Draco stepped forward to the window. He rattled the lock for a moment before shaking his head,

“You say you can open this?” he asked, looking over his shoulder at Hermione.

“I think so,” she replied, trying to hide the uncertain waver in her voice.

Draco nodded at her, “Then do it,” he said, stepping back into the shadows, “I’ll be right back,” he added.

“Wait,” Hermione called after his disappearing form, “where are you going?”

“Just open the window,” was his reply as he slipped silently out of the door.

Hermione stared after him for a moment, perplexed and then turned her attention to the window. Stepping forward, she bit her lip nervously. True, she was fairly sure what combination of locking charms Viktor had used on this window and true, she knew the right counter charms to unlock them but she was nervous. Despite her attempt at keeping herself together, she was still unsure of just where things were going here.

Her eyes drifted up. Outside, she could clearly see the lights of Viktor’s car slowly climbing the sloping driveway. It seemed that, wherever he was going, Viktor wasn’t in a hurry. Wherever he was going… Hermione still couldn’t quite believe what was happening. Viktor, a Death Eater? The very idea was just so… so foreign to her that she just couldn’t bring herself to accept it, not deep down. But then again he hadn’t exactly treated her as a friend should since her arrival. Friends didn’t drug one another, at least not in Hermione’s way of thinking. Then there was that whole matter of the bet, but no, she wasn’t going there, this was not the time to be worrying about the past, the present was shaping up to be tough enough.

Remembering what she was supposed to be doing, Hermione raised her wand and, with a trembling hand, began running it along the seam of the window. Just as she had a moment ago, she felt a series of slight buzzes as the tip of her wand encountered locking charms, seven in total. Viktor was clearly very security conscious. Thankfully though, the locks, while effective, seemed to be geared more towards keeping intruders out than keeping a prisoner in. If she had been outside the window, then undoing them would have been next to impossible. But she wasn’t outside.

Taking aim at the first lock, Hermione began muttering under her breath, casting every counter charm she knew until she heard the tiny popping sound she was waiting for. The next lock gave up a little sooner than the first, and then the next. She had gotten past the fourth and fifth locks and was about to work on the sixth when she heard a floorboard creak behind her.

Fighting a fresh surge of panic, Hermione turned, aiming her wand at the door, “Who… who’s there?”

“Relax, Granger,” Malfoy’s voice replied out of the darkness, “its just me.”

Letting out a sigh of relief, Hermione said, “Where did you go?”

Malfoy hefted his travel bag onto his shoulder, “Just getting some supplies,” he said, “We need to be ready.”

Hermione turned back to the window, shaking her head a little, “I never took you for the boy scout type, Malfoy.”

“What?” Malfoy asked, sounding bewildered.

Hermione shook her head and started working on the sixth lock, “Nevermind, I’ll tell you later.”

Malfoy stepped up behind her as she felt the sixth lock pop open, “How are we doing?” he asked.

Hermione took a breath and set to work on the seventh and final lock, “Almost there,” she whispered, mentally firing off the unlocking charms. The last lock proved the toughest of the lot. Hermione was just beginning to doubt her skills at undoing it when, with a final, louder pop, the window came free. The force of releasing the last lock shook the window frame, slamming the window open. Hermione jumped and stumbled backwards, only to find herself caught by Malfoy’s extended arm.

“Well done,” he said, helping her back to her feet without so much as a hint of an insult or smart remark at her fright.

Hermione was about to reply when her eyes fell on what Malfoy was holding in his other hand. She blinked, not quite believing what she was seeing but no, he was indeed holding a broomstick, a very fast, racing grade broomstick at that. ‘Oh no,’ she thought, ‘please not that!’

Hermione felt her face blanch. In the race to open the window and follow Viktor, she had never even thought about how they were going to follow him. He was in a car, they weren’t. Naturally they’d never be able to keep up with him on foot, but still, that didn’t mean they had to go flying, did it? Malfoy, it seemed, believed that it did.

“Where did you get that?” she asked him, trying desperately to think of another way, a sane way, to follow Viktor.

“Krum’s bedroom,” Malfoy replied in a matter of fact sort of way, stepping forward to peer out of the window.

“But,” Hermione began, “How did you…”

“You don’t know anything about Quidditch players, do you?” Malfoy replied, sliding the broom out of the window, “Now come on,” he added, “we can’t let Krum get away.”

He didn’t wait for a reply. No sooner had Malfoy spoken those words than he had hoisted himself up and then scrambled out of the window, letting himself drop lightly onto the tiled roof of the ground floor below. He spun round and beckoned to Hermione, the top of his head just visible over the windowsill. Hermione swallowed against the lump that had formed in her throat. Brooms really weren’t her thing. Her eyes darted to the steadily disappearing lights of the car. It had reached the gates now and was pulling out onto the road. They were running out of time.

“Come on,” Malfoy hissed at her through the window.

Setting her jaw, Hermione moved forwards. Ducking her head, she hitched herself up onto the window ledge and brought her legs up. It was awkward, but she managed to get herself turned around without getting stuck. Looking down, she saw Malfoy waiting for her, his arms up, ready to catch her. Hermione shoved herself forward, dropping off the ledge. Malfoy caught her, slowing her fall before her feet touched down on the tiles. He held her for a moment while she steadied herself, then let her go. Hermione watched in silence as Malfoy mounted the broom. He seated himself forward of the balance point, leaving room for her to sit behind him.

Hermione hesitated; she could feel her stomach churning in fear. She really hated flying! Malfoy turned to the horizon and squinted, “Come on!” he hissed again, more insistently this time, “We have to move.”

Catching his eye, Hermione saw his fiery determination burning back at her. There was no fear, no doubt in his eyes. He was in this with her, ready to do whatever it took to get the job done. Somehow, seeing that in Malfoy of all people steadied her. Still trembling, but only just, Hermione stepped forward and clumsily mounted the broom. She slid forward, moving as close as she could behind Malfoy, snaking her arms around his waist and getting ready to hold on for dear life.

“Ready?” he asked over his shoulder.

‘Not even close!’ Hermione screamed inside her head, but aloud she said, “Ready.”

Malfoy kicked off. Hermione felt the broom surge between her legs. She shut her eyes, squeezing them tight so she wouldn’t have to see the world drop away from underneath her. The seemed to climb forever, leaning sickeningly from side to side as Malfoy circled, getting his bearings.

“Over there,” he shouted over the roaring wind. Hermione was sure he was pointing in some direction or other, but she wasn’t about to look. Instead she just tightened her grip on his stomach, counting the seconds till she felt solid land under her feet again.

The broom surged again. Hermione felt her stomach drop as Malfoy dived the broom. Against her better judgement, Hermione opened her eyes. The ground below, spread out like a mottled grey blanket in the moonlight, was rushing up towards her with a sickening speed. Hermione felt her jaw drop open as a scream scrambled up her throat. Malfoy turned. He said something, but Hermione didn’t hear a word of it. All she was aware of was the ground hurtling up at her and the wind screaming past her ears. They continued to plummet. Below, Hermione could now see the top of every tree growing larger and larger with every passing second.

“Pull up!” she shouted at Malfoy, “PLEASE pull up!!!”

Malfoy pulled up. Hermione felt herself crushed down into the broom as he arrested their dive. Their broom dropped below the tops of the tallest trees before it levelled out. Hermione felt a sharp pain in her ankle as she clipped a branch but it barely even registered with her. Right now all she wanted was to be off this damned broom. Sure they had to fly, but did Malfoy really have to show off like this?

Their pace slowed. Malfoy sat upright on the broom and turned to her, “Krum!” he said, pointing off through the trees. Hermione followed his gesture, her eyes streaming in the wind. Sure enough, the lights of Viktor’s car were clearly visible, less than a fifty feet away. She could see the car, but only intermittently through the trees. Malfoy accelerated the broom again, matching the cars speed as it continued down the road.

They followed Viktor’s car for what seemed like hours. As they neared the city, things became more difficult. With no trees to hide them, they were forced to use buildings, darting from chimneystack to chimneystack, hovering below the rooftops while keeping the car in sight. The car wound its way into the narrow, winding streets of Sofia’s old city. Here the buildings were taller, making visibility all that much more difficult. Still, Malfoy never lost sight of the silver car. Hermione marvelled at how skilfully he manoeuvred the broom, ducking in and out of alleyways and behind outcropping buildings, keeping them hidden from any but the luckiest onlookers below as they tracked Viktor right into the heart of the city.

At last, the car came to a halt outside an old building, standing on its own along one side of a cobbled city square. Malfoy circled a building at the far side of the square and slipped them into an alleyway. As they descended, Hermione shifted her position to get a better look at Viktor’s destination. It had once been a very important building, that much was clear from the once lofty architecture, but it had long since fallen from grace. The upper two floors of the four-storey building were boarded up and surrounded by cracked, crumbling stonework. The windows in the first floor were intact, but had been painted black from the inside. The ground floor no longer had any windows at all, the openings where once there had been windows were bricked over. The entire front wall of the building was covered in graffiti, symbols and slogans that Hermione couldn’t read were plastered all over the wall in over a dozen colours.

Dead centre of the front wall, Viktor’s car had pulled up in front of a doorway, the building’s only visible entrance. Two rather unpleasant looking men, dressed in heavy, leather jackets, flanked the door on either side. Overhead, a garish, blue neon sign glowed on and off in the darkness. Hermione couldn’t read what the sign said, but she didn’t need to, she could recognise a nightclub when she saw one.

They landed. Hermione felt her feet touch down just in time to see Viktor step out of the car and climb the short staircase leading up to the door. The two bouncers barely gave him a second glance as he pushed open the door and disappeared inside. The car pulled off, leaving the entrance in full view.

Malfoy shifted his weight and stepped off the broom. Hermione awkwardly followed suit. For a moment she just stood there, relishing the feeling of being on terra firma once again. Malfoy moved off, running towards the end of the alley. Silently, Hermione followed and then slipped into the shadows behind him. Malfoy stared at the club for a long time in silence, and then he turned and pressed himself back into the wall before turning to look at her. He seemed troubled.

“What is this place?” she asked him quietly.

“You don’t recognise the name?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head, “I don’t read Bulgarian.”

Malfoy smiled, “Wouldn’t matter if you did,” he said, flicking his head towards the club, “The sign is in Russian.”

Hermione looked back at the sign, still unable to make head or tails of what it said, “So?”

“So what?”

Hermione rolled her eyes, “So what does it say?”

Malfoy shrugged, “I don’t have a clue,” he replied, “but it doesn’t matter, its just a name. Look at the symbol beside it.”

Hermione looked. Sure enough, beside the sign, painted onto the brickwork in pale green was a symbol, a very familiar symbol. Hermione squinted, wanting to be sure, but no, it can’t be… “Slytherin!”

“Slytherin,” Malfoy replied, turning to look at the club again. Hermione followed his gaze, bewildered as to how the serpent symbol of one of Hogwarts’ houses could find its way onto a nightclub thousands of miles away. Malfoy though, didn’t seem surprised in the least.

“You know what this place is, don’t you?” she asked him quietly.

Malfoy nodded without turning round, “I’ve heard of it. It’s called the Serpent Club.”

“What is it?”

Malfoy was silent for a while, and then he said quietly, “Trouble,” before moving away from the wall and slipping back down the alley.

Puzzled, Hermione followed him. Halfway down the alley, she found Malfoy stashing Viktor’s broom behind a group of bins. He hunkered down and set his bag down on the ground. Hermione knelt beside him as he started to rummage about inside the bag, searching for something.

“Malfoy,” she asked. He didn’t respond, “Draco?” she tried again. This time, Malfoy did respond. He stopped what he was doing and turned to look at her, “What is that place?” she asked him, careful to keep eye contact.

Malfoy sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “The Serpent Clubs sprang up across Europe during Voldemort’s first bid for power. They started off as meeting places, quiet, out of the way hideouts where the right kind of people could get together and… and unwind.”

“Unwind?” Hermione didn’t like the sound of that, “What do you mean?”

Malfoy hissed under his breath, “You need me to draw you a picture? They were Death Eaters! What do you think they’d do for fun?”

Hermione reeled for a moment, taken aback by the harshness of Malfoy’s tone, “It was just a question,” she replied, “So, how many of these clubs were there?”

Malfoy was rummaging in his bag again, “I don’t know,” he replied, a touch of sarcasm in his voice, “They didn’t exactly advertise in the Daily Prophet you know.”

“Right,” Hermione shook off the comment, “So these clubs, Voldemort ran them?”

Malfoy shook his head, “I can’t really see Voldemort as the cigar and brandy type, can you?”

“Guess not, but then again, I don’t see this as the cigar and brandy kind of place.”

“No,” Malfoy cleared his throat, “As far as I know, he never had any interest in anything but his rise to power. I don’t doubt he knew about the clubs, but I think he just didn’t care. They helped keep his followers happy and feed their taste for ‘their way of life’, that was all that mattered to him.”

Hermione tried to sort through all of this, fitting into what she knew of Voldemort and his followers. The very thought of a bunch of Death Eaters sitting around doing heaven knows what, torturing people, working dark magics, all in the name of fun? It was disgusting, but not surprising. After all, they were Death Eaters. Hermione had long ago stopped believing that there was anything they weren’t capable of. All the same, there was one thing that wasn’t adding up in her mind.

“Wait,” she said, “You said these clubs were formed during Voldemort’s first grab for power? So what happened to them when he fell?”

Malfoy shrugged, “Not a lot. Voldemort fell, but a lot of his followers didn’t. Lots of them survived. Some went into hiding in fear, some tried to renounce their ways, but none of them gave up. Deep down, they believed in the cause they had chosen to follow. Some of them thought that Voldemort would come back one day and lead them again, some of them were arrogant enough to think they could become the next dark lord. As for the clubs, they carried on as normal. You have to remember, there was never a direct link between them and Voldemort, so there was no reason for them to stop. They just became a sort of ex-Death Eater holding patter. A way to keep their movement alive while keeping it out of sight,” he paused, “I guess they still are.”

Hermione nodded, uncertain of what reaction the next question would bring out of Malfoy, but she knew she had to ask, “How do you know so much about these clubs?”

Malfoy paused, avoiding her eyes, “Lucius told me about them,” he said quietly, “He said he’d let me come with him to the one in Liverpool one day… when I was a man.”

Hermione nodded, deciding that it was not a good idea to press for further information on this topic, “OK,” she said, trying to break the tension in the air, “So I guess the question is, what is Viktor doing here?”

“That,” Malfoy stood up, drawing a long, thin dagger from his bag as he did, “is what I intend to find out.”

Hermione’s eyes went wide when she saw the dagger. She swallowed, “What is that for?” she asked, trembling. The look in Malfoy’s eyes now was nothing short of terrifying.

“A precaution,” was his reply, “I don’t know exactly what I’m going to find in there, but I don’t intend on taking chances.”

“You?” Hermione stood up, “What do you mean ‘you’? What happened to ‘we’?”

Malfoy stared ahead for a moment, and then turned to face her, “You can’t go in there,” he said.

“What?” she exclaimed, “Why not?”

“It’s dangerous, that’s why not.”

Hermione shook her head, “Don’t give me that. I am not…”

Malfoy moved. Hermione saw the flash of light on metal and froze. The dagger in Malfoy’s hand came to a stop just below her chin. Malfoy held it there for a long moment, before he seemed to realise what he was doing. “Sorry,” he whispered, lowering he knife, “but you cannot go in there with me.”

Hermione released the breath she’d been holding, “Listen to me, Malfoy,” she said, forcing her voice to remain calm, “Dumbledore sent me to find out what Viktor is up to. Me,” she repeated, “I know you think you have to protect me, but…”

“But nothing,” Malfoy interrupted her, “This isn’t about protecting you.”

Hermione blinked, despite herself, she felt hurt hearing those words, “It isn’t?”

“No,” Malfoy shook his head. He reached out, taking her by the shoulders and turning her round to look at the club again, “You see those two?” he asked, pointing to the bouncers at the door, “They are there to make sure that only the right kind of people get inside. There are no membership cards or secret handshakes, not with them. People like them work on instinct. It’s all about whether you look like you belong there or not. You saw what happened when Krum went in. They barely even looked at him, which means that they know him.”

“Maybe, but they don’t know you!”

Malfoy nodded, “True, but trust me on this, I will fit in in there a hell of a lot better than you will. I’ll be able to be able to move freely, without having to worry about every bouncer in the place jumping me and trust me, they will take one look at you and know that you’re a… that you don’t belong.”

Hermione felt herself tense, “And you do, do you?” she asked, turning round to face him again.

“Trust me,” Malfoy’s reply was a whisper, “I will fit in in there a hell of a lot better than you. If I’m going to find Krum, I’ll have to be able to move freely, without having to worry about every bouncer in the place jumping me and I can’t do that with you by my side. You have to stay out here, Granger… Hermione, it’s the only way.”

Malfoy stepped back, slipping the dagger silently into his left sleeve. He drew his wand and cast a cleaning charm, removing all traces of their long flight from his outward appearance. He pocketed the wand once more, then he adjusted his shirt and smoothed his hair, “How do I look?” he asked.

Hermione shook her head. She hated to admit it, but Malfoy had a point. He was the son of a Death Eater after all, a heritage that she couldn’t even begin to understand. Still he was taking an awful risk, a risk that, by rights, was hers to take. Finding out what Viktor was doing was her job, not Draco’s, but what choice did they have?

“Like an overbearing, overly chauvinistic, asshole!” she replied to his question, but without any real menace in her voice.

Malfoy smirked, winking at her, “Good, then the look is complete,” he stepped round her to eye the club once more. “I won’t be long,” he promised, holding out his hand to her. Hermione took the golden locket from his hand, “The portkey I told you about,” he explained, “All you have to do is trigger it and you’ll be safe, back in Hogwarts. If I’m not back in an hour…”

Hermione closed her fist around the locket, “Don’t make me come in there and get you!” she said sternly.

Malfoy looked at her for a moment, then leaned down and placed a gentle kiss on her lips, “Keep out of sight, ok?”

“Ok.”

And then he was gone. Hermione turned and followed him to the end of the alley, ducking into the shadows. She stuffed the locket into her pocket and watched as Malfoy moved out into the square, sticking to the shadows as he made his way towards the club. Hermione felt her heart pounding in her chest as the bouncers turned to look at him. As Malfoy climbed the steps, one of the two men moved to block his path. From this distance, Hermione couldn’t hear what was said but from Malfoy’s body language, it appeared as though he was pretending to be highly insulted at the bouncer’s actions. After a few moments of animated conversation, the bouncer moved aside and gestured for Malfoy to answer. Malfoy paused to deliver one final insult to the larger man, and then stormed through the door into the club. Hermione let out a sigh of relief as she saw him disappear into the building. She slumped against the wall, breathing out her fears one breath at a time.

Across the square, the two bouncers were in conversation. Hermione saw one of them break away and begin talking rapidly into his sleeve. She froze, staring at him. What was he doing? Was he talking to someone inside the club? Some sort of internal communication charm maybe? Hermione had seen muggle bouncers do it after all, why should these guys be any different? After a moment, the man straightened. He turned to his partner, barked a couple of orders at him and then pushed through the doorway into the club.

Hermione’s stomach froze. Something was wrong. It couldn’t be a coincidence that the bouncers would act so strangely only moments after Malfoy had entered the club. Was it something he said? Or had he been recognised? Malfoy was a traitor to the Death Eaters, what few of them remained nowadays. If this place really was one of their hideouts, then it was not a major intuitive leap to realise that Draco Malfoy would NOT be welcome here. It made sense now. He had known that he wouldn’t be safe inside. Yet he’d gone anyway. Damn him! What the hell was he thinking?

Hermione turned to look at the club, the bouncer at the door had been replaced now two new men, no less intimidating than their colleague. She needed to get inside. She had to tell Malfoy that he’d been recognised and that he was in danger. It wasn’t worth it. They could find again Viktor later. But how to get inside? Whether the bouncers realised that she wasn’t a pureblood or not didn’t matter. They had recognised Malfoy and, though she hated to admit it, her face was just as recognisable at his to the former Death Eaters and their associates. She’d been on the front cover of every paper in Europe for weeks following the fall of the Dark Lord. Still, she had to get inside, somehow!

As she chewed her lip, Hermione wracked her brain, searching for a way around the bouncers. Maybe if she caused a distraction at the other side of the square, it might keep them occupied long enough for her to sneak inside. She thought about it, but no, the club was too far away. There was no distraction she could conjure up that would buy her enough time to get inside without at least one of the bouncers seeing her. So what? What was she going to do?

Hermione stamped her foot in frustration. There had to be a way to get into that club. Just then, movement out of the corner of her eye attracted her attention. By the side of the club, a small, side door had been pushed open, casting a sliver of light into the alleyway that ran down the side of the club. As she watched, she saw a woman, wrapped in a long, dirty coat, step outside and close the door behind her. The woman moved a few yards down the alley and then leaned against the wall. A moment later there was a flash of light as she lit a cigarette. In seconds, a plan formed in Hermione’s mind. It was risky, way too risky for her to consider under normal circumstances, but it was the only plan she had.

Stepping from the shadows, Hermione stuck to the wall as she crossed the square. She tried to move as quickly and silently as possible as she approached the woman. She had made it to the entrance of the alley when the woman turned and spotted her. She was in her mid to late twenties by the look of her, just a few years older than Hermione. Her face was pretty, but she looked tired, as though she had been on her feet for a long time.

“Hello,” Hermione asked, sounding utterly stupid but not knowing what else to say under the circumstances.

The woman replied, but Hermione didn’t understand the stream of Slavic syllables. She shrugged and made a motion as though she was smoking. The woman looked at her for a moment, then nodded. She started to rummage in the pockets of her coat for a cigarette as Hermione walked towards her, silently drawing her wand.

“I’m sorry,” she apologised honestly before taking aim. The woman looked up, her eyes widening in shock as Hermione pressed her wand against her stomach and whispered, “Stupefy!”