In the years following the war, Hermione had become somewhat a creature of habit. That is to say that every day looked remarkably like the one before it and unmistakably similar to the one after it. She gracefully fell into a predictable routine that filled her with something bordering on contentment.
That was part of the reason why she didn't regret entirely following Harry and Ron into a career at the DMLE, as it offered a relatively calculable system of living that only changed in varying degrees depending on which book collection was currently being featured at Flourish and Blotts.
That's not to say that she didn't take an occasional lunch with Ginny or Lavender, the former being her closest female companion and the latter a recent addition based on the inalienable fact that she appeared to be a semi-permanent fixture in Ron's life for the foreseeable future. Which to be completely transparent, Hermione didn't mind entirely, very much, not really.
Like many in the trio's milieu, Lavender had matured in the years since the war. She still dedicated an unnatural amount of attention to her appearance, spoke in an obnoxiously shrill voice, and batted her abnormally long eyelashes at Won-Won, but she had admittedly expanded her repertoire of relatively intelligent topics she was able to engage in during their infrequent lunch dates. And by relatively intelligent, it is meant to imply the topics were void of any relevancy to Hermione, but of great interest to Ginny.
Working as a "Frock and Finery" columnist for the Daily Prophet did have the added benefit of keeping friends apprised of the current sartorial and maquillage trends, which for Ginny was a bit of a jackpot when her brother began dating her just under a year ago.
As Hermione paced the length of her walk-in closet, she regretted not having paid a scarce bit more attention to their ramblings. Not that she necessarily cared what she wore to the Manor to simply peruse bookshelves and interpret ancient texts. She was reasonably certain her customary Saturday night pyjama pants and oversized jumper would suffice for the impromptu research session, at least that's what she would have chosen had she remained at home for the evening to manage the very same task.
But something told her Malfoy's Pureblood upbringing, saturated in propriety and refinement, included some sort of an unspoken rule about a man of his elevated status not lowering himself to such plebeian predilections as comfort. With that in mind, she shuffled through the hordes of mismatched and dated apparel hanging lifelessly within the confines of her wardrobe. Finding nothing befitting an evening at the Manor, she resignedly grabbed a pair of Muggle jeans and paired them with a comfortable jumper and ankle boots, which was perhaps a step up from her preferred loungewear, and possibly three or four rungs down from what a more refined individual would have chosen if placed in the same circumstances.
She shifted across the room to give herself a once-over in the full-length mirror, sighing when she was confronted with the treachery of her wildly untamed mane. Having unruly locks was certainly nothing new for the curly-haired witch. Ordinarily, she found refuge in pulling it back in a low ponytail, however, this evening she found herself ignoring her usual coping strategy in favor of a healthy addition of Sleakeazy's hair potion, which had the desired effect of allowing her riotous curls to cascade beautifully down her back in smooth, chestnut spirals. Not the most ideal hairstyle for a night of research, but she didn't allow herself to dwell on that fact.
As she gathered up some last-minute belongings from her sitting room, adding several pertinent books, seven different styles of quills, various colored inkpots, and an abundance of parchment to her trusty beaded bag, her fireplace ignited with the fiery-red outline of her friend's disembodied face.
His eyes scanned her flat for any sign of life while embers and ash fanned out in all directions from his unrestrained movement. He choked out an an emphatic cough at the unexpected inhalation of several charred particles, startling Hermione into realizing his presence.
"Harry! What are you doing here? Aren't you supposed to be having dinner tonight with Ginny at Grimmauld?" She tossed her beaded bag onto the nearest end table and darted closer to where Harry's face lay crackling at the base of her fireplace.
"Sorry, Hermione. I would have waited to see you at the Burrow tomorrow, but I thought this information too urgent to put off. Do you mind if I come through?"
She took a measured step back to allow for his entrance. "No, of course not."
With a muffled ooof, Harry manifested onto Hermione's hearth rug and forcefully coughed several times before brushing off his clothing and properly greeting his awaiting friend. Startled to find her in anything but her kitten pyjamas, Harry nearly forgot what brought him to her flat in the first place. With surprise evident in his voice, he asked, "Are you-going somewhere, Hermione?"
She looked furtively up and down her person, a bit flustered by the unexpected scrutiny. "Oh, I'm just going to do a bit of light research on what we discovered today at the Ministry," she replied offhandedly, leaving out the part of exactly where it was that she was going. She privately wondered what caused her to withhold the little tidbit of information, but quickly brushed it aside.
"Oh, when you mentioned earlier you read about that Egyptian legend in one of your books, I just assumed you had it here in your flat." He flapped his hand dismissively. "So, you're off to the library then?"
"Yes," she replied, although in her head it sounded more like a lie by omission. With an imperceptible stutter, she casually added, "That is to say, I will be utilizing the generous resources at the Manor." She waited for any sudden change in Harry's countenance. "We've decided to collaborate on some of the more recent findings of the case and this seemed like the most plausible way to do so."
"Wait, we as in..." There was a silence the length of several lingering heartbeats as Harry seemed to be waiting for her to fill in the blank.
"We...as in Malfoy and I," she supplied faintly, again feeling something in her stomach akin to a guilty confession.
A choking noise escaped Harry's mouth, but he quickly recovered. "Oh, that's...I mean, that's great, I guess. It's just...I suppose rather unexpected given your history."
"Right, well, like I said before, it was really just a logistical decision based on our combined desire to advance the case in a more expeditious manner. It will likely not be more than this one occasion, so...as long as we can get through tonight without hexing each other, I'm quite sure moving forward things will proceed in a more divide and conquer format."
The rather enlightening dissertation that came tumbling out of her mouth certainly was not a thought she'd ever taken the time to mull over before which is why it took her by surprise and caused her to privately wonder at what point in her day she had drawn that unexpected conclusion.
Harry nodded, seeming to see the validity of her point. "Well, I guess the good news is you don't have to worry about running into Lucius while you're there. That would have almost certainly guaranteed the night would begin in a wand fight."
Hermione paused to roll her eyes.
"I had nearly forgotten about him."
Not that she'd entirely forgotten about him. It had briefly crossed her mind that his father could very well be lurking around shadowy corners of the sprawling Manor while she was honing in on the finer details of a case involving murder, the irony of that particular musing not lost on her. But then she vaguely recalled a recent article in the Daily Prophet that placed both he and Draco's mother securely in another country, far from the confines of the expansive manor. A fact which much to her chagrin, brought her immense relief.
"Can you even imagine the look of utter horror on his face, seeing a Muggleborn witch disgracing his precious Pureblood estate?" she asked, throwing her head back in an unexpected fit of laughter.
"He'd probably opt to burn it down and rebuild after your departure!" Harry barked, shaking to the tune of his unbridled amusement.
When they both managed to settle themselves from the sudden bout of hilarity, Hermione's eyes narrowed. "So, what is it you came by to tell me?"
There was a marked shift in Harry's lighthearted demeanor. He raked a hand through his lawless fringe and adjusted his slightly askew spectacles before gesturing to the sofa behind them.
"Why don't we grab a seat and I'll fill you in."
Hermione knew her friend well enough to be able to read his every cagey quirk, even with her eyes closed. His current nervous fidgeting combined with the impromptu visit to her flat left her with a foreboding feeling settling in the pit of her stomach as she took her place next to him on the sofa. "What is it, Harry? Is everything alright?"
He searched her uneasy face, seeming to struggle inwardly with how best to begin.
"So, you know how Miriam's body had no visible signs of injury or trauma, right?"
Hermione frowned in confusion. "Yes, Harry, the autopsy reports clearly indicate she was murdered by magical means, by the killing curse," she clarified, "as is always the case when no other Muggle method has been found."
Her easy recitation sounded as if she were reading directly from their DMLE-issued Auror textbook.
"Right, that has always been the case." Brow furrowing slightly, he added, "Well, you know how the medical examiner always follows up with further diagnostics to confirm the killing curse, regardless of that assumption, correct?"
"Where is this going, Harry?" she asked with growing concern.
"Hermione, the coroner's official report just came out and they concluded that Miriam did not die from the killing curse."
Once the words were out, they dropped like a stone and lay there between them for untold minutes as her heart hammered a ragged thrum of confusion throughout her ribcage. "I'm sorry, what?" she finally asked.
"I know, it doesn't make sense. If she wasn't murdered by Muggle means and no one used the killing curse on her, that means..."
"She simply dropped dead of natural causes?" Hermione blurted out incredulously. "Not likely, Harry. It's absolutely illogical at every level to even think that her home gets broken into and she just decides right then and there that it would be a good time to expire. No. That doesn't make a bit of sense."
"I don't think anyone would argue with that, but the problem now becomes figuring out how she did die, if it wasn't from the killing curse."
They shared a look of mutual bewilderment.
Feeling the wheels spinning furiously in her mind but coming up with no immediate assertions, she added with a faint shake of her head, "I have no clue where to begin with this one."
Harry's shoulders slumped. "Neither do I."
Much to her dismay, the clock on her mantle chimed indicating it was six o'clock and time to leave for the Manor. She reached over to grip Harry's hand. "We won't sleep until we have this figured out."
"I know. I got my best witch on the case," he said, donning a knowing smile- one that was reserved only for her as a result of their long history of fighting the forces of evil together. "Fill Malfoy in on this new development while you're there. Maybe he'll have some idea on where to begin."
"I will," she agreed while standing up and gathering her belongings from the end table. She reached down to give Crookshanks a pat on the head. "Mommy will be back home before you know it."
Padding her way over to the fireplace where Harry stood, she grabbed a fistful of Floo powder and proffered the jar for Harry to do the same. "We can continue our conversation about this tomorrow at the Burrow," she said as he ducked into the fireplace.
"Will do," he replied before unexpectedly reaching into his pants pocket to retrieve a folded slip of parchment. "Here, I almost forgot. This is a list of the ingredients MacNair ordered from Ingrid. Look it over and tell me what you think."
She nodded her head just as Harry declared, "Grimmauld Place," and vanished into the emerald flames.
Hermione stood there staring into the now empty fireplace, a mob of unruly pixies churning in her stomach at the realization of her subsequent destination.
Tucking the parchment into her pocket, she took a deep, mind-settling breath before stepping forward into the Floo and muttering with trepidation, "Malfoy Manor."
