Apologies for the delay. But here's another chapter and I hope you like it.
Usual disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter.
Hermione stared listlessly at the clouds that were slowly forming above the mountains. It would be a gloomy and depressingly cold afternoon. She sighed. The brunette leaned back against the comfortable couch and hummed a tuneless song. She glanced at Fleur who was sitting at the table, writing a reply to Ginny's owl.
It had been three weeks since the twelve of them had the gathering. Since then, Hermione barely saw any of them (aside from Fleur, of course). Ginny had been keeping to her promise of updating them regularly. The redhead had been in daily communications with Fleur. However, Hermione was not allowed to read the letters for fear of triggering negative emotions, which the witch accepted begrudgingly. She could only get information from Fleur's own mouths. Fortunately for the brunette, Fleur was indulging and patiently answered Hermione's questions, sometimes giving repetitive answers, until the brunette was satisfied enough to let the blonde write a reply.
The past three weeks had been quiet and peaceful for Hermione. There was only one attack which was a miraculous record, and that was triggered accidentally when Hermione, in the course of trying to open a jar of chocolate cookies that Fleur baked earlier in the day, somehow managed to let the jar slip from her hands, resulting the jar and its delicious contents smashed to the floor. The shock triggered an attack and it took Fleur three hours to stabilise Hermione.
Today Hermione woke up early enough to enjoy a romantic sunrise cuddled with Fleur at the jetty, a cup of hot cocoa in hand. The brunette could not fall asleep again after breakfast. She had been lazing around and dozing off for the past three weeks while Fleur engrossed herself in Hermione's impressive collection of books. So this morning Hermione tried to do the same, hoping her love for reading returned.
The brunette decided to start by re-reading her old-time favourite Hogwarts: A History while her lover wrote a reply to Ginny's letter which was giving a brief summary of what the Toad Hunters (that was the name the redhead gave, which Neville half-heartedly accepted– he felt it was insulting to his toad, Trevor) were going to do today. According to Fleur, they were going to have a short meeting and divide a list of known acquaintances of Umbridge among themselves to investigate.
But Hermione just could not focus on the book and after struggling to finish the second paragraph of the first page she gave up and tossed the book aside rather carelessly. That earned a stern look from Fleur which the brunette ignored and the latter went to the windows and just stared at nothing in particular.
She sighed again.
The sounds of quill scratching against the parchment constantly brought Hermione back to her Seventh Year. That year had been quite a lonely one for the brunette, with Harry and Ron deciding against returning to school. That was the year Hermione got close to Ginny, and somehow the redhead managed to loosened Hermione from her strict studying schedule. But in return, befriending Hermione resulted in the Gryffindor Quidditch Captain spending so much time in the library (but not as much as Hermione would like to). The closer they were to the examinations, the more time they spent at the library, writing in silence, accompanied only by the sounds of quill scratching the parchment.
Hermione sighed yet again.
"That's the seventeenth time you sighed today, Hermione, and it is not even ten o'clock yet," Fleur finally broke the silence. She was securing the letter to Harry's owl, who was staring at Hermione accusatorily. Hermione glared at the owl back defensively.
Hermione returned to staring out the window, mumbling she was alright.
It was Fleur's turn to sigh.
The blonde approached Hermione and put her arms around the brunette, enveloping her lovingly.
"What's the matter, Hermione? What's bothering you?"
Hermione exhaled before looking up at Fleur.
"I'm bored, Fleur," she confessed. "I'm restless. I want to do something but I don't know what. I can't focus on reading even a short paragraph. I can't fall asleep. I just… I don't know. I know I've been holing myself in this place for over one year but Merlin, I am bored." She was close to tears.
"Why didn't you say so earlier? Tell you what, go and change your clothes and let's roam around muggle London for a bit. We'll be away from magic and its worries, and you can show me a lot of weird muggle inventions."
Hermione liked that idea. She kissed Fleur's jaw and whispered a 'thank you' before disappearing to her room to change.
The streets of Diagon Alley were at its usual busyness – not quite jam packed, but not quite empty either. Blame the ongoing semester for that. Christmas decorations and sales signs were already up even though December had not started yet. Ron grumbled about the ridiculousness of it all and complained of the same Christmas songs being played over and over again. But when he looked at his companion who was busy gawking at the streets and the wonders they offered, he chuckled.
"You look as if you've never been here, Nev," Ron was amused.
"At this time of the year, I'm usually at Hogwarts, Ron," Neville explained, never taking his eyes off the shop windows as they passed them. "I used to be a student, but now I'm a Professor."
"Tell me again, what kind of tale did you tell McGonagall that she's willing to let you off on an indefinite leave?" McGonagall was nothing if not a strict Headmistress, not only to her students, but also to her staff.
"I told her Hermione needs my help and it's urgent."
"And she did not question that?" Ron was in awe. The wizarding world still held a deep respect for the brilliant brunette, even after all this time of hiding.
"Strangely enough, no," Neville was still amazed by the conversation he had with the Headmistress. He had been nervous and could not think of a perfectly good excuse to have his one-month emergency leave approved. At first he thought of faking a sickness but then his ancient grandmother would find out about it and panicked (Neville would be the one panicking trying to deal with his grandmother's wrath). Neville was never a good liar anyway. So he decided to just tell McGonagall the truth and hoped for the best. But instead of given approval for a month of emergency leave, the Headmistress gave him "all the time required to help Hermione Granger".
Neville still had his job, and at the same time he could help his friend. But that did not mean he could not gawk at Diagon Alley without the rest of Hogwarts bumping into him at every corner.
"Come to think of it, that's not really surprising since 'Mione is the only one who could satisfy McGonagall's unnecessarily difficult homework," Ron remarked, steering Neville who was fascinated with trinkets displayed on a hawker's blue blanket.
But the fascinated man resisted.
"Let me indulge myself for a bit, Ron," Nev said apologetically.
"Ginny will have my head if we're late," Ron groaned, checking his pocket watch. They needed to pick up the gang's breakfast and be at Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes in fifteen minutes' time for their meeting. They were already running late as it was, and Neville's indulgence were not helping. Ron wished he'd asked someone else to accompany him grab their food. Even Malfoy would be better. The blond would be a silent and efficient companion, although it would take everything Ron had to restrain himself from starting a fight with Malfoy. The mutual hatred would always be there.
Ron sighed and tapped his foot impatiently while Neville fiddled around with the trinkets. Some of the items looked familiar to Ron – he recalled his father owned a few of those, kept at The Burrow's shed.
"They're just random useless muggle items, Nev," Ron called out, hoping to persuade his friend to move on. "Dad has some of those and they never work. There's even this small square-shaped black thing with numbers on them that the guy who sold it to dad swore to be a portable fellytone. He lied. It's as good as a rock."
"Fellytone? Oh you must mean telephone, sir, and I have a few of those portable telephones you mentioned," the hawker eagerly grabbed a few mobile phones and shoved them under Ron's nose.
The redhead took several steps back and shook his head. "Not falling for that, mate. You can trick my dad, but you can't trick me."
The hawker was crestfallen but recovered quickly. He put them back on his blanket and took a silver one and went to Neville.
"Sir, this is an authentic muggle portable telephone, an item that allows you to talk to someone far away instantly," the hawker opened the flip phone and pressed random buttons. The screen was still on and Neville took it from the man with interest.
"How do you operate this thing?" Neville asked, curious.
"Just press it and pray to the air gods and if your prayers are answered, you will reach the person you have in mind instantly."
Ron snorted. "He doesn't know how to use it either, Nev."
"I beg your pardon, sir? The muggles are ingenuous. I promise you that is how it is operated," the hawker replied.
Some happy tunes came out of the phone.
"Wha – how is this – what do I do?" Neville asked in panic, pressing buttons at random in the hope to stop it.
"Pray to the gods, good sir, pray to the gods," the hawker pleaded earnestly. He immediately fell to his knees, clasped his hands and muttered prayers.
Ron, while not knowing much about muggle technology, was confident that the gods had nothing to do with their problem at hand.
"Smash it against the wall maybe?" he suggested helpfully.
Whatever Neville pressed stopped the happy tunes from playing out and now a female's voice came out of the item.
"See, I told you, it works!" the hawker thanked the gods and rose to his feet again.
"But I was thinking of talking to my girlfriend and that's not her voice," Neville's face was a mixture of amazement and fear.
"You have a girlfriend?" Ron was surprised.
Neville pressed something again and the voice stopped speaking. Now the sounds of farts and a group of people laughing came out of the item. Ron furrowed his eyebrows. What the heck.
"I definitely was not thinking of talking to a group of people who fart that loudly," Neville muttered.
As he pressed again, the sounds changed. This time, a male voice was heard. But it was soft.
"Nev, we really have to go before Ginny murders us." Ron grabbed Neville's arm firmly and started marching away but what he heard next froze him to the spot.
"….Granger's death…"
He looked at Neville who stared back at him, wide-eyes. The hawker, who missed it, was talking away and shoving his goods to them, hoping they would buy something.
"…Golden Trio…"
"Nev, make it talk louder," urged Ron.
"I'm trying," Neville scrunched his face and fiddled with the phone, trying to understand how to increase the volume. But whatever he pressed stopped the voice and the screen now displayed a smiling young woman with a tabby cat.
"No, no, get it to repeat whatever it said!" Ron turned to look at the hawker, "How do you make this thing repeat what it just said?"
"As I told you, sir, pray to the gods and – "
Ron felt like screaming at the useless hawker. He fished some coins from his pocket, threw them at the hawker, and yanked Neville away forcefully.
"We really need to get going, keep the change," Ron called at the hawker who thanked them profusely.
"Ron, we might need to him get this thing to talk again," Neville protested.
"Harry used to live with the muggles. I'm sure he can figure it out. Come on, I want to know what that guy was saying."
The whole situation with Hermione made Ron very paranoid. Every little thing that hinted at Hermione's demise, or even things that were remotely connected to Hermione made him jumpy. He was desperate to save his best friend. They were all desperate for that. They had been stuck trying to hunt for Umbridge and were at their collective wits' end. Racing against time was never his favourite activity, especially when the wager was the life of someone that he cared very much about. He knew this portable fellytone might be just another dead end but he did not want to leave any stone unturned.
They were just three minutes' late when they arrived at George's shop. They stormed into the back room and Ron went past the irritated Ginny and shoved the phone into Harry's hand.
"We heard a guy talking about 'Mione's death and something about the Golden Trio. I don't know how to get the guy to talk again, Harry."
The Boy Who Lived looked at Ron in bewilderment. The redhead took a deep breath and tried to explain again, this time telling the story from the beginning. He wanted to scream at everyone – explaining everything was a waste of time. He needed to know what the man said, dammit!
"Ah, it must be a recording," Harry flipped the phone open and fiddled with the button. "I'm surprised the battery hasn't run out yet."
"Battery? What's that?" Gabrielle asked, munching her sandwich.
"It's not important right now, can we just please focus?" Ron was exasperated. Was he the only one who felt it was an urgent situation?
"Slow down, Ron, they don't understand what's going on," Harry tried to calm him. "Okay, I'm in the recording section now. I'm going to play each recording and tell me to stop when we get to the guy's voice, alright?"
As the recordings were being played, Ron and Neville shook their heads in unison. Harry pressed next until both Ron and Neville yelled "That's the man!"
Harry immediately increased the volume and hushed everyone.
"Lucas is from a long line of wizards familiar with this particular brand of magic, he will definitely deliver."
"Tell me, how many people have he killed by sending these…spirits?"
The whole room gasped, growled, and swore. They'd recognise that loathsome voice anywhere. Gabrielle shushed everyone.
"…Give him time. He will not disappoint. Granger's death is certain – we only need to wait."
"Bloody Umbridge, I will skewer her alive," growled Ginny hatefully.
The rest shushed the redhead.
"The foundation for the current Ministry is the despicable Golden Trio, and the key to that trio is that mudblood."
"Watch your mouth, you toad," Ron growled.
"For the love of Merlin, shut up!" Draco hissed at him.
"…Potter has powers in the Auror department. Without his mudblood, he is all brawns. It will be much easier for you to get close to him and start to whisper into his ears, and, without the mudblood to realise something's changing, our faction can forse Kingsley to resign and Potter will replace him. The Wizarding Saviour will be our Golden Boy, an obedient puppet without even noticing it."
"Bloody hell Harry, this is huge," Neville whispered loudly.
Everyone glared at him and he zipped his mouth.
The recording continued, "If, by some dumb luck, the mudblood figures out what ails her, it will still be too late. According to Lucas, the spirits will not stop until their target's blood dries up. Besides, there's no way she'll be able to track down Lucas. He assures me that the spirits' sender is not trackable. Therefore, you can relax. Well, I have to go and meet my wife before she starts suspecting I'm having affairs with you. No offense, Dolores, but I'd like to believe I can catch a more…desirable fish if I were to have affairs."
"This guy is no better than her either," Neville said in disgust.
Harry flipped the phone close, cutting off the man's recorded laughter. A usually calm and easy-going man, his eyes reflected a fiery anger that rivalled even his wife's.
"Guess what? By some dumb luck, that mudblood and her friends has figured out what ails her and we are figuring out who are involved," he told the phone in a harsh voice. He then looked at each of the person in the room. "I recognised that voice. I know who the guy is and I have an idea."
"Wow you've really grown, Potter," Malfoy drawled, "you don't need Granger to guide you anymore."
"Harry's not stupid," Ron said aggressively, fists curled, ready for a fight.
"Both of you, shut up or else I'll throw you out," threatened Ginny, to which both men wisely heeded.
"I can't believe that bastard is in cahoots with Umbridge," Harry muttered to himself.
"Sorry, can't hear that Harry, but maybe that's because there are some Blumbingers trying to burrow into my ears," Luna said.
"What's a – never mind I don't want to know," Pansy shook her head. Luna never changed. Nudging at Harry, Pansy asked, "What were you saying, Harry?"
"That bastard. I know who he is. I can't believe I've been in working in the same building with him, in the same floor even, and I never realised he's such a bloody evil git," Harry paced around the room, brows scrunched in concentration. "That's Marshall Wordsworth, Department Head of the Office of Magical Economic Cooperation. For the past few years he has been working with me, sort of, asking my help for security for business meetings between governments, that sort of thing. He claimed to be a fan of Hermione's and kept on saying he is a supporter of muggleborns, and that he wished Hermione would return to the public life as an icon for muggleborn rights. Merlin, I've been such a fool!"
He stopped and stared at Malfoy.
"Of course. You're the one!"
"Whoa, wait, I didn't do anything!" Malfoy raised his hands in defensive posture as Ginny whipped out her wands quick as lightning.
Gabrielle leveled hers at Ginny, daring the redhead to make the first move.
"What are you guys doing, lower your wands," Harry moved and stood in the middle of the sudden intense wand stand-off and made to grab at Malfoy's arm. "Malfoy, your expertise is required. Come on follow me."
"Harry, we have no idea what the hell is going on so can you please slow down and explain first before someone accidentally shoot a spell? And by someone I was referring to your wife," Pansy sighed.
Harry scratched his head. "Well, I was thinking that considering Malfoy here is an international businessman, we can use him as a pretext to go to Wordsworth's office and have a chat with him. While Malfoy distracts him, I'll snoop around and hopefully find something."
"I don't see why not," shrugged Malfoy, thinking fast. "The Ministry has been trying to be friendly with me, trying to use my business influence in Belarus to put spies inside and don't you dare to deny it, Potter. I may not be a Ministry employee but I do know how things work." Harry just blinked at that.
Malfoy narrowed his eyes. "Fine, continue your silence over it but I know what you guys are trying to do. I can use that crap to pretend to want something from the Ministry. Well, if Mr Wordsworth can offer something substantial, why not? I get to help you guys and expand my business. Let's go, Potter."
"Wait, what do we do here?" Ron asked, still trying to keep up with the development.
"Finish your breakfast and wait for us, don't go anywhere," Harry instructed as he closed the door and rushed after Malfoy.
"Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, how can I be of service to you gentlemen?" Marshall Wordsworth gestured for the two men to take a seat in his spacious office. The sudden appearance of Harry and Malfoy did not seem to perturb him.
"My apologies for barging in unannounced, Mr Wordsworth, but Harry here has successfully convinced me to lend my aid to the Ministry regarding the Belarus situation," Malfoy drawled, leaning back into his seat. He frowned slightly, the lack of comfort provided by the chair bothered him.
Harry rolled his eyes at that. Trust Mr Spoiltbrat to demand luxury everywhere he went.
"I'm just doing my patriotic duty," Harry shrugged modestly. He decided to let Malfoy take centre stage and attention here while he snoop around as usual.
"I am not sure I follow about this Belarus situation," Wordsworth said carefully, eyeing Malfoy.
"Mr Wordsworth, I am not a fool," Malfoy rolled his eyes. "There's no need to be coy with me. I know you and the Auror department have been working together, trying to infiltrate that country by having your agents posing as my employees. I screen my prospective employees, Mr Wordsworth. I do background checks. Deep. Background. Checks. You guys are making it way too obvious. I mean, how many applicants wanting to work for Malfoy Industries specifically requested to be placed in Belarus? And these same exact applicants, all of them, somehow did internships and apprenticeships in the Ministry? What coincidence. What's up with Belarus anyway?"
"I have no control over any of that," muttered Harry. He repeatedly told his bosses that Malfoy was never a stupid person even though he was definitely a fool.
"Belarus is a delicate situation," Wordsworth finally said, hesitatingly. "I suppose I can tell you a little of it since you're interested in helping the Ministry."
Shaking his head, Malfoy said, "Not just a little, Mr Wordsworth, I want to know everything. Even the things you don't know yet."
"I'm afraid I can't do that, Mr Malfoy. It's top secret."
"Then I'm afraid I've just wasted all my time and the doors to Belarus is forever closed to the Ministry. Make your decision right now, Mr Wordsworth. Don't prolong this game by trying to get permission from the upper heads and whatnots. If you get me on board, I'm sure they'll reward you and will close an eye on you not getting the Ministry's collective assent anyway."
Harry watched the longest staring contest he had in his life between Marshall Wordsworth and Draco Malfoy. It was boring and Harry was starting to feel fidgety. Even stakeouts were more thrilling.
"Just some of it," Wordsworth finally relented. "Most of the important things that directly affect you and your company, Mr Malfoy. And you'll be on board, yes?"
"No," chuckled Malfoy. There was a predatory glint in his eyes. "This is just your selling pitch to me. To get me on board, you have to convince me that our unholy partnership is extremely profitable for Malfoy Industries."
"What exactly are you after, Mr Malfoy?"
"It depends on what is in Belarus," replied the platinum-blond predator.
Wordsworth sighed. He rose to his feet and motioned for Malfoy to follow him. "Very well, please follow me. But I'm afraid you have to wait here, Mr Potter. While I know you're in the loop, some of the things I'll be showing Mr Malfoy are not part of what you're cleared for."
"I'll be quiet as a mouse," promised Harry.
Malfoy followed Wordsworth without so much as a glance to Harry. They disappeared behind a small door directly placed behind Wordsworth's chair.
As soon as the door closed, Harry jumped to his feet and started rummaging around the office. Searching carefully so as to not leave a trace that someone was looking for something, Harry scanned documents, books, parchments, and notes.
Fifteen minutes had gone by and Harry was starting to lose hope. What if the things they were seeking were kept behind the very door that both Wordsworth and Malfoy were at? The more Harry thought of it, the more he realised that there was no way Wordsworth would keep precious documents out in the open.
He heard footsteps nearing and he started panicking. He needed to tell Malfoy to waste more time somehow!
But just as the voices of Wordsworth and Malfoy were clear enough to be heard from where Harry was from, Harry's eyes fell on an inconspicuous, little black book hidden behind a baseball glove. Wordsworth was really committed into his cover of being a muggleborn supporter. Harry would not be surprised if the man actually understood how baseball worked.
Going on an instinct, Harry swiped the book, hid it in his robes, and jumped to his seat.
"…and I am looking forward to hear business proposals from the Ministry," Malfoy's smooth voice covered the sounds of Harry's rapidly beating heart.
"We would have them ready within the next few weeks," Wordsworth replied, smiling happily. "I should thank you, Mr Potter, for convincing Mr Malfoy here to do his civic duty."
"I just did what I have to," Harry waved away the praise. He rose to his feet, glancing at Malfoy. "I'm afraid I have to return to my job, gentlemen, but it's nice to know that Draco is finally on board."
"I won't say no to excellent profits, Harry," Malfoy commented. "I too, have to scram. I have several meetings I must not miss."
They could not run out quickly enough back to George's shop.
"This just won't budge!" Gabrielle swore in frustration.
For the past few hours, they had been trying to open the little black book that Harry swiped on impulse. He did not know what the book was for, and was not even sure whether there was any clue in the book or not. All he knew was he acted based on instincts, instincts well-honed from countless battles, fights, and tight situations which saved his hide crisis upon crisis.
"You know what, let's go and see him again, Potter," Malfoy said, looking exhausted. He tried all sorts of Dark spells to open even the most stubborn item, but the book would not budge. "But this time instead of snooping around to look for clues, I'll just enter his mind and try to find something. How good is your memory charm, Potter? That will be needed after I ransack his mind."
"Call me crazy but I like the git's plan," Ron muttered.
"While I'm against anything that involves breaking into another person's mind, I support Malfoy," Neville said quietly. "We're desperate for info here, Harry. And as we heard from the portable fellytone, that guy is definitely guilty and involved with Umbridge."
"It's a mobile phone," Harry corrected. "But yes, I can see your point. Very well then. Let's go, Malfoy."
Marshall Wordsworth was having an interesting day. First, Harry Potter, accompanied by none other than Draco Malfoy, paid him an unannounced visit. The sight was strange and if it were not for him witnessing it with his own two eyes, he would not believe that the two bitter rivals were on first-name terms with each other.
Initially, he was on guard and suspicious. There was nothing that indicated the two men would appear in his office. Coupled with the rumours and news of Hermione Granger making appearance in the Ministry to visit Harry Potter recently, Marshall Wordsworth was on edge. The plan had not been going well. Granger was still alive and showed no signs of getting worse. Umbridge was being a pain in the ass with her many fears and worries but unwilling to offer her blood to appease the spirits, making it harder for Lucas to control those evil damn things.
But today, when Malfoy showed an interest in the Belarus situation, Wordsworth was happy. The Ministry had been desperate to enter Belarus and for years Malfoy had been resisting the Ministry's courting. The Ministry, thinking that Malfoy's pockets were locked tight, tried to get Wordsworth to authorise his family fortune to set up business in Belarus. They had been pushing, coaxing and cajoling, but Wordsworth always managed to stay out of it. He really did not want to commit money into some dangerous ventures he barely had an interest of. For generations, his family made money from dealing with human trafficking and supplying dark wizards with human parts for their experiments. Not that the Ministry suspected it, of course.
Wordsworth breathed a sigh of relief, not having to do much with Belarus aside from just his capacity as the Department Head of Magical Economic Cooperation, liaising with his Belarus counterpart in establishing trade and all those crap.
Feeling it was a victory for him and thus required a mini celebration, he made his way to his cabinet housing all sorts of muggle things and grabbed a bottle of Firewhiskey.
His blood then froze.
His little diary was gone.
He felt his heart hammering against his chest, throat dry. That little black book was his diary, keeping a lot of secrets that would be damning against him and his little cause. While the diary had watertight protection, making it extremely difficult for anyone to read its contents, there was still a possibility someone managed to do it.
He quickly opened his door and asked his secretary as calmly as he could, "Lisa, had Mr Potter and Mr Malfoy gone?"
"They both took the lift sir," came the answer. "Would you like me to make you an appointment with them?"
"No, that won't be necessary, I was just wondering, that's all."
Why did Potter take the lift? His office was at the same floor with Wordsworth. This was all too strange.
Wordsworth did not want to waste time to figure out what was happening. There were so many possibilities in his mind and his paranoia resurfaced. They knew. They were onto him. This was bad.
He set down the bottle of Firewhiskey and grabbed his coat.
"Lisa, I just remembered I have an urgent family thing to go to. I won't be back for a few days, so please rearrange my schedule," he told his secretary.
Damn that Potter!
"I'm sorry, Mr Potter, Mr Malfoy, but Mr Wordsworth will be away for a few days," Lisa the secretary regretfully informed them the bad news.
Harry exchanged a glance with the platinum blond next to him.
"Just call me Draco, Lisa," Malfoy smiled charmingly. "Do you know where did he go? When is coming back?"
"He has some sort of family emergency, Draco," Lisa giggled, playing with her hair. "He didn't say when he'll be back but I can owl you when he does, if you like?"
Harry wanted to gag.
"That would be wonderful, Lisa, just owl me directly, I'll be waiting," winked Malfoy.
"You're disgusting," Harry told him as they exited the building.
"Said the married man who misses out a lot on life," replied Malfoy smugly. In a more serious tone, he added, "Seems like our rat is spooked."
"I have a bad feeling about this," muttered Harry. "I'm going to check on Hermione, you go to George's shop and inform the rest. Make plans as you see fit."
"Yeah, yeah, I'm now your errand boy," Malfoy rolled his eyes as Harry Disapparated with a loud 'crack'.
Hermione was loving the day out with Fleur. They were strolling in muggle London, with nobody turning even a glance at their linked hands. Anonymity was a wonderful thing. Here, nobody worshipped or hated Hermione Granger. Here, nobody had memorised some gossip columnist's Twelve Things You Should Know About The Golden Girl. It pissed Hermione to read that one of the twelve things mentioned was that Hermione was so possessive of Cormack McLaggen that the guy was still single years after he had graduated, scaring off other girls. Like, who would believe that aside from McLaggen himself? If she ever ran into him, she'd hex him into oblivion and beyond.
They were stopping at a bakery. The establishment seemed popular. The line was long, and everywhere was full. Fleur was sweet and offered to go inside to buy some pastries, insisting Hermione wait outside without being crammed by the crowd.
Hermione waited a few doors away (the waiting line was really long and people loitered outside of the bakery). She leaned back against the wall and watched life happening all around her. Muggle technology were developing so fast now, and Hermione had not been keeping up. Had she not gone to Hogwarts, would she be one of these people? Maybe a university student, doing her doctorate in something obscure and difficult that only she herself and her professors understood, walking around muggle London talking into the fascinating mobile phones, making a plan or two with some friends to watch the movies later in the day after class?
She shook her head and sighed. What was done was done. She was a witch. But that did not mean she should forget her roots. Maybe she should check out the latest gadgets and acquire some. Figuring them out would keep her occupied. Not to mention, it would be amusing to observe Fleur's wonderment.
Hermione was so deep into her thoughts that she did not realise a black-robed man standing next to her, too close for comfort.
The next thing she knew, all was dark.