“I made promises, Miss Granger. I don’t take such things likely,” he says firmly. “I will do whatever is necessary to stay in the Ministry’s good graces and I will gather all information that I find useful. He may be gone now, but the promise lives on.”

She stares at him a moment before she sighs. “Dumbledore.”

He nods once, curtly, before he pushes his spectacles up the bridge of his nose. “Last spring, I was told to contact you privately should I find anything specific in my research,” he tells her in a voice barely above a whisper. She feels sorry, suddenly, for the man who is hated by his family for fulfilling a promise and for the awareness that his entire life must be like what is happening now: clandestine, secretive, whispers, shadows, and suspicion.

“Wait. Me?” She blinks at him and nervously fiddles with the hem of her T-shirt. She isn’t sure why it bothers her that arrangements were made prior to Dumbledore’s death but it does. Her mind quickly runs through her knowledge and comes up with no answers. Why was Percy given her name if Dumbledore didn’t know he was going to die?

“Do follow along, Miss Granger,” he snaps as he frowns at her. “I found something recently. It makes no sense, but it meets the guidelines of what I was told to be looking for so I gathered information. It’s extremely dangerous meeting with you, though, so I had to wait until I knew it was safe.”

“Are they watching you?”

“No, I’m simply paranoid for no reason other than boredom.”

She bites her tongue to keep from snapping back at him. It’s obvious he’s tired and probably as stressed as she is, after all. “Do they know?”

“I don’t know what they know,” he admits with a shrug. “I have no contact with my family and my days are spent at work or at my flat. I imagine they’re quite unimpressed with me or my petty existence. However, I have worked my up in the Ministry and have made contact with some powerful people so I’m not expendable as long as they think they may need me. If they sense that I am, in fact, not neutral, my body will be left somewhere public, I have no doubt.”

The simple matter-of-fact way he speaks tells her a lot. Like her and the boys, the thought of death is always close by. Will this be their last sunrise? Last sunset? Last day alive? Those thoughts are with her every day, from the moment she wakes until she falls asleep in her sleeping bag beneath different sky. It’s not living. It’s serving a purpose, carrying out a vital mission, helping to, hopefully, save the world, but it’s not a life.

“What did you find?” she asks finally when he doesn’t volunteer anymore information. He is staring at her again as if he’s trying to see her, and she shifts nervously until he looks away.

“I shouldn’t have owled,” he mutters as he scowls at the parchment. “I didn’t plan to but then I did and it was too late. I don’t know what it is, but I know that it’s important.”

She’s tired of his refusal to answer and steps forward to grab the parchment. His fingers grip her wrist tightly as he moves faster than she thought possible. Her eyes meet his, dark brown clashing with pale blue, and his hold tightens momentarily as their breathing breaks the silence.

“You’re searching for something,” he says in that quiet voice. “Aren’t you?”

She considers lying, but she’s used up her lying quota for the day. Instead, she doesn’t say anything and simply nods.

“That…I think…I’m not sure but it might be something you need,” he tells her softly. The lenses of his spectacles are smudged and he has an eyelash that’s fallen onto his cheek. “I found it when I was investigating some of the files in the Minister’s private vault. With permission, of course.”

She glances down to look at the parchment, fully aware that he’s still holding her wrist and has swayed closer somehow. Her eyes widen when she finds herself reading an account of Tom Riddle being observed in Winchester during the late sixties. There were scribbles in bad penmanship that mentioned a dead witch and a stolen vanity set that was rumored to have belonged to Rowena Ravenclaw herself. Riddle had disappeared around the cathedral, it seemed, and the aurors had closed the file.

“This—” She looks up and finds his face close enough that she can feel his breath on her cheek. Two fingers cover her lips and he shakes his head.