Thank you to Beringae, whose story The Nietzsche Classes gave me the inspiration for Hermione's Peace Draught dependence. I am not taking full credit for the idea, however I have twisted and changed it to make it my own and to fit with the story. If you haven't read The Nietzsche Classes, I highly recommend it to anyone looking for a refreshing, intellectual read :)

That being said, thank you for being patient with me; This is one of my first fanfics ever and it's been a struggle for me to become comfortable with any characterization of Hermione. I know that everyone has their own distinct interpretation of her character outside of J. K. Rowling's version, but I've always viewed her as smart, mature, and quick-witted for her age, but still just a teenage girl who is coming into her own, and with that comes many of the insecurities that girls of that age tend to harbor. She is not Superwoman, at least not in this story.

Also, I'm aware that sixth-years didn't learn to Apparate until later in the year, but for the sake of the story, let's pretend that they began learning in the beginning :3

I've been asked a lot about Leo's age and backstory, and I promise it will all make sense soon enough :) There IS a story behind him, and there is a reason for his age as well (I'll go ahead and cease the speculation here: he's 19).

Phew! And with that, I bid you…. adieu!

Leo stilled the growl in his throat as he let the stairwell door ease shut. Thanks to the silencing spells on his flat, it was deceptively quiet in the narrow, dingy corridor, as he closed the distance between himself and unit number Nine. Hermione was awake and she had let him know it quickly, setting off nearly all the alarms he had placed within a matter of minutes.

He huffed in annoyance and shifted the plastic bag on his arm to make sure the food didn't spill from its carton. Leo was in no way looking forward to the confrontation he was sure was about to take place, but it had to happen sooner or later. Pausing in front of the door, he took one last glance around the corridor before his hand found his wand – but his ears picked up the sound of another key jingling in a lock before he could remove the enchantments.

The door closest to the stairwell, unit Eight, flew open unceremoniously as Leo quickly stuffed his wand back into his messenger bag. A short, stocky man with a thick mop of brown hair stepped out into the corridor, his eyes quickly resting on Leo. "Oi! Liam. I was hoping to catch you, you have a minute?"

"Jarrod." Leo tipped his chin up at the man in greeting. He had gone by several aliases in the company of Muggles, but he seemed to mind Liam the least. He stuffed his hands in his pockets; the food was forgotten by the door as he strode over to meet his landlord and boss-turned-friend, who was leaning comfortably against the door frame.

Jarrod grinned, revealing a few silver-capped teeth. "Got a job for you. A good one. Client requested you, specifically." He opened the door a bit wider. "Come in, will you?"

Leo glanced back at his door for a moment, his ears buzzing almost inaudibly as another alarm was set off. "Look, I can't stay long," he murmured, and Jarrod chuckled, giving him a knowing look.

"New bird?"

"Something like that," Leo grimaced, pushing his way past the man and shutting the door behind him. He turned to find Jarrod appraising him, and gave him a dark look. "I don't have all day, now. What're you on about?"

Jarrod's grin widened, but he shook his head. "Just good to see you getting over it, is all."

Leo was already in a sour mood, and bringing up his ex-girlfriend certainly wasn't helping. "I thought I declared that subject off-limits." Jarrod raised an eyebrow, and Leo sighed, running a hand through his black curls. "Look, Nadine and I came to an understanding. That's it. It's been more than four months anyway."

He sent a final, significant glare Jarrod's way. Leo would not be coerced into talking about this with him, again.

Jarrod held up his hands as if in submission. "Alright, just looking out for you, mate." Leo visibly relaxed at the change of subject, watching Jarrod reach into his trouser pocket and carefully pull out a small, folded envelope. "I got this from Archer yesterday."

Leo folded his arms in front of him, interest piqued at the mention of the name. While most of the clients that he did jobs for went directly through Jarrod, the assignments that Jarrod received from Archer or Reid were considerably more difficult and often far more dangerous. But, he thought with a small smirk, they were what made his line of work worth it. It wasn't just the money; it was the thrill.

It also helped to have magic on his side, but he still liked to think that he was uncannily good at what he did.

He reached and took the envelope from Jarrod's outstretched hand, turning it over in his fingers. His finger slid under the seal, but Jarrod stopped him before it tore. "He said that it was for your eyes only, and refused tell me anything further than the compensation I would receive. I'm assuming everything you need to know is in there." His eyes told Leo everything else he didn't say aloud: Jarrod didn't want to know what the job was. Leo nodded. At least he was a good judge of when not to get in over his head.

Leo stuffed the envelope into his pocket. With nod and a mumbled goodbye, he stepped back into the corridor. The door shut with a click and he was striding back towards unit Nine where the food was waiting patiently for him; he was anxious to see what was in that envelope, but as he tapped his wand against the door, he realized that having a bloody hostage to consider might make his work more trouble than it was worth.

Bloody bint had to go and ruin everything.

The door slowly opened inwards and he slid inside, quickly closing it behind him and resetting the most necessary wards. He set down his messenger bag and tensed as he moved through the entryway predatorily, taking pains to make as little noise as possible. Come out, come out, wherever you are…

He didn't have to go far.

A violent crash jerked his attention towards the kitchen and he gripped his wand, finding the entry in three long strides. Oh, bloody hell.

Hermione was sprawled on the tile floor, heaving and clutching her ankle as ceiling plaster rained down upon her. Tears streamed down her face, but she… she was laughing? "This is such a mess…" she chucked halfheartedly, eyes closed.

Leo couldn't resist. "You sure as fuck have that one right, kid."

Gods, Hermione thought she must look a sight. Face caked powder-white with ceiling plaster, shift bunched around her knees, runs in her stockings as she shifted uncomfortably on the grimy kitchen floor. She wouldn't have cared so much if her captor wasn't perusing her, face inscrutable, from the arched entrance.

They were both silent for a long moment, and Hermione took the opportunity to warily return his scrutiny. He was carrying what appeared to be a plastic bag with two flat, foam cartons stacked one on top of the other, dressed head-to-toe in Muggle attire with those same, steel-toed boots. He wore his frayed jeans and black leather vest with ease, a sure sign that he had lived among the nonmagical population for a while… most self-respecting wizards would never care to figure out how to match Muggle clothing, anyway.

He finally broke eye contact and turned away from her, lifting the bag to the countertop. "You redecorated."

She stared wide-eyed at his back, but said nothing. What was she supposed to think of him, of everything? One minute he was killing people in front of her, the next minute he was making jokes. He wasn't threatening her. He wasn't even trying to intimidate her.

And he had brought her food.

And wasn't sure if she should be afraid of him now, not really. But that probably had as much to do with the fact that her situation was hopeless, as it had to do with his behavior. Her ankle was broken, for Merlin's sake; Hermione was now completely at his mercy. That should have scared her. But in reality, she just felt bolder. There was a reason he hadn't killed her before, and she intended to find out why.

Then, there was that blaring, obvious fact that she wasn't really willing to address yet. Sirius had a son. One that, according to Leo, "wasn't supposed to exist."

No, she would save that meditation for later, when her mouth wasn't watering at the familiar aroma of fish and chips wafting across the room. Leo had grabbed a fork from one of the drawers and situated himself in the other room with his food. She glared at the second carton, just out of reach on the countertop and smelling heavenly.

Bugger.

"What are you playing at?"

Leo nearly snorted into his food at the sound of the defiant voice behind him. So, the girl had a bit of backbone after all. "Pardon?"

He raised an eyebrow as Hermione scooted herself around the half-wall that separated the kitchen from the living room. He couldn't help the sneer that crept onto his face as he watched her choreography: push carton, crawl forward, wince, push carton again, crawl forward, wince, push carton. She glared daggers at him; he ignored her.

"You heard me," she groaned as she pulled herself up onto the couch and cradled her ankle. Leo had seated himself at the bay window and turned his head to watch the Muggles on the street below, doing his best to shrug off the phantom tingle of her stare. What did she honestly expect him to say? He couldn't very well tell her the truth… because, well, he didn't even know what that was. He couldn't even give himself a straight answer, not after a full morning of brooding had only succeeded in jumbling his thoughts even more than they had been to begin with. He sighed.

On any other day, Leo would be prowling the streets. Maybe people-watching at a sidewalk café. Roaming about the public library, meandering thorough art galleries, brooding in a quiet bar. At night, he'd go clubbing with his usual group of mates, or catch a drink with Nadine. Or, as he found himself doing more often of late, scoping out a job.

His life was simple, guarded. He liked his routine. Not only did it serve his current situation well, but he was beginning to fall into a place where he didn't rely on magic so much for his happiness. In fact, sometimes it felt good to forget about magic… to forget what it had had gotten him into. What it had turned him into.

And now, she had ruined nearly everything.

"Believe me," he grumbled bitterly to the window, just loud enough so she could hear, "if I had a choice, you wouldn't be here right now."

He heard her shove the Styrofoam carton onto the coffee table in exasperation. "Why didn't you just Obliviate me?"

Bollocks. Why did she have to ask so many bloody questions? He failed to understand why she thought he should feel obligated to present her with a truthful answer, anyway.

Leo amplified the sneer a bit and shot a withering look her way. Her insolent stare quickly softened and he felt his ego swell slightly. "Why didn't you just Apparate?"

She pressed her lips together and quickly averted her eyes. He smirked and returned to his food, victorious.

The sounds of the two of them eating filled the silence that followed. Leo sincerely hoped that there would be lots of those kinds of silences in the future.

It was an uncharacteristically warm day for November, and it hadn't gone unnoticed. A group of first-year boys had gathered down by the edge of the lake, teasing the Giant Squid with some jinxes they had bullied a third-year into teaching them; Ravenclaw and Slytherin were arguing over the Quidditch pitch; some fourth-year girls were sunning themselves on the lawn while gnomes tried to scamper off with their belongings in tow. Even the Whomping Willow seemed content to just swat lazily at the few birds that passed by. Nearly everyone was making it a priority to enjoy the weather.

Well, except three.

Ron, Ginny, and Harry headed purposefully down a narrow stone corridor, barely stopping to let Dumbledore's gargoyle jump aside and allow them through. When they reached the top of the winding staircase, the door was already flung open to accommodate them, and they were met with the grim, tired faces of Professor McGonagall, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and the headmaster himself.

Ron stumbled forward, barely able to contain himself. "What's happened to 'Mione? Did you find her? Is she… she's going to be okay, right?"

Ginny moved to place a hand on Ron's arm reassuringly, glancing back at Harry's steely expression as the headmaster levitated some extra chairs over and motioned for them to sit. He waited patiently until they were situated until he spoke; Ginny was alarmed at how strained his voice sounded. "Since yesterday, we have not learned much, I'm afraid. We do know that she never once traveled through the Floo network or used a portkey after she arrived in Diagon Alley, as Mr. Shacklebolt here has been able to confirm."

Kingsley nodded gravely. "Actually, though, as I was just telling Albus and Minerva before you three arrived, we may have a lead. It hasn't been very conclusive so far, but it's a good enough start."

Ginny could feel Harry twitch beside her, and she reached down and threaded her fingers through his as Ron, once again, served as the voice of the group. "Really? You do? What is it?"

Kingsley exhaled slowly. "We've been trying to keep this under wraps; even though Hermione is of age, this could still look very bad for Dumbledore. Plus the publicity of something like this could really hinder our investigation. But we feel that you three deserve to know." He shared a look with Dumbledore, who nodded in reassurance; McGonagall stood stock-still behind Kingsley with her hands clasped in front of her, all the color having drained from her face. Her eyes were glued to the floor and she hadn't uttered a word since they came in the room.

"I was able to pull a favor from a friend in the Improper Use of Magic Office," Kingsley continued, "and she had a look at the records from the Trace that is placed on all of the wands of underage witches and wizards as a safety precaution, as I'm sure you know. For legal purposes, it's not actually removed from your wands while school is in session, but rather left unmonitored. After going through the records from yesterday, she was able to determine what the last spell Hermione casted was, and when and where it occurred."

Ron was becoming increasingly jittery, while Kingsley's words had quite the opposite effect on Harry. His knuckles were white from gripping the armrest with one hand, and the other connecting him to Ginny was clammy; he sat so stiffly beside her that she could barely discern the rising and falling of his chest in her peripheral vision.

"She last performed a Reparo spell at half-past-twelve, in the vicinity of Knockturn Alley."

There was a pregnant pause as the three students allowed the weight of Kingsley's words to fully sink in. But Harry quickly broke the thick silence that followed, his jaw set in anger. "Knockturn Alley?" he hissed. "A good start, you say? That's about as good of a START as it is an END!"

Ginny promptly burst into tears.