Chapter Seven

Disclaimer: My thanks to JK Rowling for having such a splendid imagination and for allowing us to play around with her characters in the fanfiction universe. She gets all the credit for anything you recognize; the plot for this story is entirely mine (though I don't get paid).

Chapter Seven

For two weeks, the Stranger had pondered the strange visit from the amorphous, Disapparating man, trying to come up with a feasible plan to keep Hermione Granger safe. Nothing further untoward had happened since, so perhaps it was just an overactive imagination and paranoid reaction to the man's presence that fueled the Stranger's unease. However, rumor had it for some time now that Hermione Granger may be at risk: a phrase here and there, a dropped word or two spoken behind-hand in circles that he had been privy to. Never a direct threat, only hints as fleeting as the image of the Disapparating man.

Of course, there had been some commotion soon after that last battle. Hermione had insisted that Lucius Malfoy was dead and that she had been the one to kill him. Word of that had infiltrated the Wizarding world, through a scandalous comment here and there in the Daily Prophet. They never found Lucius' body, though, and the Ministry soon lost interest in trying to find him. Fortunately, or unfortunately, for Hermione Granger, depending on how one looked at it.

Without Lucius present to question about certain events, the Ministry couldn't place any blame on Narcissa or Draco. Lucius would have of course been given Veritaserum in their questioning of him, and certain facts would have become known, implicating both wife and son. Considerably unhappy at one of the key players in the Dark Side of the war having escaped, they had frozen the Malfoy estate, making it impossible for the remaining Malfoys to access their Gringotts account.

Word along the high-society grapevine was that Narcissa had submitted herself into self-exile and Draco was left to fend for the two of them...through any means possible. Draco's ever-increasing anger had surfaced in minor fits of rage and frequent not-so-empty threats of exacting his revenge. Very out of character for a Malfoy, and it became quite the talk among the ladies at tea-time.

No one in the rumor-mill even suspected that Lucius lay comatose within the very walls of his mansion. At least Draco had wisely kept his mouth shut on that score. If even a breath of knowledge seeped out into the community, the Ministry wouldn't hesitate to investigate, and both Narcissa and Draco could be detained for harboring a known criminal, however incapacitated he was.

The Stranger had also pondered why Hermione Granger's well-being should be so important. That question had come up more often than not in the past two weeks, and had led to a disturbing discovery. It started out as denial and ended up in defeat. Perhaps the weeks standing across the street from her shop had taken its toll and damaged his mind? After all, he hardly socialized any longer, and lack of proper social contact with human beings could cause strange fixations. Perhaps he felt it to be a duty of sorts to look after her? She was a single woman, working all alone, often past dark, and was quite vulnerable to the riff-raff that still hung about in not-so-surprisingly large numbers.

In the end, he had to face the truth: he fancied Hermione Granger.

And then, he had to face an even more insidious truth: he had begun to fancy her before he had spent even one night guarding the door of her shop. He refused to explore just how far back this admiration went. Absolutely refused.

Whether he fancied her or not was completely off the topic, however. The Stranger suspected that the man seen departing the bookshop a fortnight ago was most likely Draco Malfoy ... and no one...fancied or not...deserved a fate at the hands of a Malfoy intent upon revenge. It wasn't a certainty that it was Draco, but a very high probability, considering both the rumors milling about and the brief glimpse of lengthening, blond hair the Stranger had seen right before the man had Disapparated.

Unable to keep a constant, surreptitious watch on Hermione, there was only one thing left to do: place a miniature monitoring device that could record all goings-on within the shop. Muggles used them all the time and had dubbed them 'bugs,' most appropriately, as they looked like tiny little cockroaches in his opinion. Of course, that would mean entering the premises and placing the bug by hand. It was the only way to ensure placement in an area most conducive to hearing conversation while remaining concealed.

This bug he had procured from a Muggle shop that specialized in private investigation tools and equipment. It cost a pretty Muggle pound...thirty-five to be exact...but this model came with an earpiece for constant monitoring. He had placed a few complex charms on both the bug and the earpiece. Now it could record indefinitely and had instant playback with a couple spoken words. The earpiece could be Disillusioned with a tap of the finger for those times he was feeling 'social.' A Muggle apparatus would be very conspicuous indeed. And with a double-tap and the incanted words, 'Portus Strega,' it became a Portkey and would bring him instantly to a predesignated spot in the alleyway.

An hour before nightfall found the Stranger in that alleyway with the magically altered Muggle device in hand. An aimed wand placed a few glamours upon his face, hair and voice. It wouldn't do, after all, to be recognized in any way. And, emerging from the shadows that had only begun to collect, a rather tall, somewhat handsome, white-haired man crossed the street in the direction of the Strega Letteraria.

~ o ~

Hermione sat at her desk, nibbling a soda cracker, sipping soda, and staring at the growing pile of bills that were due on the first of the month. She didn't have to think about paying them for another week, but Mr. Burke's order had just come in today and with it the resulting cash-on-delivery bills. She sent cash payment back with one owl...the poor thing had struggled with the resulting weight...and wrote a credit slip from her Gringotts account with another. Her nausea intensified with the sudden loss of funds, no matter that they would be refunded in less than a week with Mr. Burke's payment.

Ginny had been a godsend ever since she had found out Hermione was pregnant. She had sent Hermione a book by owl the morning after Harry's wedding entitled What to Expect When You're Expecting. It was a Muggle book, something that didn't surprise Hermione in the least since Ginny was as avid a reader as she was herself. Hermione was nearly finished with the book ... for the second time, having placed magical note-markers in areas that were of the keenest interest.

Reading the book had made her feel more attached to the growing fetus inside of her, excited over actually having another little life to care for and...to be completely honest with herself...extraordinarily terrified at the same time. She was rather looking forward to having the baby, now that she had grown accustomed to the idea. Maybe it was the hormones now rampaging through her body, but the fact that Harry was the father of this baby made her feel even more of a connection to the child, even though she was only two months along. Knowing that the little lump growing in her tummy was a part of her and Harry made loving it even easier, strengthened the bond between mother and child.

A care package had arrived by owl post a week after the book, complete with ginger tea, peppermints and soda crackers, all to help with the nausea; a pregnancy journal to keep track of all the changes that were happening with her body and so she could keep avid notes, of course; and a Muggle measuring tape, which had made Hermione smile. She had taken to measuring her abdomen and her bustline every morning. So far, there wasn't much change, though her jeans had gotten too tight, and this morning she found that she couldn't button them anymore.

Fortunately, Ginny never questioned the story that the baby had a Muggle father and never brought up the fact that the baby would never know him. But ever the pragmatist, Hermione was ready with particulars, should Ginny ask, including what the father had looked like. Hermione could safely say that the father-in-absentia was dashingly handsome...okay, so she was a little biased where Harry was concerned...with black hair and green eyes; no one would be the wiser. That way, if the baby ended up looking like Harry, no one would think to put two and two together. There were certainly several men with that description residing in the Muggle world, not to mention quite a few in the Wizarding world.

The only thing marring this happy occasion...for that is definitely what it had become...was that she still had no idea yet how she was going to support both herself and a baby. Ginny and Alpin were most generous in their support, whether it be babysitting or a place to stay; they kept telling her that she was part of the family, after all, and she had done more than enough helping them out when they were in a bind. They assured her that no matter what, she wouldn't be destitute or homeless.

She may not become destitute, but she very well may lose the bookshop, and that fact positively depressed her. She had even begun looking through the advertisements in the Daily Prophet to get ideas, just in case she had to put the Strega Letteraria up for sale. She could only stomach doing that for a minute or two at a time, though; the very idea had her reaching for the soda cracker tin.

The bell ringing at the front of the shop alerted her that someone had entered. She had been so engrossed in her musings that she hadn't even noticed the potential customer. Jumping out of her seat while simultaneously brushing soda cracker crumbs off her robes, she turned around to greet the man.

He walked towards her with a slight limp, helped along with a silver-topped ebony cane. His hair was straight, silvery-white, and fell softly about his shoulders. His features were angular, his skin tea with cream; definitely not unattractive. He was no one she had seen before around Hogsmeade, or anywhere else for that matter, but she was always happy to obtain new customers, regardless of where they were from.

"Good afternoon. How can I help you?" she asked warmly, hoping to offset her initial inattentiveness.

"Good afternoon," he said smoothly. "I've stopped by to see if you have the latest Potions book the new professor up at Hogwarts has requested...Obscure Potions in Everyday Life. You see, my son is entering his seventh-year in the fall, and I want him to get a head start on studying. He has set his sights on becoming a Potions master."

The man's voice was soft and lent to his overall attractiveness. His whole demeanor was soothing, giving an overall sense of someone who could be trusted, drawing him to her on an emotional level. She looked at him appraisingly.

"Well, you and your wife must be very proud of him," she stated.

"We are. We are," he said emphatically. "We have a daughter as well, but it'll be another year before she attends Hogwarts."

It was the picture of the average family: father, mother, and two children, one on his way to an honest career. A little mite of envy twinged on the cords of her heart. She plastered a smile over the unwanted feeling and remembered that the book was still boxed up at the back of the shop. With all the reading she'd been doing, and how scattered her mind had felt these last couple weeks, she found herself procrastinating when it came to working on the textbook display.

"I just got the stock in last week but haven't had a chance to put them on display yet," she admitted. "It'll be just one moment while I bring one from the back." Smiling, she hustled off, not wanting to make the man wait.

"You have such a nice shop," the man called out, eyes quickly scanning the immediate area.

"Thank you," Hermione called back as she levitated a couple boxes to get to the one that particular book was in. "I'm rather fond of it myself."

Satisfied that Hermione was properly occupied, the man let his fingers run under the ledge of the counter, looked behind the till and a quill-cup, glanced over to the desk...but quickly discarded that idea once he saw how neat she kept it...trying to find the optimum location to place the bug. He could hear boxes restacking themselves at the back of the shop and knew he didn't have long before she returned.

Desperately, he settled upon a spot high enough that she would not be able to reach, much less see, and placed the tiny bug on top of the mirror, which hung behind the front counter. It was a good location and would allow him to hear all conversation between her and any customers. A whispered charm secured the bug to the frame and another activated it. Any sounds, any conversation, anything that went on in the shop at all would now be delivered directly into his ear. No matter where he was, he would know instantly if Hermione was in danger.

"Have you been in business long?" he called out to her, trying to get a feel for where she was. "I don't recall ever seeing this shop before."

Hermione rounded the stacks at that moment with the book in her hand to see the man standing by the mirror. It was a bit disconcerting to have him behind the desk in an area reserved for the shopkeeper, and he could sense her discomfort. Yet, if he moved now, she would also be suspicious of his reasons for being back there. He made a show of peering at the glowing screen, as though he had never seen one like it before.

"Oh, I've been in business for nearly five years. I suppose it will take some time before I garner as much attention and business as Flourish and Blotts," she replied. ... If at all, she added silently to herself.

"Well then, it's my fault for not noticing sooner." He smiled, making eye contact for a scant couple seconds. "Oh! I wanted to ask you...what exactly is this?" he asked, pointing toward the screen.

"Ah! You are the second person to ask me this in as many weeks. If anything, I'll become widely known as that shopkeeper with the strange Muggle device!" she exclaimed, warming up to the man on her side of the counter.

He chuckled along with her, thinking that now there were two 'strange Muggle devices' her shop could be widely known for.

"This," she said, pulling out a tray with a series of black buttons, "is a computer. My parents bought it for me a couple years ago. I keep track of my inventory in here, am supposed to log my income and expenses...though I'm dreadfully behind...and can access the Wizard-Wide Web, a computer-network for wizards."

His eyes widened at that last fact. While he was familiar with what a computer was, he hadn't known that the Wizarding world had come out with its own version of the Internet.

Hermione brushed past him as they exchanged places, he returning to the customer side of the counter. On his way around the desk, he noticed two books lying on top of a swath of butcher paper, ready to be wrapped. The Mortal Magus, he read and then surreptitiously tried to read the title on the spine beneath it while Hermione was otherwise occupied. Malefic Magical Maladies? Now he was certain it was Draco who had paid a visit to the shop. High probability had just become a certainty. And with certainty came a vague sense of urgency and dread.

"Um, sir?" Hermione's voice broke through his thoughts. "That'll be five Galleons and six Sickles."

"Oh, yes! Most sorry. Here you go," he said, handing over payment and waiting for his change.

Hermione held a few Sickles in her outstretched palm, waiting for him to take his change. As he deftly plucked the silver coins from her hand, she found herself gazing almost appreciatively at his long, tapered fingers. The simple motion made her feel wistful for a moment and gave her a peculiar sense of déjà-vu, almost as if something had been both remembered and forgotten at the same time. The feeling had discomfited her so that she only barely registered that the man had thanked her.

"You're most welcome ... and thank you," she answered dutifully.