Chapter Four

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Hermione could feel the wispy, baby hairs framing her forehead curling in the punishing sunlight. She had already disposed of her gray suit jacket and released the top two buttons of her crisp, white shirt in the fifteen minutes she had spent seated in the thick, stifling humidity. Washington, D.C. in the summer was apparently something akin to the flaming depths of hell, even as early as midmorning. Not even a breeze passed to disrupt the stale air.

No comfort was to be found in the metal chair where she was seated, either, sandwiched in between her surly, former Potions professor, still the picture of cool composure in his black overcoat, and her sloppy trainee, who had just managed to fit an entire donut in his mouth without any resistance. He must be able to literally unhinge his jaw, Hermione wondered as she marveled, fascinated in spite of herself.

"Was it necessary to swallow your entire meal in one bite?" Snape questioned, his nostrils flared in obvious disgust. It was the first thing the man had said since they had met him in front of the Krispy Kreme at Dupont Circle at 10 a.m. sharp. Thomas' mouth had hung open then, too, panting from the exertion of climbing what seemed like hundreds of steps in lieu of riding the escalator at the metro station. Admittedly, that had been Hermione's fault, as she was quite anxious to prevent Snape from cutting her out of any part of the investigation for any reason. So they had arrived on time, legs trembling, quite prepared to sit for an extended period and watch wherever they were directed.

It seemed, however, that their surveillance was to be completed in silence, Snape preferring to point at the building in question instead of replying to any pleasantries. Apparently, they weren't going to talk about yesterday, much to Hermione's chagrin.

"Mhm mhm," Thomas hummed in reply, his cheeks puffing out as he chewed voraciously.

"No need to respond immediately," Snape replied, looking away. "Wouldn't want you to choke." Thomas had evidently ignored this warning, because only a second later, Hermione heard a muffled cough to her right, followed by a slightly more frantic gag.

And he had been so good on the train, too, Hermione thought with despair as she handed Thomas her cup of lukewarm coffee. Thomas poured it down his throat desperately while she patted him gently on the back. He really had been good on the train, keeping his eyes to himself, his hands in his lap and his 'gee whiz' type comments to a minimum. She hated treating him like a child, but really, for all of his intellect, he truly lacked a certain amount of common sense and social grace.

Placing the empty cup down, Thomas let out an ungraceful burp. His girlfriend must be so proud. At least he had the sense to look slightly bashful, excusing himself to retrieve some napkins from the donut shop behind them.

And then it was just her and Snape, sitting in silence. Shifting uncomfortably in her chair, Hermione uncrossed and re-crossed her legs, wiping a bead of sweat from her brow. Containing a frustrated sigh, she cheered herself on internally. Right then, Granger, muster some of that Gryffindor courage. It hadn't been so difficult yesterday in the Ministry hallway, but perhaps she was just the right combination of shocked, angry, and, well, crazy then.

"So," Hermione began, deciding to disturb the silence cautiously, "were you able to..."

"I approached the presumed smuggling site earlier this morning, and was unable to discern any wards or enchantments to prevent entrance," Snape said, steamrolling quite easily over her line of questioning. As he said this, he pointed across the street to the area under observation: an abandoned storefront with newspaper on the windows, squished between a mobile phone store and a bakery dedicated entirely to vegan cupcakes. "It seemed premature, however, to enter without further observation, especially if it turns out to belong to Muggles. The elf was clearly traumatized and could have given us inaccurate information. No need to create an even bigger mess."

Hermione held her composure, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of viewing her fish impression. "Ah, well, that all seems to be in order. And the local proprietors, did you..."

"Questioned them. Casually, of course. Told them I wished to open a business in the area and asked about the availability of the vacant space next door. They all seemed slightly flummoxed by the revelation that there was indeed a vacant space between their stores. Not sure if there's some sort of enchantment or the idiots are just completely ignorant. I'm tempted to guess it's the latter."

Fair enough.

Hermione nearly groaned in frustration at this information. While vivid, Flora's story was quite incomplete. They still didn't know the exact aim or scope of the operation, nor did they have the slightest inkling as to who was behind it. Clearly there were no witnesses, Muggle or otherwise, to account for any parts of Flora's story, either. If the Muggles hadn't even noticed the gap between their stores, they could have hardly noticed the movement of boxes or the like.

She was also sure that if the smugglers had an ounce of sense, they would have moved shop nearly a week ago when Flora had originally escaped. Before she could tell Snape that they might as well pack up and move to Plan B, Snape interrupted her thoughts.

"There is something of interest, however," he said, his voice as monotone as if he were stating the weather. "The woman in the bakery mentioned that she always seems to hear a loud, sharp bang noise around midday, only to be visited by a short, shabby-looking gentleman within the hour. Heavy 'British' accent, little hair, always orders a dozen cupcakes."

Hermione looked back at the abandoned storefront. "That certainly fits our profile. Quite bold, though, don't you think? Wouldn't they be afraid that someone might notice all of that commotion every day, certainly if it was occurring at the same time? Especially if the building has been abandoned... "

Snape looked unconvinced. "Given what little we know, I'm apt to believe the risk was minimal."

Hermione nearly laughed. It was true, the Muggles seemed to be completely oblivious to the possibility that men, wizards no less, were illegally trafficking elves right in the middle of their street. Even years after she had found out she was a witch, she often wondered how many wizarding establishments she had passed in life without even a second glance. To be Muggle and ignorant.

Something did seem a bit off. "If you were questioning her so casually, as you said, why would she bring up something as random as a strange midday customer?" She thought he was a hero, yes, but a saint?

Snape suddenly took on a disgruntled look, glaring rather pointedly. "Are you intending to investigate me as well, Inspector?"

Perhaps. "No, of course not. Just curious."

Thinking she had just unintentionally set herself up for another confrontation, Hermione was bewildered when she saw something of a sly grin slide onto his face.

"You know, Granger, I do not require magical means to be persuasive." Well that was a turn. Whatever other manner he had employed previously, Snape had certainly not used that voice in his curriculum at Hogwarts.

Feeling her face warm in the most embarrassing fashion, Hermione found herself once again grateful for Thomas' reappearance at the table.

"Haven't missed anything, have I?" Thomas asked with concern as he eased back into his seat, a few donut crumbs still clinging to his chin.

"Not a thing," Hermione murmured with her back turned to Snape's visible smirk. With that, the group plunged back into silence, Hermione's questions multiplying by the second.

Hermione didn't care to know what her hair looked like now, two hours into their surveillance. It wasn't as if she were trying to impress anyone, but she really wouldn't have wasted that extra ten minutes battling it into submission if she had known the humidity would have it crackling at its ends. Between her growing hair, Thomas' drooping eyes, and Snape in his antisocial overcoat, they made quite a motley crew. Honestly, Hermione half expected the staff of the donut shop to come around and tell them to leave because they were scaring off customers.

During the prolonged silence, Hermione had thought to ask many questions: whether Snape's men were combing the records offices for any evidence of a leasing agreement, what he knew of the local expat wizarding community, how far-reaching he thought all of this was. All of these questions, however, remained suppressed between her closed lips. Their partnership had become antagonistic the minute she had stupidly slapped him the day before, and for the moment, it might be best to shut her mouth and keep her eyes peeled. Besides, she had a strong suspicion that Snape knew much more about the situation than he was letting on. Perhaps her quietness would unnerve him enough to let it spill out.

She had just picked up her thin, yellow notepad and begun to fan herself, its pages fraying slightly at the ends, when Thomas broke the silence, effectively startling her. While chasing after the notepad as it somersaulted in the air, Hermione had to politely ask Thomas to repeat himself.

"I said, isn't it such a happy coincidence that you would be assigned this case?" Thomas repeated his eager grin ever present. "I mean, who better to investigate this?"

Of her past failures, the elf legislation debacle ranked fairly low on the list of discussions Hermione wanted to have in front of Snape. If possible, she would prefer none of her failures to be discussed, of course, but at least the Polyjuice/cat mishap demonstrated a certain amount of ingenuity and flair. She could find very little redeeming about being drummed out of the Ministry because no one wanted to give up their elves just yet.

Attempting to steer the conversation away from the subject, Hermione replied, "Well, I'm sure any of the inspectors would be well-versed enough to take on this case. It'll all be part of your training, Thomas."

"But I do wonder why he would single you out, Inspector," Snape inquired softly. Meeting Snape's gaze, all Hermione could see was pure, wicked malice.

Why, Thomas, why?

Thomas could only be Thomas though, and recognizing this with resignation, Hermione simply sat back as Thomas recounted the work which had become the sum of her nearly two years in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures.

"She was a crusader for elf justice," Thomas declared proudly, his unabashed admiration oozing out of every pore. Eyeing Hermione as she slowly sunk in her chair, cheeks red, he asked, both considerately and ignorantly, "Would you like me to get you some water, Hermione? You're looking quite red at the moment. Is it heat stroke? Bloody hot out here today, isn't it?"

Grasping at the reprieve, she nodded, answering aloud, "Yes, that would be great, Thomas. Thanks." Dutifully, Thomas left the table once again to retrieve a bottle of water from the shop behind them. Satisfied that the subject was dropped, Hermione scooted back into her seat, her eyes trained on the abandoned building.

"A crusader for elf justice? I suppose it's safe to say that didn't pan out." So perhaps the subject wasn't dropped.

Hermione stared down at her steepled hands on the table, unsure of how to reply. She knew he was referring to more than the fact that elves were quite possibly being trafficked across the street from them. His remark wasn't a shot in the dark, either; he had to know that to end up in a job like hers, you probably did something to openly offend your prior employer, Thomas' strange interest in the position excluded. It wasn't that you were incapable, very much the opposite. You were just too capable, too passionate, and to use a term that she was sure her co-workers had used often behind her back, fanatical. It certainly wasn't the most lauded job, either. It was a necessary job, sure, but no one ever really appreciated it; it wasn't as if she were receiving medals of honor for keeping that damned kelpie hidden in Loch Ness.

Bottom line: you really needed to muck everything up to end up where she was, and she had quite fulfilled that requirement.

Finally feeling brave enough to face him, Hermione looked over at Snape. She had expected to see a supercilious smirk, but he seemed more intrigued than looking to take her down a notch.

"Yes, quite safe," Hermione agreed, smiling wryly. "It was during my time with the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures. I suppose, well, let's just say I may have been a little overzealous in my pursuit of 'elf justice,' as Thomas so eloquently put it." She paused for Snape to make a biting remark, but none ever came. "It had all culminated in a piece of legislation I had written. It contained every sort of safety net and right I thought the elves deserved: paid wages, holidays and sick leave, a bureau to deal with both physical abuse and the abuse of their rights. Perhaps even more controversial, I suggested that failure by their owner to uphold their rights should result in elf emancipation."

Snape managed to smirk slightly at this, rejoining, "So, of course it failed."

Hermione responded with a rueful smile. "Spectacularly. I would like to point out that the legislation gave owners quite a few chances to reform before such serious actions were taken, but I'm afraid as soon as the word 'emancipation' jumped out at the reader, all other considerations were thrown out the window." Hermione imagined her beet-faced supervisor as she said this, his walrus-like mustache aquiver.

"Such a failure would really be paltry for any normal bureaucrat, but I wouldn't let it go. I held on, white-knuckled, for what bordered on a ridiculous amount of time. I think it eventually went beyond any sort of passion I had for the ethical treatment of elves. I had literally gone mad over it."

Hermione didn't know why she had shared that last part with him. It had taken her years of retrospect to truly accept it herself, much less say it aloud to anyone else.

"Over-eagerness was always one of your more detrimental traits," Snape opined in a drawl. "I can recount at least one situation in which it led to a considerable mishap."

And now they were talking about her weeks spent as a half-transformed cat. He was right though; she had always been driven, sometimes to excess. At Hogwarts, it had always been to prove herself. This time was different though, and now that she allowed herself to think about it, she was more able to connect the dots. Things were complicated, as life often inevitably became, and it was just easier to focus on one thing at the exclusion of everything else, even the true source of what kept her up at night.

"Towards the end of it," Hermione replied, retaking her story, "I remember spending one evening obstinately sitting outside my boss' chambers. As a form of protest, I suppose, though I honestly couldn't tell you now. At that point, I think I had already realized I had gone over the edge, so to speak, but that also meant there was no turning back." It was almost an out-of-body experience thinking of it now; she felt so entirely removed from how that Hermione had felt. Well, that was, until yesterday.

Chancing a glance at Snape, Hermione found her expectations confused again as she noted a hint of understanding in his otherwise emotionless eyes. Undeniably, if anyone knew what it was to be freefalling, it was he. Not that he would ever discuss that with her. But if she could just broach the subject...

"Oi, did you see that?" Thomas' urgent question broke through Hermione's introspection. He stood rigidly next to his chair, water bottle in hand, squinting at something across the street. Following his gaze, she could clearly see the back of a man entering the suspected storefront, struggling with a large object that was less clear.

Before she could say anything, Hermione heard Snape succinctly order them to stay. How had he known that her legs would move without any proper guidance? It seemed they were calling all of the shots on this trip, and she soon found herself dashing across the street, nearly clipped by oncoming traffic, and smoothing herself against a wall of the storefront. Even from a distance, she could see the murderous look on Snape's face as he got to his feet, wand peeking from his sleeve. Thomas looked simply awed, no judgment made as to whether she had already cocked everything up.

Merlin, was she sweating now, her heart thumping loudly in her ears. It almost felt as if the madness was creeping over her again, though, at least this time, she was acutely aware that she could have well botched everything up in the last thirty seconds. Regardless, she was in the thick of it now, and quite frankly, in her comfort zone. If only the boys were here to see her.

Funnily enough, as she slithered against the wall towards the slightly agape door, countless Muggles passed without sparing a glance. Some sort of cloaking spell, no doubt, Hermione surmised, though why the occupants hadn't done something more elaborate to disguise the place was beyond her.

Before entering, she took a moment to cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself, slipping her wand from her sleeve and tapping the top of her head with a practiced hand. Feeling the familiar cool trickle extend through her body, Hermione raised her right hand for examination. The spell had become an everyday charm for her in this line of work, and she was satisfied to see only the soft outline of her hand as color of her bare hand bled away.

Careful to pull the door only wide enough for her to slide inside, Hermione could already hear conversation from within. Glancing across the street one last time, and noting the livid look on Snape's face, Hermione quickly slipped behind the door.

"One of those buggers bit my finger! I thought these things were supposed to be obedient!" It was the first thing Hermione heard as she crossed the threshold, quick to duck behind a large, abandoned counter standing near the entrance, despite her nearly invisible state.

"More trouble than they're worth, I always said. Get a woman handy with the housekeeping charms, and there's really no need for 'em," a second voice answered.

Rising from her crouched position just enough to see over the counter, Hermione spotted two figures towards the other end of the nearly barren room. Though she couldn't see their faces in the dimly lit room, it was clear from their voices and body language alone that they were both male. A few three foot by three foot wooden crates stood haphazardly in front of them.

"Should we take 'em out of the crates?" asked one, gesturing to one of the crates as he used a piece of cloth to sop up the streaming perspiration running down his face.

"Are you kidding me? We're lucky Malfoy didn't hear about the one that ran off the other day. Probably got hit by one of those bloody Muggle cars while crossing the road," commented the other, before aiming a disgruntled kick at one of the crates. The man glanced over at the door and his body stilled slightly. Holding her breath, Hermione ducked behind the counter again.

"Oi, and look, you've left the bloody door open again!" Smacking his partner on the back of his head, the man silently pointed his wand at the door, which shut with a click.

Feeling braver in her camouflaged skin, Hermione inched further into the open space of the room. The space was gutted, all traces of its former function torn from its walls and floors. Instead, a threadbare, brown couch sat in the middle, with metal folding chairs placed haphazardly about. Old take-out containers and empty liquor bottles also dotted the expanse. And, of course, there were the large crates behind which the men stood, most likely containing more elves.

Preparing to take down the men with quick Stunners, Hermione listened to their continued conversation while slowly unsheathing her wand.

"We better hurry, boss man wants the elves by half past, and we gotta catch our Portkey right after that," said one with a slight glance at his wrist.

"Yeah, yeah, might just slip next door before we head out," placated the other, who began walking backwards toward the door, maintaining the conversation. "Not sure what the hell vegan is, but those cupcakes are..." Hermione sent a Stunning Spell at his back, retrieving his dropped wand and leaving him to crumple onto the dusty cement floor as she stalked towards her next target.

"Jack?" the other man called out in a panic as he watched his lifeless friend from afar. Holding his wand out in front of him, he walked out from behind the crates, eyes darting. Finding a clear shot, Hermione sent another Stunner, only to narrowly miss it as he flinched out of the way. It seemed Snape could wait no longer.

"Granger!" he snarled as the door burst open, a meek Thomas following closely behind.

"Bloody hell! Severus Snape?" The unknown man appeared to be just as surprised as Hermione had been two days ago. Glancing at him as if he were no more than annoying insect, Snape also aimed a spell at him, but the man blocked it this time, running back behind the crates. As he made this trip, Hermione sent several more Stunners his way, but nothing seemed to impede him. Instead, he parried back at the pair before aiming his wand at one of the crates. Blasting it open, he grabbed several semi-conscious elves, holding them in front of him while they groggily wiped their eyes, unaware of what was happening around them.

Hermione hesitated, but Snape didn't, attempting to disarm the man. However, with a twisted grin, the smuggler popped out of vision, his two arms wrapped around the necks of three elves each.

"Damn it, Granger!" Snape growled, staring directly where Hermione stood, invisible. Removing the charm, Hermione's form once again became visible. "Bind him," Snape ordered, pointing at the still motionless man left behind before stalking around the room, taking inventory. Nodding silently, Hermione pointed her wand at each of the man's arms and legs, each time a thick, braided rope erupting from her wand and wrapping around the prisoner.

Well, she thought, we've got one of them, at least. She didn't dare share this note of optimism with Snape.

Pausing his prowl, Snape addressed the room-at-large. "I can see now how you ended up in your current position." It wasn't said in any particular tone, but the message was clear: Hermione had cocked it up completely. "We've wasted two hours monitoring the area, only for you," and he made sure to glance at Hermione specifically, "to run in to 'save the day,' or whatever it is your foolhardy mind was thinking, and derail the entire investigation. The rest of this clandestine operation is now aware of our suspicions. Whoever they are, they know I'm alive. And instead of two witnesses, we now only have one, and by all accounts, this one is probably the bigger idiot."

Hermione swallowed hard.

"Perhaps more than that, sir," Thomas called from the other end of the room. Visibly gritting his teeth in annoyance, Snape turned his head in Thomas' direction. Motioning for both Snape and Hermione to approach, he pointed to the two crates he had managed to open. Inside each lay four elves, all sprawled out on top of each other, sleeping peacefully.

"I would say these guys make nine, sir," Thomas continued with not a hint of cheek in his voice. Hermione gave him a small smile, but cowered slightly when her eyes met Snape's again. If she had wanted to show Snape that she had grown up, she certainly wasn't doing a very good job.

A/N: Thank you to my hardworking beta, justine 34, and my equally hardworking Brit-picker, magicalpresence, for their corrections and suggestions.

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