To Be A Spy

Chapter 1

Hermione Granger was sitting in her room in the Leaky Cauldron deep in thought. It was three weeks before September first, and she had been dropped off at the pub to buy her Hogwarts things and to meet Ron and Harry. Unfortunately, Ron had just sent her a letter saying his family had caught some obscure disease while in Egypt, visiting Bill. Their entire family was quarantined, and the only people allowed in and out were specialists from St. Mungo's. Ron said he was feeling better, but no one could leave until they were all entirely better, and Mr. and Mrs. Weasely and Ginny were still in pretty bad shape. He predicted they probably wouldn't be able to get to Diagon Alley until August 30th or 31st. Hermione had sent them a reply saying she hoped they got better soon, and continued waiting for Harry.

But Harry didn't come. Figuring the Durselys had stopped him, Hermione sent him an owl asking him where he was. He hadn't replied yet. As she was thinking this, however, there was a sharp rap on the window. There was Hedwig. Hermione quickly opened the window and read Harry's letter:

Dear Hermione,

I'm sorry I didn't get there when I said I would, but the Durselys have dragged me to Majorca on Dumbledore's orders we aren't to be separated. He still believes I'm safe with them, even after the incident with Mrs. Figg.

Hermione thought, Incident is right; she had to kill them to get you to safety.

I think I will be able to get there around the 30th, so have fun with Ron, and I'll try to get there as soon as possible.

Harry

"This is great," Hermione thought aloud. "Oh, well, I'll just finish my homework, and have fun on my own."

She went down to the bar to order her lunch. It was a good thing her parents had given her lots of money, of she wasn't going to the Burrow. She looked at the menu, said, "pork chops, mashed potatoes, and pumpkin juice," and these things appeared before her. It was interesting what a few house elves could do to make a place run efficiently. She had talked to them when she had first gotten there, and they had convinced her of something no one else could. They liked working. So she had finally given up her S.P.E.W. campaign; in the past year she hadn't had much time for it anyway.

Hermione looked around her as she ate. There were always interesting people at the pub. Her gaze scanned the ever-present old woman with the pipe and her friends, a few older wizards on their coffee break, and finally settled on a boy in the corner, partially shadowed, who happened to be looking straight back at her. She quickly looked back down at her plate, not wanting to acknowledge his presence. Because he was anything but the boy she remembered. He had filled out; looked lean and well muscled, and had finely chiseled features. The gray yes boring into her own were Draco Malfoy's, of all people, and should be ignored. Hermione quickly finished her meal and paid at the counter. She could feel his eyes on her, or was she imagining it?

Why would he look at her? Hermione wondered as she looked in the floor-length mirror back in her room, scrutinizing her features. Maybe he was surprised at her different appearance. She had noticed over the summer that she had most definitely filled out. Her ears were newly pierced, as one of her Muggle friends had finally convinced her there was no reason not to, as the piercing and first pair of earrings were free. Her friend had also bought her an entirely new, and what she had deemed as "cool," wardrobe. Her hair had massively tamed down, at the moment falling in soft curls around her shoulders, instead of the big bushy frizz it used to be.

Yes, she had definitely changed, Hermione decided. Her seventeen-year-old self was much different than the eleven-year-old on that first train to Hogwarts. Yet did any of that matter? She was, and always would be, just a Mudblood to the heir of the Malfoys. She was just Granger, the know-it-all brainiac whom he despised.

Hermione sighed and turned away from the mirror. She rummaged through her trunk for her money, and decided to get some of her school things for lack of anything else to do. Her robes had become too tight in the chest-another sure sign of growth-so it was either buy new robes for her last year or look like a "scarlet woman" as Ron called them. She shuddered at the thought and decided her first stop would be Madame Malkin's.

When she walked in, an assistant led her to the back, asking what kind of robes she wanted. When she said Hogwarts robes, this was her final year, the woman asked "Which fabric?"

"I don't know, the kind I normally get?" came her puzzled reply.

"Oh, but you must see our new selection! I believe I have just the thing," and she whisked off, leaving Hermione very confused.

"I didn't know there was a selection," she told the empty shop.

"If you get new robes in your seventh year, you have options, because of the fact you will wear them other places besides Hogwarts." Hermione gasped and whirled around, her fashionable peasant skirt swirling around her legs.

"I didn't know you were into fashion, Granger," Malfoy smirked, glancing at her V-neck T-shirt. She blushed.

"My Muggle friend insisted on going on a shopping spree for her senior wardrobe, and, full of goodwill-which I suspect had something to do with her parents' credit card in her hand-bought me practically an entire new wardrobe, insisting I wore old-fashioned clothes and needed some real ones. Satisfactory answer?" she snapped, talking more than usual in her embarrassment of being scared.

"I wasn't asking for an answer, but it was wonderful. I'm looking forward to seeing your new wardrobe." With a smile he walked out of the door.

Feeling very confused, Hermione was relieved when the assistant came back with a dew different fabrics and designs in hand. She ended up letting the woman decide, who was delighted. She started measuring and pinning, commenting on Hermione's "perfect figure" and simply chattering away.

Finally, with her packages of robes in hand, Hermione walked quickly back to the leaky Cauldron, deeply immersed in her confused thoughts.

~ ~ ~

Meanwhile, Draco Malfoy was laying in his bed, staring at the ceiling. He had decided to leave his home sooner than usual that summer, because of the pressure his father was putting on him to become a Death Eater. He wasn't really against the idea, but he needed more time, to make sure it was the right chioce-however, deep down, he knew he didn't have much of a choice. Now he was even more confused. When had Mudblood Granger become so drop-dead goergeous? He hoped she had chosen robes that weren't too conservative. Her make-up, clothes, figure, earrings, hair, everything about her was perfect and beautiful. She had a great personality too. He liked when she was mad. She was really cute then. She had certainly changed a lot over the summer. But then, so had he.

Draco took pride in his newly acquired muscles, knowing he looked good. He had grown up all well, and he found himself strangely hoping she would she that. "She's a Mudblood; I shouldn't like her. This is Granger. She is an ugly know-it-all," he chided himself, but couldn't believe a word of it.

He had to talk to her. He wanted to be with her, and he was afraid. Afraid of what she'd say, what he'd do, and what his father would do if he ever found out. But he needed to talk to her, to see if she felt even remotely the same way.