Chapter 19: Hermione

The Rabbit-Hole

"'It was much pleasanter at home,' thought poor Alice, 'when one wasn't always growing larger and smaller, and being ordered about by mice and rabbits. I almost wish I hadn't gone down the rabbit-hole—and yet—and yet—…'" ― Lewis Carroll, Alice in Wonderland

Monday, June 18, 2007
The Daily Prophet

ALLARD - ZABINI ENGAGEMENT

The Allard and Zabini families are delighted to announce Edie Allard's engagement to Blaise Zabini.

Ms. Allard, a graduate of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, is an accomplished scholar in Magical History, a protégé of the renowned historian Marius Beaumarchais and the Beauxbatons Academy. She is the daughter of Warlock Lawrence Allard and Vivienne Allard née Moreau of the esteemed Allard family, with a long legacy in the French and British wizarding communities. Warlock Allard has served on the Wizengamot for thirty-seven years.

Mr. Zabini, also a Hogwarts graduate and prominent figure in London's wizarding circles, is a successful employee of the Ministry for Magic's Department of International Magical Cooperation. Mr. Zabini was recently promoted to Deputy Head of the department, a testament to his tireless work managing international relations following the shocking Night of Terror attacks on May 2. He is the son of Natalia Zabini, an internationally renowned entrepreneur, and the late Ignacio Zabini.

The couple first met when Mr. Zabini began closely assisting Warlock Allard in his negotiations with the French Ministry for Magic during the aftermath of the Montaroux Werewolf attack in March. They became engaged on Saturday the 16th at a private event in London hosted by Mr. Zabini. The wedding is planned for next summer.

Monday, June 18, 2007
Ottery St. Catchpole

Hermione trudged along a dirt path on the outskirts of Ottery St. Catchpole, not too far from The Burrow. She wondered distantly if stopping by after this assignment for a glass of Molly's lemonade would be inappropriate. It was unseasonably warm, and she had already unclasped the buttons of her burnt orange uniform robes.

They really were quite hideous with her complexion, Hermione mused.

And there she was, thinking about Malfoy again. It had been almost a week since their encounter in Diagon Alley, and Hermione was still fuming. His voice, his smug, long face, and—she begrudgingly admitted, against all her will—his good points. She tried not to think too much about the fact that Malfoy had repaid her for the Demiguise solution, which might be considered "nice."

Hermione huffed in indignation, reaching the top of a hill. Purebloods and their precious galleons. As if she needed to be repaid. Merlin, why had she purchased the blasted solution in the first place?

Her wand pointed her in the correct direction, which led down into a valley where a tall oak tree stood another half mile away.

Hermione banished from her mind that Malfoy had committed a kind gesture—because how was she to make sense of that, anyway? She shook her head and proceeded downhill.

Her first weeks on the DMLE roster had been complicated—tricky.

Robards had conferred with Octavia before officially instating her, and they had conspired to forbid Hermione from any involvement with the Night of Terror investigation. That had been a sharp blow to her pride. It's not as if she expected to lead the investigation as a person coming off the reserves—but to ban her altogether?

And Harry was against her doing this at all. She should "rest," he had said.

She rested for a single workday and wanted to fling herself off the Cliffs of Dover before sundown!

So, the head of the DMLE banned her from the department's most significant investigation. The DMLE's most prestigious Senior Auror wanted to keep her out of any possible danger, never mind that he was her best friend. And the result? She had received the most basic and boring assignments, day after day: patrolling Diagon Alley, inspecting suspicious Ministry mail, and otherwise guarding this building or that holding cell.

To top it all off, she was, unfortunately, still very recognizable. On her first outdoor daytime patrol, she was accosted fifteen times over eight hours. She wore Auror's robes, but no one seemed to care or notice once they realized they had spotted Hermione Granger. It was why she had resorted to skulking in side streets and dank spaces between buildings—easier to avoid being seen altogether.

But Malfoy had seen her. She didn't know what to make of that, either.

Hermione had learned to be more careful since then. She was meticulous with notice-me-not charms, hoods, and sometimes even charming the color of her hair. And for the most part, it was working. Yes, even Hermione Granger could successfully work as an "auror grunt" to use Malfoy's terminology.

Malfoy's words needled her in an infuriating way only Malfoy could manage. It wasn't just the arrogance and smug superiority she had always associated with him; it was how he had seen through her facade and cut right to the heart of her frustration and insecurity. And the worst part was that she took his words to heart.

She may—possibly, slightly—have been avoiding the reality of her situation.

Hermione poured so much of herself into her career, driven by the belief that she could make a difference—make the world a better place for Muggleborns, House Elves, Werewolves, and anyone who couldn't fight for themselves.

And yet, here she was, walking through the countryside to address an "unidentified magical noise" complaint along this gods-forsaken road.

Malfoy's words echoed in her mind: The Ministry isn't going to change just because you want it to. You need to learn how to pick your battles. She had bristled when he said it, but now, as she continued down the path, she couldn't help but acknowledge that part of Malfoy—the tiniest, most imperceptible part, of course—was correct.

Just thinking it made her want to puke.

But, also, what did Malfoy know? What did he do except count his galleons and collect rare potion ingredients?

Giving up wasn't in Hermione's nature. If anything, this setback had only strengthened her resolve. Joseph's pack and the Goodwins should have at least one person on the inside of the government entirely on their side. She would do her job as a junior Auror to the best of her ability, not because it was what she wanted, but because it was what she needed to do to keep her sanity as the investigations into the Night of Terror continued.

Hermione reflected on Malfoy's final advice about using the press, her influence, and connections to make a difference. Over the last nine-plus years, Hermione had avoided the media unless required for her work at the Ministry. No interviews, no personal statements, no extra commentary. She wasn't sure whether she could overcome her Skeeter-induced aversion to voluntary media. But if she just reframed her perspective … it could be an untapped resource. If Malfoy can get attention from two paragraphs in The Prophet, what could she do?

It was ironic that it had taken Draco Malfoy, of all people, to remind her of her unique position in the magical world. Her reach extended far beyond the title of her employment, and she could find ways to use that influence, even if it meant playing the game more strategically.

The work of a junior auror, however, required little strategic thinking.

Hermione's wand spun in her hand, indicating that she had reached her destination—above her, perched on a high branch of the tall oak tree, was a very disgruntled kneazle, its bright white fur bristling in the sunlight.

It made a noise—somewhere between a yowl and a shriek.

She sighed. No wonder there was a noise complaint. One could probably hear that sound in France.

"Really?" she muttered to herself. "A kneazle stuck in a tree?"

The kneazle gave a plaintive mewl, swishing its tail as it stared down at her with wide, accusing eyes. It was unimpressed with the situation, much like Hermione herself.

"Do you want just to come down?" Hermione tried, gesturing at the creature, who was looking at her in perfect awareness.

It licked a paw, then returned to staring.

"I know you understand what I'm saying," Hermione said, crossing her arms.

"Meow."

"There's no need for that attitude. I'm trying to help here."

Hermione was suddenly struck on the head. She squealed and looked at the offending object—a pinecone.

"This isn't even a pine tree!"

"Meow."

Hermione leveled the kneazle with her most scolding stare, which had made Harry and Ron cower countless times over the years.

"Alright, just brace yourself then."

Hermione cast a gentle Levitation Charm, lifting the kneazle from its precarious position. The creature hissed in protest, flailing its limbs, clearly not appreciating the magical assistance. Hermione lowered it to the ground, where it promptly scampered off without so much as a thank you, kicking dust up at her in its wake.

"Glad I could help," Hermione said, brushing a leaf off her shoulder as she watched the kneazle disappear into the underbrush.

Now, perhaps for that lemonade.

Three Days Later—
Thursday, June 21, 2007
Horizont Alley

Hermione and the former trainee Galway—himself now a freshly minted junior Auror—were barely two steps into their joint shift in Horizont Alley when chaos erupted around them.

At least a dozen nifflers were darting between the legs of startled shoppers, their tiny paws full of pilfered coins, jewelry, and anything else that sparkled.

"Merlin!" Galway exclaimed, his eyes wide with panic as he watched one enterprising niffler snatch a pair of gold-rimmed spectacles from a witch's nose. "What do we do?"

Hermione sighed. "We round them up, Galway. You take the left side of the street; I'll take the right. A mild stunner will put them out—I've dealt with this before in Magical Creatures. Try to empty their pouches before putting them away. And Godric, stop looking like you're about to faint."

They split up, wands at the ready, dodging pedestrians as they tried to corral the nifflers. Hermione managed to capture two within a few minutes, but not before being interrupted by a particularly persistent young wizard who shoved a copy of The Daily Prophet under her nose.

The headline HERMIONE GRANGER JOINS DMLE IN DISGRACE flashed at her.

"Could you sign this, please? It's for my mum—she's a huge fan!"

Well, she supposed the news was well and truly out, then. Hermione wondered how this would affect her reputation—and who had taken up Rita Skeeter's mantle. She made a mental note to inspect that day's Prophet later that evening when she returned to Grimmauld Place.

Hermione barely paused at the wizard's words but knew denying the request would delay her. She scribbled her name with a quick flick of her wand before returning to the task. "I'm a bit busy right now!"

The boy looked down at the signature, beaming. "Thanks! Mum's going to be thrilled!"

Hermione nodded curtly, her attention already back on the nifflers. Meanwhile, Galway had somehow managed to trip over his feet, sending a cascade of enchanted chocolates tumbling from a nearby display. Hermione winced and shot a Stunning Spell at another niffler attempting to escape into an apothecary.

"Got you!" she muttered triumphantly, levitating the creature into the air and into a conjured cage. "Galway, over here!"

As they worked together to secure the last of the nifflers, Hermione stopped for two more autographs and narrowly avoided a collision with a wizard on a broomstick who shouted his thanks for her role in the war. She and Galway were breathless and sweaty by the time they were done.

Two Days Later—
Saturday, June 23, 2007
Outside the English National Quidditch Stadium, Undisclosed Location

"That portkey was completely illegal, Ronald Weasley," Hermione snapped, fixing her too-long hair, which was ruffled from the disorienting magical travel. She really should consider cutting it soon, she thought. Braiding hip-length hair each day for her Auror shifts was becoming a hassle. She squinted around the field, vaguely familiar to her from years ago, and then turned back to Ron, George, and Luna, who had all gathered to attend the trials for the English National Team for the summer's European Championships.

"It came from the Office of Transportation! Just maybe it wasn't filed properly. …" Ron replied, avoiding her eyes.

"As if I need more trouble at the Ministry," Hermione moaned, adjusting her beaded bag and smoothing the creases of her Muggle sundress.

"Come on, it's impossible to apparate here. Don't you want to see Ginny's tryout?" Ron whined.

"I thought it was a lovely portkey," Luna said, looking pristine. Hermione glared. "Much smoother than previous ones I've taken. Did you notice that we traveled following the formation of a stellate octahedron? Luckily, we are a group of four; otherwise, we may have gotten off-balance."

"See, Mione? A scrumptious octo-whatever! It was lovely. Good job, Ronnie-kins," George declared, clapping his hands together. "Now, where's the stadium?"

"The magical concealment barrier is over there, I think," Hermione pointed to an unusually straight patch of goldenrod in the distance.

As they approached, she could feel the familiar tingle of magic, the sensation of a protective barrier shimmering against her skin like a cool breeze. The moment they crossed through it, the landscape shifted, revealing the sprawling Quidditch stadium in all its glory.

The stadium was buzzing with energy. Witches and wizards, some wearing the bright red-and-white colors of the English team, were filing toward the entrance, chatting excitedly about the trials. Hermione glanced up, shielding her eyes from the bright summer sun, and saw the stands looming above them, packed with spectators. It felt strange, almost surreal, to be here. Not too long ago, Ginny had been flying around Hogwarts' pitch, and now she was on the cusp of joining the English National Team.

"Looks like quite the turnout," Ron said, scanning the crowd. "Good thing we got here when we did."

"Illegally," Hermione muttered, but she couldn't help but see the small smile tugging at the corner of her lips at Ron's exasperated look. "Alright! I won't mention it again."

They walked through the crowd and entered the stadium, weaving through the excited fans. Chatter and laughter filled the air, and the familiar scent of freshly cut grass and broom polish wafted over them. As they climbed the steps up into the stands, Hermione felt a rush of dread, a flutter in her stomach that reminded her of the many Quidditch matches she had attended back at Hogwarts. She did not like heights. Why did Quidditch need to be played a hundred meters in the air? Surely fifty would suffice?

"There she is!" George exclaimed, pointing down at the pitch.

Ginny was already on her broom, darting across the field with the other hopefuls warming up for their trials. Her hair, tied at the apex of her skull, streamed out behind her like a shooting star as she cut through the air, her broom gliding effortlessly beneath her. Hermione couldn't help but feel a swell of pride. Ginny looked strong, confident, and entirely in her element.

Ron called out Ginny's name as they took their seats in the front row of one of the middle stands.

Ginny spotted them from below and grinned. She flew up to their section in a heartbeat, hovering on her broom just in front of them.

"Thanks for coming!" Ginny beamed, her cheeks flushed from the wind and excitement. "I wasn't sure if you'd make it."

"Wouldn't miss it," Ron said proudly, leaning over the railing. "Just make sure you don't pinch your turns."

"I do not pinch my turns!"

"Looked a little pinchy just there."

"You need to have your eyes checked, Ron!"

"We all know it's already in the bag," George said with a wink. "Just sign something for us before you're too famous."

Ginny laughed, but its breathiness belied her nervousness. She brushed a few stray hairs from her face. "I promise. Anyway, I've got to get back up there. They'll start in a minute."

Hermione smiled at her. "Good luck, Ginny."

"Any nargles, Luna?" Ginny asked, turning her head in either direction to give Luna a good view.

"You're all clear," the blonde replied, "I have a homing beacon in my pocket, so they'll avoid you." She pulled out a wad of what looked to be marshmallow fluff and sliced ham from her pocket.

Hermione made a face, but Ginny gave her a thumbs up before turning her broom in a tight loop and speeding back toward the pitch, joining the other players.

As the trials began, the atmosphere in the stadium intensified. The crowd roared as each player took turns performing complex maneuvers and demonstrating skill. Hermione found herself on the edge of her seat, her heart pounding as she watched Ginny zoom across the pitch, narrowly dodging Bludgers and scoring goal after goal. Her movements were sharp, graceful, and precise—a true professional.

"She's amazing!" Ron shouted over the noise, practically bouncing in his seat.

Hermione couldn't help but agree. There was no doubt in her mind that Ginny was the best chaser on the pitch.

People liked to assume that Hermione was willfully ignorant of Quidditch matters, but having been forced into the company of fanatics—and having dated several Quidditch players—Hermione knew her way around the sport. She could spot a star when she saw one.

Midway through, the trials turned to testing out Beaters, and though Ron and George remained engrossed in every move on the pitch, Hermione and Luna allowed their attention to wander.

"When do you leave for Tasmania?" Hermione inquired as a stocky competitor heaved his bat, completely missing the blunger and falling from his broom. The crowd burst into laughter.

"Next week," Luna replied. "We need to wait for my menses to pass. I've been collecting my blood for months."

"Oh." Hermione blinked. "Why?"

"The red tricorn is attracted to menstrual blood. It's written on the Palette of Japingka." Luna's dreamy voice was almost drowned out by screams of terror on the opposite side of the stadium as one of the beaters hit a bludger directly into the stands.

"Is that some sort of historical document?" asked Hermione. It was rare for Luna to mention tangible evidence of her quests.

"Oh yes. It's a limestone tablet that, when soaked with menstrual blood, reveals a map to the ancient home of the tricorn."

"Has it been documented?"

Luna looked at her oddly. "The Palette of Japingka can only be accessed at twilight after the green moon."

"… Green moon?"

"The last green moon was three hundred years ago."

"And … the next one?"

"You can't predict the green moon, Hermione."

"Of course, Luna."

Four hours later—
The Leaky Cauldron

"Everyone!" George's voice rang out through the crowded pub. "Let's have a cheer for the newest member of England's National Quidditch Team—my sister GINNY WEASLEY!"

Even the most grumpy of the Leaky Cauldron's patrons that evening mustered the energy to applaud as the space burst into raucous noise. George and Ron led the charge, lifting Ginny, still clad in her practice kit, on their shoulders.

She looked gloriously flushed and beaming, and for a moment, Hermione thought she was back in the Gryffindor Common Room after they had won the Quidditch Cup. But that got her thinking about Fred and Colin and the dark events that followed. Such maudlin thoughts were not welcome in a space and atmosphere like this. Hermione took a long sip of her drink.

Ginny was lowered delicately to the floor—"My body is currently promised for service to England! Be careful!"—and provided with a series of increasingly frightening shots at the bar by Seamus.

Upon their arrival, Ron sent a series of frantic terrier patronus charms, calling everyone he had ever met to the Leaky for a celebration. Hermione confiscated his wand when he asked whether to send one to Romilda Vane ("She was a Gryffindor! That's all I meant!"). It seemed that this Saturday evening, everyone was looking for something to celebrate because Seamus, Dean, Lavender, Parvati, some of Ginny's younger Hogwarts friends, a few members of Ron's former Auror squad, and Dennis Creevey—carrying his brother's old camera—walked into the pub within minutes.

Soon after, Lee Jordan sauntered in with what appeared to be every patron shopping inside Weasley's Wizard Wheezes at closing time. And—Hermione had to blink several times to ensure she was seeing correctly—Theodore Nott.

The dark-haired Slytherin wore eye-catching cobalt blue robes and trailed closely behind Lee. When they arrived at the bar, Lee greeted George, who patted him on the back and then shook Nott's—Theo's, Hermione supposed, if they were still on a first-name basis—hand.

What was that about?

"Hermione!" Someone called from across the room at the opposite end of the bar where Theo and George had congregated. Hermione stood on her toes to see a familiar dark-headed witch waving at her. She smiled and shoved her way through the crowd.

"Padma," Hermione greeted when she reached her, and the two witches hugged.

"How are you?" Padma inquired. She looked a bit tired, with some darkness under her eyes.

"Alright," Hermione replied. "How are you doing? How's the hospital?"

"A disaster," Padma declared. She took a large swig of her drink before continuing. "A popular mail-order potions company contaminated their basic headache cure with billywig venom. All week, dozens of people walking in, vomiting all over the lobby, and then turning blue on their way to the treatment rooms."

"Oh, no."

"Oh, yes. I wish I hadn't joined the poisonings department," Padma sighed. "Not really, but … just for this week. How's the Ministry? I don't think we've had the chance to properly talk since you got Deputy Head."

Hermione blanched, eyes wide, drained the rest of her glass, and rested it on the bar top. She was thankful that she was able to get Harry into the hospital secretly on May 2. The vow of privacy that all healers took was not binding, but it seemed that the Dangerous Bites department had some discretion if Padma, a healer on the next floor, hadn't learned that Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley were all holed up in a treatment room.

"What is it?"

"I suppose you're not up-to-date with The Prophet."

"Not really. I know about the werewolf issues, but … to be honest, I hardly read the papers nowadays. If it's not happening on the third floor of Mungo's, I'm at a loss."

"I'm on leave from Magical Creatures," Hermione admitted with a bitter tilt to her mouth. "Made some mistakes dealing with the fallout from the last full moon attacks, and now … well, I'm off for the summer and helping the DMLE as an Auror."

Padma blinked. She turned to the bar. "Hannah! I need two whiskeys here. Urgently."

The blonde Hufflepuff, poring out liquor like water to the eager customers, nodded and sent down two amber-filled glasses toward them.

Padma took one, handed the other to Hermione, and said, "Cheers." They drank.

"I'm sorry to hear that Hermione. Although, I'm sure the DMLE is happy to have you?"

"It's fine. I have been patrolling things, catching loose nifflers. I saved a kneazle from a tree," Hermione offered, lifting her glass in a false salute.

"Well," Padma turned to Hermione more fully. "If you want a more permanent career change, you can apply to Mungo's. Merlin knows you're more competent than some of the trainees we're getting. You were so helpful when I was studying for the entrance exam back at Hogwarts after the war; I'm sure you'd pass if you took it right now."

Hermione pierced Padma with a skeptical look. Not even her brain retained that much information for eight-plus years. "Please, Padma. I'd need a few days to revise, at least."

Padma burst into laughter, and Hermione couldn't help but join in. It felt good to laugh at her pathetic situation.

"I hope to return to Deputy Head when my leave is over. But who knows what can happen," Hermione shrugged, then sighed. Her following words came out in a whine, "Three months is such a long time." It felt good to let out some of her frustration with Padma, one of her few friends who explicitly appreciated logic, study, and hard work.

"Oh!" Padma exclaimed as if she had realized something. "I bet Harry is happy to have you in the Aurors."

"Yes," replied Hermione, somewhat hesitant. "He just … likes to keep me out of danger. It's been boring, if I'm being honest."

"Where is Harry?" Padma inquired, looking around the Leaky.

"The DMLE investigation into the werewolf attacks is taking up all his time. Every day, night—weekend, like today."

"Wow … well, Harry will figure it out, I'm sure."

Hermione nodded and sipped her drink. She was still annoyed about being kept off the case. Harry had informed her that the investigation was at a standstill, which did not inspire confidence.

Suddenly, a strong arm wrapped around Hermione's shoulders and squeezed before releasing her. She turned to find Theo's striking blue eyes gazing at her.

"Hermione, my incandescent forest nymph, how are you doing? It's been ages."

"Oh," Hermione blinked up at him. She was briefly mesmerized by a dark curl over his forehead. Theo was quite handsome, though she didn't know what to do with that information. "Hi … Theo. I'm alright, how are you?"

"Brilliant," Theo declared, smiling and raising the huge glass of whiskey in his hand. "Never better." He looked over at Padma expectantly. When no one else spoke, he reached out his hand. "Theodore Nott."

Padma gaped for a moment before shaking his hand. "Er—"

"Of course I know you, Padma Patil—hey, look! We have our NEWT class's first, second, and fourth ranks all together! We need Draco and Finchy to fill out the top five roster."

Padma smiled, clearly surprised that Theo remembered her name and academic ranking.

"What are you up to, Padma?" Theo inquired, conjuring a velvet-upholstered barstool with baroque gilt filigree and perching next to them.

"I—" Padma paused to stare at the stool and Theo's long legs. It was an impressive bit of transfiguration. "I'm a healer at St. Mungo's. I specialize in poisons and basic infectious disease."

"Amazing," Theo replied, smiling. "I have to say I feel a lot better knowing you'll be on the case if someone tries to covertly off me."

"Is that a distinct possibility?" Padma asked, brows furrowed.

"Well, Death Eater spawn, rich landowning Lord, generally annoying to everyone I meet—you never know."

Hermione stared at Theo, open-mouthed. Padma beside her burst into laughter.

"Here." Padma reached into the pocket of her robe, pulling out a small piece of thick cardstock. "My card. Contact the Poisonings Department if you feel woozy at breakfast."

Theo grinned happily as he took the business card. "Perfect! Oh, let's trade. I have a special card for you." He opened the lapel of his robe and tucked Padma's card inside, fiddling for a moment before pulling out a small metal card.

"Guest pass to the Dueling Arena?" Padma read out.

Hermione's mind started whirling. Her eyes darted back and forth between Theo and Padma.

"It's a private, invitation-only, semi-secret dueling club. On your first visit, you will need to sign a privacy contract," Theo explained, and Hermione stared at him like he had three heads. "A place to have fun and do magic safely—if that interests you."

Padma looked thoughtful before she asked, "Can I blow things up?"

Theo grinned broadly. "I knew I liked you, Padma. Dummies for your personal eviscerating and disembowelment are provided."

"Wait," Hermione cut in. She blinked. She tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear. And then she said, "Are you involved with George and Angelina's club?"

"They didn't tell you?" Theo's grin dropped slightly. "I'm co-founder, facility designer, and currently membership card producer." He gestured at the metal card in Padma's hands. "The typeface was my choice. I like the minimalism"—he winked at Hermione—"of a sans serif, but I find a serif font more elegant."

"You—" Hermione faltered. "What?"

"I'll check it out," Padma told Theo. "Thanks."

"We're not officially open yet, but we are mostly set up—previews and all that. I hope you'll consider a membership," Theo replied before turning to Hermione. "I made your membership card, Hermione. George should give it to you soon."

"George …" Hermione trailed off, looking vaguely into the crowd. Theodore Nott and George Weasley. Draco Malfoy's best friend and George Weasley. George and Angelina and Theo in the same room.

"PADMA!" a high-pitched voice rang out from across the pub.

"That's Parvati." Padma glanced between Hermione and Theo. "I'll talk to you later, Hermione. Let me know what happens with the DMLE. Nice to meet you again, Nott."

"Theo, please."

"Theo," Padma nodded, and then she walked away, leaving Hermione standing at the far end of the Leaky Cauldron holding a glass of whiskey with Theodore Nott perched like an owl on a stool before her.

"Are you alright?" Theo inquired, squinting into Hermione's face. "Is this the brilliant Granger mind at work? You look vaguely ill."

"When—how—" Hermione shook her head. "You and George and Angelina?"

"And Ernie MacMillan and Oliver Wood," Theo finished.

"How did that happen?"

"I am a fan of Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes," Theo said after sipping his whiskey. "I frequented their shop and got to talking with George. I consulted on a few products—not to brag, but I am fairly good at transfiguration—and talk turned to more talking. … The rest is history."

"But …" Hermione tried to wrap her mind around everything Theo said. "Ron works at the joke shop."

"Weasley tolerates my rare presence," Theo shrugged. "Not on a first-name basis—yet. He's not a partner in the DA, and it's all been pretty secret until this month. Things are coming together. You should come by. Draco even told me it was 'very nice.'"

Hermione had a red-headed former best friend to confront, she rather thought, but set that plan aside for another time. She had built up the dueling club to be a revitalization of the DA crowd, but she now had to revise her entire worldview of the place to encompass, at the very least, Theodore Nott and Draco Malfoy. It did not compute.

"So," Theo pressed, "you'll come by?"

Hermione nodded. "I was going to anyway."

"But now I've asked you personally, which means you're obligated to follow through lest you cause me irrevocable harm." Theo leaned in toward Hermione and placed a hand underneath his chin, opening his eyes wide so that all the whites showed. "Do you want to wound me?"

"Oh, shush," Hermione scolded. Theodore Nott had an overwhelming presence. "We've only had two conversations, as far as I know. How could I wound you?"

"I'm very sensitive," Theo countered, pouting. "And I hold you in great esteem. You've been to my home. We shared a nice moment—oh, it's too late. I'm already wounded." He held a fist into his chest and sloshed his glass to the side.

"Merlin," Hermione muttered, reaching to ease his outstretched arm. "Are you drunk?"

"Usually."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "Alright, I shall visit the club at your personal request and for no other reason. Happy?"

"Yes," Theo answered. "Delighted! I can't wait."

Hermione sipped her drink to conceal her desire to laugh at the absurdity of this entire situation.

"Get Padma to come, too. I like her," Theo urged, glancing briefly in the direction that Padma had left.

"She likes you, too, I think," Hermione marveled. She wondered if Padma was interested—but no. Surely not? Padma dating Theo?

"Not like that, Hermione." Theo shook his head. "I'm gay. I just like her energy."

"Oh."

"Very gay," Theo repeated. "Incurable, so they say. My father tried to beat it out of me, but," he hiccuped, and Hermione began to realize just how drunk the man was, "didn't work."

"Oh."

"Too personal?" Theo queried. "Too personal. Apologies. Draco always tells me I'm 'a nosy wanker' and have 'no boundaries' and 'get out or I'll hex you and your bloodline.'"

"Sounds like him," Hermione muttered. "Some friend."

"The best," Theo nodded as if Hermione had just complimented Malfoy and not questioned his capacity for true friendship.

"Where's yours?"

"What?"

"Your best friend. Aren't you usually with Potter?"

"Not today," Hermione responded. "Harry is working."

"Ah, our tireless hero. Sacrificing sanity and Saturdays for the greater good."

"I think it was just paperwork."

Theo frowned. "Not as sexy."

Before Hermione could contemplate "Harry" and "sexy" under the same umbrella, Theo pressed on.

"Now," he announced, clapping his free hand against his cobalt-clad knee and then pointing at her. "Auror?"

Hermione quirked her head. "Yes?" She supposed everyone knew now. Or perhaps Malfoy had told him. She felt an uncomfortable little flutter in her stomach at the thought of Malfoy discussing her with other people.

"How is that?"

"It's … work."

Theo raised one of his prominent eyebrows at her. "Not fulfilling enough for you?"

"That's not what I said." Hermione felt bewildered. Was she going to have a career conversation with Nott—Theo? Did he genuinely hold her in great esteem, or was this all a ruse to wrangle information out of her to do … something? Something nefarious, probably. She had already made assumptions about him and found herself wrong, though. It was all so confusing.

He leaned toward her. "Have you revolutionized the department yet? Streamlined operations? Solved twelve cold cases? Found thousands of extra galleons in the yearly budget?"

Hermione scoffed. "I couldn't revolutionize things as Deputy Head of my department. I don't see how I could do that in one I'm temporarily visiting as a junior Auror. Besides, it's only been two and a half weeks."

"Running behind schedule, then?" Theo smirked.

"I'm just helping out," Hermione said, rolling her eyes. "I'm not there in a managerial capacity."

"And? Since when has that stopped you?" Theo gave her a cheeky grin.

Hermione glared, though not meanly. "You don't know me well enough to say that."

"Yet," Theo added firmly. "I don't know you well enough yet. I'd like to, though."

Hermione looked into Theo's crystal blue eyes and found nothing in them but sincerity. "Alright."

The rush of flames sounded out from a short distance away. It was not out of the ordinary, since many patrons had flooed in while they were speaking. What caught Hermione's attention were the hushed whispers and then the succession of shouts.

"Harry!"

"Harry is here!"

"Oi, Potter! Get over here!" George's voice, the loudest, carried over to the mantle, where Harry was dusting soot off his red Auror's robe. Her friend glanced up, waved awkwardly at the awestruck pubgoers around him, and walked over to where George and Ron held court at the opposite end of the bar.

Hermione looked back at Theo, who followed Harry's movements before glancing at her. "Not going to greet him?"

She shrugged, "I saw him at breakfast."

"You—" It seemed Theo's turn to falter. His eyes were wide. Hermione looked at him, confused. "You live together?"

"Shoot," Hermione mumbled, setting her glass on the bar top. She had too much. "Yes—please don't tell anyone. If this gets into Witch Weekly … I don't want to move again."

"Relax, Hermione, I'm not a gossip," Theo assured her, but she did not feel assured considering the gossip they had engaged in that evening. "Hermione Granger and Harry Potter … is it a love story?"

Hermione made a face, horrified at the conclusion Theo had jumped to. "No! Oh, Merlin—no. He's my brother. We—the thought of that, just … friends. We are friends—family."

Theo gave her a look that she was too wired to try and interpret, then nodded.

Suddenly, George started banging loudly on the bartop, causing the patrons around them to hush. He yelled, "Attention, please! The Chosen One and Savior of the Magical World has something to say! And I only have the one ear, so shut it!"

Short as she was, Hermione did not have the best view and needed to stand on her toes to make out Harry's face. He was flushed, looking at George like a toddler, but eventually hopped up on a nearby chair, and then no one had to strain to see him.

"In honor of Ginny—the next round's on me!"

The entire pub roared with cheers, catcalls, and applause. Then, Ginny appeared from the crowd and jumped onto Harry's makeshift stool, almost toppling them. Luckily, she wrapped her arms around his neck, and he stabilized them. She said something in his ear, and he smiled. Then, they stepped down to the ground.

"Well, that should make Witch Weekly, don't you think?" Theo said, and Hermione had to agree. She wondered if there were any cameras around besides Dennis'.

"I'm off, Hermione," Theo announced without waiting for her to vocalize a reply. He stood, placed his empty glass on the bar, and vanished his conjured stool. "Good luck revolutionizing the DMLE."

"I'm not—"

"Try not to get anyone fired when you begin weeding out the corruption," he continued, unfazed, patting her shoulder. "You have too many enemies as it is."

"What does that—"

"Auror Granger, I salute you," Theo said, standing straight and touching a finger to his brow. "Thank you for your service." He turned away.

"… Bye, then," Hermione replied, voice full of exasperation. Theo had vanished as quickly as he had appeared. She shook her head, wondering if Theodore Nott might be a strange hallucination. With George Weasley in the room, a daydream charm was always possible.

Three Days Later—
Tuesday, June 26, 2007
Dovershire

The countryside was peaceful and serene even as Hermione and Galway hiked through from the apparition point. Hermione had never been interested in living in such a remote part of the country, but she understood how tempting the beauty could be with the way the light reflected off the grassy fields. The sparse houses were very far apart—and Hermione suddenly became concerned at how loud the sound must have been for someone to file a noise complaint with the DMLE.

As she followed the guidance of her wand, Hermione let her mind wander to the busy week behind her.

It turned out that there had been a camera inside the Leaky Cauldron that night. Monday morning's issue of Witch Weekly had Ginny and Harry embracing on its front cover, the crowd surrounding them like a tide of awestruck, delighted faces. Hermione had tried talking to Harry about the whole situation, but he dismissed her. "I'm happy for her—I just wanted to do something nice. Nothing's changed."

Hermione was skeptical. Something was off with Harry, but she wasn't sure whether it was personal or just having to do with the intensity of pressure on the Auror squad to solve the Night of Terror case, the still-unresolved cases of wayward rune stones, or something else.

Hermione and Galway approached the modest, ivy-covered cottage her wand indicated was their destination. It was a picturesque lodging on a large plot of land surrounded by tall trees. But the tranquility of its setting ended the moment Hermione walked up and knocked on the door.

A roar shook the ground, and the door was flung open by a wild-eyed wizard with singed eyebrows. "What do you want?" he snarled, his wand already drawn.

"Sir, we've received complaints about—" Hermione began, but she was cut off as a burst of flame shot from the fireplace inside, narrowly missing her and singeing the bottom of her braid.

She frantically snuffed out the sparks in her hair and then glanced at Galway, whose eyes were as wide as saucers. "Stay behind me," she instructed, pushing him back as she advanced into the cottage, pushing the harried wizard aside.

"No! Get out!"

The situation was even worse than she'd imagined. A small firedrake, no larger than a fox, was nestled in the hearth, its scales glowing with heat as it belched another plume of fire. The wizard rushed from the doorway to shield the creature.

"Smoky is mine!"

"Sir," Hermione began, tone carefully neutral, "Firedrakes are class X beasts inappropriate for domestic habitation. You are putting your home in danger—"

"He's mine!" The wizard snarled before sending a stunning spell at Hermione's head.

She dodged it easily, her instincts kicking in as she returned fire with a Disarming Charm. The wizard blocked it, and the two exchanged a rapid series of jinxes and counter-jinxes, darting around the cramped living room as the firedrake hissed and crackled in the background.

Watching from the doorway, Galway finally worked up the courage to join in. Unfortunately, his first attempt at a stunner ricocheted off a nearby mirror, stunning himself instead. He collapsed in a heap, his wand clattering to the floor.

Hermione barely spared him a glance, her focus entirely on the duel. It had been far too long since she'd been in a proper fight, and she found herself enjoying the rush, the way her reflexes came alive as she parried and dodged the wizard's attacks.

But when he attempted a darker curse that sent a shiver down her spine, she decided that now was not the time for recreation spell casting. She cast a Full Body-Bind Curse with a quick, precise movement, freezing the wizard in place. He toppled over, his wand slipping from his grasp as Hermione quickly bound him with ropes.

She stood there momentarily, catching her breath as the adrenaline slowly ebbed away. The firedrake, now deprived of its protector, seemed to calm down, curling up in the fireplace with a contented purr.

Three Hours Later—
Number Twelve Grimmauld Place

Hermione slumped face-down on her bedspread, not even bothering to remove her dusty workbooks as she sighed into the fabric.

Harry had been furious that she and Galway got into a physical altercation big enough to require an injury report. (Galway had bruised his forehead when he fell.) It had been a bit unnerving for Hermione to be scolded by her roommate and best friend. For the first time, she questioned whether this stint in the DMLE was appropriate.

Would she and Harry survive this change in their relationship? Should she … find her own place? She did not want to do that.

Crookshanks and Kreacher would be devastated at their separation.

No, Hermione would rather take an extended vacation and leave the DMLE entirely than move out of Grimmauld Place. Though she and Harry did not see each other all the time, sometimes even going a day or two without a conversation due to their differing schedules, it comforted her to know that he was there, that she came home to a house with life inside it other than herself.

It had been exhilarating to duel that wizard, poor caster though he was. Hermione had everything under control, and if she had perhaps let the duel go one for a minute or two too long, well … Galway wasn't conscious to witness it.

With a sigh, Hermione rolled over onto her back and sat up. She was tired and frustrated. It had been an emotional and challenging few weeks, and she wanted … her mum, she thought sadly.

Though Hermione was able to restore her parents' memories almost immediately after Voldemort's defeat, Hermione's relationship with her parents was still a bit strained, even years later. They loved and forgave her, but it was not the same. During school, Hermione had written to her parents at least once per week, often more. She called them on her Muggle cell phone several times a month. They were happy in Australia—away from Hermione and the magical world.

But her mum would know what to say about this, she thought. Her parents had changed careers a couple of times before becoming dentists. A few words of encouragement or some wonderfully distracting news of their life in Sydney could help Hermione figure out her troubles.

She rummaged in her bag for her Muggle cellphone and apparated to the front stoop of Grimmauld Place. Then, she walked several minutes away into the green park across the road from the magical house. There were too many wards and spell energy around Grimmauld for the Muggle technology to work, which Hermione regretted. If only there were a way to protect the phone's mechanism from magic without damaging the circuits. Hermione had often considered it, though she never had time to explore it thoroughly.

Hermione found a secluded bench under the shade of an oak tree and sat down, her legs feeling heavier than they should. She pulled out her phone from her pocket, flipping it open with a snap.

As the phone finally came to life, Hermione noticed a flood of notifications—twelve unread messages. Her heart skipped a beat. It was unusual for her to receive this many messages in such a short span, and a sense of dread crept up her spine. The sender was Philip Goodwin.

Alarm bells rang in her mind as she quickly dialed his number, bypassing the messages. The phone rang only once before Philip picked up.

"Hermione?" His voice was shaky, a mixture of fear and frustration.

"Philip, what's going on?" Hermione asked, her voice calm but laced with concern.

There was a brief silence before he responded. "I—I can't stay here anymore. The full moon is in a few days, and I need to leave. I don't know where to go."

Hermione's grip tightened on the phone. She could hear his voice's desperation, which broke her heart. "Philip, you're only sixteen. I can't just take you away from your parents. Have you been taking the Wolfsbane?"

"Yeah, Mum and I have been, but Dad still refuses," Philip said, his voice trembling with frustration. "We had another fight today. He got so angry when I tried to convince him to take it. Hermione, I can't stay here if he's going to keep transforming without it. He's too violent. Even if I take the potion, he… he doesn't care! His wolf is hurting us."

Hermione closed her eyes, taking a deep breath. "Philip, I know it's hard. But running away isn't the answer. Have you tried contacting Priscilla? She's supposed to be helping while I'm—"

"No one's answering me!" Philip cut her off, his voice rising in anger. "No one cares, Hermione! I didn't ask for this to happen to us!"

"Philip, please—" Hermione began, trying to calm him down.

"Forget it!" he snapped, and the line went dead before she could say another word.

Hermione stared at the phone in her hand, her heart heavy with frustration and sadness. She cursed under her breath and snapped the phone shut, the sound echoing in the quiet park. For a moment, she sat there, feeling utterly helpless. But she couldn't afford to dwell on it. She had to do something.

Hermione stood up and began walking back toward Grimmauld Place. She needed to write to Octavia. If they wouldn't allow her to intervene directly, she would ensure that someone did.

Up Next: Neville Longbottom visits Malfoy Manor, and Draco visits Teddy.