"It is good to see you," said Fleur, when she pulled away. "My apologies zat I did not greet you sooner. Most of zese men are quick to judge hugging women."

"Oh, that's— it's fine." Hermione waved it away.

"I 'oped to find you at lunch, but you seemed preoccupied."

"Yes. I mean, a bit." Hermione shifted her binder into her arms, like a guard between them.

There was a familiar ache in her chest as she watched Fleur study her. She wanted to pull up a chair, confide in her, and ask for her advice.

Her mind whispered that the fewer people in her confidence, the better.

"I'm very glad you are on this Council," said Fleur quietly. "I know you will do well. Bill said the same."

Emotions bubbled in her chest. Hermione looked to the other wall.

"'e asked me to send 'is regards. And 'is apologies for what 'appened at the Manor."

Hermione was quiet, searching for the words. Turning back to Fleur, she settled on, "Thank you."

Fleur gave her a small smile. "Can I convince you to join us for dinner at the Burrow tonight? It will be just a small group of us. I know Ginny would like to see you."

"I don't think that's a good idea quite yet," said Hermione, pushing down the sharp stab of guilt in her stomach. "But maybe soon."

Fleur nodded. She squeezed her arm before turning away, leaving Hermione alone in the empty room.

Hermione ascended the stairs and walked out of the Thistle & Rose in silence. Her eyes squinted at the late afternoon sun, watching it shine over Edinburgh.

"You are very passionate, Miss Granger," a voice said. She turned around and found Luca Bianchi leaning against the side of the building, lighting a cigarette.

She tossed him a thin smile. "So I've been told."

He chuckled at her and took a slow drag. "I expected nothing less from Harry Potter's best friend." His neck stretched to blow out a stream of smoke. "Though I confess myself surprised at the people you seem to direct your passion for."

Hermione's heart skipped. "My only interest is in the pursuit of justice, Mr. Bianchi. Justice isn't personal."

"Oh?" Bianchi chuckled around his cigarette. "You're not fooling anyone, Miss Granger. Personally, I care little for the Malfoy boy. You'll find no quarrel from me there. His friend, however"—Bianchi took another drag—"is another story."

Hermione stared at him. Her hands felt sweaty on the binder.

"Blaise Zabini has committed crimes in my country. I do not intend to let him go lightly. Should you expect to keep a… friendly relationship with my colleagues and I, this is something you should know."

"Mr. Bianchi, I can appreciate how horrible this past year must have been for you. But—"

"Antonio Bravieri was my cousin, Miss Granger." His eyes were hard as flint as he tossed his cigarette to the cobblestones. "I have visited Giuliana at St. Mungo's. She is not well."