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The Daily Prophet

A New Golden Trio? Hermione Granger Upgrading from Boys to Men? Or War Heros to Death-Eaters?

By Reeta Skeeter

***

The title and its implications sent a blush from the tip of Hermione’s crown to the bottom of her heels. The so-called “salacious” snapshot featured Hermione snuggled between Theo and Draco.

Theo had one eye open, chin on her shoulder. His right hand raised to flip off the cameras, left hand clasped in hers.

Hermione was tipped so far into Draco’s chest she practically lay on top of him, and Theo atop them.

Draco was propped in the corner, one knee raised, one long, lounging even on the floor. His arm roped with hers, fingers knit, his head leaned back exposing that length of bite-able throat.

Hermione peeked again at the headline and groaned to herself. There was no doubt Draco’s father would hear about this. Not to mention his blood-chilling mother and obnoxious “Fiancée.”

They looked as though they’d come down a filthy chimney. They did not look bed-rumbled.

The article continued to debate her history of all male friendships and Hermione resented the implication.

She had many friends. She just happened to do the stupider, and more news-clicking activities, with the men she knew. Which was not to say she and Ginny didn’t get up to stupid things either. They just hadn’t been caught at it.

“Wow, you guys do look sexy.” Ginny snatched the paper, ogling the feature picture. “Has Theo always been that fit?” She bit her lower lip.

“Ginny! You’re practically married!”

Gin raised her hand, wiggled her bare ring finger, and whistled, “I know you muggle-borns like to say ‘don’t put it in crazy’ but Theo. I could fix him. What’s the female equivalent for that?”

“The reason it’s gender-specific is because when women get with crazy they die! And Theo’s not crazy!”

“Sure about that?” Ginny raised an eyebrow, tilting the paper as though she could get a better angle.

“I’m telling Harry on you!”

Ginny grinned, “You think Harry would get a tattoo with me? I was thinking a sleeve?”

“A whole sleeve for your first tattoo?”

Ginny nodded absently. “Theo kinda looks like a bad boy Harry.”

Hermione snatched up the paper and wadded it into a ball before throwing it into the fireplace. “Stop that right now or I’ll tell you about Ron’s kissy face.”

Ginny covered her ears. “Don’t you dare spoil my lady boner!”

“You don’t get to have a lady boner for Theo! He’s family!”

“You had one for Ron! And Harry’s basically your adopted brother!”

“And I kept it out of your ears!”

The two women glared at one another across their toast and steamy cups of tea.

“Fine.” Ginny relented, grinning fiendishly. “If I can’t talk, then spill about Malfoy.”

“Nothing to say.” Hermione stabbed at her over-scrambled egg.

“Something happened. You’ve been holding out on me!”

Hermione lay her head down next to her plate feeling pathetic. “I threw myself at him, twice, and he rejected me.” She held up two fingers.

Ginny scowled. “No way. There is no way. That man was hanging all over you not two days ago! If he could have snaked himself any closer he would have taken the place of one of your ovaries!”

“That’s what I thought!” Hermione shoved her food away.

“Was it good?”

“It—it—“ Hermione huffed. “He had my hair like this! And my face, and—of course it was good! And then he went all Malfoy on me. The man Occluded mid-make out, Gin! Mid-make out!”

Ginny gaped.

“I feel more like I attacked him! He said no in that way that’s like, I’m snogging you back, but no, this might mess up our friendship. Our frienamy-ship? Our working non-relationship? But what was I supposed to think? He keeps holding my hand, and flirting—the flirting, Gin! And he says no, but then he’s rubbing his face into my legs and he won’t stop picking me up and then jumps out a window with me on his school broom to escape his mother!”

“Rewind—wait, his face was where? Wait, he got you on a broom?!”

“And then pretended nothing happened! For days! Days, Ginny. Granted Theo was there, and we had loads of work, and no sleep, and we were all high on Pepperup Potions, contaminated Floo Powder and maybe a bit of black magic.”

“What! What days? When, since, where?”

“I don’t want to see him.” Hermione waved her off. “I’ve been thinking of taking time off work. I need to get him out of my life or he’s going to break my brain!”

“Okay. . . Okay. You need a vacation. We can do a vacation. We don’t even need to plan! Just throw these horrendously dry eggs at a map and have an adventure!”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Of course we need a plan. America. We’ve been talking and not living. We are going to live!” Hermione banged her fists on the table.

Ginny nodded, round-eyed. “I gotta check my schedule.”

Hermione snatched up her purse to head to work. She had a million house calls scheduled today and a House-Elf Union Ball to attend. She’d owled Luna to request the use of a personal item tonight and she’d Floo’d Theo, agreeing to submit their wristwatches and proposal to Threep Friday.

Meanwhile, Hermione intended to take today off time-traveling entirely.

“No take-backs! No work upsets! No changing your mind!” Ginny hollered after Hermione, grinning wildly.

***

Three’s a Crowd!

“How did you end up nested with snakes, Granger?” Atrix sat on the edge of her desk, dangling the Daily Prophet before her face.

“Hm? Oh, we were researching cures for the Flue Floo.” Irritably Hermione swatted at the paper and continued down her checklist of Reasonably Accomplishable Goals for the day.

“Tea? Coffee? Matcha Latte?” Atrix continued, sliding each drink into her peripherals.

“Hmm, oh, thank you.” Hermione frowned, tapping her lip with her pen and taking a sip of coffee.

“Well that explains the soot.” Atrix tapped a finger on the paper. “So, no wild threesomes?”

Hermione snorted incredulously and took another sip of matcha. She could reasonably get most of her house calls finished if she could just limit them to ten minutes per visit.

She took another sip of tea.

She’d check mark those whose situations needed extra attention and revisit their cases next week. Most of them were simply notices or legal paperwork transferalls in need of a signature.

She took another sip of coffee. A distant part of her mind surprised by the changing flavors.

“Well, my dear, it looks like you’re in need of an assistant.”

“Hmm? Oh yes, an intern could be useful.” She took another sip of tea.

She could wrap up work before she left, and head to the House-Elf-Union-Ball directly from Ipswich? Or West Yorkshire? Only then did Hermione realize, she didn’t know where the House-Elf Union was.

“Merlin, Atrix, this week has gotten away from me. I’m usually not this flighty. You wouldn’t know where the House-Elf Unions are held, would you?”

“Matter of fact, I stepped in to bring you your invitation. Complements of someone named, Pow?”

Hermione sagged in relief. “Thank Godric.”

Atrix handed over a scroll, complete with a golden wax seal.

“Thanks for the coffee, Atrix. See you tomorrow!” She needed to stick with the schedule and get going.

Snatching up her file of forms, help pamphlets, and some extra pens, she took a steadying sip of matcha.

Hermione frowned and blinked down at the cup.

Atrix chuckled, “Coffee, tea, or matcha latte?”

“Don’t tell me you let me spoil all three?”

“Nothing spoiled. Not the latte I take it.” He plucked the cup from her hand and took a sip. Holding out, presumably, the coffee or tea.

Hermione flushed watching him sip from her lid.

“Oh, well, thank you. Coffee yes.”

“I’ll remember.” He smiled, amusement written all over his face. “Have fun tonight. Maybe you’ll be a better investigative journalist than Ms Skeeter.”

***

Three’s Still a Crowd, Malfoy!

Hermione scratched off her last house call with a wrathful dig of her pen, tearing through the paper.

The house call had been fine. The house call had been lovely. She’d gotten her fifty-eighth signature of the day for W.O.O.F.S. (Werewolf Opportunity Outreach for a Fairer Society!)

No. For once, her work had been a delight! It was her shadow that was the problem. Hermione had thought up charms to Dissolution her shadow after a few battles where a silhouette had given someone's position away.

She now wondered just how unethical it would be to dispose of a new—and rather breathing (for now)—shadow named Malfoy. He wasn’t trying to hide. He clipped her heels with his dragon-hide boots.

“Your services aren’t required, Malfoy!”

“A tragedy to hear you say so, Granger. No woman should have to service themselves when I’m offering. But you’ll have to take it up with Potter.” Malfoy yawned and waved a candy notepad above her head. “He’s the one who doesn’t want you left alone. And he’s paying my employers a hefty sum to borrow me. Hm, never thought I’d see the day I’d let Potter buy my body. Alas, all for a good cause.”

Lewd images swam through Hermione’s caffeine-deprived brain. She was used to Theo being a flirt, but Malfoy had always seemed a bit above sluttifying his family name. But she’d been wrong before, twice. So, if Malfoy was hinting at shagging her, he could write her a letter and she’d pencil in a time to consider the request. No, she wouldn’t. There was nothing to pencil in because nothing was happening!

Thou shalt not strangle Malfoy, She chanted silently.

After a deep breath, she clarified. “Harry didn’t want me to be alone. I’m not alone, I’m meeting with Luna.”

“Much as you may think I adore the sound of my own voice, Granger, I don’t love repeating myself. Everyone is half-alone with Looney Luna because she’s only half-present with herself.”

“That almost sounded like her,” Hermione snorted, then remembered to scowl.

“Also,” Malfoy leaned down to her ear, “You’re a terrible little liar, aren’t you, Hermione?”

“Excuse you?”

“At least thirty of those precious signatures you’re clutching to that gorgeous little body are thanks to my charming personality. Admit it. You adore my company.”

“You mean the signatures I collected despite your looming, glowering cloud of doom that’s been raining on me all day? Do you mean to say you’ve been threatening innocent citizens to sign my petitions?”

“I am many terrible, awful, horrible things, darling—but schmoozing is an art form I was taught in the cradle. I didn’t need to torment my face with a frown. I charmed the pants off those grannies with a smile.”

Hermione wrinkled her nose.

“Now, what does Looney-tunes need that could make us late to the House-Elf Union?”

“She’s lending me dancing shoes.”

Malfoy scoffed. “I’ll buy you shoes and we won't be late or Confundo ourselves talking to your lunatic friends.”

“I doubt you could buy me leprechaun shoes in the next ten minutes. Though I’m sure your family has a pair or two stashed away—I don’t care to owe your parents any favors.”

“Fascinating, as always, darling. But why exactly would you need Leprechaun shoes for the Elf Union?”

“So that you can go home and drink tea, or read your books, or do whatever it is you must do when you have enough spare time to follow me around the countryside.”

Malfoy gripped his heart offended. “Are you attempting to get rid of me, darling?”

“Leprechaun shoes keep anyone who may wish me ill from seeing me. And a little luck in the stitches might keep me from stepping on anyone's toes during a dance or two.” Hermione smiled smugly. “So, no, I won’t have any use for a bodyguard.” She turned on him and waved her hand, “Shoo.”

Malfoy caught her fingertips, leaned down with an extravagant bow, and kissed her wrist. “I would never let a lady show up to a ball without a partner, darling. You may be safe from physical harm, but certainly not from social censure.”

Hermione snorted. Insufferable man.

***

They found Luna, wearing her felt-ball sweater, in a West Yorkshire meadow.

“Hello, Hermione! Draco too? Have you come to look for potion ingredients? There are three-hundred-twenty-three plant species in this meadow. But if you are looking for one in particular, I’ll try to remember where I last saw some. I checked up on the stinking hellebore and hoped to catch sight of a few yellowhammer woodpeckers.”

“You came all this way to look at buttercups and dirt birds?”

“I didn’t know you were interested in birdwatching, Draco.” Luna’s smile brightened. “It’s such a pleasant way to pass the time. I’m attempting to attract a rare green Pygmy Puff but I haven’t figured out which meadow it’s most likely to be found in yet.”

“A green puff? What for?” Draco scowled at her pink sweater, and the oddly sized, green felt-balls lumped over it.

“For my book! One-hundred Legendary Magical Creatures and Their True Habitats and Mannerisms. I was hoping it might confuse me with one of its own kind.”

“Have you actually seen this puff?” Malfoy scoffed.

“No. But this meadow has homed many rare species.” Luna smiled fondly at their surroundings. Slopes of wild grass and a river laughing in the woodland beyond. Fall leaves still clung to the trees and fluffy, golden cows grazed across a fence line.

“Then how do you know what color green it is?”

Luna hummed lightly. “You think perhaps I should add more shades to my jumper?”

Malfoy rubbed his forehead and gave Hermione a dark look, as though she’d forced him to converse with Luna.

Hermione cleared her throat. “Could I trouble you for those shoes, Luna?”

Opening a large picnic basket stuffed with herbs and birdseed, Luna withdrew a little box with a golden ribbon.

“Have fun tonight.” Luna blinked up at Malfoy vacantly. “You look lovely in a tux, Draco. Do look out for falling chandeliers.”

***

The Free Elf Union Ball

Malfoy finally unglued from her feet when they both shifted to opposite sides of a crumbly but tall stone fence. Casting a quick Notice-Me-Not charm, Hermione separated her invitation, Leprechaun shoes, purse, wand, and dress safely off her person before dawning the tiara.

A dizzying, shrinking moment later, she once more found herself barefoot and shivering in a Floo-Pow sack.

“Well, bottoms up I suppose,” Malfoy called across the wall, downing his Polyjuice potion.

Hermione took a moment to steady herself with Malfoy finally out of her sight, if not her hearing. She’d expected him to be angry at her. Furious she’d witnessed the images of herself in his mind—that she took up a place in his head. Or perhaps that he’d grow cool towards her. Reserved, distant—anything but this aggressive nonchalance.

Ripping open the thick, silk ribbon on the dress box, Hermione set about finding the neckline in the filmy layers of dress robes. Pale pink and cream silk and organza, a mountainous task to sort through.

“You know, darling,” Malfoy drawled. “I could have arranged an actual dressing room for us if you’d given me a moment's notice.”

Hermione scowled, lost in a tent of fabric. Dressing across a flimsy stone wall was overly personal as it was. But speaking in the meantime was downright marital. She could all too easily imagine Malfoy picking out his tie in his ridiculously oversized closet.

“You fishing to become my secretary, Malfoy?”

“You don’t need a secretary, Granger, you need a legion of interns. Unless you enjoy shimmying into ball gowns across from cow patties. These cows do like to stare. I know I’m magnificent to look at and all, but there is something uniquely unnerving about big, staring, brown eyes, and hanging jaws chewing cud as one adjusts their trousers.”

Hermione paused to press at her forehead. Another deep breath. She found the neck hole and wiggled her overlarge ears through one at a time before beginning a new hunt for the arm holes.

“Well, I’m sorted. Need any help, darling?”

“No!” Hermione huffed, struggling with the arms frantically.

“Are you sure? I don’t mind assisting!”

“Malfoy,” she growled.

“Yes, darling? Need a little zip up the back?”

“Peek over this wall and I’ll Obscuro you.”

“Kinky,” he chuckled.

Once certain no bits and pieces of her were sticking out, Hermione tugged on some silky stockings and Luna’s Leprechaun shoes. The old, black leather and golden buckle were worn but stretched to fit her enlarged feet. Hopefully, they’d give her a little extra luck not tripping and falling over her toes.

Collecting her purse and invitation, Hermione shrunk the dress and shoe box before storing them in her purse.

“Alright, you can come around, Malfoy.”

“Don’t be alarmed now, darling, I’m working with limited genetic material.” Malfoy strolled around the wall.

Hermione burst into laughter to hear Malfoy’s voice issuing from Kreacher’s mouth. The normally surly old grump sporting an unnerving smirk and dapperly dressed in Malfoy’s tux. The potion hadn’t managed an identical cross-species transformation, as the graying fuzz that normally adorned Kreacher’s head had a suspicious shine, and his eyes were sharply Malfoy’s.

“Laugh it up. As I said, I had limited resources. Aunt Andromeda only employs a female house-elf.” Polyjuiced Malfoy flicked invisible lint from his sleeves and flung an ear back as though it were hair.

“How did you account for the height?” Hermione asked, curious despite herself.

“Fluxweed.” Malfoy preened before looking her up and down leisurely.

“You look pretty—for a house-elf.” He shuffled close and tied a little pink ribbon she’d missed at the throat of the dress. “Where did you find the dress?”

“I got it at a free-elf boutique.”

“The Mystic Stitch?” Malfoy fingered the excess fabric at her sleeve.

“How do you know about The Mystic Stitch?”

“It’s fashion, Granger. I’ll introduce you to the owner.”

“Right, Pansy and you keep in touch.”

“I’m on the board.”

Hermione scowled. “For elves, by elves, my foot.”

Malfoy snickered. “Monetary investment, Granger. It’s still run by house-elves and for house-elves. Can you begrudge my wanting to be a part of it?”

“Depends what part you play.” Hermione huffed and broke the seal on the invitation.

At the base of the scroll, a Portkey rolled free and thunked into the mud. A solid gold sock the size of her thumb.

Crouching down, Hermione took a steadying breath.

“Ready?” Malfoy searched her eyes.

Hermione nodded tightly. Perhaps she wasn’t entirely resentful of Harry’s mothering and Malfoy’s nosing in on her business. If this was a trap, at least she wasn’t falling into it alone.

“One, two, three.”

They each gripped an end of the sock and reality twisted around them. The cloudy sky darkened and stars spun out into a velvet bed of constellations before the world re-solidified. Orchestral music and the soft murmur of a crowd hummed beneath the melody.

Hermione and Draco fell into plush, velvet seats that lined the edge of a ballroom. House-elves, dressed in flowing robes, spun across the floor. The wood so polished it reflected the many hanging chandeliers and sparkled like a smooth golden pond.

“Where are we?” Hermione whispered.

Large portraits were inset into the walls between tall and narrow windows, all shrouded in flowing thick curtains. Above, a balcony ran around the full length of the room, expanding up into a cream-painted ceiling decorated with golden crown moldings—opulent as the piping on a vintage Victorian cake.

Near the ceiling, the ghostly forms of two house-elves spun, misting through the air. One in a dress with a train so long it twisted and twirled like ocean waves breaking over pearly sands. The other, in a suit with a cape that flared out like a sunset’s last light across the horizon of his partner's waves.

“Welcome!” A voice boomed across the floor. “To the Obscurum Bibliotheca!”

Excited guests clapped and backed away, allowing the speaker more room. In the middle of the dance floor, dressed in all black with a flowing cape (an echo of the ghostly, dancing king’s) a house-elf paced, fists raised.

A hushed breath of “Vindicar” swirled the room.

“Welcome all! House-elves may not have had a true home to return to before—but the Obscurum Bibliotheca has been found! Our birthrights have been reclaimed! And un-homed elves now have a place to be both servants of our great history and masters of our own! A treasury of wealth and knowledge to be cared for!”

Hermione found herself clapping along with the crowd.

The little she had gleaned of house-elf magic, culture, and traditions were all deeply rooted in land, tying them to undeserving masters for generations. She was inclined to believe her tiara must have come from this estate—and what an amazing historical find—but also a cultural revolution for modern elves!

“What are you clapping for?!” Malfoy hissed. “That’s Vindicar! And judging by the little crown poking under that hooded cape, he’s likely a wizard exploiting these house-elves.”

“I know, but think of the possibilities!”

“I am!” Malfoy hissed. “I’m thinking of one too many dark wizards who might burn this place to the ground. I’m thinking your crown looks an awful lot like that ghostly queen’s and I’d bet the king’s is on Vindi-coo-coo’s head!”

Vindicar shook his fist. “Too long have wizard-kind oppressed and enslaved our goodwill! Too long have we been reduced to dusters!”

The crowd’s clapping dimmed uneasily.

“Tonight! I will reveal treasure found in our quest for the founder’s document! The treaty between wizard and house-elf kind that’s shackled our magic to mere cleaning of ancient manors—“

The clapping went out like a light bulb. A shuffling of many large shoes. Cleaning was next to godliness—and no true house-elf would—

“—instead of up-keeping the true magic of these estates! Floors will never shine brighter!”

Clapping increased in confidence as the subject returned to that which was most comfortable, and respectable, for its audience to digest—a well scrubbed floor. (Was there anything more comforting?)

“Windows shall never sparkle clearer, food never perish when house-elves reclaim their true place as caretakers of our grand estates!”

The crowd roared merrily.

“But for now! Dance! Clean! And be merry!” Vindicar waved, plucking a champagne glass off a floating tray.

The grand ballroom doors opened. One by one, house-elves towed out dusty art pieces: sculptures, paintings, ancient rugs, and long stained silver. They began to dance around these pieces, dusting, polishing, beating rugs—the cleaning and polishing a merry work. And between scrubbing they drank, ate, and twirled in line dances that wove between archeological clusters and into the air, to join the ghosts of the past.

It was still a ball, of sorts, though the strangest Hermione could imagine. She was drawn most to the cleaning circles. Elves inspected the crevices of craved wood and stone for even the smallest molecule of dirt. Paintings were restored to brighter, less dulled colors, varnishes and waxes were reapplied and upholsteries were fluffed and patched.

Hermione dragged Malfoy with the pull of the crowd, inspecting the small furniture, and the delicate paintings—mostly featuring estates, castles, and gardens.

“Getting distracted, darling? Shouldn’t we keep an eye on Vindicar?” Malfoy drawled at her elbow as Hermione admired a set of elvish silverware.

She nodded distractedly. “Do you think house-elves invented the spork? These have to be ancient!”

Malfoy glowered, half turning to keep an eye on both Hermione’s bobbing and weaving about the artifacts and on Vindicar, who’d retreated up into the balcony where he circled and watched the proceedings.

Hermione turned triumphantly as she found a date on the back of a spork, only to catch the tail end of a tall, iron, unicorn statue as it tipped, nearly impaling Malfoy through the chest.

“Mistress! Mistress Hermione isn’t hurt is she?” Floo popped up at Hermione’s side dressed in purple silks like an upside-down tulip. Her silver crown ringed in blossoming purple roses.

Hermione sagged in relief as she saw Malfoy-Kreacher’s disgruntled face pop up. Pow laughed beside him, shoving Malfoy out from under the statue. He’d thankfully rolled into the pocket between the unicorn’s kicking feet.

House-elves descended about them in a hoard, buffing out the scratches and un-denting the golden wood which had a lumpy splintered dent under the unicorn’s burly shoulders.

“I’m, fine, M-Kreacher? Are you alright?” Hermione hurried over, Floo picked up the train of her robe and babbled about how lovely the stitching looked.

“Fine.” Malfoy snapped, shaking Pow off his arm and tugging at his suit jacket.

“Her-hermin-ni-ny?” Sizzle puffed lifting the unicorn upright.

“You all look lovely!” Hermione beamed at them. The boys were dressed in shiny black suits with elaborate coattails that resembled capes.

“Hermin-ni-ny, could I dance with you?” Sizzle bobbed his head uneasily.

“Of course,” Hermione beamed at the burly house-elf.

“Yes, go on, I wasn’t nearly murdered, or anything.” Malfoy yanked at his tux tails.

“Excuse him, Sizzle, he’s just had a fright.”

“A fright?!” Malfoy snarled.

Hermione smiled up at Sizzle and allowed him to lead her into a swirly trot, joining the circle of house-elves as they wove around the artifacts. Her leprechaun heels clicked and yanked her feet in step and away from Sizzle's toes so effectively she wondered if Leprechauns would consider selling dancing shoes.

Sizzle took her through a spiral line, chasing the dancers ahead up the stairs to twirl about the balcony and then up into the air as Sizzle cast a floating charm on her feet.

Here, Hermione found herself spinning between partners. The music shifted and slowed, and dragon hide gloves caught her waist and pulled her out of a spin.

“I see you accepted my invitation, Hermione. The tiara suits you.” Vindicar spun her out, and back in so quickly she bumped up against his chest. Which could have been meant seductively, but house-elf bodies being so much hands, feet, and head, nearly knocked their noses together.

“Vindicar?” Hermione pinched her mouth into a smile, trying not to look down. If he messed with the dancing spell suspending them, she might find herself dropping an uncomfortable distance onto a priceless, pointy, harp.

“Ahh, you’re angry with me. A misstep of mine with those poor children?” His dark hood tilted, showing only a cynical mouth. His voice unfamiliar and dry.

“Those babies? Yes, if that was you.” Hermione tried to catch her breath.

“And what of house-elves and their children? As they need a master’s permission to procreate?”

“We have passed laws to give house-elves autonomy. They can make their own families now.”

Vindicar’s smile grew. “Which is why you’ve been invited, dear. I’ll admit you had me rushing my plans a bit.”

She snorted, “Don’t start lying now.”

His grin widened and he bowed over her hand kissing her knuckles with a chuckle. “It won’t happen again. Notable but harmless acts of protest only.” He vowed circling them through the ghostly train of the king and queen.

“Harmless is debatable.” Hermione tried not to dig her nails into his arms as they danced further from the balcony. “Do you really have a document? A treaty between house-elves and wizards?”

He gestured around them. “It’s a miraculous find, isn’t it?”

“Impressive, yes. I hope, someday, house-elves will feel they can share their heritage with the Wizarding World.”

“And have Wizard kind hoard all these treasures and cherry-pick history?”

Hermione shook her head, “Surely there are some safeguards other than secrecy to protect all this from scavengers?”

Vindicar laughed at her. “There is. There is. Only house-elves can reach this estate. And only house-elves can leave it.” He smiled nastily, tilting his head down towards the dance floor.

Malfoy glared up at them, making his way towards the stairs when a portrait on the wall tipped loose and fell at his head.

Hermione gasped.

Malfoy whipped about, alarmed, and ducked. The frame shattered against the stair banister and Malfoy came wiggling out from under looking thunderously angry.

Hermione turned back towards Vindicar but he had disappeared.

“Salazar’s snake!” She wobbled back towards the balcony through the air on the unfamiliar floating charm. Vindicar was playing with them—she just didn’t know why. But if she’d ever seen someone uninvited to a party—it was Malfoy, shaking wood chips from his Polyjuiced ears.

“I have this funny feeling.” Malfoy kicked at the picture frame. “Someone is trying to murder me!”

Hermione found herself taking Malfoy’s weird little house-elf hand and yanking him behind her as a flower pot crashed down on what would have been his head. “I think it’s time to go.”

Malfoy peeked around her aghast. “That would have been my head!”

“Yes.” Hermione turned in a cautious circle on the stairs. “I don’t think it’s a someone. I think it’s a something trying to kill you.”

“Well, it better not be one of these dodgy wankers! I’ve been ridiculously charming tonight!” Malfoy straightened with a scoff following her down the stairs.

“Or perhaps, Kreacher has offended someone?” Hermione tugged Malfoy again as a glass of wine sloshed and nearly wet his head, splattering the floor instead.

“You haven’t worn white to a wedding recently, have you?” Hermione joked as a red pool spread towards their shoes.

“It was a black-and-white event!”

“Only you could manage to rival a bride in white with a suit.” Hermione looked him over, pityingly. “Regardless, you’re the one in need of protection.”

Malfoy scoffed.

Worriedly, Hermione noticed his Polyjuice was wearing out. Old Kreacher’s head already sprouted signature platinum blonde hair—and his nose was only half so long and beaked as it should be.

Hermione yanked him to her.

His eyes widened, hands clutched at her back, “Bold of you to—“

A chandelier crashed an inch behind his heel showering them in crystals. House-elves descended on the mess, chattering and re-stringing each crystal. Several nasty glances were shot their way.

“Let’s get out of here,” Malfoy muttered. Turning her politely around by the shoulders they shuffled a few steps as Hermione dug in her purse for the Portkey, but the enchantment lay dormant. “Not a two-way trip, then?”

“Mistress Granger leaving so soon?” Floo popped back up, wringing her hands.

“Yes, I’m afraid Mr. Um, Kreacher needs to get to bed.”

“Excuse you?!” Malfoy protested.

Hermione smiled. “Floo, do you know how we can get out of here?”

“Same ways, in always! Socks for Dobby!” Floo grinned. “But goings is—”

“Goings is a whirl!” Pow darted up behind her. “Pow shows you the way!” He darted off towards the nearest window.

Hermione peeked behind a curtain, but the windows were blacked out, reflecting the dancing cleaning revelry inside.

Pow drew the curtain out like a cape and circled her and Malfoy, wrapping them up like a mummy.

“Twister, twirler,

Floating further,

Wrap us up!

Out we’ll pop!

Past the merry mountain top!”

Pow chanted excitedly.

“What a ridiculous hodge-podge spell!” Malfoy grumbled in her ear.

The curtains clung and squeezed about them before they were flung up. The ceiling vanished. A whoosh of air left Hermione and Draco spinning like tippe tops back in the roadway by West Yorkshire’s meadow.

The sun had long ago set. The moon hung aglow in a dusky purple sky.

“Ugh, this isn’t right! That Polyjuice should have lasted me hours more.” Malfoy turned in a circle and shook out his rather human hands. His hair was coming in full and his height jolted up.

“What’s that on your back?”

He scowled, peeling off his coat. A letter had been Sticky Charmed to the back.

“It’s addressed to you.” His eyebrows furrowed angrily, a sneer twisting his mouth as he read.

Dear Hermione,

Don’t be afraid to ply me,

Once you find and divine what’s mine—

Maybe you’ll choose to be—

They want you scared, But I’ve plans to be shared

Read your runes, please do assume

—You can have me.

First I took magic's mouth,

Next comes magic’s shaft.

Yours

—V

***

I Wanna Get in a Fight

“This bloody arsehole can Avada right off!” Malfoy ripped the note from his tux.

The effects of the Polyjuice potion continued to wear off at an alarming rate, rippling across his body. Cursing and half enraged, Malfoy Engorgio’ed his tux before his height reasserted itself.

Hermione gaped as she almost got an eyeful of Malfoy hulking out of his clothes as he shot up several feet, muscles popping a few buttons and ripping a seam.

Quickly dropping her purse, Hermione kicked off her shoes and removed the tiara. A swimming sensation later, she was her normal height, ball gown hidden away inside the magic of the tiara—her work clothes in place.

Now back to proper heights, Hermione snatched at the note. “What’s that about magic’s mouth?”

“This can go straight to Potter and then I’m going to Incendio it!” He yanked it above his head and pushed her back one-handed.

Hermione scoffed. “Don’t get precious. What did he say about runes?”

“Precious?” Malfoy sneered. His pale face flushed an interesting red which traveled down and disappeared beneath his collar.

“Yes, precious. It’s a note.” Hermione squinted. “Does that say magic shaft?”

Malfoy’s eyes glittered. “Get his shaft out of your head, witch.”

“Well if you stopped waving it about maybe I could read it correctly.”

“Or maybe you like that he’s a moronic flirt?” Malfoy hid the note behind his back. “Need someone to chat you up? You want someone to tell you what to do, Hermione?” He backed her up into the wall.

“Oh, please.” Hermione rolled her eyes.

“Beg harder.” Malfoy slammed a hand into the wall near her shoulder, gripping at the grimy stone.

“Bugger right off.” Hermione shoved and he leaned into her hands.

“No.”

“Get off!”

“I’d love to.”

“Confun-“

Malfoy covered her mouth.

They glared at one another as the note floated down into the mud.

Huffing against his fingers, she stomped at his shoes barefoot.

Malfoy chuckled pressing his knee between her legs. “I believe I’ve warned you about getting kicky, darling.”

Heart pounding wildly, Hermione squeezed her wand and licked his palm.

Malfoy’s arm jerked back in surprise.

“Descendo,” she panted.

Malfoy’s knees hit the mud with a pained grunt. Hermione winced but the git deserved it.

“Wanted me on my knees, darling?” His arms grabbed at her legs as she tried to run. Wriggling, Hermione shoved at his face and her sympathy evaporated as he laughed.

“Malfoy!” Hermione warned tugging at his hair.

“Yes, darling?” He squeezed her legs together, looking up at her flushed and messy.

Eyes narrowed she huffed. “Anyone would think you enjoy being knocked about.”

Malfoy swallowed, squeezing her legs tightly for a moment. “You’re the only one I let push my soft limits, Luv.” He leaned to the side and picked the note out of the mud.

Hermione looked away.

Dragging an irritated hand through his messy hair, he stood handing her the note.

Hermione snatched it up, biting her lip. Already flustered enough, the flirting tone did little to agitate her already pounding heart.

“We’re missing something about those runes. Magic’s mouth would be the Floo Flue I suppose. And this part about magic’s sh—”

“Seems your boyfriend left you that bloody book for a reason.”

“He’s not my—“

“See you Saturday, Granger.” Malfoy snapped darkly and turned on his heel.

She snorted. Even the pop of his Apparition sounded angry.

Standing alone under the moon, Hermione let her heart settle as she stared down at her muddy feet. She reminded herself, he was the one who’d said no. Twice.

“America.” She vowed to the stone wall. “One week. No, be audacious, why not three?”