Chapter II

Return

Hermione was packed that very night. All she had to do was wait.

Draco wrote her back the next day saying he was completely fine. Hermione was relieved, though she knew it was an unnecessary feeling. Of course he was. Narcissa and Lucius would never let anything happen to him.

So she was on to waiting. She avoided the library. No need to run into Jake again. Though she suspected he was avoiding her as well.

It was slow going.

She was up by six o'clock Saturday morning. She was showered and dressed and on to breakfast in half an hour. She watched the clock tick by, second by second, minute by minute. It was a quarter past nine when her father finally ordered everything in the car and they were off.

I-I. ⌡. Γ┐

Hermione left her father on the sidewalk of London and entered the Leaky Cauldron. Once inside, she levitated her trunk, grinning. It had been too long. Magic.

"Hermione!"

She turned to see the blonde glamour of Narcissa Malfoy approaching her. She was wearing a forest green dress, her usual array of expensive jewelry. Her hair was pulled back into a bun and held in place with a silver pin with sparkling emerald at the tip.

"Narcissa!" Hermione beamed. The woman swept her up in a hug

"It is good to see you, dear. We can catch up later – they're out in the Alley. I'll take your trunk up to our room. Go on!" Narcissa commandeered her trunk, lifting it up the stairs. Hermione ran out into Diagon Alley.

She had been hunting for no more than a minute before she saw them. The contrast of hair could not have been more evident. Daphne, Astoria and Nott's dark against Draco's stark light. The first of the quartet to notice her was Astoria, and she jumped at the sight and dashed forward.

"Hermione!" she shouted, wrapping herself around Hermione. "It's been forever!" Hermione squeezed her in kind.

Next came Draco. "Hey."

Hermione's lips had the irresistible notion to curl into a smile. "Hey," she said back to him.

There was a moment's hesitation, then Draco grabbed her around the waist and pulled her close for a kiss. Hermione relaxed in his arms, a summer of doubt fading away.

She was brought out of her bliss by Astoria's squeal of delight. Hermione broke the kiss, feeling her face heat. Draco smirked. "Hey," he repeated.

Hermione saw Daphne and Nott approaching over Draco's shoulder. Nott was speaking in a low voice to Daphne, a look of revulsion on his face. Daphne rolled her eyes at him. "Hello, Hermione," she said. "Nice summer?"

Hermione grabbed Draco's hand firmly. "It was alright. You?"

"As well as one with Astoria can be," she purred, giving her little sister the evil eye.

Astoria hummed back at her. "She's just angry that I got a better mark in Defence than she did."

Daphne flared her nostrils. "See what I have to deal with? Lupin was a werewolf, Astoria."

"So what?" Astoria snorted. "He was still the professor. And I got an 'O'."

The older sister shook her head. "Unbelievable."

"Maybe if you studied with Hermione you'd get an 'O', too," Astoria stuck out her tongue.

Daphne lifted her chin and did not deign to respond, but her complexion was a bit rosy.

At that moment, Narcissa joined them. Lucius Malfoy followed several yards behind, conversing with a witch with bouncy blonde curls and too much makeup. A pad of paper floated between them, a quill scribbling frantically. "Lucius is giving an interview to the Prophet," Narcissa explained, marshalling them down the street. "Don't interrupt."

Hermione strained her ears to catch Lucius' words from over her shoulder. "Nobody is too pleased with the Ministry right now," he was saying to the reporter. "It was a national disgrace – one on display for the world to see. The Ministry has let us all down. They spent so much time pushing through a bill protecting Muggles – one that I still maintain is not wanted by the majority of the populace – while they can't even protect our own citizens. We need to think of ourselves before we think of Muggles."

The witch nodded thoughtfully. Hermione had to stare at her before recognizing her from the Malfoy's Christmas party. Rita Skeeter. "Do you believe that the current administration is at fault?"

"I know Cornelius, he's a good man – but I believe he is being advised by the wrong wizards. The World Cup is just the latest catastrophe his people have gotten him into."

"Latest catastrophe?"

"The whole Sirius Black debacle last year. He spent nine months in and around Hogwarts. What did the DMLE suggest? Throwing a horde of Dementors at children. Dumbledore discovered that Black had gained entry into the castle by November, at the latest. Did Amelia Bones assign Aurors to the castle to protect our children? No. Did the Dementors catch him? No.

"Furthermore, I have it on good authority that Dumbledore, in addition to knowing that the werewolf Lupin suffered from lycanthropy, knew that he and Black were old school friends – and in contact with each other right up to the day that Black was imprisoned!"

"Scandalous!" Rita cackled. "This is on the back of the incident two years ago, when there were attacks on students and a teacher died under mysterious circumstances. Would you say that Dumbledore's age has been catching up with him recently?"

Lucius nodded. "I'll say that this has been a long time coming. He was old when I attended Hogwarts. That was more than two decades ago. He has only gotten older, Rita. There comes a point when we must let go of sentimentality to keep a hold of sanity, else senility will drag us down. Dumbledore has served the school for close to a century. I believe it is time for new leadership."

"Your views must not be in line with the Governors of Hogwarts. Is that why you resigned following the '92-'93 school year?"

"Indeed," Lucius pulled a sneer that covered a snarl. "The Governors would not see reason. They were raised to revere the old man. I felt that I could no longer guide the institution from the inside, constantly voted down by Dumbledore's sycophants. Perhaps I was too hasty. I would have never allowed a werewolf inside the school. And now he wants to install that insane ex-auror?"

"Mad-Eye Moody," Rita provided.

"There is a reason they call him Mad-Eye. To say the man is paranoid would be a vast understatement. One sudden movement from a first year in his class and he will fry the hair off the poor kid's head. I cringe to think of what half-cocked ideology he will try to instill in my son. My only relief is that Draco has a good head on his shoulders. The boy knows when he is being taught by a crackpot – he's been taught by at least one each year he has attended."

Hermione saw Draco grin and she squeezed his hand.

"Come on, let's start shopping," Narcissa said, shooing the quintet away from Lucius and Skeeter.

"I have heard rumors of what has been planned for this year, and I am worried what may come of it…" Lucius was saying as the group walked away.

I-I. ⌡. Γ┐

The group entered Madam Malkin's saddled with books and new quills and rolls of parchment. Narcissa had them dump everything on the floor as she marshalled them for Madam Malkin. "Alright. Boys, you should get measured to see if you need new school robes. And then we'll get some dress robes, too." Draco wrinkled his nose. "Yes, Draco, dress robes," his mother said sternly. "And the girls will need dresses."

"Dresses?" Hermione asked. Astoria also looked a bit puzzled, but Daphne was still wearing her mask of contempt towards her sister.

"Yes. You are young women now, and I suspect you will have the opportunity to show it this year."

"Very well," Malkin said, moving the boys onto stools. "I'll get the measurements for the boys first. If you go through that door," she pointed off to the left, "I have a collection of dresses. If none of them fit your likes, I can always measure you for a special order."

The trio of girls moved off to the other room; Astoria giddy, Hermione confused, Daphne sour. Narcissa stayed behind to fix Draco with such a stare that he daren't complain.

The room was filled with dresses of all sizes, colors and materials, hanging from clothing racks lined up wall to wall. It wasn't much different from the few department stores Hermione had been to, though these dresses didn't seem to be brand new. They didn't have tags, nor did all have that crisp feeling of clothes straight out of the box. There were signs of wear on a few, fraying edges, a ghost of a stain. No two were alike. Hermione guessed they were second-hand. Maybe even hand-made, as well.

She walked up and down the aisles. A lot were either too gaudy or too… medieval for Hermione's tastes. Astoria mirrored her movements, searching her own aisle. Daphne stood at the rack closest to the door, picking at a black, lacey dress.

"Do you know what Narcissa – Mrs. Malfoy – meant? Is there something we need a dress for?"

Astoria shrugged.

"Maybe," Daphne said.

Hermione watched her out the corner of her eye. She dropped the dress and moved to another with the same lack of enthusiasm. "How was the World Cup?"

"Fine," she said.

"Daph said the game was excellent," said Astoria. "Krum was brilliant, but Ireland's chasers were magnificent."

"It was fine," Daphne repeated.

"You don't sound like you had fun," Hermione said. She had hoped that she would become friends with Daphne after the Malfoys' party last summer. She had been pleasant then. Friendly, even. But relations had soured over the last few months of the year. Hermione didn't appreciate Daphne's… proximity to Draco. She was still silently seething that the Malfoys had invited her to the World Cup.

"It's never ideal to share a box with a single Weasley, let alone the whole brood," Daphne said without looking up.

"You had Draco for company," said Hermione, probing. She wouldn't say jealousy was in her nature. But she had her limits.

Daphne only shrugged and moved to the next row.

Hermione examined the dress before her. It was soft and silky smooth with a bright green sheen.

"That one looks pretty, Hermione," said Astoria, coming to her side. They lifted it together. Astoria placed it up against Hermione. She wouldn't say it was modest. The cut of the bodice was a good inch or two lower than anything Hermione would usually consider wearing, but nor was it too provocative like the outfits Hermione had seen Muggle girls wearing out to clubs. It was not spandex, showing every crack and crevice of her body, nor did it bare any irregular patches of skin. The shoulders were rather frilly bits of cloth covering the straps – another thing Hermione did particularly care for, but, overall, it was quite pretty, as Astoria said. And she did like the color. "It looks like it would fit you, too," the girl said. "You should try it on." Astoria only let her hesitate a moment before giggling with glee and rushing her over to one of those wooden, foldable changing curtains.

She was a bit nervous. Hermione had never used one before. She knew that no one could see through it – at least, not that she knew of – but that didn't negate the fact that it was not a changing room. It was not enclosed. It was a curtain, nothing more. Hermione had gotten used to the feeling of undressing around other people. She shared a room with four other girls for most of the year and it was impossible to avoid such situations. However, this was not getting dressed in her dormitory. It was not her room with Daphne, Tracey and Millie, or even Pansy. She had three years to acclimate to them. And it was their room. This was a public area. Anyone could walk through the door and around the curtain. That was not something that made Hermione too comfortable.

Even so, the chances of that happening were slim. And Astoria probably wouldn't let her out without seeing the dress. So Hermione pulled off her shirt slowly, watching the edge of the curtain with suspicion. She laid it over the top of the curtain and quickly wriggled her way into the dress, pulling it down all the way to her waist as fast as she could. From there, she removed her jeans at the same time as pulling down the skirt section, minimizing the amount of time in a compromising state of dress. Only when the dress was fully deployed and her jeans around her ankles did she realize that she was still wearing her shoes. Bending over to untie them, she tried stepping forward to balance herself, but tripped on her pants. Hermione fell out from behind the curtain and onto the floor.

"Oh, are you okay?" asked Astoria, rushing to help her.

"Yes, I'm fine," Hermione said. She sat up and tugged off her shoes. Astoria pulled her up and Hermione stepped out of her rolled-up jeans.

"That looks wonderful on you," Narcissa said, entering the room smiling.

Hermione turned to a mirror. The skirt turned out to be several frilly layers on top of one another, but nothing too gaudy. It did look quite good, she thought. Narcissa moved in behind her and gathered up Hermione's hair in her slender fingers. "What do you think, Astoria? A braid, a bob?" Narcissa began manipulating Hermione's hair into different approximations of hairstyles. "It would take some work to get it to sit nicely pulled up," she said, adjusting her hands to keep the chocolate curls resting atop Hermione's head. "But I think it might be worth it."

"I don't know if that would be… Hermione," Astoria murmured.

Narcissa tilted her head just so, staring intently at Hermione through the mirror. "Perhaps not," she said, letting the hair fall naturally. "What do you have in mind, Astoria?"

The younger girl bounced away and retrieved a simple pink dress, not all that different from Hermione's, from a nearby rack. She returned and held it up to herself. "What do you think?"

"Not bad at all," Narcissa said. Hermione backed off, returning to the curtain to get dressed again. "But are you sure you want that one? I'm sure Olivia wouldn't want you to settle. If Daphne is getting a custom dress, I'm sure you can too…"

Hermione reclaimed her bunched-up jeans from the floor and pulled them on, displacing the skirt. Astoria appeared next to her suddenly. She threw her own dress over the curtain. "You don't mind, do you?" she said, already stripping. Hermione shrugged noncommittally and turned away from her. She removed the rest of her dress and quickly replaced it with her shirt. She slipped on her shoes and walked out from behind the curtain. Narcissa and Madam Malkin had positioned Daphne on a stool in front of another mirror on the far side of the room. Hermione made her way over.

"Black," Daphne said.

"Black?" Malkin asked, retrieving her magical measuring equipment. "Not very imaginative, but I suppose it is your choice. Do you have any thoughts on the design?"

"A few," responded Daphne. "My mother and I have spoken about it. She said she would find someone to do sketches this week."

"Hmm. She'll have to come in at a later date, then. But unless you mean to miss the Express, I'll need to take measurements now." Daphne nodded, standing still. Malkin waited for a second, then said, "You'll need to take off you dress, dear."

Daphne turned sharply. "I'll what?"

"The extra material will interfere with precise measurements. I intend to make a dress that fits perfectly for you, and I expect your mother will require nothing less. So you need to strip, dear." Daphne turned back to the mirror and hesitated. "Don't worry, dear, we're all girls here. Nothing we haven't seen before."

Daphne made an annoyed noise and began to disrobe. She handed the clothes to Narcissa and stood there silently, arms crossed over her chest, eyes cast off at the ceiling. Hermione had seen Daphne undress many times; the girl's pale skin was not a new sight. However, Daphne was acting oddly embarrassed. Her cheeks were tinged pink. She Hermione caught her eye briefly in the mirror and Daphne looked away quickly. Perhaps, Hermione thought, she felt similarly to Hermione. Undressing at 'home', in front of the girls, was not much trouble. But a public place… Hermione understood her anxiousness.

Malkin was working her way around Daphne, the measuring tape whipping to and fro. Astoria walked up next to Hermione. "What do you think?" The dress fit her in more ways than one. It was a happy dress, bubbly, but not overly showy.

"It's perfect for you," she said, and Astoria beamed.

"What do you think, Daph?"

Daphne eyed her little sister. "Not my style."

Astoria snorted. "Of course not. What about it for me?"

"I think you should order your own dress. Mother would help you –"

Astoria frowned. "Why? Hermione doesn't need a whole new dress."

"Hermione doesn't – have our mother, Astoria."

Astoria crossed her arms. "I like it."

Daphne shook her head. "Mother expects –"

Hermione stepped back quietly. She was just returned to the magical world. Family squabbles weren't high on her list of things to get involved in. And she would invariably be brought into the discussion at some point. She made her way through the racks and back out into the main shop. She found Draco and Theo lounging in the entrance area. Hermione took the seat next to Draco.

"You're done?" he asked. She nodded. "The others?"

"Daphne wants Malkin to make a dress for her," Hermione said. "So she needs special measurements."

"And Astoria?" Nott said, tracing a crack on the armrest with his finger nail.

"She picked out a dress from the rack, like me."

Nott made an almost inaudible grunt. Or hum. She couldn't tell.

"How long?" said Draco. Hermione could only shrug. She had no idea. They sat in silence for a minute. "Want to go to Knocktern Alley?" Draco asked. "There's no point just sitting around. We're going to be doing plenty of that at school. Let's go take a look around."

Nott took a second before nodding.

"Sure," Hermione said. "I'll just go tell Narcissa."

She reentered the dress room and walked to the group. Daphne was still up on the stool. "Narcissa?" she said, and the blonde woman turned to her. "Draco, Theodore and I are going to go walk around."

"Very well," she said. "But don't be too long."

"Wait for me!" Astoria cried, dashing over to the curtain to get out of her dress.

"Oh, you can leave the dress here with me," said Narcissa.

"Right," Hermione said, turning over the silky green dress and digging out the appropriate coins from her pockets. She returned to Draco and Theo and told them they were waiting for Astoria. They younger girl appeared after half a minute and they were off.

The summer sun shone down, warm and inviting, on the quartet. Diagon Alley was all hustle and bustle, groups of witches and wizards roving around in packs. Draco led them forward, and Hermione moved up beside him and held his hand in hers. Theodore Nott wasn't going to ruin a lovely afternoon with her best friend, even if he tried. And Hermione didn't put that beyond him.

But Nott did not do anything uncouth as they passed by the Quidditch shop – God bless, Hermione thought – and could be heard making polite, if short and stilted, conversation with Astoria. Mostly concerning how her summer was and if she was looking forward to Hogwarts. Astoria replied as politely and shortly as Nott. Pureblood customs, Hermione guessed. Awkward conversations were evidently superior to awkward silences. Hermione could imagine how Draco and Daphne behaved towards each other during the World Cup, stuck together under the watchful eye of Lucius Malfoy and the Minister of Magic.

Except they hadn't seemed all that awkward together last year.

Hermione bit her lip. And everything had felt so pleasant. "How was the World Cup?" she asked in an innocent voice, but she watched Draco's face out of the corner of her eye.

"The game was fantastic," he said immediately, a smile breaking out. "Krum is an amazing player. Bulgaria would have won if they had any decent possession."

"You enjoyed yourself?"

"Mmm," he hummed. "Wouldn't have missed it."

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Oh? You had fun with Daphne?"

Draco winced. "You're still worried about that?"

She repressed a growl. "Draco, you took another girl with you to a prestigious public event. Remember what I said?"

"Yeah, well, it's not like that," Draco readjusted his hand in hers. Their palms had begun to moisten in the summer heat. "My parents invited her. It's not my fault. They're friends with the Greengrasses and Daphne loves Quidditch. You don't even like the game. Would you even want watch the World Cup?"

Hermione raised her chin. "I would have gone with you."

"If my parents had another ticket, I'd have invited you, then. But we didn't. Bagman bought out they entire rest of the top box for the Weasleys. If you want to be cross at someone, aim it at them."

A low grumble escaped Hermione's throat. He wasn't wrong. She could be making things out to be more than they were. It wouldn't be the first time. She would have bet her magic that Harry Potter had been the Heir of Slytherin for several moments during her second year – to the point of breaking any number of school rules to squeeze a confession out of him. That worked out brilliantly.

"Hermione, you're my girlfriend, not Daphne," Draco said. "A 'public event' is not going to change that."

Hermione could feel the rays of the sun being absorbed in her hair, slowly warming the back of her neck. It was still summer. Holiday. Not a time to fight or worry. So she let it go, for now. But it would not be last, she could fell it. She believed Draco, yes, but that did not mean it was calm waters ahead. Especially if Daphne started encroaching. That was something Hermione could not allow.

Draco took Hermione's silence as acceptance. He turned the group off the main drive and down the shadowy path to Knocktern Alley. They had to go single file as the corridor narrowed. Draco took the front, followed by Hermione and then Astoria. Hermione saw Nott at the back staring down anyone who passed them in the other direction.

They followed a route familiar to Hermione and soon found themselves at the door to Borgin and Burkes. A favorite of Draco's, perhaps. Hermione made a mental note to find a Christmas present for him here. Though, Hermione thought as the tiny bell rang to announce the door had opened, she didn't have the slightest clue which item here would be the most useful, or welcome.

The shop didn't seem to have been cleaned since last summer. The musky scent still hung in the air with the little dust particles. It felt like she was breathing in history. A dry, stuffy history.

"I've never been here," said Astoria, gazing across the shop.

"How have you never been in Borgin and Burkes?" Nott said with a quizzical look.

Astoria shrugged. "Mum and dad never took me."

Draco stepped in front of a large wooden cabinet and took a peek inside. "My mother told me a story about my great-uncle Phineas Nigelus. Used to have cabinet like this. He'd be able to step inside and appear in another cabinet, somewhere else." He leaned to one side and picked up what looked like a gearbox from a table. He placed the contraption inside the cabinet and closed the door.

"Are you sure you should be doing that?" Hermione asked. "If it does work, won't you have to pay for that thing?"

Draco grinned. "Pay for what?" He opened the door. The gearbox was still there. He sighed. "The Blacks are an old family. Can't expect something out of every cabinet you find."

Nott was inspecting a severed hand in a glass box. It was holding what looked like a half-used candle.

Hermione moved over to the front desk. In the display case was the collection of King Arthur's regalia. Or that's what Hermione thought of it as. There were no labels. Only a few necklaces, a dusty goblet, and a sword that had a bit of rust and a few chips out the edges. She wondered if Draco would like a sword… but that would probably be too expensive. Even with the defects.

The door behind the counter opened with a creak. "…don't sell him anything, Borgin. He's not good for it," said a crackly voice.

The old man from the previous summer hobbled out of the back room, holding something wrapped in brown cloth. "I never refuse galleons, Galmor," he said.

"Take care not be fooled by illusion," said the first voice, though Hermione could not see the body.

Borgin set the bag down and made his way slowly around the counter. "I am rarely fooled."

When the old man turned the corner, he was not alone. Walking with him, head not quite reaching counter-level, was a particularly cranky looking goblin holding a small sack that jingled in his hand. He wore a fancy vest and a brown coat, tailored to his small body. The right side of his face sported a swath of skin bearing the signs of bad a burn, and there were scars across his forehead like claw marks. There was a nick out of his right ear, right above a stocky, small iron earring. He swept the room with his black eyes until the settled on Hermione. The goblin stopped dead in his tracks, baring his teeth. "Who are you?" he demanded, pointing a claw at her.

Hermione took an involuntary step backwards. "Me?"

"You, witch!" he hissed.

"I'm Hermione," she said, looking at Mr. Borgin, who was watching the goblin and scratching his chin.

"Of what clan?" the goblin snarled.

"Uh… Granger…" Hermione saw Draco take a step towards her with his hand in pocket.

"What's it to you, goblin?" Draco said, an edge to his voice.

The little creature stared at Hermione with squinted eyes. A little growl escaped his pointy teeth. "Nothing, wizard," he said after a moment, barely sparing Draco a glance. The goblin slipped the sack of coins into his jacket and eyed Borgin. "I will be going, then."

The old wizard grunted, returning to behind the counter. The goblin shuffled out, giving Hermione a wide berth. Borgin carefully unwrapped his package on the countertop, revealing a bejeweled, golden crown. The man lifted the crown slowly with the tips of four of his fingers and bent over, maneuvered it below and into the show case. He set it to rest next to Guinevere's necklace and stood. He caught Hermione watching and his lip curled. "Bidding starts at five hundred galleons, miss."

Hermione furrowed her brow. "How much did you just buy it for? That goblin's moneybag didn't seem all that full."

Borgin's evil grin widened. "Enough to get it off him. I find hasty patrons good for business."

"I'm in no hurry to purchase anything so… ostentatious," said Hermione. Five hundred galleons was well above her price-range… though she couldn't say she wouldn't look good in a crown. Perhaps if it were still sitting in the shelf a decade down the road…

The little bell on the door chimed softly. A tall witch, nearly as dark as her black robes – jewelry to rival even Narcissa – marched into the store. Her eyebrows were sharp and she held herself like royalty.

"Ah, Mrs. Klein," Borgin snapped to attention.

"Borgin," the woman said severely, "You should know that it is Mrs. Pierre now."

"Yes, quite," the man nodded. "You are such a… prolific woman, my old brain can't keep up. What was the one before…?"

"I don't recall," she said, fixing the old man with a dangerous stare.

"Baines, was it?" the man chuckled. "That one lasted for a while. And before that it was Zabini…"

"Do you have my order, or not?" she snapped.

Borgin nodded, waving her behind the counter. She swept by Hermione as if she was not there and followed into the back room. It was then that she noticed that the woman had not entered alone. Standing there, hands in pocket, was Blaise Zabini. He was not as dark as his mother but was similar to her in other ways. Tall, well-dressed, smug. Handsome, perhaps. But Hermione hadn't gotten to know him well enough to formulate her own opinion of him.

Draco came up alongside Hermione, putting an arm around her, and nodded at Zabini. "Blaise. I didn't know you frequented this area of the Alley. Is mummy preparing a change of scenery?"

Zabini fixed him with a cold stare to rival his mothers. His expression swiftly changed to amusement, with a quizzical raise of his eyebrows. "Interesting company you've got here, Miss Greengrass. Are you sure you're alright?" he said to Astoria. "A Nott, a Malfoy, and a…" he turned to Hermione, "Well, we're not quite sure what you are, are we?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Hermione said through a tight jaw.

"You defy all labels, Granger," he said simply, shrugging.

"A compliment, I hope?" she replied.

Zabini shrugged again. "Take it as you will."

"I am quite alright," Astoria said clearly. "These are my friends."

The boy's chest quivered like he suppressed a laugh. "Malfoys – friends? Pardon me, Draco, but your family isn't really known for their strong 'friendships'."

"I've found Draco's family to be quite hospitable," said Hermione.

"Said Duncan at Inverness," Zabini grinned.

"What are you talking about?" said Draco.

"Oh, nothing," said Zabini. The door to the back room opened again and Mrs. Zabini – or Klein or Pierre or Baines – came out with a bottle, quickly stuffed into a bag.

"I guarantee that it will fulfill your needs completely," Borgin said.

"I should hope so," she said, walking out from behind the counter briskly. "Blaise," she snapped her fingers as she passed him.

Zabini stood there for a moment before saying, "If you ever want better company, Greengrass… well, Millicent and I can throw a hell of a party," he smirked. "Your sister can come – and even Granger, I suppose." Zabini cast another appraising look at Draco and Nott, then he pivoted and set off after his mother, the little doorbell ringing in his wake.

Hermione waited several seconds before saying, "That was odd, wasn't it?"

Draco shrugged. "We haven't gotten on with Blaise for a while. Come on, let's go see if everyone's done yet." He took Hermione's hand and led them out of the shop.

"Why not?" Astoria asked from over their shoulders.

"His family isn't reputable," Nott said.

"His mother's family is fine," Draco said, "I guess. But she's a bit of a treasure hunter."

"She's, like, an archaeologist?" Hermione asked. Somehow that didn't seem to fit.

"She's a tomb raider," said Nott.

"Like…" Indiana Jones, she wanted to say.

"She's had, like, seven marriages," Draco said.

"They were mostly wealthy and old," said Nott, "and they all died rather quickly after."

"I see," said Hermione.

"But why do you not like him?" Astoria asked.

"He's a prat," said Draco. "Thinks he's more cultured than us, or something bullocks."

"Jealous, more like," Nott sniffed. "Wishes he could come from a more respectable lineage. His father was some Italian criminal. Liked to wrestle Muggles, they say. While he was living."

"But he and Millicent get along fine?" asked Hermione. "And Millicent gets on with Pansy and Tracey and Daphne alright."

"Bulstrode comes from a family with some qualities," Draco said.

"A shame they do what they do," Nott coughed.

"I thought she was a pureblood," said Hermione.

"She is," replied Draco.

They had reached the busy Diagon Alley and weaved their way back towards the Leaky Cauldron. Narcissa was waiting for them with Daphne outside Malkin's.


When I said I was just polishing the story, I actually meant I had to write 50k words last month to finish this bastard off. And, well, I wrote 30k words in a week and a half and burned myself out. So it's not completely finished, but I know exactly how things happen, I just need to put it on the page. First 11 chapters are done so I'll start putting them up and finishing the later chapters as I go.

As promised, some more confirmations, AU or otherwise.

Background birth dates by school year:

1950-51 : Rodolphus Lestrange; Avery; Wilkes

1951-52 : Andromeda Black; Evan Rosier

1953-54 : Bellatrix Black; Rabastan Lestrange

1954-55 : Lucius Malfoy

1956-57 : Narcsissa Black

1959-60 : Severus Snape; Lily Evans; Marauders

1960-61 : Regulus Black

1961-62 : Barty Crouch Jr.

(I.e., Rod is 1 year older than Andie, who is 2 years older than Bella, who is 1 year older than Lucius, who is 2 years older than Narcissa, who is 3 years older than Sev+Lily+etc., who are 1 year older than Reggie, who is 1 year older than Barty)

Other Black birth/death dates can be assumed to be those stated on the HP wikia page until otherwise contradicted here

Millicent Bulstrode is pureblood

Since the Muggle PM knows about the MoM and wizards, I'm assuming the Queen is aware (also assuming the monarch is female)

Mulciber ain't at Hogwarts c. Bella & Lucius

Theodore Nott's mother died in 1990


Also, I know I've pounded it in that this is not a romance (and it isn't), but it turns out there might be a fair bit of it in here. I am wary of calling it actual romance - more teen drama and confusion - but be warned. Don't expect it to last past this book, though.