Chapter 3

Ron entered through the door before Hermione could enquire any further about the Malfoys. Clutching his arm was a pretty redheaded girl with large, starstruck eyes. As they made their way towards their table, Hermione felt her mood darken just a shade, but she quickly decided to play nice. The pair were stopped several times by the small crowd that seemed to have gathered in the pub after having caught wind of the Trio's reunion. Some sought the star Keeper's autograph and some were just looking for a chance to ogle his gorgeous date. This kind of attention was precisely what she'd wanted to stay away from, but ever since Ron had earned the much coveted Keeper's position for the Chudley Cannons he'd become even more popular than Harry.

While Harry had chosen to go down the more subdued route for handling his heightened fame, preferring to maintain a low profile due to all the responsibilities that came with being an Auror, Ron had embraced the lifestyle with open arms. He gave regular loquacious interviews to the Witch Weekly and the Daily Prophet, attended every party, dated any pretty girl that struck his fancy and played a mean game of Quidditch. Arthur and Molly, contrary to what she would have expected from them three years ago, encouraged his self-indulgent habits. Nobody was willing to hold that against them, not even Hermione; the Weasley's were finally coming out of their nondescript, almost poverty-stricken lives.

Introductions were made and Hermione chose to smile politely and look resolutely into her glass while the rest of them made small talk.

The girl was French and her name was Adeline. She said very little and appeared to be extremely sweet, but even someone as out of touch with things as she had been could tell that the pair of them shared no deeper connection. If Ron hadn't been so preoccupied with gauging Hermione's reaction to everything he said, he might have noticed the looks filled with longing that Adeline kept sending his way.

Both of them hadn't yet resolved their issues, but she'd now accepted the fact that there was nothing left to talk about. Their lives were now laid out in front of them, swerving in completely different paths. Ron had heavily resented her going away for such a long time, and she hadn't had the patience to explain that she was the one who was being left essentially alone in this, while he chose to stay back surrounded with his family and fans. She had supported his decision to remain in England and look after his grieving family, and only expected some understanding in return for her own decision to leave, after all that they'd been through. But apparently that had been too much to ask of him.

Now that she was here, they had reached at an impasse. It was going to take a long time for them to reconcile and for things to go back the way they had been at Hogwarts.

When she could finally take it no more, she bid her friends goodbye explaining that there were preparations to be made for the project. As in that moment, surrounded by friends she believed to be her closest, it was the only thing keeping her afloat in this new reality.

The next morning, people were finally taking the time to introduce themselves to her. She managed it all in a fairly good manner, but eventually came to realize that her meagre possession of people skills had gone rusty. They were expecting her to delineate the events which led her to heroically save her parents from the evil clutches of the Death Eaters, but seemed disappointed when she told them how it had only been possible through muggle means that she had managed to find them, living properly mundane lives of Wendell and Monica Wilkins.

At fifteen minutes past ten, Hermione entered the Malfoy library. In the previous night she had decided that she was going to come to a self-verified conclusion about the strange disappearance of Malfoy's from the wizarding world. For the most part, she was going to work on the task she was assigned but she'd take a few hours out to do her own bit of investigation. It was going to require some meticulous planning, not to mention deflecting any possible intruders or brown nosers that might interfere. For this she would have to draw up a schedule which would allow her to access the first floor on the West wing with minimal contact with anybody.

Today she was going to work here till two o'clock, and then slink away unnoticed into that room after lunch. For now she was going stay put in the library and work hard.

The Malfoy's library was different from the one's she'd seen in many ways. The first thing one registered was the fact that there was no trace of dust on the books or the shelves; in fact the entire place seemed free of any earthen particles. It might have been the work of the elves but Hermione was willing to bet that there was some old, elaborate charm in place. Another thing that stuck out the most was the sheer size of the establishment. It spanned six floors and roughly the square meter coverage of four Olympic sized football stadiums – Expansion charms had evidently been enforced to their maximum potential by the medieval architects. Also, the books were arranged according to the year of publishing and not alphabetically, so the shelves dated back to as far as 900 AD.

Because the Malfoys had been said to be at their magical prime in the 1700s, she decided to start from there.

She'd been deeply immersed in the very first book that she'd picked – a memoir – when she received her first visitor.

"So, the stories bear some truth after all. Famous Hermione Granger actually enjoys this."

She looked up to see a tall man grinning down at her. He appeared to be near her age, and his quick, intelligent blue eyes twinkled as they took her in, surrounded by a small pile of books.

"I'm afraid I do," she admitted, as she took the hand he'd offered in assistance to stand up.

"Name's Alex, by the way. Alex Whitfield," he said. "Extremely pleased to meet you."

She looked up at him curiously.

"Hundred percent a muggle name, I know," he smiled, "I happen to be muggleborn."

"That explains it," she said. "Anything in particular that you need, Mr. Whitfield?"

"Please call me Alex. And I'm only here on an errand. Mr. Dougharty would like to meet you in his office."

Okay, that was quick. She had barely started.

"What for?"

"I don't know, but I'm sure it's just an introductory thing," he said, subtly taking in her guarded expression.

"Very well, then. Where can I find him?"

He smiled again.

"Please let me escort you."

Alex was a part of the curse-breaking unit, second in command to Dougharty. He'd lived his whole life in England, but had completed the last three years of his education from Durmstrang. He was an extremely charming conversationalist, and Hermione found herself laughing one too many times as they made their way down to his office. It was only when reached the door and he bid her goodbye that she realized how skilled he was at drawing out any information. But he didn't appear to harbour any malicious intent - only curiosity, so she let it go.

She entered the study which Dougharty had temporarily designated as his private functioning office. Already it had turned into the standard kind of Ministry owned territory, judging by the way random artefacts were spread on the wooden floor and colourful memos scattered on every surface.

The man himself was standing next to the desk, both palms flattened over what looked to be the mansion map. He looked up when she entered.

"Miss Granger. Please do come in," he said, "I'd invite you to take a seat but it's a little cluttered around here."

Alex had been right – there was no trace of suspicion in his gaze as he took off his reading glasses to give her his attention.

"How are you settling in, Miss Granger?" he asked.

"It's been very interesting, sir. I'm really looking forward to it."

He nodded. "Good, that is good. I have heard of your credentials at Hogwarts, Miss Granger, despite the fact that you gave your NEWTs without having attended the full academic year. McGonagall seems to be especially fond of you, and I completely trust her judgment," he explained.

"So I want to assure you that I have no doubt about your capabilities considering what you have achieved at such a young age. But these kinds of projects require thorough experience. Therefore I hope you won't begrudge me of having handed you the task of the library and the archives."

"Oh, no, you misunderstand, sir. I'm enjoying it very much. Libraries hold a special place in my heart, and Malfoy's is as fascinating as it's vast."

He nodded again, seemingly satisfied.

"Well, that is settled then. I presume that you'd require no assistance from the rest of the task force, but should the need arise at any time, do not hesitate to ask."

"Of course. I'll keep that in mind."

"Good, that's very good," he appeared to have reached the end of this discussion and was looking for a way to politely send her off. Kingsley had obviously put in an extra word in her absence.

"Mr. Dougharty, I couldn't help but notice that there are certain rooms in the manor filled with old furniture and all kinds of junk. So I was wondering what place there're going to hold in this project."

"Oh, indeed. Let me see…"

He put on his reading glasses and glanced down at the map in front of him. Hermione had already taken note of the map placement of the room she'd encountered yesterday. That and six others in different parts of the manor had been crossed out and marked as 'invalid' which was just ministry speak for 'useless'.

"These rooms merely seem to be auxiliary spaces, all big mansions have them. Yes, I remember discussing these…the ministry is going to clear them out before the inauguration, turn them into monitoring cells of sorts. I'm in the favour of sealing them off, but some think that they might serve as excellent surveillance quarters for the Ministry when this place is open and running. In any case, they're of no use now."

She rejoiced internally. There was no dark magic. Still, she was going to make sure of it herself and it was good to know that she had her way cleared out for her. For now, all her focus seemed to be concentrated on that portrait, and the means of securing it as her own quarry.

"Thank you, sir. I'll keep you updated."

With a slight spring in her step, she saw herself out.

She entered the room at ten minutes past two. It was pitch dark, and she made no sound. She had already Disillusioned herself.

A part of her was hoping for him to be absent from his frame, but the bigger, crazier part wanted him to be there. To give her the answers without her having to look for them.

Her feet skidded just a little bit on the floor, and she mentally berated herself. Even if the man himself was no more in this world, it still felt like she was sneaking into his room. She tried her best not to disturb him if was here.

So, she was not very proud of herself for screaming like a little girl when his voice pierced smoothly into the silence.

"Miss me, Granger?"

Please tell me what you thought!