It's Monday ... bleh ... But here is another post. That's kind of a good thing, I guess. I had a good weekend, so that's kind of a good thing too. right? Did you have a good weekend? No? ... I mean, yeah ... Right ... Of course, but ... Well, I'm not sure I can do anything about that ... It's really between you and your mother, isn't it? ... Have you tried calling? ... Phones work both ways, you know ... No, texting doesn't count ... Look, I can't do this right now. I'm kind of trying to get this post up while I'm at work. So we'll have to talk about it later.

Sorry about that ... Enjoy!

- Chapter Ten -

A Pair of Aces

"Say nothing," Killian whispered. "Do nothing."

Ordinarily, Hermione would have scoffed at such a request, but under the circumstances, she decided it best to follow Killian's lead. She watched with growing anxiety as five individuals emerged from the shadows cast by the dim streetlamps. Killian seemed to echo Hermione's concerns, but hid them well. He reached into his robes and pulled out a small canvas sack, placing it inconspicuously on the pavement beside him. As he did, Thomas scurried over and dove headlong inside.

"Asked you a question, boy," the raspy voiced man reiterated.

"A classmate," Killian answered as he scooped up the sack, which, to Hermione's surprise, appeared quite flat and empty. "Followed me. Not a wise decision, nor an action I expected or condone. But she was helpful."

"That's all well and good, I suppose," the man went on. "But she wasn't in the plan."

"Neither were you. Plans change, Tanzar." Killian grimaced as he attempted to stand, caught himself, and then continued with the motion until firmly upright. "Everything came out well enough."

The five figures were now in full light. Hermione immediately knew they were Death Eaters, recognizable by the unmistakable Dark Mark proudly presented on their bare forearms.

Tanzar was surly and rugged with an unshaven face and filthy hair that hung to his shoulders. Another of the Death Eaters was entirely hairless and horrifically scarred about the face and head. A third was built like a beast, his meat-hook hands and arms folded across his chest. The remaining two were mirrors of each other, pale and ominous with their fine ebony hair and vacant features.

"Where's Dourlish?" Tanzar asked.

"Still inside the embassy," Killian answered without emotion, as he approached the ragtag group.

"Didn't make it, eh?" Tanzar grinned as the rest of his brood broke out in laughter. "You know, I had fifteen Galleons that said neither of you'd be getting back through the Veil tonight. Guess I lost that one."

"Sorry to disappoint," Killian remarked casually.

"I take it you got it, then?" Tanzar asked, now face to face with Killian.

"I did," Killian answered.

He held the hinge before Tanzar. Tanzar looked at the hinge and licked his lower lip contemplatively. As he reached for it, however, Killian withdrew the object and placed it back within his robes. Tanzar narrowed his eyes at Killian, who glowered back indignantly, offering an awkward silence between the two that Hermione wished would soon cease.

"You see, the thing is," Tanzar finally said with a devious smile, "we were thinking it highly unlikely that you'd survive this little venture. Thought we might come along and pick up the pieces. You know, carry on where you left off, and all."

"And perhaps gain favor with the Dark Lord once again?" Killian mused, his casual mention of Voldemort sending ice through Hermione's veins.

"Don't mock me, you petulant …" Tanzar seethed, but then cut off. "You know nothing of his fury!"

"I also know nothing of failure," Killian went on. "Are there any other differences you wish to point out?"

Again, silence hung in the air. Hermione was almost certain that something horrific was about to ensue. She gripped her wand firmly beneath her cloak, just as a precaution, as she watched the scene unfold before her.

"You should mind your tongue," Tanzar warned coolly. "Yaxley may have an agreement with your father that keeps you under his protection, but we have no such arrangements. And currently," he added as he grabbed Killian's broken forearm and squeezed firmly, "you don't appear to be in much of a state to defend yourself."

"I would be ..." Killian paused, clenching his jaw clenched in an effort to subdue any show of pain. "... more than happy to put your theory to the test."

Tanzar released Killian with a boisterous laugh and turned to his brood, who joined him in his chortle.

"You are an audacious one," he said, returning his sights on Killian. "Let's get past all of this. We can work something out here, can't we? You had a bit of trouble at the embassy. No lie there, right? We happened along and helped out. You take care of your end, pass the news on to Yaxley about how we lent a bit of a hand, everyone goes home happy, right?"

"And you get to shine in good light?" Killian asked abstractly.

"Maybe," Tanzar said with another ominous smile. "Not asking for much. Dourlish is dead. Everything that happened depends entirely on your account of the story. No one would be the wiser."

"All right," Killian agreed after a moment's ponder, although Hermione surmised that it was merely for show. "Wouldn't want you to have wasted the trip. I'll pass the story along to Yaxley. What he does with it is out of my hands."

Tanzar nodded. "That's all we ask."

With that, Killian turned and headed back to Hermione. She stood, assuming that was the cue that they were leaving. Killian, however, still appeared to have a line of stress in his face.

"Still have another issue to address, boy," Tanzar called after Killian. "Got the girl there."

"I hardly find it necessary," Killian answered back without turning, closing his eyes with a heavy sigh. "As I mentioned, she is merely a classmate."

"So you've said," Tanzar pointed out. "But that's not really the point, is it? If she followed you, as you say she did … Well, both know she's not one of us. Now that she's here, couldn't go back, even if she wanted."

"You misunderstood," Killian countered calmly. "She followed me to the boundaries of Hogwarts, where I discovered both her and her intentions. From there, due to her persistence and my inability to waste any more time, I brought her here. She is free to come and go as she pleases."

"Did you?" Tanzar said, seemingly either surprised or impressed, nodding his head and raising an eyebrow. "Well, that changes everything then, doesn't it. But …" he paused, with his finger in the air "… there is that other part, as well."

"And that is?" Killian asked dismissively.

"You know the rules," Tanzar answered, his malicious grin returning. "No outsiders. How much shall I wager that the little lady's forearm is bare?"

Killian did not respond. He simply stood before Hermione with his eyes pressed closed. She could see that his mind was racing. Unfortunately, it was also apparent he was not reaching any plausible solutions.

"She needs to be taken care of," Tanzar added forebodingly. "Unless, of course, you have a problem with that."

"None whatsoever," Killian replied coldly, his eyes finally opening and meeting with Hermione's. "She's incessantly annoying, and I warned her about coming along. Do as you wish with her."

Hermione gripped her wand ever tighter beneath her robes. Trust him, she thought, trying to convince herself of something that should have needed no convincing.

Tanzar and his brood made their way over, encircling her, pulling at her, eyeing her like some form of feral prey.

"Hello, little puppet," the scarred one whispered maniacally in Hermione's ear as he leaned in close.

"A bit old for my liking," the one twin dismissed.

"But still so pure," the other added, grasping and smelling a lock of Hermione's hair.

"She will do," they concurred in unison.

"Back off!" Tanzar growled, stepping in and waving off his brood. "I'd rather like to see you handle this," he offered to Killian. "Make sure we're on the same page and all."

Killian swallowed hard, but kept his emotions firm. Breaking eye contact with Hermione momentarily, he glanced over her shoulder and into the shadows behind. A moment later, a familiar devilish grin washed over his face. He withdrew from Hermione and directed his wand upon her.

"Never doubt my loyalties."

Hermione closed her eyes as Killian raised his wand to strike, but heard no jinx or curse cast. Instead, she heard several shrieking whistles dart past her ears, followed by large explosions, gasps, and cries of confusion. She opened her eyes and saw red sparks and orbs of light with comet-esque tails filling the streets. The orbs glowed ever brighter until they exploded into several small serpentine dragons that slung themselves around Tanzar and his brood as they made vain attempts to ward them off.

Her senses overloaded, Hermione glanced feverishly about the street, looking for Killian. Almost immediately, she saw him ducking orbs and dragons while casting defensive spells amidst the explosions that filled the air around them. As she tried to make her way to him, she felt an arm grab her around the waist from behind.

"Time to go, Hermione," came a familiar voice.

Familiar. Yet, amidst the chaos, Hermione could not draw a connection. Her only thought was to break free. Killian was hurt and fending for himself. Nevertheless, before she could react effectively, she felt the now familiar effects of being tugged, twisted, and pressed through water.

. . .

"That was a bit of a scrape, wasn't it, then?" Fred smiled as he handed Hermione a hot cup of tea.

Hermione was sitting in the back room of Weasleys' Wizarding Wheezes with Fred and George. It was Fred who had grabbed her in the square and Disapparated her away to Diagon Alley only moments before George arrived there with Killian, as well. She had never been so confused, frightened, elated, and otherwise emotionally exhausted in her life.

"So you knew about this all along?" Hermione asked, taking a small sip of her tea, still shaken from the recent events.

"All along," George assured.

"Didn't think Finn would walk into something without an ace up his sleeve, did you?" Fred mused.

"A pair of aces," George corrected with a nudge to Fred's ribs.

"Although that was a bit more of a row than any of us anticipated," Fred admitted.

"Much more," George agreed. "Who were those bloody gits?"

"I figured you would know," Hermione said. "Seeing as how you all seem to be in this together."

"No need to spew your venom, woman," Fred defended with a grin. "Finn asked us to watch his back is all."

"Thought things might get a bit dodgy," George added.

"Are you telling me," Hermione asked in a disbelieving tone, "that you have no idea what Killian was doing?"

"None whatsoever," the twins answered in unison.

"And you just agreed to tag along?" Hermione asked on.

"Well, not exactly," George answered.

"You see, Finn wasn't exactly sure where he'd end up," Fred continued. "And we're not exactly a stealthy set of trackers."

"So how did you find us, then?" Hermione asked.

"Thomas fetched us," Fred explained.

"Thomas?" Hermione laughed, picked up Thomas, who had been sleeping on the counter, placed him in her lap, and began to gently stroke his back.

George tossed Fred the empty sack that Killian had been carrying earlier that night. Fred opened the sack, turned it upside down, and caught a small button that fell from inside. He then handed the button to a clearly befuddled Hermione.

"Used this," Fred explained further. "Turned it into a Portkey with a Return Charm attached."

Hermione flinched, nearly dropping the button.

George smiled. "Not to worry. We disabled the charms. It's pretty well useless now ... Unless you need to fasten your shirt."

"So you see," Fred said, "the Portkey brought Thomas here and we simply rode it back."

"Followed it back with a pack full of Dragon Snap Attack Caps," George added. "And Disapparated the two of you out of there."

"Felt a bit weird though, didn't it?" Fred said.

"Yeah," George agreed, scratching his head. "Like being tossed in a lake."

"A shallow one though," Fred added. "Really quick."

Hermione shuttered as she replayed the scene on the street in her head. How impossible it was they escaped, how improbable that their rescue was facilitated by the efforts of a small, weasel-esque companion, and how Fred and George could simply laugh it off as just another day.

Thomas pressed his nose to Hermione's hand, looking for attention. Smiling, she lifted him from her lap. "You are a clever little ferret, aren't you?"

"Clever little ferret?" Fred scoffed. "It was my bloody idea."

"So Killian comes to you for help," Hermione clarified, disregarding Fred's claim, "and you just agree, no questions asked?"

"Sure," Fred answered. "He'd do the same for us. Got to have a bit of trust, don't you?"

Before Hermione could answer, a door in the far corner of the storage room opened. Verity came out, looking a bit irritated and tired. She opened a large cabinet on the far wall and sifted through several vials of multicolored liquids and powders. After gathering a few of them together, she closed the cabinet and returned through the doorway from whence she had come.

"Calm yourself," Fred said, addressing Hermione's expression of concern. "Verity's great with this sort of thing. She was practicing Magical Medicinals before she worked her way over to marketing and retail."

"I still think he needs a hospital," Hermione protested.

"He won't go," Fred said.

"Stubborn as a hernhock, that one," George added.

"Definitely," Hermione agreed.

"Not to worry though. Everything will be fine," Fred assured. "When you run a business like this, you have everything from Burn Balms to Skele-Gro right on hand."

"So I see." Hermione smiled. "And why, exactly, did Verity decide to leave the Medicinal field?"

"She was more or less asked to," Fred explained.

"She has a lot up here," George said, pointing to his head. "But her bedside manner…"

"Painful," the twins chimed in unison.

Almost as if on cue, a horrid crunch, followed by a stifled groan of agony, emanated from the other room. After a few moments, Verity calmly opened the door and made her way back to the cabinet, replacing the vials she had retrieved earlier.

"Is he all right?" Hermione asked.

"He'll be fine," Verity answered, closing the cabinet. "Forearm's broken clean through, cracked a rib, a few minor scratches. I've set the break and given him a dose of Merci's Mend Elixir. He should still rest for a few hours before you move him, though. Don't suppose it even makes sense for me to ask how this happened, does it?" she added.

Fred grinned. "Hermione bloodied him up."

"Bit of a spat," George added. "She's a real scrapper."

"Really?" Verity asked rhetorically. "Well, good for you if that's true," she said to Hermione. "Someone needs to slap some sense into that boy."

"Can I see him?" Hermione asked.

Verity shrugged. "Be my guest. Mind yourself, though. He's a bit delicate at the moment."

"Delicate, is he?" George laughed. "Oh, that's a good one."

"He's not going to live this down for quite a while," Fred said, pounding fists with George.

"Quite a while," George agreed.

Hermione shook her head with another smile and made her way to the door. They're utterly ridiculous sometimes, she thought. Still, she was in their debt, even though she seemed to take it much more seriously than they did.

Hermione opened the door and entered a small room with a makeshift bed of several blankets laid out over a small stack of dock pallets. Killian lay there on his back, motionless, his eyes closed, his breathing heavy and deep. She thought perhaps he had fallen asleep, or worse, passed out. Either way, Hermione quietly made her way his side and looked down upon him.

Killian's broken arm was wrapped firmly in tight bandages. His shirt was opened, exposing his wrapped ribs as well as the, now significantly discolored, bruises she, herself, had given him on Christmas Day. He appeared fragile, but not delicate in Hermione's eyes. She had seen what Killian was capable of. There was nothing delicate about him. Not as far as she was concerned.

Whether it was an unconscious act or not, she did not know, but Hermione reached for Killian's sleeve. Slowly, she pulled it back, exposing his forearm. Forcing herself to look, she sighed with weighted relief as she saw that the skin was smooth and bare of any twisted skull and serpent.

"Are we reassured?" Killian asked groggily.

"I'm sorry," Hermione answered, wiping her eyes that suddenly began to water. "I knew that you … I just needed …" Her words choked in her throat.

"I may walk among them," Killian said, trying hard to smile through the pain, "but I will never be one of them."

Hermione climbed into the makeshift bed and lay next to Killian. She rested her head on his chest as his good arm wrapped tightly around her. She tried to keep pressure away from his injuries but knew that Killian would not let on whether anything truly hurt or not.

"How was the party?" he asked.

"What?" Hermione asked.

"Professor Slughorn's Christmas party," Killian clarified. "In all this time, we've never spoken of it."

Oddly, this was true. In all the time they had spent together over the holiday, the subject of Professor Slughorn's party never came up. Whether it was purposeful or a mere oversight, Hermione was not certain. It was not a night without incident. Yet, somehow, it did not seem important at the time.

Even now, Hermione felt like dodging the subject, content with enjoying the person she lay beside versus discussing event she would have rather missed altogether.

"I imagine it would have been a rather awkward conversation," Hermione said, shivering as visions of an evening of hiding in the curtains, uncomfortably mingling with other partygoers, and eventually leaving altogether without a word ran through her memory.

"Why?" Killian asked.

"I don't know," Hermione said. "I would think it might upset you?"

"Upset me?" Killian went on, seemingly amused by the notion.

Hermione crinkled her nose and sighed. "You could at least pretend you were jealous."

"If you believe you can find someone better than this," Killian teased, painfully gesturing to his battered, bruised, and bandaged body, "by all means, have at it."

Hermione closed her eyes, just happy to hear Killian in good humor. Although, if not for Verity's warning that Killian was delicate at the moment, she certainly would have slapped him for his previous comment.

"So, about the party?" Killian moved on, returning to his previous topic of interest.

"It was fine," Hermione lied, laughing at how common the conversation had become, given what had happened earlier that evening. "I actually left early."

In truth, the evening had been anything but fine. Although feeling guilty leaving Harry to his own end with Professor Slughorn on his tail from the moment he arrived, Hermione had hoped her escape would allow for some unaccounted time. Time she could have spent with Killian.

Unfortunately her hopes were left unfulfilled that evening, as Hermione did not find Killian haunting any of his usual locations within Hogwarts. He likely was in his common room, ending his day under the belief that she was enjoying a party with her classmates and mentors. Instead, she spent the night alone in her dormitory, wishing she had the forethought to plan ahead.

"Ron was decent to you, then?" Killian asked.

"Well," Hermione answered, "I didn't actually go with Ron."

"You didn't?" Killian asked with genuine surprise.

"No," Hermione explained, almost shocked that with all of the gossip flowing through the school, the news of Hermione's date to Professor Slughorn's Christmas party had not reached Killian in some form or another. "Ron's been a bit wrapped up in himself lately. I went to the party with McLaggen instead."

"McLaggen?" Killian seemed genuinely surprised. "And how'd that work out for you?"

"He was … less than a gentlemen," Hermione answered with a smile, knowing it would eat at Killian. He immediately took the bait, his muscles tensing in a vain attempt to sit up. "Relax," Hermione insisted, rubbing her hand across Killian's chest as he slowly conceded with a pain-stricken sigh. "You're hardly in the condition to do anything about it. Besides, I can take care of myself."

"That's not the point," Killian said, grimacing slightly.

"I know," Hermione agreed, feeling slightly evil as she thought about what Killian would do to McLaggen if she allowed it. However, as rude and uncouth as she found McLaggen, he did not deserve a retaliation on that level.

Hermione and Killian simply lay there for several minutes without a word passing between them. Hermione went over the night's events in her head over and over again. It seemed almost surreal, as if she had merely dreamt the whole thing. How close had they truly come to losing each other?

"Killian?" Hermione asked softly as she listened to Killian's heartbeat resonate rhythmically in her ear as the tips of her fingers gently caressed his chest.

"Yes," he answered.

"Why can't you produce a Patronus?"

Killian did not answer immediately. Hermione waited patiently, feeling Killian's chest rise and fall beneath her several times.

"I don't have the necessary tools," he finally admitted.

"What do you mean by that?" Hermione asked.

There was another brief pause before Killian answered.

"A Patronus is the embodiment of a single precious memory. Pure, flawless, untarnished by pain or anguish," he explained before taking a long deep breath. "I'm a bit short on those."

For a moment, Hermione felt wounded by Killian's revelation. She had hoped that perhaps a thought or memory of her would be pure and flawless enough. It did not take long for her to push that thought aside, however, admitting to herself that her own Patronus was not conjured by any thoughts of Killian. The sting that came with the denials and secrets surrounding them immediately neutralized any feelings of euphoria she felt. Memories such as those would be useless.

They only had a few hours before Fred and George would Apparate them back to the boundary of Hogwarts. In the time they had, Hermione simply wished to forget everything that going on around them. She dared herself to believe that this was all there was. Just the two of them lying together, waiting for the sun to rise. She lifted her head and looked at Killian, who appeared to have truly fallen asleep this time. Leaning over, she kissed him softly on the lips before returning her head to his chest, watching it rise and fall with every breath.

Everything is going to be fine, she thought as she drifted off to sleep. Somehow, it had to be. She would not allow herself to think otherwise.