24 – Unbalanced

Hermione was so angry with both of the boys that she tried not to touch them at all, even as they all three huddled under Harry's invisibility cloak. This was hard enough as they left the castle and hurried across the browning Hogwarts lawn, the light fading quickly as evening set in. It became completely impossible when they reached the uneven stone stairs down to Hagrid's hut. Watching her feet didn't help, since she'd disillusioned all of their feet. Maybe it was because she couldn't see them, but her legs felt incredibly clumsy and every few steps she would lose her footing and have to grab either Harry or Ron, who were flanking her.

She couldn't believe how different everything at Hogwarts felt.

For the first time in her life, she hated being here. Even when they'd fought a battle against Death Eaters at the castle she'd been glad to be standing, fighting next to her friends. She'd felt then like the castle itself was fighting with them, but now . . . it felt empty and lifeless.

They'd floo'd into Professor McGonagall's office, using a connection that she only opened when specific visitors were expected. The halls were horribly still. Only a half dozen students were living there, now in newly created rooms just down the hall from the Headmistress's office. As they passed the doors to the empty grand hall, Hermione shuddered. The chilled silence felt as though there was still a stray dementor around.

Of course, some of the coldness was her own. She had expected Ron to be a prat about everything, and he didn't disappoint. However, it was Harry who'd made her absolutely irate. Not by anything he said. No, he didn't say a thing. She knew that his opinion of Draco had changed, and while she didn't really expect him to argue her case for her, she couldn't believe that he stayed completely silent. Ron said horrible things about Draco, apparently not realizing or not caring what he was implying about her and her judgment or lack thereof. And Harry said nothing. Why couldn't he stick up for her to Ron just once? How could he defeat the most evil wizard of all time, when he couldn't handle an argument with his best friend?

To think, she'd been such a good mood when she'd first gotten back to Grimmauld Place.

"Ow! Bloody hell!" She grabbed her invisible foot and fought back tears. She'd smashed her toes into a tilted rock. That was all she could take.

She lifted the disillusionment, shrugged off the invisibility cloak and stomped down the stairs, leaving the two surprised boys behind her.

"Hermione, wait!" Ron hissed.

Why were they being so cautious anyway? The wards around Hogwarts were legendary. Hagrid might see them coming, but what difference would that make? Her heart fell as she noticed that there was no smoke coming from the chimney of his hut. McGonagall had warned them that he might not be there.

The boys were just catching up to her when she banged loudly on Hagrid's door. They had fallen silent again, cowering before her anger. Was she really more frightening than the Death Eaters that they had faced? She wasn't going to ask them that. She didn't want to hear the answer.

After a few long minutes Harry stated the obvious. "He's not here."

"Yeah," Ron agreed. "Do you want me to . . . ." Harry nodded and Ron's silver terrier dashed off into the Forbidden Forest. McGonagall had told them that it was best to reach Hagrid by patronus.

Hermione folded her arms with a huff, turned and sat on Hagrid's doorstep, the removed her left shoe to examine her aching toes. Surprisingly, they weren't broken and bleeding, maybe just a little red. She put her shoe back on and reached up to rub at her tingling collarbone.

"Hermione, look, . . ." Ron was using one foot to draw patterns in the dirt. "It's not that I don't trust you, trust your judgment. I do. It's just that . . . Malfoy . . . you know how he's always been. And now we're supposed to believe that he's different, that he doesn't care about blood purity, that he doesn't want some sort of pureblood rule."

"But Ron, what's always been important to him is his family. We know that's why he was . . . ."

"Wait, Hermione. Let me finish. We know he's a good liar – according to you he can fool old Flat Face. He's an occulmens. How can you ever know that he's not lying to you? How can you be so sure that you can read him better than Snake Eyes?"

Hermione took a deep breath. That was actually a good question. "Ron, you're right. But there are a couple of things you don't know. That night at the orphanage," she looked up at Harry, who'd been gazing into the forest, but was now looking over his shoulder at her, "Malfoy was the one who portkeyed Ginny away. He saved her. And his demon boss punished him for it – badly. He almost died. He would've died, slowly, painfully, if McGonagall hadn't known what to do. Why would he have done that if he wasn't really helping us?"

Ron sat down next to her. "I dunno. Maybe it was a way to earn your trust."

"But why? Baldy wants Harry." She glanced up at Harry. His face was grim and set. "He could've used Ginny to lure Harry in. What else could Draco be waiting for? There's something else, something I think you'd understand." She looked at Ron. He was frowning, probably because she'd accidentally used Draco's first name. She tried to remember to call him "Malfoy" when talking to Harry and Ron, but she'd just slipped up. "It's the reason he got into this in the first place." She looked intently at Ron. "Snake Eyes killed his mother."

"How do we know that for sure?"

"Ask your dad."

Ron looked horrified. "My dad? How's he involved in this?"

"Narcissa was spying for the Order. Your dad was her handler." Hermione was a bit worried about all of the information she was sharing, but somehow she had to get him to understand.

Ron turned away from her.

"I understand if you want to talk to your dad, if you need some time to think about this, but we don't have much time. You need to decide if you can work with him soon. If you can't . . . you know I hate to do this, but I'll have to . . . I'll have to obliviate you."

"You wouldn't."

"Ron, . . . it's dangerous that I've told you this much, but it's worth the risk if you're willing to help. If you're not . . . then there's just no good reason to leave his identity in your head. It's not personal."

She could almost feel the fury radiating off of him, even though his back was still turned.

"You'd do that to me . . . do that for him?"

"I wouldn't be doing it for him. I'd be doing it for . . . ."

"Harry! Ron! Hermione!" Hagrid appeared right in the midst of them, turning around with a huge smile as he saw that all three of them were there. In seconds he had enveloped all three of them, crushing them together almost as easily as he had when they were eleven.

Harry was the first to pull back, smiling. "Hagrid, how've you been? We've missed you."

Hagrid seemed to blush, although it was hard to be sure. His beard was bushier than ever, with a dry leaf caught up in one side. "I'm sorry. I haven't been being very . . . social. Been busy. Busier than ever. 'Specially just lately. Got a lot going on, but, come in, come in," he said as he opened the door and led them into his hut. "I'll make a cuppa tea."

"We can't stay long." Hermione hated having to say those words to him. "We've got to . . . ."

"Don't think on it. I can't stay meself. Busiest time of the month, it is." Hagrid began to pour the steaming water into his chipped tea pot and Hermione realized that, instead of just waiting for the water to boil over the fire as he usually did, he'd used magic to heat it more quickly. "So – out with it." Hagrid looked right at Harry. "I know you've come for something. What do you need?"

"Actually, I have a message to deliver to you." Hermione reached into her cloak and pulled out Draco's parchment. "I'm to wait for an answer."

Hagrid frowned, and reached out his large hand. As soon as he untied the ribbon holding the tight roll, the parchment flattened itself and Draco's tidy script appeared. Hagrid quickly picked it up and studied it intently, then looked up at Hermione. "Absolutely."

"Excuse me?" Hermione looked up from her tea.

"You're ta wait for an answer, right?"

"Yes."

"That's your answer, then. Yes, I'm completely sure of . . . it."

She hadn't expected an answer so quickly. "Oh. Thank you."

Hagrid took a long sip of tea. "So Harry, how're things at Grimmauld Place?"

Harry set down his cup. "Good enough, I guess."

Hermione tried not to fidget. Draco wanted an answer so that he could try to set up a place to brew the Wolfsbane Potion. Tomorrow night was the full moon so it had to be done soon. How long would they be here, chatting?

"Don' see many Order types lately. See McGonagall, of course. Always an Auror or two up at the castle, but I ain't been spending much time here. Got other things to do, if ya' know what I mean." He gave significant looks to each of them. "That reminds me, any luck with more . . . well, ya' know, more of that Wolfsbane Potion?"

Hermione smiled. They were pretty sure that Hagrid was helping with a werewolf pack, making sure there was an alternative to Greyback's pack. "I don't have any for you now, but I should have a good supply after . . . well, in about three days. I'm sorry. I know you could use it sooner, but we found . . . we found some notes that tell how to make it stronger." Hagrid frowned. He looked puzzled. He reached up to scratch his ear and she noticed three long cuts across his hand. Someone, something had scratched him.

Hermione looked around. She might as well tell him. She still lowered her voice. "We found Professor Snape's notes."

Hagrid's eyes opened wide, his bushy eyebrows almost disappearing into his hair. "Hermione! That's great. That there's worth waiting for. The next few days'll be . . . interesting, but we got enough for the worst of the lot. We'll get through."

He was probably downplaying the hazards he'd be facing. They really needed to get that potion done. She stood up. "Would you mind if I . . . stepped out for a moment? I'll be right back."

They all three stared at her as though she'd suddenly sprouted antlers. "Sure," Hagrid finally answered. "Just don' go wandering off."

"No, I'll be just outside." She could probably have changed the coin right there in front of them, but, honestly, she knew that Hagrid wasn't the best for keeping secrets. The less he saw, the less he knew, the safer it would be.

Once outside she pulled out her coin and quickly charmed it to say "Absolutely." She turned and almost went back in, then hesitated and sat down on the steps, rubbing her collarbone again. By now there was no doubt that she could feel the blue glow under her skin. It was almost buzzing. She'd used glamours to conceal the marks, but she could still feel them – one had moved to just below her neck and the other rising above her hips. How strange that no one knew what this was, although she hadn't yet asked McGonagall or Flitwick.

The answer could very well be in the second memory that Draco's mother had left him. She'd been burning to ask him to let her see it, but she couldn't. Who knows what private thoughts his mother wanted to share with him?

Strange that she now wished she gotten to know his mother better. There was obviously a lot more to the woman than Hermione had suspected before.

And what of Draco? His behavior earlier had been so erratic, so lacking in his usual calm, cool façade. As his handler, she should be worried. Obviously, he needed more sleep. A slight smile crept on to her face. In some ways, his confession, or lack thereof, had been the most romantic thing she'd ever experienced. She'd so wanted to throw her arms around him, tell him not to worry, let him know that, at least with her, he could relax. Instead, she'd quickly moved away from him, sitting across the table to remove the temptation to touch him. He was right. He needed to be careful about the memories in his mind. She wouldn't put him in more danger.

When she was leaving, for a moment she'd stared into his eyes and almost told him . . . what? That she might come to care for him to? Surely, she didn't already. He still could be arrogant, but now she knew there were other sides to him. He'd been grateful for the work she did on his arm. And Harry was right – he'd been panicked when she was bleeding to death. Would she have a chance to find out more about what was going on in his head? She realized that she was smiling to herself, just as she had been when she first got back from the cottage, before her most recent quarrel with Ron.

She sighed and stood up. She'd been gone too long. No need to make them worry.

She slipped in the door and was surprised to see that Hagrid was standing, the boys getting out of their chairs. He'd been serious about being busy.

"Ready to go already?" she asked, trying to keep the relief out of her voice.

Ron and Harry nodded.

"Sorry. Hate to rush off an' all, but . . . wait. You three goin' back up to the castle?"

"Yeah," Harry answered for them.

"D'you know an Auror, name of Williamson?"

"Sure," said both Harry and Ron. Hermione frowned. She honestly wasn't sure which one he was.

Hagrid reached deep into one of his pockets, then shook his head and his hand went inside his coat, obviously searching one of the inside pockets. At last his face relaxed and he handed Harry a small scroll, tied with a light pink ribbon. "This is for Williamson. He oughta be up at the castle, mos' likely around the Headmistress's office. Would ya' mind taking it up to 'im?"

"No problem," said Harry.

Hagrid gave them one more crushing group hug, then they were off.

As they climbed the stone stairs back up to the castle, Hermione couldn't help but notice the unnatural silence. Of course, there were no students, but there didn't even seem to be any birds, any noises at all. It was eerie. The warmth of Hagrid's castle already seemed remote, a faraway small oasis of comfort.

"Hermione?" Ron was slightly out of breath from the hike up the steep stairs. "I'll talk to my dad as soon as we get back. Can we talk later? After dinner?"

"That's fine." Mr. Weasley might actually be able to get Ron to see reason.

The castle doors creaked loudly as they entered, then closed with an echoing scrape of wood against stone. Had they always been that conspicuous when they opened and closed? None of them wanted to linger. Hermione was hurrying to McGonagall's office, when Harry called "Wait, Hermione."

She paused, turning.

"We need to find Williamson."

"Oh. I don't remember him."

"You will when you see him. He's got a long ponytail, used to always wear bright red."

Hermione smiled. Of course, they'd remember him. He always had this air of cool impenetrability. He was hard to forget.

They passed McGonagall's office and turned down the next corridor. There he was. He still had the long ponytail, although his robes were a more muted grey now.

"Williamson?" Harry's voice seemed too loud in the silent stone hall. The Auror turned, his wand obviously ready, although not raised.

"Potter?" He approached them, his walk brisk. He was still obviously confident, but as he got closer the grey in his hair could be seen. There were lines on his face that Hermione didn't remember. He seemed much older than she'd thought he was. "What can I do for you?"

"We have . . . a delivery for you, a message." Harry held out the scroll, apparently not wanting to say too much.

Williamson frowned, then, as he took a closer look at the scroll, a happy smile burst out. "Oh! Thanks. Thanks so much."

He took the scroll and immediately slipped the ribbon into his pocket. There was an awkward moment as it seemed he'd forgotten all about them while he unrolled the scroll.

"So . . . we've gotta be going," said Harry.

"Um . . . yeah. Thanks again." The Auror was already reading his letter so the three of them turned and quickly headed back to McGonagall's office.

After they'd turned the corner, Ron let out a harsh laugh. "Hagrid's got us delivering love letters now."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Are you sure? He didn't seem like . . . like that."

"Are you kidding? Did you see how glad he was to get that letter?" As they reached McGonagall's door Ron spoke the password, then they all slipped into the staircase, waiting as it lifted them up to the office.

"Oh sure, he was," Hermione responded. "But that doesn't mean it was a love letter. It could've been from anyone he was glad to hear from."

"Doesn't really matter," said Harry. "It was just nice to make someone smile for once." Hermione nodded. Things had been pretty solemn lately.

The office door opened and Professor McGonagall looked up at them from her desk, an unusually large smile on her face. Apparently, today was not to be a solemn day.

"Were you able to talk to Hagrid?" she asked Harry.

"Yes, thanks so much for letting us tromp through your office." Harry headed toward the fireplace, but Hermione paused.

"Good news?" A year ago Hermione wouldn't have asked, but now she couldn't resist finding out why the professor seemed so happy.

"Yes. I imagine Minister Shacklebolt will stop by Grimmauld Place tonight to fill you in." She looked back down at the papers on her desk. She obviously wasn't going to tell them herself.

"Will we see you tonight?" Hermione made one last attempt.

"Probably. I heard Molly was making her famous beef stew."

As they stepped toward the fireplace, Ron let out a big yawn.

"Were you two up all night?" Hermione bit her lip, suddenly feeling guilty. They'd kept watch over her all night, then insisted on coming to visit Hagrid with her.

"Mostly," said Ron. "Don't worry, had to protect you from stray ferrets." The bite was back in his voice.

Hermione rolled her eyes. "You should get some sleep."

"Later. I'll grab some pepper-up before I head over to see my dad."

Just as she entered the fireplace, Hermione felt a faint burning sensation on her leg. The coin in her pocket was warm.

She pulled it out and was reading it as she stepped into the Grimmauld Place parlour – "Have a question. Will only take 5 min."

Hermione frowned. She'd sent an owl to Bill Weasley, asking him to meet with her in just a half hour, to discuss what they should do with the two captured goblins, but – 5 minutes – that shouldn't be a problem. She gripped her coin and sent back the message "Be there in a minute."

"Um, Harry, Ron, I need to go," she said, chewing her lip.

"What? Where?" Harry asked.

"Is that Malfoy?" Ron scowled, but Hermione glared at him defiantly.

"Yes, Ronald. I'm still his handler. If you don't like it you can . . . ."

"How do you know that it isn't a trap?"

"We've been over this. I trust him. Your . . . ."

"No. That's not what I mean. You trust Malfoy, but how do you know that it's him sending you the message? What if his cover was busted? What if . . . ."

"I get it, Ron. They wouldn't know how to use the coin." She spoke firmly, but her mind was racing. A horrible image of Draco bound and tortured in front of Evil Eyes had sprung into her mind, but she also wondered . . . how would she know if something happened to him? "I need to go. I'll see you two later."

Without giving them any more chance to protest, she turned and walked out of the room. Since Ron still hadn't agreed to work with Draco she didn't think it was safe to let him know that she carried a portkey in her pocket and could travel to Draco's cottage at any time. She hurried to the front sitting room, grasping the portkey as she went. Once she'd turned the corner she uttered the spell - "portus" – and immediately felt the jerk behind her navel that always came with portkey travel.

Her balance was off since she'd been walking when she activated it. She struggled, within the swirling, to pull herself together, to find her center of balance, but with the movement, the twisting, she couldn't. In a moment she was there, slipping, falling forward as her feet touched the floor of the cottage.

Then strong hands gripped her, one on her arm, one on her hip, steadied her. Her momentum shifted and she stumbled, backward now, landing hard against his chest. His arms closed around her. She closed her eyes and breathed, finally finding her center, feeling the dizzy swirling fade away. She opened her eyes and found herself looking at a painting of a lake, calm, beautiful.

"What the . . . Hermione? Are you okay?" Draco's voice faltered, surprised and uncertain.

She took one more full breath. "I'm fine." She started to lean back into him. No, she couldn't do that. This memory was already too dangerous. She pulled away. "I'm sorry. I just . . . I fell."

He chuckled, and she pulled away, then turned back toward him, scowling. "Apparently." His voice was back, low and controlled again. Why was her heart pounding?

"You had a question?" His face grew serious. No more teasing.

"Yes. I need to know . . . you know the message you sent me?"

She nodded. She knew the message, but not what it meant.

"I asked him, Hagrid, if he trusted someone . . . Blaise Zabini. As you saw, the answer was 'yes.'"

"Blaise? From school?"

"Yes."

"Is he a Death Eater?"

"No. He told me to kill him instead. I didn't. He's neutral, hiding."

"Why do we need to trust him?"

"He's living at his stepfather's house, one of them anyway." She wasn't sure if he meant one of his stepfathers or one of his houses, or both. "It has a conservatory, on the roof. Perfect for brewing a potion in the moonlight."

"Will he let us use it?" She sounded too eager. Why couldn't she be unflappable, like he was?

"Maybe. He said he needed it himself." He raised his eyebrows, as she absorbed what that meant. "If he knows . . . if he knows that you are the one who wants to brew the potion, then I think he'll let us use it."

"Me? Why? I hardly know him."

"He knows you. You have a certain . . . reputation for excellence. He wants the potion brewed right. He hasn't exactly said why, but there's someone, someone in Hagrid's . . . pack that he . . . that matters to him."

"So, you think he'll agree then?"

"I hope he will." Draco reached for his travelling cloak, hanging near the fireplace. "That's why I needed to ask you – do you mind if I let him know that you'll be the one brewing the potion?"

"What? You aren't going to help?"

"Sure, if you need some potions expertise, I'll be there." He gave her a broad smirk. "But can I tell him you'll be brewing it?"

"Yeah. You trust him, right?"

He nodded.

"Hagrid does, too. That's good enough for me. But the house, his step-father's house, is it safe?"

"Yeah. No one really knows it's there any more, let alone the connection to Zabini. I need to get going. I need to talk to him tonight."

"Draco? Wait." He looked over his shoulder at her. She bit her lip. She needed to ask him this. It could be important. "These coins," she held her hand out, gold coin in the palm, "They have a Protean charm on them."

"Yeah?"

"I'm sorry. Look, it's not that I don't trust you . . . it's just that other people know that spell. They could . . . if someone got your coin, used it to send me a message, how would I know?"

He turned all the way back toward her, then stopped, frozen in thought. In the silence her mind raced – there had to be a way, a sign he could send her, something.

"You wouldn't." He stared at her as his answer hung between them.

"We need to figure out a way, a signal, something."

"Yes. For now – I'll start my next message to you with . . . the word 'moon.' If I don't, don't answer it, don't come."

"Okay. Don't forget then."

She expected him to head back toward the floo then, but instead he took a step toward her, stopping just before he was close enough to touch her. "Hermione, don't apologize for being careful. We can never be careful enough. Greyback is out to get you. He's relentless – obsessed – and he's working with Dolohov. Dolohov is smart. Anything you can think of, push yourself, think of what they might try, what they might do. Just . . . be careful . . . be paranoid . . . please."

His eyes were boring into her, the intensity somehow making it hard for her to breathe. He even said 'please.' She wondered if he'd ever used the word before. Of course, he had. He had pureblood manners which he took out when he wished. Oh, he was waiting for a response.

"Okay. I will. You, too - be careful."

Draco nodded.

"Let me know . . . what you find out with Blaise, what time, where."

"I will. 'Moon,' don't forget." She grabbed the portkey and gave him a quick wave as she left.

Once back, Hermione headed to the kitchen. Much to her relief, Bill Weasley was already there, leaning up against a corner, with a bowl of delicious smelling beef stew, chatting with Ginny, Luna and Lavender, who were all sitting around the table, serving themselves from the large tureen in its center.

"Hey, there, Hermione. Got your owl," he said.

"Hi, Bill. Hi, Ginny, Luna Lavender." Hermione went over to the stove to make herself a cup of tea, even though she'd just had one at Hagrid's. She'd hardly touched that one, too distracted. "Does this mean that there's a meeting tonight, or are you all just hear for Molly's stew?"

"Hurting you to share?" snapped Lavender. Hermione sighed. She thought they'd been getting along better.

"Can it, Lavender," said Ginny. "We came for the meeting, but came early for the stew."

Hermione glanced over at the tureen on the table. There seemed to be plenty, but she wanted to talk to Bill before the meeting. She turned to look for the honey in the pantry.

Ginny rose and came over to her, a questioning look on her face.

"Can't find the honey," muttered Hermione.

Ginny did a quick summoning charm and the jar scooted around a canister of currents and into Hermione's hand. Hermione smiled, then frowned. She did a quick cleaning charm to remove the stickiness from the outside of the honey, then grabbed a spoon to put some into her tea.

Luna and Lavender had lost interest in Hermione and were debating what the meeting would be about, while Bill smiled knowingly.

"Are you okay?" Ginny asked in a soft voice.

"Yeah, actually they did a great job at St. Mungo's. I feel better than new."

"Good to hear. Harry and Ron were panicking when they couldn't find you, then St. Mungo's flooed and said you were . . . hurt."

Hermione could tell from her tone that they'd been a bit more explicit than that. Hermione glanced up at the clock. 7:25. "What time is that meeting?"

"Eight o'clock." She was going to have to hurry.

"I'll have to fill you in later," she said to Ginny. "But don't worry. I'm all patched up. Bill? Are you ready?"

He set down his bowl. "Lead on."

Hermione knew that they'd have privacy in the front sitting room, particularly after she'd cast a few charms.

"So, what's up?" Bill asked as he sat on the sofa. Hermione was too absorbed to sit. She began to pace around the small room.

"I need you to answer some . . . hypothetical questions for me." He nodded. This was tricky. She needed his opinion, but there was so much that she couldn't say. "Remember the attack at the Ministry last night? I imagine the goblins are upset."

"I'd guess so. I haven't been in to Gringott's since it happened, but so far I hear there were 3 goblins killed and 4 more missing and presumed . . . ." He shrugged.

She bit her lip. "Well, if someone were to . . . know where a couple of those . . . missing goblins were . . . live missing goblins that is . . . ."

Bill's eyes widened. "I'm sensing you want to cut a deal with the goblins. Are you insane?"

"No, it's not exactly that, well, . . . we need their help."

"You know they don't do that. They can't give up any of the secrets of Gringott's, even to save a couple of goblins' lives."

"No, we don't want them to give up any secrets, only to appear to give up some secrets."

"Isn't that just as bad?"

"The thing is . . . it's Harry's secrets we want them to appear to give up. If Harry asks them to . . . they can't be fond of the Death Eaters . . . and they won't be actually . . . ."

"There's one thing you're overlooking. They're not fond of Death Eaters, but they hate Harry. Harry and you and Ron. I almost lost my job just for being related to him. I only kept it because they need my curse breaking. You three robbed them. For the first time in . . . even Voldemort's theft didn't upset them as much. Do you know how much damage you caused? How many wizards closed their accounts? How hard they've had to work trying to find a new dragon? How . . . ."

"But Griphook respects Harry. He knows why we were doing what we did. He can tell . . . ."

"Griphook is dead."

"What?"

"His body was found at the Ministry last night."

"Oh."

"Look, I'm going to be blunt. I don't know why you want to appear to give up secrets, but Harry going in and asking them to do a favor just because he's Harry Potter, even if he does have a couple of goblin hostages, it's just not going to work." Hermione stopped her pacing and dropping into a large chintz chair. "You'd be better off polyjuicing as a Death Eater, preferably a rich one, and marching in and making demands – do this or you'll never see these two goblins alive again. Fear and threats they understand. Negotiating reasonably, particularly with known thieves, not so much." Bill gave a chagrined sigh, then looked up to see a wide grin on Hermione's face.

"A rich Death Eater, did you say?"

AN – Once again, please forgive the delay. I'm going on vacation next week so hopefully I'll have more writing time. Thanks so much for the many kind reviews. If you're reading and not reviewing, I'd love to hear your opinion too. EStrunk