Hermione Granger: Cloak and Dagger

Hermione Granger

Just past Bourgin and Burkes, Hermione pulled up short by a wanted poster of herself. It was a new one, announcing a higher reward for her capture. The photo had been taken when she'd been in one of the early prison camps. Seventeen years old and glaring at the camera, her hair puffed up like an angry cat.

"Flattering," Malfoy said.

"Shh." She pulled the invisibility cloak tighter around the both of them. They were full-grown adults, so it was a tight fit, and he seemed to deliberately poke his elbow into her side whenever he moved.

Knockturn Alley had changed little over the years. The sun sank behind a row of buildings, lengthening the shadows, and the area wakened, lights going on in windows and proprietors moving inside their shops.

A steady clomp of boots made them freeze. The Dark Guard didn't patrol Knockturn Alley, but occasionally an officer would wander through, collecting his payment from proprietors for his inattention to their activities. The man who turned the corner, though, was a wizard with reddened eyes and dirty grey robes. His gaze stared through Hermione to her likeness behind her before moving on towards The Spiny Serpent.

When he was out of sight, Malfoy exhaled at length. "Can we take this off now?"

She pulled the invisibility cloak off, revealing their faces in the dingy light. Malfoy's glamor had only changed his face to something less pointed and his hair to something less irradiated, but his stiff body language was still recognizable. He immediately ran his hands over his hair, checking for flyaways, as if a hair had any hope of breaking free of the gunk slathered on it.

"Merlin, Granger. That smells like the inside of a dog's mouth. Where did you get that thing?"

She carefully folded the cloak, running her fingers along it tenderly before putting it in her bag. She wasn't going to cry over Harry again, not here, not now. Not in front of this pretentious nitwit. "You know perfectly well who it belonged to."

He was still fussing over his hair. "I don't see why it was necessary. Or do you not trust your ability to cast glamors?"

"They test for glamors at the random checkpoints. Or weren't you high enough up in Death Eater circles to know even basic security information?"

He waved that off. "You just bribe the right officer in the Dark Guard, and you can skip the checkpoints. Everyone knows that."

She nodded curtly. "Perhaps when I have my money, I'll do that."

"My money, you mean." He crossed his arms and huddled in on himself as she led the way. "I don't understand why you wouldn't let me see the new base. You said you'd let me stay if I paid you off."

She frowned at the term paid you off, as if she were one of those officers that took bribes. But she didn't have the energy to get into another argument over semantics. She'd spent three days watching over him at their old base and had felt every minute. "I didn't say you'd stay with us. I said I would use a light touch when I obliviated you. Just removing enough details so you won't be able to find us, or send anyone after us. I won't leave you in some blissful haze, to be picked up by the Dark Guard or Death Eaters. Assuming you cooperate."

"But if I'm not at your base—"

"We've got better things to do than babysit you." She paused and took a breath. Three days of this. Three days of waiting for an attack that never came, whilst the poster boy for bellyaching gnawed on her last nerve. The Phoenix hadn't provided further information, and she'd finally given the go-ahead to move to an established base at Dumbledore's old house, well reinforced with protection charms. It had never been detected, and staying in the old base for too long would've been a risk. "After I'm paid off, you're on your own. Although it would be helpful if you actually told me why you're avoiding—"

"I did tell you. We had a difference of opinion."

"That hardly explains—"

"Why don't you try working for the Dark Lord? See how you get on."

They passed a street vendor, his robe fastened to his thin frame with several straps and buckles, as if he expected to be carried off by a strong wind. He'd piled his cart high with spellbooks, their bindings bent or missing, the jagged pages held together with little more than charms and wishful thinking. Few could pay for entire spellbooks these days, especially the forbidden books collected by this vendor. She'd bought a few defensive spells herself, ripped out and sold by the page. There had been a time when she would've been outraged at the idea of destroying a book. Such feelings were luxuries she could no longer afford.

The vendor gave no sign he knew her at all. At least the glamors were working. Whenever she'd bought from him, he'd never asked what she planned to do with the spells, or why. In the end, those who made their trade in Knockturn Alley were not interested in light magic or dark magic. They were only interested in grabbing the next galleon to keep the wolves from their door.

When they stopped at a set of stairs by Markus Scarrs Indelible Tattoos, Malfoy stared up at the sign of a white dragon and the contempt briefly fell from his face. "The White Wyvern? I didn't think you'd be seen dead in a place like this."

"Don't get excited." She angled her way round two elderly wizards just exiting and headed up the stairs. "We're not here to buy poison or cursed objects or whatever else you get up to. I've found a way to access your gold without going to Gringotts." The goblin bank had several security checks that tested for both glamors and polyjuice. Not that she could get her hands on the ingredients for polyjuice these days.

He followed, looking none too pleased.

A single spindly candle burned on each of the rough-hewn tables, releasing trails of smoke that gathered in the rafters. The support posts were decorated with the carved runes of past patrons. She recognized a grouping that gave the incantation to summon the spirits of murdered souls. Another series of runes simply spelled out that one should fire-call Lucile if one was looking for a good time.

They found a table littered with half-empty glasses under the mounted head of a sea serpent. The serpent had been animated, much like a magical portrait, and it had not improved its disposition. It glared balefully at them as its tongue roved through the air hungrily.

A witch in violet robes stared in amusement at the sea serpent until her gaze fell to them. Her eyebrows scrunched together as she studied them.

Hermione resisted the urge to check her glamor. She'd cast it with a variation that would sound a quiet buzz in her ear if it failed. Patrons in The White Wyvern always looked dodgy and watched new customers, searching for any information they could sell. She'd been here several times without incident, and there was no reason to back out now.

Malfoy shoved the half-empty glasses to the side and fidgeted in the dim light, tugging at the cuffs.

"Will you stop it?" she hissed. "I cut the chain so they wouldn't be noticeable. Don't bring attention to them."

"Take them off," he said, "and they won't bring attention. You've already got my wand. What do you expect me to do?"

"I expect you to sit there and sign whatever form I give you."

He raised an eyebrow. "All this skulking about. I thought the goblins were your allies. Those were the rumors, anyway. Don't you trust Gringotts to keep your secrets?"

She pressed her lips together. But they couldn't do this without him gleaning some information, and he would be obliviated later. "Some goblins are allies. Others maintain their neutrality."

"Neutrality, right." He shook his head, a half-smile on his lips. "I genuinely didn't think your little rebellion would last this long. Gryffindors have no head for this sort of thing."

The witch in violet robes had disappeared, slipping away into the back of the pub. Hermione squeezed her hands together and took a deep breath. "What sort of thing?"

He gestured at the smoke-filled pub. "This. Subterfuge. Negotiations. Feeling out who's your ally and who's your enemy. The very idea of neutrality… No one's neutral in a war, Granger. Everyone's out for themselves. You should be intelligent enough to see that."

"Not everyone's like you. Some people care about what's right."

"What's right." He scoffed, tugging at his cuffs. "What's right is… fluid. Changes all the time."

"For a shameless opportunist, perhaps."

"For everyone." He eyed her. "Nearly everyone. If you had to fight an enemy to protect your family, would you?"

"Of course I would. I have."

He moved an empty beer stein back and forth in his hands, tapping at the glass in a sharp staccato. "I've fought the enemy to protect my family from the Dark Lord's wrath. So that means I'm in the right."

"Your side is evil. They've killed people—"

"So has yours—"

"In self-defense!"

"It's all self-defense in a war." He leaned back. "You're telling me that if it were a choice between hurting your family or doing the right thing, you'd hurt your family?"

The words she'd readied died on her tongue. She'd altered her parents' memories to remove herself from their lives. It had been for their protection, but sometimes she wondered if she'd had the right to take that from them. To alter their lives so drastically. Had she hurt her family to do the right thing? Was what she'd done even right?

He studied her and shrugged. "I know they're muggles, but they must have some value to you."

She kicked him under the table and nearly unseated him. "You're trying to get a rise out of me."

He gave her a sharp grin. "I'm making a point. Stop trying to do the right thing and take advantage of every opportunity the moment you spot it. Do it for yourself, and do it for what you care about. Because believe me, that's what everyone else is doing."

"You mean be greedy and ruthless, like you and your lot? No, thank you."

The sea serpent above them grumbled, its feelers swaying gently. She wondered if it was laughing at her.

"Fine. Be noble and kind and brave. But bravery is no match for cunning."

"Cunning is no match for loyal friends and allies."

He crossed his arms, shaking his head. "You're hopeless."

"How about we skip the idle conversation? It's bad enough that I have to—" She stopped. "There he is."

A baldheaded goblin in a green velvet coat stood in the brightest—which is to say, least gloomy—part of the pub. He raised a pale hand and fluttered a red and gold striped handkerchief. The same pattern woven into Hermione's scarf, which she unwound from her neck and waved back at him. Their signal.

His eyes narrowed when he saw Malfoy. He stopped at the table but did not sit.

"Hello, Griphook," she said in a low voice.

The goblin pointed a long finger at Malfoy. "He is not one of your group. This one has made many visits to Gringotts. I can smell the wealth."

Malfoy preened at that. She flicked her hand at him in introduction. "Draco Malfoy. You must've known I would bring someone along. I need to withdraw from his account. "

Griphook rubbed his chin. "I did not think it would be this one. This one works for them. This one is no friend to your cause."

"This one never said he was." He huffed.

"But you will let the other side withdraw from your account?" He stepped back and tilted his head to gaze under the table. "She does not have you at wandpoint. You do this willingly?"

"Willingly but unenthusiastically," he groused. "It's not as though I've much of a choice—"

"He defected," she chimed in. Griphook had been willing to ignore the new rules for Gringotts imposed by Voldemort's regime, but even he might balk at breaking the established prohibition of withdrawing money under duress. "Joined our cause. He insisted that his first act should be to supply us with new funds."

Malfoy gaped at her. "I hardly volunteered—"

"Yes, you did." She smiled sweetly at him. "You were the first to mention your account at Gringotts. Don't you remember?" She turned to Griphook confidentially. "He has a terrible memory, I'm afraid. Always forgetting things." She turned back to Malfoy, dropping the smile as she stared him down. "I certainly hope you don't suffer any major memory losses."

He swallowed. "Ah, yes. It's all come back to me." He schooled his features and gave Griphook a winning smile. "Can't wait to open my coffers to this just and noble cause."

Griphook blinked at him. "That is most fortunate." He glanced at Hermione. "By my calculations, you were due to run out of funds in a matter of weeks."

"Calculations?" he asked. "You've been calculating when the resistance would fail?" He shot her a smug look.

Griphook ignored him and addressed her. "Only out of concern. Goblin history is full of losses we've suffered due to the inability to gather resources or wealthy allies. We lost many lands during that time, and many rights. It's why we devoted ourselves to mining gold and cultivating wealthy accounts." At this, he nodded at Malfoy. "We've found it to be the best protection against further incursion."

"Of course." She patted the chair next to her. "You fought in the first war, didn't you? It's why you wanted to help us." She couldn't help shooting a look at Malfoy. See? Some choose willingly to do the right thing.

Griphook nodded and settled himself. "My family was not involved with Gringotts. We wanted to live an independent life. Farmers and shopkeepers." He shook his head. "We lost everything in the war—and then were accused of greed when we sought restitution." The candlelight burned in his eyes. "I learned quickly that when you are a goblin, gold is the only thing that gives you a voice in the wizarding world."

Malfoy nodded slowly. "Money is power."

She became uneasy at the direction of the conversation. "And allies. Victories are impossible without allies."

"Yes, allies." Griphook clasped her hand. His long fingers were calloused, but his palm was soft between the deep creases. Seeking her gaze, he tightened his grip. "I hope you understand what our alliance has meant to me. It's reminded me of my time before Gringotts, when my life was my own."

She was touched. "Of course. I'd like to think it's more than an alliance. You've been with us through thick and thin. And there's been a lot of thin."

"I did my best to push back against other voices in the brotherhood." He hesitated. "Ones that mention goblin-made artifacts. "We have need of magical objects to guard our gold. There have been difficulties with dragons, and our next transport of their hoards…" He waved his arm broadly, as if to say the problems were too numerous to count.

Nodding, she thought carefully about how much she could say. She could depend on obliviate to keep her secrets, but there was such a thing as being reckless with information. "Such objects should be cherished and used wisely."

He nodded with a resigned look and released her. "Perhaps we should get on with the business at hand." With a sweep of his arm, a rolled parchment bearing a Gringotts seal appeared on the table.

Malfoy sat ramrod straight, his head cocked as if listening to a bird call only he could hear. "Right. Time to make this official."

Her heart beat a little faster. Funds at last. Money they could use to buy potions ingredients, to treat injuries, to buy wolfsbane for Remus. And, of course, to buy information. To buy allies, who waffled until one side showed them galleons. Griphook had been right about that. It was disheartening to think how much the tides of war turned on gold. But that didn't make it any less true.

Griphook unrolled the parchment and snapped his fingers at the candle, which grew brighter. "A moment, if you will." He produced a quill and scratched away.

Malfoy stopped fidgeting with his cuffs. He sat, almost unnaturally still, staring at the parchment as Griphook worked. The sea serpent above gnashed its teeth, snapping mouthfuls of smoky air.

A chill ran down her back as she studied Malfoy. "What is it?"

He gazed at her serenely. "Just making peace with the money I'm about to lose. It's different for me, Granger. I'm used to the better things in life."

She found herself unable to shake a tightness in her chest. "No tricks," she warned.

He raised his hands lazily. "It's an official Gringotts document. What could I do?"

She glanced at Griphook. "What if he gets access to his vault? Can he—"

A strange light entered Mafoy's eyes. "Right, my vault. All sorts of little mementos in there."

She frowned. "What are you thinking?"

"Hmm? Nothing." He shook his head.

Feeling cold, she rubbed at the goose pimples on her arms. "If he gets access to his vault, can he cancel the transfer?"

Griphook remained focused on the document, but shook his head. "The owner of the account can shut it down, canceling all transactions. But the younger Malfoy is still in trust. Once he has signed the transfer, it's out of his hands."

"So suspicious." Malfoy chuckled. "Perhaps there's hope for you yet."

Griphook finished scratching in entries and paused. "The amount?"

"Ten thousand galleons," she replied immediately. Malfoy had spent days trying to argue her down to a few sickles, right up until they'd left the underwater base for Knockturn Alley. But she'd held firm, reminding him that his money was useless to him if she left him without memory or wand to be captured by Death Eaters.

But now, he said nothing, only twitching once as Griphook recorded the number. He took the parchment and quill and signed in a fluid script, the tail of the y underlining the rest of his name before twirling off to the margin. When he lifted the quill, the name swelled, rising slightly until it stilled, embossed on the surface.

Griphook nodded and pushed the parchment and quill over to Hermione.

The transfer amount was written clearly enough, but the rest of the document was in the legal jargon of Gringotts. She mentally kicked herself for not studying legal terms used in magical banking, but the last few years had been devoted to spells for concealment and combat, with little time for anything else. She pointed at a line in a dense paragraph. "AELOC? What's that?"

"Artifact equity line of credit. If Mr. Malfoy did not have sufficient money to cover the amount, a line of credit would be extended, based on the Gringotts-appraised value of any goblin-made artifacts in his vault."

Malfoy looked at him sharply. "But I have plenty of galleons. No need to liquidate any artifacts."

Griphook slitted his eyes at him. "Not to worry. Your artifacts are safe."

She pointed at another phrase. "And this? 'Use of archival methods for delivery of funds per the GWTA 1481?'"

"The Goblin Wizarding Transactions Act of 1481." Malfoy sighed heavily. "Merlin, Granger, don't you know anything? It's standard language in any transfer of funds at Gringotts, to ensure the proper amount is received by the parties concerned. Any pureblood with two sickles to rub together would know that. His lip curled. "Although that explains why you haven't a clue. This is exactly my point." He pulled the quill out of her hand and wagged it at her mockingly. "Some people just aren't built to be in the wizarding world. Either you're too naïve to pay attention to what's really important, or you're incapable of grasping the subtleties of a culture you simply don't belong in."

"At least I belong in the human race, unlike some people." Realizing her poor choice of words, she glanced at Griphook. "No offense meant."

"Not at all," the goblin said smoothly. "To be sorted with humans would be far more offensive."

Studying the document again, she felt her frustration rise at each unfamiliar term. Should she have consulted Sirius or Ron? They probably knew more about Gringotts. Realizing that she was actually thinking that purebloods were more qualified to do this than muggleborns, her face heated. She snatched the quill back and signed. The ink wriggled again, embossing her handwriting. "I'm perfectly capable of handling the wizarding world," she told Malfoy. "You don't have to have certain parents to be intelligent. Or an idiot. And soon we'll have more than two sickles to rub together, thanks to you."

He looked away from her, his shoulders tense. "Right."

Griphook reviewed her signature, nodded, and rolled it up, sliding it into an interior coat pocket. "I'll return to Gringotts and begin the process immediately. Would you mind waiting? It shouldn't take long, and I can bring you the first payment now."

She glanced at the door, thinking of her friends at the new base. And then back at Malfoy. She slumped a little. "That'll be fine." It would be over soon, and she'd hopefully never have to look at his stuck-up face again.

With a quick bow, Griphook departed.

The silence that followed would've been awkward if she hadn't far preferred it to making small talk with an insufferable git. She kept an eye on the witch in violet robes at the nearby table, who had reappeared and now seemed to look at everything in the pub except for them. This felt more suspicious than her attention before. The witch finished her drink slowly, taking small sips, and then finally paid, giving them a final lingering look as she left.

Malfoy, after going through an entire routine of fidgets and twiddling, cycled back to picking at his cuffs. He focused on the part where the two halves joined around his wrist, poking at it with a fingernail. A rippling shadow passed across his face and hands, momentarily revealing his real features. He looked up, clearly pleased with himself.

Her stomach lurched. The glamor wouldn't hold forever, and his attempts to access his magic were interfering with it. "Stop," she hissed. "Your glamor is wavering. Do you want to be recognized here?"

"It's not my fault your magic is shoddy. I've cast plenty of glamors and they've never faltered this quickly."

"It's because you keep pushing against the magic of the cuffs. If you'd leave them alone—"

"If you'd take them off, then there wouldn't be a problem. You have me out of your precious base, and you have my money. What more do you want from me?"

"I'll have your money when it's in my hands. I wouldn't put it past you to try one last deception." She moved a seat closer and slipped out her wand. Blanching, she placed her hand over his, holding the band still with two fingers while subtly casting a reinforcement spell. His skin had the softness of an idle life that she expected, although it wasn't as cold as his reptilian manner suggested.

His eyes gleamed in amusement. "Granger, I didn't know you cared."

She ignored him, intent on the nonverbal spell. When she finished, she leaned close and fluttered her eyelashes at him. "You'd think I'd tire of telling you to shut up. But I never do." Removing her hand, she settled back in her old seat. As soon as she did, she felt a familiar weight brush against her leg and a furry tail swat her calf.

Oh, Crookshanks. Why are you here now? Please be patient. And quiet. She didn't want to explain his presence to Malfoy or anyone else.

"Reinforcement spell," he said, shaking a wrist. "You may cast silently, but I know the wand movements." He went quiet, gazing into the distance.

She had a good idea of what he was thinking. "No point in working out how to reverse it. Once the transfer is complete, I'll take you to a secluded spot, cast obliviate, and release you."

"Still, it's a useful charm for restricting magic. More temporary than wand-breaking." He paused. "I will get my wand back?"

She nodded. If she hadn't seen his Mark slashed through, she wouldn't have dared. But even if he wasn't on her side, he was no longer on theirs. And leaving someone–even him–unarmed and at the mercy of Death Eaters was something she couldn't stomach.

He still didn't seem satisfied. "You have it with you, then?"

She did—well-concealed and protected from accio in one of her bottomless bags—but something about his questioning made her uneasy. "It's not here, but I'll get it. It won't take long."

He crossed his arms and frowned. "How did you get an account at Gringotts, anyway?"

"We have our ways. It took a few years. A bank account was hardly our highest priority." Crookshanks was still pressing against her leg. She glanced at Malfoy. He hadn't noticed the cat. She slipped a hand down and tugged the message from its hiding place.

"You think I'm shallow, worrying over money."

"Don't fret. I thought you were shallow long before this."

He rolled his eyes. "People respond to money. They like to claim that they're not that sort of person. But they're all that sort of person."

"Not all of them. Some hold on to their principles." She held the note in her lap, rolling and unrolling the edges. The pub was dark, but not so dark that he wouldn't see her decoding spells. She leaned forwards. "We could still make a different deal. Less money, more information." She glanced about the pub. "Do you see anyone you recognize? Anyone you know something about?"

He gazed at the other patrons. She took the opportunity to decode the message as quickly and quietly as she could.

"Strange," he said.

"Hmm?" She only half paid attention, focused on her spellwork. The incomprehensible squiggles transformed into Ron's blocky handwriting, although still written in one last muggle-based code.

"The place emptied out. It was twice as full when we entered."

"Perhaps we caught the end of the dinner crowd."

"In The White Wyvern? No one comes here for the food."

"Then perhaps everyone concluded their shady dealings and has gone to catch a bite elsewhere before committing further crimes."

"You're one to talk." Malfoy glanced at her. "What are you fussing with?"

"A to-do list. I'm crossing off 'tolerate an annoying dolt.'" She mentally deciphered the final code to a blunt message:

The Phoenix wrong.

Attacking us now.

She jumped up, rattling the glasses on the table.

His eyes widened. "What's gotten into you?"

"We need to go."

"You haven't finished robbing me." But he got up willingly enough. "Where are we going?"

"We're—" she stopped. She couldn't take him with her. Not back to the base, in the middle of an attack. He'd escape, or just get himself killed. She had a few mates in her old neighborhood who had helped her out. She hated to risk them, but right now… "There's a flat with some muggles where you—"

He blocked her way. "Muggles? You'd leave me, helpless, with muggles? Are you insane? You said you'd remove a few memories—"

"Later. Right now, I need you out of the way—"

"Sorry I'm inconveniencing you. I'm only funding your war effort."

"What do you care? I'd think you'd be happy to hold on to your precious money for a little while longer."

"I'm not going to be held captive by muggles! Do you have any idea how humiliating that is?"

She shoved him towards the exit. "Learn to suffer the indignities. I've got no other place for you."

They'd almost made it to the door when a well-honed instinct for survival told her to look behind her. It barely registered, but it was there: the familiar scrape of a boot and the murmur of her name that sped like a dart across the space.

Two men in dark robes were following them. One raised his wand, and the loose sleeve fell away to reveal the sleeve of a starched jacket with a green armband: the uniform of the Dark Guard. His wand lashed out, and a spell hit her directly in the face. A thousand needlepoints touched her forehead and cheeks and then she heard the buzzing in her ear that told her the glamor had fallen.

He grinned maliciously and threw a volley of curses at her. She dove to the side and cast a levitation spell, yanking a table away from a startled witch. It spun in the air between herself and the men. Their curses hit it head on, blasting it into splinters.

Malfoy yelped and dropped to the floor as shards of wood rained down across the pub. The rest of the patrons scattered in all directions.

Sending several more tables flying at the guards, she dragged him to his feet and ran for the exit, but it was crammed with a mob, all trying to leave through the single door. She turned and raced around the perimeter, searching for another way out. "Doesn't this place have a fire exit?"

"Take the cuffs off," he begged. "I can fight. I can help."

The guards were in pursuit, sending chairs flying to clear a pathway. A cruciatus struck the wall above her head. She summoned the broken glass strewn across the floor and hurled it towards them.

The guards cast a shield, but not quick enough. A few shards got through, and they swore as the glass embedded into their upraised arms.

Taking the brief reprieve to scan her surroundings, she realized there were no other doors, not even a window. She cast an incendiary spell at the wall behind her, hoping to burn her way through, but the flame died out. Fireproof walls.

The guards split up, coming at them from either side. Soon she would be cornered.

"Hold your breath," she told Malfoy. "You're not going to like this."

The guards were readying another volley when she cast a spell at the floor. Grey-blue slime seeped from the floorboards, gathering into a large puddle that crept towards the guards. The stench hit her immediately.

Malfoy made a choking sound. "What on earth is that?"

"Fish guts hex. Chases the nearest target and sticks to them. Smells like nothing else."

He stared at her as if she'd lost her mind. But she was focused on the head of the sea serpent behind the guards, which was salivating in dripping streams. She unstuck it from the wall and sent it hurtling towards the guards.

The guards, hands over their mouths and noses, didn't see it coming. Its teeth sunk into the first guard's shoulder. He screamed while the second guard stumbled back, slipping on the goo and landing in it. His robes were soon soaked in the gluey stench.

The sea serpent's gaze snapped to the man now covered in fish guts. Hermione sent it flying again, and it landed on top of him. The first guard stared down at his wand hand, as if the force of his willpower would make it move. He blinked slowly as his arm hung there and toppled, unconscious, to the floor.

She ran for the now-empty exit, Malfoy close behind. They kept running once they were clear of the pub, making several twists and turns until she was sure they weren't being pursued.

Finding a dark alley which smelled only slightly better than fish guts, she leaned against the brick wall and caught her breath. "I wonder who tipped them off."

Malfoy wheezed heavily. No doubt the only exercise he got was lifting his silverware. But he still managed to glare at her. "Not… me. Couldn't." He rattled the cuffs in her face.

"The undercover ones make regular patrols of the area," she conceded. "But I wish I knew how they spotted us." She didn't have time to think about it now. She needed to hand him off and get to the base. Pulling out the invisibility cloak, she beckoned to him.

Scowling, Malfoy turned his back to her. "I'm not going anywhere. Certainly not to any muggle hovel."

All she could think about was the seconds ticking away, each one keeping her from the base, from helping Ron and Sirius and the others defend their lives. She gripped her wand. "I can give you plenty of itching and stinging hexes that will keep you occupied all night."

His shoulders hunched, then sagged. "Fine. I suppose none of those books you read ever offered lessons on tact or manners." He turned on his heel too quickly and stumbled on the cobblestones.

She leaned down to help him back up. Malfoy's elbow shot out and struck her in the face. The pain was sharp and blinding, and she fell, scraping her hands and dropping her wand.

Malfoy grabbed for it, but she blocked him with her body, forcing her throbbing eye open until she spotted her wand again. She kept a tight grip on it as he yanked at her hair, snapping her head back.

She spun and aimed a kick at his groin, trying to clear her vision. She missed and banged against his thigh. He stumbled back, giving her a chance to get up and get a better grip on her wand.

Before she could utter a stunning spell, he launched himself at her, shoving her down, and she slammed her head against the stones. Whiteness erupted everywhere. She curled both hands around her wand, refusing to let him near it. "Petrificus totalis!" She cast it awkwardly, with both hands, and the spell missed its target, hitting a dustbin.

He growled, ripped the invisibility cloak from her, and took off down the alley.

"No!" she shouted. She fired off another stunning spell, but her vision was spiked with bright spots. He ducked behind the dustbin. She ran after him, but he wasn't there. She heard footsteps, though, getting more distant. A puddle near the entrance of the alley splashed upwards, although nothing she could see had landed in it. Malfoy. She dashed after him.

Speeding through Diagon Alley, she dodged between witches and wizards and shopping bags. She could mark Malfoy's progress by the shouts and shoved people in his wake. Whenever she lost him, all she had to do was listen. Eventually she'd hear clomping feet, shouts of surprise and irritation, and a gap where someone was pushed to the side.

She got close enough to hear his panting, but when she reached out to grab the cloak, she found only thin air. A door slammed to her right. A large clothing shop stood with a heavy glass door, the shopkeeper staring back at her undisguised face. Behind him hung a large wall clock, ticking away.

She stood there, her head pounding, watching the hand tick off the seconds. She could spend hours tracking him down the aisles of that shop and across Knockturn and Diagon Alley, and all the while, she risked being recognized and arrested. And if she were stuck in a cell whilst her friends were attacked, she'd never forgive herself. Every second she spent here was a second she could be at the base, fighting. Keeping her friends alive.

"I'm sorry, Harry," she whispered. "I know what that cloak meant to you." But Harry wasn't there, and he never would be. She had friends who were still alive that needed her. Turning aside, she found a secluded place and apparated away.