Written for Naarna for the 2017 Dramione_Duet community on LiveJournal.

Dear Naarna... whoa. Your tiny prompt of 'mission abroad' really spawned a monster fic that just wouldn't fit the confines of the word constraint. I would apologize about the word count, but I felt that if I whittled it down to 8K, it would lose the integrity of the piece. I included bits of drama, with angst, humor and a HEA, I promise. I incorporated elements of Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them and one element from Harry Potter and the Cursed Child, which both belong to JK Rowling. I just took her idea and ran away with it. All locations I mention in the fic are actual locations in NYC, and I heartily advise you visit them if you ever get the chance! Many, huge thanks to my beta, Delphipsmith - you are a dream, woman!

Disclaimer: Harry Potter belongs to JK Rowling and Warner Bros. All fics posted at this community were written entirely for fun, not for profit, and no copyright infringement is intended. The characters and canon situations in the following story belong solely to JK Rowling, Scholastic and WB. I am not making any money from the publishing or writing of this story.

Hermione Granger let her head rest on the back of the uncomfortable chair, closing her eyes and sighing in resignation. "There's no way I can avoid this, is there?"

Harry Potter ducked his head to hide his smile. "Nope." He shifted around several pieces of parchment and plucked an artfully decorated card from the pile. "You can read it for yourself."

She opened her eyes and leaned over to snag the thick invitation, glancing over the flowing script.

The Ministry for Magic

London, Great Britain

Most Honored Colleagues,

It is with great anticipation that we, the Magical Congress of the United States of America, do invite you to join us in a grand celebration as we welcome our new president, Samuel G. Quahog.

We would greatly appreciate your presence, as it would show solidarity in our trouble times. You will also have the opportunity to interact with a number of wizarding world leaders, so that you may further create alliances within other wizarding societies while in attendance. Accommodations will be provided for one week, so that all may participate in the various activities.

Please RSVP via the portkey attached to this invitation. Simply list the attendees and any special requirements that are necessary. Once done, the portkey will activate and you will receive an international portkey within a week's time for transportation to the event. This will be the only means of entrance; any evidence of tampering will be subject to a most painful death.

We look forward to the pleasure of your company!

Sincerely,

Victoria Waterhouse

Vice President, MACUSA

Hermione snorted and threw the invitation back on Harry's desk. "I don't trust a society that would so casually mention 'a painful death' if we accidentally did something with their missive."

"The US does seem quite focused on security and defending what they see as theirs," Harry agreed. "But the Muggle president sounds a bit more tolerable."

"Tolerance is definitely lacking in the world today," Hermione muttered. As Lieutenant Minister for Magic, she was responsible for all the tasks that Kingsley could not devote his attention to, which were quite numerous. She had seen her fair share of despicable acts, during the war and even now, so many years later.

Harry gave her a pained grimace. "Speaking of tolerance…"

Hermione stiffened. "I don't like your implications, Harry."

A red flush made its way up his neck. "I can't go with you this time."

She blinked. "Why not?"

"Ginny's not doing too well with this pregnancy." His gaze told Hermione everything; Harry's fear was a palpable thing in the room. "Her morning sickness is worse this time around."

Without hesitation, Hermione grabbed his hands and held tight. "You stay close to Ginny and give her all the love and support she needs. Get that prat of a brother to help you," she said, referring to Ron. "Take her to the Burrow if you need to. Don't worry about this inauguration. I'll deal with whomever you choose as my second."

Harry's eyes widened, but before he could say a word a voice from behind Hermione filled her with trepidation.

"Don't know what you're talking about, Granger. I'm always first."

She let go of Harry's hands and slowly turned around. "First at being an arse, I'm sure."

Draco Malfoy smirked as he waltzed in and sat in the chair next to her. "Granger, are you checking out my arse?" He tsked. "Naughty."

Hermione swiftly turned to Harry. "No."

"Hermione… "

"Isn't Neville—?"

"Neville and Luna are on their honeymoon. In the Amazon rain forest, mind you. He's put off his honeymoon for five months. I'm not about to bring the poor man back from what might be certain death if they run into that tribe that Luna's hell-bent on finding. Plus, Neville himself is determined to find something called a Rafflesia Flower. He showed me a picture of it once. It was disturbing." Harry eyed them both. "If I can be scarred for life by Neville and Luna, then you two can deal with each other for a week."

Draco sat back and crossed his arms. "I never said I had a problem with it."

Harry looked at Hermione. "As Head Auror, I've trusted Draco as my partner for years. Next to me, he's the best."

"I'm far better than you, Potter," Draco interjected, earning himself a glare from Harry.

"As I was saying, if I can't be there with you, Hermione, I want the next best thing. He's saved my arse numerous times. Since this is an international affair, you'd have to have security going with you regardless. This solves that problem and then some. You know I'd never entrust your welfare to just anyone. You're too important to me."

Draco yawned. "Think I might drown in sentimentality before I actually—"

"Shut it, Malfoy!" Harry stared at them. "To be honest, there's another reason I want you both to go."

Hermione relaxed a little, her curiosity piqued. "Does it have something to do with their statement of in our troubled times? Because it's all quiet on the UK front right now."

Harry rubbed the back of his neck and nodded. "The reason for this new president is because the previous one, Jackson Fontaine, was found splinched over a several mile radius."

Hermione drew in a shaky breath, remembering having to heal Ron after they had Apparated while on the run. "I take it President Fontaine had never had any problems before while Apparating?"

"He was known to be quite proficient," Harry said with a shake of his head.

"Isn't MACUSA investigating possible foul play already?" Draco asked.

Harry bit his bottom lip. "I'm not sure."

"Harry, what aren't you telling us?" Hermione urged, knowing Harry always became hesitant when he was unsure of himself.

"It… it's more of a gut feeling, really," Harry offered quietly. "The details I was able to obtain don't sound like an Apparition gone wrong. I mean, I've seen people that have died from being splinched, and while it was horrible, it was never this brutal. We only got a couple of photographs, and while they weren't the clearest, instead of the neat cuts that are a result of splinching, it was more jagged, like he'd been… hacked apart."

"What the hell are you sending us into?" Draco asked with an intense edge.

"Whatever happened to Fontaine feels Dark. I don't know if it was a Muggle assailant or if its origins were in the wizarding world. If it's magic, I don't want to make the same mistakes prior generations made. Too many wizards and witches turned a blind eye when it came to Riddle. If that's happening again, but somewhere else, I want to be prepared. I'm asking you two to investigate on your own. Quietly."

Draco and Hermione glanced at each other. She nodded slightly, grabbed the invitation on Harry's desk, signed her name on the RSVP line and then handed it to Draco. He signed with a distinct flourish and gave it back to Harry.

"I'm actually looking forward to this," Draco mused.

"What, investigating a mysterious, grisly death? Of course you would be," Hermione said in resignation.

Draco leaned over and whispered in her ear, "That's just a bonus. What I'm really excited about is getting to annoy you for a week, without retaliation."

Hermione felt an arm steady her once the spinning had stopped.

"I hate international portkeys," Draco muttered, still holding on to her.

"Likewise," she whispered, trying to catch her breath and from both the dizziness and the closeness of Draco. Once she regained her balance, she lost her breath for another reason altogether. "Wow."

The opulence of the Lotte New York Palace Hotel was quite grand. A massive master staircase was off to their right, while a tall monolith shaped the area on the left. Everything was gilt inlay; gold was infused into the decorative banisters, the main chandelier and even threaded through the marble floor.

"Malfoy Manor was never this ostentatious," Draco snorted.

"Well it was decidedly gloomier," Hermione agreed, remembering her short time in the mansion.

Draco arched a brow. "You should revisit. Mother redecorated after Father died."

Hermione stared at him, nonplussed. "Returning to the scene of where I got this," she showed him her right forearm, the scarred flesh still slightly visible, "is not my idea of a social call."

He took her arm, studied it and then sighed after letting go. "Bella was…"

"Insane? Unhinged? Should have been sectioned the moment she was born?"

"Well, yes, but—"

"May I help you?"

They turned to see a formally dressed concierge looking at them expectantly.

Draco withdrew the invitation from his pocket and handed it to the man. "Delegation from the UK, here for the ceremony."

The concierge, who looked like a healthier version of Professor Lupin, glanced over the card. "Ah, yes. Follow me, please"

They followed the concierge to a marble and wood counter. The man handed over the invitation to a woman behind the counter, who took it and waved her wand over it. She then handed it back to the concierge and smiled at Hermione and Draco. "Welcome to the Lotte Palace Hotel. We hope you enjoy your stay."

Hermione returned her smile as they waited for a porter to arrive to show them to their room. When the boy arrived, he grabbed their luggage and indicated they were to follow him.

Curious, she asked, "Why don't you use a spell to transport our bags?"

The man smiled nervously. "We try to blend in as best we can, ma'am. Since the hotel is housed within a No-Maj location, we try not to draw attention to ourselves if it can be avoided. The Tower and Corner rooms are for magical folk. The rest is designated for the No-Maj population."

They stopped before a lift, waited for the doors to open, then piled inside to ascend to their floor.

"No-Maj," Draco snorted under his breath. "Decidedly unimaginative moniker."

The porter narrowed his eyes. "And what do you call non-magical persons, sir?"

"Muggles," Hermione said, before Draco could issue the retort she knew was waiting on his tongue. She may have kicked Draco in the shin. Just a little.

This time the porter laughed. "Muggles? Sounds like a No-Maj disease."

"Being a Muggle isn't a disease," Hermione said, affronted.

Draco elbowed her. "What about Muggle-borns, then?" His tone was humorous, but she didn't appreciate it.

"What are Muggle-borns?" the porter asked, shifting with the weight of his burden.

Draco opened his mouth to comment, but Hermione sent him a quelling look. "They're not a disease. Muggle-borns inherit magic from a distant ancestor; they are descended from Squibs who have married Muggles and whose families had lost the knowledge of their wizarding legacy. The magic resurfaces unexpectedly many generations later. In fact, they sometimes produce witches and wizards that have greater power than Pure-bloods."

"Really?" the porter said, looking highly sceptical. "We don't have anything like that here."

"You don't have Muggle-born, er, I mean No-Maj-born magical folk?" Draco asked, incredulous.

Draco's tone caught her off guard, as if instead of wishing that Muggle-borns were not in existence, he thought they were an integral part of the wizarding society.

"You mean Majbobs?" The porter shrugged. "Haven't ever seen one."

"Wait a few years," Hermione muttered, noting just how young the boy was. He couldn't have been older than seventeen.

The lift door opened onto a long corridor with lush carpeting and heavy wooden doors every twenty feet. The porter hefted their luggage in his arms and stepped out. "If you'll follow me, I'll show you to your room."

He turned to his left and made his way to the furthest corner of the hall. Setting down one case before a door that looked like all the others, he took their card from his pocket and waved it over the antique doorknob. "You must use your invitation to gain access to your rooms. It's keyed only for your use. If you wish to permit a guest to visit while you are here, you must add them to the list at the front desk. Otherwise, they won't be able to enter the room due to the master spell protecting it. Also, No-Maj's are not allowed above the 40th floor."

"But what if we need to—"

"If you need to meet with a No-Maj, though I have no idea why you might want to, you may make an appointment to rendezvous with them at Trouble's Trust, the lounge located beneath the Grand Staircase." The porter pushed the door open and walked in, Draco and Hermione close behind.

"Beautiful," Hermione whispered as she made her way into the living area, focusing on the view from the windows that made up the entire corner of the suite.

"It is, isn't it?" the porter agreed, as if he were responsible for the sweeping view of Manhattan. "It's even better at night."

She heard Draco speaking with the porter, but she paid them no mind. The expanse of steel and glass before her eyes was breath-taking, the buildings so much taller than those in London, and more closely packed together. The sound of Muggle car horns could barely be heard, along with sirens from Muggle police. Clouds drifted by, a more pleasant version of the occasional (unenjoyable) ride on Harry's broom.

"How far are we from the Woolworth building?" Hermione asked as she searched the horizon.

"About thirty minutes on foot," the porter said. "However, you have a private elevator that can take you there within a matter of minutes."

"Well, that's interesting," Draco said.

Hermione turned at the slight tension in his voice. "Is something wrong?"

Draco pinched the bridge of his nose. "Depends on your point of view."

"What?"

Draco waved his hand at a doorway to his right. "Check the bedroom."

"You mean bedrooms, right?"

Draco shook his head. "That's what's wrong."

She hurried down the marble hallway to a door on her left, only to see a massive bed, bedecked in sumptuous linens. One bed. No. Oh, no no no.

"Draco…" she warned loudly.

"I know!" he shouted from the other room.

"I don't understand," the porter was saying as Hermione re-entered the living area. "The invitation specifically stated that only one bedroom was needed."

"Harry," Hermione groaned. She rubbed her temples in frustration. Of course Harry would only choose one bedroom; they'd lived out of their pockets while on the run during the war, so they never thought anything of it if they had to bunk down together. And since he'd originally planned to go with Hermione, he probably hadn't changed the room before sending off the RSVP with her and Draco's names on it. Harry was totally faithful to Ginny and Hermione thought of Harry as her brother, so it wouldn't have been an issue. Now, however...

"Are there no other rooms available?" Draco asked tightly.

The porter paled. "I'm sorry, sir! Due to the inauguration, there aren't any more rooms left in the city, let alone this hotel."

"Damn," Draco grunted.

Hermione steeled her spine and inhaled deeply. She could do this, she could be professional. Right? "Draco, it's… it's fine."

He stared at her. "You're willing to sleep on the sofa?"

Her mouth dropped open. Arrogant arse. "No one has ever accused you of chivalry, have they?" she deadpanned.

"Hardly," he said with a smirk. "The sheets are 1600 thread-count Egyptian cotton. It'll be like sleeping at home."

Hermione rolled her eyes and gave a disgusted snort. "You're such a—"

"Ah, ah, ah," Draco chided, stopping her rant. "We must present a professional, unified front in the presence of others. Right, Granger?"

She took in his sly grin and huffed a stray curl away from her face. "Of course, Malfoy," she drawled, sickeningly sweet. "I'm just here to provide everyone with a day full of outward smiles and inward screams."

The porter choked back a laugh. "My apologies, sir, madam. If there is nothing else?" The boy didn't wait for an answer and quickly slipped out the door.

"Daft sod," Draco muttered, retrieving his belongings while Hermione grabbed hers. "Majbobs," he added with a derisive laugh. "Whoever heard of such a thing?"

Hermione left him to his ramblings and made her way to the bedroom. She stood at the foot of the bed and stared, wondering if her thoughts could somehow split it in two. It was large enough that if she were to manage such a feat, each bed would be at least double-wide.

"I promise not to bite," Draco purred into her right ear.

Her reaction was instantaneous. She swiftly shoved her elbow into his chest, relishing the sound of his pained grunt. She glanced over her shoulder and gave him an evil smile. "You may not bite, but I do."

He raised his brows in disbelief, rubbing at his chest. "I'll remember that."

"See that you do."

Hermione was grateful that, while there was one bedroom, at least there were two bathrooms. As she wiped away the fog on the mirror from her shower, she took in her appearance. Long strands of honey-brown hair that still refused to be tamed, no matter what spell or potion she used, hung in wet clumps over her shoulders. Freckles dotted the bridge of her nose and along her collarbone. She was somewhat thin, though she had curves where it counted, she supposed. No doubt Draco would make incessant flippant comments meant to wear down her feeling of self-worth, though, as he'd had a habit of doing in the past.

Now, stop it, she reprimanded herself. There were here on double duty: finding out what happened to the past president, and attending the inauguration of the next. She didn't have time to worry about any petty jabs or slings that Draco Malfoy would hurl at her. She had a job to do.

After styling her hair in an elegant chignon, she pulled on dark blue stockings and donned one of the elegant dresses that she'd brought along especially for the opening ceremonies. This one was an Elie Saab midnight blue chiffon, with pearls and gemstones decorating the bodice and spangling down the right side of the floor-length skirt. A high slit on the left reached mid-thigh, while a sheer cape covered her shoulders and upper arms. Matching heels complemented the stunning gown.

Makeup completed, she took a last look at the figure staring at her from the mirror… and smiled. She knew it took more than just a good looking body.

One had to have the heart and soul to go with it.

Hermione took a deep breath and exhaled slowly before entering the sitting area, ready to fend off anything nasty Draco had to say. Instead, she halted in her tracks when she spied him buttoning the top of his formal coat.

The slim jacket was tailored to suit, moulding Draco's every line. The expense was apparent in the perfect stylistic proportions and pure craftsmanship. Navy blue satin and wool trousers sculpted his long legs and… backside. He turned slightly and she saw a grey silk brocade cravat, covering a slightly darker grey jacquard vest fastened with tiny silver pearls on a deep blue backdrop. A smooth, silky milk-white dress shirt completed the ensemble, which left Hermione's mouth quite dry.

No wizard should look that good.

"It's a Cleofe Finati," Draco said quietly, slim fingers brushing invisible specks from the immaculate vest.

Why was he being so...courteous? It unnerved her. She blinked, about to offer some blasé comment about men's fashion designers fit only for a Malfoy, when Draco looked up and she noticed his eyes widen and his mouth grow slack.

She patted her hair, nervous. "What?"

"You look…"

She narrowed her eyes, bracing for his obnoxious remark.

Draco visibly swallowed. "Magnificent." His eyes roamed her figure.

She could feel the blush making its way across her chest. "Thank you," she murmured. "You cut quite a dashing figure yourself."

"Did you plan this?"

Hermione frowned. "I'm not sure what you're… oh!" She glanced from her dress to his suit. Unbeknownst to either of them, they had dressed to match, the hues meshing perfectly with each other. Her fingers tightened on her beaded bag, her wand safely within. "Actually, no, though I won't complain."

"Shall we go?" Draco asked, holding out his arm for her to take.

Hesitantly, she accepted it and cleared her throat. "You've got your wand?"

He patted his right thigh. "Always on me."

"Then let's do this."

The moment the lift carriage's art deco gate swung open, Hermione took in all the splendour of her surroundings.

The Woolworth Building at 233 Broadway was a neo-Gothic masterpiece that had just turned one hundred years old the year before. Entering visitors were immediately confronted by the palatial lobby with vaulted ceilings and the carved grand staircase framed in marble. Archways sported detailed sculptural gargoyles, perched here and there, while the curved ceilings were a glittering galaxy of thousands of individual tiles, some coated in gold leaf.

Several wizards and witches were milling about, the Muggles having long departed earlier in the day, taking in the same awe-inspiring view.

"Miss Granger? Mr Malfoy?"

They turned to find a petite woman with hair of a colour that rivalled the Weasleys. Her face was like a porcelain doll, haunting in its stillness. Her eyes were yellowish-green, neither too little nor too much of one colour, fringed by auburn lashes that highlighted the unusual shade. Hermione immediately felt there was something off about the woman, as if she were presenting them with a façade. But Hermione could play the same game; having been Minister Shacklebolt's lieutenant for the last five years, she could schmooze with Tom Riddle and he would never gain the full of her character.

She held out her hand with a somewhat genuine smile. "Yes?"

A slight twitch of her eye and the woman returned the gesture. "Vice President Victoria Waterhouse."

"You're the one who sent out the invitations," Draco added, shaking her hand as well.

Victoria gave him a wry smirk. "Well, not me personally. I do have staff for mundane tasks." She arched a brow and gave them a look that Hermione was sure was intended to make her feel inferior. "Do you not have minions to whom you delegate such responsibilities?"

Hermione clenched her fist and was about to respond, when Draco beat her to it.

"If by 'minions' you mean house elves, then no," he said smoothly. "Lieutenant Minister Granger introduced the House Elf Freedom Act several years ago, freeing a majority of our house elf population. Those that chose to stay in their positions are now paid a fair sum for their work. Gone are the days where they were made to perform tasks that wizard-kind can easily accomplish. If they're not lazy."

"I never took you as someone so… altruistic, Mr Malfoy," Victoria said with a barely-concealed sneer. "Did you not, yourself, have several house elves? In fact, was not your family one of the most egregious transgressors of such legislation?"

"That was over sixteen years ago," Hermione answered heatedly on Draco's behalf. "There have been drastic changes since then. Our wizarding society has learned harsh, deadly lessons from our mistakes, ones we don't plan on repeating. The Malfoy family paid a near unsurmountable debt to our world. It wouldn't be very forward-thinking if we, as a society, assumed that we were not a fault as well, when Voldemort took over. There was pain and suffering for many years. Peace was hard-won. Other wizarding societies could learn from our complacency, if they have the strength to do so."

Victoria's porcelain features smoothed over, leaving a cold stare. "Well, we can certainly see why you're in government, Miss Granger. Such impassioned speeches are the mainstay of bureaucrats." She sniffed. "There are those who would see peaceful measures as weakness. We must be strong, to withstand those that wish to oppose us."

Draco tightened his hold on Hermione's arm, sensing that she was about to lunge for the Vice President. "You see Miss Granger as weak?" He shook his head. "The harshest lesson I personally learned, after the dust had settled, was that in order to create a lasting future, I needed the help of those whose strengths compensated for my weaknesses. Admitting I even had any weaknesses was damn near impossible." He glanced at Hermione. "Then, the one person who had the most cause to hate me actually helped my family to thrive after the war. I would not be here, had it not been for her appeal for leniency on my family's behalf."

Hermione was speechless. Yes, she had lobbied for clemency on behalf of many people after the war, knowing that too often they had been coerced or forced to do the Dark Lord's bidding—kill or be killed. But she'd never imagined that Draco and his family were grateful for her intervention, though admittedly she'd had little reason to speak to him during her uni years and later as she worked at the Ministry. She had only known of his activities through Harry being his partner. Draco's feelings on the matter were a revelation.

Victoria laced her fingers together and gave them a snide look. "How ironic. The Majbob's harshest critic is her staunchest supporter." She sighed and turned, waving a beckoning arm. "This way to the festivities."

Draco did not move a centimetre. "Miss Waterhouse, a little piece of diplomatic advice." She turned back towards them, and he leaned into Victoria's space. "Be mindful whom you slander or upon whom you heap passive aggressive rhetoric. Miss Granger has survived the Dark Lord and been subject to torture from more soulless beings than he. They are gone, and she is not. That should be testament enough to her tenacity."

Victoria gave Hermione a passing glance and shrugged. "I'll keep that in mind."

The gathering of diplomats, dignitaries and all manner of politicians was on the thirty-first floor, on a private terrace framed by terra-cotta tiles and copper façade details. It offered breathtaking views of the surrounding cityscape, with twinkling lights spread out across the horizon. The autumn chill was almost non-existent thanks to the soft Warming Charm blanketing the entire area, for which Hermione was grateful, seeing as her gown was made from a gauzy fabric and she had no wish to cast spells unless absolutely required.

They followed Miss Waterhouse until they lost her within the growing crowd, having no wish to know where she disappeared to. Draco snagged two champagne flutes from a rather tall house elf and passed one to Hermione.

She sipped it, at a loss for words. She wanted desperately to address Draco's display of, dare she think it… loyalty? But old doubts kept creeping up, causing her to remain mute.

"Sorry about earlier," Draco muttered after swallowing a healthy portion of his drink.

He was sorry about defending her? She sighed, her emotions on a roller coaster. "I—"

"I mean, what kind of dignitary instigates arguments the moment they're introduced? Bloody MACUSA, no sense of propriety or decorum," Draco continued. "It was like she didn't want us here. How dare we show up when they issued the invitation?" He downed the rest of his drink. "I swear, if I could go back and find out what they really…" He trailed off suddenly, looking uncomfortable.

"What?"

"Nothing."

Hermione pulled him to a relatively secluded corner. "What are you talking about, Draco?"

His face went completely blank. "I said nothing, Granger. Leave it."

Not giving him a chance to dismiss her, or the topic, Hermione discreetly withdrew her wand and pressed it against his ribs. "While I appreciate your earlier defence of me, we'll only get through this thing if we're both honest with each other. Tell me what you know."

"You'd make a shit Legilimens," he spat under his breath.

"Good thing I left that sort of thing to Harry and Snape." She pressed harder. "Work with me, Draco. I won't betray you."

He turned swiftly to study her. "How did you…"

She returned her wand to her beaded bag, knowing she had guessed correctly the reason why he was hesitant to reveal information. "I can't imagine the vigilance, the constant guard you had to be on for you and your family's safety. But I do know the power of betrayal. It changes you, like nothing else. You fear to allow your vulnerabilities to be seen, to have them exposed to those who would exploit them? Yes, I know that all too well."

He narrowed his eyes. "Weasley?"

She grimaced. "Yes." She wouldn't divulge to Draco the manner of Ron's various infidelities; some were already too public. It was the main reason she'd ended things shortly after Ron became a Keeper for the Chudley Cannons. He had consoled himself with a myriad of fangirls.

Draco sighed heavily. He opened his mouth, closed it, then looked around. "Not here," he whispered, grabbing her elbow and leading her away from the crowd.

They made their way into one of the chambers that lined either side of the long terrace. Once there, he checked several rooms until he found a spacious storage closet. He sealed the door with a spell, then waved his wand to make sure that everything was silenced except the conversation that was about to occur.

"What I'm about to show you, Granger, no one knows about. Not even Potter."

Her eyes widened. "Should Harry know about it?"

"There's absolutely no reason for him to know. I've never used it."

She gave him a dubious look. "This is all very cryptic. Just show me what—"

"Promise me you won't say a word about it to anyone."

She blinked, taken aback. "What?"

"Swear it!" he implored. "I need to know it's safe."

Whatever he wanted to show her was clearly important to him. Her instincts, for once, told her to trust him. She nodded. "Go ahead."

He sighed heavily. "Close your eyes."

"What? Draco—"

"Just do it, Granger."

"You're such an infant," she groused. She closed her eyes. Fabric rustled. She was not prepared for him to take her hand and gently place something round and flat on her palm. "Can I open my eyes now?"

"Yes."

She slowly opened them to stare at what looked like a gold Muggle pocket watch with a long matching chain. "Is this some family heirloom? Is it cursed? Did you give me something that—"

"Give it back!" He reached to take it, but she closed her fingers around it and held it to her chest.

"No! Tell me what it does."

"It's…" He pinched the bridge of his nose. "It's a Time-Turner."

"No it's not," she said with a huff. "And I should know. The Ministry's entire stock of Time-Turners was destroyed during the battle with your father and other Death Eaters." She frowned. "Well, not destroyed, per se. They were rendered useless when a stray spell knocked over a counter containing hundreds of them, and the entire stock was trapped in an endless loop of falling over, un-falling, and then re-falling, in an endless cycle for all eternity."

Draco rolled his eyes. "Of course you'd know about that. But this one is different." He took it from her and pressed the button at the top of the device. The front plate slowly opened to show an intricately detailed gearbox with several sets of numbers, dials and cogs. "This is a true Time-Turner, the Tempus Fugit Machina."

"And the one I had was a fake?" she snorted.

His eyes widened. "You've used a Time-Turner?"

"Third year," she said primly. "I wanted to take a few advanced courses, but the class times overlapped with my main coursework. Professor McGonagall gave me a Time-Turner so I could take more classes. I had to undergo some serious screening processes and follow the most stringent set of rules, such as not abusing its powers nor letting anyone know about it."

"What happened?"

"Harry happened," she admitted grimly. "I helped him save Buckbeak and Sirius, along with evading Professor Lupin while he was a werewolf."

"Damn!" He traced the outer rim of the watch. "Were there any… repercussions?"

"Well, according to Professor Croaker's law, the furthest one can travel back in time without serious chance of harm to the traveller, or time itself, is five hours. Luckily, that was about the right length of time that we needed to prevent certain things from happening." She rubbed the back of her neck, remembering the odd ache of her joints whenever she had used the Time-Turner.

"So, no backlash, then?"

She shook her head. "Since we hadn't witnessed Buckbeak's execution, Harry and I going back obeyed Novikov's Self-Consistency Principle: Nothing can be changed because anything a traveller does merely produces the circumstances they had noted before travelling. It was basically a self-fulfilling prophecy."

"But someone must have done something in the past at some point, otherwise why would the Ministry have so many regulations about Time-Turner use?"

Hermione took the watch from him and held it lightly in her hand. "Time-related magic has always been unstable, and serious breaches in the laws of time have resulted in catastrophic events. The only one I know of, though there may be more, is Alexander Lakeside. He travelled to the past and was killed by his past self. I also heard of a witch that altered her life path in such a drastic fashion that it resulted in temporal anomalies such as un-births. I don't know if that's a credible story, but it's not outside the realm of possibility. That's why the Ministry of Magic seeks the strictest guarantees before it permits the use of Time-Turners: Time-Turner possession is hedged around with literally hundreds of restrictions, and the most stringent laws and penalties are in place to prevent their misuse."

Draco looked so solemn, Hermione place her hand on his shoulder and squeezed. He bowed his head. "Do you think…" He took a deep breath. "Do you think if you'd had access to a Time-Turner, you or Potter could've saved Snape?"

She bit her bottom lip. Snape's death had been brutal, horrific and bloody. Given what Harry had told her of all that Snape had done to help them over the years, she truly wished she could have had the opportunity to warn the professor before he met with Voldemort. And he'd been Draco's head of house, protector, and godfather—it wasn't surprising Draco would wonder about it, as well.

She gave Draco a small smile. "I don't know whether he would've listened to any of us at the time, but I do regret that he was lost. But meddling with time could have severe consequences, even creating an alternate timeline in which Lord Voldemort was never defeated and still ruled. If I had used the Time-Turner then, and saved Snape from his demise, I might have altered the timeline irreparably. I would still have my memory of the events of the uncorrupted timeline, but I'd have to learn second-hand the nature of the changes which had been made."

"You're such a know-it-all, Granger," he mused.

"You could call me Hermione, you know. It wouldn't kill you."

"It might sting, though."

"You'd deserve it, prat." She examined the device more closely. "So, why do you call this a 'true' Time-Turner?"

Draco sat on one of the stools edging the interior of the closet, watching as Hermione took another. "You remember Theo Nott?" At her nod, he loosened his cravat. "Sorry, this thing is choking me. Well, what you may not know is that he was extremely smart. Smarter than you in some respects."

"I seriously doubt it," she countered heatedly. "Anyone with two brain cells could've seen how toxic Voldemort was."

"Theo never joined the Dark Lord. He certainly never received the Dark Mark, like his father. He knew when to keep his head down and cultivate obscurity."

"He's definitely obscure. I haven't heard of him in years." She narrowed her eyes. "What does Nott have to do with this?"

Draco snagged the watch from her. "He's the one that made it… and why you haven't heard about him in years."

"Are you serious?" she gasped.

"No, I'm Draco," he said, trying to bring some levity into the discussion.

She rolled her eyes. "Focus, Draco. What's happened to Nott?"

Draco smoothed his left hand over the material on his thigh. "He made two of these, and they were not restricted by an Hour-Reversal Charm. He kept the prototype until the Ministry found out about it. It was made of inexpensive metal and was not the final version—it only allowed the user to stay in the past for five minutes before being sent back to the present." He lifted the watch and let it dangle. "This one? It's not retrained by a five-minute duration."

"What are the restraints, then?" she asked nervously.

"There are none."

She stared at him. "Impossible."

"Not impossible. Nothing is truly impossible, only improbable. Nott knew that if the Ministry found out about this one, he would be immediately imprisoned in Azkaban. So, he promised to give the Time-Turner to my father in exchange for a secure location where he could live out his life, undisturbed. He and my father went back to a certain period in time, and a different location altogether, and only my father returned, leaving Nott to live out his life where he wouldn't be caught and prosecuted."

"That's…" She covered her mouth, her hand shaking. "Something that has no limits… Draco, there's a reason for the saying Absolute power corrupts absolutely!"

"Hermione, I know! How do you think my father died?" he snarled. "I watched as he was consumed with greed, lust for power, and an obsession with Dark artefacts. He travelled through the ages to collect them, and every time he returned from those time trips, his face would be thinner, paler. One night he returned and he was almost skeletal. I resolved to take the Time-Turner from him. When he couldn't find it, he went into a tirade; mother was frightened for the first time in her life, and this was a woman who had lied to the Dark Lord in order to save me." Tears fringed Draco's lashes. "The man who was my father had long ceased to be. The day he died, I found him searching through his wardrobes like Mad-Eye Moody searching for his glass eye. When he turned around and saw me, he didn't look human. Before I could say anything, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed." He gripped the watch until Hermione feared it would break. "I didn't call for help. I watched that... that thing convulse and then grow still. It was the kindest thing I could offer him in that moment."

Hermione wasn't sure if Draco was aware of the tear that had made its way down his cheek, but she gently wiped it away, regardless. "I'm so sorry, Draco," she whispered.

He gave her a watery smile. "No, you're not, Granger. You're sane. That thing that wore my father's face was not. That's why I trust you with this Time-Turner—the greater the power, the more dangerous the abuse. You were wrong about absolute power corrupting absolutely. Nearly everyone can withstand adversity, but if you want to test a man's character, give him power. It's said that power corrupts, but actually it's more true that power attracts the corruptible. The sane are usually attracted by things other than power." He took her hand, placed the Time-Turner on her palm, then closed her fingers over it, squeezing hard. "You're sane. Keep it that way."

She stared at him. "Draco… you can't mean to give me this."

He smiled, though it never reached his eyes. "I admit, you having that makes me uncomfortable. You could exact all sorts of revenge, you know. But growth and comfort don't coexist, so I think I'd rather grow and spare myself the fate of my father."

Without consciously thinking about it, she leaned forward and pressed a kiss to Draco's forehead. "You're stronger than you know, Draco Malfoy."

A sudden twist of the doorknob and then a pounding on the door shook them. "Hey, whoever's in there, I gotta get some supplies!"

"Merlin," Draco spat. "We can't be seen in here—too many questions."

Hermione opened the device and studied the dials. "Do you know how to adjust the settings?"

"Not a clue. I've never used it."

"Great," she groaned. There was nothing for it, however, as the knocking became more insistent. Making a quick decision based on her previous Time-Turner use, she looped the chain around Draco's neck, moved one cog and then twisted something that looked like a compass. "Here goes nothing."

She pressed the button on top, and she and Draco disappeared before the person could pry open the door.

"Granger, what did you do?" Draco asked as quietly as possible.

"What do you mean? I tried to—"

"What manner of witchcraft is this?"

The two of them stood near a rocky ledge at the base of a hill, surrounded by dozens of men and women dressed in plain black and grey homespun. The men wore dark breeches and doublets, with black felt hats and buckled shoes, while the women wore brown or black skirts with white aprons and caps. The crowd had obviously witnessed Draco's and Hermione's arrival, and now sported shocked and fearful looks upon their faces.

"Do you not see?" one man proclaimed loudly, pointing at them. "Proof of Susannah Martin's traffic with Satan!" He waved his hand towards a gallows situated on the rocky outcropping, where the body of a woman could be seen swinging from a rope. "She hangs, yet she summons the Devil himself to retrieve her soul! He has even brought his consort!"

The crowd muttered its agreement, and Hermione felt a flutter of panic. "Draco, is there a recovery period for this Time-Turner?" she asked as she flipped open the pocket watch.

Draco backed slowly away from the advancing mob, tugging her with him, the gold chain still looped around both their necks. "I don't know. I haven't used it before, remember? But I don't think so. I mean, my father would sometimes take two or three trips within an hour."

She fiddled with the dials, not caring what the actual setting was, as long as it wasn't here, in this moment. "Hold on…"

The menacing crowd faded, replaced by the feeling of being squeezed through a tube and spat out the other end, and they stood in front of a large, three-story clapboard house, candlelight shining from within. "What is this place?" Draco asked, his voice hoarse.

"I don't know," Hermione admitted uneasily. "I just moved one of the dials and we were here." She tried to stifle the sob clogging her throat. "I… I don't know how this Time-Turner works, so I could be sending us anywhere in the world with a flick of my finger. I need to figure out the settings before we travel again."

"Can you even see it in this light?"

She brushed away a stray tear and sniffed. "Not really. Could you conjure some sort of illumination for me, please?"

Draco withdrew his wand. "Lumos."

Soft, pulsing blue light shone in their immediate area, allowing her to focus on the time piece. "Thank you," she murmured.

"Just hurry, if you can," he said nervously. "I think we're in the same time period, just a different location." He must have noticed her shaking hands, for he took one and held tight. "Slow and steady, Hermione. You can figure this out."

She inhaled quickly and nodded. "Right. So, I didn't move what looks like the time portion, but I did move this compass dial." She twisted the piece to the side. "These are actual compass settings," she muttered, spying an almost invisible sliver of a button on the bottom. "Magnify that area, Draco."

"Magnificare," he whispered. The pulsing light wavered somewhat, then returned full force. "There's a word on that button. It says Revocāre. What does that mean?"

"To recall." She slid her thumb over it, causing the device to whir. "Oh, no!"

"What?"

Her response was lost in the rushing wind of their travel… and then both were panting, breathless, gazing around at the closet where they had started their journey.

"I... I thought we were going to end up back in Salem," Hermione offered with a nervous laugh.

"That would've been a disaster." Draco looked over their clothes, noting the mud clinging to the bottom of her gown and his trouser legs. "Purgare," he intoned, swirling the dirt away.

And just in time, too, as they heard once more the loud banging knock of someone trying to gain entrance. "Hey, whoever's in there, I gotta get some supplies!"

To Hermione's complete surprise, Draco pulled her to him and pressed his lips to hers just as the door swung open.

"Oh, my god! I'm so sorry, I thought you were one of the servers!" the waiter squeaked. "My apologies!" The door slammed shut.

But Draco did not stop kissing her. In fact, one of his hands made its way into her hair and tugged on her chignon, releasing it from its confines. The other grasped her waist and held her against him. Dear Merlin, the wizard could kiss. His lips caressed her jaw, making their way to just below her right ear and then down her neck. She felt dizzy and clutched at his shoulders to remain grounded. The heady feeling coursing through her drowned all her senses.

That thrilling feeling ended abruptly when Draco took a step back. "It was the only thing I could think of so they wouldn't see our faces."

She had closed her eyes during the snog but now promptly opened them. "Oh." She refused to acknowledge the disappointment settling in the pit of her stomach. "Right." She withdrew her wand and returned her hair to its previous state. "I'm sure they noticed our absence. We should… we should leave."

Draco nodded without looking at her and removed the chain from around his neck. "Let's go."