CHAPTER II

When Hermione woke up, the first thing she realised was that her back was absolutely killing her.

The second thing she realised was, in fact, the very reason for the first: she hadn't made it to bed last night and had instead fallen asleep on the hard wooden floor of the library, slumped atop open books and crumpled sheets of parchment.

She blinked groggily in the early morning sunlight then slowly, grimacing all the way, pulled herself to a seated position.

After their breakthrough last night, she and Draco had stayed up another hour or two, poring over the book and several other useful tomes they found further down his pile. Eventually, though, she'd started to muddle up her sentences as she read aloud, the words swimming before her eyes, and Draco—bossy little git that he was—had mandated an end to the research and marched her all the way upstairs to bed.

"Sleep," he'd commanded when she'd objected to his manhandling, then closed the door and stomped off down the stairs to his own room.

She'd been quite happy to obey really, despite her protests, but by the time she'd put on her pyjamas and cleaned her teeth, she'd been suddenly quite wide awake, her mind whirring with spells, runes and calculations. Eventually, she'd been able to stand the separation from her precious books no longer, so she'd slipped back into her jumper and jeans, and, wand lit and a blanket wrapped around her shoulders, crept back downstairs.

Evidently, she'd fallen asleep at some point. But she couldn't have gotten more than an hour or two—a glance at the grandfather clock confirmed that it was indeed still very early.

She cheered up a little. She might even have time to sneak back to bed before she showed her bleary face to the rest of the house's inhabitants and had to sit through several lectures about pushing herself too hard.

Sadly, however, her plan was thwarted when, on hurrying out of the library and into the hallway, she collided with a very tall, very hard body.

"Bloody hell, Granger," Draco said crossly, catching her arms before she lost her balance. He glanced over her head at the books and notes strewn across the floor, and his eyes narrowed in realisation. "Did you come back down here last night?"

"No," she said, although it was patently obvious that she had.

His gaze raked over her, and she felt herself cringing ever so slightly at the sight she must present: in yesterday's crumpled clothes with sleep-creased cheeks. Especially when he looked so fresh and perfectly put together. He'd clearly had a shower—his hair was damp and he smelt good. Like citrus and something darker, spicier…

The corner of his mouth quirked upwards.

"Well," he said, "I can tell by the bird's nest on your head that you got some sleep at least."

Clearly not enough if she'd been sniffing him. She drew breath, offended, but he was already heading down the hallway towards the kitchen.

"So did you find anything else?" he asked over his shoulder. "Was that monstrosity you call hair worth it?"

Of all the nerve...

"Yes," she said indignantly, "but I'm not sure you deserve to know."

"Probably not," he agreed, pausing in the doorway. "You coming? I heard Remus was making pancakes."

...

Molly raised her eyebrows when Hermione and Draco walked into the kitchen together. She had a basket of laundry balanced on her hip, and inside it, Hermione recognised the hideous floral bedsheets from her room.

She swallowed, mortification flooding her like a hot wave. Molly would have seen her bed hadn't been slept in. Merlin, she must think she and Malfoy…

"Sleep well, dear?" Molly inquired, hiding a smile. Hermione pinked, then chastised herself sharply. She didn't know why she felt so guilty. She'd spent the night on the library floor, after all. And even if she hadn't, well, she was a grown woman. She could spend the night with whomever she chose.

Not that she would, of course. There was no privacy in a house with so many people—people who'd known her since she was a child—coming and going at all hours of the day. Not to mention the only available man here remotely near her age was Draco, and there was not a single chance in hell she was going there.

Even if, in her most sleep-deprived, rune-addled moments, she had perhaps considered it once or twice.

"Fine, thank you," she said stiffly and joined the others in the dining room. Despite the early hour, the sky was bright and clear, and someone had opened the huge glass doors leading out onto the veranda. Sand dusted the floorboards beside the doors and a balmy sea breeze fluttered the white muslin curtains.

Remus Lupin glanced up from his newspaper as she took her seat, and smiled his greeting. Beside him, Tonks, whose hair today was short and mad and lilac, was trying to feed little Teddy egg and soggy soldiers. Trying, of course, being the operative word. The toddler was too busy giggling as George Weasley made faces at him from across the table—at least until his new wife, Angelina, whacked him across the back of the hand with a spoon.

Hermione smothered a smile at the man's aggrieved expression and reached for the coffee jug.

It was easy to forget on a day like this that the world was at war. And maybe it was dangerous having so many Order members in one location for any prolonged period of time, but for today at least, they were at peace, and they would cling to it for as long as they could.

"Good morning," Kingsley Shacklebolt said from the head of the table. His arm was in a sling—the only vestige of war marring the serenity of the morning. He and Hestia Jones had arrived at the house just under a week ago, wounded, and dragging a semi-conscious Sturgis Podmore between them.

Kingsley's eyes shifted between her and Draco, whom she had, Hermione realised in dismay, sat beside without thinking. A small knowing smile traced his lips, and Hermione wanted to slam her head into the table.

Was there anyone in this damn house who didn't think she was sleeping with Draco?!

Oblivious, Malfoy reached for the butter.

"Granger and I had a breakthrough last night," he announced, making Remus choke on his tea.

"Is that what the kids are calling it these days?" Kingsley asked blandly, and Remus snorted again.

"A breakthrough in our research," Hermione gritted out.

"Really?" Tonks asked, catching Teddy's hand before the little boy pried the lid off his beaker. "What did you find?"

Before either could answer, there was a thud at the door.

"Bloody hell, woman, have you no aim?" Sturgis grumbled as the door opened and a harried-looking Hestia wheeled him inside. It had been his capture by the Death Eaters that had prompted Kingsley's recent rescue mission, and his serious injuries had confined him to a wheelchair ever since. Resident healer Angelina had assured him it was only temporary—although from the way the man griped, one might be forgiven for thinking it was forever.

"Keep moaning and the next thing I aim will be my wand right at your head," Hestia warned, pushing him up to the table.

Sturgis rolled his eyes and muttered underneath his breath, but Hermione knew it was mostly for show. He was in his late forties, a good decade or so older than Hestia, but she was fairly sure there was something of a romantic nature going on between the two of them. She certainly didn't miss the way his eyes softened as the witch set about dishing up his breakfast.

"What did we miss?" Hestia asked as she worked.

"Hermione and Draco had a breakthrough," Remus said mildly from behind his newspaper.

"Really?" Sturgis gave Hermione a wink and a wolfish grin. "We've certainly waited long enough for it."

"And now you're making us wait even longer," Tonks said. She glanced between Hermione and Draco, eyes alight with interest. "What did you find?"

A wail drowned her out, as Teddy finally jerked the lid off his cup and drenched himself in orange juice. Tonks and Remus snapped into action, and a few spells later, the little boy was clean and dry and snuggled in his father's lap.

"What did I miss?" Arthur Weasley asked cheerfully, bustling suddenly into the room.

"Hermione and Malfoy had a breakthrough," George said with a waggle of his eyebrows, and Hermione fought the urge to hex him.

"Lovely, lovely," Arthur beamed, helping himself to toast. "About time too, my boy," he said to a bemused looking Draco.

"What did you find?" Tonks asked impatiently.

"Annotations," Hermione said quickly, before something else in this mad house could interrupt her. "From someone's own personal research." She handed Remus one of the books she'd grabbed before she came to breakfast. "Whoever wrote them had some rather interesting ideas about tracing Horcruxes."

Remus opened the book and squinted at the inside cover.

"Ndidi Mbachu," he murmured, reading the name scrawled inside.

"Crikey, that's not a name I've heard in a long time," Mr Weasley said through a mouthful of breakfast, and Hermione glanced at him, startled.

"You know her?"

"Used to work in the Department of Mysteries. In the Death Chamber, although if I remember rightly, she'd slip over into the Time Room now and again." He jabbed the air with his fork. "There's an interesting connection between the two actually. Time is, in some ways, the inverse of death…"

"Dad," George prompted when it appeared Arthur was warming up for a full lecture. "Ndidi?"

"Oh right! Of course. Yes, she was fired from the Ministry, many years ago, for dabbling in Dark research."

Hermione felt a prickle of excitement. Dark research was exactly what they needed and had, thus far, been unable to find.

"Where is she now?" she asked. Arthur gave her an apologetic look.

"I have no idea," he said. "I'm sorry. It was a long time ago, and I haven't heard from her since."

"There's no reason we can't attempt to locate her," Remus said, catching her crestfallen expression. "If Hermione and Draco think it's worth it?"

"It's worth it," Draco said firmly. "Her research could give us the edge we need."

"Then it's settled," Remus said. "We find Ndidi Mbachu. After breakfast, of course," he added, pushing a plate piled high with strawberries and chocolate sauce in Hermione's direction. "Pancake?"

...

Mr Weasley had a few old contacts from his time at the Ministry before it came under Death Eater control, so shortly after breakfast, he and Remus Apparated away to track them down. The hope was to find some clue to Ndidi's whereabouts—ideally, an address—although it was a long shot. Arthur didn't even know if the witch was still alive, let alone sympathetic to their cause. All Hermione and Draco could do was wait.

It was an agonising hour. Hermione busied herself getting washed and dressed in her usual uniform of jeans and woolly jumper, then wrestled her mad mass of hair into something resembling a braid. That only occupied her for so long though, so she returned to the library, intent on gleaning all she could from Ndidi's notes before they met the woman herself.

It seemed Draco had the same idea, because he was sat sideways on the window seat, thumbing through one of her books.

"Found anything interesting?" Hermione asked, perching herself opposite him.

He shrugged.

"Nothing more than you, I assume." He closed the book, smoothing his thumb across the hard, worn cover. "This witch," he said, shaking his head. "She's a piece of work."

Hermione smiled.

"Yeah."

"Reminds me a little of you," he added with a trace of a smirk. When she huffed and leant back against the wall, he laughed outright. "That was a compliment."

She snorted.

"Right. Maybe to your twisted Slytherin mind, it was."

He looked at her a long moment, and her breath caught at the unexpected openness in his eyes.

"She's brilliant," he said, "and so are you. Better?" he asked when she simply stared at him in surprise.

"It'll do," she said primly, recovering enough to grab one of the other books he'd tucked between his thigh and the cushion, then almost immediately regretting it when her fingers brushed warm fabric and solid muscle. She snatched the book away like she'd been burnt. "Let's just hope Arthur is able to track her down," she added to hide her discomfort.

"Let's," Draco agreed, and she felt his eyes on her long after she'd turned away and lost herself in the words on the page.