When Hermione opened her eyes the next morning, her thoughts went immediately to the two-way parchment that was still sitting at her kitchen table where she had left it the night before. Energized, she sprang out of bed and took off into the kitchen. Though she had not expected there to be any additional message, she still checked even before preparing her morning coffee.

Nevertheless, as she drank her morning brew and gathered her things for the day, she wrote, Good morning.

There was no response right away, but it did not dampen her mood. She'd officially had a conversation with her soulmate! Sure, he might not be very forthcoming… and he had refused to give her his name, telling her he was not yet ready to meet. What he had actually written was, Maybe we can get to know one another this way first?

It was the "first" that made her agree. She could understand his hesitations now that she had time to consider them, and was more gratified than ever that she had a publicity plan. If her soulmate was really this reticent, it would definitely be needed.

Once she was ready to start her day, Hermione checked the parchment again—still no response—and debated whether or not to leave it or take it with her. In the end, she folded up the pages and took them, slipping them into the pocket of her robes. By the time she got into work and was settled at her desk, she checked one more time to find that he had written back.

Good luck with your meeting this morning.

She beamed.

But though they sent tiny missives back and forth sporadically through the day, it was not until the evening when Hermione could finally sit down to do any kind of serious writing. There was an unexpected boon to this as well, because it had given her all day to think of what she wanted her one question for him to be today.

After dinner, she settled into her place at the kitchen table, surrounded by her work materials. She wrote, Have we met in real life?

It was nearly ten minutes before she got an answer, but that answer made her eyebrows jump. We attended Hogwarts together.

Really? What year were you? she wrote back immediately.

That is more than one question.

Beyond that, he would not say. Eventually, she gave up and they had a conversation about her work. Since he knew her identity, he asked some basic questions about her. What was keeping her busy? What was she trying to achieve right now? It was a successful method of diverting her, because she wrote him nearly an entire essay. But he did not remark on the length of her reply, and in fact, he even asked follow-up questions that proved he had really read it.

Was it difficult to fit in time for writing a column on top of everything else?

It has been, but my schedule has always been so nebulous that it just evolved as needed, she replied, feeling like she was talking about herself too much.

The next evening, they had another conversation around the same time. This time, she wanted to find out more about him. Her question for that day was, Are your parents magical?

Yes, both of them, he answered.

So you grew up a wizard?

Yes.

You seem familiar enough with the Muggle world, she prodded.

I've been traveling, as I mentioned before. That included plenty of time spent amongst Muggles.

What's your favorite Muggle thing?

He seemed to be in an indulgent mood, because he was actually answering all her questions so far. I think it would have to be going to the movie theatre.

Really? You like going to the cinema?

Yes, I think both the concept and execution are excellent. It doesn't even matter what language the film is in, for me. The first one I saw, I will never forget. It was 2001 and the film was The Fellowship of the Ring. I had been slowly immersing myself into Muggle culture by reading books, taking advantage of a great public library in Texas, where I was living at the time. I had only recently discovered Tolkien when I overheard someone at the library talking about the movie. I was curious, so I went. I enjoyed the first film so much that I made sure to see the others when they were released.

There were a million things Hermione wanted to reply to that, but she did not want to call attention to the fact that he had also given her a wealth of additional information about himself beyond his benign reply. The most prominent being, it revealed that not only had he been raised magical, but he had been sheltered in his childhood. He said he had immersed himself more recently in Muggle culture—the timing put it post-war.

She did not mention any of this to him. Instead, she wrote back, I never saw those films, but the books were some of my father's favorites.

Each night was a different topic between the two of them. One night, she asked, What do you consider to be your biggest character flaw?

I'm a coward, he replied.

Her eyebrows raised. A coward. It was a big word to use on oneself, and there was a lot to unpack in the easy admission of it.

Another night, he wrote to her to let her know that he was going to be cooking that evening, and that he would have something exceptional for her to taste in three-quarters of an hour. He also requested, While I'm cooking, will you write to me about what kinds of foods you ate while growing up?

Hermione had a mountain of work to get through, yet again, but could not bring herself to spare a moment's thought for it. The only thing she could focus on was writing to her soulmate. She told him about the food that reminded her of her mother and grandmother, beyond the Nigerian food he had recently tried himself. My grandmother passed away when I was ten, but before that, she kept us pretty much constantly stocked on adalu at all times. Since I know you've tried Yoruba food before, maybe you know it already. It's not anything fancy, but that isn't the point of it. The point is that it went with nearly everything—it had beans, corn, peppers, palm, and all of the best spices. We ate it all the time and never got tired of it.

Some minutes after she finished her reply, the total of which went onto a second page of parchment, Hermione began to taste whatever her soulmate made for dinner. As promised, it was delicious. She could taste something doughy and cheesy, along with lemon and onion of some kind, but did not have the knowledge to name the rest of the flavors dancing across her tongue. All she could truly articulate was that it was sinfully good.

But, to her delight, in-between secondhand tastes of whatever the food was, her soulmate's handwriting began to appear on the third page of parchment.

Gnocchi à la Parisienne—a favorite of my mother's. It's pate a choux alongside roasted tomatoes, olives, herbs, chives, and fresh arugula. Topped with a pistou of basil, parmesan cheese, garlic and lemon.

You were right, it is delicious. But… I thought gnocchi was Italian?

Pate a choux has been a part of French cuisine since the 1500s at least. It's much fluffier than Italian gnocchi. You pipe them into boiling water and they inflate as they poach. Later, you sauté them to make a crispy crust. Here, I'll take another bite. See if you can taste all that.

A second later, she was tasting everything he had described. She was almost embarrassed to have to admit, I haven't had much gnocchi in my life. I don't think I could recognize the difference.

We are definitely going to need to expand your culinary horizons.

I'm counting on it. I was hopeless until recently.

After a moment's pause, he only wrote, If the choux fits.

Had he just made a joke? She stared at it. It was a joke. A somewhat corny joke, even if it was a clever play on words. She sat back in her kitchen chair and actually laughed aloud at it.

.

.

On the third Saturday evening of October, Ginny called their friends together to throw an informal dinner party at their place. Molly had even agreed to babysit to give the parents a break for the evening.

Hermione let her soulmate know that she might be out late that evening and would miss their usual writing time. She explained, Saturday dinners were always something of a tradition until most of my friends started having children and their lives became more complicated.

I understand, he wrote, frustratingly succinct. Have fun.

She showed up early to Grimmauld Place with a bottle of wine. Harry was hard at work in the kitchen preparing their dinner, so Hermione rolled up her sleeves and got to work helping him. He had marinaded a pork loin with some herbs and wine earlier in the day, and it was now wafting delicious smells throughout from the oven.

"Ginny is dropping off the boys at the Burrow," he explained as they got the vegetables together.

"It's nice of Molly to watch them all."

"Nice. Or mad." He grinned at her. "But then again, she raised Ginny, Ron, and all their brothers, so if anyone could do it, it's her."

Hermione smiled back. Then, she broached something she had been thinking about for a couple of days. "Harry, can I ask you something?"

"I don't think I've ever been powerful enough to stop you."

She scrunched her nose, shaking her head at his cheeky reply. "If I want a register of all the students we attended Hogwarts with during our time, plus during my extra year… could I get one somehow?"

"No problem. Those records are in the staff lounge. If you want, I can get them for you on Monday. I have a free block without classes around teatime, so you can come and collect them."

"You know I don't keep my diary in my head." She frowned. "But I'll make it work. Thank you."

At that moment, Ginny, and then Ron, appeared in the fireplace.

"No Susan," Ginny announced.

"Is she alright?" Harry asked.

"She's feeling a bit rough," said Ron, greeting everyone assembled with a general nod. "It's a bit early to shout about it, but she's pregnant again."

Hermione's eyebrows raised even as she added her congratulations, and she noticed Ginny was looking similarly. Melody had only been born five months ago. Looking at Ron, it struck Hermione how much he had grown since being her school mate and onetime-boyfriend. He had grown a little beard that made him appear more distinguished. But as she examined him from the corner of her eye, she also realized that she was definitely not attracted to him on any level. Not that she would be interested in anyone—other than one person.

Andromeda arrived last, and then they all sat down for wine and to chat while the dinner finished cooking. Hermione was at ease here, because for once she was not outnumbered by couples. Harry and Ginny were the only ones out of the five of them.

So of course just when she was feeling comfortable, that was when Ginny leaned forward across her second glass of wine, and locked eyes with her. "So, Hermione. What's the deal? Have you met him yet?"

Hermione's hand seized and she nearly dropped her glass. Sitting up ramrod straight, she could feel her cheeks flooding with heat. All four of the others were looking at her now, and even though everyone present knew about her Fatemark, it felt taboo to speak about it as if it were everyday conversation. "No, I haven't."

"Why not?" Harry questioned.

Hermione paused, thinking about the parchment back at the house. She had been writing to her soulmate for over a week and a half now, and most nights they filled up all three pages of parchment. Unable to shake that initial protest from her mind, when he had said, being with you would change everything for me, Hermione had not asked him again for a meeting.

Feeling evasive, she summarized this for her friends now. "He's a very private person. I think he's worried about what being tied to me will mean for him."

"But you're soulmates," Ginny protested, her nose wrinkling. "It's inevitable."

At this point in the conversation, Ron had finally caught on to what they were talking about. Interestingly, Hermione noticed that his ears had become very red, just like they used to when he had been a teenager and was trying to hide either anger or embarrassment. Or both.

Harry said, "Honestly, I can see what he means."

Ginny turned to her husband, horrified at his reply. "Harry!"

He held up his hands in defense. "I'm just saying that I can understand why someone might hesitate at that. To me, it just goes to show that he's thinking about it seriously."

"It's not a bad quality to have in a partner," Andromeda chimed in, agreeing with him.

"True," Ginny had to concede, though she looked a little pouty about it. Turning to Hermione, she asked, "Didn't you say your assistant helped you make a publicity plan?"

"She did."

"So there you go." She shrugged. "You can modify what you have, put in additional security if you need to. That should allay his fears."

"I suppose." Chewing on her lip, Hermione voiced something she had not yet spoken aloud but which had occurred to her a few weeks ago now. "What if he's actually hiding something?"

"Like what?" wondered Harry.

"I don't know… What if he was on the opposite side of the war? Or a criminal?"

"Well, you've been writing to him, right?" asked Ginny encouragingly. "Does he seem evil?"

Even Hermione had to grin at that one. "He does not."

"Well, then!"

"What does he seem like?" Andromeda wanted to know.

Hermione thought about the many conversations she and her soulmate had over the past week and a half. "He's sharp. Witty, sometimes even funny. He's… polite. With really nice handwriting."

"Sounds perfect for you." Ron had spoken for the first time, and it had come out as more of a grunt, but Hermione thought it might have been a peace offering.

Before the moment could become awkward, Andromeda pushed, "But you still haven't learned his name?"

Hermione shook her head.

"Okay, well, what does he do?"

"He wouldn't say directly, but from what it sounds like, he's the manager of many different aspects of something big. Maybe even a large company."

Ginny's brows had furrowed at this. "Hmm… I hope he's not another workaholic like you."

"He'll be whatever he is, I suppose."

"Well, when you do finally meet," said Andromeda, "you're going to want to clear your schedule for at least a week." There was a mischievous look in her eyes that gave Hermione a strong feeling of trepidation about what was coming next. "Those first days after you and your soulmate meet, you are not going to want to get out of bed."

Ginny looked extremely interested at this, a playful smirk spreading across her face. "Oh really?"

"Yes. I'm surprised, Hermione, that in all your research about soulmates, you haven't seen this referenced. It's a documented thing."

"So since your Sense is taste," Ginny mused thoughtfully, "I expect you'll be doing a lot of licking."

"Ginny!" Hermione exclaimed, horrified. It was difficult to shake the feeling that she had been ambushed by this conversion, and she had to remind herself to loosen her grip on the stem of her wine glass so as not to snap it in half.

"She has a point," said Andromeda, also looking interested.

Ginny looked even more delighted. Ron was fully red by now.

"It is consensual, right?" Harry queried, looking unsure. Hermione loved him for asking, but as he was like a brother to her, it was also a tinge embarrassing to have her sex life discussed in front of him. Far more embarrassing than it was with Ginny or Andromeda, in any case. Though not nearly as much as it was having it all out in the open in front of Ron. She could not help thinking about that night, all those years ago. His words were as clear in her mind now as the day he recoiled from her, and said, Why didn't you tell me you're Fatemarked?

Hermione Granger was no prude. Though she had vowed to herself early on that she would not attempt to form a relationship and repeat what had happened with Ron, it had not stopped her from exploring the bedroom. There weren't many people that wanted to form any kind of long-term agreement, and so she had only ever had one lover she could classify as anything resembling it. He was a Muggle man named Marc Anderson, who was also Fatemarked… just not to Hermione. They got together sporadically, once every few months for a few years in Hermione's early twenties. It all stopped about five years ago, when Marc found his other half. Hermione had not heard from him, nor did she expect to. That had always been the beauty of their understanding. Since then, she had a few one-night stands with wizards, and one memorable long weekend with a Muggle man. For each of those encounters, she had been diligent to put glamor and notice-me-not charms on her shoulder area.

"Oh, sure," Andromeda was assuring Harry. She addressed Hermione next. "All I meant was, once you finally complete your bonding, your bodies are going to spend a few days, er… syncing up."

"I think I did read something about that," Hermione admitted. It was true that the old Muggle book she inherited from her mother had been the only reference to mention it, but the author had done quite a bit of their own research. Even so, she had not realized it was quite as intense as what Andromeda seemed to be describing.

"Yes. A private, powerful experience that only soulmates get to share." Her devilish grin came back. "Oh, and Hermione?"

"Yes?"

"After that week, the sex only gets better."

Hermione's cheeks burned by now. She was quite literally saved by the bell when the timer for the oven rang, and she exclaimed, "Time to check on the pork loin, Harry."

Though they all laughed at her then—even Ron a little—Ginny obliged by changing the subject to Quidditch, and Ron latched onto the subject. Andromeda had opinions about the Wimbourne Wasps and their ever-changing roster. Hermione retreated to the kitchen with Harry to check on the food.

Mercifully, her friends all seemed content not to bring up her soulmate again during dinner. Quite a lot of talking about children occurred, and in this, Hermione was certainly the outsider. Luckily, her friends always made sure to pull her back into conversations when they noticed she had been quiet too long. Ron ended up leaving before dessert, citing that he wanted to check on Susan.

"She told me to go without her, but she had a tough time with Melody too, in the beginning." Then, nodding his good-bye to them all, he looked Hermione in the eye when it was her turn. "Good luck with your soulmate, Hermione."

He Floo'd away, and once he had, Ginny said to the other three, "I had a feeling that if I brought it up casually, he'd be fine in the end."

Hermione knew there was little point in protesting Ginny's methods—especially since she could not deny that it had been effective, if also embarrassing.

.

.

Have you heard about sex week? Hermione wrote to the mystery man the next day.

The reply came six and a half minutes later. I beg your pardon?

As she read the response, she could have sworn she felt a choking sensation coming from the other end of her bond. Hermione had not been aware about their supposed upcoming sex week until Andromeda had mentioned it. Now that she did know, she could not stop thinking about it. Their conversations had been pretty constant by this point, and mostly platonic, but certainly not sexual.

I was told, she wrote, that when we do finally decide to meet, we might want to clear our schedules for the entire week following. Did you know about it? I didn't at first, but a friend of mine mentioned it today. Apparently, it's a real thing.

A pause, then he wrote back, Are you asking me about sex?

No, she wrote, then crossed it out and instead answered, Kind of?

There was no immediate response.

She decided to extrapolate. I have heard from others and from a legitimate source book that it's a normal thing to happen after sealing the bond. I suppose I'm asking about your feelings about that. Have you heard that before?

Yes.

And?

There was another long pause here, and Hermione could not help feeling impatient. She re-read what she had written to see if there was anything embarrassing there, but she did not think so.

I wanted to check with you first, she added, then wished she could erase it, but he had probably already seen it.

I'm going to bed.

Wait, she wrote frantically. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to offend you. I suppose all I'm trying to say is that I like sex quite a lot. But I also have heard that sometimes a soulmate bond is not romantic in nature.

I like sex just fine, came the reply, and I'm not offended.

"Just fine"?

A long pause. I like sex a lot.

Good, she wrote back immediately. Me too.

Again, there was no response.

A while later, she wrote, I like to be pretty adventurous sometimes.

Are we still having this conversation?

She grinned. The response had come so quickly, she knew he had to have been looking at the parchment still when her response had come. She wrote, I really, really miss sex. It's been a year and a half since I had any.

Merlin.

She laughed aloud. It was an interesting response. It seemed that while her soulmate, who was by all indications sharp and funny and more than willing to verbally spar with her, grew reticent when it came to talking about sex. She had to wonder at it because he was so frank about everything else. Was it an uncomfortable topic? Or was he just shy? The more she thought about it, the more the answers did not seem quite right to her. Maybe, like Hermione, he just felt that certain things were private. But they were soulmates and from their latest round of correspondence, he was thinking about having sex with her. So why didn't he want to talk about it?

Maybe… she frowned, thinking to herself. Maybe he's intimidated by the idea of having sex with me, specifically? She supposed she could understand that. If she was honest with herself, she knew what people said about her, and she also knew what people said about her appearance as well.

Objectively, she glanced up at her likeness in the kitchen window. The day was rainy, so her reflection was somewhat warped from the water droplets sliding down the pane. Despite this, along with the extra weight she had gained because of her new diet where no Nutri-Wafers were in sight, it was possible she looked the best she ever had with the extra couple pounds and regular exercise. She knew she had a nice body, and her soulmate already knew who she was… so he must be aware what she looked like as well?

She gave in to the inevitability that she was going to have to hunt him down.

The next day, she had Imelda rearrange her schedule so she could make it to tea with Harry at Hogwarts. It led to a mad scramble, which Hermione thought Imelda might even have been somewhat annoyed about, since it meant canceling a meeting she had a very hard time booking in the first place.

It was worth it when Hermione got to sit down opposite her friend and a fully laden tea tray, in Professor Potter's cozy office. It was a blustery, cold day that felt fully like autumn, and the fire was nice.

"I got your lists," said Harry. With a flick of his wand, he summoned a stack of parchment, each covered with three columns of names in alphabetical order by year. "It starts with our first year. Then second, third," he flipped the pages as he listed them, to show her how thorough it was. "I did it through sixth year. I didn't think seventh counted. I added your final, post-war year as well."

"This is perfect, thank you, Harry!" She thumbed through the pages excitedly. She cast a charm to condense the lists so that each name was only listed once, instead of anywhere up to seven times. It shortened the stack slightly.

"Great spell," he remarked.

"Yes," she agreed. Then she cast a second charm, leaving only the male students. This time, the stack halved.

"A little less daunting already."

"It's still a long list."

"Do you know what house he was in?"

"No."

"Maybe try to find out? I'll color-code the list." Here, Harry used a charm of his own that he must have learned as a teacher, because all the Gryffindor names became maroon, the Ravenclaws deep blue, the Slytherins emerald green, and the Hufflepuffs a dark gold.

"Brilliant, Harry. That can be my next question to him."

"It sure would eliminate a lot of names."

As Harry took an owl that tapped at his office window, Hermione checked her parchment again, which she had stored in the pocket of her robes. There was no message there, but that was not unusual. Shortly after tea, Harry had to prepare for his next class, so Hermione took off back to work before she could be gawked at by students or scolded by Imelda.

She was startled to find someone waiting for her on the bench just outside her office as she returned. Usually, a person only sat there if they had an appointment with her, but Hermione had been quite certain there were none immediately following her meeting with Harry.

Perhaps a casualty of the schedule rearrangement, she decided, and pasted a smile onto her face in anticipation of having to wing it.

But then she stopped because she recognized the person on the bench. It was Blaise Zabini—a Slytherin from her year that she recalled having always been soft-spoken but very handsome. The years had not dampened his good looks. In fact, he seemed to be more attractive than ever.

"Zabini," she greeted as she came around the corner.

When the man stood, she realized how tall he was. Surely over six feet. He looked her up and down, and a smirk spread across his lips. "Granger. Nice to see you."

Sure, she thought skeptically. Aloud, she only said, "Can I help you?"

"Oh, not much. I read your most recent opinion piece where you talked about pastries." With a flick of his wand, a small white box tied with a long piece of string appeared from thin air. "I took the liberty of bringing you a proper one. Sfogliatella—an Italian staple." He grinned at her in a way that was somehow not entirely proper. Then, with a jaunty wave of his hand, he bid, "Enjoy."

Once he had sauntered off and out the door, Hermione was left standing there with the little box, mulling over the extremely odd interaction. What had he been doing there? More importantly, how had he managed to get in to see her without an appointment? She thought back, and wondered if he had been there on behalf of her soulmate.

Her soulmate! Blaise Zabini….? No, she decided, if he was my soulmate, I'd have known. She remembered how Andromeda had described the moment she and Ted had crashed together. At the very least, she decided this was someone she could cross off her list.

Baffled, she opened the lid of the box to find one enormous pastry sitting on a paper doily in the center, covered in powdered sugar. She had seen these before. They resembled a shell and had many layers of thin, crispy pastry, with a rich ricotta filling spilling out of both ends.

After casting a series of spells on it to detect any kind of potion, poison, enchantment, or otherwise nefarious tampering, she took a bite and had to smile to herself. Whatever Zabini's real mission had been—whether it really was just pastry delivery, or not—he had been right that it was truly a proper pastry. It was so huge, she could only eat half of it and had to set the rest aside for later.

That evening, when she took out the two-way parchment, she wrote, My one question for today is to ask you what Hogwarts house you were in.

She had to wait for a response until nearly half an hour later, well after she had finished dinner. The parchment shimmered from the corner of her eye and Hermione immediately summoned it to herself with her wand. But instead of an answer, he had just written, Guess.

I thought I got one question a day?

Sure. You'll get two guesses on this one.

Two guesses! She thought back. He had written that he was a coward, and that coupled with what she knew of him already, she decided he was probably not Gryffindor. The memory of what she had suffered during their initial Sense connections made her think probably not Hufflepuff as well. These were generalizations, but since she only had two guesses, she decided to hedge her bets.

Were you Ravenclaw? she tried, thinking back to his intelligence and cleverness.

No. You have one more guess.

Then, she wrote, you were Slytherin.

Correct.

Hermione paused here, and frowned. Her? With a Slytherin? She knew House prejudices were not the best way to go through life, but after everything she had suffered at the hands of Slytherin House, she could not quite help herself. Suddenly, the random-seeming appearance of Blaise Zabini earlier made a lot more sense. That made her believe that of all the men left on her list of possible soulmates, he was likely to be close to her in age as well, if he was acquainted with Zabini.

Have I shocked you? he wrote when she did not respond.

She decided to respond neutrally. It makes sense with what I know of you so far.

Meanwhile, she had taken Harry's list and magically removed all the names except the ones in emerald green. It was quite a shorter list now. In fact, there were now less than sixty names on it. One of those names, she knew, belonged to her mystery man she was speaking to now.

Explain, he had written.

You have a lot of classically Slytherin personality traits, she wrote back. It probably should have been my first guess.

Does that bother you?

No. Does it bother you that I was Gryffindor?

While she waited for a response, she scanned the names and removed several more from people that she worked with, or had seen in the past few months, including Blaise Zabini. Then she numbered them. Forty-nine names remained.

He wrote, Only at first.

She thought of all the Slytherin boys she remembered from around her age, and she believed him. Throughout the ages, there had been an intense rivalry between Gryffindor and Slytherin Houses, which was heightened in Hermione's time by the social tensions of Voldemort's rise, and her close friendship with Harry. Suddenly, it felt more than ever, like her soulmate was hiding something important from her.

It's been a long day. I think I'll head to bed early. I hope you don't mind, she wrote. Her brain was racing, and somewhat unfocused.

Of course. Sweet dreams.

Putting away the parchment, she readied herself for sleeping, thinking back to school, and of all the things she'd had to endure at the hands of her Slytherin peers. She was distracted as she oiled her hair and tied it up in a silk scarf, and even while she scratched behind Crookshanks' ear as they settled into bed. That night, she dreamed that she had been cursed once again. Her two front teeth were growing out of control, past her chin… past her collarbone… then they turned inward and began to cut into her chest, into her heart. She woke up panting with fright, and gave up on rest that night.

Once she deemed it was finally late enough, Hermione magicked a second copy of her forty-nine names and dressed for work. She arrived at the Ministry before the security guard had even shown up for duty. Some house elves were still lighting the last of the lamps in the atrium. Calmly, she made her way toward the golden grilles of the lift and took a solitary ride down to her office.

The place was deserted, which was fine by her, because it meant that with any luck she could conduct her background checks in peace. Her role in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement's legal division gave her access to the amassed records of all known magical people in Great Britain, with only a few restrictions. But hopefully none of those people were on her list anyway…

She set up camp in the filing room, where the long wall was covered from top to bottom in small drawers as wide and tall as Hermione's fist. There had to be hundreds of them, all made from a single piece of ancient carved wood. She looked down at her list. The first name there was Cadfael Avery. She could remember the boy in question as being two years her senior in school, and relatively quiet, with light-colored hair. They had never interacted before.

Her eyes went searching for the tiny drawers, to find the one she was looking for, labeled: Ao-Az. Avery would be there. She opened the drawer and summed it by name. There were two Cadfael Averys, however, so two small cards floated from the drawer toward her. One was easy to dismiss, as he had died back in 1608, but the other was the Avery she had attended Hogwarts with. According to the little card, the man was now married with one son, and living in Yorkshire.

Clearly not my man, she decided, crossing the name off her list.

She made sure to put both cards back by prodding them with her wand until they jumped back into file, and closed the drawer. While she knew many of her colleagues conducted background checks for personal reasons, Hermione felt a little twinge of guilt as she looked over her lengthy list. Still, if Robards was content to perform this ritual for every wizard his daughters dated, she supposed this was not too big a deal, and quashed her reservations.

Repeating the process with the next name—Jerome Axbury, who had been a seventh year student in her first year—also resulted in a quick crossing-off of a name. Axbury had apparently been killed five years ago in some kind of potioneering accident. Forty-seven to go…

A/N: It was harder than it seemed, trying to write this chapter so that it didn't just resemble a text messaging thread. Oh well. Hermione is on the hunt!

Sarenia did an alpha read of this chapter for me, and vastly improved it. Then iwasbotwp did a beta read, and helped me with all the finishing touches. Thank you kindly, friends. It makes for better reading for any lovely people following this story. If you are one such (most excellent) reader, I appreciate you for your encouragement of this little fic. Let me know what you think in the review box below!