"There is only one thing worse than fighting with allies, and that is fighting without them"
― Winston S. Churchill

_00000000000_

The Awkwardness was tangible. Her heart was racing as Hermione did all she could to stave off the shaky feeling that she had become familiar with. Taking a deep breath, she attempted to focus on each of the floral arrangements surrounding the room. White Gardenias. White roses. Baby's breath. Luna Blooms. Tartangla leaves. She had survived a foolish meeting with Narcissa, and learnt a great deal of information for her trouble. She had held it together in front of her, in front of the gossiping witches outside, in front of Skeeter. She would not now have an anxiety attack in front of Severus Snape.

"You're rather persistent, Mr Snape. All this to pursue an apprenticeship?" Hermione couldn't look at his face and stared a foot over his shoulder, examining her own facade in one of the room's many mirrors. She looked angry, but the thundering of her heart wasn't discernable. The desperate plea running through her head inaudible: Play along you obstinate man. Pretend Skeeter is in the room.

"Persistence is necessary with obstinate Gryffindors. You've made it clear the Order mean to oppose the marriage law. While I've expressed my… doubts, in your methods, for some reason the Order are following your lead on this. I don't often apologise, Granger, but excuse my less than personable traits. I mean to help the Order. Potions is my specialty.

Hermione bristled, and although he had not offered up anything Skeeter could use to embarrass her, she still struggled to breath moderately. Personable. Git.

"And greenhouse consulting apparently." Hermione didn't bother to hide her anger, she needed some facade lest it became obvious she had no idea what to do now. Snape wasn't factored in to the plan.

"You mean to research Caligula. I secured you access to the plant, and information that is ... pertinent, no?"

Hermione finally let her gaze descend and looked Snape in the eye. His blank measured stare was inscrutable, but she could sense his own frustration in his stance. Sure enough, as she held his stare, he abruptly turned and walked away from her, before folding his tall stature down on an ornate sofa in the back corner of the room.

"I thought I was wasting your time."

Hermione threw her final barb, more out of curiosity than true ire. For all his convincing words, he seemed nervous. Agitated.

"You mean to Martyr yourself, go ahead." Here Snape's eyebrows rose as though he no longer gave a damn. "I'm interested in the research alone. I've more than enough time to waste."

Hermione needed more time, she needed to be rationale. To weigh the pro's and con's. Could she trust him? He hadn't actually told her about Draco. He hadn't mentioned the Order before today. Both were means to earn her trust, she knew that much, but was it enough? Looking at the man once more, Hermione thought unbidden of Narcissa's insinuating remarks. He said he had more than enough time to waste- what was that if not the patience Narcissa had teased about earlier? What did he want, truly?

With a blush, Hermione realised it didn't matter. She was running out of time and the fact remained that his help had been useful thus far. Taking a deep breath, Hermione took Narcissa's vacated chair before the mirror, and reached for the small crystal bell on the side table. As the crystal ring rang through the room, she meet Snape's eyes through the mirror in front of her. He crossed his arms, and said nothing as a white robed witch entered the room.

"Sif Vous Plait, I would see your stylist now. Let Miss Skeeter know I will meet her outside when I am done here, and have her advise the stylist to produce whatever she thinks appropriate."

As the door closed, Hermione did her best to ignore the reflection of Snape in front of her, as he rolled his eyes and settled himself in to wait.

_00000000000_

They had been bustled in to the narrow Kebab shop after Harry had left, and with the metal roller door drawn closed, and only the fluorescent lighting of the drink fridge gleaming of the stainless steel kitchen space, the small shop seemed to shrink further in darkness. Luna had been huddled in to a small booth next to Christopher, and more or less ignored as Harry's boss, this Emmanuel person, began an urgent conversation in fluent French.

Ignored though she was, Luna made sure to listen and was rewarded as the name Hermione Granger was littered through the dense French. Christopher was shaking his head, seemingly losing all patience with whatever Emmanuel was saying.

Christopher, the previously jovial auror who had greeted her so happily only an hour ago, now seemed thoroughly displeased with the day's turn of events. Luna wished she had brought her Spectrespecs. Whatever Emmanuel was saying to the man, it was clearly not being received well.

"Excuse me" Luna made her eyes wide and addressed Christopher, rather than Emmanuel. "What's happening?"

The men exchanged looks, and Emmanuel seemed equally displeased now. Christopher's tone changed completely as he addressed her, speaking slowly, probably out of a presumptive assessment of her mental capacity rather than any fear of a language barrier.

"My British counterpart is concerned that you will not be safe, because the war heroine Hermione Granger has been here. He fears she will draw attention to you, and that we, how did he say… we do not have the capacity to properly protect you." Here Christopher's tone was like ice, and Luna began to understand his impatience. Emmanuel wanted her application rejected because he knew Hermione had been here. Because the muggles had seen her. Luna stared blankly at their unconscious bodies propped up behind the shop's counter. Their memories extracted then obliviated, their bodies haphazardly slumped on the floor.

"I'm not sure I understand Monsieur, I'm so sorry." Luna blinked up at him, and turned her attention to Emmanuel. "Hermione was just helping me move in. She's in Paris to buy engagement robes, I was meant to meet her this afternoon at Passage de l'ancre."

Luna saw the feral grin sweep the blonde man's face before he composed himself, and she pressed on.

"We were supposed to meet, but I've been delayed now so she's probably waiting alone. Are you saying it's not safe for her there?" Luna looked at Christopher once more. "I didn't know there was a security problem, Monsieur, will I have to move somewhere else?"

Christopher shook his head agitatedly once more, and launched into French at Emmanuel, before remember to speak English for her benefit as well.

"Of course not Mademoiselle. Despite the British ministries estimation of us, we can and will keep you safe. There is no legal basis to deny your application. Welcome to Paris. If that is all?"

Luna suspected Emmanuel might have shown more resistance in cutting the meeting short, had she not already revealed where Hermione was. Now, he seemed itching to go, and Luna frowned slightly, asking rather dubiously

"Is Hermione really in danger here?"

Emmanuel looked down his nose at her, and with the same slow tone Christopher had used, attempted to put the girl at ease.

"I will make sure Miss Granger is protected, Miss Lovegood. You have my assurances. Miss Lovegood, the Ministry have a record of a contract you signed with Hermione, offering her a paid position at your father's magazine."

Luna blinked up at him, nodding, but not answering the obvious unspoken question. Emmanuel's frustration was evident as let out an impatient sigh before voicing the question.

"What was that in return for? What will Miss Granger be paid to write? I had thought writing for the… Quibbler, was voluntary. For the, well privilege, shall we say?"

Luna smiled as the man sneered at her Father's magazine and nodded once more.

"Oh usually yes. But I bought the rights to cover Hermione's wedding. Exclusive coverage. Father will be pleased I think."

Luna watched the wheels turn through the blonde man's head as his eyes narrowed. After a moment he apparently decided she was not lying, but had been duped herself. It was amazing really, how readily people seemed to believe she was an idiot.

"I'll keep in touch to ensure your transition is smooth Miss Lovegood. Monsieur, I apologise for delaying you, if you are certain Miss Lovegood will not be endangered, I see no reason to detain the premises further."

With no more than a nod between the two wizards, Emmanuel took his leave and Luna smiled at the French wizard as he rose from the table, and extended his arm to her.

"I'm so sorry Christopher, but could I ask for your help once more?"

Luna wondered if she was overdoing it with the blinking, but Christopher readily acquiesced, nodding and smiling and never questioning for a moment what would be asked of him.

"Would you inspect where I mean to work? It's at the Passage de l'ancre, which is quite a public place. I can't help worrying now, after what the other auror said. My father was quite vocal during the war, and my friends are rather well known. I'm probably being silly, but after what happened earlier..."

"Non, non, mademoiselle, worry not. I will do everything in my power to put you at ease. Come, let us go."

Luna smiled as the man escorted her from the shop, leaving the muggles slumped behind the counter, and locking the metal roller doors behind them.

_0000000000_

Dennis had stopped looking at his watch. It only seemed egg the minute hand on further and further, until it had far surpassed the three figure, and almost reached the four. Hermione was cutting it fine, and Luna had yet to arrive.

Dennis however had company.

His tip off to Le Mercure had apparently borne fruit and he was not the only wizard standing in the street, waiting with a camera.

Five fateful turns of his treacherous watch's minute hand passed, and the wizard approached. His long hair and stylish robes obscured his age, but Dennis thought he looked about his dad's age. It was hard to tell with Wizards. He seemed friendly enough, waving even while metres away.

"Le Mercure, et tu?"

Dennis scrambled for a bit, unsure how to proceed since the wizard obviously hadn't seen him at the Mecure office not long ago. Itching to look down at his watch, or send Luna a patronus, or go find this ridiculous Enchantress Salon and find Hermione himself, Dennis did the nearest foolhardy thing available.

"The Daily Prophet."

"Ah English. So it's true? Hermione Granger is here in Paris, shopping for wedding robes?"

Dennis nodded, but looked at the man cagily. He was obviously phishing for more, and Dennis wondered if this was a good opportunity to prove himself useful to Hermione.

"Have you heard about our new marriage law?"

The man sniggered.

"The English have to get wives somehow."

Dennis tried not to colour at the man's black humour, but persisted as though he took no offense.

"You getting a political angle?"

"Moi? Non, non. Fashion column."

Dennis sighed and nodded, prompting the man's curiosity.

"You?"

"I think there's a bigger story that way. Wish my editor agreed."

"What story?"

"Hermione Granger's been reported missing. There are rumours about stolen classified documents from our hospital, St Mungos. Something the Ministry don't want the Prophet to dig into. So I'm here to snap a photo of her dress instead."

The man looked at Dennis thoughtfully.

"Merci, Mon ami, you're on the record no?"

"'Course mate, Anonymous source. I can't use it, but you go ahead."

The man nodded, beaming, and waved before clearing to stand on the other side of the street.

The minute hand on his wrist had not stopped to mark the conversation, and Dennis refused to look again, instead focusing on the silver Patronus that had burst out of the French photographers wand.

He tried not to laugh at the peacock, he did, but he considered it fair game for the Englishman comment.

_00000000_