Hermione made a sound of irritation at the back of her throat when she failed to find any information in the third book she was going through. Not finding what she needed in books thoroughly disturbed her. Books were her refuge, and her source of information when all else failed. It was discerning for her to not find anything in the fourteenth book in a row.

She shut the book with a snap and pushed it aside, before pulling another one to herself. She opened Methods of Transportation in the Wizarding World  and skimmed through the index. 

"Find anything yet?" 

Hermione looked up from where she was seated on the bed. Draco was seated on the chair by the window, with his own stack of books beside him. 

"Not yet," she said, her tiredness seeping into her voice.

She glanced out the window and noticed that it was night. Had she really spent nearly seven hours trying to find the smallest reference to the spell he had mentioned?

"Are you hungry?" she asked, placing a bookmark on the page she was on and closing it. 

"Not really, no," he said, "are you?"

"I can't find an appetite," she said. She exhaled and leant back on the bed, running her hands over her face. 

"Do you think we should find a way to get ourselves copies of The Daily Prophet?" Draco asked after a while, "It'll help us stay informed about what's happening at the Ministry."

How had she not thought of that before?

"We should," she agreed, "but how we should is the question."

"We could always summon one," he suggested.

"And it won't be suspicious?" she raised a sceptical eyebrow at him.

"Not if you summon it directly, and besides, it's night," he said, "Professor Snape had taught me."

He raised his stolen wand, "It has the same incantation, but the wand movement is different. It takes time to get it right, I only improved at it over the course of last year."

He performed a few short, jerky movements with his wand while muttering the incantation, and the Prophet appeared in his hands.

"I've got to learn that," Hermione said in awe, "I had read about it, but never given it much thought because why would you need that if you can just normally accio things. Now I know it's useful."

Draco gave her a lopsided grin, then stood up and bowed, "One of my msny talents."

"Of course," she scoffed, "Draco Malfoy, the talented ferret."

"You'll want to refrain from calling me ferret," he laughed. She stuck her tongue out at him, and levitated the paper to herself.

"You didn't even ask," he said incredulously. 

"I don't need to," she answered, giving him a wide, toothy grin. She unfolded the paper to have a look at it. She regretted it almost instantly.

Two large pictures, one of Draco and of herself, were plastered across the top of the front page. She recognised hers as being from the St Mungo's charity ball. The bold heading below it was in a rather large font. The Fiend Reappears:Slip up or Deliberate Move?

Her breath caught in her throat as she read. Harry had assaulted Ron for saying rubbish…team of aurors… they thought she was a criminal. Well, she couldn't really blame anyone, because it very much looked like she had been helping a wanted Wizard. She began regretting her decision of not telling Harry or Ginny about Draco. She had left them to wonder and speculate and worry. If there ever was a moment when she had felt more guilty than she was now, she couldn't remember.

"What is on the paper that had made your face go pale?" Draco asked cajolingly, clearly missing her worried stance. When she didn't reply, he looked over at her with concern, "Hermione?"

"Look at this," she lowered the paper from front of her face and laid it out flat on the bed, "just look at all this rubbish."

Draco came over to her, and after looking at her for prermission, seated himself next to her on the bed. She handed him the newspaper and watched silently as his eyes traveled down the article. His fists balled up, crushing parts of the paper. Once he was done, he folded the paper and harshly tossed it away. He kept clenching and unclenching his hands. Hermione reached over to hold them, and pried his fingers open. 

"You don't deserve to be in this bad opinion," he said. His tone was harsh, but his eyes were soft and apologetic, "they're suspecting you, and it's all my fault."

"Not really," she shrugged. She knew that if she agreed with him, he would lapse into a self destructive state of mind. She didn't want that to happen to him after all he had had to face, "it was my own choice to be here."

He looked gratefully at her, "They aren't going to listen to Potter or anyone else."

"I know," her worry came back, "that's why I'm trying to hurry, I don't want anything to happen to him or his position at the Ministry."

"Does Shacklebolt's behaviour strike you as odd?" Draco asked suddenly, "He was in the Order and, correct me if I'm wrong, was on friendly terms with you, was he not?"

"Everyone in the Order was on good terms," Hermione said, "he's the Ministry for Magic, Draco, he can't bias his jurisdiction based on the fact that he knows me."

"That's true," he agreed, "but-still, I don't know."

Hermione had the same doubts as him. In fact, Kingsley's demeanor came off as strange to her as well. He should have been still considering his options and trying to gather facts before ordering a 'dead or alive' policy. 

"Rena Podmore," Draco muttered, "Podmore."

His face paled in the horror of realisation. He turned himself to face her, his eyes dancing around the room as though searching for an explanation to appear on the walls of the room. 

"My father had Imperiused two people at the Ministry in our fifth year at Hogwarts," Draco said, holding up two fingers, "Broderick Bode and Sturgis Podmore."

Hermione understood what he was getting at, "You're suggesting that Rena is using this as a chance for revenge?" 

"It is a possibility," Draco said, "it is also a possibility that she is the impersonator."

"I don't think Kingsley set her in charge with this particular fact in mind," Hermione said exasperatedly, "Harry would have known but he has no say in this investigation."

"Can we contact anyone at the Ministry?" Draco asked, "Anyone you know?"

"We can't risk contacting anyone, we don't know who we can count on," Hermione said, "Harry will get in more trouble if anyone finds out that he's in contact with us."

"If Podmore is targeting me," Draco said slowly, "she'll also target my friends, in hopes to bait me out. Not to mention you, and my parents."

It was true. There was a possibility that Podmore would use one person to seek Draco out. And Draco, no doubt, would go to save that person like Harry had done for Sirius.

"The Ministry will have placed wards over the Manor," Hermione said, "of anyone enters it, they'll be notified."

"The Ministry is Podmore, at the moment," Draco said, "we can't trust the Ministry to take action when the Minister himself is being an idiot."

Having nothing else to say, Hermione pulled another thick volume towards herself and flipped it open at random. 

The title caught her eye.

It was a particularly old and worn book, and Hermione remembered having taken it from the Hogwarts library in her sixth year for a bit of extra research. Madam Pince had suggested that she keep it, as a small keepsake of the school and a gift. In all honesty, Hermione had not thought of this book in the past few years. It had been buried in the depths of her beaded bag, and she never found the time to sort through all the things inside it.

Her heart hammering away in anticipation of what she would find, she flipped back to the index and trailed her finger down the miniscule writing. Her finger came to a stop somewhere halfway down the page.

There it was, in small, scrawly letters. Nearly impossible to read because the ink was wearing off. But it was there. 

"Draco, I think I found it."