Welcome to my fic for the Much Ado About Dramione fest, which I had the honour to run recently! My story is based on The Merchant of Venice. It features a gender-bend, with Hermione as the merchant and Draco as the wealthy heir to be married off.

This fic is a work in progress as my muse has been a bit of a...well, witch just lately! I have a coupe of chapters already written, and intend to finish the last of the story in the coming weeks!

Beta love to PotionChemist, who reins in my excessive use of certain gestures (no, not rude ones, haha!)

In a darkened, empty field, two shadowy figures suddenly appeared in the air, and tumbled ungracefully to the grass. They got up unsteadily, groaning. One gagged and bent double, vomiting at their feet.

"I told you not to eat so close to our activation time," the other admonished the first. "Do you ever listen? The chances of becoming Portkey-sick increase with distance traveled, as you well know, and a full stomach does not help matters."

"Can you save the lecture?" the first grumbled, between bouts of retching. "I was hungry."

The second figure waited patiently for their companion to recover. After a few minutes, the vomiting figure stood upright.

"Okay. Let's go and find our inn."

The two people walked out of the field, barely noticeable in the blackness all around them. They reached a small lane and began to follow it. As they neared a crossroads, the moon came out from behind a cloud, giving the travellers light to see by. One had long, shiny red hair that tumbled down her back, while the other had a mane of wild brown curls.

"Have you stayed at this inn before?" the redhead asked her friend.

"No," the curly-haired woman replied. "But I've heard the beds are comfortable, the food is acceptable, and the landlord doesn't charge extortionate prices. It'll do for now."

"I just hope there's enough room to continue your research," the redhead said thoughtfully. "You're so close to perfecting the potion."

The women continued on in companionable silence, headed to Burford, a small medieval town in West Oxfordshire.

Halting just past the crossroads, the curly-haired woman turned to her companion. "Has your stomach settled enough to Apparate the rest of the way?"

"Yeah," the redhead answered. "I'm fine now."

The curly-haired woman held out an arm, and her friend took it firmly. With a pop, the women vanished.

They arrived in the centre of Burford, which was quiet due to the late hour, and headed towards the small inn at the far end of the main street. They arrived and pushed the door open, making their way over to the counter. The establishment was about half full, witches and wizards drinking and talking at the small tables.

"What can I get you, m'dears?" asked the elderly woman tending bar.

"We have a reservation, a double room," the curly-haired witch explained. "Granger and Weasley."

The woman pulled a small ledger from a shelf and consulted it briefly. "Ahh yes, here you are. Granger and Weasley, double room, open stay, breakfast and dinner included in the daily rate." She turned to a small cupboard behind her and opened it, revealing a row of keys hanging on hooks. She selected one, closed the door, and turned to the waiting women with a smile. "If you'll just follow me, m'dears, I'll show you to your room."

They followed the innkeeper up a narrow flight of stairs, which ended at a small hallway that branched off in two directions. She turned right and stopped before the last room at the very end of the hall, and unlocked the door.

"Come on through, m'dears," she invited. "My name's Wilma Perkins. Breakfast is served from seven til eight-thirty, and dinner from five-thirty until seven. House rules are only one visitor at a time per room, no additional guests, no loud noise between ten in the evening and seven in the morning. Respect other guests and their belongings, food downstairs only, limit baths to half an hour per person so everyone can use the facilities. Fresh towels every second day, laundry services twice a week."

Wilma showed her guests where to find the women's bathrooms and how to arrange for laundry collection, then left them alone, imploring that they come and see her if they needed anything. They thanked her, and she was gone.

"The room looks alright," the redhead observed, moving over to sit on one of the beds. She gave an experimental bounce. "And there's enough room in the corner to brew if you move that chest of drawers out of the way."

"I think it will be perfect, Gin," Hermione replied with a smile.

Over the next few days, Hermione and Ginny spent their time wandering the small town and exploring its shops. They had been in Burford for nearly a week when Ginny noticed a poster in the window of a bookstore.

"Hey, look!" she exclaimed. "There's a Ministry ball happening for Easter! We should go!"

"I don't know, Gin," Hermione sighed, coming to read the information. "You know I don't like functions."

"Come on, Hermione. Please?" Ginny begged. "Who knows, you might just meet a nice man!"

Hermione rolled her eyes. "That's hardly a priority right now. I've got other things to think about at the moment."

"You've been working too hard!" the other girl argued. "You need to let your hair down."

"Is that wise?" Hermione snorted, gesturing her curls, tightly restrained in a bun. "If I do that, it's likely to smother someone."

Ginny laughed. "You know what I mean. Go on — say yes!" She looked at Hermione pleadingly.

Hermione groaned. "You're going to bug me until I give in, aren't you?"

"Yup," Ginny grinned, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Okay," she sighed in defeat. "We'll go to the thrice-cursed ball."

"Yay!" Ginny pulled Hermione into a crushing hug, causing her to laugh.

Abruptly Ginny pulled back, a look of delight on her face. "This means we'll need to go shopping for new dresses! Let's go do it now!"

Hermione was dragged unceremoniously up the street, already regretting having agreed to attend.

Draco Malfoy lounged in an overstuffed armchair in the drawing room of his family's stately home, enjoying a Firewhisky and reading the paper. Blaise, his best friend, sat in a chair beside him, absorbed a thick book.

"Draco," a voice called.

Draco sighed quietly, lowering the paper so he could see over the top. "In here, Mother," he called.

Narcissa Malfoy glided into the room. "Oh, there you are, Dragon," she smiled. "Have I told you about the ball the Ministry is hosting for Easter?"

"Yes, Mother, you have mentioned it. Several times, in fact," Draco replied tiredly.

"There's no need to snap, darling," Narcissa chided him. "You will be joining me, won't you?"

Draco couldn't think of anything he would enjoy less than joining his mother at another bloody ball, but he knew better than to say it out loud. He would be expected to attend, if only so she could scope out potential brides for him amongst the guests.

"Of course, Mother." He forced himself to smile.

"Wonderful!" Beaming, she turned to Blaise and added, "And what about you, Blaise? Will you be joining us?"

"Well, I'm not sure," Blaise said thoughtfully, rubbing his chin. "I'm not terribly fond of balls, unlike Draco."

"Oh, but you must!" Narcissa urged. "There will be lots of eligible witches in attendance!"

"Perhaps," Blaise answered noncommittally. "I'll certainly consider it, but I wouldn't want to cramp Draco's style or force him to compete with me."

Narcissa shook her head in exasperation at his teasing. "Blaise, you're a rouge," she said affectionately. Turning to Draco, she continued, "I have an appointment. I shall be back at dinnertime." She exited the room, leaving the two men alone.

Once she was out of earshot, Draco turned to Blaise with a frown. "What the hell, Blaise?" he said crossly. "You know how much I hate balls! And as for me having to compete with you for witches, you're bloody dreaming. I'm richer and better looking, and—" He stopped short. Blaise was grinning wickedly at him.

"You're an arse," Draco huffed, turning back to his paper.

"I have to entertain myself somehow," Blaise replied. "And winding you up is one of my favourite ways of doing that."

Draco didn't respond. He simply snapped his paper several times in displeasure and hid himself behind it.

Hermione and Ginny were making their way back to the inn, loaded down with bags. They had travelled to London to visit Diagon Alley, where all the best wizarding shops were located, and perused the gowns available at Madam Malkin's.

"I can't wait!" Ginny babbled excitedly. "Aren't you excited, Hermione?"

"Beside myself," she muttered.

They arrived back at their room and hung their dresses up, then went back downstairs for dinner.

They were halfway through their meal when a tall, dark-haired and handsome man strode through the door of the inn. He looked around with an assured, slightly arrogant expression and made his way over to the bar, signalling for Wilma to attend him.

"It's the third Thursday of the month, Mrs Perkins. You know what that means."

Hermione and Ginny watched the man closely. A quick glance around the room indicated that the other patrons were also watching, but more subtly.

Wilma looked at the man apprehensively. "Yes, Mr Riddle. Right away. I'll just fetch it now."

She ducked under the counter, emerging soon after with a small bag which she handed to the man before her.

He took it in his palm, lifting it up and down as if weighing it.

"It feels a little light, Mrs Perkins," he observed.

"I'm sorry, Mr Riddle. Business has been slow this month. I'll have the full amount for you next time," the older witch promised nervously.

"This just won't do," Riddle replied with a tone of feigned regret, "I'm afraid I'm going to have to add interest to your account for the missing amount from this month. I'll expect an extra fifteen Galleons when I return."

"Yes, Mr Riddle," Wilma said quietly, her head lowered.

When the man had gone, Hermione and Ginny looked at one another.

"What was that about?" Ginny wondered.

"I don't know," Hermione replied. "But it didn't look good."

The next day, the two women decided to investigate the mysterious Mr Riddle. They asked questions of residents and business owners alike, but no one would tell them anything — a roadblock they found to be most frustrating.

Finally, they returned to the inn, deciding Wilma would be the easiest person to get information from. She had been very kind and accommodating and they were sure she would give them information. To their surprise, however, she was no more forthcoming than the others.

"Just keep away from Mr Riddle and don't go asking questions!" she told them fiercely. "Don't go causing no trouble, you hear? I can't have you attracting any attention to my place, it's hard enough to bring in customers as it is. You keep asking about, and I'll have to ask you to find alternative accommodations. Y'understand me, girls?"

"Yes, Madam," Hermione and Ginny replied.

They were perplexed. Whoever this Mr Riddle was, he couldn't be a good person to elicit such a reaction in the otherwise jolly witch. They went up to their room, where Hermione checked her potion and made notes on its progress.

"It's still not quite right," she sighed. "I'll need to adjust the aconite slightly next time. Hopefully that will help."

Hermione was working on a new potion for the Ministry, as yet unpatented and untested, to address the growing problem of low magical births in Wizarding England. Witches were having trouble conceiving and carrying to term, and of those who were able to have a live birth, about three percent of those were turning out to be squibs. Five years ago, only one point five percent of live births produced a squib, and ten years previously, it had been zero point seven percent.

The low fertility and birth rates had been a problem for some time, but the rise in squibs was what had the wizarding community worried. There had been talk about using old magic and a marriage law to try and pair couples together on the basis of optimal fertility and ability to produce magical children, but thankfully it had not reached this point.

Hermione, who was Muggleborn, knew all about Muggle methods for improving conception rates in couples struggling to have children and had based her idea for a new fertility potion off some of those concepts. After some difficulty, she had managed to convince the Ministry of Magic to endorse and help fund her research.

Unfortunately, while she was confident in the brewing method and ingredients, finding the exact amounts of each component to use had proved to be a challenge. She had to get the balance just right before she could share her results with the Ministry and start the testing phase.

There was a sudden knock at the door and the two witches looked at each other apprehensively. They both drew their wands and crept forward.

"Who is it?" Hemione called out authoritatively.

"A friend," came a strange voice they didn't recognise. "A friend bearing information."

Hermione opened the door a crack, her wand at the ready. A man stood before her, hooded and cloaked. He had a slight frame, narrow face and bright blue eyes.

"What kind of information?" she questioned.

"Answers," he replied mysteriously, in a low whisper. "Come to the Hog's Head in Hogsmeade Village in half an hour." He turned and disappeared down the hallway.

Hermione closed the door again and turned to Ginny. "What do you think?"

"I think he must know something useful," Ginny answered. "If he wants us to go all the way to the Hog, he's clearly worried about telling us here. Maybe it's about that Riddle bloke?"

"That's what I'm thinking, too." Hermione nodded. "Still, we don't know who that man is. He didn't even tell us his name. It could be some sort of trap."

"Then we'll scope him out," Ginny decided. "We'll take the invisibility cloak and go there now. We'll wait and watch. If anything looks dodgy, we'll leave."

"Okay," Hermione agreed. She went to the wardrobe and collected her beaded bag, which she carried everywhere she went. The two women headed out into the night, walking a little way down the street before apparating to the wizarding village of Hogsmeade.

Once they arrived, Hermione and Ginny hurried towards the Hog's Head and concealed themselves in a dark corner of the street opposite. Hermione reached into her bag, pulling out a cloak made of shimmery material, and threw it over herself and her friend. Instantly, they both disappeared from sight.

Under the cloak, Hermione checked her watch. "He should arrive in the next ten minutes," she whispered. They waited patiently, watching both sides of the street. Finally, after nearly fifteen minutes, they spotted him scurrying towards the pub.

He was a small scruffy man, unkempt with rough stubble on his cheeks, and under his cloak he wore clothing that seemed too large for his sight frame. He looked furtively around as he approached the door.

"Go!" Hermione urged in a whisper, and still under the cloak, the two women followed him as he pushed the door open and entered, slipping in behind him and allowing the door to swing shut after them.

The man went straight to a table and sat down, lifting a hand in the direction of the bar to summon a server. Hermione and Ginny maneuvered themselves so they were up against a wall nearby, close enough to listen as well as watch.

A barkeep in a grubby apron finished serving a customer and ambled over to the man, nodding at him. "Evening, Mundungus. What'll it be? The usual?"

"Yeah. Ta, Clyde," the man — Mundungus — answered.

Hermione and Ginny watched for several more minutes. Mundungus received his drink and sipped at it. He looked at his watch and muttered to himself. "Bloody women! Always late!"

"He's got some nerve!" Ginny whispered. "He was late!"

"I don't think he's setting us up," Hermione decided. "Look, someone's about to leave. Now's our chance to slip out behind them and come back in as if we just got here."

They moved efficiently through the tables, their movements practiced and sure. They snuck out the door as the departing patron exited, none around them the wiser, and moved back to their shadowy spot where Hermione finally removed the cloak.

"Right, let's head back in," she said, stuffing the cloak back in her bag. They walked back across the road and Ginny pushed the door open. They made a show of looking around, pretending to be hesitant and unsure. Mundungus caught Hermione's eye and raised his hand once again, gesturing them over.

"I'll get drinks," Ginny stated.

Hermione moved across the room and stood before the small, scruffy man. "You're the man who is supposed to be a 'friend', are you?" she asked.

"Yep," he said. "A friend with valuable information."

"And just what will this information cost us, friend?" Hermione pressed. She was well accustomed to the mantra good information is never free.

"Smart girl, you are," Mundungus grinned. "Oh look, here's your mate. You could start by buying me one." He indicated the drinks in Ginny's hands.

"Not shy, are you?" Ginny grumbled as she placed the glasses on the table and turned to go back to the bar.

"No need to do that, luv," he winked at her. Turning to face the bar, he shouted, "Oi! Clyde! One more round, if you please!" Hermione and Ginny took seats across from Mundungus and waited expectantly while he received his new drink with a grunt and sipped at it.

"Well?" Ginny prompted. "Who are you, and what's this information you have for us?"

"The name's Fletcher. Mundungus Fletcher." He glanced at Ginny. "You must be a Weasley, with that red hair."

Ginny nodded slowly.

Turning now to Hermione, he asked, "And who might you be?"

"Hermione Granger," she replied, lifting her chin. "Now tell us what you know."

"You understand, what I know is sensitive. Telling you puts me at great personal risk," he hedged.

"How much?" Hermione snapped.

"Five Galleons," Mundungus replied firmly.

"You're taking the piss!" Ginny snorted. "We already figured out it must be about this Riddle everyone's so cagey about. What could you possibly know that's worth that much?"

"Didn't Wilma tell you to stay away from him?" Mundungus countered.

"She did," Hermione agreed reluctantly.

"She did so with good reason," Mundungus explained, shrugging apologetically. "He's a dangerous man. That's why I'm askin' for surety. It's gotta be worth my while, you see."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged a look, communicating wordlessly.

"Very well," Hermione answered after a moment. "But you get the money after you give us the intel."

"That's not fair!" Mundungus protested. "If I agree to that, what's to stop you running out on me after I tell you?"

"If we pay you first, what's to stop you running out on us before telling us anything?" Ginny countered immediately.

They appeared to have reached a stalemate, neither party willing to acquiesce to the other.

"Half now, the other half later — if we determine your intel is worth your asking price," Hermione offered. "Can't be fairer than that, can I?"

Mundungus considered for a moment, a sour look on his face.. "Fine. Half now, half after." He held out his hand expectantly.

Hermione withdrew her purse and took out two Galleons and nine Sickles, counting them into Mundungus' waiting palm. The wizard counted them himself before making the coins disappear.

He took a sip of his drink before beginning to speak.

"Tom Riddle controls most of Burford. He started off as a moneylender — still is — but he's a tricky one. Offers attractive terms on the surface, comes across as a real top bloke, but once he's got your signature on a contract, he turns into a hard man. Plenty of folks ended up not being able to repay their debts on time, even when they thought they could, and he'd take their homes, businesses, any asset they had, as a penalty."

"But surely he couldn't get away with it!" Ginny stated. "What about the Wizengamot? They wouldn't allow him to destroy people's lives like that."

"Riddle has connections in the Wizengamot," Mundungus elaborated. "'Tween you and me, I reckon he's got one or two of them over a barrel, too. And anyway, even if he didn't, he could still claim it was all completely above board because he adds it to the fine print of the contracts."

"If he has such a bad reputation, why do people go to him?" Hermione inquired. "At this point, they must consider it too much of a risk?"

"Well, you see, 'lot of folks in this town seem to run into money trouble," Mundungus answered quietly. "It's strange, really. And then they have few other options but to go to Riddle for a loan."

"What about Gringotts?" Ginny challenged. "Could they not request a loan there?"

"Well, that's the problem. Hard to get a loan from Gringotts when you're living in a small town and struggling. Usually goes before the Financial Board, and more often than not, they decline the application."

Hermione and Ginny exchanged another look, frowning.

"And why does he come into Wilma's inn demanding money?" Ginny asked. "Did she get a loan, too?"

"No, she's been one of the few that's never needed a loan because she always brought in enough to keep a bit of gold in her pocket." Mundungus glanced furtively around before continuing. "Business owners like Wilma, who enjoy modest success, pay Riddle a fee in return for what he calls 'security and assurance services'."

"And why would they need these services?" Hermione asked, although she thought she already knew the answer.

"To make sure they don't get no trouble in their place," Mundungus replied, confirming Hermione's suspicions. "He has his boys patrol the surrounding streets and occasionally enter the premises. As a deterrent to troublemakers, he says."

"So he runs dodgy loans and an extortion scheme," Ginny summarised.

"He may be influencing Ministry and other officials, and is potentially sabotaging peoples' financial stability in order to force them into entering a contract with him, which in turn puts them at significant risk of losing their assets to him," Hermione added.

"This is good intel," Ginny concluded. "We can use this."

"Now, look," Mundungus interjected, eyeing the two women with unease. "You ain't gonna expose me, are ya? No one can know you got any of this from me."

"Don't worry, no one will find out," Hermione reassured him. "Thank you, your information has been very useful." She reached back into her purse and counted out the remaining coins, adding an extra nine sickles.

"Just— be careful," he cautioned them, taking the money with a nod of thanks. "Riddle's a dangerous man. The people working for him are— well, let's just say the few people who have openly crossed him have either come a cropper or disappeared altogether, never to be seen again. And another thing — rumours is he's a skilled Legilimens. I don't know if that part's true, but if it is, it makes him even more of a threat."

Hermione and Ginny's eyes met. For the first time. Hermione felt a twinge of disquiet, and she could tell Ginny felt the same.

"Don't worry, Mundungus," she reassured him, giving him a small smile. "We're both very discreet."

They got up, leaving him alone, and stopped by the bar on their way out to pay their tab. Hermione laid an extra Galleon on the scratched wood surface, her finger keeping it in place, and asked Clyde, "Did Mundungus drink alone tonight?"

Clyde eyed the golden coin keenly, then nodded his head, glancing quickly at her before looking away.

"Yep, he kept to himself all night," Clyde agreed. "Didn't sit with or talk to nobody the whole time he was here."

Hermione slid the coin the rest of the way across the bar and removed her finger. Clyde made it vanish with impressive speed.

She and Ginny stepped out into the dark street. No one appeared to be about. Still, it didn't hurt to take precautions.

"Three jumps or four?" Hermione asked in a low whisper as they walked.

"Three will do, I think," Ginny murmured back, taking her friend's arm.

There was a sharp crack as the women Disapparated.

Once back in their room, Hermione pulled what appeared to be a blank piece of parchment from her robes, picked up a self-inking quill from her nightstand, and scribbled a note across it.

The Knave of hearts is stealing tarts, the court is at a loss

All around are hungry now, he strings them to the cross.

The kingdom's dark, the subjects weep, they know not what to do

The tarts are locked up in his vault, a true Knave through and through.

The words stood in sharp relief for only a few moments before bleeding into the paper and disappearing. Hermione rolled the parchment up briskly and stowed it away within her robes once again. "Right, let's go over what we know so far," she said determinedly, turning to Ginny.

"His name is Tom Riddle, and he has a heavy influence over the village," Ginny began, sitting on her bed.

"A lot of people are indebted to him in some way or another, and often not willingly," Hermione continued, pacing the floor. "He's forcing business owners who don't borrow from him to pay protection money."

"He may — likely does — have friends in high places. Which means between the loans, the extortion, and the contacts, he's likely very wealthy." Ginny stated.

"There are rumours that people who have challenged him in the past have been injured or killed, or disappeared altogether, and he may or may not be a Legilimens," Hermione added. She stopped pacing and sat on her own bed, facing Ginny. Her expression was pinched and thoughtful.

"We need to be extra careful here, Hermione. He's cunning and powerful. This is unlike any case we've taken on so far. If he gets wind of it—"

"I know," Hermione agreed, looking apprehensive. "We need to try and find out how deep his contacts at the Ministry run."

"The Bishop would never betray us, though," Ginny frowned.

"I know he wouldn't, Gin. And neither would the Knight or the King. But we have to be even more careful than ever to make sure no one else knows why we're really here, otherwise it could compromise the entire operation." Hermione suddenly winced and cursed quietly. "A reply," she explained in response to Ginny's expectant expression.

She withdrew the parchment once again and moved to sit beside Ginny, unrolling it.

The Knave of hearts he loves those tarts, The Queen and Rook do know

A tempting treat they offer him, the goal to overthrow

The Knave's one weakness, used against, will soon cut short his reign,

So that the court and subjects both can share tarts once again.

Moments after they had read the missive, the words crumbled into dust and vanished, leaving no trace of any message on the parchment. Hermione exchanged a look with Ginny.

"A more direct approach than I expected," she mused. "But it might just work."

"We just need something he wants," Ginny added.

"Money? Fame?" snorted Hermione.

"Well, yes. But something that will lure him in, get him interested." Ginny paused. "Do you think he'll be at the ball tomorrow night?"

"Quite possibly," Hermione replied. "But we'll just have to wait and see, and be on the lookout for an opportunity in the meantime."

Draco stood on the platform in the tailor's shop, being fitted for a new suit. The Master Tailor himself was attending him, moving fussily about, tweaking here and tugging there, muttering as he worked. Draco did his best to suppress the long-suffering sigh he wanted to release. He had been measured only two days before, but on his mother's orders, the shop had made this commission their top priority.

Now, he stood before the mirror wearing a jacket and trousers in a shade of charcoal that complimented his grey eyes. A jade silk waistcoat over a white oxford and black tie completed his ensemble. Draco had to admit, he looked pretty damn good. The jacket was nipped slightly at the waist, showcasing his slim frame, and padded slightly in the shoulders to accentuate his toned upper torso.

A delighted gasp startled both Draco and the tailor, causing them to jump slightly at the sudden interruption, the tailor tumbling from the small platform in shock. "Oh, Dragon! You look positively dashing!" Narcissa sighed happily as she swept regally into the fitting room.

"Mother!" Draco exclaimed indignantly. "I could have been naked!" He paid no mind to the tailor as he attempted to pick himself up from the floor, instead turning to regard her with a frown.

"Nonsense, darling," his mother replied dismissively, waving a hand. "I'm your mother, I've seen it all before."

"Not since I was a boy!" Draaco retorted, his face flushing.

"You'll always be my boy." Narcissa smiled, patting her son affectionately on the cheek. She turned to the tailor, who was scrabbling around on his knees, looking for stray pins. "Mr Robards — whatever are you doing on the floor?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

"He fell off the platform in fright when you burst in so suddenly. It's a wonder he didn't crack his head open," Draco snapped irritably.

"You always did have a flair for the dramatic," she replied absently as she waited for Robards to stand and address her.

"The suit is ready and exactly as specified, Madam Malfoy. I will send it to the Manor this afternoon," he said obsequiously.

"Excellent work, as always, Mr Robards," Narcissa praised, and the tailor beamed. "Please send the bill to my account. Draco, take that off and don't wrinkle it, for Merlin's sake. I'll meet you outside."

Without another word, she left, robes swirling about her feet, and Draco was left alone with the tailor.

"Well, Mr Malfoy, I'll leave you to undress," he said, exiting.

Draco thought he saw a small smirk playing about the man's lips, and scowled. Why did his mother have to be so… so… motherly? Honestly! He was a grown man! He loved her dearly, but living with her really tested his patience at times.

He got undressed, dropping the items carelessly over a chair in a fit of pique — he didn't care if the suit got wrinkled, he didn't even want to go to this stupid bloody ball! — and put on his street clothes, and headed out of the shop.

Tom Riddle was waiting impatiently in a meeting room at the Ministry. Simmonds was late, curse him. He would have to start charging the man for his valuable time if he didn't show up soon. A few minutes later, a door opened and a harried young man let himself inside, locking and warding the door behind him.

"I'm very sorry, Mr Riddle," he apologised, looking fearful. "I'm afraid I got caught up in a meeting with my department head and couldn't get away. He was giving updates from the other departments, there was a big discussion about the funding for Granger's potion, and—"

"Cease your babbling, Simmonds," Tom snapped impatiently, holding up his hand. "Just get on with it." He flicked his fingers dismissively at the small file the Ministry employee held in his hands.

"Right. Yes. Sorry, sir." Simmonds sat down, opened the file, and began to recite the updates on all the people Tom had on his books. He had a great many people in his pocket — and lining his pocket, too — and he liked to keep thorough tabs on all of them. He was a man with a great many secrets, but it was unthinkable that any secrets should be kept from him.

Tom had commissioned this bumbling fool Simmonds, who despite his young age was in an elevated position in the Treasury department, to monitor everyone in the Ministry who he was connected to. He had a gambling habit that rather outstripped his expendable income, and a wife and daughter who did not know of his vice, so of course Tom had come to his rescue. Part of the contract had naturally involved Simmonds becoming his informant.

"— and Finnegan and his wife are having a baby, so they'll be down to one income in a few months, when she leaves her position at Flourish and Blotts," Simmonds concluded.

Tom nodded, feeling bored. He had hoped to be given something juicy — some scandal, someone trying to pull the wool over his eyes, anything — but everything had been terribly normal. He sighed.

"Um. Will there be anything else, sir?" Simmonds asked, clearly hoping the answer would be no and he could be dismissed.

Tom thought for a moment. "What were you saying when you came in — something about funding for somebody's potion?"

"Oh." Simmonds' suddenly frightened expression gladdened Tom's heart. He did so enjoy spoiling peoples' days and placing them in awkward positions. "Well, sir, it's nothing much. Just a bit of research, standard stuff."

Tom frowned. The man wasn't telling him everything. This simply wouldn't do. Now, he was more determined than ever to find out everything about this potion. "What research, exactly?" he pressed.

"Just some medical research to improve reproductive health. It's not progressing very fast," he hedged.

"I see," Tom replied evenly. Taking his wand from his robes, he pointed it at Simmonds. "Legilimens." Shortly after he withdrew from his mind, having seen all he needed to know. And what he had seen was interesting. Very interesting, indeed. It could make him a lot of money. Abruptly, he stood and exited the room, leaving his hapless informant slumped over on the table, shuddering.

"Come on, hurry up! We'll be late!"

"I'm trying!" Hermione grumbled. "But my hair has other ideas." She was attempting, and failing, to bring it to heel.

"Oh, for Godric's sake! Let me do it," Ginny tsked impatiently.

She strode over to where Hermione was sitting before a small mirror, slapping her friend's hands away from her unruly curls and snatching up the comb from the dressing table. She brushed the hair out, then picked up her wand and muttered a charm, waving it in a complicated pattern around Hermione's head.

Hermione watched in amazement as her normally untamable hair smoothed itself out, then rearranged itself in delicate knots around her head. To complete the look, Ginny conjured a small chain of bluebells that entwined themselves through the curls.

"Gin, you're a miracle worker," Hermione sighed.

"I know." Ginny smirked. "Now grab your bag and shawl and let's go, already!"

Moments later, they were exiting their room and hurrying down the stairs. They met Wilma along the way, and the older witch stopped them with a smile.

"Off to the ball already? Let me take a look at the two of you… Merlin, you both look so beautiful!" The two younger women thanked her, smiling shyly. "You're both sure to make a match tonight — that is, if you want to make a match. Goodness knows the world is different now, balls aren't just for matchmaking any more and people aren't getting married so young—" abruptly she stopped and blushed, smoothing down her apron to hide her embarrassment.

"Forgive me, girls. I'm just an old woman remembering days past. Happier days. Seeing you two like this, in the prime of life, and glowing with happiness, it just—" she looked away, blinking rapidly, then back again, her smile sad and wistful. "Have a lovely time, girls. And please do remember to come in quietly when you return, so as not to disturb the other guests."

"Yes, Madam." Hermione smiled. "Thank you, and goodnight."

As they headed down the lane, they shared another concerned glance. "She seems very anxious," Ginny said worriedly. "I can't imagine how much pressure she must be under."

"All the more reason to stop him once and for all," Hermione answered. "Now that we know it is Riddle who's causing all this trouble, we can start working on bringing his reign of control to an end." The two women Apparated away.