A/N:

Now, this is the first time I'm posting on FFN for nearly half a decade. I was a very regular writer and user before switching full time to Ao3 in 2017, and, well, my writing from before then is embarassing. I elected to make a new account, but I am romantashas on all other platforms, other than YouTube, where I am SunnyVids, if you want to verify that I am a real person!

DISCLAIMER: I am not a lawyer because of J.K. Rowling, so I truly hope she doesn't sue me. #transpeoplearepeople

CROSS POSTED ON AO3 & WATTPAD!

02:21pm on Thursday, 29 September 2005

For reasons Hermione wishes she could understand, there is little moment on Parkinson's case for the next few days. She expected the Aurors to try to push for another interrogation, especially with a matter so urgent — especially considering they aren't yet quite aware that Parkinson had utterly no clue on Flint's Death Eater status at the time of the incident.

Despite her confusion, she is, quite frankly, glad that it gives her some time to simply think. On the flip side, she has infuriatingly little to think about.

As the days pass, Hermione finds it more and more difficult to keep the secret of Pansy Parkinson's case from her coworker. She wishes to ask Blaise questions about her as a person, to gauge a potential motive. She longs to ask Cho about what she had counselled Parkinson on, and the details of that case — the file is unable to be obtained without evidence that she accessed it.

Her excitement when Harry stops by her office is palpable.

"Did you find something on the Pansy Parkinson case?"

She imagines she probably has a mad glint in her eye, given Harry's weary reply. "Er, I just wanted to see if you saw my Auror pin at lunch..?" Now, Hermione must be giving him some disappointed pout, because he continues, "I can't find it and don't know where I last left it! If it was at lunch, maybe I can narrow it down."

"Did you Accio it?" she asks, drooping a little.

Harry blinks. "Oh, that's a good idea."

Hermione can't even be bothered to be annoyed at his lack of a brain cell. It's bewildering, really, how Harry can be such a genuinely phenomenal Auror, but when it came to his personal life, he was rather clueless. It's all a part of his charm, she supposes.

Moments later, Harry has his pin back.

"Well, I suppose we can talk a little about the case," Harry offers, with little thought to the monster he's just unleashed.

Hermione perks up considerably. "Oh, thank goodness! Because I just have so many ideas! I can't tell you quite everything, of course, but I'd love to run over some of the basics with you. Off the record, of course. Just between friends."

And then, Hermione pulls out her little murder board and spells Harry to be able to see past its wards.

She knows that Harry won't tell on her, or betray her confidence if anything did slip — only using information that was truly essential if there was no other choice. They've played this game before, and Harry does tell her things she probably shouldn't know. But they always knew where to draw the line, and it always worked out. Ron, of course, also joined in, but he typically is less intrigued by all the babble.

Harry, in this instance, looks a bit frightened. He gulps. "That's...quite the board you've got there."

"Is it?" Hermione asks. "I wanted to play more with the colour coding. But currently, the only status for any of these weak links is unsolved, so there's not much variation I can bring in." Her wand elongates enough to work as a temporary pointer. She starts at the photo of Parkinson; an old, snooty photo from Hogwarts, the only one she could find. "Now, the accused is — Why are you looking at me like that?"

"Hermione," Harry starts cautiously, "when was the last time you slept?"

"I sleep just fine," she snaps. "There's just no bloody leads on this case."

"That's because there's not much of a case," he reasons. "Parkinson admitted to killing him."

"But why?" she asks desperately. "Why admit to it? Why not run from the scene?"

Harry shrugs. "Maybe she thought she'd get caught anyway. Or that Malfoy would get her out of it. Who knows. It's not really a priority, though. Your job is to make sure she's treated fairly."

"And get her a lesser sentence, if possible," Hermione adds. "Which means I need to know more!"

"Motive may make things worse," he tries to say. "I mean, her...method is a little unorthodox."

This sets her off on another tangent. "And don't you think that's odd? That she bashed someone's head in? Why not a Killing Curse? Quick, neat. Why resort to a Muggle method?"

"Maybe she enjoyed it," he shrugs. "Would you put it past her?"

"I hated that pug in school, but you have to admit, she wasn't outright violent. That was Bulstrode. Parkinson's cruelness was in words," Hermione reasons.

Harry gives her an amused grin. "I notice your use of the past tense."

Hermione groans. "Don't. Separating then and now is the only thing I can do before I start going mad."

"Start?" he questions incredulously.

She sends him a deathly glare.

"Look," he tries to appease. "You make some good points. Ones I've thought about already. Which is why I sent Flint's body to a Muggle pathologist to do an autopsy. Maybe there's a method to her...head bashing."

Hermione immediately buzzes. She can't believe her best friend's mind, sometimes. "Harry, that is brilliant! Oh, thank goodness. Did you also manage to get some fingerprint analysis? Perhaps blood spatter analysis? That would explain so much of what led up to the crime."

Harry's face falls as Hermione goes on. "Er, no."

"Oh, well, I suppose you'd need a Muggle to come in and do that. This is already much more than I could've hoped for," she sighs, giving him an encouraging smile. "I'm glad you thought to do this."

"Well, it's not every day in the Wizarding world when someone commits murder a Muggle way," Harry shrugs.

"I'm surprised Flint's family agreed to it."

There's a guilty glint in her eye, and Hermione already anticipates his next words. "I didn't exactly...ask," he divulges sheepishly.

"Harry!"

She doesn't have the heart to be entirely mad at him, honestly, given that the news of upcoming forensics reports is the most giddy she's felt since the case began.

Harry notices something on the board.

The letter.

"What's this?" he asks.

"I think someone else knows about Flint and Parkinson," reveals Hermione.

"How would they?"

"I have to confess, I've been getting letters. Someone who is asking me to help Parkinson."

"Maybe it's about another case," reasons Harry slowly, the doubt of his own words evident in his expression. "Or they want you to be involved in one."

"With no other info? With this exact timing?" Hermione shakes her head at the thought. "It's too odd of a coincidence. I think it's someone who was there. A witness, or an accomplice."

"Who would that be, then?"

"There's one obvious answer."

"Who?"

"Daphne Greengrass," Hermione says. "Or, Daphne Flint, I suppose I should say."

Harry thinks for a moment. "Now, I probably shouldn't be telling you this, but we are looking into her a bit."

"Ron already told me. Sort of."

"Oh. Well, yes, he's tailing her," Harry explains. "It is rather suspicious that she reported him missing only a day after. From what I hear, it's not like they sought each other out. And she wasn't at the residence the night of his murder, so it's not like she saw something odd."

"Why would Parkinson be there without Daphne?" she questions.

"Exactly." But after a moment, Harry shakes his head. "But I doubt she knows. We had things cleared up within the hour, neighbours didn't see a thing, and no one has broken the Contract of Confidentiality."

"Who is signed on it?"

"You, me, Ron, Malfoy, Robards, and a couple others."

"Who?" Hermione presses.

"Some people way above me — Kingsley, I'd imagine. Fawley, maybe? Probably some other Heads. And then the dieners; I don't know their names."

"And the Muggles? I'd imagine they didn't sign the contract."

"Transfigured his face and gave him the name Dudley Riddle," he says, almost a little too proudly.

Hermione wrinkles her nose. "What a horrific name."

With a grin, Harry replies, "I know."

And that had settled Hermione's insatiable need to discuss the Parkinson case, for at least a day and a half.

11:33am on Saturday, 1 October 2005

Hermione finally goes to the Potter house, after postponing her visit for nearly two weeks now.

"Oh, I feel like I haven't seen you in ages!" Ginny exclaims, reaching forwards to pull her into a grand hug.

The Potter house is cosy, and reminiscent of the Burrow in some ways. Yet, it has more room, less layers of floors, and lacks the garden gnomes. It's a far cry from Grimmauld Place, which the couple had moved out of shortly after finding out about Ginny's first pregnancy.

Hermione accepts the embrace with joy. "It's only been a couple weeks, Gin."

"But your birthday was during that time," Ginny points out. "I know you don't really celebrate, but..."

"Well, Harry gave me a great gift," she laughs.

"He did?"

Hermione gives Ginny a wicked grin. "A case."

"Ah. You're talking about Pansy Parkinson, aren't you?" Ginny smirks at her slight surprise. "Harry tells me everything."

"Really? He told you what she did?"

"Well, nearly everything," corrects Ginny. She gives a mirthful smile. "Now, I can't compete with that, but I do have a little something for you."

Hermione frowns ever so slightly. It's not that she doesn't appreciate it, but she's been long over the fuss of her birthday. "Ginny — "

"It's nothing grand; I know you don't like people fussing over your birthday. But it's been a week, so it's not even a birthday gift," she reasons. Hermione gives her a look. "It's just a gift," Ginny defends. "Besides, Teddy insisted, and James pointed and laughed so I think he wanted you to have it as well."

Hermione can't help but smile at that. "All right," she agrees. "You've got me curious."

Ginny passes over a covered item, which is obviously a book. It's not extravagantly wrapped, just as Hermione prefers, instead opting for a plain brown paper to cover it. She delicately undos the fastenings and unravels the wrappings.

It's a book.

A Muggle book.

Ethics and the Rule of Law

It's a brilliant red, which explains why it caught baby James' eye, and Muggle, and a book, and a Muggle book about law, which of course means Ted would think of her. It's something so simple, yet touching.

"Now, I think the story has more meaning behind it," Ginny begins to defend. "But — "

"I think it's lovely," Hermione interrupts. She doesn't care for anything fancy or overly sentimental; this is just right.

Ginny smiles. "No, you'd like to hear this. I found it at Flourish and Blotts. Apparently, it's required reading for anyone in Muggle Studies. And there's talks of making Binn's teach a little of it, too."

Hermione quickly looks up at Ginny at this news. "But — "

"It seems your impact is spreading," she continues with a beam. "Muggle Ethics and Law is clearly bleeding into our world, and it's important for children to know it."

Hermione pulls Ginny into a hug. It's a nice thing to hear, and suddenly sentiment is much more valued as a gift.

They spend a while after that on the settee, drinking tea, and talking about ridiculous Harryisms they put up with. The normal visit. It's relaxing, especially after all the frazzled thoughts she's dealt with in the past two weeks.

At some point, she makes a polite comment about the new porcelain tea cups they're drinking from.

"They're lovely, aren't they?" Ginny comments. "Malfoy sent them."

"Malfoy?" Hermione asks. She scowls a little bit. "Ugh, I'm already so sick of that git. Why'd he send you a tea set?"

"For my birthday," she comments, as if it was obviously, but also as if she hadn't wanted to divulge this fact.

Her brow furrows together. "And when did you two get acquainted enough for him to send you birthday gifts?"

"When he came over for dinner — "

"Malfoy's been over for dinner?" Hermione interrupts, fully bewildered. "Here? With you and Harry?"

"Yes, well, Harry had asked to try to form a bridge, and Malfoy had been too polite to decline," Ginny explains. "It was probably the most ridiculous night of my life. They just...sort of, glowered at each other in silence. I had to speak up and lead the conversation and intervene every time they started having a go at each other. Harry never tried again. I think they both realised they could work together without attempting to be friends, or even friendly. But Malfoy was rather nice to me throughout; even sent me a formal 'thank you for being a gracious host'. We owl occasionally now."

"Neither of you ever mentioned it to me," Hermione observes.

Ginny laughs. "It's never really come up. And if it ever did, you get so worked up — you're worse than Ron, for someone who works with Blaise Zabini on the daily."

She frowns. "That's different. Blaise and I never interacted that much in Hogwarts. Malfoy, Goyle, Parkinson, and Bulstrode — now that's a different story." She pauses. "And Ron hates him too — how can I be worse?"

"Ron made sure to include Malfoy in the office gift exchange," reveals Ginny with a sly smirk, as if she's sharing someone's dirty secret.

To Hermione, it was. She gasps dramatically. "No."

Hermione knew that Ron gave out gifts to everyone in the Auror Office for Christmastime. Usually little trinkets and prototypes from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, which Ron helps out with during his free time. At first, it had started with Ron just wanting to keep things cheerful. It was the winter of Voldemort's defeat, and the Auror numbers had been low, and the Death Eaters on the run had been high. It boosted the morale of the office greatly, and Ron had owled Hermione about how much everyone loved the gifts.

Over the years, it had progressed into something more vast. Now, the Aurors all participate, making a day of just exchanging gifts with one another. No money is allowed to be spent — people have made it a game all year to collect things for their coworkers. It's a rather popular event that has made other Departments quite jealous.

Ginny hums. "He just about hunted down everyone in the office to make sure they had something for everyone — emphasis on the 'everyone'. And pestered Malfoy a bunch of times to make sure he was fulfilling his end of the gift giving — emphasis on the fact he couldn't start chucking Galleons at people."

"What'd he end up getting for people?"

"He brewed potions," Ginny answers. "Ron got Baruffio's Brain Elixir, which he insisted was actually a personal slight against him. I thought it was rather thoughtful. Harry got a Draught of Living Death, which gave him the most peaceful night of sleep of his life, but he's too proud to ask Malfoy for any more."

"Doesn't Harry take that one at least once a week?"

"He's too proud to ask for any more," she corrects. "But I'm not. I took it twice a week to finally get some time away from James' cries at night — at least, until this one came along." She frowns at her slightly swollen belly. Hermione understands; it isn't safe to take potions when pregnant.

"So, this Pansy Parkinson case," Ginny diverts. "I imagine that's where you're dealing with Malfoy?"

"Has he sent you a heartfelt letter about it?" Hermione quips back. At Ginny's stern look, she sighs. "Ginny, I hate to ask this, but that year in Hogwarts... What was she like?"

The fiery woman thinks about it, her face unusually pensieve. "She was normal. A bully, but not evil. One time, she was supposed to Crucio someone for detention and she told the Carrows to fuck off. Said she was tired, but we all knew she just didn't want to do it. Most of them didn't, except for some of the sadistic ones. They had no choice." After a moment, Ginny shrugs. "But Pansy was the golden girl, I guess, so they let her get away with it. If she ever used an Unforgivable, I didn't see it."

A thought pops up in Hermione's head. "And what about Daphne Greengrass?"

Ginny's brow furrows, thinking, before a sudden realisation overcomes her. Her eyes widen. "Merlin, I nearly forgotten about her. She was rather outspoken against all of it."

This piques Hermione's interest. The bystander, finally stepping out of the shadows? Finally taking a stand?

"Really?"

Ginny nods. "I think it was mainly because of Astoria, though."

"Astoria?"

"Daphne's sister. She was in my year," Ginny explains unnecessarily. "Rather quiet growing up, but I think she finally had enough in sixth year. She helped us."

Hermione's heard of Astoria, of course. They've even met a few times. Hermione always found Astoria Greengrass to be amicable, to her shock. She had been made a Prefect in Hermione's sixth year, and had been paired a few times on assignments. They found each other quite agreeable.

No one really discussed the Year That Never Was — not with her, at least. She heard little tidbits here and there, especially during her eighth year, when they had all swapped stories of the war and their losses. But apart from the trials, Hermione rarely heard of personal accounts of what people had done — or had refused to do — during their time at Hogwarts under Death Eater rule.

"I didn't know."

Ginny's eyes well up a bit. "It's terrible, what happened."

Astoria's untimely death.

Hermione grows awkwardly quiet, unsure of what to say. She vaguely remembers that Ginny had been distraught at the news, and Hermione had been quite taken aback as well. It's not every day she reads about someone she knew taking their own life.

"Anyway," Ginny continues, "Astoria once ended up in detention for a while. She got caught sneaking provisions to us, when we were hiding people in the Room of Requirement. Daphne exploded, cursing everyone and tried to get her out. Ginny shudders at the memory. One of the Carrows Imperio'd Daphne into torturing her sister."

"That's horrific!" exclaims Hermione, her mouth gaping open.

"It was. It was in the Great Hall, so of course we all had no choice but to watch," Ginny remembers, her eyes growing foggy. "Malfoy was the one who stopped it, actually."

Hermione's visit feels as if it's come full circle, in the most universe-taunting way. But the small story makes her think. Ginny obviously held Malfoy in some sort of regard, and she can't help but wonder if there were other tales such as this that earned such an esteem.

"Guess everyone hits a line eventually," Hermione considers.

Ginny hums thoughtfully.

08:09am on Monday, 3 October 2005

"I want to view your memory of the moment you arrested Parkinson," Hermione states as she bursts into Harry and Malfoy's office. There's little other prelude, except for the knock that allowed her to come inside. Both of the boys blink at her in surprise.

"Fuck no," answers Malfoy. And then he resumes his paperwork.

Hermione frowns. "You've already submitted it to the Auror Department, it's not like I'd be seeing anything illicit. Robards said it'd be fine."

"Then it seems like you didn't need to ask me."

"Robards also said I needed permission from the person who submitted it," Hermione says slowly.

Malfoy looks up at her and gives her a taunting smile. "And you have my answer. Fuck. No."

Hermione scowls. She looks to Harry, who shrugs helplessly. "You can view my memories, if you want."

"Thank you, Harry," she replies, before looking at Malfoy, hoping that the level of cooperation would rub off on him.

It did not.

"Did you need something else?" Malfoy asks her rudely.

Ever since her visit with Ginny, Hermione's mind has been swirling with the possibilities. Malfoy is, evidently, fiercely protective of the ones he cares for. Astoria had clearly been one of those people. She obviously knew of their adult relationship, but she had been woefully unaware that they really even knew each other prior to Ginny's recount. But Hermione definitely recalled one person Draco Malfoy cared for, in his own demented way, during their school years — and that had been Pansy Parkinson.

Which meant, for better or worse, that Malfoy had a connection to this case.

Hermione certainly has understood this from the start, but something in her brain clicked over the weekend. She still is unaware of who could possibly have sent the letters begging for her to help Parkinson. Harry's scepticism was not unfounded; it was highly unlikely that anyone outside the Auror office was aware of what had unfolded the early morning of her very own birthday. Which meant, logically, that Malfoy's not out of the running.

He'd find her terribly arrogant, of course, for even contemplating this.

She doesn't even know what she's accusing him of, in the privacy of her mind. Something as simple as sending a few desperate letters, in hopes to save one of the only (surviving) friends he has? Or something more sinister, like covering up a potential vital piece of information?

Whatever it is, Hermione believes it's worth investigating.

"Harry, would you mind giving us a moment?" she asks. He gives her a bit of a startled look, blinking up at her. "I'd just like to ask Auror Malfoy a few questions regarding my case. I'd normally summon him to my office, but I believe we'd be more comfortable here."

"Potter, stay," Malfoy orders, as if he were demanding a dog. He himself stands, almost as if he's about to try to physically stop Harry from leaving himself.

"Harry," she argues, lightening her tone as to liken it to a scolding Molly. It's a dirty trick. "I'd very much appreciate it if you'd give us a moment."

"All right," Harry agrees. He always knew when to pick his battles, and clearly, this is not one worth fighting. Hermione smiles at him appreciatively.

Malfoy, on the other hand, is not nearly so appreciative. "Coward," he mutters after Harry's retreating form. Hermione would laugh at the irony — if someone had told her any number of years ago that the blond prat would be looking at the Chosen One to be his personal shield, she'd call them barmy — but she knows that laughing would set off Malfoy in a way she is hoping to avoid.

"Here's how this is going to go, Malfoy," Hermione outlines. "We're going to talk like civil adults that actually want to prevent Pansy Parkinson from getting stuck in a cold, dark cell for the rest of her life. I'm going to ask relevant questions, and you're going to answer them like the respectable Auror everyone seems to think you are. Understood?"

She revels slightly at Malfoy's gaping mouth. The shock is obvious. After a moment, he straightens himself up, looking serious, and nods. "Understood."

"Wonderful," Hermione sighs. "Now, just as last week, everything we discuss is purely between us." At his look, she warns, "And there is to be no discussion on the relevancy of my position, this time. We both have a common goal: Help Parkinson."

Malfoy takes a moment to debate his next words. He walks over to the front of his desk before leaning against it, settling right where their eyelines align. She wonders if it's always so hard for him to speak civilly to the people he used to bully, or if it's just her. "While it is difficult to see a former member of my house and year be involved in such a crime, my primary goal is to take down Dark Wizards."

How noble. The Death Eater who turned to the light.

"Why'd Robards put you on office duty? Why were you working a weekend midnight shift when the rosters clearly showed that Junior Auror Jamie Hunter was the one on? Who had even called it in in the first place?"

Without hesitation, Malfoy begins to answer the moment her mouth finally closes. "You'll have to ask Robards about his assignments; I just listened and did what I was asked to do. Junior Auror Hunter had called in sick. If you checked the rosters, you surely saw that I had the shift right before. Someone needed to stay in case of an emergency, and I volunteered. You can check with Robards if you doubt me, but after years of people doubting my loyalty, his patience for the line of questioning is growing thin. And, as for the last question, I'm unsure. It's been a point of contention."

Very well. All reasonable answers.

"Why won't you let me view your memories?" Hermione finally asks.

"Because you are not an Auror, and even if you were, there's only two people here with the high enough clearance that I'd trust with my memories," he answers. It's a million times more of an explanation than the previous 'fuck no' that he had delivered. This is a sensible answer, and one Hermione can understand, even if she isn't too happy about it.

She chooses her words carefully. She can't reveal what Parkinson had told her, but there are certain things she needs to express to Malfoy in order to gain the answers she's seeking.

"I think there's more to the case," Hermione settles on. "Parkinson has been surrounded by Death Eaters for years. Something changed, something had set her off. Perhaps it had been for herself — a personal affair — but I think she'd be a lot less arrogant in her interrogation if that were so. I think she might have been protecting someone," she finishes.

"Daphne."

It's barely a whisper from Malfoy, but Hermione catches it. His expression is far away, staring into the void, deep in contemplation. So, they're on the same wavelength.

"Got anything you'd like to share with the class, Malfoy?" she asks pointedly.

He looks at her, eyes suddenly shifting to a hard gaze, his jaw clenching. "Flint wasn't exactly — how shall I put it? — the doting husband."

Ever the surprise, Hermione silently thinks.

"Pansy had been determined to get Daphne out of the arrangement. But she wasn't having it; she wanted to please her parents, and then Florence, their daughter, came fairly early in their marriage and Daphne was determined to make things work."

Hermione feels a thick uncomfort in her stomach. "So, you knew that he was — what? Abusing her? — and did nothing?"

"He wasn't — "

"This man was a top ranking Death Eater. Do you think the arguments with his wife didn't end in something catastrophic?"

Malfoy's silent for a long moment. "My father was a Death Eater. He never laid a hand on my mother."

There's an awkward bout of silence. Hermione doesn't even know what to say. Perhaps she had been overly judgemental in her assumption, but she does believe it merits some truth, even if it wasn't always a physical ending. But she keeps her thoughts to herself.

"Pansy always knew more than I did," he finally answers. "Even if we tried to intervene, Pansy never wanted to tell us anything and Daphne certainly never did. Regardless, things changed when... About a year ago."

He trails off, once again looking off into some kind of void, as if he's forgotten he'd been in the midst of a conversation with her.

Hermione can easily guess where his mind was at. It was October of last year when a body had been found in the river by Muggles — and November when the body had actually been identified by Wizarding authorities as Astoria Greengrass, who had disappeared June prior. Malfoy had been her beau at the time, and had aroused ample suspicion and gained much pity, depending on the person.

"Daphne was distraught. She barely talked for months. I never saw her, I don't think Pansy saw her much more either," he continues. "Flint... He seemed...better. Less angry, less controlling. In a twisted way, I think he enjoyed taking care of her."

"Their relationship improved as well?"

Malfoy hesitates. "She was quiet. He let her be."

Hermione takes a moment to consider this influx of information. She isn't sure what to make of it. It sheds light into Parkinson's dislike of Flint, but if things had really deescalated...

"And Astoria — "

Malfoy's hand slams against the table, making Hermione jolt.

"Fuck off, Granger," he seethes. "I'm done with your games. You know exactly what happened with Astoria."

Truthfully, Hermione doesn't. She hadn't been interested enough to pay attention to either of them in the Daily Prophet.

She does know that Astoria died, though. She's being insensitive enough in that regard.

It's obvious, though, that whatever temporary truce had settled between them was now gone. Shattered to oblivion, given Malfoy's fiery expression. She swears she sees the semblance of tears forming when —

"Get out!" Malfoy spits out suddenly. "We're done here!"

Too surprised to stand her ground or retort with anything witty, she rushes out of the office, closing the door without hesitation.

She takes one, two, three breaths before she sees an impatient Harry rushing back towards the office. "Finally!" he exclaims, before pushing the door in before she can warn him of Malfoy's sour mood.

It doesn't take long for Harry to find out for himself, if the sound of things being chucked across the room and a yelp from the Boy Who Lived counts for anything. He's back out, door closed, only a moment later.

"You mentioned Astoria, didn't you?" accuses Harry.

Hermione blinks. "I...may have."

Before he can explain or scold her more, Ron strolls up. "What's the bloody commotion about?"

"She mentioned Astoria!" Harry says as a way of explanation, wagging his finger at Hermione.

"Oh, you didn't," Ron groans. "Hermione!"

09:49pm on Tuesday, 4 October 2005

Hermione is halfway out of Diagon Alley when she notices she's being followed.

Now, of course, this would be an alarming situation for anyone. Being followed is rarely a good thing, unless it's by a concerned friend or meddlesome parent, but she knows quite well that the hooded figure behind her is neither of those. At first, she hadn't been quite sure they were even following her, but after going into a few random shops and down some odd side streets, it became apparent that this person had targeted her.

Which, in a world where Death Eaters still own their reign of terror, is not something that fills Hermione with butterflies.

She debates making a scene, but decides against it — the figure could potentially be dangerous enough to hurt the crowd around them. She then debates calling for Ron and Harry, but realises that there's no way they'd get there in time, even if Hermione delayed her path as long as she could. Nor would she be able to notify them without likely alerting the stranger that she's onto them.

In the end, Hermione resolves to settle this herself, in private, but just close enough where she could reach an Apparition point to get away, if need be.

She leads the stranger into one of the side alleys, just at the edge of the Leaky Cauldron. There's nothing there but a stray Kneazle, trying to catch some mice.

As soon as she stops, she swiftly turns and flicks her wand, disarming her stalker. The hooded figure immediately raises arms in defence and lowers the hood, revealing a familiar face.

"Daphne?!" exclaims Hermione. The initial shock only lasts for a moment; once she's over the surprise of being hounded by a near stranger, she realises that this was probably only a matter of time.

"Granger," Daphne pleads, "I need your help."