Hermione had read extensively about Anne Hathaway, William Shakespeare's wife. Muggles knew very little about her, but to wizards, she was a respected author in her own right well before William's first line was ever read by an actor. Many Muggle scholars assumed their marriage was unhappy, since Anne stayed in Stratford while William worked in London, but actually, she apparated there to spend time with him almost every night. By wizard accounts, their marriage was largely happy, although she did hold a grudge for his portrayal of the Weird Sisters in Macbeth — in wizard history, three heroines who saved Scotland from a hopelessly incompetent king and the invaders he couldn't stop.

Anne's works weren't as popular among modern wizards as her husband's were among Muggles, but she made up for that with her legacy of the Shakespeare Theatre. While William was building and running The Globe, she created England's largest wizard theatre just outside Stratford-on-Avon, underground where Muggles would never find it. Their son Hamnet was the only one of their children to have magical ability. When he was 11, they faked his death so he could attend Hogwarts, a common practice among Muggleborns and half-bloods of the time. As an adult, he inherited the theater and expanded it, and it had passed through his branch of the Shakespeare family since, in use continuously and each generation improving it further, until it was now the finest wizard theatre in Europe and possibly the world.

Hermione had always wanted to see it, but could never afford tickets to any of its events before. As she and Seph stepped out of the lobby's Floo, attendants rushed to vanish the soot off them and direct them to their seats. As the attendants scurried to the next guest, the view took her breath away.

"Wow," Seph said, looking up at the arch of the ceiling.

"Me too," Hermione agreed. Just like Hogwarts' dining hall, it had been enchanted to look like the outside sky, but it was crisscrossed by gilded buttresses that supported the structure and gave the impression of looking through a giant glass dome. The same buttresses transitioned into columns along the walls, three of which were enchanted to look like a nearby park. Together, it created an illusion that, instead of being a mile underground, they had just stepped into an open-air theatre.

Clio had given them a private box, and programs were waiting for them on the seats. On the front was a portrait of the nine Dragoumi sisters, gathered into a semi-circle with the older sisters on the outside and the youngest in the middle. Above each was their reproduced signature, which identified the center figure as Calliope. Clio was immediately to her left.

A soft buzz of conversation filled the hall. Seph had already taken out his opera glasses to look around the crowd, so Hermione did the same. Wizard opera glasses were a wonderful invention. When she used them in cheaper venues, they identified each performer in easily readable but easily ignored text and listed information about them, their role or instrument, and other trivia. An unfortunate side effect was that they would do the same when viewing the audience. Worse, it was a wizard hobby to do so before events and during intermission. Hermione considered it nosy, but couldn't keep herself from looking at the other boxes anyway. High-ranking officials from the Ministry, the ambassador from Transylvania, a pair of well-dressed goblins that the glasses identified as the CEO of Gringotts and her husband, although it was difficult to tell which was which since neither had a beard, and… "Oh no."

"What?" Seph asked, turning.

She folded her glasses into her lap. "Draco Malfoy."

Draco sat in one of the side boxes with his wife Astoria beside him. Hermione wasn't sure how Draco and Narcissa had avoided Azkaban after Lord Voldemort's final defeat. Rumor was that Lucius agreed to take the fall for the entire family if they would be spared, which would have been the only noble thing he'd done in his life. It put such pressure on Draco to have an heir that he'd married less than a year later. Astoria was visibly pregnant again, and the perfect picture of misery. They already had two daughters, and Draco had publicly threatened that if the third child was a girl, he would divorce Astoria and marry a woman who would give him a son. Doesn't he know it's the man who determines a child's sex? Maybe he didn't. Muggle science was suspect to many wizards; even germ theory was still controversial in wizarding circles.

"Draco Malfoy, professional leech," Seph read from the glasses.

"It doesn't say that." Hermione unfolded her glasses and looked again. "'Socialite.' That's the best it can say about him? 'Socialite?'"

"Well, opera glasses are always generous," Seph joked. "I wasn't surprised by the whole Death Eater thing. I was three years ahead of him and in Ravenclaw, and even we knew what a little git he was."

"I was in the same year. Put those away before he sees you looking."

"What if he does?" Seph asked, although he turned to the other boxes.

"He'll probably spend the entire concert wondering how someone like me got tickets in a private box."

"You actually look very impressive in opera glasses." Seph turned to her without lowering them, and she burst out laughing to see his eyes through them, distorted into miniatures. "'Hermione J. Granger, Research Fellow, Tritonis Research Institute.' Ooh, you even have a detail section. It talks about you in the war, and says you're now the premier expert on British house-elves. It actually says 'premier expert'. Definitely better than 'socialite'."

Hermione tried to hold back a smile, but it slipped past her lips anyway as he folded them. "Unfortunately for you," he added off-handedly, "when he looks at your date, he's going to see 'Joseph R. Blaine, Werewolf Support Services.'"

"So? It's important work. A hundred times more important than anything he'll ever do."

Seph watched her as she turned her attention to the curtains shielding the stage. "You didn't look."

"Look at what?" Hermione asked, glancing over on the assumption that he'd pointed at something.

"At me, with the glasses. Everyone else I've dated looks when I tell them that, and then usually hits me on the shoulder because it actually says 'Joseph R. Blaine, Ministry of Magic.'"

"Well, that's a shame. You have every right to be proud of what you do."

A grin started to grow on Seph's face, but before he could say anything, the house lights dimmed. The conversation in the hall fell off to nothing, and the curtains slid open. The nine women behind them bowed, took their seats, and raised their instruments. Hermione unfolded her opera glasses again and used them for their intended purpose. Above each sister, the glasses listed their name, age, and instrument or instruments. As they started playing, the opera glasses similarly displayed information about the piece: the wizard who had composed it, any unusual techniques, and so on. They played several pieces, the hall filling with more sound than seemed possible. Watching through the glasses, Hermione noticed several instruments floating in the air behind them, seemingly playing themselves. As she focused on one, the text read that it was played by Thalia, the eldest sister, and that she could play six violins at once.

The other instruments died away, leaving only the harpsichord on which Erato Dragoumi was playing three parts, and then that faded and the air was filled with a single violin. Somehow, though, this violin was more full and more expressive than the full contingent had been. Someone in a lower seat gasped "oh my", and Seph leaned forward, focusing on the stage with his own glasses. Hermione scanned the stage, and her gaze fell upon Clio, the soloist. The glasses read "Clio is a master of mundane as well as magical violin techniques. Here she uses the mundane method, which uses her entire body as the violin's sounding board."

As she finished and her sisters joined in again, the audience exploded into applause. Taking advantage of the noise, Seph leaned over and whispered, "Do all Muggle violinists sound like that, do you know?"

"Good ones," Hermione whispered back. Every patron in the house seemed to immerse themselves more deeply in the concert, and that continued until it ended. As the crowd cleared out, they gathered their things and made their way toward the backstage area. Unfortunately, Draco was already at the door, arguing with a security guard who was looking at him with a combination of bemusement and disdain.

"No one gets past this point unless they are on the list," the guard said, apparently repeating himself, "and you are not on it."

"Do you know who I am?" Draco demanded.

The guard folded his hands and smirked. "No, Mr. Malfoy. Who are you?"

"I'm one of the richest men in England!"

"And?"

There was no 'and'. For a split second, Hermione felt sorry for Draco, but then remembered who she was thinking about. Still, Draco had never learned to navigate the world. Lucius had managed life by bullying his way through on the strength of his fortune and his family's reputation, and that was all Draco had learned to do. But the family reputation was ruined, his own was as a hopelessly incompetent former Death Eater, and to his surprise and dismay even money had its limits. When it failed, he had no merits of his own to fall back on.

"Draco, it's all right," Astoria murmured. "I don't mind."

"Shut it," he snapped, and she shrank back as though she expected him to hit her. Still focusing on the security guard, he said, "I demand you call your superior out here right now."

"I'm not going to do that," the guard said. "However, if you don't leave immediately, I will call a security troll."

"How dare you!"

The guard touched something in his ear. "Dave, I need a troll up here. I have a patron who thinks he's someone important."

Draco turned on his heel. "I have never been treated this poorly in my life!"

"I doubt that very much," the guard said, which just increased the rage on Draco's face.

Unfortunately, Draco saw Hermione on his way. "Forget it, Granger. The Dragoumis don't care about their fans."

Ignoring him, Hermione walked up to the guard. "Excuse me, I have a backstage pass," she said, showing it to him.

Draco whipped around. "What?!"

"Oh, yes, Miss Granger, we've been expecting you," the guard said, reading her name off of it. "Through this door, there's a VIP lounge to the right where your guest can wait. Usually, Thalia and Urania will come out to mingle with their fans, but I can't promise tonight due to some other security concerns."

"How did you get that?" Draco demanded, stomping back and making a grab for the pass. Hermione jerked it to her chest, and the guard shoved him back with one hand and drew his wand with the other.

"I've had just about enough of you," he said, pointing the wand at Draco's face.

"Those can't be had for any amount of money," Draco said to Hermione, pointing at the pass.

"No, they can't," the guard agreed. "Miss Granger, I apologize for the unpleasantness. You and your guest can go in; just take your pass and your ID to the security troll at the end of the hall, and one of my colleagues will escort you to Clio's dressing room."

"This is outrageous!" Draco shouted as Hermione and Seph stepped through the door. Immediately they had to squeeze themselves against the wall as a troll lumbered by, dragging its club behind it.

"I agree completely," the guard said. He looked up at the troll. "Escort this gentleman to the exit."

"I can find the way myself," Draco snapped, breaking away from him.

"Then do so!"

Hermione and Seph barely made it to the door of the VIP lounge before they both burst out laughing.

"That was brilliant," Seph said.

"It made the night." Hermione put her hand over her mouth. "I shouldn't say that. It's rude."

"True, though."

"I don't know how long this interview will last. You don't have to wait for me if you don't want to."

"And miss a chance to meet Thalia and Urania in person?" Seph asked. "No way. I'll wait. Good luck with your interview."

As he went into the VIP lounge, Hermione walked to the end of the hall, where an exceptionally surly security troll was standing. She held up the backstage pass, and it squinted and leaned forward to look at it, then looked at her, narrowing its eyes. With a speed she would not have thought possible under normal circumstances, she pulled her wallet out of her bag and opened it to her Apparition license — and suddenly wished it was a more recent photograph. Apparently satisfied, or at least less dissatisfied, the troll turned and grunted over its shoulder.

Another guard walked up. "Can I help you?"

"I'm here to see Clio Dragoumi," Hermione said.

"And you are?" the man asked.

"Hermione Granger."

"And you're here about?"

"I'm researching werewolf sociology. Miss Dragoumi agreed to talk with me about Fenrir Greyback."

The security officer took the backstage pass and held it up to the light, scrutinizing it, then took a close look at her Apparition license, glancing back and forth between her and the photo several times.

"I suppose that checks out," he said at last. "Why don't I take your bag and wand for you." Phrasing aside, that was definitely not a question.

"Can I take a notebook with me?" Hermione asked.

"Miss Dragoumi can lend you one."

So much for using the Mental Notebook for this interview. Hermione tucked her wallet back into her bag and handed it to him.

"And your wand too, please."

"It's in the bag."

"Show me," he said, holding it out to her without letting go of it. She opened it, took the wand out to show him, and put it back.

The guard waved his own wand over her and ordered, "Instrumentis Revelio". A list of everything she had on her formed in the air between them, even including her underthings. She blushed a brilliant red, but apparently he was satisfied that she didn't have anything dangerous. He opened the door behind the troll and gestured for her to precede him.

"Straight ahead," he said. As she started down the hall, another security troll fell in step with her and the security officer. "To the left here." He directed her down a side hall, and they stopped in front of a room guarded by yet another security troll. The new troll glared at Hermione as the security officer knocked on the door.

"Yes?" called a woman's voice.

"Miss Dragoumi, you have a guest."

"I thought Remus was bringing his wife tomorrow. Oh, wait, is the researcher coming today?"

"Who is it?" a more mature woman's voice asked. The younger protested in Greek, and they argued for a moment.

"It's Hermione Granger, with the Tritonis Research Institute," Hermione said once they had settled down.

"See, it was today," the younger voice said. The older scolded her in Greek. "Come in, Miss Granger."

With a nod from the security officer, Hermione pushed the door open. Clio was sitting in front of a mirrored vanity, taking off her stage make-up with cotton balls soaked in Mistress Marcia's Make-up Purging Potion. Beside her, and looking decidedly less cheerful, was the eldest of her sisters.

"Don't worry. If the security trolls haven't bitten you yet, they probably aren't going to," Clio said. "Now, Thalia here…"

"Clio," Thalia chided.

"Well?" They traded words back and forth in Greek again, and then Clio said, "She wants to see your ID before she'll leave us."

"Um, this gentleman took my ID," Hermione said, pointing to the security officer.

"She checks out, Ma'am," the security officer said. "And I have her wand as well. She doesn't have anything else on her."

"See?" Clio asked. Thalia seemed less than convinced, but Clio waved her fingers at her sister. "Goodbye, Sis."

"When your guest is ready to leave, Miss Dragoumi, give me a ring and I'll escort her out," the security officer said as Thalia stood and stepped past him.

"You'll have to remember that, because I am definitely going to forget it," Clio said to Hermione as the security officer closed the door. "Remind me what you're researching?"

"I'm studying werewolf sociology, and you agreed to discuss Fenrir Greyback with me."

"OK, yes, that was what Mr. Milburn wrote about, right?" Clio asked. Hermione nodded. "So, what did you want to ask?"

"Before we start, could I borrow a notebook?"

"Oh, right!" Clio opened a drawer in the vanity and pulled out a pad of parchment, a quill, and an inkwell for her. "If there's anything else I'm supposed to have, you'll need to ask for it. Greyback wrecked my memory, so it's kind of all over the place. And Merlin only knows where I left my Remembrall last night."

"How did he wreck your memory?"

"Don't remember," Clio said with an awkward grin and a shrug. "We think it was a Memory Charm that went wrong. He messed with a lot of kids' memories, but mine was the worst. I don't remember anything before I woke up on a park bench one morning."