AN: For those of you who get story alerts, I'm not sure if they re-send it when I take down then put up the same chapter after I edit it. Suffice to say you may need to see the author notes in the last chapter. This is kinda a short chapter. My school work is being a complete and utter bitch right now. Sorry!

XOXO


Chapter 7

The young man watched them flee with a sense of triumph. He had duped the Dark Lord. He saw from a distance, the bright green of the killing curse. He squinted and thought he saw someone falling, but it was too far away to be sure. Ron Weasley perhaps, he thought without much regret. Ron Weasley was a fool; it would be no great loss to the Wizarding world to lose him. Hermione Granger, on the other hand…it would be unfavorable if she had died. She was far too clever. Though he'd never tell her that. He saw a second flash of green, and heard the screeching cry of Bellatrix's laughter, and ear-piercing shrieks. His optimism for Hermione Granger's welfare went down a few notches.

There were far too many things that she could yet accomplish, despite her dirty blood. Though, blood purity seemed to matter less and less to him as the full nature of blood segregation had settled in. Forever damned to listen to the pawing and blabbering of purebloods newly put into positions of authority that they had no real skill for. Pure blood, unfortunately, did not make a witch or wizard intelligent. Too much inbreeding, he conceded. Though he'd never admit it aloud.

His eyes sought out the Dark Lord. Voldemort stood in the middle of the expanse between the forest and the house, his stillness and apparent calm were betrayed by the thrumming of energy in the air.

Voldemort was not at all pleased his prisoners had escaped. He repressed a shiver of fear. Very few prisoners had ever escaped from The Dark Lord. Though, he thought with faint amusement, Granger had once escaped captivity at Malfoy manor as well. Two Death Eaters had been tortured within a hairsbreadth of death in punishment. His still remembered the terror of their ashen, shaking forms. Voldemort's punishment to the stunned guards tonight was sure to be great for allowing Granger to escape with the giant oaf and the Weasley chit. He felt only a flicker of pity for the guards he had stunned.

Voldemort's weakness was his arrogance. It would never of crossed his psychotic, brilliant, evil mind that the prisoners would escape because one of his Death Eaters had been imperiused, and another few disloyal.

The Order had nearly muddled everything up, rushing into the plan too hastily. They knew nothing of a slow, full seduction; there were too many Gryffindors left in charge. Only Slytherins knew of what it truly meant to deceive and manipulate, to become so immersed in your role you yourself nearly forgot. It had only been a short while that he'd been in his role, but he felt that he'd worn in much longer. It was a heavy weight to bear.

Sometimes, in the midst of a revel, when the bloodlust was high, and he was rolling in the waves of pleasure by the mouth of some whore, he terrified himself. Despite the horrors he knew Voldemort committed, sometimes he wanted nothing more than to please the Dark Lord, his fear and lust and awe so tightly intertwined. The Dark Lord had a talent with manipulation, with coercion, be it through torture or deviant enticement. It would be so easy to let go of resistance. He struggled with his cowardice urging him to give in. Those moments he felt himself slipping he'd force himself to think of his father, and his mother, and he'd remember then that Voldemort was truly evil. A hand gripped his shoulder and he jumped.

"What are you still doing out here?" Severus Snape hissed at him, "go!"

"Just making sure they got away, is all." He answered, a bit irritated that he had been so obviously startled.

"What would you have done had they been caught?" Snape sneered. His grip was fierce and dug into his shoulder, "if you do not wish Him to see you go now!"

"Don't treat me like such a child! No one saw me!" He bit out, scowling.

"Then do not act so childish Draco! This is not a game to prove your worth with!" The young Malfoy clinched his fists in anger, but slipped back into the house, disillusioned and undetected.

"Of course I know it's not a game." He mumbled, somewhat petulantly, as he entered his chambers. The door clicking shut, he leaned against it, pale brows furrowed, then muttered "or maybe it's the most dangerous one I've ever played."

"Draco." The voice spoke from the darkness of his chamber, and his heart leapt painfully, terror gripping him. The voice was familiar, and so like his own. He swallowed. He'd not show his fear, not allow a single tremble in his words.

"Father." He acknowledged.

"Where have you been? I was growing worried." Lucius voice was soft, like silk, and anyone who did not know what cruelties the man was capable of would be moved by the genuine concern that laced his voice. Draco was not fooled.

"I heard screaming from outside, Father. I went out to check."

"Oh, yes. That was rather…unexpected."

"Father, may I ask why you sought me out in the middle of the night?"

"The very reason you woke, Draco, the screaming." There was a flare of light and the fireplace lit, casting grotesque shadows across his father's face, "I do know how much screaming can give you nightmares." It took all his control, all the hard work he'd put into his training with his Godfather to keep his face even.

"Thank you Father," he lowered his eyes respectfully, hiding his emotions, "but I am fine." It was on the tip of his tongue to point out he'd been going to revels for months now. Screaming was commonplace and he had learned to deal with the resulting nightmares. He must of done something suspicious, something to make his father check on him. Draco was drawn tight, apprehensive. His father stood up from the giant leather chair he was occupying by the fireside, and came by Draco, and placed a hand on his shoulder. Draco didn't flinch, not even when his father gripped him tightly, a mock embrace.

"I'm so glad to hear that you're growing up Draco, letting the past be the past."

"Of course, Father. What's done is done." Lucius narrowed his eyes a moment, then nodded and left the chambers. Draco closed his eyes in relief. He'd have to be more careful. When Draco could no longer hear his father's footsteps he sunk to his knees, and allowed the pain, and fury he had kept at bay to take over him. His nightmares were sure to come tonight. Gathering himself up, he took a swig of the dreamless drought on his bedside.

He couldn't handle the nightmares of his mother. Not tonight.


The convulsing darkness around Hermione released her and she was thrust forward into a field of tall grass, then the pressure of apparation was pressing on her again, and she gasped. It felt as if she was being squeezed through a tube, then she appeared on a rocky coastline a suffocating minute later. Then again, and again, flashes of scenery were shooting past her, blurs of colors, of sounds, as she was forced through side-along apparition at a break neck speed. She began to see black dots in her vision, and the nausea building was fierce, but the only thought in her mind was that her hand was empty.

She had left Ron behind.

Hermione released a soft sob. Her cries were torn and distorted as her presence blinked through a muggle village, a muddy riverbank, an alleyway.

After several more minutes, she was no longer being forced to apparate, the pressure gone, but she didn't notice.

She pitched forward, the nausea triumphing.

After a moment, when her body had ceased emptying her stomach and the dry heaves had stopped, she turned to the person who had forced her through such a rapid succession of apparition. George stood a few feet away, head lowered.

"We have to go back!" Hermione cried, pulling herself to her feet.

"We can't Hermione." His voice was a hoarse whisper.

"We left Ron! We have to go back and get him! We have to!"

George's voice was then unbearably soft, "you know he's gone." Hermione spun on her brother-in-law,

"Don't say that! Don't you dare say that!" Hermione realized she was gripping onto the foreign wand still. She could apparate back herself. She tried to take calming breath. Destination, determination, deliberation.

George lunged for the wand and ripped it out of her hand the moment she raised her arm, his eyes wild.

"Are you stupid?" George yelled with a fury she had never heard from him before.

"Give that back to me! I need to go back!" Hermione's voice cracked.

"Hermione, I saw Ron get struck down by the curse." George's face was twisted in pain, "he's…he's gone." Hermione shook her head, fighting the truth of his words. But the images of the brief fight came back to her, of his face illuminated in the green light. The same green as Harry's eyes, some strange, distant part of her thought. She knew he had been hit by the killing curse. She met George's eyes, and took a shuddering gasp,

"He's really gone. Isn't he?"

George gathered Hermione in his arms before she could blink. The warmth and comfort of his embrace was her undoing.

A harsh, keening cry was torn from her. Ron was gone, really gone. She had seen his pupils widen, and then dull as the life faded from them. His beautiful blue eyes, empty. The very eyes that had filled with tears of joy, and empathy only recently at their wedding. Her husband was dead. They had never even been given a real chance at life together. They'd never have children together. They'd never laugh together again, kiss again, or bicker again. Her sobs shook her, and hot tears streamed down her face. She couldn't breathe, and she began to gasp between shuddering waves of tears. She felt George's arms tighten around her, and she turned into his shoulder and wept. His fiery red hair was blurred, and made her ache. It was the same red as Ron's.

"I swore I'd protect them," she thought she heard George whisper against her hair and he hugged her closely, then he was crying too, and they held each other as they sunk to their knees in shared sorrow. She felt so hollow, like she had wept out her heart.

Gone, he was gone. Endearing, stubborn Ronald, gone.

"Hermione we gotta go," George's voice seemed far away, "Hermione! We have to get to someplace safer." Hermione felt herself being shaken, and again, the pressure of apparition.

They appeared outside of the wards of a house Hermione had never seen before. George helped Hermione shakily to her feet, pulling her towards the wards. With a practiced wave of his arm they were dispelled long enough for them to get through. Hermione managed to ask,

"W-where are Ginny a-and Hagrid?" She couldn't lose anyone else. She took in George's tear stained face. They couldn't lose anyone else.

"It will take them a bit longer. Hagrid has never been very fast at apparition, but Professor McGonagall should be with them." He look scared for a moment, and then shook it off, "they'll be fine. I'm sure." He paused and looked her over, "let's get you inside, and warm." Hermione looked down at herself, and realized her body was shivering from the cold. She hadn't even realized. She gripped George's hand, and squeezed it.

"You too George. We're both shivering." She replied softly, tugging him towards the door. He squeezed her hand back, and she felt warm tears running down her face. The gentleness was too much.

"I gotcha sis, I gotcha." His words sounded muted, but held a thread of strength, of promise. Hermione closed her eyes for a moment, in prayer, or supplication to whatever or whoever out there was listening.

Please let Ginny be alright. George doesn't deserve any more sorrow.

They slunk up the few steps, and the door creaky granted them entrance.

A weariness she'd never known took over her, and she fell into the first chair she saw upon entering the ramshackle house. So much death. It seemed never ending.

A terrifying, traitorous thought slipped into her mind. Was it worth it? As the body count lined up, her husband the most recent of victims in this horrible never-ending war, she felt herself losing sight of the objective.

For the light!

For the greater good! Some part of her cried. She was so tired. She'd try and care later.

Hermione gathered her legs to her chest, and slept.


AN: Please, please read and review! It will warm my heart!

You guys have no idea how hard it is for me to not rush this story. This is so agonizing for me. The spark that first gave me the idea for this story hasn't even happened yet, and we're in the seventh chapter. God, I'm going crazy. fghlkfghlkfk