Hermione stood on the doorstep of Malfoy Manor, checking herself in her mirror once she'd knocked on the door. Her hair hadn't gotten messed up, of course. Her hair never messed up. Draco answered. Hermione saw his surprise. As promised, Draco had taught her anti-glamour spells earlier in the year and she'd been using them for the last two months to dampen her aura of purity, but she'd removed them for her date. Her mum had spent hours fussing Hermione's hair into french braid, and she wore a red and gold evening gown. Her simple chain necklace reflected the setting sun and the flames hovering around Xare, who sat on her shoulder. She smiled.

"Hello, Draco." She'd gotten over her nervousness during her preparations. He looks nervous, though.

"Good evening, Hermione. You look lovely," Draco stuttered, glancing down at his own robes while standing aside. "Please come in." Draco closed the door behind her. "I suddenly feel under-dressed." Hermione looked at Draco's robes: elegant, formal robes, black tinged with green. Draco looked pale, was he nervous? Well, that didn't bother Hermione, she'd felt nervous for the last few hours. It was normal, on dates.

When they entered the living room Draco spoke up, "Hermione, do you mind terribly if I changed? It will just take a few minutes." Hermione frowned, confused. Draco looked fine. Xare flew from her shoulder and took one lap around the living room before landing in the fireplace. She sat on the log, soaking up the fire and sighing contentedly.

"Did I do something wrong, Draco?" Hermione asked.

"No, no! I thought you'd be going more … incognito, but that's stupid. You could hardly do that with a Phoenix..."

"She's called Xare," Hermione said.

"...with Xare. I don't know what I was thinking. Five minutes?"

Hermione smiled and Draco disappeared up the stairs. She walked over besides the fireplace and the dusty portraits gawked, introduced themselves, and complained about her dress. A recent picture, judging from the frame, studied her carefully, then said "So, you are the girl giving my grandson such fits."

Hermione looked at the portrait. The man in it carried more weight, especially in the face, than Draco or Lucius did and his hair looked strawberry blond rather than platinum, but the family resemblance was unmistakeable. She started to say something, but the portrait harrumphed and turned his back. Hermione heard footsteps coming down the stairs. That was fast, but she looked up and saw a tall man descending the staircase. At first she thought it was Lucius Malfoy, before she remembered. The man could have passed as Draco's cousin or uncle, perhaps fifteen years older. As his face came into view he smiled without warmth.

"Abraxis, where are your manners?" he asked the portrait. "Miss Granger." The words were barely out of his mouth when Xare cut him of with a scream of rage and accusation, head poking out of the fireplace. Hermione recognized him at last.

"Grindelwald," she said curtly. "I didn't realize you were friends with the Malfoys." Gellert Grindelwald strolled smoothly into the room and sat down in the master chair, in front of the fire. He ignored Xare's hissing wail, then seemed to notice the Phoenix when it stopped.

"Tell me, where is Fawkes? What has become of him, now that Albus is gone?" Grindelwald steepled his fingers in front of his face, contemplating the Phoenix hissing at him. He added softly, almost to himself. "It is still strange, to have outlived him."

"I watch him," Hermione said evenly, "He and Xare keep each other company, mostly." Grindelwald seemed satisfied by the answer, and nodded.

"That is well. A Phoenix lacking his master pines and mourns. And they are picky about the company they keep. As you can see." Xare clucked disapprovingly. "If you have need, I can watch Fawkes for a time."

Hermione blinked. "Fawkes doesn't mind you?" She found it difficult to keep the edge out of her voice, but if Gellert heard any danger in her he ignored it.

"Fawkes has known me for decades, of course. You have your opinion of me, which your Phoenix shares. Fawkes shares Albus's opinion of me. I think that of the two, Fawkes resents me more." He paused, "But it is a mild grudge, only. I would enjoy his company, it has been almost three seasons."

Hermione considered this, rage growing. Gellert Grindelwald caused untold suffering, misery and death, yet apparently he expected Dumbledore's Phoenix to accept his presence calmly. Harry had told her that Dumbledore visited Grindelwald in prison. He probably traveled by Phoenix. Dumbledore hadn't abandonend his friend after their fight, they'd kept a relationship. Hermione couldn't imagine it. She could see Dumbledore being cold and cordial, he'd always been friendly enough to students but the man sitting before him had been Dumbledore's peer and apparently the former Headmaster had been unable to let that relationship go, even after his eye's had opened to the evil. He'd captured Grindelwald, defeated him, and imprisoned him. But never abandoned him.

How could this be, from the most famous Gryffindor of the age?

During the height of his power the man in front of her ordered the murder of innocent millions to power his dark rituals. The Muggle world blamed Hitler, but he'd been Imperiused. Now Hermione stood watching him soak up a nice fire in a comfortable living room. His magical power had been drained and she knew Unbreakable Vows kept Grindelwald from doing anything harm. But ... he sat free and Hermione resolved that she would not feel sorry for this man, not forgive him and not ignore his crimes.

Like Fawkes did.

Hermione said nothing, but her face slowly grew redder and the fireplace grew slightly brighter. She didn't know if her anger made Xare burn hotter, if the link between them drove her Phoenixes anger or if her Phoenix simply recognized evil when she saw it.

Grindelwald, noticing the fire burning higher, said "You have a kind soul, so it angers you, yes? That your friend released me?" Hermione heard Draco rushing down the stairs and Grindelwald - still staring at the fire and the Phoenix - said "Enjoy your evening, Miss Granger."

She saw Draco's finely polished shoes, black leather gleaming in the crackling light. Draco's robes were still the same colour, black tinged with green, but the fabric had a mildly metallic tint the caught the light and reflected a silvery glow. His neck clasp showed not a snake, but a silvery flower Hermione couldn't quite place. Even his hat seemed taller.

The effect was impressive, she thought.

Draco proffered a delicate purple flower to Hermione. He quickly took out his wand and cast Collorchidea and magically pinned the flower to her dress, just below her right shoulder. Grindelwald glanced over at the young pair of them and chuckled once before falling back into his reverie.

"Shall we?" asked Draco, grabbing his cane leaning against the chair that held one of the greatest monsters the world had known.

The Globe Theater (the real one, not the Muggle reconstruction in London) had been old in Shakespeare's youth. Even then the Globe had toured the country for centuries, magically appearing on the outskirts of the next town preceded by a small advance squad of Wizards hawking tickets for "One night only!" shows. Families would gather in an abandoned field to watch the entire structure Apparate and settle into the ground, usually only an inch or two but up to a foot if there had been recent rain. As the Wizarding world was small, the Globe was an intimate venue, able to only hold five hundred patrons. Still, for all but the largest cities it rarely sold out. But The Tragedy of Light was a big seller, revived every Christmas season for a full week in London, and a few days on the continent.

Since the theater had sat still on the outskirts of town and not recently moved, there was only a small crowd of wizards gathered on the cobblestones outside the theater. The cobblestones traveled with the structure. They were a recent addition - not quite a century old - by a former manager who thought modern wizards would fork over extra knuts for 'authenticity' in the theater-going experience. Setting up the stones on nearby roads had turned a tidy profit and also kept out stray Muggles. The few couples standing outside the round, white theater were enjoying the mild snowfall, magic protecting them from the real cold, when suddenly a glow brightened like a murderous dawn and a young woman's voice could be heard.

"...believe he'd be at your house!" she finished. The red colour disappeared, leaving only a young couple, a Phoenix riding the shoulder of a girl who looked younger than the voice they'd just heard. Most of the assembled wizards and witches stared at the now-famous Hermione Granger, she who defeated Voldemort, before coughing and returning to their conversations while sneaking glances at the young couple in their peripheral vision. Several men chuckled at the boy: who would date such a dangerous girl? Hermione gave them all a glance, then ignored them. This still bothered her, all the attention she got in public. At least nobody had come up to her, thanked her, asked for her autograph, or otherwise pestered her. One girl, probably eight, with a small ponytail sticking out from underneath her hat, said her name and started forward, but her parents caught her shoulder and told her not to be rude, that The-Girl-Who-Revived didn't want to be bothered.

She didn't, but Hermione wouldn't have minded being bothered by a star-struck girl.

"Wow," said Draco, stumbling. Hermione removed her arm from his shoulder. Draco ran his hands up and down his sides. "That was … odd. Do you get used to the sensation?" Draco ignored the stares of those around them, had spoken in a normal conversational tone.

"Well?" Hermione asked, still whispering like they were in a library. She felt guilty, questioning Draco on their date. Then she realized that Draco should be feeling guilty, not her. He was the one harboring a murderer. That Harry freed. By the time Draco answered she felt conflicted again. This was not how she'd envisioned the night going at all. She'd expected it to be awkward, or maybe for Draco to be charming, or even too glib to cover his nervousness. She hadn't expected a fight, especially one that Draco didn't seem interested in.

"Where should he go?" Draco asked calmly. A young wizard in purple robes coughed quietly, and the crowd started to move away, across the cobblestones, towards the theater. "We are going to be late."

"We'll discuss this later," Hermione said sweetly and caught an elderly witching nod and smile approvingly. Hermione's anger hadn't dissolved, but several voices in her head continued arguing about it. Draco didn't deserve all of her anger, and it wasn't like she had to save the world right this moment. It could wait until after her date, when she had time to think. And argue with Harry.

"Certainly," said Draco, as he extended an elbow. Hermione intertwined her arm with his as they went to the will-call window.

"Why this play, Draco?" she asked quietly after the usher had escorted them to their seats. She'd left Xare in the lobby. The manager provided a sturdy iron pole for her to rest on, assuring Hermione that "many a familiar had spent a pleasant evening here" and "yours would be the 8th different Phoenix to have been in our lounge," before asking if he could take a picture. He pointed to a wall that showed a number of wizards, standing besides the same pole illuminated by the dripping fire of a Phoenix. In the last picture a middle-aged Dumbledore looked at her over half-moon glasses and nodded approvingly, while Fawkes seemed to smile besides him.

Hermione could still hear the whispers, see the pointed fingers. They'd been seated after most of the audience, but even without Xare people had recognized her, those who spotted her pointing her out to those that hadn't. It didn't help that she and Draco were the youngest couple by a decade, not counting children attending with their parents, and her dress stood out among the muted Slytherin colours the crowd favored. Red and Gold were not in fashion. Draco had warned her, but she'd taken it as a challenge. Hermione could hardly complain about the attention. She felt giddy at having the power to provoke Wizarding's self-described nobility with her fashion choices. That was a power Hermione Granger never expected. She giggled slightly and added "I mean, I read the synopsis and it doesn't seem like a date play."

"Well," said Draco, who sounded like he'd suppressed a cough then cleared his throat, "I like this play and haven't seen it in several years. And its nothing like a movie theater, where you have ten screens to choose from. This is the play they are showing."

Draco - who had spent the entire last fifteen minutes ignoring every stare and cough from those around him - had been subtly inspecting the audience. Hermione would have felt annoyed but Draco had been a perfect gentleman, paying attention to her throughout the evening. And, after all, people watching was Draco's unique skill. Harry rarely noticed the number of people around, much less their characteristics. Harry only focused on people he considered important. Draco probably did that, too. He just hid it much better. And it was an interesting crowd, she admitted. Draco was still talking.

"And I enjoyed Muggle movie night. Harry said part of the reason was that they only showed the really popular movies, that there were lots of terrible ones, so I thought you might enjoy this. It sells out fairly consistently. So, even though I know it's not," he paused, looking for a phrase, "your favorite genre, I figured you might like the quality. If not the content."

Hermione gasped as she caught a glimpse of a familiar face peeking over a railing from the box seat above them and off to the right. Gilderoy Lockhart glanced down at the audience, five o'clock shadow on his cheeks making him appear even more rakish and dangerous than normal. Hermione smiled at him and started to wave, then his face disappeared behind the railing.

"Draco! Professor Lockhart is here. He's in a box seat, up there." She pointed just in time to see Professor Lockhart's face re-appear, but now he was saying something and pointing at Hermione, who looked over at the witch next sitting next to Gilderoy, smooth blond hair pouring out from underneath her stern hat surrounding an aging but still beautiful face, formal noble robes strikingly similar to Draco's. Hermione gasped and turned to Draco, who seemed to be doing his best to try to pull himself into his seat and hide in the growing darkness as the lights started to lower.

Hermione's mind froze for a second. Then she leaned over to Draco. "We're here to spy on her date?" she said as the curtain started rising.

"I did say there'd be mild chaperoning duties," Draco mumbled defensively before the crowd started shush-ing them.