushing kiss he didn't want to end, but it did, and her eyes were anxious, not wanting to see him go. Potter fiddled with the clasp of his robe. Weasley looked unhappily out the window.

"Be careful," he said.

"We'll be fine," Harry said. Hermione nodded, and they left.

Time crawled at Grimmauld place. Hermione and Ron were still sat at the kitchen table, tense and not speaking much for the first hour. There really wasn't much to do with the Polyjuice Potion except to check on it every other hour to make sure it was still brewing. Hermione couldn't help but wonder why Harry had insisted that she and Ron stay behind—the whole mission might have gone faster if all four of them had gone rather than two.

Ron had been periodically clearing his throat for several minutes now and it was starting to get annoying, but Hermione tuned it out as best as she could to let herself think. Kreacher had come to ask what they might want for lunch and dinner. They didn't know whether Harry and Draco would be back in time for lunch so Kreacher had decided to make a platter of sandwiches, and they had gratefully let him decide what dinner would be as well.

They had received word from Harry that they had Apparated successfully to the Ministry entrance, but there had been no further updates. Hermione willed herself not to blast questions through her galleon, but her nerves were burning and her anxiety continued to grow. Say they got caught and cornered and held at the Ministry? Say their disguises wore off and they had to make a run for it? And her most irrational and insidious thought: What if Harry had chosen Draco to go with him so he could turn him in?

She willed the thought away impatiently. There was no way Harry could do that without bringing suspicion on himself, and it was too ridiculous an idea to entertain.

She looked out the window, frowning, angry that she had even thought such a thing about Harry. Hotheaded he might be, but she trusted him and didn't think he would do something so reckless.

Draco's scars flashed through her mind's eye.

You've had that thought that before, and look where it led.

"You know," Ron said, startling her, "I'm sorry about kissing you at the battle. I thought it was a good idea at the time. I didn't know about you and Malfoy."

Hermione turned to face him. "I wish I'd been brave enough to tell you sooner that I don't see you in that way at all. You and Harry are like brothers to me. I don't want to change that."

He nodded, his face pink.

"I guess I knew but didn't want to acknowledge it," he said apologetically, avoiding her eye. "I thought you might give it a try if I kept asking."

"I can't bring myself to do what I don't want to do," she said. "And keeping up the matter when it was clear I wasn't interested would only have led me to be angry at you. That's not respecting my space."

"I see that now," he said, wincing. "I really am sorry, Hermione." He sighed. "I can see Malfoy cares about you. He really has changed…but don't you ever worry what'll happen if his family finds out?"

Hermione traced a groove along the table. "His family's opinion doesn't matter to me. I like him and he likes me, and that's all I know."

Ron shook his head. "What if they hurt you, Hermione? They haven't changed, and they're not likely to."

"I'll know their hatred has no reflection on him whatsoever," she said curtly. "He's cut ties with his own family to work with us—he did what he did at Hogwarts to save his parents because he still loves them, but now he doesn't owe them anything. He's warned me himself of what staying with him could mean for me. He said he wouldn't be angry at all if I didn't choose him, but I did. I know the risks, Ron, and I'll face them when the time comes. I'm not afraid."

Ron didn't look happy with her answer. An awkward silence stretched out around them.

She stood. "I'm going to check on the potion."

By that time, Harry and Draco had succeeded in getting three clumps of hair from three different wizards. They had each been apprehended and Obliviated as quickly as they could manage and then sent on their way. Harry held the three vials of hair samples, hastily labeled and tucked safely within his robe.

They exited the men's lavatory casually, hearts pounding.

"We need one more," Draco muttered, looking in the direction of the women's loo.

Potter sighed. "I am not going in there."

"Nor I," Draco agreed, looking around, trying to drum up an idea.

"We could just get men's hair for her, too," Potter suggested.

"Would she be comfortable with that?"

"Dunno. I don't think she'd mind much."

They lapsed into a long silence, the crowd around them fluctuating quickly so that the hall was at times empty except for them or rather full. Everyone was rushing around, consumed by their business, chatting to coworkers, and paying them no attention whatsoever.

Draco eyed the women's loo again. They were wasting time here—Hermione would have to settle for men's hair unless she felt like covering herself with glamour charms from head to toe. Manageable for her, of course, but time-consuming, and then there was the worry of them wearing off suddenly.

"How are the scars?" Potter asked suddenly, and Draco turned to look at him, blinking in surprise.

"Itchy as all hell," he said curtly. "But no worse for wear."

Potter looked uncomfortable. They were alone in the hall again except for the distant rush of water from a tap in the men's somebody had forgotten to turn off.

"What I did was extreme," he said. "I didn't know what that spell would do."

Draco supposed a full on apology wasn't about to be given, and he supposed Potter had a right to believe he didn't need to directly apologize. Draco had attacked two of his best friends, after all, and murdered Dumbledore at that. That he bothered to be civil at all at this point, still so soon after everything that had happened, was something Draco was still surprised by.

Still, he supposed, a lukewarm acknowledgment was better than none at all.

"In the category of things we regret doing I think I've got you beat," Draco replied. "I deserved it, and I tried to curse you, first. But I appreciate the sentiment."

"Hermione gave me a reckoning after," Potter said, shaking his head, clearly still perturbed by the memory. "I reckon she cared about you by then. She was furious I'd been so careless, but she was scared for you too—I was too distracted to think about it more deeply."

Draco was silent for a moment. The incoming crowd had crested again like a restless wave on a shoreline and the hall was full of sound again, of rustling clothing, of shoes on cobblestone, the drone of voices warped by the arched ceiling. Brief snippets of conversation floated past. He resisted the urge to scratch his scars.

"She came to visit me in the hospital wing," he said. "Only three people did, and one of them I didn't care much for. I thought I was dreaming when I saw her there. She said she wanted to see if I was okay. I thought she was just there to make sure you wouldn't get into trouble. When she kept coming, I knew things were different... We called a truce eventually. She offered to help me." He gave a dry laugh. "The least deserving person in the room. I couldn't believe it then and I can't believe it now."

"I guess she thought you were worth saving, too," Potter said. He hesitated. "You clearly like each other. She's like a sister to me. It's not my business, and she'd kill me if she knew this, but if you hurt her—"

"I've already had this speech from Weasley," Draco said wearily, sighing. "I've done enough damage in the past and I'll live with it for the rest of my life. By some miracle, she's able to look past it and forgive me—and she even got me back here and there. She's well aware of what consequences our…relationship might bring and she's chosen to stay." He quieted for a moment, wanting to hold back, but the words pressed at his lips from the cage of his mouth. He figured he owed it to Potter to share some vulnerability, vulnerable as he already was. It was going to get exhausting, otherwise, if they continued to question his motives.

"She's special," he said softly. "She's no ordinary witch. I knew that before and I still know that now. For as long as she chooses to stay I'll be the luckiest wizard alive. I don't want to fuck this up because, in light of all the awful choices I've made in my life, she isn't one of them."

He was aware of Potter staring at him, utterly in shock. He forced himself to meet Potter's eye to show he meant what he said.

"I know you and Weasley want to protect her," he said. "I might not be able to erase the things I've done, but I can help protect her, too. Not that she really needs it."

Potter stared at him for a moment longer, and Draco found he couldn't look away. Potter's expression was now unreadable but at last, he finally nodded. Draco felt as if something more had shifted between them. He nodded, too, and looked away.

"Thanks," Potter muttered. "You know…for sharing that."

"I know you and Weasley might not completely trust me still, but I feel I need to reiterate I'm in this for good," Draco said. "I have no plans to back out. Not willingly."

"Why do you say, 'willingly'?" Potter asked.

Draco put his hands in his pockets.

"The Dark Lord and his coterie don't take kindly to traitors, if you haven't noticed, Potter."

The area had gone quiet and empty around them again.

"Are you saying your own family would punish you?"

"Aunt Bellatrix used the Cruciatus on my mother when they were teens because the wizards she liked preferred my mum instead. She did it twice, Potter. My parents don't love each other. You've seen what my father is capable of. He also happens to be good friends with a spree killer and serial rapist."

"Fuck," Potter said.

"Cruelty is not uncommon in my family," Draco said bitterly. "But it ends with me."

Before Potter could respond, Draco withdrew something from his pocket and stared at it in confusion. An old, stale piece of Drooble's chewing gum lay warm in his palm. He couldn't remember buying it—it must have been ages ago.

A beat later, another crowd came into the station. Draco glanced up at the noise, having made up his mind to throw the sweet away, when he saw a witch standing off by the wall on the opposite side of the tunnel, hurriedly looking through a large purse, glasses slipping down her nose.

"I've got an idea," he said, and jammed the bit of gum into his mouth, chewing furiously.

Potter stared at him as if he'd gone mad. "Mind sharing it?"

"Hold on," Draco said, spitting out the gum into his palm. He tapped it with his wand, got it to levitate high up in the air and over the heads of the other pedestrians, and land lightly in the busy woman's hair.

"Apologies in advance," Draco muttered. He twisted his wand around and they watched from afar as the bit of gum stretched and discretely became tangled in the woman's hair. She, still searching, frowning into her purse, noticed nothing.

"Follow my lead," he said, and they crossed the space, weaving through the foot traffic. Potter had by now caught on and moved quickly.

Draco slowed down a bit and turned to Potter.

"…and then he tried to hex me, all for accidentally stepping on his foot!"

Potter, raised his brows and replied instantly. "The cheek of him!"

"Hang on, my shoe's undone," Draco said, and they came to a stop a few feet away from the woman, who had at last withdrawn a lipstick from her purse and was quickly reapplying.

Draco sorted his shoe situation (fumbling about the perfectly tied laces, pretending to retie them), and then straightened up. He took a step or two, walking past the woman, who barely noticed them, then halted and took a step back.

"Excuse me, Miss?" he said, trying to look a bit shy.

"Hale," came the automatic response from the woman, as if her position at the Ministry required her constantly asserting her name.

She looked up, lowering her compact, and blinked at them. Her glasses slid back up the bridge of her nose.

"May I help you?" She asked.

"Sorry to disturb, Miss Hale." Draco gestured to the side of his head. "You've got something stuck in your hair."

She reached up and felt for it. Unable to find it immediately, she used her compact and seeing the Drooble's entangled in it, let out a long sigh.

"I don't have time for this!" She said, frowning. "How'd that even happen?"

"If you spend a lot of time around children it's bound to happen," Draco said, shrugging.

"Eugh—It's really stuck in there," the woman said, making a face as she carefully tried to pull the gum out. "I really don't have time for this. I'm late for work as it is. Thank you for telling me."

"No problem," Draco said, and he and Potter walked on to the end of the tunnel and after exiting it, hovered to the side by a nearby railing.

"So, we went through all that, and we've got no hair," Potter said.

"Not yet. She's probably cut it off seeing as she's in such a hurry."

"And you reckon she'll stop by and give it to us as a token of gratitude?"

Draco snorted. "That'd make things easier, wouldn't it?" He raised his wand. "Accio…cut off hair with gum?"

"You're going to look an absolute idiot if it doesn't appear," Potter said, crossing his arms. "That was good improvisation back there, though, I'll give you that."

"Yeah, well spending so much time breaking rules with Crabbe and Goyle had me doing all the mental heavy lifting," Draco said. "So I got plenty of practice."

To their shared astonishment (and Draco's secret glee) a lock of black hair, neatly held together by a pink wad of gum, floated into Draco's hand.

Potter gave a grudging nod of approval.

"I really shouldn't be surprised," Draco heard him mutter. "Stupider things have happened."

Hermione and Ron met them in the kitchen when they arrived.

"You took longer than we expected," Hermione said, rushing to hug them both. "What took you?"

"Didn't feel that long to us," Potter said, accepting his hug. "We just stopped for some tea and had a heart-to-heart for our break."

Draco couldn't help it—he laughed.

Weasley had his hands in his pockets.

"Did you get the hair?"

Potter took the four vials and placed them on the table.

Hermione took one and looked at it closely.

"Excellent," she said. "The potion will be ready by tomorrow morning. We need to prepare."