The first Saturday in August was lazy. The odd summer chill had dissipated unexpectedly for a day or two, replaced by a muggy heat that choked the fields and made the sky hazy-white. Butterflies and dandelion seeds drifted in the pregnant air while bees engaged in a frenzy of pollination, dragonflies danced on the Diggory's pasture pond, and birds sang. The whole world was green - the rich, dark green of late summer as Mother Earth lay heavy in her final trimester before she produced her autumn bounty.

Cedric and Hermione had been out for a walk earlier. They'd followed the footpath that fronted the Diggory property, then wandered across the wide expanse of south lawn past the barn and the barking of crups, out into the pasture to sit by the pond and skip stones. Cedric still struggled to keep up his stamina on crutches. Now, a bit damp around the edges from sweat, they were back inside and sprawled on his bed. Both wore lightweight Muggle clothes, and Cedric liked the way her strappy top clung to her curves, but didn't say so. He didn't want her to think he wanted sex all the time, even if he did.

Flat on his back, he was reading one of his ever-present newspapers gripped in one hand above his head while the other arm cradled a dozing Hermione, her head on his shoulder and Esiban curled between their feet. And however much he liked sex, he liked this more - just this, to cuddle with her in his big bed, nowhere to go. Warm as they both were, he still didn't want to lie apart from her. That was coming sooner than either of them wished. And not for one year, but two. Sometimes he wondered how they'd manage, and sometimes (in a small, dark part of his mind) he wondered whether they should try. He always squashed that voice. He didn't want to hear it, impatient already with the surprise of his co-workers at the Ministry that he continued to see a schoolgirl. If she'd been a seventh year, it might not have elicited such notice; probably a third or more of wizarding marriages resulted from romantic ties formed at Hogwarts. Theirs was a small, inbred society. But those marriages didn't necessarily end happily ever after; his own parents might be a good example. Not everybody could be Molly and Arthur Weasley.

Nonetheless, the fact Hermione was two years his junior and Muggle-born caused mild consternation among his co-workers. They expected the affair to fade with distance and time, and one or two of the younger women were lining up to make a bid for the presumed vacant spot at his side. Cedric recognized those looks they shot him, and he'd overheard a couple of conversations he probably hadn't been meant to overhear. One advantage-disadvantage of being in the chair was that people didn't necessarily stop to think he might be on the other side of a partition if they couldn't see his head over the top. But their doubts and ugly speculation made him that much more determined not to let distance drive him from Hermione. What they had wasn't about sharing revision for classes or trips to Hogsmeade or giggling escapes from the clutches of Filch and Mrs. Norris. It never had been.

Abruptly, she shifted on his shoulder and he glanced down at her. "Thought you were sleeping?"

"Mmm," she said, eyes only half open as she rose slightly. "Was. Sort of. Drifting, really."

"Knut for your thoughts?"

She smiled at him. "Didn't have any worth even a knut, sorry. I was vaguely wondering what Berry was making for dinner, but that's about it."

"Food was the extent of your thoughts? Are you certain you're my poppet and not Ron Weasley Polyjuiced?"

She made a face. "I sincerely doubt Ron would be sleeping on your shoulder."

"She shoots, she scores," he replied, smiling. "But it's hard to imagine you awake and not thinking about something more profound than food."

She plopped her head back onto his shoulder. "Don't want to think."

Blinking at that, he laid aside his folded newspaper and shifted so he could see her a bit better without dislodging her from his arm. "What's up?"

She shook her head, but he knew it was feeble and more guilt than a desire not to tell. Hermione had become so used to having Harry and Ron confide in her but not burdening them that even now, she found it difficult to open up immediately. He had to coax her a bit. "Tell me."

Unprepared for the sudden stranglehold of her arms hard around his neck and shoulders, he was momentarily stunned before letting his own arms come up to hold her tightly in return, kissing her temple. She wasn't crying, or shaking, but she also wasn't easing up any. He waited. After a while, she said, "I was thinking about next week - going to Diagon Alley for our books. What that means."

He kissed her temple again, not sure how to reply. It wasn't as if they could avoid the impending separation, or even wanted to - at least on one level. Hermione loved her studies, and it was as important to him that she finish as it was to her. After a while, he said only, "I've been ticking off the days in my head too. I've got so used to you right here." He pulled her against his side to illustrate what he meant. "Not having you there - I'll feel like an amputee."

She smiled at that; he could feel the curl of her lips against his neck. Rising a little, she cupped his cheek. "I can't get enough of touching you; I need to store it all up to get me through the cold months alone."

He couldn't help snorting a little in amusement. "You sound like you'll be hibernating up there. Were you a squirrel in a former life?" He ran a fond hand over her bushy hair.

She rolled her eyes and smacked his shoulder. "You certainly know how to kill a mood, Mr. Romantic."

"Sorry. None too good at the soppy stuff."

A grin tugged at her lips. "Usually you're much more the sop than I."

Grinning back, he curled an arm around her shoulders, pulling her back down, then turned a little so they could hold one another loosely on the sheets. He didn't say anything else. She didn't either. And although both of them were habitually busy - finding it hard to waste time doing nothing at all - they spent half an hour there, faces level but eyes closed, sometimes kissing lightly but mostly just breathing each other.

"If you're wondering what that smell is, Mother, a Mudblood just walked in."

The voice belonged to Draco Malfoy, who was being fitted at Madam Malkin's for new, elegant, forest green robes. He was standing in front of a mirror and had just noticed the reflections of Harry, Ron and Hermione over his shoulder. He didn't bother to turn, just gave that patented smirk he probably thought looked self-assured, but struck Hermione as ridiculous. Harry and Ron had - predictably - jumped in front of her to level wands at Malfoy's back.

"Oh, really," she muttered under her breath even as Madam Malkin came around a rack of robes, scolding, "I don't think there's any need for language like that!" Spotting Harry and Ron, she added, "And I don't want wands drawn in my shop either!"

Hermione yanked futilely at Ron's arm. "No, don't. Honestly, it's not worth it . . . "

"Yeah, like you'd dare do magic out of school," Malfoy taunted. "Where's your crippled lover, Granger? Did he finally get tired of you and dump you like the rubbish you are?"

"That's quite enough," Madam Malkin snapped, turning to look somewhere deeper in the shop. "Madam - please - ?"

Draco's mother strolled out from behind the clothing rack even as Cedric, on crutches, appeared at Hermione's shoulder. When they'd entered, he'd stayed near the door because the robe shop was too stuffed with racks and tables for him to manoeuvre easily in the chair even with magic. He must have got out the crutches as soon as he'd heard Malfoy's voice. Now, glaring at Narcissa Malfoy, he raised his chin. "Your son acts like he was raised in a barn - horrible manners."

"His manners are saved for those who deserve them," she replied, then glanced at Harry and Ron. "Put those wands away. If you attack my son again, I'll ensure that it's the last thing you ever do."

"Really?" Harry asked, not lowering his wand even a fraction. Instead he stepped forward. The shop was small, and only a couple of yards had separated them in the first place. Now he was glaring into Mrs. Malfoy's face.

Hermione moved back against Cedric, afraid for Harry and seeking comfort. "Don't let her . . . " she began in a whisper.

"She wouldn't dare," he replied equally softly. "But my wand's in my hand."

"Going to get a few Death Eater pals to do us in, are you?" Harry was saying.

Madam Malkin's response was almost comical. She clutched at her chest and went bone white. "Really! You shouldn't accuse - dangerous thing to say - wands away, please!"

Neither Harry nor Ron obeyed, while Cedric remained rigid behind Hermione, watching but not intervening. Hermione found herself wracking her brain for what Lucy Diggory would do right then. Mrs. Malfoy was speaking again. "I see that being Dumbledore's favourite has given you a false sense of security, Harry Potter. But Dumbledore won't always be around to protect you."

Harry exaggerated peering all around the shop. "Wow . . . look at that . . . he's not here now! So why not have a go? They might be able to find you a double cell in Azkaban with your loser of a husband!"

Draco made an angry movement towards Harry, but tripped on his not-fully-pinned robe. Ron laughed even as Hermione sucked in breath. Cedric still didn't move. "Don't you dare talk to my mother like that, Potter!" Malfoy half shouted.

"It's all right, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy said, holding him back with a grip on his shoulder. "I expect Potter will be reunited with dear Sirius before I am reunited with Lucius."

Harry's face went white and he raised his wand, but unable to bear it further, Hermione pushed forward between him and Draco. "No!" she snapped. Drawing herself up as she'd seen Mrs. Diggory do, she said, "Think, would you? Is that ill-mannered puppy worth being expelled from Hogwarts? Dumbledore would be so disappointed in you." She shot Malfoy a purse-lipped glance. "As for your remarks, I won't dignify them with a reply."

That seemed to halt not only Harry, but also the Malfoys. Madam Malkin took advantage of their silence to get back to business. Twitching at one of the sleeves on Draco's robe, she said, "I think this left sleeve could come up a little bit more, dear, let me just - "

"Ow!" Draco bellowed, slapping the old woman's hands away. "Watch where you're putting your pins, woman! Mother - I don't think I want these anymore." And he yanked the robes over his head, throwing them at Madam Malkin's feet.

"You're right, Draco," Mrs. Malfoy replied, looking Hermione up and down, half contemptuous, half amused. "Now that I know the kind of scum who shops here, we'll do better at Twilfitt and Tattings. They're a bit more . . . discerning in their clients."

" - which is probably why they were in Gringotts' the other day, applying for a loan to keep their shop from going under," Cedric said sotto-voce, but clearly enough to be heard by everybody. Harry snorted, along with Ron, Madam Malkin appeared surprised, and Mrs. Malfoy paused at the door to glance back at him.

"I can't imagine how you would know that, Mr. Diggory, as goblins have better manners" - she stressed the word - "than to engage in gossip about the affairs of their customers."

"Let's say a little bird told me," he replied. "See you around."

"I sincerely hope not." Then she and her son were gone, the door slamming shut behind them.

"A little bird . . . ?" Ron asked, looking over at Cedric.

"Fleur. She works in their loan department."

"She shouldn't be telling you such things," Hermione said.

"She probably shouldn't," Cedric replied easily as he balanced on one crutch to flip through the robes on the rack. His fingers lingered on a brown set, and Hermione remembered the fancy caramel-coloured ones she'd considered buying him for Christmas. Maybe she'd save up for them this year. "But apparently they were her clients from hell that week," Cedric went on, "so Fleur was venting. Given their apparent entitlement attitudes, they should get on famously with the Malfoys. Although I have to say, the utter disdain on your face when you called down Harry a minute ago would have done Fleur justice."

Hermione blushed. "I wasn't trying to mimic Fleur - or be disdainful. I was just . . . trying to imagine what your mother would have said."

He chuckled. "' . . . that ill-mannered puppy'? Yeah, I could just hear her saying that, but don't make a habit of it, right? I don't want to marry my mother."

She froze - and he froze. It was clear the remark had just slipped out, but it wouldn't if it weren't on his mind. And while they'd acknowledged this relationship was no temporary school fling, actual marriage . . . Her alarm must have shown on her face because he said, "Er, that was figurative, you know. Not implying anything." Nodding, she looked down again at the rack of robes. "Hermione," he said softly. "I really was just speaking figuratively."

"I know," she replied, smiling at him. It must have soothed him because he relaxed. She decided not to dwell on it. Her own confused feelings on the matter puzzled her. She couldn't imagine marrying anybody but him, yet the magnitude of that commitment seemed a bit much with two years before she even finished school, and a war looming.

Ron and Harry were busy talking to Madam Malkin about letting out their school robes while the shop owner ran her wand over the discarded ones Draco had been trying on as if vacuuming off dust. Hermione wanted a new set of robes herself like those Mrs. Diggory had given her the spring before. She needed more regular wizarding clothing, and now pulled a royal blue set from the rack, holding them up. "What do you think of these?"

"Pretty. Try them on." And things between them reverted to normal, the temporary tension fading.

Finished finally with the robe shop, they left to meet Hagrid outside. A small passing group of shoppers shot them furtive glances as they hurried past on some business, and if Cedric had told Hermione how Diagon Alley was now - muted and denuded of familiar crowds - seeing it had still been a shock. Mr. and Mrs. Weasley and Ginny appeared with packages of books in their arms. "Everyone all right?" Mrs. Weasley asked. "Got your robes? Right then, we can pop in at the Apothecary and Eeylops on the way to Fred and George's - stick close now . . . "

Throughout their stops at both shops, Mrs. Weasley kept glancing at her watch. "We really haven't got too long," she said when they'd exited Eeylops. "I'm sure Cedric and Arthur need to get back to work, but the boys are so looking forward to seeing all of you . . . " And she headed back up the alley again, glancing at shop numbers above doorways.

"The shop's right down there," Cedric said, pointing a few doors further down the row. "It's . . . hard to miss."

He was right. Hermione worried that her poor eyes might suffer retina strain from the window display alone. On one side, they had an assortment of goods that flashed and popped, revolved and shrieked, making her wince. On the other side was a Ministry-purple poster with bright yellow lettering, but with a message no Ministry poster would ever display:

WHY ARE YOU WORRYING ABOUT
YOU-KNOW-WHO?

YOU SHOULD BE WORRYING ABOUT
U-NO-POO -

THE CONSTIPATION SENSATION
THAT'S GRIPPING THE NATION!

Harry and Ron were laughing, Mrs. Weasley appeared horrified, Mr. Weasley was trying not to laugh, while Cedric - who'd seen it all before - appeared more amused by them than the poster. Hermione wasn't sure what to think, although she agreed more with Mrs. Weasley who said, "They'll be murdered in their beds!" than with Ron, who declared, "No, they won't! This is brilliant." He and Harry were pushing into the shop eagerly. Hermione could see the place was packed with shoppers and glanced at Cedric.

"I'll wait out here," he said.

"Oh, no!" Mrs. Weasley protested. "Nobody's staying on his own, Cedric."

"Mrs. Weasley, I work in the Ministry. I spend half my lunches here."

"With Bill and Fred and George and Tonks and Scott and, well, Fleur too. You come on in here, young man. I'll make sure one of the boys finds a spot for you."

"If I can squeeze in," Hagrid told him, slapping his back, "I'm sure they've room for you."

Thus bullied into it, Cedric got out his crutches and entered, but Hermione could see he wasn't happy. She wondered if that were because he disliked being in a crowded store, or because he wasn't all that fond of the Weasley twins. Despite everything, Cedric, Fred and George remained on tentative terms. They weren't enemies, but they weren't friends. In fact, Cedric seemed to have difficulty with most of the Weasleys, Bill and Mr. Weasley excepted. He and Percy openly loathed each other, he got on badly with the twins, was viewed hostilely by Ron, and with tired tolerance by Ginny. Mrs. Weasley liked him, but Cedric was bit cool towards her. Hermione had never asked why, and didn't think Mrs. Weasley knew him well enough to realize, but she suspected the problem boiled down to a simple personality clash. Circumstance and war loyalties had thrown them all together, but she feared most of the Weasleys just rubbed Cedric up the wrong way.

Now, she left him by the door to wander around the shop with Ginny. Despite herself, Hermione was impressed by the array of items. She might find the twins exasperating, but had to admit they knew what would appeal to the public, and their merchandise included more than Skiving Snackboxes or Canary Creams. Some were actually useful, like their Self-Inking and Spell-Checking quills - Hermione picked up two of each - and some were entertaining but didn't encourage skipping class . . . could even be considered educational, like their reusable hangman. "Spell it or he'll swing!" the caption read, which - morbid or not - would certainly improve writing skills, wouldn't it? She was pleased to spot so many children gathered around in interest.

A display beside the hangman caught her eye and she pushed through to see better, picking up what turned out to be a small box. At first glance, from the cover and size, she'd thought it a Muggle paperback Romance, which seemed a strange thing for Fred and George to be carrying. But it wasn't a book. The sign above announced, "Patented Daydream Charms." She could feel Harry peering over her shoulder at the box cover featuring a buxom, swooning redhead and muscle-bound, tattooed fellow gripping her in his arms on the deck of a pirate ship. Hermione smirked and turned it over, moving it so Harry could see too. "'One simple incantation,'" she read, "'and you will enter a top-quality, highly realistic, thirty-minute daydream, easy to fit into the average school lesson and virtually undetectable (side effects include vacant expression and minor drooling). Not for sale to under-sixteens.'" Good Lord, what was in these - and drooling the only side effect? Not sticky knickers? "You know," she went on, "if this works as advertised, it's really extraordinary magic."

"For that, Hermione," said a voice behind them, "you can have one for free."

Hermione jumped and spun, looking up. Fred was standing there in horrid magenta robes that clashed terribly with his hair - and she was quite sure he and George knew it too, had perhaps chosen the colour because of it. They had the strangest senses of humour at times.

Fred was shaking Harry's hand, who was grinning back at him. Hermione raised the box she supposed was now hers. "Are you stuck with the characters on the cover or can you modify your daydream?" She was curious as to the extent of the charm, but wasn't about to ask about the "not for sale to under-sixteens" bit.

Fred shot her a knowing glance. "If you're asking whether you replace the pirate bloke with a swaggering, fully ambulatory Diggory sporting gold earrings, the answer is yes."

Certain her face had gone absolutely scarlet, Hermione glared back and ignored Harry's snigger. "I was simply inquiring about the extent of the charm, and I like Cedric just the way he is."

"Like me the way I am for what?" Cedric asked. Apparently, he'd given up on waiting by the door to come and join her near the counter. The way he kept popping up unnerved her.

"Hermione was wondering if she could import your image into one of our Patented Daydream Charms. She went right for the pirate version too. Ever considered lessons in swordsmanship and sailing, Diggs ol' boy?"

Cedric's expression was just the polite side of horrified. "What?"

"Oh, please," Hermione said, stepping away and tugging Cedric after. "Thank you, Fred, but I'm honestly not in the market for a pirate. I prefer my men shaved and showered, thank you."

"Sure you do, Hermione," Fred replied, grin wicked and ear-to-ear. "I think you secretly want a rogue to invade your neatly ordered life and sweep you off your feet." He winked at Cedric, then slapped Harry's shoulder. "Come on, Harry, I'll give you the tour." And they ambled off.

"A rogue, eh?" Cedric asked when Fred was gone, and there was a glint in his eye that suggested he wasn't finished with the teasing.

She huffed. "Most certainly not. I just picked up the box on top. For a minute, I thought they were selling Muggle Romance novels which, I might add, I neither like nor read. I will admit it's a clever bit of magic" - she held up the box so he could read the back - "but that's all I said. The next thing I know, Fred's giving me one of them."

Cedric didn't immediately reply, scanning the description instead. "You're free advertising," he explained finally. "He expects you'll take it back to Hogwarts, your roommates will see it, and they'll get more orders as a result."

She rolled her eyes. "I'm more inclined to hide it than leave it lying about."

"A guilty pleasure?"

"No! I don't like Romances. Or pirates. Or rogues. Or even fiction, really. But insofar as I have a favourite fictional character, it was Elinor in Sense and Sensibility."

"In what?"

"Oh, for heaven's sake! You don't know the Brontës, you don't know Jane Austen - at least you've read Shakespeare. We've really got to do something about that, Cedric. I'll make a reading list of important Muggle novels for you, starting with Charles Dickens and Jane Austen."

He was laughing at her now. "Fine. I'll read those if you read my list of important wizarding literature, my little non-fiction girl."

Eyebrow up, she held out her hand to shake. "Deal."

He shifted his weight to one crutch and took it. "Deal. Now go and get a different box if you don't like pirates. He said you could have one for free; I doubt he cares which."

Hermione rolled her eyes, but did as he suggested. Ginny joined her as they glanced through boxes, sharing laughter over the absurd poses of the men and women. Ginny had no more patience for Romances than Hermione did. Besides the pirate, there were safari adventurers, what looked to be Muggle soldiers, an American Indian brave (which made Hermione snort and set it aside to show Cedric), as well as magical heroes such as Aurors, Curse Breakers, Quidditch players, and - "Is that Charlie?" she asked, picking up a box with a stocky, muscular, auburn-haired man standing in front of a dragon, bravely defending Yet Another Damsel in Distress.

"What?" Ginny asked, reaching over to take the box and gape at it. "Oh, my God, I think it is! Well, they changed his colouring a bit, but that's Charlie! He's going to kill them!"

"No, he won't," said another voice - George this time as he swept past. "Who do you think suggested and then modelled for it? That one's our prototype." And laughing, he strode off.

Ginny was laughing too. "You know, he probably did. He'd think it funny." Hermione, who didn't know Charlie well, just shook her head. Ginny handed her the box. "You should take that one."

"No," Hermione said, putting it back with a distinct thunk. "I'll take the Indian one. Cedric will be amused."

Ginny eyed her. "The daydream is for you, Hermione. You don't always have to do what you think will please him."

"I don't," Hermione said. "But I'd still be more inclined to take the Auror or the Curse Breaker over a Dragon Handler."

"Not the Seeker?" Ginny asked, elbowing her, but laughing now.

Hermione glanced over her shoulder to where Cedric was examining a shelf full of Muggle tricks and novelty items. "I have my own," she said, but put down the box with the American Indian and picked up the one with the Quidditch player anyway. If she was stuck with one of these, she may as well get one in which she could most easily imagine Cedric. Smirking, Ginny just shook her head and continued to look through the boxes.

Fred had reappeared with Harry. "Haven't you girls found our special WonderWitch products yet?" Fred asked. "Follow me, ladies . . . "

With a glance at each other and rolled eyes, they trailed after. On a tall shelf near the window with the poster was a range of terrifyingly pink-packaged products around which a group of five teen girls had gathered, giggling. "Oh, Fred. That's . . . awful," Ginny muttered. "Could you be any more clichéd?" Her expression was disgusted.

Fred either didn't hear or flat ignored her. "There you go - best range of love potions you'll find anywhere."

Eyebrow up, Ginny asked, "Do they actually work?"

"Certainly they work, for up to twenty-four hours at a time, depending on the weight of the boy in question - "

"- and the attractiveness of the girl," George added, reappearing at Fred's side. "But we're not selling them to our sister" - his face was stern - "not when she's already got about five boys on the go from what we've - "

"Whatever you've heard from Ron is a big fat lie," Ginny interrupted, albeit without heat. Instead, she leaned over to pick up a small pot to look at it. "What's this?"

"Guaranteed ten-second pimple vanisher," Fred said. "Excellent on everything from boils to blackheads, but don't change the subject. Are you or are you not currently going out with a boy called Dean Thomas?"

"Yes, I am," Ginny replied. "And last time I looked, he was definitely one boy, not five. What are those?"

She was pointing to some tiny pink balls of squeaking fur in a clear aquarium; they reminded Hermione disturbingly of baby Tribbles. "Pygmy Puffs," George explained. "Miniature puffskeins, we can't breed them fast enough . . . "

Hermione drifted away, leaving Ginny to the tender mercies of her brothers in order to rejoin Cedric. He was looking bored and glancing at his pocket watch. "How much longer do you have?" she asked, moving close to twine fingers in his robe and tilt up her chin to see him.

He bent to kiss her nose. "I was just thinking I need to be on my way. I've stretched lunch a bit. Being sort of my own boss, I can, but I shouldn't push it."

She nodded. "Thanks for coming along."

"Of course." He smiled down at her. "Any excuse to see you, poppet."

"Let Hagrid walk back with you to the Apparition point."

"Hermione - "

"Humour me. You shouldn't be out there on your own."

"Who'll walk back Hagrid?"

"Hagrid will be fine." And she patted his chest, then waved to the gamekeeper, who lumbered over. "Hagrid, Cedric needs to get back to the Ministry. Can you walk with him back to the Apparition Point?"

"Be glad to." He grinned at Cedric. "Come w'me, lad."

Cedric appeared annoyed, but kissed her quickly anyway - "I'll see you tonight" - before following Hagrid, who had the door open for him. Hermione watched them disappear then turned to rejoin Ginny, only to run smack into something that wasn't there.

"Ow!" said Ron's voice, even as Harry hissed, "Get under the cloak - quick."

Glancing all around - nobody was watching - she did so, whispering, "What are you doing?"

"Shh," Harry said, easing them all towards the door and slipping out behind a pair of boys, or young men, really - Hermione dimly recognized them as Ravenclaws from two years ahead of Cedric, which must mean they had real jobs now. In the street, Ron and Harry looked around, and Harry cursed under his breath.

"What is this about?" Hermione demanded.

"We saw Draco," Harry explained. "He was on his own, sneaking off somewhere. You saw how his mum was guarding him earlier."

"Regular mother wolf, that one," Ron agreed.

"She wouldn't let him out of her sight willingly - and it was clear he wanted to be. Now, he's sneaked off alone. I want to know what he's up to. It can't be good."

Hermione resisted sighing. Harry could be truly unreasonable about Draco sometimes. "He probably just wants to buy Firewhisky or something," she pointed out.

Ron shook his head. "Hermione, he could get that at home. I'm sure they've got a whole drinks cabinet full of it."

"Oh."

"He went that way," Harry said, pointing up the street. "Come on." They hurried off as quickly as they could without tripping each other. They were getting a bit big to all fit under the Invisibility Cloak, but fortunately, they'd been doing this now for five years, so they had practice. Ron, as the tallest, took the middle with Harry and Hermione walking to either side of him.

"That's him," Hermione hissed, pointing towards a blond figure turning left.

"Big surprise," Ron said.

Draco had just ducked into Knockturn Alley.

"Quick, or we'll lose him." Harry hurried them along.

"Someone will see our feet!" Hermione said.

"It doesn't matter," Harry said. "Just hurry!"

But by the time they turned into the rundown side alley where one could find the less-respectable stores that catered to the Dark Arts, there was nobody visible at all, at least not on the street. After the brief warm spell that past weekend, the weather had returned to the same oppressive grey it had been all summer, and between the narrow street, smoke-dull brick and overcast sky, Knockturn Alley seemed especially dreary. Passing the wide if greasy windows of Borgin and Burke's, Hermione spotted two figures inside the store and pinched Harry's arm. "Ow!" he said.

"Shh! Look! He's in there," she said, pointing towards the shop. Malfoy had his back to the street, talking to the shop owner, a stoop-shouldered, greasy-haired elderly man who regarded Draco with what Hermione thought a mixture of interest, fear and flat distaste. "If only we could hear what they're saying," she muttered.

"We can! Hang on," Ron said, inadvertently dropping boxes in his excitement - "Damn!" - but then he had the biggest of the boxes open and held up . . . "Extendable Ears, look!"

"Fantastic!" Hermione replied, hugging him spontaneously as he unravelled the fleshy-coloured strings and began to feed them towards the shop door. "Oh, I hope the door isn't Imperturbable - " she muttered.

"No!" said Ron in delight. "Listen!"

All three of them bent intently over the string ends as Draco's voice came through loud and clear: " . . . you know how to fix it?"

"Possibly," said the shop owner - Borgin. "I'll need to see it, though. Why don't you bring it into the shop?"

"I can't. It's got to stay put. I just need you to tell me how to do it."

Borgin's tongue came out to lick his lips, then he said, "Well, without seeing it, I must say it will be a very difficult job, perhaps impossible. I couldn't guarantee anything."

"No? Perhaps this will make you more confident." Draco took a step forward that Hermione thought almost menacing, but an inconveniently placed cabinet blocked him from their view and all three of them stepped sideways as one. Unfortunately, all Hermione could see was a suddenly white-faced Borgin. "Tell anyone," Draco continued, "and there will be retribution. You know Fenrir Greyback? He's a family friend. He'll be dropping in from time to time to make sure you're giving the problem your full attention."

Borgin drew himself up. "There will be no need for - "

"I'll decide that," Malfoy interrupted. "Well, I'd better be off. And don't forget to keep that one safe. I'll need it."

"Perhaps you'd like to take it now?"

"No, of course I wouldn't, you stupid little man, how would I look carrying that down the street? Just don't sell it."

"Of course not . . . sir." And he bowed deeply to Draco, almost as if he were his father.

"Not a word to anyone, Borgin, and that includes my mother, understand?"

"Naturally, naturally," the shopkeeper said, bowing again. And the next minute the door bell was tinkling and Draco was exiting. He wore the nastiest pleased look that Hermione had ever seen, and passed so near to the three of them, the cloak stirred in the wind of his passing. Inside the shop, Borgin's expression had gone from unctuous to concerned.

"What was that about?" Ron asked as he rolled up his Extendable Ears.

"Dunno," Harry replied. "He wants something mended . . . and he wants to reserve something in there . . . Could either of you see what he pointed at when he said 'that one'?"

"No, he was behind that cabinet - "

"You two stay here," Hermione said. While Harry had been talking, she'd been thinking.

"Where are you - " she heard Harry say behind her but was already out from under the cloak and headed for the door. The bell jingled again, making Borgin jump.

"Hello, horrible morning, isn't it?" Hermione asked, trying once more to affect the lofty tone of Cedric's mother. The shopkeeper just looked at her suspiciously. Hermione prowled around, trying to guess what on earth Draco had been looking at. Something in the way he'd been talking made Hermione think of pairs. What in here might have a pair at Malfoy Manor? Was that why Draco had said it had to stay where it was? Maybe it belonged to his mother? It was clear he hadn't wanted Narcissa Malfoy to know about this.

Her eye fell on a beautiful necklace set with opals in silver. "Is this necklace for sale?" she asked, just to see what Borgin would say.

"If you've got one and a half thousand Galleons," he replied coldly, eyes dropping down her robes, which were clearly middle class. She wished she'd worn the green robes Mrs. Diggory had given her, and struggled to maintain a cool expression, not show her shock at the price.

She dropped her eyes to the glass case again and pointed to a hideous looking skull. "What about this lovely - um - skull?"

"Sixteen Galleons."

All right, so that wasn't what Draco had reserved either. The plain fact was she had no idea what Draco had been interested in, except that apparently it was in this area of the shop, close enough that he could point to it. Borgin watched her with hostile suspicion; it was clear he knew she was up to something, not a casual shopper and she wished for Cedric. He was better at this sort of thing; yet he was too well known now to act covertly. "All right," she blurted, "the thing is, that - er - boy who was in here just now, Draco Malfoy, well, he's a friend of mine and I want to get him a birthday present, but if he was picking out something, I obviously don't want to get him the same thing, so . . . um . . . "

Borgin wasn't buying it at all. "Out!" he snapped. "Get out!" And his face was so angry that Hermione felt her stomach leap straight into her throat. She turned for the door, hurrying out before he could hex her. Trouble was, she had no idea where the boys were.

A "pssst!" came from her left and she darted that way even as Ron tossed the cloak over her. "Ah well," he said, "Worth a try, but you were a bit obvious - "

Feeling more than a little humiliated, she snapped back, "Next time you can show me how it's done, O Master of Mystery!"

"Let's get back to Fred and George's," Harry cut in, "before everybody realizes we aren't there."

"You did what?"

"Shh, it wasn't that dangerous, Cedric!"

Furious, Cedric turned to Harry and Ron. "You let her do that?"

"What?" Ron asked, defensive. "She was out from under the cloak before we could stop her."

"I am not a little girl, Cedric Diggory!" Hermione actually stamped her foot. She was as angry as he was. "Stop patronizing me!"

"I'm not!" he snapped back. "I'm just worried! You went marching - bold as you please! - into one of the oldest, best-known Dark Arts shops in Knockturn Alley! A Muggle-born, and as far as Borgin knew, not another soul around to witness if he murdered you and stuffed your body in a cabinet." Cedric's voice cracked and he had to stop, overwhelmed by the sheer depth of the danger she'd been in.

"He didn't know I was Muggle-born," she said, reasonably. "And we were in danger at the Ministry last year, too."

"Yes, you were! And that was just as foolish!"

"It's a war!" she shouted back. "It's a war, Cedric! It's dangerous! That's what war is!"

"That doesn't mean you have to take stupid chances, Granger!"

"You're not my watchdog!" she replied, then pointed to Ron and Harry. "And neither are they! Just because I'm a girl - "

"It's not because you're a girl! It's because it was a dumb thing to do! I'd be yelling if you'd let Harry do the same thing!"

"Well, what would you suggest, Mr. Know-it-All? We needed to find out what Draco was interested in."

Without an answer to that, he grunted in frustration and ran his hand into his hair where he sat on the couch in the small living room of the flat that he, Bill and Fleur had found that very Monday. They had not, in fact, fully moved in yet although they were sleeping there and moving boxes of books and personal effects. Right now, Bill and Fleur were out, but Harry occupied the chair, while Hermione and Ron were both standing. The three of them had been allowed to come and visit despite the fact it was in Muggle London - or perhaps because it was in Muggle London. The fireplace had just been connected to the Floo Network that morning, and they'd arrived by Floo. Hermione and Harry were there to help Cedric plug in the telephone and set up the TV. Bill was out getting more boxes, while Fleur was trying to find casserole dishes that could be put into the microwave, using her French nationality and the language barrier as an excuse if she asked a foolish question. Cedric had been left in charge of meeting the landlady when she came with the lease. He still couldn't believe they'd found a flat that let them escape direct taxation, was on the ground floor, and permitted pets - even if he'd Transfigured Esiban into a cat for the landlady's inspection earlier. Esiban hadn't forgiven him yet, and was sulking in a corner of his bedroom cupboard.

Now, Harry broke the momentary silence by saying, "Malfoy's father's in Azkaban. I think he's after revenge." It wasn't an answer to Hermione's question, but Cedric thought he was trying to play peacemaker by changing the subject.

Ron glanced over at him. "Revenge? But what could Malfoy do about his dad in Azkaban?"

"That's my point - I don't know!" Harry replied, clearly frustrated. In fact, they'd wound up in a quarrel about Hermione's bad spying because Harry had wanted to discuss Malfoy's behaviour. "He's up to something, and I think we should take it seriously. His father's a Death Eater and - "

Abruptly, Harry stopped, causing Cedric to look over at him. The younger boy had the most peculiar expression on his face, as if somebody had dumped a glass of icy water over his head. "Your scar's not hurting again, is it?" Hermione asked, moving towards him.

"He's a Death Eater," Harry muttered softly. "He's replaced his father as a Death Eater."

For four heartbeats, complete silence reigned. Cedric felt gobsmacked by the obvious, Hermione looked dubious, and Ron erupted in laughter - "Malfoy? He's sixteen, Harry! You think You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join?"

"It does seem unlikely," Hermione said. "What makes you think - "

"In Madam Malkin's - she didn't touch him but he yelled and jerked his arm away from her when she went to roll up his sleeve. It was his left arm. He's been branded with the Dark Mark."

Ron and Hermione were exchanging a dubious glance but Cedric remembered exactly what Harry was talking about and nodded to the younger boy. "I think he just wanted to get out of there," Hermione said - which Cedric had to admit was also true enough - but . . .

"He showed Borgin something we couldn't see," Harry protested. "In the shop, he showed Borgin something that seriously scared him. It was the mark, I know it. He was showing Borgin who he was dealing with. You saw how seriously Borgin took him after that!"

"I still don't reckon You-Know-Who would let Malfoy join - "

"He let Regulus Black join," Cedric pointed out.

"He was over seventeen!" Ron protested. "Of age!"

"You assume. We don't actually know when Regulus did join."

Harry was nodding enthusiastically. "See - Ced thinks I'm right."

"Well - " Cedric began because he wasn't sure Harry was right, but he also wasn't sure he wasn't.

Ron's face, however, had turned scarlet and he stalked out of the room for the bathroom. "Oh, yeah, of course, if Cedric says so!"

Embarrassed, Cedric looked at his hands and Hermione sighed, glaring at Harry. "What?" Harry asked. "He's making it into some sort of competition!"

Before any of them could reply, the locks snapped over (all together) on the door - the result of magic, not a key - and Bill burst in. He was waving a paper: The Evening Prophet. "Look," he said, his face white. "You Know Who is on the move again. An entire family of Muggles was found massacred in London."

"Shit," Cedric muttered, holding out a hand for the paper. "Let me see that. The Minister's going to be angry that I didn't catch it - "

"No worries, mate," Bill replied, handing over the paper even as Ron came back out of the loo, face worried. "Aurors spotted the Dark Mark over the house before it ever reached Muggle authorities. You didn't miss anything."

Cedric didn't reply, just snapped the paper open to read the headlines, Hermione settling beside him on one side and Harry on the other.

Cole Family Murdered to the Last Member!

For unknown reasons, the Muggle Cole family of Shepherd's Bush, London, was found murdered to the last member, including a four-month-old infant. A Dark Mark appeared in the sky above the home a little after midnight, whereupon Aurors rushed to the scene of the crime . . .

"I wonder," Harry said, "how Voldemort knows the Coles? Sounds like he had a grudge."

"I'd say so," Bill replied, face troubled.


Notes: As in some chapters of Finding Himself, significant portions of the dialogue in the latter half of this chapter is lifted directly from the books, with some (obvious) modifications. But if it sounds familiar, it probably is. (G)