"When I consider," she added, in a yet more agitated voice, "that I might have prevented it! — I who knew what he was. Had I but explained some part of it only — some part of what I learnt — to my own family! Had his character been known, this could not have happened. But it is all, all too late now."

Hermione glanced around the cluttered bedroom, dim in the grey light of early morning; two messy twin beds, tiny thick-glassed windows, stacks of old textbooks, faded quidditch posters curling off the walls. She'd been back at the Burrow for three days—taking time off from work to stay with Ginny in this cramped space that reminded her so forcibly of the past. The ghost of her younger self laughing with Ron and Harry as they sat on this floor seemed to linger in the still air.

Going to the window, she touched the glass with her fingertips, unseeing eyes staring out at fallow fields.

The men had all left—Arthur, Charlie and Hamish to Spain; Harry to London to consult with the DMLE; Bill to Gringotts to see if the financial trail would yield anything; Fred and George to the shop to try to attempt business as usual. The women had been left behind to wait for news, which hadn't come. All Hermione knew now was what she knew when they'd first arrived—that Ron and Wickham had been soliciting funds for an investment involving land in the southeastern coast of Spain. A rather large group had invested, including the Weasleys, who had mortgaged the Burrow. Harry had invested—heavily and without Ginny's knowledge.

But someone had gotten suspicious after a series of ignored communications from the principles and gone in search of the building site. And it turned out there had been no development, no land for sale—no scheme at all, in fact. Ron and Jack had been gone, the only traces of them having been in the area some gambling debts and the irate parents of a sixteen year old witch who had disappeared with them.

Now they were wanted by magical law enforcement of at least two countries.

It was sickening. Hermione felt physically ill at the idea of it. Especially when she thought of her half-hearted attempts to warn Ron off Wickham. She should have been more strident, more open. And no, she did not miss the irony there. But she should have exposed Jack for what he was—to everyone. Why hadn't she? Because she'd been afraid of what they would say? Afraid of revealing the source of her information and what that would mean...?

Draco.

Her mind seemed to sigh his name, her thoughts running to him as they often had since he had walked out of the hotel three days ago.

This must really be the end, mustn't it? His face had looked so set and cold when she'd read Jack's name in the letter. And then he'd just left. So quickly. He'd obviously wanted no part of this. And although Hermione wasn't a Weasley by birth or marriage, she may as well have been. To be so closely associated with Wickham's crimes… to expose Astoria to the story. He couldn't want that. It would be much easier to stay away. After all, she'd already pushed him out of her life.

Hermione padded across the hall to Ron's room. It didn't feel as abandoned as Ginny's since he'd been living here more recently, but something in the mix of the markers of childhood—a small broom, a stack of old trading cards—alongside a briefcase and a very large pair of shoes seemed somehow more melancholy.

She spun slowly in a circle, feelings of guilt stealing over her. She had really failed Ron, hadn't she? She'd given up so easily… But a flash of anger quickly followed. She had also tried to warn him. How could he have been so stupid? So careless? She felt further from her childhood friend than she ever had.

Fingernails curling into her palms, Hermione felt a now-familiar wave wash over her—helplessness, uselessness. She wanted to do something. It wasn't in her nature to sit idly by. But what could she do?

Abruptly, she spun out of the room and went downstairs. Molly was in the kitchen, sitting and staring out the window, a half-drunk mug of tea in front of her.

"Ginny went out, dear," she said. "Something about the garden." Her tone was so different from her customary energetic chatter that Hermione felt like crying.

"That's all right, Molly. I'll just sit with you, shall I?" She approached the older woman and noted that her tea was stone cold. "And I'll refresh this?"

Molly looked at her and nodded once. "Thank you, dear." Her eyes slid to the window again as Hermione busied herself with the kettle.

"It's cooling down, isn't it?" Hermione chattered. "Autumn truly here and winter around the corner."

Molly didn't respond and Hermione subsided into silence, concentrating on the tea. Finally she came back to the table with two steaming mugs. Molly accepted hers silently, her eyes finding Hermione's and seeming to actually note her presence for the first time. Their bright blue narrowed and Molly tilted her head slightly.

"You would have been the making of him, you know."

Hermione looked away, uncomfortable.

"I always wanted you for him. He needed you," Molly continued, "to motivate him, provide structure." Her gaze sharpened. "And he would have softened you." She nodded.

Hermione gave her a level stare. "I think we would have made each other very unhappy," she said. "He already resented me—even then. I was often frustrated with him. It would have grown into something darker." She held Molly's gaze until the older witch looked down.

"Perhaps you're right, dear. And I don't want you to think that I blame you for any of this."

Hermione buried a snort in her tea, the responses to the outrageous statement flitting through her mind rendered moot by the appearance of Ginny, in from the garden.

Stamping her feet in the doorway, Ginny blew on her fingertips. "It's bloody cold out there. Rather refreshing actually." Her sharp gaze darted between Hermione and Molly before resting on Hermione with a keen gleam. "Would you like to come for a walk?"

Hermione practically leapt out of her chair. "Yes! Just let me find my coat and boots."

She hurried off toward the front vestibule and returned to the kitchen properly clad, just in time to catch the tail end of a speech from Molly. It was obviously one of her 'wild notions', as Hermione and Ginny had taken to calling them—frequently repeated explanations for what could have happened with Jack and Ron. Invariably without any basis in fact or reason, and always ending with the two men completely innocent of any wrongdoing, they were exasperating to Hermione and infuriating to Ginny.

"Well, I just think it's possible there could have been a mistake," Molly was saying excitedly. "Mr. Beher could have gone to the wrong area. Or perhaps the locals had Ron and Jack mixed up with another pair of men. There is the language barrier, you know."

Ginny took a deep breath, her shoulders visibly tensing. "Mum, please. The police of two countries, dad, and several of your sons are not combing all of Europe for Ron due to a mix-up."

"All ready!" called Hermione, going to Ginny and placing her hand on her arm. "Let's go."

Ginny darted one more glance at her mother, who was staring out the window again, her burst of energy seemingly gone, then nodded at Hermione. "Back in a few, mum," she said softly.

Molly didn't respond.

~oOo~

Hermione took a great lungful of the crisp air as they stepped out into weak sunlight.

Ginny slammed the door behind them. "God, she's going to drive me totally insane," she bit out, setting a brisk pace through the garden. "What was she saying to you before I came in? I could tell it was something outrageous by the look on your face."

"Oh she was just sort of circuitously suggesting that if I'd just settled down and married Ron, none of this would have happened," said Hermione with a half laugh.

"Oh for, fuck's…" Ginny said, shaking her head. "Yeah, none of this would have happened because you'd have killed him by now. Honestly, that woman."

Hermione shook her head too and they walked in silence for a while. Hermione could feel the distance from the house act like a balm on her mood.

"Ginny," she said, "would I be totally abandoning you if I went back to the flat for a few days?"

Ginny came to a dead stop and faced her, eyes wide.

"God, of course not! I can't believe I've been so dense. Of course you should get out of here. It's fucking funereal. You must be going mad. And besides, our pot plants are probably in dire need of attention."

Hermione barked a short laugh, relief coursing through her. "Are you sure?"

Ginny took her hand. "Please, please, Hermione. Do go," she said. "There's no reason for both of us to suffer. I'll owl you the minute we hear anything."

A lightness seemed to lift Hermione and she smiled at her friend, "Thanks. I'll go this afternoon if that's all right." Ginny just grimaced at her and grabbed her arm.

They turned and started walking again, covering ground quickly, moving from the garden to a copse of evergreens that covered the small hill behind the house.

Hermione was enjoying the burn in her thighs and lungs when Ginny suddenly spoke. "I want to say I'm sorry," she said, her breath heavy as they tackled the steepest bit of the hill.

"Sorry?"

"For not being there for you the last couple of months. As much as I should have been."

"But, Gin—"

"No. You've been really unhappy and I've been a bitch because I was angry. Because of Harry and the scheme. I just didn't feel I could talk about any of it without going off. But that doesn't excuse me. I could see what you were going through, but I let Charlie and Hamish stand in when I should have been there." Ginny's voice hitched on the last words and Hermione stopped her and grabbed her hand.

Ginny looked at her for a beat and then hugged her fiercely.

"Don't. Gin. It's ok," Hermione stroked her friend as a sob ripped through Ginny's body.

Eventually Ginny pulled back. "God, look at me," she shook her head, "I was meant to be comforting you!" She wiped her eyes and with her thumb and forefinger and looked up. "Why am I such an arse?"

"You are NOT an arse." Hermione started.

Ginny held her hand up. "No, let me say this." Hermione was still. "This thing with Ron and Jack. Harry's going behind my back to invest. It's brought a few things home for me. One being that Draco was probably not as in the wrong as I thought he was. Definitely not about Wickham. And maybe not even about the Quidditch project. I wanted to cast him as the bad guy so badly," she gave a sharp laugh. "Habit, I guess." Hermione nodded. "But, also, no relationship is perfect," Ginny continued. "Sometimes even people we love can fuck up or fail to communicate or do things that surprise us. But that doesn't mean we give up on them or cut them off. We need to hear their side, talk to them…" her eyes took on a distant quality as she gazed away.

"So does that mean you're going to see Harry?" Hermione asked softly.

Ginny's eyes flicked back to her. "Yes. We're going to meet tomorrow. I just needed a few days. I was so furious that he went behind my back. Still am. But I need to hear him out. And we'll get through it. Even if we end up penniless and saddled with my broken family. I love him too much to let this come between us."

"Good. I'm glad," Hermione said, reaching out and touching Ginny's arm again.

Ginny patted her and then turned up the hill. "Let's keep going." Hermione nodded and they walked in silence until they reached the summit. Standing at the top, they took in deep breaths of cold air and looked at the patchwork view below.

Ginny turned to Hermione. "So what about Draco?"

Hermione frowned. "I don't know."

"Just to be clear," Ginny craned her neck to make eye contact and pointed to her own chest, "this is me going on record saying that I think you should hear him out too. I think you were too hasty— we were all too hasty—in our judgement of him."

Hermione felt an entirely mirthless smile cross her face. "Oh I agree. I just don't know if he's interested or willing anymore."

"What do you mean?"

Hermione sighed, "There's more to Draco's history with Wickham than what I told you before. I can't share details without breaking a strict confidence, but I can tell you that Wickham has done profound harm to Draco's family. Unforgivable harm." Ginny shook her head slowly, anger flashing across her features. "And when I received the news about Ron and Jack," Hermione continued, "...and Draco was there." Her voice trailed off and she felt tears start in her eyes. Ginny moved close and put her arm around her. "His face, Gin. His demeanor. I just don't think he can bear to expose his family to this man again. Even for me and what we almost had." The tears started down her face in earnest and Ginny pulled her close, murmuring soothing words.

After a moment Hermione pulled back and wiped her eyes. "So I don't think I should reach out at this point. When he walked away the other day, I think that was him making a clean break."

Ginny looked at her for several beats then blew out a huge sigh. "Im so fucking sorry that my fucking family is dragging you into this, Hermione. It's not even your fight. You're certainly not responsible for Ron at this point. Shit."

Hermione's hand shot out. "ANYthing that affects you and Harry is my fight. I know that, you know that and Draco knows that too. It's part of who I am."

"Yeah," Ginny closed her eyes and shook her head. "You're right, I know. I just wish none of this had ever happened. And I wish we'd fucking talked to Ron."

"Actually," Hermione said as they turned their steps back down the hill. "I did."

"What!?" Ginny stopped briefly to stare at her.

"I never had a chance to tell you and Harry because it happened right before I went away with Charlie and Hamish."

Ginny shook her head and they started walking again.

"It was here," Hermione continued. That last Sunday lunch before he disappeared. I approached him and warned him off Jack."

"Let me guess, he wasn't the most receptive?"

"Ah no. He figured out pretty quickly who my source was. And then he didn't want to listen at all. Jack had already poisoned that well."

"Right, and that on top of the uh, other reasons Ron hates Draco."

Hermione nodded and shrugged.

"Hell," Ginny said. "That makes Ron even more of a git, then. When they find him, they'd better put him behind bars just to protect him from me."

Hermione snorted as they approached the garden gate and let themselves through.

"I suggest going around to the side door so you can just pack your bag and avoid saying goodbye to mum," Ginny said. "It will be easier that way. I'll tell her you had a pressing work issue to attend to or something like that."

"Ok," said Hermione, relieved. "And you're sure you'll be all right? You'll owl me as soon as there is news—or even if you just need to chat."

"Yes to all of that. Now go before mum sees you." Ginny shooed her towards the stairs. "And Hermione?" Hermione stopped and turned to look into Ginny's solemn eyes. "If you see Potter tonight … tell him I miss him."

"I will, Gin." Hermione gave her a sad smile and continued up to pack her things.

~oOo~

Hermione fitted her key into the flat's lock with a sigh. After the chaos of the last few days, she was looking forward to the comfort and familiarity she would find on the other side of the door. Closing it behind her, she hung her wool cloak and headed down the hallway. It felt cold and barren, like her mood, and it occurred to her that it was almost November. The idea shocked her somehow—that the year was coming to a close.

She approached the kitchen, vague thoughts of heating a can of soup flitting through her mind. As she passed through the doorway, she was startled to see Harry there, leaning against the counter, draining a bottle of beer.

"Hermione!" he said, swallowing quickly and wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Harry!" She rushed forward to give him a hug. He set his bottle down and returned the embrace, holding on to her a little longer than usual.

She pulled back, her hands still on his arms. "I don't know why I'm surprised to see you here… Of course you haven't been sleeping at the Ministry."

"Yeah, my days of a cot in the office are well and truly over," he said, the ghost of a smile passing over his face.

Hermione dropped her hands and stood back. "Any more of those?" she asked, gesturing to the beer.

"Yeah, yeah. Help yourself."

Hermione opened the fridge. "You want another one?"

"Yes, please."

She popped both tops and handed him a bottle, then leaned back against the counter herself.

"Any luck? Any news?" she asked.

"Nothing," he shook his head and looked at the floor. "The trail is utterly cold. What news from The Burrow? Are you just here to pick up some things or are you staying?"

"Nothing new, no. Things are much the same as they've been," Hermione said carefully. "And I'm staying. At least for a few days."

"So Ginny's alone? I mean, with Molly, but…"

"Yeah, she basically kicked me out. Said she'd be fine. She's been outside a lot. On her broom mostly—and I was going insane."

"Mmm," Harry still hadn't looked up and Hermione could practically feel the guilt radiating off him in waves. "How is she?" he finally asked, meeting Hermione's eyes.

She took a long pull from her bottle. "Not great. But better. She told me you two are meeting tomorrow."

Harry nodded once and he seemed about to say something, but then subsided.

"She seemed hopeful, Harry. She's not going to leave you." Hermione shook her head at her friend.

He sagged against the counter. "Thank fuck."

"Not that she's not epically and rightfully angry at you…" Hermione held up her hand as Harry started to speak. "But I'll let her handle that part."

"Ok," he said meekly.

They stood in silence for several moments until Hermione couldn't hold back any longer. "But really, how could you do that, Harry? What could have possibly…?" He flinched and she softened her tone. "Let me start over. I guess I just mean; what happened?"

Harry heaved a huge sigh and looked skyward. "Other than me acting a total idiot?" he queried the ceiling. Hermione snorted and he looked back at her, his bright eyes dim. "It was Ron," he finally said. "He came to me, oh about a month and a half ago, and asked for a loan." He stopped to swallow. "And you know how it is with him, Hermione. I found it really hard to say no."

Hermione nodded slowly. She knew exactly what he meant. That sense of guilt-tinged responsibility; of obligation. "But you didn't go to Ginny? Involve her in the decision?"

Harry blew out a long breath. "I knew she'd be against it—after what we'd learned about Jack. And Ron was desperate. He told me it was the last bit they needed to fund the project, that without it everything would fall apart. He begged me, Hermione. I could barely stand it." Harry's neck flushed red.

Hermione made a sympathetic sound and he continued, his glance darting away from hers. "And I was, you know ... angry," he rubbed his nape. "At Malfoy and Theo—I knew that feeling of losing it all, so I was less in a place to be careful or suspicious. Ron played to that too. Because I did tell him my concerns and a bit about what we'd learned. And he really raked me over the coals. Said he couldn't believe I would trust Draco Malfoy's judgement over his. Frankly it was hard to say no after that."

"He said much the same to me." Harry's brows drew together as he looked a question at her. "I tried to warn him too—at The Burrow just before I left with Charlie and Hamish," she explained. He shook his head slowly. "And did you think you'd be able to get your money back without telling Ginny?" she continued, squinting at him.

Harry looked sheepish. "I didn't really think it through. I guess I just figured it would come up naturally— once the project got going and the investors started recouping. I'd just mention that I had financed some of it, but the money was all back now."

"Mmm, having recently had some experience with men not letting me in on important decisions and it leading to a lot of shit, I'm inclined to agree that you were an idiot," Hermione said.

"I know." Harry mumbled.

"I still love you of course, and so does Ginny." Hermione crossed the kitchen to lay her hand on Harry's arm. "She asked me to tell you that she misses you."

His gaze whipped to hers, "Really?" She nodded and he gave her a real smile. "Thanks." Hermione squeezed him once and then went to the cupboard in search of her soup.

"So I guess we should have trusted him," Harry said in a musing tone.

"Hmm?" Hermione was rummaging through cans.

"Draco. About Wickham."

Hermione stopped moving and gripped the cabinet door. "It certainly seems so," she said tightly, trying not to succumb to the regret that was suddenly swamping her.

"And I meant what I said at The Burrow that last Sunday lunch," Harry continued. "Before all this." Hermione pulled her head out of the cupboard and looked at him. "About Malfoy and the Quidditch project," he said, running his hand over his still unruly hair. "He was right to warn Theo. He should have told you he was going to do it. But he was right to do it."

"I know." Hermione replied quietly.

"Do you think there's, you know, any hope for you? Now, I mean?" Harry said with a pained look. "Or do you not… want that?"

Hermione was silent for a long time before replying. "I would want it, but I think… Probably not," she said, trying to talk through the constriction in her throat. "I hoped maybe, after I saw him in Wiltshire. But no," she shook her head. "I think it's over now."

Harry took one look at her face and moved to her, wrapping her in his arms. "I'm sorry, Hermione."

"Me too," she choked out, holding on to him tightly.

~oOo~

Hermione closed the cover of the book she was halfway reading with a snap. Focusing on anything was so difficult lately. It infuriated her. She made an impatient gesture and stood up. Perhaps she should get out of the flat, take a walk, get some fresh air.

She moved to the window and peered out. Unfortunately, the grey, drizzly weather hadn't miraculously changed, but wasn't that what wellies and raincoats were for? Striding down the hall to the closet, she stuck her head in and pulled out one boot and then the other, her thoughts running on a well-worn track to the situation with Ron and Wickham.

It had been a week since she'd left The Burrow. A week with no news and no change. She had tried to keep busy, putting in long hours at the office and filling the rest of her time with work on the centaur journals. She'd finally managed to meet with Rolf Scamander and show them to him and he had been suitably excited. If the rest of her life weren't so shit, she'd be over the moon about them too, but as it was they were only a weak bright spot in the murkiness that had enveloped her.

She shrugged into her raincoat and went to the mirror to twist her hair into a knot at the base of her head; a probably-futile attempt to prevent it from doubling in size due to the damp.

It also didn't help her head state that the day after she'd seen Harry, he'd decamped to The Burrow to be with Ginny, their conversation having gone well and their bond stronger than ever. Of course, Hermione had been in total support of him going, but the result of being alone for a week hadn't been particularly pleasant.

She didn't often let the fact that her family was on the other side of the world and practically estranged get to her, but in times like this she really wished she had someone of her own. And of course on the heels of that thought, her mind went straight to Draco. She hissed in frustration and tried to clear her head, then grabbed her umbrella and reached for the door handle. Maybe she'd go to The Tate and look at the Turners. That always calmed her.

Just as her fingers touched the cool metal, a persistent tapping came from the sitting room. It sounded very much like an owl. Hermione ran back down the hall to the doorway and saw what was clearly the Weasleys' bird fluttering against the window. She rushed to let it in and untie the scroll from its foot. The note was from Ginny and consisted of only two words, "Come, now." Hermione dropped the paper and apparated on the spot.

Alighting in the front garden of The Burrow, she could already hear the noise from inside. She hurried to the front door, trying to pick out whether the din sounded more of elation or despair. Flinging the heavy panel open without bothering to knock, it was soon clear that, thank god, the news was good.

Molly was clutching a scroll and loudly thanking Merlin and Circe through tears of joy, Fred and George were whooping and hurrah-ing, Bill and Fleur were embracing, and Harry and Ginny were standing watching them all, holding hands with relieved smiles on their faces. Hermione saw moisture standing in their eyes as well. They all turned to her as one as she stepped through the doorway, Ginny's smile widened and Harry moved forward to grasp her hand.

"He's been found? He's ok?" Hermione asked.

"Yes," Harry said, "The owl just came." Hermione slumped with relief. She hadn't realized until that moment how worried she'd been about Ron, despite their differences.

"Oh, I'm so glad," she managed to choke out, tears springing to her eyes. Ginny moved to her and wrapped her in a huge hug. When she felt able to speak again, Hermione asked Harry what they knew.

"Ron and Jack have both been found. In Monaco, of all places. Ron's fine. Unhurt," Harry said. "The police are questioning them, but Charlie's note says it looks like Ron will go free because it's clear he had no idea Wickham was running a scam. Charlie actually implies that he still doesn't really seem to believe it."

Hermione shook her head and Ginny caught her eye, "astounding, right?" she said, "but if it helps him get out of this…"

Hermione nodded. "And what about the human trafficking?"

"That seems to have been a bit of a mistake," Ginny said. "It turns out it was one girl who was very much 'with' Wickham—and although she was nauseatingly young, she was of age."

Hermione felt relief and disgust in equal parts. Jack Wickham certainly hadn't changed his spots. "And the money?"

"Still gone." Harry shook his head and looked down.

"But I'm sure it will be found soon!" Molly's voice cut into their conversation. "It's clear it's all just been a big misunderstanding," she trilled. "Ron and Jack will be home any day now. And if you're lucky, Hermione, maybe you'll still have a crack at Mr. Wickham..." Molly winked hugely in her direction as Hermione felt her mouth fall open.

"Are you fucking, serious, mum…" Ginny started to sputter, but Hermione put her hand on her arm.

"It's ok, just leave it," she said softly. Ginny drew in her breath and nodded quickly. Let Molly have her delusions for the time being. The fact that the money was still gone and The Burrow still in danger would sink in soon enough.

George said something about a toast and Hermione was turning toward the kitchen to help when the crack of apparition sounded from outside the still-open front door. It was followed directly by an exhausted-looking Charlie stumbling in with Hamish in tow.

There was a moment of pure silence before Molly shrieked and the chaos of several people talking and shouting questions at once took over the room again. Hermione stood back, waiting for the initial reaction to ebb.

Finally, Hamish raised his voice over the din, "OY!" he yelled, and miraculously everyone quieted. He led Charlie to the sofa and pushed him gently down, saying over his shoulder, "Charles has had very little sleep in the last 48 hours and a tremendous lot of stress in the last week. I'll give you about ten minutes with him before I'm taking him upstairs and putting him to bed."

Everyone nodded solemnly. Charlie rubbed his hand over his forehead and sighed. He did look utterly knackered.

"So," he started, "since I sent my owl, there have been … developments."

"What— " Fred started to interject, but was silenced by a glare from Hamish.

Charlie blinked slowly. "It's good news. Good developments. In a nutshell, the money has been restored." The room erupted in gasps and Hermione's hands flew to her mouth.

"All of it?" asked Bill.

Charlie nodded briefly and Ginny grasped Harry's hand. "What? How?" she stuttered.

"I don't have a lot of detail," Charlie said, his eyes flitting briefly to Hermione's. She gave him a faint smile and he continued. "But dad has been working on it with…" he paused and shook his head slightly, "with the authorities, and the funds should be back with the investors by next week. Wickham will serve jail time in Spain. A lot of it. But they're dropping the charges against Ron and he's coming home. Likely in the next few days."

Molly erupted in sobs and Ginny went to her. Fred and George started shouting again and one of them renewed the call for a toast, pulling Bill and Fleur into the kitchen with them. Harry just looked at Hermione and heaved a huge sigh. She shook her head once and moved to the sofa, holding out her arms to Hamish, who grasped her tightly.

"You both must be utterly exhausted," she muttered, looking down at Charlie and resting her hand on his shoulder.

"We are," Hamish sighed. "And I don't think I can stand a toast just now."

"Me neither. Not after this week," said Charlie, rising from the sofa. He squeezed Hermione's arm, giving her another look as he passed her on his way to Molly and Ginny. "Mum, Gin, I'm dead on my feet. I have to go to bed. Let's talk in the morning."

"Oh, but the toast!" Molly started.

"Tomorrow," he said firmly. Hamish moved behind him and started shepherding him toward the stairs.

Hermione watched them go, Hamish's hand braced on Charlie's bowed back as they climbed. Her mind started to run and she began wondering... How in the world could the money have been found and restored? Surely Jack Wickham hadn't just been sitting on it all this time…especially if they'd been in Monaco with its tempting casinos for weeks. A frown crossed her face and she looked up to see her expression mirrored in Ginny's.

Just then Fred and George returned, complaining loudly at Charlie's absence. Bill and Fleur followed, and began distributing glasses. Hermione accepted one, smiled and drank—but she continued to turn the new information over in her mind, wondering if it would ever fully make sense.

~oOo~

Draco turned his back to the glow of the casino and leaned against the rail of the terrace. God he fucking hated Monaco. And he was so bloody tired. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply.

"Draco, come in from there. It's getting brisk!" His aunt called to him from inside the hotel suite.

He pushed off from the low wall and moved into the opulent room.

"Martini, auntie?"

"Of course, darling. And tell me how it went today."

Draco mixed the drinks and filled her in. It had been a long day. Tedious and draining. Endless negotiation and moving money around. There was almost nothing he enjoyed less. But at least it was done.

He turned away from the bar and handed his aunt a frosted glass. She accepted with a slight smile.

"Well, I'm happy I was able to help you,"

"As am I. Thank you." He sipped thoughtfully and his eyes wandered to the bright skyline again.

When he'd left Wiltshire and Hermione two weeks ago, he'd had one thought in mind; to find and stop Jack Wickham. This time for good. A sick wash of guilt had enveloped him as he heard the words of Ginny's letters read in Hermione's stricken voice. Guilt and shame—because he could have prevented this. Outed Wickham for what he was before his actions had hurt more people; people that Hermione loved, and counted on for love.

He sighed and his aunt looked at him inquiringly. "Just regretting some of my choices," he said, lifting the corner of his mouth halfheartedly.

"Regret is a useless emotion. What's done is done. And the future is entirely at your command."

He regarded Lucretia steadily until she spoke again. "And now what will you do?"

What would he do now? His mind ran over the flurry of activity that had kept him feverishly occupied for so many days… After he'd left Wiltshire, he'd put out a call to Wickham's associates. As they were always hungry for cash, he'd thought the generous reward he was offering for information leading to Jack's whereabouts would lead fairly quickly to the man himself.

So he'd been surprised when the crucial information had come from a different source.

Lucretia, writing from a holiday in Monaco, had mentioned being unpleasantly surprised to see 'that criminal Jack Wickham' at the Casino Monte Carlo. 'But not to worry', she'd written — she'd dropped a word to her dear friend the manager, and had him thrown out. He and 'his ginger companion' had caused quite a scene and she was certain they'd be drummed out of the country soon enough.

After reading this missive with growing alarm, Draco had dispatched an urgent owl, telling Lucretia to halt any efforts to remove Wickham. Then he'd notified the Ministries of Britain and Spain, owled Charlie Weasley and made arrangements to go directly to Monaco himself.

When he'd arrived, he'd met with Charlie and been interviewed by the authorities, although he'd largely stayed out of their successful operation to capture Jack and Ron. It was a few days after the two had been arrested, when Charlie had relayed the magnitude of the financial losses, that Draco had gone into action again.

It had been difficult to convince the Weasleys at first, but Draco had worn them down; laying out every piece of Wickham's perfidy and every time he had looked the other way or actively covered it up. Finally, Arthur had exhaustedly conceded and Draco had met with Lucretia's bankers. Several days of negotiations and complex exchanges had followed, but eventually everything had been moved into place.

And now finally it was over. He'd met briefly with Charlie and Hamish today to relay the details. They had looked as exhausted as Draco felt.

"Thank you," Charlie had said, walking up and laying a hand on Draco's shoulder. "For myself and for my family."

"Please don't," Draco had said, shaking his head.

Charlie had nodded, "and you still don't want it to be known?"

His look had been significant, but Draco shook his head again. "No. I don't want anyone to feel a sense of obligation."

Hamish had started to speak, but a look from Charlie silenced him. "All right," Charlie had said. "You have our word."

The three men had shaken hands and Draco had come back to the hotel where he was staying in Lucretia's suite. He would go back to England soon—and then he didn't know what would happen. Possibly nothing at all.

He started out of his recollections and answered Lucretia's question, "I don't know, Auntie."

"Will you tell her what you did for her?"

Draco drained his martini. "It wasn't just for her. It was the right thing to do."

"Mmm," gentle disbelief was etched on his aunt's face.

He sighed. Remember about the openness, Draco? "I don't want anyone to come to me out of a sense of obligation."

"I don't think it would be that."

"Before I left her last. Before all of this happened. She said something about wanting to set things right. It didn't sound like a declaration of love," he closed his eyes. "It sounded like wanting to close a chapter. Like goodbye."

"My impression of Ms. Granger is that it's very important for her to make things right. That might be part of her type of love."

He shook his head. "I just think it's too late."

Lucretia rose from where she was sitting and went to him. She took his hand and made him look in her eyes. "If I have learned one thing from all of my rather many years on this planet, is that it is never too late. Especially for love."

He held her gaze thoughtfully, then nodded.