"A KIND OF SANCTUARY"
by Penpusher

Chapter One - Exposition

"You've heard, then."

It wasn't a question. Hermione Granger continued her perusal of a lengthy parchment.

"The Chinese leadership has always been fickle," she replied without raising her eyes. "Their decision to side with Voldemort was scarcely unforeseen."

Her companion gave a snort of derision.

"Fickle?" came the reply. "That's putting it mildly. Still, I suppose the writing was pretty much on the wall when Li Chiang was assassinated. Han Sioux's election to First Mandarin was a done deal; there simply was no one else."

"Harry, you made no mention that Han Sioux was sympathetic to the Dark Empire's politics in any of your reports." Hermione laid down her parchment, her gaze cool and questioning.

"That's because he isn't."

Harry Potter chewed his lip thoughtfully.

"Han Sioux isn't a Dark wizard," he began slowly. "He's just weak, easily led. He's so caught up in his own vanity, he's the archetypal easy target."

"You think he's being manipulated?" Hermione raised a well-shaped eyebrow. Harry nodded firmly.

"I'm sure of it," he replied. "The Council of Mandarins is known for its pragmatism, but the Chinese have generally been for the Light rather than against it."

Hermione shook her head wordlessly. She gestured to the scroll still clutched in her right hand.

"This," she gestured contemptuously to it, "is almost as bad. It's from Michael Korner."

"The guy who used to date Ginny?"

"The guy who's been lobbying on our behalf in New York, Harry," Hermione admonished severely.

"Sorry." Harry's reply was curt and careless. "I don't have much time to read the Daily Prophet these days."

"Then perhaps you should make the time, at least for events of this importance," Hermione told him. "Sometimes, Harry, even for you, the bigger picture is worth the trouble of piecing things together once in a while."

"Okay, okay. You've made your point. So what's Korner's problem?"

"Read and see."

Harry picked up the parchment; the heavy vellum felt warm against his fingertips.

"The Coven leaders say we're being alarmist," he summarised, his eyes scanning quickly over the words. "In other words, America won't take sides - they say it's not their war." Harry broke off with an exasperated sigh.

"For Merlin's sake," he continued with passion. "It's everybody's war! Can't they get it through their thick heads that if we go under, they'll be next?"

Harry crushed the scroll into a ball and slammed his fist hard on the desktop. Hermione sighed.

"Harry, you're not thinking," she replied wearily. "Michael's been working with the American Coven for a year now; he knows the drill. You have to read between the lines in his correspondence to get at the truth, but the gist is fairly clear. He's positive Voldemort has infiltrated the Coven's Ruling Council. Until the mole is identified and neutralised, the Americans daren't make a move either for or against us, for fear of queering the pitch."

"So that's it then, is it? Just Wait and See?" Deeply unimpressed, Harry threw the ball of parchment into a corner of the room with unnecessary violence.

"I take it they've had no luck in ascertaining his or her identity?" he asked wearily.

"Not so far," Hermione sounded resigned. "They're working on it."

"Story of my life at the moment."

There was a silence; neither seemed to have the energy to speak.

"Do you have a place to stay?" Hermione enquired finally.

Harry's green eyes glittered behind his spectacles. An innocuous-enough enquiry to be sure, but for Harry Potter, safe places to stay were always in short supply.

"Actually, Herm," he began awkwardly, "I was wondering whether you.?"

Hermione sighed.

"You know I will, Harry," she told him in a dead, weary voice. "But you're going to have to use the hidey-hole again. The Securitates have been extra vigilant lately; we've had two surprise searches this week alone."

Harry shook his head.

"I can't stay here, Herm," he told her. "It's too risky. I have to get away - to England, tonight."

Hermione sighed and shook her head.

"Harry, I'm sorry it just can't be done," she replied. "Getting you out of France would involve too much risk to the Embassy. We're already under 24- hour watch. I'm sorry, you'll have to find your own way out this time."

"I don't believe what I'm hearing!" Harry paced, his hands clutching his messy black hair in disbelief. "You would refuse to help me, to give me succour in my hour of need."

"Oh, stop with the hearts and flowers!" Hermione's exasperated explosion revealed a backlog of tension. "You've already caused me a great deal of trouble, Harry Potter. I'm in a very delicate situation as an Ambassador for the Alliance in an occupied country as it is. After I gave in to your most recent plea for help, I found myself under suspicion for aiding and abetting a high-profile escape bid. Harry, really - you could have warned me!"

The last was spoken with heartfelt reproach. Harry hung his head then looked up at her through his lashes, his face creased into a smile.

"But it worked though, didn't it, Herm?" he told her with a trace of his old carefree self. Hermione frowned.

"That's hardly the point!" Fear made her sharper than she intended. "Cornelius was a major-league target, Harry."

"We covered our tracks carefully," he protested.

"I know that," Hermione replied, "and, believe me, I'm grateful. But Lucius Malfoy is just waiting for me to put a toe out of line. He's had promotion, you know."

"Yes, I'd heard." Harry's tone was sour. "Overseer of All Foreign Nationals in Dark Territory, no less, whatever that's supposed to mean. Still the same old licence to kill, maim, imprison and torture with impunity, just more people to terrorise, I guess."

"I think the change of status has gone to his head," agreed Hermione with chagrin. "He was suspicious of me before Cornelius made his dramatic escape; now he's out for my blood. All Lucius needs is one little piece of proof, and I'm done for - and so is this facility."

Hermione paused, her lips thinning into a line.

"I'll do it for you this once, Harry," she replied with a sigh. "Just this once. I'm not only putting my own neck on the block, you realise, but the lives of everyone who lives and works here."

Harry scratched his head, looking everywhere but Hermione's face.

"It's - a bit more complicated than that, Herm," he muttered. "I'm, well, not alone."

"Oh, Merlin!" Hermione muttered. "Harry, if this is some poor waif and stray you've managed to adopt during a mission."

But Harry was shaking his head violently.

"No, Hermione, it's really not like that, I swear," he replied urgently. Then, unable to hold her piercing gaze, he dropped his eyes.

"Well, not exactly," he muttered quietly. Hermione stiffened.

"Potter," she said warningly. He looked up again, earnest and sincere.

"If I don't get them out, they'll die," he said flatly.

"They?" Hermione queried, her heart sinking. Harry nodded reluctantly.

"Who are they?" Hermione sat down at her desk, her legs suddenly unwilling to hold her up any longer.

Harry shrugged.

"Four spies, like me, only from India, Armenia and Uzbekistan; a couple of squibs whose memories can't be altered; three Muggles who risk immediate execution on sight for their anti-Empire activities; two underage witches who managed to escape from one of the Malfoy Pleasure Houses ."

"Spies, squibs, Muggles, children - Harry, just how many waifs and strays did you take on?"

".and one Pure-blood wizard," continued Harry as though the interruption had not occurred, "who merits the highest price ever levied by the Dark Empire on the head of an outlaw."

The two old friends stared at one another, eyes curiously open and naked.

"You don't mean." Hermione's voice was suddenly hoarse. "Oh, Harry!"

"They know I'm alive, Herm," he told her soberly. "Pettigrew saw me with his own eyes, for Merlin's sake. I tried to wipe his memory, but the bastard saw me coming and blocked the charm. It's only a matter of time before they pick up my trail, and if they find me, they'll trace me to you and Ron and Neville and Arthur - and Merlin knows who else. If they track me here to the Embassy, they'll simply seal the doors, set fire to the building and laugh while we burn alive."

Harry's breathing was becoming shallow, his eyes burned with the intensity of his words.

"They'll go through their own people with a fine-toothed comb," he told her. "They'll weed out anyone suspected of having any contact with me. Merlin's Balls, Severus Snape has already escaped two purges by the skin of his teeth this year. If I so much as breathe his name under interrogation, he's dead, along with all of his contacts. And I'm not the only one of us with that sort of information!"

Impulsively, Harry stepped behind Hermione's desk to grasp her by the shoulders.

"Hermione, you've got to help us!" he told her, wide-eyed with urgency. "We've got to get out of France, away from Voldemort's creatures. There are others, as well as me who have information He would cheerfully sacrifice His own mother to secure. We can't stay here. For all I know, His Securitates could be on your doorstep as we speak!"

Hermione stared at her former schoolfellow, for once lost for words. Then she pulled herself together.

"Very well, Harry," she said crisply. "You give me no choice. I'll hide you and your companions as best I can until we can get you out - and it won't be tonight, I'll tell you that for nothing. But I warn you, the future of everyone here in this Embassy rests upon your shoulders. You'd better be prepared to take that on your conscience if this thing blows up in our faces."

The two former schoolfellows exchanged a long, penetrating glance.

"I, too, have no choice, Hermione," Harry said quietly. Hermione was the first to look away.

"Get your band of refugees to Basement 3 and into the Room of Requirement as quickly as possible," she ordered, turning to shuffle papers on her desk. Harry gave her a twisted grin.

"Already done, Herm," he replied, with a shrug at her outraged glare. "I couldn't think what else to do with them when I arrived. I'll just go and join them now, shall I?"

Wincing at Hermione's narrowed eyes, Harry groped in his crumpled jacket for his wand preparatory to Apparating.

"Oh, and Hermione?"

"Yes, Harry?" Was there anything else, my liege?

"Thanks." Harry reached out to stroke her hand gently. "For helping us. I won't forget it."

"No, Harry," Hermione replied dryly. "You won't; I can promise you that."