Happy Tuesday, lovelies!

I know some followers have been waiting to see how Hermione deals with Rita - I hope you enjoy the result!

In this chapter I've taken some creative liberties with Draco's knowledge of Rita in an animagus - although in the canon he knows she is one, for the sake of the way the story flows I've changed it so he was previously unaware!

Thanks as always to CourtingInsanity for helping me with the tricky bits and fixing my errors :)

"Well, look who's famous," purred a silken voice.

Draco and Hermione had been waiting for Blaise in the library, and both turned in the direction of his voice.

"Thank you for coming so quickly, Blaise." Hermione smiled and stood to greet him.

"Granger, you beautiful creature." Blaise smiled flirtatiously, taking her hand and gently kissing her knuckles. "When are you going to run away with me?"

"When you stop being an incorrigible womaniser." She laughed.

"That is never going to happen," Blaise declared.

"Then, alas! We can never be together!" Hermione sighed dramatically.

"Blaise, you're one of my closest friends, but I would duel you to the death for her," Draco growled. He grabbed Hermione from behind and swung her around in a circle, causing her to erupt into giggles.

"Duel? Are you serious?" Blaise snorted. "And ruin my clothes? You must be joking." He brushed an imaginary piece of lint from his sleeve and straightened his collar haughtily.

The formalities completed, Blaise flopped down into an overstuffed armchair while Hermione and Draco sat on the couch opposite.

"Tea, Blaise?" Draco offered.

"I'd prefer some whiskey." Blaise grinned.

"Bit early, isn't it?" Hermione sniped.

Blaise shrugged. "The sun's over the yardarm somewhere in the world."

Hermione laughed. "Where did you learn that phrase?"

"I had a brief dalliance with a charming muggle woman whose father was in the navy," Blaise explained.

"Pria!" Draco called.

The little elf appeared immediately, bearing a tray with a teapot, cups, milk and sugar.

"Pria has prepared the tea, Master Malfoy." She smiled. "Is Mister Zabini wanting the whiskey instead?"

Blaise laughed. "No, tea will be fine, thank you, Pria."

The elf nodded. "If there be nothing else, Pria will go."

Draco nodded, and she disappeared with a small pop.

"Now, what's this about a muggle phrase and what is this navy thing?" Draco frowned. He really did hate being left out of things.

"The sun being over the yardarm refers to the position of the sun over a ship at sea," Hermione explained. "Sailors would use the sun's position to tell the time, and when it was above the highest mast the ship's officers would go below decks and have their first tot of rum for the day." Draco nodded in understanding. "The phrase is thought to have originated from this practice and is now commonly used to justify drinking hard liquor prior to eleven am, the rationale being that it's after eleven somewhere in the world."

Draco laughed. "That's brilliant! I must remember that one." He paused. "Now, what's a navy? Is it like the colour?"

Hermione giggled and shook her head. "No, it's a part of the muggle military, but they operate primarily on the water, spending their time on ships." At Draco's puzzled expression, she added, "I'll take you to a military museum sometime. You'll be able to see some of the equipment that has been used throughout history."

"Shall we get down to business?" Blaise interrupted politely. "Am I correct to assume I'm here because of that hit piece Skeeter wrote about the two of you?"

Remembering the reason for Blaise's visit, Hermione glowered. "Yes, you would be correct. I'm going to remind her why it's a bad idea to publish shit about me and the people I care about, and I need your help to reel her in."

Blaise sat up, his expression brightening, and leaned forward with interest. "Ohhh! I sense a juicy retaliation! Do tell!"

Hermione smirked in response. "I need you to go and see her with a bogus tip-off about where Draco and I plan to go for a cosy date. Play it so that she'll be quite unable to resist following it up."

Blaise grinned. "I take it you won't actually be there?"

"Oh, but that's the best part. We will be. But, if you play her as well as I know you can, she won't know that we're expecting her."

"What aren't you telling me, Granger?" Blaise regarded Hermione shrewdly. "There's a vital piece of the puzzle missing, and I want to know what it is." He turned to Draco, who was frowning slightly in confusion. "I don't suppose you know, Drake?"

Draco shook his head. "I'm just as intrigued as you, Blaise."

"You'll both find out soon enough," Hermione replied. "But first, we have to get her to take the bait."

Blaise sighed. "I hate not knowing things," he grumbled. "You better wow me with this secret information, Granger."

"Oh, trust me. It'll blow your cloak off." Hermione laughed.

"Okay, then," Blaise agreed. "I'll go and see Skeeter. What do you want me to say?"

"Use your creative licence." Hermione waved her hand casually. "The important thing is that you convince her that the lead you're generously giving her will result in some juicy dirt she can use to her advantage."

"Careful, Granger," Draco laughed. "Giving Blaise Zabini creative licence can be dangerous. You never know what web of intrigue and deception he'll weave."

"That's precisely what I'm counting on," Hermione said with a predatory smile that made the two men in the room recoil slightly.

"Remind me never to get on your bad side, Granger," Blaise said as he stood. "When and where are you and Draco going to be?"

"Outside the London Eye, four p.m."

"Dragging him along to muggle tourist attractions, now? That's too delicious for words." Blaise picked up his cloak. "I'll be off, then. Owl as soon as you have news. Don't make me wait!"

"Thank you. Blaise." Hermione smiled. "If this works, you won't be disappointed."

With a final wave, Blaise left, leaving Draco and Hermione alone in the sitting room.

"Are you going to let me in on this?" Draco asked.

"Let's just say Skeeter and I have previously had a conversation about how she gets her stories and the liberal way she interprets her information," Hermione stated. "I trust Blaise's ability to pique her interest enough to have her follow his tip-off personally, but catching her will require the ability to appear completely oblivious while having a keen eye."

"That doesn't tell me anything!" Draco pouted.

"I know." Hermione patted his cheek affectionately. "But trust me, assuming all goes according to plan, it'll be well worth it."

Blaise Zabini exited the main doors of The Daily Prophet, feeling quite pleased. If he did say so himself, his had been a masterful performance - perhaps one of his best to date.

"Miss Skeeter, how lovely to see you again. You are as exquisite as ever." He smiled disarmingly as kissed her hand softly in greeting. "Are those new glasses?"

"Mr Zabini. Why, they are." Rita preened at the compliment. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"Why, I simply wanted to visit with one of the most famous journalists of our time," he purred.

Rita hummed skeptically. "Just visit with no particular purpose in mind?" she pressed, raising an eyebrow quizzically.

"Well, now that you mention it, I did read your article in this morning's edition with great interest," Baise admitted. "Who was it that took those delightfully incriminating photos?"

"You know I can't reveal my sources, Mr Zabini," Rita countered, amused.

"No, I suppose not." Blaise sighed. "But all the same, I found your theories very interesting. To tell you the truth, I have seen Granger and Malfoy together several times and their connection is… intriguing."

"Oh? What have you noticed?" Rita asked, sitting down at her desk and smiling in an encouraging way. Blaise noticed the subtle movement of her quick-quotes quill poised behind her elbow, but pretended to have seen nothing.

"Well, I'm not sure how much I can say… Malfoy is still a friend, after all," Blaise hedged.

"As a friend, are you… concerned?" Rita pressed.

"Well—"

"You can tell me, Mr Zabini," Rita said softly.

"His relationship with Granger is so uncharacteristic of him," Blaise blurted out, as if he had been holding back these thoughts. "They never got along in school - were at each other's throats, in fact. They hated each other."

Rita nodded sympathetically. "Yes, I do recall there was quite a strong rivalry between the two. Why do you think Mr Malfoy and Miss Granger have suddenly taken such an interest in each other?"

Blaise rubbed a hand over his head nervously. "This could be all speculation, but—"

"Yes? Go on, Mr Zabini. You're safe here," Rita prompted.

"Well, you suggested in the article that Granger was under an imperius." Rita nodded. "But it got me thinking. Granger was always fantastic at spells, despite being a muggle-born. She is a powerful witch. I just don't see her being of the type to easily be controlled."

"Hmmm," Rita hummed, her eyes sparking with interest. "What exactly are you suggesting, Mr Zabini?"

"Maybe— maybe Granger isn't being imperiused," Blaise finished hesitantly.

"Ahh! So you think perhaps Miss Granger has Mr Malfoy under the imperius curse?" Rita speculated.

"Not necessarily." Blaise shrugged. "I just don't see Granger as being under any type of control."

"But why would she have him under control?" Rita mused to herself, seeming to completely ignore Blaise's last comment. "What do they do together? Do you know?" The witch turned back to Blaise with an encouraging smile.

"That's the other odd thing." Blaise frowned. "Draco has always been very traditional, as would be expected of someone belonging to such an ancient house. He never had any time, nor any interest, for non-wizarding things. And yet, lately—" The wizard paused, as if thinking.

"And yet…?" Rita echoed, leaning forward with anticipation, sensing a juicy piece of information.

"Lately, he has accompanied Granger to a number of muggle places," Blaise continued. "It's not like Draco at all. And, although he's still wealthy and has never balked at spending frivolously, he's throwing galleons around as it was going out of fashion."

"Hmmm… uncharacteristically going to muggle places with a muggle-born, and spending more than usual—" Blaise could hear Rita's quick-quotes quill was scribbling madly behind her as she theorised "—is the down-and-out former war heroine seeking reparations of her own?" Looking up at him again, she asked, "What types of muggle places?"

"Art galleries—I think he bought her a rare and expensive painting at one of them—the theatre, restaurants, shopping centres, and the like." Blaise paused. "I think they're travelling on the London Eye later this afternoon. Have you heard of it?"

"Can't say that I have," Rita sniffed disinterestedly.

"It's a muggle attraction. A giant spinning wheel with capsules you can ride on. You can see for miles around at its highest point. I'm told it's very… romantic." Blaise grimaced, as if the idea of romance was unpleasant.

"Romantic, you say?" Rita echoed, paying attention all of a sudden. "And why would they travel on this romantic muggle contraption?"

"No idea." Blaise waved his hand dismissively. "Although," he added a moment later, as if he had had an afterthought, "I saw Draco just yesterday, and there was a small velvet box sitting on the desk in his study. He whisked it away quickly when I came into the room."

"Intriguing!" Rita exclaimed. "A velvet box?" She looked at him shrewdly. "And where did you say this muggle attraction is, exactly?"

"I didn't." Blaise grinned charmingly. "It's in Lambeth. You really should go and check it out sometime."

He made a show of looking at his watch. "Oh dear, is that the time? I've been sitting here chatting as if I have all the time in the world." He stood, gathering his cloak around him. "It's been lovely to see you, Miss Skeeter." Blaise gave a small bow.

"And you, Mr Zabini. We've had such an… enlightening chat." Rita smiled like the kneazle that had got the cream.

Blaise moved to the doorway, then paused. Turning to face the witch again, he spoke hesitantly. "You'll keep this chat strictly confidential, won't you?"

"My lips are sealed." Rita made a zipping gesture across her mouth. "No one will know we had a conversation."

"Thanks, love." Blaise flashed her his most winning smile, blew her a kiss, and left the room.

Mission accomplished.

Hermione and Draco arrived on the east bank of the Thames and made their way through the throng of people.

"Where are we going, exactly?" Draco asked curiously.

"Right there." Hermione pointed ahead to the imposing sight of the London Eye, towering above the crowds.

"And what are we going to do once we get to it?" he added with some apprehension.

"Ride it, of course." Hermione indicted the capsules attached to the wheel. "We enter one of the capsules and it will take us around in a full revolution."

Draco paled slightly at the thought. "So we'll be… suspended in one of those things above the ground?"

Hermione nodded. "Correct."

"Is it safe?" he checked.

Hermione laughed. "Of course. It's just as safe as riding a broom. Safer even, because you're enclosed in the capsule, which is securely attached to the side of the wheel."

"Well, if you're sure…" murmured Draco doubtfully.

"I'm sure." Hermione smiled, checking her watch before taking his hand. "It's still a little early. Let's mill around in the crowd in front of the ride for a bit."

They wandered casually over to the pier, taking in the sights and sounds. Draco was impressed and slightly unnerved at how big the structure was up close.

"How long has this thing been going?" he asked, silently questioning his sanity at agreeing to confine himself within this strange contraption.

Hermione brightened. "Oh, it's a fascinating history!" she enthused. "It actually only opened to the public two years ago and offers the highest viewing point in London! It's one hundred and thirty metres tall. The designers were a husband and wife who were the directors of an architectural business, and this is just one of their most notable projects."

"How do muggles build such large structures without magic?" Draco asked Hermione quietly, conscious of the muggles pressed in all around them.

"With machinery, tools, careful planning and a great deal of time and effort," Hermione explained. "While it isn't the most economical or efficient method compared to using magic, it's a wondrous thing to watch a structure slowly grow and take shape from the ground up."

Looking around, Hermione spotted a small row of pop-up shop vendors. "Let's go and have a look at the stalls," she suggested, and Draco went along readily enough.

He spotted two food carts, a shooting gallery and a souvenir stand, the latter of which he eyed with interest. The seller had a range of models displayed that depicted the London Eye and several other popular local tourist attractions, including Buckingham Palace and Big Ben, as well as snow globes, clothing and other memorabilia.

"I'd quite like one of these for my office," he mused thoughtfully.

"Which do you like?" Hermione asked, smiling.

The stall holder, sensing Draco was not a local, began his seller's patter in a strong London accent. "Good aft'noon, sir! We 'ave a range of very beau'iful figurines, today only at a discounted price! Usually I'm askin' nine pounds for the medium-sized models an' four'een for the larger, but for you, sir, I am 'appy to offer the larger models for eleven pounds only an' the medium for seven pounds!" Pausing to gauge Draco's reaction, the seller continued, "I see you are a discerning collector, sir, an' in recognition I am able t'offer an additional deal for you, today only - any two models you see 'ere, for only twen'y pounds! That is your savin' and my loss!"

Draco appraised the seller before turning his eye back to the goods on display. Picking up one of the snow globes, which featured Big Ben, he examined it closely, turning it this way and that. He let out an amused huff as the movement caused the flakes inside to swirl about.

"I like this," he announced. "I'll take it, and this as well." He pointed to a model of the Eye.

"Brilliant choice, sir!" The seller enthused, quickly scooping up boxes holding the figurines which matched the display models and placing them in a bag. "That'll be twenty pounds, thanks mate."

Draco handed over the money and thanked the man before allowing Hermione to guide him back toward the Eye.

When they were out of earshot, Hermione giggled and said, "You know you just got rooked, right?"

"What do you mean?" Draco frowned.

"Well, you can buy those same models in any discount shop for about a third of what you paid for them, if you know where to go," she explained, amused. "These sellers count on tourists' unfamiliarity with the city, setting up at popular spots and convincing them that the special deal is being made just for them and they're getting a bargain, in order to encourage them to buy more. In reality, the prices he charged you are probably what he charges everyone. I can guarantee he has never charged anyone fourteen pounds for a 'large sized model.'"

Draco grinned sheepishly. "You're probably right. But nevertheless, I do like these—" he held up the bag containing his purchases "—and I do intend to display them on my desk - assuming I survive this ride - as a reminder of our outing."

"Don't worry, I'll keep you safe." She giggled. "Now, come on - let's go and wait for a capsule. We just need to get tickets from the booth."

Hermione reached into her beaded bag for her purse, but Draco stopped her. "Allow me," he offered gallantly, taking his wallet from his trouser pocket.

Hermione huffed in annoyance. "I can pay my own way, you know."

"I do know," Draco argued as he passed two notes to the booth operator, "but my patriarchal upbringing says it's the polite thing to do when escorting a lady, even if one is escorting the lady onto something from which one could conceivably plummet to one's death."

Hermione rolled her eyes and snorted, but acquiesced as Draco passed her a ticket.

"You're lucky I enjoy your company, ferret," she growled.

Laughing, they joined the small crowd of people waiting to board. After a few minutes, one of the capsules reached the ground and the people inside streamed out. The crowd waiting pushed forward, but Hermione held Draco's arm to halt his movement.

"That one will be crowded," she murmured. "The next one will stop in a few minutes, let's wait for that."

Draco nodded. "Want one with more… privacy?" he hummed cheekily, nuzzling her neck.

"Get away, you!" Hermione swatted at him playfully. "But yes, in a way. I would prefer one with less people crammed into it."

When the next capsule stopped and had emptied, Hermione stepped quickly into it, followed by Draco and several other tourists. The wheel gave a jerk as motion resumed and Draco grabbed nervously at the rail running around the inside of the enclosed space.

"You'll be fine," she reassured him with a smile as they rose into the air.

The capsule ascended slowly, stopping every few minutes to let people below on and off, and as they moved higher Draco let out a small hum of wonderment.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" she asked him quietly, and he nodded in response.

"I never realised how big London truly is," Draco observed as they continued to climb.

"Come across to the other side," Hermione invited. "You can see Westminster Abbey from here."

Draco followed Hermione to the opposite end of the capsule and listened as she outlined the construction and history of the famous church. Midway through her speech, he was distracted by what appeared to be a small flying insect hovering over his head, and swatted at it impatiently.

Hermione seemed not to notice, continuing, "—over three thousand notable persons in British history are buried there, including sixteen members of the monarchy and eight prime ministers, as well as actors, scientists, poets and military leaders. It is sometimes referred to as 'Britain's Valhalla' - are you familiar with Norse Mythology?" Draco nodded. Hermione appeared about to continue, but suddenly clapped a hand over his shoulder, causing him to jump.

"Confundo," she whispered, before reaching into her bag while the hand that had been on his shoulder curled into a fist. The few other occupants of the capsule shuddered before turning to stare vacantly out of the windows, suddenly oblivious to Draco and Hermione's presence, as the hand that had delved into her bag withdrew a small glass jar. Hermione magically unscrewed the cap and pushed something out of her closed fist and through the top, then quickly re-capped it and dropped the jar back into her bag.

"What was that?" Draco asked, confusion and interest writ all over his face.

"Oh, I just saw an interesting specimen I'd like to study," Hermione replied with a strange smile.

"And you… routinely keep specimen jars in your bag, just on the off chance you should happen to come across an interesting subject?" Draco queried skeptically. "How do you fit a jar in such a small bag, anyway?"

"Undetectable extension charm." She shrugged. "I've been using this bag since sixth year."

Draco raised his eyebrows but said nothing as Hermione waved her hand, undoing the confundus charm. The other occupants blinked and shook themselves as the capsule began its final descent toward the ground.

When the capsule stopped and opened its doors, Hermione stepped quickly over the threshold and onto the pavement, Draco trailing behind. He knew he had missed something, but what? He hadn't seen any sign of Skeeter at all, and he had been keeping a close eye out for any hint of her presence.

"I think I feel like a cup of tea," Hermione suggested. "Will we go back to the manor?"

"But we haven't seen Skeeter anywhere," Draco argued. "I thought that was the whole reason we came, so she would turn up looking for a story."

"It was, and she most certainly did show up," Hermione giggled. "Let's get back so I can owl Blaise, he'll be dying to know what happened."

Grumbling at still being none the wiser as to what was happening, Draco led Hermione to the nearest apparition point and whisked them back to the manor.

"Granger, you wonderful creature! Did my diabolical web of intrigue catch a little fly in the net?" Blaise sang as he swept into the sitting room where Hermione and Draco were waiting.

"That's a surprisingly apt choice of words, Blaise." Hermione grinned wolfishly as the dark-skinned wizard flung himself down in an armchair.

Reaching into her bag, Hermione withdrew the jar she had stowed earlier and placed it on the table with a flourish. The two men peered in. "It's a beetle," Blaise observed, disappointment in his voice.

"I've crushed thousands just like this one during potions classes," added Draco. "So what's so special about this specimen?"

Hermione eyed them shrewdly. "Do you remember in fourth year, when Skeeter was covering the Triwizard Tournament?" Both wizards nodded. "Do you also remember she seemed to have quite the uncanny ability to dig out all kinds of information while appearing to be nowhere in sight?"

"Yes, I remember." Draco furrowed his brow. "We used to laugh in the Slytherin common room about all the gossip she seemed to pick up from around the castle."

"You would, you prat," Hermione sniped good-naturedly before continuing. "I made it my mission to find out exactly how she was getting access to all her dirt, much of which seemed to come from private conversations which were no business of hers. I started to notice an invasion of small insects around the castle - or rather, one insect that seemed to persistently appear wherever the action seemed to be."

"An insect, you say?" murmured Blaise, eyeing the jar with a glimmer of understanding in his eyes.

"Granger—Hermione—Do you mean to say…?" Draco asked, amusement creeping into his voice as the same understanding dawned on him. "Is that…?"

"Rita Skeeter?" Blaise finished.

"Yes." Hermione replied triumphantly. "Skeeter is an unregistered animagus. Her beetle form allows her to creep undetected into any environment. No information is safe when she's around, because who would take notice of a beetle crawling about?"

She tapped on the glass and the beetle buzzed angrily against the side. "The only other people who know are Harry and Ron. After the Triwizard Tournament debacle, I held her to ransom and made her promise to keep her quill to herself for a year, otherwise I'd rat her out to the Ministry."

"Why, you snake." Blaise laughed admiringly. "I think you would have been much better placed in Slytherin."

"Even if the hat had considered putting a muggle-born into the snake-pit, I would have declined," Hermione sniffed, causing Blaise to snigger.

"So what are we going to do with her now?" Draco asked, picking up the jar so he could examine the beetle within more closely. "Hey, look!" he observed with amusement. "She has little markings around her eyes, just like her glasses when she's in human form."

He passed the jar to Blaise, who smirked as he held the jar up to his face. "Why, hello, Miss Skeeter," he purred. "Are those new glasses?"

The beetle threw itself against the wall of the jar, wings fluttering madly.

"I think she's upset with me." Blaise sighed, pretending to pout.

"Would she not just transform and escape?" Draco asked, watching as Rita in her animagus form raged within her glass prison.

"Unbreakable charm." Hermione grinned. "She's good and stuck." Turning to Blaise, she added, "You must have done a wonderful job convincing her. What did you say?"

"Oh, I was brilliant!" Blaise bragged, placing the jar back on the table. "I whirled in like the star I am, and charmed her right from the outset with a well-placed compliment…"

Minutes later, Draco and Hermione were both laughing uproariously at Blaise's dramatic retelling of his conversation with Rita.

"And then," Blaise guffawed, "I paused at the door, turned around, and said—" he had to stop momentarily to control his mirth "—I said, 'you'll keep this chat strictly confidential, won't you?'"

Renewed howls filled the room, so much so that Pria appeared with a worried frown on her face. "Is the Master and Miss and Mister quite alright? Yous is not under a tickling hex?" she asked.

"No… no, Pria, we're fine, thank you." Draco snorted. "Blaise is just telling a very—" he sniggered "—amusing story."

"Well.. if you is sure…" the elf answered doubtfully.

"We really are fine, Pria." Hermione smiled reassuringly, wiping her streaming eyes and hiccuping as she tried to bring herself under control.

With a nod, Pria disappeared once again.

"Blaise, you're a menace." Hermione laughed. "You played your part brilliantly. Thank you."

"So what are we going to do with her?" Draco inquired, looking in at the beetle, who was now crawling dejectedly around the bottom of the jar.

"I'm going to let her stew for a day or so," Hermione stated. "And then—" she picked up the jar and glared into it "—she is going to publish a full redaction of her earlier insinuations. She will declare no one is under any type of curse or leaning toward the dark, acknowledge Malfoy is reformed and has paid for his part in the second war, and apologise for publishing such nonsense."

The beetle buzzed in irritation before turning and presenting its back to Hermione in defeat.

November 6th

Hermione left the Ministry, glad to be going home for the day.

Since Rita's odious initial article had been published, she had faced a multitude of comments and questions, from concerned co-workers and friends to complete strangers on the street.

The comments and criticisms from strangers had been the most frustrating part of the whole incident. Hermione was uncomfortably reminded of the reactions she had received in fourth year after Skeeter had printed her last smear pieces, and she had quickly resorted to borrowing Harry's invisibility cloak for occasions when she had to go out in public, so as to avoid scrutiny.

She had had a spectacular argument with Ron over it, despite the fact Draco had saved him from a killing curse not long ago.

"How can you trust him, 'Mione? What in Godric's name were you thinking?" Ron lectured her. "That ferret is always up to no good, no matter how often he says he's reformed!"

"For goodness sake, Ron!" she retorted exasperatedly. "He saved you, and who knows how many others, when your mission to catch Yaxley went tits-up! If that's not enough of an action to warrant earning your trust, what is?"

"That's— that's different!" Ron spluttered.

"HOW? How is it different, Ron? Tell me, because I would really like to know!"

"I don't know, okay?" Ron admitted angrily. "I just don't like it!"

"You don't have to like it!" Hermione argued. "But I expect you to respect me enough to trust in my choices. I can look after myself!"

At that point Harry and Ginny had intervened, which was probably a good thing as Hermione was about ready to start throwing hexes. She still couldn't quite beat Ginny's skill and aim, but regardless her wrath was something to behold. At least I have a mean right hook, she had thought to herself afterwards.

Harry and Ginny had been more accepting, though both were still somewhat dubious; while the rest of the Weasleys reacted in a range of ways, from gentle concern (Molly) to indifference (Percy) to outright mirth (George).

In fact, the latter had promptly offered her a batch of a new topical potion he had been tinkering with that was guaranteed to effectively de-flea all manner of rodents, while dyeing their fur a most fetching shade of lavender. Hermione, unsurprisingly, had demurred.

Hermione's most unlikely ally amongst the furore had been Kingsley Shacklebolt. The imposing Minister for Magic had dealt with Draco regularly over the last few years, primarily in his capacity as a curse breaker, and had come to have a quiet respect for the reclusive blond wizard.

When she had released Rita Skeeter after a two day stint in the jar, the journalist had been made to sit down in front of Hermione and draft the follow-up article under close supervision.

This had thrown Rita into even more of a rage, and she had completed the piece with a very bad grace, having no choice but to comply. Once the article had been written to Hermione's satisfaction, she had cast a series of charms over the parchment to prevent it being edited or destroyed before she would allow Rita to send it to her editor for publication. The unregistered animagus had been so incensed by this time, her normally immaculate blonde curls had morphed into a fuzzy halo from the magic sparking off her.

Now that the second article had been published, things were starting to calm down, for which Hermione was grateful. She had not seen Draco since they had caught Rita, wanting to avoid exacerbating what was already a controversial issue and avoid further gossip. Both valued their privacy and could not stand intrusion, so the decision to keep a safe distance until they were forgotten about had been one they readily agreed upon.

Walking briskly down the street, Hermione headed to a cafe she liked to frequent, hoping for a nice chai latte after a tiring day. She sighed as she pushed open the door and stepped through. She was really quite sick of politics and Ministry business, but she wasn't sure how to move into another field. While she had a decent sum still put aside from the Order of Merlin award she had received for her part in the war effort, it wasn't enough that she could live off it forever.

Reaching the front of the line, Hermione ordered her drink and stood aside to wait, still musing over her current situation. She supposed she could take some time off, perhaps travel, but she would become bored if she spent too long without doing something productive.

"Her… my-knee?" called the barista, and she stepped forward to take her drink before exiting the cafe and heading down the street toward home. Lost in thought, she didn't hear footsteps coming up behind her, and jumped when a mocking voice spoke up behind her shoulder.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't the golden girl."

Hermione whirled around and came face to face with Pansy Parkinson. The woman was still pug-nosed, and still wore the same unpleasant sneer on her lips, but had otherwise grown into her figure and features. Rather than looking gangly, Pansy now looked coldly beautiful.

Hermione sighed. "What could you possibly want, Parkinson? I don't have time for your crap today."

"What could I want?" Pansy laughed cruelly. "Well, for a start, I want you to get your gold-digging hooks out of my finance."

"I beg your pardon?" Hermione exclaimed in astonishment.

"Stay away from Draco," the former Slytherin clarified. "I bet you don't even like him. You're only after his galleons."

"I'm not seeing Draco for his money! I couldn't care less about that! And—" she shook her head, thinking she surely must have misheard "—your fiance? Are you quite mad?"

Pansy stepped forward and poked Hermione rudely in the chest. "Draco is mine. We've been betrothed since we were children. We've just been… estranged. But now, we've patched things up and he has no need of you any more." She flipped her hair over her shoulder. "And why else would you be with him, if not for his money? You always hated him in school, what makes you think anyone would believe you would be with him for any other reason?"

"What in the hell are you on about?" Hermione hissed, outraged. "How dare you! Draco is not engaged! He'd have told me if he was! He'd never have pursued me! He…" She trailed off, suddenly uncertain.

Pansy smirked. "Not so sure now, are you, Granger?" She laughed bitterly. "No, you were just a distraction to him. He always had a secret thing for you. Part of him just itched to debase himself by putting his pureblood cock in your mudblood pussy, just to see what you're like."

"I—we—" Hermione stammered. Her mind was racing and her stomach was churning. Surely, surely, this wasn't true? It couldn't be true. Draco would have told her if he was tied to another. He wouldn't have led her on… would he?

"Well, I must be going now." Pansy shrugged. "I just wanted to tell you to stay away from my man. See ya, Granger." Pany smirked spitefully then turned and walked off, waving casually over her shoulder.

Hermione stood mutely in the street, tears welling in her eyes. She thought she might vomit. Her latte tumbled, forgotten, from her hand to splash across the pavement and her shoes.

"Mr Malfoy, to what do I owe the pleasure?"

Minerva McGonagall greeted her former student as he stepped through her floo, brushing soot from his robes.

"Good afternoon, Headmistress." Draco smiled, taking her offered hand and shaking it lightly. "Thank you for being so accommodating at such short notice."

"I was most intrigued by your owl," Minerva admitted. "He is a handsome creature, by the way."

Laughing, Draco replied, "It's funny. Aeneas manages to charm most people, despite being a dreadful snob. I think Hermione has tamed the beast within. He used to be quite a nuisance." Pausing, he remembered Hermione's first encounter with the eagle owl. "Do you know, the first time Hermione met him, he actually hit her with his wing when she didn't bring him a treat quickly enough for his liking?"

Minerva frowned disapprovingly. "How terribly rude." Indicating the chair in front of her desk, she bade him sit before offering him tea.

"That would be lovely, thank you," Draco agreed gratefully.

Minerva called for an elf, and moments later a tray with a steaming pot of tea and a plate of sandwiches was placed before them.

"Now, what can I do for you, Mr Malfoy?" Minerva asked once they held their cups in hand.

Draco took a sip of his tea before replying. "Well, I'm here on behalf of Hermione, although she doesn't know it."

Minerva simply raised an eyebrow and said nothing, waiting for him to continue.

"Some time ago, before we properly got to know each other, she mentioned that what she would really love to do is teach." Minerva nodded, smiling slightly. "I encouraged her to make contact with you and inquire about any positions you may have coming up in the future, but she was uncomfortable approaching you directly. I got the feeling she thought she might be imposing if she were to ask."

"So you're here to ask about teaching positions in her stead?" Minerva observed, eyeing Draco closely.

"Well, yes. It would make her happy to come back to Hogwarts. Despite the trials she faced during our school years, she has lot of good memories of this place. Also—" Draco chuckled "—I think she misses the library."

Minerva hummed approvingly. "It is quite a wonderful library," the older witch admitted.

"If I may interject?" asked a soft voice behind the desk, and both Draco and Minerva turned to observe the portrait of Albus Dumbledore smiling down at them.

Minerva nodded, indicating the old wizard should continue.

"It's well past time Professor Binns retired," Dumbledore stated, his eyes twinkling. "Miss Granger always was proficient in all her subjects, but as I recall she was particularly skilled in both charms and history. I think she would make a fine addition to the faculty, should you be able to convince Cuthbert to retire properly."

"You may be right, Albus," Minerva mused. "But do you think Cuthbert would be willing to step down?"

A long-suffering sigh drew the attention of the small group to the portrait of Severus Snape. "A ghost teaching lessons is a ridiculous notion and always has been, Minerva," he intoned in his snide drawl. Turning to Dumbledore, he added, "I simply can't understand why you tolerated this for so many years, Albus. The students had little regard for him and I'm quite certain the only person who ever actually learned anything in his classes was little miss know-it-all."

"Now, now, Severus." Dumbledore smiled. "Cuthbert is still a perfectly adequate teacher." Snape snorted in disagreement. "And besides, as I recall, Miss Evans was one of the few students other than Miss Granger who took enjoyment from his classes."

Draco didn't miss the momentary show of emotion that flitted across Snape's face at the mention of Lily.

"The teaching year has just started." Minerva frowned. "It could be disruptive to change teachers midway through the term, and would put quite a bit of pressure on Miss Granger to adapt quickly."

"Miss Granger was always disturbingly adept at adjusting quickly and rising to a challenge," Snape admitted grudgingly. "I have no doubt she would bring her insufferable quest to be the best at everything to the table and throw herself into the role with gusto and competence."

Draco wasn't quite sure how to take this backhanded compliment from his former head of house, but wisely chose to stay silent and allow the past and present school heads to discuss the possibility of replacing Binns.

"Perhaps the changes could be made following the Christmas break?" Dumbledore suggested gently. "It would give Cuthbert time to put together all his lesson plans and prepare Miss Granger for the role, and the students would have time to accept a new professor."

"Very well." Minerva nodded. Summoning a house elf once again, she requested an audience with Professor Binns.

After a few minutes, the ghost floated up through the floor. "You wished to see me, Headmistress?"

"Yes, Cuthbert," Minerva replied briskly. "Tell me, do you recall Miss Granger?"

The mournful spectre looked up in interest. "Of course. She is one of the few students who never fell asleep in my class."

"And would you agree she was particularly knowledgeable in your subject?"

Binns nodded. "Yes, she had quite an affinity for remembering facts and information. She very rarely showed an interest in silly legends and myths."

Minerva smiled. "Do you see yourself continuing to teach History of Magic?'

Binns considered the question. "Well, I confess I've never really thought about it," he replied. "I've just continued as I always have."

"It's time for you to retire, Cuthbert. Enough with this foolishness!" Snape interrupted snidely from his portrait.

"Severus, that's not polite," Dumbledore admonished.

"You… want me to retire?" Binns said slowly, looking around the room. He suddenly seemed to notice Draco, and squinted at him. "You are… young Master Malfoy. What are you doing here? Are you to be my replacement?" He eyed the blond wizard suspiciously.

"No, Cuthbert, Mister Malfoy is not here for any teaching position," Minerva interjected. "We do not wish to push you out, but we did think you may like to eventually pass the responsibility of teaching the students to another. Someone like Miss Granger."

Binns sighed. "I suppose I have been teaching for too long. I think perhaps Miss Granger would make a suitable History of Magic professor, with a little bit of guidance."

"It's settled, then," Minerva said quickly, before the ghost could change his mind. "We will offer the position to Miss Granger, starting after the Christmas break, and in the meantime we will entrust her initiation to you, Cuthbert."

"I must say, it will be quite enjoyable to have Miss Granger about the castle again," Dumbledore stated, pleased.

"Tolerable, at best," Snape droned.

"Oh hush, Severus," Minerva huffed impatiently. Turning back to the others, she added, "I'll owl Miss Granger in the coming weeks, once we finalise a few arrangements, and offer her the role."

Draco smiled. "Thank you, Professors. I'm sure she'll be over the moon."

Standing, he thanked Minerva for the tea before excusing himself and farewelling the assembled group. Stepping through the floo, Draco smiled to himself, completely unaware of the coming storm he was about to find himself caught up in.

Draco stepped through the floo at Malfoy manor, still smiling, only to be greeted by a distraight Pria.

"M—Master Malfoy… There be...a visitor," she whispered, twisting her tea towel anxiously and trembling.

"A visitor?" Draco furrowed his brow in confusion. He had not been expecting anyone. Could it be Hermione? He perked up momentarily, then stopped. No, almost certainly not. Hermione would not cause the little elf to be in such a state.

"Who is it, Pria?" he asked gently.

"Draco, darling! Is that you?" sang a voice from the sitting room, and Draco winced. That sounded like…

"Pansy? What in Merlin's name are you doing here?" Draco bit out in astonishment as the witch entered the foyer.

"I'm visiting my finance, of course." Pansy smiled in a way Draco assumed was supposed to be seductive, as she sauntered toward him. Her outfit left little to the imagination - towering heels, a tight, short skirt and low-cut blouse which showed her ample cleavage.

"Fi—what?" Draco stammered. "Are you barking? We haven't been engaged since after the war ended!"

"Unofficially, we haven't, at least. Really, we've just been... estranged," Pansy murmured, using the term she had used with Hermione as she reached out to snake her arms around Draco's neck.

"We aren't anything!" Draco growled, pulling Pansy's arms from about his shoulders and stepping back.

"That's no way to talk to your future wife, Drakey." Pansy pouted.

"Don't you understand? We have no future! After all the Wizengamot trials your parents declared no daughter of theirs would marry into a family name that had been so 'irreparably shamed'! Remember? Those were your father's exact words!"

"Well, yes, I suppose he did say that." Pansy sighed. "But our parents also never officially undid the contract to unbind us. And now—" she feigned a sympathetic expression "—both your parents are dead and can't undo anything. So, technically, the contract still stands." The dark-haired witch smiled triumphantly. "You're still mine, Draco Malfoy, and I intend to keep you!"

"Well, you can't have me!" Draco snarled. "I'll not marry you, Pansy! There must be another way out of this contract."

"Good luck with that!" Pansy laughed. "You need an older blood relative to act in the stead of your parents, and it looks like you're just plain out of those."

Draco ran his hands through his hair in frustration. "I'll find a way. Now, will you kindly leave my house?" he demanded in clipped tones.

"Oh, come now," Pansy murmured with a sultry expression. "I was hoping we could get… reacquainted." She reached for him again, this time for his belt.

"No!" Draco shouted, pushing her hands away. "I don't want you, Pansy! I have someone else."

"Someone else…?" Pansy allowed her face to drop into a hurt expression momentarily, before smirking maliciously. "Oh! You must mean Granger! Funny you should bring her up. She and I had quite the little chat this afternoon."

Draco felt his stomach plummet into his shoes. A feeling of dread spread over his entire being as he stared at Pansy.

"What. Did. You. Do?" he hissed between clenched teeth.

"Me? Why, nothing." Pansy affected an innocent expression, eyes wide. "I simply wanted to make sure she knew."

"What did you do?" he roared, breathing heavily. His heart pounded in his ears.

"I told her about about our betrothal." Pansy shrugged. "I must say, Draco, she seemed quite shocked at the revelation. She even accused me of lying. It was rather cruel of you to hide it from her and lead her down the garden path like that." She paused, bringing a finger to her lip thoughtfully. "I do believe that she actually imagined—" steely eyes met Draco's "—that you actually cared for her."

Draco thought he would collapse in horror and rage at what Pansy had done. "I DO care for her!" he shouted. "I love her!"

"Ooops." Pansy bought a hand to her mouth. "Well, I guess that will make things awkward."

"Get. Out." Draco snarled dangerously.

"No." Pansy started daggers back.

"Pria!"

The elf appeared beside Draco, eyeing Pansy with distaste. "Yes, Master Malfoy?'

"Remove Miss Parkinson from the manor immediately. Ensure she cannot re-enter without prior invitation."

"Yes, Master."

Pria turned to Pansy. "You is not welcome here, and you is not the Miss." The elf snapped her fingers, and Pansy was apparated forcefully from the foyer with a shriek of outrage.

Draco fell to his knees, his whole body shaking. "What have I done?" he gasped.