So, here's the next chappie. This is where I really start to switch POVs and the timeline starts to jump back and forth a bit. If you have questions, please feel free to ask.

And we're off!

Things were not looking so good for Peter Pettigrew. He had been given a mission to complete and so far, it had not been completed.

At first, after leaving Tom's study, Peter had run off to gather his forty best soldiers to help clear the Thieves' Forest. Unfortunately, these men were, for all intents and purposes, completely pointless. He would've gotten as much done even if they hadn't been there. So, thinking all he needed was more man power, Peter called in forty more men. Still, his men were being beaten back and/or ignored. Desperate, Peter did the one thing he'd most wanted to avoid; he called in the Brute Squad.

The Brute Squad was the section of the castle guard that was made up of some of the strongest--and dumbest--men Peter had ever met and every time he saw one of them towering over him, he couldn't help but squeak in terror. A most undignified response that was completely beneath the head castle guard, to be sure.

The two new recruits, apparently just in that morning, were no exceptions to the generalization, perhaps even bringing it to new levels with their gargantuan frames and astonishingly lack of anything even vaguely resembling a thought process.

Forcing down his instinctual fear of anything that large, he appointed the two as his personal helpers, after pairing each of the other Brute Squad members with a regular soldier. Feeling significantly more confident, they set off into the Forest.

At first, everything was going great. The Brute Squad really reinforced the soldiers, helping them with the intimidation factor and aiding with their sheer brute strength. Unfortunately, despite all this, Peter still encountered some trouble.

Making his way through an alley, the gorillas in tow, Peter stumbled over something, almost falling. Looking down in irritation, he saw that what he had tripped over was a nearly catatonic man lying limply on the ground.

"You, up!" barked Peter, nudging the figure with his toe, "Hey, you! Get up and get going! The Thieves' Forest is to be cleared!" The man just layed on the ground, limp and unresponsive. "Didn't you hear me?!" demanded Peter, his nudging now more of an insistent jabbing, "Get up, I say!" Still no response.

His irritation level spiking sharply, Peter gave a fierce kick to the man's side, hoping to get at least a little reaction, but alas, nothing. Glowering at the body before him, Peter decided to just let his new minions take care of it and have them take it to the waiting police car.

"Crabbe! Goyle!" the two lumbered over, expressions as clueless as ever, "Take this man and stick him in a holding vehicle. He appears to be unconscious or something." They nodded, stepping forward, and Peter left them to it, reluctant to be close to them for very long.

Crabbe and Goyle bent to pick the man up and didn't actually realize who the man was until they'd lifted him, and even then it was a close call. (Though considering their lack of a thought process, even that was something of a feat.)

"Longbottom?" Goyle actually managed to sound surprised--a surprise in and of itself, given how his mental capacity didn't usually allow for such emotion (after all, one actually has to have some expectation in order to be surprised, and he'd never been one to think that far ahead).

Crabbe, looking closer at the man, realized that it was, indeed, their fellow henchperson. Unfortunately, he wasn't looking so great. Crabbe, after deciding that this development was probably beneficial in some way, picked Neville up and, with Goyle's help, stashed him nearby for them to retrieve later.

After clearing the rest of the Forest and delivering the prisoners to the castle, Crabbe and Goyle stealthily (well, as steathily as two lumbering morons can manage) made their way back to the Forest to get Neville. He was exactly where they'd left him, so they took him to a nearby empty house.

There, they spent a good amount of time attempting to revive Neville using various methods, most involving some form of physica abuse and shouting, "Hey! Longbottom!" Finally, after a particularly long ducking in freezing water, Neville came back to himself.

Spluttering, Neville began to cough as Crabbe pulled him out of the water and the Dunder-Headed Duo watched impassively as Neville got his breath back. Blinking blearily, Neville looked up from his hunched-over position on the floor and was delighted to see who his companions were.

"Crabbe! Goyle!" he cried, grinning widely, "You came!" A frown creased his face, "But where is Ginny? Has she not arrived yet?"

A vague frown passed over Crabbe and Goyle's faces, but was quickly gone, though it lingered longer on Crabbe's than on Goyle's.

"Dead," Crabbe replied slowly, sorting through newly-remembered events. Neville's talk had helped him overcome his temporary amnesia.

Neville frowned, "How do you know that?"

Crabbe frowned in concentration, "We saw her body…maybe. I don't really remember." Goyle nodded sagely, his memories were relatively vague as well, but he seemed to remember something to that effect.

This puzzled Neville even further, but upon brief contemplation, he decided to just trust them. Neville shrugged, smiling sadly, "Probably for the best anyway. So did the man in black defeat you two?"

The two nodded, "Yes. So after finding Ginny dead we came here."

Neville nodded, "So I see. So what've you been up to the past day or so?"

"Joined the Brute Squad," Crabbe replied, "The man who gives us our orders every morning has really greasy hair and is an asshole."

Neville froze, "Did he have a rather…impressive nose?"

"It is huge and ugly," replied Goyle shortly.

Neville's expression grew excited, his eyes darkening with elation, but a few moments later, it was replaced with grim determination. With a curt nod to himself, Neville lithely hopped to his feet, "Well then, you must take me to him. What's his name?"

"Count Snape," Crabbe replied, "He is probably with the Prince, who is in the castle, which is being guarded because of the wedding."

"Wedding?" Neville queried, surprised.

Crabbe nodded, "Draco Malfoy and the Prince."

"So he's back," mused Neville, "Then Ginny really is dead. But how to get in the castle? How many guards?"

Crabbe thought hard, "Twenty at each entrance."

"Hmm," Neville began to pace, "Well, I can take five, and you each can take five, but that's only fifteen. And I doubt that any of us can take more than five! Argh! WE need Ginny! I am not a planner, I'm a man of action!"

Crabbe and Goyle just watched impassively, not even noticing Neville's personality change due to the fire that seemed to burn within him, making him glow.

Suddenly, Neville had an idea. "The man in black!" he exclaimed, "That's it! He bested me in sword skill, he beat you guys at strength and he obviously defeated Ginny, who's the best planner I know! He could get us into the castle! We need to find him! Do you know where he might be?"

Crabbe and Goyle scrunched up their faces in intense thought. "He's with Voldemort," said Crabbe finally, recalling with difficulty a conversation he'd heard that morning about the man in black and his fate.

"What?" exclaimed Neville, bewildered, "Why would he be with a guy like that?"

"He's one of the crew," Crabbe recalled.

Now Neville was irritated like he'd never been before, his fervor burning in his eyes, "One of the crew?! No! He's no doubt the best fencer in the world! And surprisingly strong and cunning besides! No, he's definitely Voldemort himself." Neville began to pace once again, "Which means he's still in the city."

Now Crabbe and Goyle were confused (admittedly, it wasn't that difficult to achieve), "Huh?"

"Well he foiled the Prince's plans to have his fiancé killed so he could go to war with Rodsew. This had to have some effect on the Prince, so he probably wanted to keep him close, to punish him, or whatever. Which means he's probably somewhere in the city, or at least close by! Come on, we've gotta search for him!"

So the three set off, an enthusiastic Neville leading the way, and spent the rest of the day scouring the city for the illusive Voldemort. Of course, they didn't find him, and finally decided to call off their search just past dusk, resolved to continue it the next day.

At dusk, Draco went to talk to Tom. The door was closed so he knocked, loudly, interrupting the yelling he could hear inside.

A few moments later, the door was wrenched open by a furious Tom, whose anger seemed to melt away as he took in who had interrupted him.

"Draco, darling, please come in," purred Tom with a beatific smile, standing aside so Draco could pas by him, "Just wait a moment to let me finish things up."

Draco entered the study to find Peter Pettigrew cowering before Tom's desk, staring fearfully at the man as he closed the door and strode over, reclaiming his chair. Tom fixed his suddenly icy gaze on the man before him as Draco took up a position just behind him, "Look, Pettigrew, it is my husband-to-be. Aren't I a lucky man?"

Hesitantly, Peter nodded.

"Then, is it wrong for me to be so concerned with his safety and well-being?"

Even more hesitantly, Peter shook his head. He had originally come to Tom to report back on the success of the clearing of the Thieves' Forest, but then the matter of how much security would be at the wedding had come up, and from there it had quickly degenerated into Tom screaming at Peter in fury. Peter was exceedingly grateful for the interruption.

"These Rodsewans are absolutely everywhere," continued Tom, "So this calls for some higher security measures. All gates but the front have been sealed, yes?"

Peter nodded, straightening a bit, "Yes. Twenty men guard it."

"Good. Add eighty more."

"Yes, My Lord. The entire Brute Squad shall be there."

"Good. Now, tomorrow the wedding is to be at sunset, and no one is allowed in until then. Afterwards, Draco and I shall be escorted by the Royal Guard to a ship waiting in the harbor, and from there we shall set out on our honeymoon, accompanied by the entire Linai Armada-"

"Every ship but four," Draco corrected smoothly.

Tom paused, blinking in surprise, then recovered himself, sending Draco a charming smile, "Oh yes, silly me, every ship but four."

But the jig was up; Draco had seen through his ploy. He had been suspicious when he realized that Tom had not canceled any of the wedding plans, and that little Freudian slip of his had only confirmed them.

Peter bowed shakily. "Yes, My Lord." He turned and left.

When Draco was sure Peter was out of earshot, he fixed an icy glare on Tom. "You never sent the ships, did you?" he asked calmly, his tone belied by the anger sparking in his eyes, "And don't bother lying, I won't believe you."

Tom was a bit startled, but hid it well, "Now, darling, I've only got your best interests in mind, you know that."

"Somehow, I doubt that."

Draco's sarcasm was not appreciated, but Tom tamped down on his irritation. "It's just nerves, darling. We are getting married tomorrow."

"Actually, I'm very calm." And indeed, Draco did appear that way. "But you must know, it doesn't matter if you sent the ships or not; Harry will come for me. No matter what you do, Harry will come."

Rage sparkled dangerously in Tom's eyes, but his tone was still deceptively light, "Draco, I know it's the nerves talking. So long as you go to your rooms right now, I won't take anything you're saying seriously."

"Fine, I will go, but I don't care if you forget everything I said or not, because I meant every word." Draco turned and headed for the door, pausing before it, "Besides, you are but a coward and why would I desire the good opinion of one such as you?"

And then Draco was in the hall, and the door swung shut behind him, separating him from an enraged Tom who was shaking in fury. A moment's pause and then an inarticulate scream erupted from his throat, seeming to propel him forward.

His handsome face twisted in fury, Tom wrenched open the door and sprang into the hall, looking around for the object of his rage. Draco was nowhere to be found so, anger rising, he settled for the next-best thing.

Adrenaline pumping, Tom sped from the castle out to the Thieves' Forest, directly to the torture chamber Harry and Snape were occupying.

Ignoring Snape's exclamation of surprise, Tom headed straight for the machine Harry was still hooked up to. Shoving Loony roughly out of the way, he grabbed the handle of the dial.

"He loves you!" Tom hissed at a stunned and bemused Harry, "He loves you and for that, you shall both suffer. He's mine! Not yours! And if I have to kill you and forcefully take him to prove it, then so be it!" With that, he handle as far as it would go, all the way to fifty.

"Not to fifty!" cried the Count. But it was too late; the machine had been activated and the death scream begun.

The scream was so long and so loud it echoed throughout the city, chilling the hearts of all who heard it. Most didn't know what it was and most didn't want to know.

However, there were two people outside the torture chamber who did recognize the sound for what it was.

The first was horrified and appalled by the sound and what it could mean for their future, but the second was elated. Finally, a clue! He set off in the direction he was sure the scream had come from, gorillas in tow.

Harry was dead on the slab next to the machine.

Tom held the handle in place long after the scream had wavered and faded, then returned it to zero and with one last disdainful glance at the lifeless body, left the chamber.

"He actually called me a coward," he murmured wonderingly as he hastily ascended the stairs. And he was gone.

Count Snape briefly took some notes then threw down his pen, disgusted. Well, there went another plan, all shot to Hell by an overzealous asshole.

Shaking his head, Snape violently pushed back from his desk and stalked to the stairs. "Dispose of the body!" he barked, ascending.

"Yes, Sir," murmured Loony, sadly staring at the limp body on the table. Carefully, she reached out and closed his sightless eyes, before closing his slack jaw.

"Such a waste," she murmured regretfully, "Now who will rescue the lovely Draco?"

Little did she know, Fate wasn't quite done playing with its favorite toy yet.

So there you go. I know it's a bit of a cliffy, and I'm sorry. There aren't that many chapters left though so I think it's allowed. Anyway, review and tell me what you think!

Ciao,

Waffles