by one, well-meaning, overzealous Minister.
It served to show how much about the wizarding world Hermione was still rather na?ve about. There was a lot she was not exposed to, which meant that she (and probably Harry), tended to take for granted that what they knew to be true from their own limited experience, applied across the board. She didn't like thinking of herself as uninformed. As much as she sometimes lamented her S.P.E.W days, she was a long way from throwing the towel in when it came to speaking her mind about things.
She glanced at Draco, whose apparent indifference to their surroundings spoke of familiarity. This was very much his world, she realised, even if it also happened to be her world too. She really ought to see more of it than just Hogwarts, she thought.
Draco and Borgin walked ahead, not so much because they preferred to, but because Hermione kept lagging behind to look at the display in a shop window or at the wares of a street merchant.
A crone had set up shop beside a sweet seller. Her 'stall' consisted of an overturned barrel, covered by a grimy looking piece of linen. On this makeshift table cloth, there sat a variety of pretty trinkets on display.
Draco paused in his conversation to Borgin and glanced over his shoulder to check where Hermione was. He walked the few steps it took to reach her and snatched both her hands back before she could reach for one of the trinkets.
"Don't touch," he said.
"Why?"
"Poison. Didn't you ever read Snow White?"
The crone cackled. It was an honest to God, fairytale-witch cackle, which had Hermione staring at her slightly bug-eyed with wonder.
For the umpteenth time that day, she wished she had a camera.
She wanted to ask why anyone would want to purchase poisoned necklaces, but the she realised that that was a stupid question.
Draco fell into step beside Borgin once more, and they spoke about Borgin's trade, the state of the black-market economy, the recent theft of Dragon's Blood from Hungary which had seen the stuff quadruple in price. It was interesting enough chatter and so Hermione kept close to Draco, though even then he had to remind her once or twice not to lag behind.
There were just too many distractions for a curious mind to cope with.
**
Their expert's rented accommodation was a compact, two-storey townhouse of red brick and yellow-paned sash windows. There were a dozen identical houses on the street, each bearing a number on a neat, yellow door.
They were all learning slightly to the left, such that a person observing them was almost inclined to tilt their head slightly to the right. Hermione was doing just this when she caught Draco giving her a look.
They paused briefly outside 'Number 3', while Borgin chimed the bell. Draco removed his cap, rolled it and shoved it into a back pocket.
The door opened almost immediately, and a well-dressed man greeted them. He had one blue eye and one green eye.
"You!" Hermione exclaimed, instantly recognising him as the letch who had mistaken her for a prostitute earlier in the day. Her hand tightened on her bag, preparing to let swing.
He was grinning at her now. It was the type of grin the Weasley twins often sported after a successful caper.
"Sorry about earlier. I'm afraid I instructed Mr. Borgin here to request that the two of you arrive well before our meeting time. Only so that I could take a good look at you," the man informed.
Borgin muttered something. He did not look pleased to be the butt of a joke he knew nothing about.
"To get a look at us?" Draco repeated, looking even less pleased than Borgin.
"Yes. It' s all part of the consultation process. I' ll be happy to explain." He stood there for a moment, giving them time to digest the news. "My name is Arne, by the way, and it would seem that I am your Fida Mia expert for the evening," he stepped to the side of the door and made a dramatic gesture with his hand. "Do come in."
"Do you have last name, Arne?" Draco asked, as he entered the house. Hermione was thinking the same thing, though she thought Draco might have used a little more tact in asking. He was probably still annoyed at being fooled.
They were in a narrow, carpeted, little hallway with a set of steps leading up to the second floor. The place smelled pleasantly of recently baked confections. There was a small hallstand