In the following weeks, Hermione poured the research of the last five years back into her, searching for clues about the message she'd heard in her kitchen with Draco Malfoy. She had translated most of what was said, but in many ways, it was a mystery. The English had been plain enough, and what she had translated from Arabic was well and good. But the latin was fickle.

"Two halves, one path," she said, aloud. She stared at the next line. Partum Key. The plainest of this translation: Create the Key, or perhaps, Creating the Key. The verb conjugation was often flexible. But, the key to what? A physical key? Or perhaps metaphorical? And then to be followed by, Their Wrath... it was possible this key, in whatever sense, would unlock unholy fury upon them.

Then, Truth. Truth, Hermione understood well. It was one of her tenants. But that last line, it made her brows furrow, but it filled her heart with ambition. Libero Mutu. For this, there were many possible translations, and often, the reader or listener would rely upon context to decipher the meaning. But in this case, the context was sparse. Liber, she knew, for Freedom. Liberty. But Mutum... quite literally, a mute. But she doubted the meaning was wholly literal. There were many possibilities for this last line, and without the proper context, she was writing herself into circles.

Each time she thought she might be getting close to something, the outcome seemed too simple- or unrelated. At the end of a particularly frustrating night, she closed her books and sighed. Two weeks… she reminded herself. She pushed herself up from her desk and walked into her kitchen. With a tap from her wand, she began boiling water for tea. She sauntered into the flat toward her most neglected room: her Living Room. She'd realized after making several payments on the flat that she hadn't needed this much space. She was often by herself, and the living room did little more than collect dust and cat hair. Currently, it was serving its purpose as a healthy spreading ground for her files, all laid out for her to see, equally. "Lumos," she said, and the room lightened. She walked into the room and took a seat on the couch, a whiff of dust blowing up from the cushion as she did.

It wasn't a bad room, she thought. Nice, big fireplace… cozy loveseat… a cabinet against the wall holding ignored knick knacks from school, and a window she could look out when she got her occasional cabin fever after hours in her office…. But, she knew nothing would ever compare to the roaring fire of the Gryffindor common room, a dozen familiar faces welcoming you with a laugh or a tease whenever you came or went, and her two best friends dependably being found there on a regular basis. It was no wonder this room was often forgotten. It was superfluous. She rose and padded with bare feet toward the fireplace. With a little effort, she lit it, and basked in the closeness of a warm fire for the first time in ages. She felt the furry warmth of her cat rubbing kindly against her calves. She grinned down at him. With a sudden realization, and a dash of loneliness, she reached down to pet him.

"Merry Christmas, Crook," she said. He meowed back at her, the sound, like the room, a bit dusty. She scratched behind his ears. Realizing the holiday only further stirred her disappointment in the space. She pulled her wand from her back pocket and without uttering a sound, drew it around the room. Candlelit glow filled the space as any stick in the place began to blaze. Two stockings went up over the fireplace, and a small cake in a rounded glass display was on the mantle. She hadn't the heart to start a tree, for just one day, but she decorated the corners of the room in garland, and flashing gold and white lights, and small red bows for trim. She looked around the room. It looked a bit cheap. An afterthought. But it was better. Her cat curled up by the fire. She heard the kettle whistle, and levitated her freshly brewed cup of tea into the room. She caught it, and holding her arms out, allowed an old cotton robe to drape her shoulders. She pushed one arm inside, traded the tea cup to the other hand and fixed both sleeves. She resumed her seat on the dusty sofa, and decided to watch the snow fall that had begun.

Taking her first sip of tea, she let out a long, meditative breath and felt herself longing for Spring. She was grateful her parents always traveled for Christmas... it meant she couldn't forget them, when work took over her life. She pushed the slight guilt and temporary loneliness she felt aside, and turned to her comforting fire... and jumped nearly a foot into the air.

"Granger." his voice filled the room. The hot tea splashed to the floor and she wiped it off herself best as she could.

"Seriously, Malfoy? No warning at all?"

"…That was a warning, Granger."

She scowled and rushed into her bedroom for a towel. "Mondere!" she said as she went. It was as if an icy bucket of water had fallen over her head. She gasped, shaking and dripped the whole way to her laundry hamper, cursing. She stripped off her clothing with some difficulty as it clung to her wet skin and pulled a fluffy, duster style sweater on. She shivered, still cursing, and walked back into her living room.

"Merlin, Granger. Is that all it takes to get you out of your clothes, these days?"

"You can be so foul. Spell backfired," she admitted, with no small amount of irritation. She wondered, briefly, was it better to admit a failure to him, however small… or allow him to think he had any type of influence on her body? Neither could be good for his ego. She didn't like the wide-mouthed grin that took over his face.

"My, my. There is something you can't do."

She frowned at him.

"Should have known, Granger, the way you keep that place is a bit of a sin- and on the holiest of days, nonetheless-"

"Any luck with the family research?"

He smirked at her. Even with flames licking up his face, she thought, he was equally as diabolical as he was handsome. Gross. Thank Merlin she knew better.

"Nothing in the library, the archives, or the family letters my mother has stuffed in her top drawer. You'd be amazed what the woman considers sentimental."

"I've got scratch over here, as well. It's a shame. I just know there are parts to this that I'm not seeing.

"Maybe there was more we couldn't hear."

"It's a test," she decided. "They want us to figure it out, with what we have."

"Listen to you. Is this what it was like being one of the Golden Three in school? 50 points to bloody Gryffindor." he drawled. She gasped.

"Malfoy. When do the students return to Hogwarts from Holiday?"

"I dunno," he replied, "Soon?"

She turned from the fireplace and strode to her office.

"Come on, Granger, I don't have time for you to slip into something more comfortable every time you get excited, about something," he called from the other room. She ignored him. She found what she was searching for underneath a mountain of paperwork. Her calendar. She counted the days in her head.

"Yes…" she said. She hightailed it back to the fireplace.

"The Express will take the kids back in three days!"

"Whoop-de-doo."

"Don't you see? The Library!"

"Merlin's beard, I've called forth the real Hermione Granger."

"I swear you're going to make me choke you."

"Don't threaten me with a good time… no, just don't threaten me, at all. It's not very attractive." Hermione sighed.

"The only place I've ever found all the answers I needed… the one place that has more books than I do, or Diagon Alley, or ANY of the other schools, is Hogwarts! I read it in Hogwarts, A… well… nevermind. This is where we need to go, Draco!"

He went silent. She narrowed her eyes.

"What is it now?"

"Nothing. Just… you called me Draco, again." She was perplexed.

"That is your name."

"Well, I certainly never call you Hermione, do I?"

She guffawed at him. But, she did see his point. She felt it. The sound of her name leaving his lips... a wicked shiver slithered up her spine. She shook it off. "You've got to be joking. What is it you think we're doing here? Making believe? We're not in school anymore, Malfoy. We can't be enemies over the floo, but partners in the office. We're working together to figure this out—for you, and for me, for all of Wizard-kind, really, but not for US. There is no us. And there's no reason to turn into an awkward schoolgirl any time I dare to use your first bloody name. Grow up."

"You're the one talking of going back to Hogwarts—"

"I mean it, Malfoy. You can do this by yourself, or you can do it with me, but we are too old to tiptoe around each other. With your connections to pureblood families and their secrets, and your, erm... obvious financial resources, and my research, I think we're stronger working together… but I'm willing to do this without you. Decide."

He looked as if she'd slapped him, and she couldn't understand why. Was he really so much of a child that he couldn't separate his business from his personal feelings? …Did he really think that her own personal feelings against him weren't just as compromising as his?

"Fine," he said, suddenly, snapping her back. "Meet me at King's Cross Station, then. Monday." She nodded, her lips tight. She went to bow out.

"And Granger," he started. She turned to listen. "I don't have to always be with you, when I'm against you. It's not sodding human to pretend otherwise, so don't ever try to tell me what to do. And as for 'growing up,' you may want to try to take care of yourself just a little bit and learn a simple third-year level, housekeeping spell. "Mondere," he said clearly. Her wet locks dried instantly where they'd hung, wet. She glared at him. He smirked for just a moment. "You don't look half bad right now, Granger... for a Mudblood." He backed out. She stared into the green flames as they slowly changed back to yellows and reds, anger welling in her esophagus like bile. She withdrew and cursed under her breath.

"We can't all be good at every single bloody spell, now can we," she said, glancing around her messy flat, and her sad little Christmas decorations. She sat on the floor and absentmindedly played with a stray quill. She sighed. "Damn him right to bloody Hell."

Draco Malfoy was livid. Being forced to listen to her every self-righteous bit of advice, having no idea how he really felt, or what he had to go through just to be able to go on this quest with her, was so infuriating that he could concentrate on little else… and in these moments, all that gave him pleasure was bringing her to that level along with him. Up, or down, he didn't know. He wanted to. That was her purpose in all this.

He rose from the fireplace in the large Malfoy Manor's lower level office. The word for this room… Ratty, he decided. Neglected. Forgotten; like his family. He shuddered. He hated being back here.

He could almost picture the way it would have looked, ten years ago, teeming with Christmas decor to rival an upper class catalogue. The house elves would have had this place sparkling, fresh, with all the style a Pureblood lineage awarded it... a Christmas tree, probably nine feet tall, and decorated with ornaments worth almost as much as the many presents underneath. He remembered the feeling he'd get in this room at Christmastime... such entrapment. Allowed to look, but never to touch. Awareness, for each and every gift... aware that every one of them bearing his name was a mission; a symbol, for a message: we have given you this to do better, because you are not, and will never be, good enough for us.

He left the room and stuffed his hands in his pockets. He walked along the dismal, gray hallways full of cobwebs and secrets. They were practically whispering to him. No, he reminded himself. Not whispering. It's all in your head. He took a deep breath, closed his eyes and held it. He reached the grand staircase in the foyer and thought of his old childhood bedroom up those stairs. The room he used to play in with his fairytale toys… second door on the left. The room he'd been forced to leave when it was time for him to be branded the way all the men in his recent line before him had been, and some of the women, too… the brand that still stung on his arm whenever he questioned his roots… his family… his blood. The mark that still wouldn't come off, no matter what he had tried, even as it was now known to be a dead archetype.

He turned away from the stairs and headed down toward the front doors. He twisted the knob and it groaned underneath his weight. He sighed and with a pop, he was gone. He apparated in front of the old garden shed and smiled. It was overrun with weeds, and covered in an assortment of insects. It smelled like leftover fertilizer… it would have made his mother sick… and it was where he'd spent the last eight years of his life. It was home. He opened the door and climbed inside, every bit aware of the fact that he had called the kettle black with Miss Hermione Granger.

Hermione took a long, lazy shower on Sunday morning. She washed her hair and brushed the cat. She raised her wand to her thick locks and thought briefly of casting her worst spell, as Draco had… but lowered her hand, feeling awfully defeated. Vulnerable. She preferred rage.

She dressed in a simple pair of jeans and an oversized sweater, and slid her feet into he slippers. She tied her hair on top of her head in a messy bun and she set to start packing for her trip to Hogwarts, tomorrow.

She was glad to have called Minerva McGonagall, her old favorite professor, and to have arranged her and her "partner's" trip on the Hogwarts Express. Still the school's Head Mistress, she'd offered to give Hermione and Draco room and board for a week, and allow them access to The Library and the Grounds. Though at first astounded at their choice in partnership—and really, she had no idea—she was quite willing to negotiate their visit anyway, as long as two of the most notorious trouble makers in Hogwarts' history agreed not to disrupt any of her classes, of course.

That had been last night. And ever since the trip became real to her, Hermione couldn't understand the way she was feeling. For half a decade, she'd accepted her plight to work endlessly in her goal to discover the root of magic… she'd lost sleep, most of her relationships, and money, to discover things she'd only hoped of knowing… and now she had to wrap her mind around Draco Malfoy, her old abuser, and she was facing something that only half of her was ready to believe: he had changed.

Sure, he could try to hide beneath his empty threats and name-calling and his rejection of anything remotely resembling an adult conversation… but that was so typical of him. And she knew, beyond a shadow of a doubt, that there was something there. She had seen it. She had felt it. There was more to Draco Malfoy than met the eye. She wasn't ready to dismiss him, just yet… but she also knew she had to be careful around him. He was certainly keeping things he didn't want her to see locked inside, and there was no telling what else might be under there. But, she could do it. She was one of "The Golden Three," after all.

Her feelings had always been clear to her. She loved Harry and Ron—even when they irritated her, she loved them. She was content with Ron, and she felt safe with Harry. She had fun with Ginny and she felt responsible and proud around her parents… but around Draco Malfoy, she felt something entirely different… out of control, quick to anger, and unsure of what he- or even SHE- might do. Around him, she hardly trusted herself more than she trusted him… and unpredictability was something that as a scientific witch, she was uncomfortable with.

"Hello, hello?" She heard from the doorway. She dropped a folded nightgown she'd been absently toying with into her suitcase and walked into her kitchen. Ginny stood in the front doorway, Lily on her hip. Hermione beamed.

"Gin!" she called, moving toward her. She took the baby from her arms and let Ginny drop her purse on the kitchen table and stretch out her shoulders. Lily babbled as she tugged on a tendril of Hermione's curls. Now how did THAT escape?

"We were just in the neighborhood!" Ginny said, smiling widely. "Took Lils out for her first ever visit to Modema's Young Witches Day School. And Happy Christmas, by the way, Hermione. We missed you." Ginny was positively glowing. Hermione blushed and looked away.

"Yes, I am sorry about that," she started. "It's been a bit of a cluster, around here. Trying to get all the pieces on the board so the game can officially start, you know?"

Ginny waved her off. "Come off it, you know we weren't offended. Just, missed you is all." Ginny approached Hermione's sink, wet a dish towel, and pressed it to the back of her neck. It was something Hermione had seen her do many times before, but not for almost two years. She stared at her for a beat.

"Gin…" she began. Ginny blushed, her smile widening. "Are you…?"

"Yup. We're working on baby number two as we speak!" she said. Hermione gasped.

"Oh, Ginny that's wonderful! Does Harry know?" Ginny shook her head.

"Not yet. We're going out tonight. George's gonna watch Lily for us. She loves her Uncle Georgey," she said, fluffing Lily's bright auburn hair. Hermione's smile faltered.

"How's George doing?" she asked.

"Oh, a bit better," Ginny said, her eyes on her daughter. "He comes more than he goes, these days… and his prosthetic ear is fitting loads better than the last, which is helpful since the blind old bugger needs glasses, now. He's just… I mean, you know. He has his days. We all do. If something happened to Harry, I'd feel the same way. Or, you know… if something happened to Ron—"

Hermione rolled her eyes. For years, Ginny had been convincing herself that they only needed space- that Hermione and Ron would be back together before they got much older. She thought Ron needed to grow up. Hermione knew better. Ron was a child at heart, not in his head, and no amount of maturing was ever going to change that. Besides, she knew he would be truly happy with Elsa, more than she ever could have made him. He had been a close fit, with Hermione, like two pieces of a puzzle, one the sky and one the grass that fit together, but would never truly form a complete picture. And though she'd enjoyed interlocking with him… when his correct match had come along, she had to fill the sky on her own, and let the grass grow on without her.

"It's not happening, Gin," she reminded her. Ginny sighed. She had wanted Hermione to be her sister-in-law, she knew. But Hermione didn't need the legality of it to feel like family. She was related to Ron and Harry by something deeper than blood, or matrimony… and she'd never really placed any significant value on either of the two. They were her brothers, regardless, and Ginny, her sister.

"Well, let me know if either of you ever come to your senses," she said, giggling. "So," she changed the subject, "How's the Malfoy matter coming along?" Hermione snickered.

"I knew Harry wouldn't keep a secret."

"Well not from me, he wouldn't!"

"It's coming along nicely," Hermione said and one of Ginny's brows flew up.

"This is Draco Malfoy we're talking about, right? The King Ferret himself? Slytherin's Armpit? The Bloody Baron's Arsehole?"

Hermione turned pink with laughter.

"It is Draco Malfoy," Hermione said, "but Ginny, I'm not going to let a little thing like him being the world's most unreasonable human being stop me from working on the project of my dreams. I've managed to put my feelings aside, and he's managed to… keep the insults to a dull roar."

"I could curse him for you, ya know. My morals are smaller than yours. Think I was probably almost a Ravenclaw. And I'm pregnant! Judge would be lenient on me. All those pesky hormones." Hermione shoved her arm a little and Ginny giggled.

"Unnecessary," she assured her. "Besides. We're traveling to Hogwarts tomorrow and I'd rather he arrives there in one piece since McGonagall already knows we're both coming." Ginny stilled a little. Hermione noticed. She had guessed this would be her reaction, and she braced herself.

"You guys are going to be traveling together?"

"Well… yes. A good deal of what we'll need to do for research involves going out into the world and you know… searching."

"As in, just the two of you,"

"Well, probably. Sometimes."

"Away from other wizards?"

"Well certainly not while we're at Hogwarts, Ginny—"

"Away from the Aurors, Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath, and steeled her reserve. She'd expected this. Ginny had lost so much at the hands of The Death Eaters, and she knew The Dark Mark still burned brightly on Draco Malfoy's arm. Hermione understood. She felt her losses, and she didn't like having to work with him… but that was just it. She had to.

"Ginny, please. I'm on my level, here. I will be fine. I've slept with one eye open before, and I can do it again. If I thought for even half a second that he was up to something, I would kick him out on his arse before you could even think twice."

She heard herself saying it. She felt like she meant it… but she did have second thoughts about Draco Malfoy… and she hadn't kicked him out on his arse, yet. She watched as Ginny's bottom lip quivered. She pulled it between her teeth. Hermione felt her heart breaking… breaking over making a choice she hadn't realized she'd made until right then: she would place her life, and the feelings of her family and friends on the back burner, behind discovering this universal truth... behind working with Draco Malfoy. She already had. And if anything happened to her, and Ginny Weasley lost another of her precious loved ones, it would be entirely her fault.