Chapter Nine

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Hermione refused to open her eyes. No clattering of dishes, splashing of water, or scraping of chairs could lure her away from the comfortable cocoon of sleep. She clutched on to its silky cloak, attempting to wrap herself completely despite its retreat. She delved further into the recesses of her consciousness, chasing tendrils of a dream, the plot of which she remembered less with every moment. All she had left now were the sensations, the warmth and the security, the clean smell of soap, the outline of his face, his hooked nose and scraggly hair. The real thing was only just a few feet away, perhaps too embarrassed to wake her directly, but she still wasn't sure which was dream Snape and which was real.

"Granger, I know you're awake. Time is of the essence... please."

Right, I'm Granger again. I suppose he did say please, though. Lifting her arms above her head, she stretched lethargically and then sat up, squinting in the light. Keenly aware that her hair must be every which way, she patted it down uselessly before attempting to straighten her wrinkled blouse. At least she had had the foresight to remove her suit jacket the night before, but her matching skirt had not been so lucky, and had ended up more creased than flat.

Giving up on her self-appraisal, she glanced around the room, her eyes still barely open, and found a steaming mug mid-air and rapidly approaching her. Reaching for it, she could already smell the distinct scent of coffee, thank Merlin. Bracing herself for its burn, she took a sip.

"You are a saint," Hermione praised groggily, taking deep whiffs of the aroma while the drink cooled, her body conditioned to awake when merely in its presence.

"So I've been told," came the deep baritone from across the room. It was a low, gravelly grumble, but Snape sounded more amused than annoyed.

"What time is it?" Hermione asked before taking another sip.

"About half past six," Snape replied, approaching her on the couch, but electing to seat himself in the adjacent armchair. "Everyone usually comes in around seven, so we only have about ten minutes or so to... "

"Disappear?" Hermione volunteered sarcastically, unconsciously giving her hair one last pat as his stare landed on her.

"Precisely," Snape agreed, taking drag from his own cup. "But before then, I would like to... discuss... something."

"Discuss," Hermione squeaked. In her head, the no-nonsense, all business Hermione had just slapped the awkward one who kept emerging when she was alone with Snape.

"Er, yes, the meeting today... with Lucius."

Was he flustered? Yes, Hermione realized with slight satisfaction, he is. But why now? Is it because he really wanted to discuss...

"The meeting is set for ten, correct?" Snape questioned.

Hermione startled slightly, losing her train of thought. "Right, yes. Ten o'clock on the dot."

"Good," Severus responded thoughtfully. "It would be best for us to meet back here at nine, then. We won't need to administer the Polyjuice immediately, but a last run-through of everything might be necessary." He paused and sighed, as if preparing for an argument. "I know you would prefer Thomas, but I really think one of my agents would be better suited..."

"I agree Thomas is not an ideal candidate," Hermione allowed. "But even in the short amount of time I've spent with him, I think we've built up a rapport that will make us more convincing as husband and wife."

"Yes, but Lucius Malfoy is no idiot..."

"Neither is Thomas," Hermione reasoned. "I agree that he's been a bit naively enthusiastic at times. However, I think he's proven to be quite useful and a lot sharper than we've given him credit for. Anyway, I'm sure Lucius has seen enough pushy wives to believe our dynamic." She was smiling as she said that last bit, but Snape was not equally assured.

"Should there be a wand fight..." He paused abruptly to hold up a hand, quieting Hermione's argument. "...Lucius will not care if he's in a Muggle establishment. The man has little left, but just enough to take some outrageous risks. Should there be violence, I want someone experienced out there to protect you."

It was Hermione's turn to sigh. "Regardless of what you think of my technique and instincts, I am more than capable of defending myself, and you would do well to realize that.

Snape raised an eyebrow, but then slumped a little in his seat. "I suppose I should stop treating you like a child, then."

Hermione gave him a small smile. "That would be welcomed... Severus."

At the sound of his first name, Snape glanced up from his mug, their eyes meeting. And for a strange couple of seconds, they held each other's stare, not a flicker of malice between them. But before they could explore what truly was there, the door to the break room banged open.

"Oh, uh, sorry," the American bureaucrat stuttered, a brown paper bag in hand. "Just wanted to put away my lunch."

"It's fine," the pair said in unison, immediately averting their eyes from each other. After reaching around the couch to retrieve her nearly forgotten suit jacket, Hermione stood, her coffee mug still clutched in one hand. So too did Severus, his grip on his mug mirroring her own.

"Er," Hermione mumbled, trying to find the words, any words, to make the situation less awkward.

"I can take care of that," Snape finally said, reaching for her mug.

"Yes, thank you," she replied breathlessly. The transaction was carried out carefully, as if she were handing him a newborn. When it was safely in Snape's possession, Hermione cleared her throat and said, "Well, off I go, then. You know, until... nine."

"Until nine," Snape said with a nod, a mug in each hand, seemingly frozen in place.

Too flustered to ask if there were anti-Apparition spells, Hermione began to turn in place, hoping to keep her stray thoughts on the interior of her hotel room.

"So, I... er... I work for the Department of International Magical Cooperation... and you... "

"I'm with the Department of Magical Games and Sports. We met at an international Quidditch match," Hermione replied, pinching the bridge of her nose. She and Thomas were sitting in an empty corner of the pub, their breakfast mostly untouched. If Thomas had noticed that Hermione had not returned to the hotel the night before, he made no mention of it. It was more likely that he had spent the entire evening agonizing about the next morning. "Focus, Thomas. I've just spent a good deal of time defending you to Snape, so please don't choke on me now."

"Are you sure? I mean, does it really need to be me? I'm only a trainee, after all, an apprentice, a nobody, a..."

"Thomas, take a deep breath," Hermione directed. Satisfied with the sight of Thomas inhaling and exhaling, Hermione continued. "You are not a nobody. You are an intelligent, skilled, well-prepared inspector-in-training. Well, I'm not entirely positive about the whole 'well-prepared' bit, but that's why we are going over this right now."

Thomas only gulped, appearing too nauseated to be pleased with the praise.

"I mean it, Thomas. You have been a real asset during this investigation, and this meeting with Malfoy, it's like the final exam."

Somehow, Thomas had managed to become even paler after that statement.

Reaching across the table and giving Thomas' shoulder a reassuring squeeze, Hermione held his gaze. "Listen to me, Thomas. I know I wasn't thrilled to be partnered with you a week ago. To be perfectly honest, I was livid. But I've come to see your strengths. Forget about the script and the particulars of our fictional relationship. You have great instincts; trust them. I know I do. That's why I want you in there with me."

Thomas took another deep breath and allowed himself to smile shakily. "It's all led up to this, I guess," he said with a sigh. It took one more deep breath for him to straighten his shoulders and lift his head. "Right, let's do this, then."

Hermione repressed the urge to hug him and gave his shoulder one more affectionate squeeze. "Here we go."

Her long black hair was swept up into a tight ponytail, causing her to feel as if her hair line was actively receding. The narrow black pumps she wore pinched her toes, the navy blue dress seemed to restrict all movement of her arms and legs, and even her engagement ring felt wrongly sized. She was no longer Hermione Granger, but Melissa Summers, one of the many event organizers for the Department of Magical Games and Sports and fiancée to Craig Lewis, a diplomat for the Department for International Magical Cooperation. Truthfully, neither of these individuals actually existed. All details were fictional, save for the physical appearances created from the stolen hairs of unsuspecting Muggles.

"Well, how do I look?" Hermione gave a little twirl for her faux fiancé and the rest of Snape's team. Even her American accent felt ill-fitting.

"A bit... strapped in?" Thomas replied hesitantly. His new forehead creased in worry, his brown comb-over undisturbed by the movement.

"Yes, well, she's a bit burly, isn't she?" Hermione complained. Why was it that she always seemed to get the short straw when it came to Polyjuice transformations?

"Well, we wouldn't want to injure your vanity," Snape said sardonically from another side of the room.

Hermione rolled her eyes. Whatever had happened before she had left earlier that morning, it was all business now. As it should be, Hermione reminded herself. But she still couldn't help throwing him sideways glances from time to time, hoping to reaffirm that she hadn't imagined the whole thing.

"Fine," Hermione said, still annoyed. "We're transformed and the meeting is in fifteen minutes. Shall we head out?"

"A review of the plan once more before we leave," Snape said. The room's occupants audibly groaned but were silenced quite quickly by one of Snape's glares. "All right, then. You two," he said, glancing over at the disguised Hermione and Thomas, "will enter the restaurant approximately five minutes before the meeting time. Stick to the agreed upon script and try to obtain a complete confession, including information on the origin of the elves and the means of transport, and make sure there is an actual transfer of money." Turning toward the rest of the crowd, made up of ten or so Aurors, he continued, "We will secure the premises, ensure that no one will be able to Apparate into or out of the building, monitor the activities within, and prepare to protect the Muggle occupants should the interaction become violent."

Hermione watched around the room as the gathered Aurors nodded tiredly. It seemed to be a completely routine situation for them. She wondered if that's how Ron and Harry felt about their jobs now, almost bored by the mundane act of "securing the premises." Maybe it was a relief.

As she continued to scan the crowd, her eyes found Snape's again. He locked his eyes on her as well, and the look he gave her was fierce. She hadn't imagined anything.

Hermione and Thomas, or rather Melissa and Craig, sat rigidly in a booth at a small café. Its theming was "French," but it bore all the hallmarks of your average quick service franchise, including a stylized logo and generic menu selection. Lucius was already five minutes late, and inwardly, Hermione was beginning to worry. Thomas' worry, however, was completely on display.

"There's still time to back out, you know," he pleaded, his voice much deeper than his true pitch.

"This is not the time for this, Thomas. Lucius will be here any second," Hermione replied, staring at the door. She was beginning to second-guess her decision to have him along.

"Okay, okay," he said, wringing his hands. "Can we at least practice the..."

"Shh! Here he comes," Hermione whispered.

Standing in the doorway and scanning the room was an almost unrecognizable Lucius Malfoy. It wasn't necessarily his physical appearance that rendered him hard to place. His hair was still blonde, though balding in patches. His cold eyes were still grey, though hollow, dark circles underlined them. Even his pointed face remained, though somehow more pointed, giving him an almost wolf-like, hungry look. What was strikingly different, however, was his aura: less confident, more unkempt. It seemed to affect his posture, his movements. The large silver cane certainly didn't help. The stately Lucius Malfoy who Hermione had known was a thing of the past.

As his eyes lighted on the couple, Lucius' thin lips pulled into a smile. Hermione held back the urge to cringe. His icy smiles had always inspired a sort of dread in Hermione as an adolescent, but this one was almost slimy. He might as well have been rubbing his hands together. Watching him approach their table, Hermione steeled herself. It was show time.

"The Lewis', I presume," Lucius greeted them, extending his hand to each of them in turn. A closer examination showed Lucius to be even more deteriorated than previously assumed, with yellowing fingernails and teeth to complete his appearance. However, as always, he was dressed neatly, his jacket crisp.

"Well, nearly," Hermione said as they shook hands. "It'll be just another month before I'm officially Mrs. Lewis." She beamed at Thomas, who smiled back appropriately. So far so good.

"Congratulations," Lucius said as he sat down across from them. "I was married once. It was... a comfort. She had everything, my wife. She still does... " Lucius drifted off slightly, a sour look gracing his sharp features. He managed to control himself, however, asking, "Would you mind if I placed some protective spells around the table? To maintain our privacy?"

"Please," Thomas agreed calmly.

Lucius allowed another slimy smile, giving the couple another peek at his stained teeth. Hermione recognized Muffliato among the mix as she watched Lucius imperceptibly move his cane in several elaborate twists under the table.

With the procedure finished, Lucius returned the cane to its upright position and leaned back in his rigid plastic chair. "Now then, how may I help you two?"

Hermione glanced over at Thomas, and he nodded back encouragingly, just as they had practiced.

"Let's see," Hermione began timidly, glancing at her hands slightly. "Oh, well this is almost embarrassing to admit, but I'm horrible with household spells. Catastrophic, really. And, you know, with the wedding coming up and wanting to have children as soon as possible, I was worried. So, I was just chatting with Margaret, um, Margaret Harrell. And she said that you might have a solution..."

She glanced up at Lucius hopefully. He remained silent, his fingers interlaced atop the table.

"I would be delighted to help you," he began casually, lifting his right ankle to cross his left knee. "However, I will need you to be more explicit about the type of help you'll need."

Hermione, wearing her feigned embarrassment well, turned beseechingly towards Thomas, who nodded back, patting her folded hands.

"What my fiancée means to say is that Margaret told her you could get us an elf," Thomas said bluntly.

Slimy smile number three featured some of Lucius' blackened molars. "Well, as they say, it seems you have come to the right place." Leaning forward onto his elbows, Lucius brought his face close enough that Hermione could smell the alcohol on his breath. "I won't deceive you; the price is quite high, given the risk I take on bringing the creature into the country. But I promise, the service will more than pay for itself."

Thomas and Hermione nodded fervently, allowing excitement to illuminate their expressions.

"Can we ask you a few questions, you know, before we agree to anything?" Thomas asked.

"Yes, of course," Lucius replied airily, his hand beckoning their interrogation.

Thomas nodded to Hermione, who took up her timidity once more.

"Um, well, I guess we were curious about the nationality of the elves. You know, do they speak proper English? I know countries all over the world keep house-elves, but we would really prefer an English-speaking one."

Though she didn't show it, Hermione filled with disgust at Lucius' look of understanding.

"Yes, I completely understand," Lucius replied sympathetically. "And I can assure you, your elf will certainly speak English, the Queen's English, in fact." He chuckled darkly.

"Oh, wow, you mean our elf will be from England?" Hermione exclaimed eagerly, her black ponytail bobbing.

"Most likely," Lucius promised. "Anything else?"

It was Thomas' turn to lean in to the table.

"How will the elf arrive here?" he asked in an undertone. At Lucius' suspicious glance, he quickly added, "I only ask because my position gives me access to certain... privileges."

Lucius chuckled darkly again. "Ah, yes. The privileges of status." It was an odd, brooding statement, one that made Hermione wonder if it wasn't just his body that was deteriorating. "No," he continued, "I have my own sources, and in any case, the elf is already on U.S. soil."

Thomas gave him a speculative glance. "Sources outside of the Ministry?"

Lucius just waved his hand, as if dismissing the subject. "A friend in the British Embassy."

Thomas turned to Hermione. To Lucius, the look they shared might have appeared to be a man asking his fiancée if she was ready to make a decision, but Thomas was really asking Hermione if the last statement was enough. Hermione smiled and gave him a nod.

"Okay, well, I think that's everything," Thomas said to Lucius. "Let's talk numbers."

Lucius reached into the pocket of his jacket and pulled out a slip of paper. Pushing it to the couple it read, $10,000. "I know it seems a bit high, but like I said, there's quite a bit of risk in creature transport."

Thomas ran a hand through his hair. "Do you need the money now?"

"It would be best," Lucius allowed. "I have run into a bit of... a roadblock, you see. Must go underground for a time. In fact, I had planned to have already left, but Margaret really has stuck her neck out for me. I owe her the favor."

"I don't know... I'm not sure if we can afford..."

"Honey!" Hermione broke in.

"All right, all right," Thomas grumbled, fishing a checkbook out of his pocket. "Ten... Grand... U.S. ,"he quoted as he wrote out the check.

Ripping it from the binding, he pushed the check towards Lucius, who couldn't snap it up fast enough.

"When would you like the elf?" Lucius asked distractedly as his eyes scanned the check.

"Right now would be best," Hermione replied, taking out her inspector's badge and throwing it down on the table.

Lucius looked up from the check and simply rolled his eyes. "Oh, bother. I had hoped you two were legitimate customers. Luckily," he said as slid his wand from the top of his cane, "I was prepared for all eventualities."

The scene might have been comical to any Muggle who happened to glance over: three adults staring at each other intently, wooden rods gripped in their right hand, no more than a few inches of which were visible over the table.

"Here are your options, Malfoy," Hermione said, carefully tipping her wand in his direction. "You can surrender to us, reveal your sellers, and gain some clemency for your crimes, or you can put up a fight, cause quite a bit of destruction, not to mention hours of paperwork and Memory Charms, and still be arrested, and no clemency. It's up to you."

Malfoy's dark chuckle became a belly laugh. "Clemency? Would this clemency be similar to the millions of Galleons I currently owe the British Ministry as Voldemort's scapegoat? At this point, I beg you not to have any mercy on me, Miss Granger." Noting her surprise, he added, "Yes, I know that it's you. You've read the papers, haven't you?" He smiled cruelly. "Not sure who this idiot is," he continued, nodding at Thomas, "but I'm willing to kill you both to get you out of my hair."

"Your old friend is outside waiting to arrest you, Lucius," Hermione reminded him. "I'm sure he'd be more willing to be lenient than I would. Wouldn't it be better to try your luck?"

Lucius' look became venomous. "Severus Snape is no friend of mine. That traitor. And in any case, I'm done bowing and scraping. It was fine when I was getting something out of it, pandering to those blood traitors in the government. But I have nothing to gain anymore. I have nothing." Standing, he pointed his wand at Hermione in full view of restaurant. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have things to attend to before I get out of this wretched city. But first," and now his wand was pointed at Hermione," I've been meaning to take care of you for a while..."

To the casual Muggle patron, what happened next might have seemed like a large explosion, what with the door bursting to pieces, the appearance of scorch marks along the wall and the overturning of all of the tables to the left side of the cafe, but truly, it was just the crash of several spinning plates, at least, metaphorically.

Before Lucius could quite get his spell out, Hermione had tried to disarm him, but her spell was misdirected when she saw Severus slamming through the restaurant door at that very moment. Lucius was not deterred, however, following through with his attempt at Hermione just as Snape had cast a spell in his direction. Fortunately, Thomas had thrown his body over Hermione, causing her chair to flip backwards as his weight threw it off balance. Unfortunately, Thomas found himself in the line of fire, and Hermione, trapped under him, was left to watch as a red flash of light illuminated his trembling body.

What happened next might have been less mysterious to the nearby Muggles. Lucius turned towards Severus, anger creasing his gaunt face. Without greeting, he began casting curse after curse indiscriminately, while screaming Muggles scattered to the back of the room. As salt shakers and chairs alike burst from the impact of missed targets, at least five more Aurors appeared through the entrance of the restaurant, wands poised. In the end, it took only seconds, and one final Stunner to the chest, to take down a clearly unhinged Lucius.

As the other Aurors attended to Lucius and the frightened Muggles, Snape charged towards where Hermione and Thomas had been sitting.

A bit disoriented from her fall, Hermione could only blearily make out Snape's approaching form. However, she did distinctly feel as Thomas' body was moved from atop hers.

"Hermione? Are you conscious?" Snape asked commandingly.

Instead of answering, Hermione rolled over towards Thomas. "Thomas?" she called, noticing his body seemed limp. When no reply came, she scrambled on to her knees, leaning over Thomas. Shaking him desperately at first, she released him only to grab her wand and cast the Reviving Spell, hoping that he was only Stunned. But, his body remained limp, his eyes closed.

"Thomas!" Hermione cried again insistently, as if he simply would rise to consciousness, if only to obey her commands.

There was no response.

A/N: A bit of a cliffhanger...

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

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