Come Find Me, Hermione

The pumpkin patch was flooded with costumed children chatting and sitting on oversized pumpkins. Reveling headless ghosts rode their spirit steeds round and round a dark windowed hut. Some carried their heads under one arm like a lance, others in their laps, and a few tossed their heads back and forth so that more than one bearded cranium rolled between the pumpkins.

Hermione gaped.

She had fully anticipated an abandoned pumpkin patch where she would stumble around in the dark hunting for the right gourd to crack open. Instead, it felt like all of Hogwarts were here tonight. Weren’t they supposed to be Trick-or-Treating in Diagon Alley?

“Hold up now, Weasley!” Nearly Headless Nick hollered. “You’ll never join ranks if you keep guarding your pharynx. You’re not a gopher, stop bobbing up and down!”

“I’ll bob if I want to! She’s absolutely vicious!” Ron’s distinct voice cut through the other shouts.

Hermione’s stomach dropped horribly when she rounded the shack to find a small party of revelers dueling atop a wobbly stack of pumpkins. Daphne, grinning like a dark haired goddess, lobbed Party Popping Apples at Ron. The glossy green projectiles exploded into glitter and rained candy apple suckers upon impact.

On either side of the pumpkin walk, stood more Hogwarts students—some with Fizzing Whizzbees shooting firecrackers from their ears, some with sugared Butterfly Wings sprouting from odd parts of their cloaks, there were even a few students jumping about like chocolate frogs.

As Ron dodged and wobbled on the pumpkins, the children chanted, “Fight, fight, fight.” Ron got off a quick throw that caught Daphne on the shoulder, exploding tenacious red glitter all over her jumper.

“Right, Daph,” Ron shouted uneasily, “shouldn’t you get back to healing your students?” Ron yelped throwing himself down as an apple almost took off his nose. Nearly Headless Nick led the children in chaotic cheers, mushing Daphne and Ron’s names together.

Scoffing angrily, Hermione turned on her heel and stomped to the other side of the shack yanking out the key from her pocket. She sorely hoped it let her into the dark shack, where she could scream in peace.

How dare Ron! He’d said he had to go to work. They’d probably arrived, and Harry had said he’d take care of everything, and Ron had run off to spend the night with Daphne instead of G.A.G. with Hermione.

Whatever.

Hermione exploded the pumpkins piled up before the doorway. The spell jumped eagerly from her wand. She wanted to keep blowing up pumpkins all night. And she might have, except students behind her screamed and started blowing up pumpkins like it was a new game. The Prefect in her almost turned Hermione around to chastise the little vandals. But, well, she’d started it.

Six M&M’s ran screaming up to Hermione. “Miss Granger! Miss Granger!”

“Are you also investigating the robbery?” Lucy Evans asked. Her white gloves propped on a felt, yellow shell.

Hermione looked the puffs over. “Are you aware, Miss Baker, that you have candy wings in your hair?”

“Yes, Miss Granger.” The green M&M smiled widely.

“And you, Mr Brown, Mr Blackthorn? Are those Fizzing Whizzbees coming out your ears?”

“What?” Bax Brown shouted.

“Eh?” yelled Will Blackthorn.

The girls giggled.

“Which spell did they cast, Miss Evans?” Hermione looked expectantly at Lucy—who had always been the most sensible of the puffs. Though not sensible enough to find less, mischievous friends.

“It was Geminio, Miss Granger.”

Hermione had suspected as much and flicked her wand to cast the counter spell.

“Oh, no please, Miss Granger. I rather like having wings.” Ellie Baker smiled as one of her red curls lifted as though sugar wing butterflies were tugging her after them.

The boys seemed pleased enough without their ears stopped up and sparkling.

“Blimey, it’s loud here,” complained Will.

“Now, Miss Evans, what’s this about a robbery?” Hermione frowned.

“Gringotts bank has been robbed,” Cressida Silverbrook, the blue M&M, piped up for the first time. Her wide blue eyes studied the key in Hermione’s fist.

“Mr. Potter ordered everyone out of Diagon Alley,” Finn Fairweather added, as though his holding hands with Cressida meant he was obliged to speak up when she did.

“Is that true, Miss Evans?” Hermione frowned.

“Yes,” confirmed Lucy. “Mr. Malfoy said it was safer to move everyone who got candy cursed away from the premises, but not so far that if something went wrong we couldn’t all return quickly. The healers are still discussing what’s safe.”

Malfoy? Hermione scowled. Had Draco Malfoy become an Auror? Surely Harry would have mentioned that to her?

“Candy cursed?” Hermione demanded.

“Oh yes,” Cressida hummed happily, “I’m fairly certain it was the Laughy Taffy.”

Lucy agreed, “It would be the practical candy to curse—seeing as it already includes a compulsive language spell inside it.”

“But I didn’t eat any Laughy Taffy,” argued Bax.

Lucy rolled her eyes. “I said that’s how the curse probably started. Of course there was a complex spreading mechanism involved.”

“Oh yeah? Like what?” Bax taunted.

“Yes, thank you!” Hermione interrupted, “What happened next?”

“I thought you were friends with Potter,” Will popped in again. Streaks of chocolate on his red felt. “Shouldn’t you already know all this?”

“Yes, well, I’ve had a busy night. I may as well assist in the investigation by getting your eyewitness accounts,” Hermione said primly.

“Does that mean we’ll be featured in the paper?” Bax asked.

“No, idiot, it means we’ll be included in the Auror report,” Will jabbed Bax with an elbow.

“It won’t be showing up in either,” Lucy sighed, sharing an eye roll with Hermione. “We were all imperioused—sort of. All at once everyone who had eaten any candy turned towards Gringotts bank and recited a spell together.”

Hermione felt chills streak up and down her back.

“We all chanted this rhyme—“

“Trick-or—“ Bax began to shout. This earned him three punches from three M&M’s.

“Which we’ve been instructed not to say again,” Lucy said severely.

“As it is part of a crowd spell, and nobody knows what could happen to us if we repeat it,” Will finished.

“However,” Lucy’s nose lifted a little higher as she offered, “I could write it down for you if you’d like.”

“No, thank you, Miss Evans. Writing the spell down could be just as dangerous as speaking it. And what happened after you all cast this curse?” Hermione asked.

“Well, then all the money in Gringotts bank sprouted wings—“ Bax shouted.

“Snitch wings!” Will added.

Lucy continued, “A lot of windows were broken at Gringotts, and there were Galleons, Sickles, and Knuts flying like birds.”

“And where did it all go?” Hermione asked. 

The M&M’s shrugged.

Hermione nodded, “Thank you, that will be all. Excellent costumes, by the way.”

The M&M’s beamed.

“What are you doing here, Miss Granger? If not because of the robbery?” Lucy asked.

Hermione brandished her key, “I, am about to find out myself, Miss Evans.”

“Can we help?” Lucy scuffed a yellow Converse against a broken bit of pumpkin.

“Alright.” Hermione grinned. “I’m following a riddle, which includes this key.

Lucy took the scroll and read aloud.

“By Hogsmeade you’ll tread.

Where roads, like fingers, spread.

Among the vines and orange hue,

a final riddle I gift to you.”

“Well, it must be in a pumpkin!” Bax piped up.

“Don’t be stupid,” Will huffed, “pumpkins don’t need keys.”

“I thought I’d just try out this door.” Hermione smiled and held up the skeletal key.

But when she touched the doorknob, the frame flashed yellow and creaked open with a ghostly groan. Inside, lights flickered to life, and a giant Jack-O’-Lantern turned around, green vines whipping and snapping. Its wide mouth opened, and a deep voice drawled in a gravelly growl:

“Granger, Granger,

Aren’t you a danger?

Hurry now, there’s knowledge to bind,

Wonder to find,

Be vast, fast. Be unrefined.

Your next clue’s a tale,

If you can catch up to my trail.

Come find me,

Hermione.”

Hermione gaped. The riddle purred, a seduction. A flirty pumpkin? But she hadn’t dated since Ron. So who?

The Jack-O’-Lantern’s mouth widened, and a tongue made of pumpkin innards extended, a treasure chest slid down its orange goo to the tip of the tongue.

She reached out.

“Are you a moron, Granger?” Malfoy emerged from the night and snatched Hermione’s wrist, lifting it away from the chest.

“Mr. Malfoy! It’s Mr. Malfoy!” The M&M’s shouted in excitement.

Hermione jumped. She hadn’t sensed his approach at all. His dark robes fluttered against her, his chest bumping the back of her head as she tilted to look up and back at him. A deeply unsettling mix of comfort and intrigue slithered through Hermione’s body at the possessive grip of his large hand and the solid heat of his chest at her back. Absolutely not, she screamed at her hormones. Godric, she needed to date someone.

“Malfoy?” The Jack-O’-Lantern hissed. The cheerful yellow light thundered to black smoke and purple flashes. The chest clattered to the floor, and vines sprouted thorns, streaking towards Malfoy.

“Fu—"

The M&M’s screams drowned out Malfoy’s curse as six more wands were brandished. Malfoy jerked Hermione hard against his chest as the vines advanced, one arm banded around her stomach, trapped her wand arm against her side as he lifted his wand.

Seven spells streaked forward. Shouts of, “Petrificus Totalus!” and “Stupify!”

“Reducto!” Malfoy hissed in Hermione’s ear.

“Get off!” Hermione shrieked fumbling to aim her wand from the hip.

The Jack-O’-Lantern exploded. Pumpkin guts splattered the walls, and stiff thorny vines thudded to the floor making the entire shack sway and groan.

The group stood panting for a moment, watching the mess of pumpkin bits to see if they would reanimate.

“Well done, Mr Malfoy!” The M&M’s shouted, jumping up and down.

Lucy sniffed, “It would have been wiser not to obstruct a witch’s wand in the process of your rescue. But the results, though messy, aren’t entirely useless,” she conceded, blushing as she glanced sideways at Malfoy.

Good Godric, Hermione gaped. Did the little puff have a crush on Malfoy?

The wizard in question shoved away from Hermione, prowling forward through pumpkin guts, long cloak swirling menacingly as he inspected the hapless hut.

Hermione cast a quick, “Revelio,” over the treasure chest, but there weren’t any more nasty surprises to be found except some complex holding spells. Crouching to prop the small, black chest on her knees, she inserted the skeletal key.

“Give me that!” Malfoy rounded on her.

“Bugger off, Malfoy.” She turned the key hearing a satisfying click.

“You bloody idiot. Let me open it. Whoever set this up wants something with you.” He ordered imperiously.

“Chill, Sherlock.” She rolled her eyes.

“Consider myself more a Mycroft, actually, and I don’t suffer from substance abuse,” Malfoy sneered at her, making clear he knew she was drunk.

She blinked up at him. “You prefer the brother who lacks ambition?”

“‘The tidiest and most orderly brain, with the greatest capacity for storing facts, of any man living?’ I’d think you’d be grateful, Granger. Mycroft knew himself well enough to know the world was better off without him trying.”

Hermione felt out of step. “You’ve read Sherlock Holmes?”

He raised his pale eyebrows mockingly.

She sniffed regaining her poise. “I’d have thought you didn’t even believe Muggles capable of writing.”

“A civilization can’t invent the Chestnut Praline Latte in a red cup that spells out Happy Holidays without some literate individuals,” he scoffed.

Hermione blinked.

Malfoy’s high cheekbones streaked with color as if he regretted having spoken.

“Looking forward to Red Cup Day, are we, Malfoy?” Hermione giggled falling on the floor. She was too stupefied to truly delve into the delight of this discovery. Draco Malfoy liked Starbucks’ signature holiday drink? Let alone, Draco Malfoy had been to a Starbucks? What a bizarre night. She hadn't realized Malfoy could be such a mother hen.

“Salazar, Hermione, cross your ankles why don’t you,” Malfoy snarled.

She rolled her eyes. “I’m wearing legging shorts.” But she climbed to her feet self-consciously.

“You’re a bloody mess, Granger.”

“Everything was going fine until you arrived. Merlin, you even make a goofy Jack-O’-Lantern go spare.”

“You think this is funny, Granger? This isn’t the first riddle I’ve heard go bloody violent tonight.”

“Please, did the flying Galleons dive bomb you or something?” Hermione smiled evilly, enjoying the imagery.

A strangled yell sounded from the open door. “WILL SOMEONE PLEASE OPEN THE BLOODY CHEST AND TELL US WHAT’S INSIDE!” Bax huffed, gripping his hair in both hands.

Malfoy recoiled from his looming and Hermione shivered as his shadow slipped away. Right. She was not enjoying bickering with Malfoy, she schooled herself. Surely she hadn’t sunk this low? Of course not. It was the alcohol.

“Just say no to drugs, kids.” And she had not just cackled at the M&M’s like a loon either, Hermione reassured herself.

Malfoy graced her with another scathing once-over.

“You lot.” He scowled at the pack of puffs. “You shouldn’t even be in here. Back up,” he ordered. “And you.” He sneered down at her before shrugging. “Open it then, Granger. I’m not a bloody Auror. What do I care if you trigger a trap and melt your face off? Maybe you’ll have to pay me to fix it. Won’t that just be poetic?”

Hermione paused with a sigh. The Jack-O’-Lantern had gone a bit psychotic at the end. And the treasure chest was a black, leathery construction with evil looking ruins. Reluctant to admit Draco might have a modicum of sense, Hermione took a moment to let her pride die.

Setting the chest down, she backed away a few steps and spelled the lid open. Her wand felt uppity, letting off a showy spark. The lid flew back hard enough the chest rocked.

Hermione held her breath peeking forward. Inside the chest was a bundle of velvet. She picked up the weighty object and unwrapped an ancient feeling tomb. Its cover was clasped shut with a heavy lock but a small key fluttered, tied to the lid of the chest.

“Wow.” Hermione rubbed her fingertips lightly across the deep carved ruins in the cover. Someone had to be flirting with her. They gave her a dangerous book. A giddy smile tugged at the corner of her lips.

“Well, that’s anticlimactic!” Bax complained, “What kind of prize is a book, anyway?”

“The best kind,” Lucy whispered, peering at the book in Hermione’s hands.

Personally, Hermione agreed.

“I’ll be needing that from you, Granger,” Malfoy was back to looming. His silver eyes narrowed, following the path her fingers traced over the cover.

“What?” She pulled the book to her chest.

He sighed, “Do I have to get Potter in here for you to cooperate?” He still spat Harry’s name, over-emphasizing the p.

“It’s just a scavenger hunt, Malfoy. This has nothing to do with whatever else happened in Diagon Alley tonight.”

“When we know that for sure, you can have the book back.”

“That’s ridiculous,” she sputtered.

“I’m not playing around with the life of the wizarding world’s local war hero,” he sneered. “If you know who spelled this room as a psychotic present for you, you’d better tell me now.”

“Oh yes, a little holiday spirited scavenger hunt is the crime of the century. Just because the Jack-O’-Lantern didn’t like you? It left me a book, Malfoy, not a bloody bag of bones. It’s all so dangerous!”

“What’s this?” Ron shoved through the M&M’s, glaring at Malfoy. Caked in green glitter, he spat it out of his mouth each time he spoke.

Hermione stiffened.

Malfoy watched her, his forehead puckering in confusion, before he grimaced dismissively—as if remembering who Ron was dating now.

“Talk some sense into your . . . Granger,” Malfoy waved at her.

Hermione cringed.

“What’s all this?” Ron’s voice rose an octave, glaring about the room. “Mione?! What are you even doing here? What happened to G.A.G. night?”

“Gag night?” Malfoy’s eyes widened.

“Group Activities and Games is a game night, Ron,” Hermione growled, looking at Malfoy even if she was addressing Ron. “What do you think a scavenger hunt is?”

“Oh, so . . . Where is everyone else?” Ron blundered on.

“And who set up this little gag game with you tonight, Granger?” Malfoy smirked leaning back against the shed wall, hands sliding into his pockets.

“Everyone else,” (Theo, Hermione thought,) “had to leave early. Luna wanted to do a Mooncalf survey, if you must know,” Hermione tucked the book and chest under one arm. Malfoy watched the motion like a Crup tracking its bone.

“Mooncalf survey?” Ron grimaced, “On Halloween?”

“Had a lot of Ravenclaws to gag tonight, did we, Granger?”

“Slytherin’s,” (just Theo), “too, Malfoy,” Hermione smiled as the smirk slid away from Malfoy’s face. Something dark and prying took its place.

“A scavenger hunt, eh?” Ron scratched glitter from his hair looking unimpressed. “Doesn’t sound very urgent, Malfoy.”

“Any chance you could get George to donate more toys?” Daphne popped up behind Ron, Red glitter trailing her. “The monsters are getting restless again.”

Hermione sniffed, forgiving Ron a little. So maybe he was working. But he was doing it very irresponsibly. Playing games with his fiancée. What had she been supposed to think?

“It correlates, Weasley,” Malfoy drawled, “because Granger was attacked by a giant Jack-O’-Lantern that recited poetry to her by name.”

“What?” Ron turned to her.

“It correlates, Weasley,” Malfoy continued, “because someone is playing games tonight, and leaving behind rhymes.”

“Is that true, Hermione?”

“As far as I could tell, the only one it wanted to attack was Malfoy,” Hermione glowered.

The M&M’s nodded.

“That is true, Mr Weasley,” Will spoke up. “The Jack-O’-Lantern only got nasty when Mr Malfoy showed up.” Finn looked to Cressida like she might award him House points.

“When Mr Malfoy interfered, actually,” Lucy corrected.

“Interfered with what?” Ron narrowed his eyes at Hermione.

She huffed, “The prize was a treasure chest. And when I reached for it, Malfoy pulled my hand away. That’s when it got ugly and attacked him. It was perfectly civil to me.”

“Who did set up the scavenger hunt, Hermione?” Ron blinked at her worriedly. “Nobody got hurt. So nobody’s in trouble.”

Hermione smoothed her jumper and skirt out. “I don’t know.”

Triumph flashed in Malfoy’s eyes.

“You don’t?” Ron repeated, picking glitter from his ears as if he heard wrong.

Hermione sighed. “After you left, I got an owl with a riddle. So naturally, I followed the clues.”

“Naturally,” Malfoy drawled.

“And the prize was a book.” Hermione reluctantly held up the treasure chest, opening its lid.

“Huh,” Ron brightened. “Well, whoever set it up must know you well if the final prize is a book.”

“But they must not like you very much.” Daphne frowned at the volume.

“Why?” Both Ron and Hermione looked to her in surprise.

“Because that’s a nasty book.” Daphne joined Malfoy’s side of the hut. “I’m not sure it’s even legal to have a book with enough dark magic it needs a chest to ward it.” Daphne frowned in thought.

“However it looks,” Hermione added hastily, “it’s written in ruins. So we don’t know what it is.”

“Well, I suppose we could turn it into the Auror’s office—" Ron looked reluctant.

“Or,” Hermione supplied, “I could look it over for you and update you if there’s anything interesting.”

Ron brightened.

“Absolutely not!” Malfoy protested. “Obviously, someone wants you to have that book, Granger. And we don’t know what their intentions are.”

“They sounded like they were flirting,” Lucy said.

“Flirting, eh?” Ron tugged at his collar looking less interested.

“More like stalking and manipulating,” Malfoy sneered.

“Oh, you’d know all about that, would you, Malfoy?” Hermione sneered back.

“Don’t get delusional just because they’ve seduced you with a book, Granger. Salazar, I didn’t know you were this easy.”

“A book, huh?” Will glanced at Lucy skeptically.

“A dangerous book.” Lucy smiled to herself.