A/N: Behold! Chapter 27!

This chapter is dedicated to the wonderful Stan Lee, 12-28-22 to 11-12-18. You will be missed but definitely not forgotten. *Blows kiss and waves farewell*

This chapter is also dedicated to the veterans and those actively serving in the military. *stands and salutes*

My heart and prayers go out to those displaced by the California fires and the families that have lost loved ones.

Thank you, readers and reviewers! Thanks so much, guys, for your patience. I know a lot of you are aching for Hermione/Bucky time. Hang in there. It'll happen. Hermione's got some growing up to do first and some loose ends to take care of.

Enjoy! Read and review!


Chapter 27: Diagon Alley

Soo-jin grabs her injured hand again and drags her passed the archway, and Potter links his arm through hers. Even as she gawks at her surroundings, she attempts to get her arm back. He's thin. On the scrawnier side but lean. She could easily remove his arm from her and even his person, and maybe she'll do just that. The archway is still there, she could—

"Don't even think about it," says Potter, waggling his wand at her.

"I don't think you realize how foolish of you it was to bring me here," she tells him and then sends Soo-jin a calculating side-glance. This place. This Diagon Alley is thriving of life, both young and old. Targets. Most she sees are children under the ages of ten. None of them appear to have wands or even the luxury of keen-eyed parents watching them. It'd be easy scooping up one and using him or her as leverage.

And look! A three-year-old girl with a ribbon securing her bun. No parent in sight.

Don't, warns Nat.

You're not even here.

It's not who you are anymore, Milas.

Without a care in the world, the child runs in front of them, she looks up at Harry and gently waves her chubby hand at him. Hermione notices her pink canvas slippers, pink tights, and the black leotard underneath her impossibly tiny cloak.

"Well, hello there, Isabella. How's your mum?"

"Yelling at Daddy and Uncles because they're idiots." She points across the street at a shop called Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes. Children of all ages pour in and out it, all so excited. Many of the ones leaving hold tiny portable cages and inside is the tiniest ball of fluffy colored fur, Hermione's ever seen.

"Rich idiots," mutters Soo-jin.

"Your uncles. Are they good?"

The child nods.

"And Grandma Molly and Grandpa Arthur? Are they doing all right?"

"Grandma got this ribbon for me!" she points to the bright orange ribbon securing her wild, black curls. "And made me this." She flaunts her velvet black cloak and turns around slowly to ensure Potter sees Isabella's name embroidered on the back. Also in orange.

Isabella Zabini.

Hermione tucks that name away for later and focuses on the attention Potter gives the girl. Other children wave at him while passing to the other side of the street. They, too, are dressed similarly. Hermione follows their little legs inside a ballet studio. She cranes her head for a better view and through the glass, sees two older ballet dancers rehearsing Swan Lake's black swan's Pas de Deux.

The one playing Odette is flawlessly performs the footwork, and the instructor's got his wand directed at her legs. As the studio door opens and closes, Hermione hears the instructor shout, "Your wings, Prya! Now! Dazzle your audience!"

Black, shiny and smooth feathers first sprout from between Prya's shoulder blades and then spread and swell over her shoulders and then her arms. Her feet lift off the ground and hover over the wood flooring. The young woman continues to flawlessly complete the remainder of the dance without a surface and without arms, essentially flying with wings.

Holy shit.

"Bring back memories?" asks Soo-jin, snapping Hermione out of watching the dancer. She then says to Potter. "She was a ballerina."

"The hell I was." Despite the pain, she wrenches her hand out of Soo-jin's.

"You had ballerina training," she argues.

"You don't have a fucking clue what I was trained for. You have no idea what I learned. What I experienced. And whether you admit to it or not, I bet anything you're burning to know what the Red Room was really like. It was hell. Seven years. Seven fucking years I didn't get to go outside. Not once. And do you want to know what they did to me when I did get to go outside at eighteen? What they did to all us girls? Or…the ones that at least survived to see eighteen."

Hermione may be unable to read her mind, but she can see Soo-jin's apprehension mixed with undying curiosity. Quickly, she recovers and takes her uninjured hand, patting the back of it. "17, I can't imagine the horrors you experienced there—"

"What did they do to you?" Potter interrupts. "Aside from keeping you indoors?"

"It'd churn your stomach."

"I may surprise you."

"Let us hope so. Soo-jin told me you're likeable, and so far, I'm unimpressed."

"Gaining your respect means being desensitized by evil. Noted. Also, you're not doing yourself any favors, either."

"If I wanted you to like me, Potter, you'd like me. I could've played the distraught, broken, sad and misused girl. I could've played your sympathies, and I could probably now even after forcing you. I could tell you right now everything I experienced from the moment I got institutionalized as a kid, and you'd be oh so sorry. And then I could tell you how I got kidnapped and shoved into child-trafficking, and you'd just be devastated on my behalf."

"Quite." Potter shoves his hands into the pockets of his trousers. "Unfortunate what happened. Everyone's got trauma, Hermione. Not everyone grows up to be a killer."

"How nice for them to have had a choice. I think we both know it can be easily removed when someone bigger than a confused, terrified seven-year-old is calling the shots."

"I gather you're trying to get my sympathy now—"

"Is it working?"

"Try harder. You kill children, and I know you were thinking about grabbing one right here and using it as leverage to escape. You want my sympathy, Hermione? Feel remorse."

"No. You me want to show it."

And there isn't enough time in the world for her to ever make amends. The realization of her wrongs is still fresh, and they'll haunt her until she dies. But she's not going to give an ounce to this man or to Soo-jin. Very rarely would Nat even let Hermione see her guilt.

Hermione keeps her hardened mask intact as the faces of those she's murdered make their umpteenth appearance that day. They're in order, the first being that MI-6 agent from the Red Room.

Harry runs a hand through his black fringe. His scar really is strange, and she wonders how he got it. The lightening-bolt shape almost looks like it happened on purpose.

"This was a shit idea taking you to Diagon Alley so soon. I thought…I don't know what the fucking hell I thought, but we're here, and you need supplies. And if you behave yourself the whole time, I'll get you an ice cream."

"And if throw myself on the ground and have a tantrum?"

"I'll turn you into a newt." He smirks. "And you won't get better."

Hermione frowns, confused.

"You know? Monty Python and the Ho—"

"I've never seen it."

Potter puts a fist to his mouth, closing his eyes. He breathes and then says, "I'm going to pretend you didn't say that. You've seen it right, Soo-jin?"

"Is this a…movie? My film exposure was very limited before I started at Durmstrang. Is it good? What's it abo—"

"Hermione, we're going to stop by Madam Malkin's first. You'll get measured, put in a basic order. You don't need anything from a joke shop or the ballet studio. You will need a cauldron."

Measured? She looks at the almost Dickensian scenery. It's like stepping back in time almost. But with a near-modern accent. No department stores in sight, though, so not that modern. Really, it looked like it could be a tourist setup.

"Not fourteen or fifteen years ago, it looked completely different," says Soo-jin. "Didn't it, Harry? Most of these shops are only a decade or less old. The ones that didn't get the full blast had to remodel and start up their businesses again from scratch."

The full blast. She doesn't ask, just stows it away for another time. They don't have to walk far to get to this Madam Malkin's place. Harry leaves her in Soo-jin's care because he says he has a bank errand, and Hermione is relieved because she can speak freely to the woman.

As they enter the shop, Hermione whispers under her breath to Soo-jin, "I'm going to make you regret ever hunting me down, bitch."

Soo-jin slips her arm through Hermione's and squeezes. Lips tight in an unpleasant smile. "Behave yourself. Remember what Harry said about the ice cream. Oh, Madam Malkin, so nice to see you. It's been too long."

An elderly woman's head sticks out from the back curtains. Her hair is wrapped up in a tulip-imprinted dhuku, and her faded brown, watery eyes narrow. "Is the wedding back on, dear?"

"I have a friend staying with me. She needs clothes."

The woman's head disappears. "One moment, boy," they hear her say. She reappears, a bright shimmering muumuu over her stout frame. The red painted nails of her gnarled fingers skim over the heaps of material on display as she comes closer to them. Without looking, she grabs a reel of cream-colored charmeuse and presents it to Soo-jin. She forces her hand on the material.

"Feel it," she orders. "Doesn't it just say, 'Autumn weddings in the country are so romantic!'."

"The wedding's still off, and the satin one you made was lovely." Soo-jin clears her throat. "We're here for her. She needs clothes."

Madam Malkin puts on the neon pink-rimmed glasses dangling from a chain around her neck. She eyes Hermione up and down, lips pursed, and then grabs her hand, too. Thankfully, the uninjured one. She runs the pads of her fingers over her palm, poking at her calluses, mutters to herself, and then starts squeezing her shoulders and upper arms.

"Athletic. Impressively toned. Not a Quidditch player but built like a Chaser."

Quid—

Never mind.

"Not much here." The woman gestures to Hermione's bust. "Padded brassier. Do you have a fella, sweetheart?"

Hermione frowns at her.

"I'll take that as a no. Shocking with a face like yours. We'll stick with whites and flesh-tones then."

"Madam Malkin here can be familiar," says Soo-jin. "But she's very good. When's the last time you had tailored clothes?"

Her Stark-designed bodysuit. Not relevant now, and she wishes she didn't have to get rid of it while on the run. She'd like to have it now. She always felt safe in it. Kevlar-lined and rape-proof, compact utility belt, built-in holsters, and pockets. What more could a woman want in life?

"She'll need a basic load for the rest of summer, into fall and winter. Nothing fancy. Trousers and blouses and two cloaks. Color of your choosing."

"If she's staying at the Nott residence, perhaps riding clothes."

Soo-jin opens and then snaps her mouth shut, ultimately dipping her chin. "Fine."

"And at least one skirt. With your legs, dear, it'd be a crime not to show them just a little."

Madam Malkin ushers she and Soo-jin back behind the curtain. The client she was talking to before is a young boy no older than four. He's standing impossibly still for his age, floating and looping tape measurers take his measurements. A notepad and a quill—

A quill?

Whatever.

The quill writes down the boy's measurements on the pad.

Soo-jin shoots the boy a revolted look and picks up a magazine called Witch's Weekly and shoves her face into it, so she doesn't have to look at him. She sits down, pulls out a normal looking pen, and flips through the pages to do a crossword puzzle. Hermione joins her but puts a couple of seats between them. Her eyes fall back to the boy, and she wonders why Soo-jin's reaction. If Hermione was partial to children, she'd call him cute. White-blond hair and a sort of cherubic face. His cheeks are round and rosy, but his chin's prominent, almost going amiss because his blue eyes are round and big.

"How do you do? I'm Scorpius Malfoy," introduces the kid.

"Where's your dad, kid?" asks Soo-jin, not looking up from her puzzle.

"He's getting me a new training cauldron. He'll be back soon."

Soo-jin lets out sigh. "And so will I." She whispers to Hermione, "I can't be here when his dad gets back. Too much drama. It's a long story—"

"I don't care."

"Stay here. Don't cause trouble. Don't make a scene. Don't hurt or scare the kid. For the love a God, just don't. I'll be back in twenty minutes."

Prickly tingles set in where her wand made those marks appear on her forearm. They spread throughout her entire body.

Yeah, that bullshit needs to be undone. Whatever the hell she did.

Soo-jin leaves behind the magazine. Hermione wastes no time grabbing it and reading the cover. Aside from the silently laughing witch who's running her hands through her lush, thick hair, the cover isn't that different from what she'd see at any checkout station at the grocery stores.

10 Tricks to Drive Your Wizard Wild in Bed

PMS? Skip the line at the apothecary, make-at-home potion remedy

3 Signs Your Wizard's a Cheat

Hair Thinning? French Visionary and well-known Female Healer Juliette Contessa may be the answer to your prayers.

Safe, Hair-Removal Spell for the Bikini Line.

Headaches and Hot flashes? What your healer isn't telling you.

Add This Surprising, Inexpensive Ingredient to your Morning Pick-me-up and Get Swimsuit Ready before Fall Hits: Lose a stone in two weeks and never gain it back.

Decadent Hazelnut and Butter Beer Cake: A recipe to satisfy your undeniable sweet tooth.

Hermione opens to the first page, beginning to read.

She doesn't get far.

"What's your name, Ma'am?"

Not looking up from the page, she asks, "Weren't you ever taught not to talk to strangers?"

"Indeed, he was." A man that couldn't be anyone else's father comes through the curtain, Madam Malkin behind him with rolls of fabric nestled in her arms.

"You talk funny. Where are you from?"

"Manners, Scorpius." The man looks at her, staring at her long enough to see whether she's a threat to his kid. "From America, I presume."

She returns to her page, and an emerald green handkerchief pops into view attached to a pale hand.

"Draco Malfoy. You've got soot markings on your face."

The names here, Jesus Christ.

The man has an air of wealth and poise, lightly accented with arrogance. He's blunt but polite enough to extend a handkerchief to a lone woman sharing a fitting area with his son.

She takes the offering. "Thank you."

There are mirrors all over the place. She goes to one and rubs at the gray smudges. She catches Mr. Malfoy's stare while Madam Malkin removes the tape measurers from around his son. When her face is clean, Hermione hands the cloth back to him. He takes it and returns it to his pocket and holds out his hand.

"This is the part where you introduce yourself."

He's not being rude, and she has to behave. She takes his hand, shaking it. "17."

"Pardon?"

"17."

His nod is hesitant. Pensive. "A nickname, I'm guessing. From youth. Your Quidditch number from your school days?"

She takes back her hand. "Something like that."

"Are you visiting or are you a new resident of England?"

"Uh…we'll see." Her eyes move to Madam Malkin. "Are you ready for me?"

"Yes, dear. Come here. Mr. Malfoy and young Mr. Malfoy, your order will be ready in about an hour."

The two leave, yet not without the older one throwing a glance over his shoulder at her.

"Poor dears," tuts the woman as she flicks her wand at the tape measurers. They spring back to life from the floor and wrap themselves around Hermione. "Mr. Malfoy lost his wife two years ago."

"Mm."

"Murdered. Can you believe that? In her own bedchamber. Of course, he was the prime suspect. The investigation went on for months, but he wasn't convicted. No evidence, and he had an alibi."

"You don't think he did it."

"I've been fitting that lad since he was a newborn, and I'll admit he's not without flaws or sins, but he's not capable of murdering the mother of his child. He loved that woman and such a beautiful wedding dress she had. I provided her fabric, but she insisted on some French pastry to diddle up a design for her. I designed her sister's wedding gown. Never even got the chance to sew it. Died of some freak illness. Healers saw nothing like it and haven't since. All I can think is thank Merlin their parents didn't have to put them in the ground. They passed during The War. Unlucky brood, the lot of them.

An entire family wiped out.

Fascinating.

"And…how did they die?"

"Hard to say. It happened in another country. Greece, mind you. Neutral territory during that time. There was so much going here all the time as I'm sure you heard while in America. England didn't even know about their passing until a year later, and when we did it was just…two more deaths that happened."

Hermione likes her. She's a gossip. A well of info and no mind-reading necessary. Now where to start and who to start about is the question. It'd look odd if she started asking about Soo-jin. The woman thinks they're friends and just Harry might not be a good idea either since children as young as fucking three even know him enough to wave at him on the streets. But if she approached with caution…

"Madam," Hermione starts, "Soo-jin, my friend. She works with Harry Potter. He's out with us today, but I've just met him. Is he…really all that they say he is?"

Jackpot!

Twenty minutes later…

"But if you ask me, when it comes down to it, he's still that lonely, broken orphan boy who came in to my shop at eleven." Madam Malin winks at her. "He needs a friend."

Having a friend especially a friend is probably the least of Potter's worries, and Hermione's starting to understand him more when it comes to his relationship with Soo-jin. He's not being purposefully ignorant. The two don't have a relationship, period. He's using her for sex, a dollop of a slight ego-boosting to top it off. Soo-jin must mean almost nothing to him.

Madam Malkin told her a tale in hopes of gaining Hermione's sympathies towards Harry since he's apparently a tender-hearted, mournful lad in need of a good and proper hug. Yeah, no.

His instincts should be telling Potter to kill her. Not…rehabilitate or domesticate. Soo-jin called her a dark wizard, or witch in this case. She's not wrong, so why's Potter giving her the benefit of doubt? He's not so much of Soo-jin's victim like she thought he was. She might have a comfortable grasp on his balls, but he's no prey.

What are you hiding, Potter?

"You know who else could use a friend?" pitches Madam Malkin, carefully folding one of Hermione's blouses and placing it in a bag. "Mr. Malfoy. I saw the way he looked at you. But to warn you, dear. Pick one or the other. Don't be dillydallying between them."

She stifles a snort. "I'll do my very best."

Soo-jin emerges from the curtain, eyes on her watch. "Are we about finished?"

The shopping bags are loaded, and Potter's waiting by the door. Madam Malkin pinches his cheek, tells him he's too skinny, and then gives him a hug. He's blushing when they leave the shop, embarrassed. His guard's down, so Hermione takes advantage and pokes at his mind. More as a test than peeking, not wanting a Soo-jin repeat.

What greets Hermione is not a solid wall of brain-throbbing ouch like Soo-jin's. Potter's front is obstructive as peanut butter. It's thick and smeary and not pleasant to handle with slow, blunt force. A sharp, fast strike, on the other hand, his memories and feeling and emotions are hers for the taking.

Next to Madam Malkin's is a shop called Eeylops Owl Emporium. Hermione slows her pace at seeing some of the most beautiful owls she's ever seen. Much like the ones at the estate. They sit, behaved and quiet, on their perches. One of them appears to be bred for strength and girth while the others appear to be bred for tininess.

"We vendor to Eeylops," says Soo-jin. Her nose wrinkles at the smaller owls. "People are wanting the little ones. They think they're cuter, and they take up less space and cost less food-wise. Harder, more expensive to breed, but that's where the money is."

Beneath the owls are a litter of kittens. Natalia wanted to get a cat for the apartment before things went south. They even tempted a pet shop, Nat liking the Siamese variety where Hermione couldn't say she had a preference. Strucker used to make her kill cats. He hated them. He disliked all animals but cats, especially.

There are no Siamese among the kittens, but there's a not-so-pretty, fat orange one in the corner of the cage not participating in play like the others. Its face looks flat, and she's reminded of Garfield the Cat. The kitten leaves the corner and presses itself to the side of the cage that closes to the window. It sticks its tiny paw through the thin bars.

"Hey Harry. Didn't you have a cat like this one? That you took care of after—" starts Soo-jin.

"Not now, Soo-jin." He bends down and taps at the glass where the orange cat is. "Weird, though. He's gone now. It's too long ago to have knocked up a cat and have this one."

Potter's tapping at the glass to get the cat's attention, but it's only got eyes for Hermione. He notices this and stands up, glowering at her and then massaging his chin like he's trying to decide something.

"It'd be cruel to deny her a familiar, Harry. They can be like wands and choose the witch or wizard."

Potter mutters under his breath and then says, "Stay here."

Good God, he's not really going to get her the fucking cat, is he? "I don't need a cat—"

He ignores her and goes into the shop. The transaction takes all of five minutes before he's exiting the shop, a tote and shopping bags in hand. He hands off the tote to Hermione, the cat inside, and the shopping bags full of kitty litter, a collar, kibble, and a booklet of the type of breed it is.

"If you hurt this cat, I will kill you," says Potter.

Hermione's lip quirks. "I won't."

Most of the shops, they pass by, but Hermione can't help but linger at the window displays. This place is strange. Like every ancient stereotype about witches and wizards have been crammed to create this place and these people. Cauldrons, brooms for "leisure flying" or "Quidditch", wands. Books of magic spells and potion-brewing. More than a handful, mostly aged folk, wearing pointed hats and peculiar stockings and boots. They go to Flourish and Blotts, a bookstore, attached is a chic, poetry-reading style café called Tea Leaves and Scrolls. Older teens and young adults mingle, read, and drink tea and coffee.

While wandering the shelves at Flourish and Blotts while Soo-jin and Potter are a few feet away discussing which book she needs the most for her studies, Hermione runs her fingers along the spines of some of the books, reading the bizarre titles. Her fingers stop on Hogwarts, A History.

Hogwhat?

She removes the thick book from its place on the shelf and flips through the pages, quickly concluding that Hogwarts is, not only a place, but a school for magical children ages eleven to eighteen who live in the jurisdiction of the United Kingdom and southern Ireland. The school is a castle and resides in Scotland. On one of the first pages is a sketch and then a painting of Hogwarts. Hermione has flown over Scotland several times and visited occasionally due to assignments. Never has she seen such an immaculate, fairy tale castle there.

There's a bench nearby, and she sets her shopping bags and the cat on it, engrossed already, and she's only on page five. The school was built in the tenth century, and there were four founders: Godric Gryffindor, Salazar Slytherin, Rowena Ravenclaw, and Helga Hufflepuff. The book gives brief, one-dimensional background information about each person but does suggest referring to other books for more information on each.

Hermione flips back to the first two pages where the castle is shown. Her finger tips skim over, her eyes soaking in each detail.

Anger and jealousy. Ugly, hateful, and green flare up inside her. She was supposed to go to this place, wasn't she? This school where children like her got educated. She wouldn't have been odd. She would've been accepted and safe, far from harm. Hogwarts looks like everything she would've loved and wanted as a child. It's not fair this right, this amazing and wonderful school was denied to her. Poor, sad orphan or not, Potter got to go.

While she got the Red Room.

A people and a place that congratulated their graduates by making it impossible to conceive and bear children. It's…obscene. Unholy and unnatural to force it on a woman. Hermione knows this now and has known it, even before realizing HYDRA's betrayals and crimes against her. Hermione doesn't regret what the KGB did to her, but she knew a few of those girls hated their lives and would have liked to be mothers. Nat being one of them.

Hermione remembers what Madam Malkin told her, and her resentment ebbs. There's a possibility her life still wouldn't have been ideal if things had gone differently. If she had been able to come to this community and go to school and learn, prosper, and hone her powers. There's still a large amount she doesn't know about this place, but they suffered a war not long ago. What the war was about, the details are hazy, and even when many believed it had ended in the early 80s, the worst had yet to come apparently.

"I think we have everything," Potter says, coming up to her.

"Did you go here?" she asks, showing him the book.

Potter takes it from her, his features unreadable. "For a while, I did."

In not so many words, he's telling her he didn't attend for the full seven years.

"It must've been nice. Going to school in a castle. With children like yourself."

He closes the book and puts it on the shelf. "I'm certain Theo has this book in his library. You can read his copy."

"I didn't go to Hogwarts," Soo-jin pipes. "Durmstrang. It's in Norway."

That explains her accent and lets Hermione know there are more schools than just the one. She wonders how many there are but doesn't ask. Potter's not looking so chatty. She must've struck a nerve in him.

On the way back to the Leaky Cauldron, they pass by Broomstix again, the Nimbus 2800 being replaced with the Firebolt VIII by the shopkeeper. Potter slows his pace, eyes lingering on the new display.

"Do you guys, like, actually fly on those?" asks Hermione.

"Sure thing," says Soo-jin. "I'm not much a flyer, though. Prefer to keep my feet on the ground. The UIAR is really coming down hard anyway. Check-in points, certifications, and licensing if it's not a training broom. Registration renewal fees and safety inspections. A lot of these new brooms aren't even worth having if you're not a Quidditch player or a racer. Flying that is an invitation to get flagged down by the air patrol and landing yourself a ticket."

"Sure miss the days where I could hop on my broom and go. None of this technicality rubbish they keep coming up with to drain our bank accounts." Potter waves dismissively at the broom while at the same time, half-heartedly kicking the brick of the building.

"Supposedly it's to keep illegal paraphernalia out such as undocumented immigrants, unregistered wands, cursed objects, dangerous creatures such as baby dragons and dragon eggs, poisonous potions, highly addictive substances. Those kinds of things."

"Obviously."

Potter mentioned a cauldron earlier, and Hermione thought he was half-joking, despite seeing several people toting them around. The shop is actually close to the Leaky Cauldron, but it makes sense Pottage Cauldron's Shop is their last stop. Cauldrons are heavy. Potter makes her and Soo-jin wait outside. Both wanted her to be introduced to this community, but they're careful—and with good reason—on her contact with people. If only Soo-jin had been more careful at Madam Malkins.

At the back of the Leaky Cauldron, Potter hands everything off to Soo-jin who takes out her wand and shrinks all the merchandise, excluding the cat, and directs everything into one bag.

Hermione can hear London, car horns and alarms and shouting of pedestrians, but she hardly registers the sounds. Soo-jin catches her stare and throws her a disarming but warm smile. "Neat, I know. You'll be doing this, too, before you know it."

"I'll take you back to the estate," says Potter, keeping her close. "Soo-jin will go by Floo. I'm going to ask because I do remember you Disapparating and Apparating a whole three feet. How far have you gone before?"

Disapparate and Apparate. Will the new terminology ever stop?

"I'm assuming you mean disappearing and reappearing. Why?"

"We're about to jump ninety miles."

Ninety miles? She didn't even know that was possible and never even dared going more than a few. "Is it going to be like that thing at my parents grave?"

"Arguably worse." He grabs her elbow.

"Because it's so pleasant to do it anyway, you know," she jokes.

"Tight, squeezing feeling? Nausea, vertigo, etc?"

She nods.

His smiles grimly. "Multiply that by ten."

When they reappear, it's outside and at in front of a wrought iron gate. Hermione collapses onto her hands and knees, dry heaving on the grass. Potter waits patiently enough while she recuperates and then leads through the gates and up the cobbled pathway to Nott's estate. It's raining by the time they get to the front door, and Lilo lets them in.

"Master has guests. Both would like to speak with Mr. Harry Potter, too, in the tearoom," says Lilo.

"I think I know who. Lilo, would you take Hermione to her room and make sure she has her things."

"Lilo would oblige Mr. Harry Potter, but Master's guests have requested Miss 17 be present, also."

Potter smears a hand down his face. "Might as well get it over with."

"And what if I don't want to meet these guests? Who else has Soo-jin arranged for me to meet?" asks Hermione, disgusted and beyond annoyed. "This is tiring. I don't want to make nice anyone else-"

"If you think you're making nice right now-"

"I'm not some-"

"They're your teachers," he interjects, heaving a sigh. "I told you about needing help-"

"I don't need help," she growls. "I don't need anything. Potter, just please let me go."

"You're a criminal, so no."

"Then lock me up. Put me on trial or whatever your kind does to people like me. Don't give me any special treatment because you feel bad—"

"I'm not doing this because I feel bad for you. Jesus Christ." He massages his eyes behind his glasses and mutters, "Regardless what I told the other two. Just...help me out here. Play along."

Hermione stares, lips parted out of surprise. "What are you playing, Potter?"

He grabs her injured hand, unapologetically tapping her inflamed skin and then runs his thumb along her forearm. The markings Soo-jin put on her appear briefly, only to fade again. It's like he knew it had been there all along.

"I can't remove it. She's too good. I can probably find someone who can." His wand hovers over her hand, the skin healing. "But this is elementary."

And when she thought she had him all figured out. It's now Hermione learns Soo-jin has no power over Potter at all. Not even a little. The game he's playing is cat and mouse, and he is definitely not the mouse.

"Well, Potter. What do you know? You've managed to impress me."

To be Continued...