A/N: Okay guys. I want to apologize for the agonizingly long wait for this chapter. Really I have no excuse. Those lingering reviews from chapter nine have been gnawing at me and I simply couldn't leave it unfinished. So I hope that this and the chapters that follow will be well worth the wait. Enjoy. :)

DISCLAIMER: I do not own Harry Potter. All characters, places, and things mentioned in this story are the property of J.K. Rowling.

OTHER INFO: Okay this is my first fanfiction :) Please read and review. Thank you :)

Chapter Ten

Thieves

(jan 3)

Bellatrix Lestrange was not known for displaying emotional distress, even under the most severe circumstances. In fact, Bellatrix was not very emotional at all, save for the frequent occasions that she glowed before Voldemort. But now… now she was furious. Her boots were thumping briskly over the littered sidewalk of Knockturn Alley, and her eyes were narrowed and focused, darting about to frighten away the eyes of curious onlookers. In one hand, she held her wand – twelve and three-fourths inches of walnut that, at her will, could cleanly decapitate a man – and in the other hand she clutched a faded picture of her dear sister, Narcissa.

Bellatrix had never cared for her parents much; they had always been a little stuffy and pompous. And Merlin knows she loathed her Muggle-loving sibling, Andromeda, but Narcissa had always been a good friend to Bellatrix. She had stood for her beliefs until her final breath, and Bellatrix was proud. There was no higher honor than to die carrying out the Dark Lord's will, something Lucius had apparently forgotten.

She was on her way to remind him.

When she saw the old, rotting sign hanging over the street, she knew she had arrived at Borgin and Burkes, but she wondered if they would still let her in. Surely they would for weren't they allies? She stomped under the threshold, attracting the attention of the shopkeepers and a few shady witches gathered in one corner of the shop. She shot them a threatening glance, and they immediately went back to cackling amongst themselves. Confidently, she approached the large, tattooed man that stood behind the counter , and he peered down at her through reptilian eyes.

"Whadda ya want, miss?" he growled. Then, seeing her seething expression he mumbled, "If it's poison ye be lookin' for, there's a fresh batch brewin' over there now." He poked one of his meaty thumbs towards the crowd of witches, whom Bellatrix now realized were bent over a steaming cauldron of black goo.

"No poison today," Bellatrix sneered. "But perhaps another time when I'm in a better mood." The man stared at her intriguingly, and she leaned in closely, "I need to use your fireplace."

"Right," the man said. He led her into the back of the store, where several boxes were piled against the walls. A cold, dead fireplace sat mundanely on the northern wall. The shopkeeper scratched the back of his head, "There you are. But I don't want to hear of ya goin' anywhere near Hogwarts, ya hear miss? Got me in a load of legal muck last time when ye tried that, and I can't afford closin' down right now. Ya hear, miss?"

Bellatrix offered him a weak smile and then turned to the fireplace and whispered, "Incendia."

A fire flickered instantly in the blackened pit and she waited for its hungry flames to grow large enough to toss in the Floo powder.

"D'you hear what I'm sayin', miss?" the large man repeated. "I can't have ya goin' – "

She took a step closer to him, close enough for her to smell the liquor on his breath, and she grinned, "You know sir, you really should think before telling me where the poison is, especially if you're going to flap your yap so much."

With a quick pat on his thick cheek and a handful of Floo in the fireplace, Bellatrix Lestrange was gone.

Within seconds she stumbled into the familiar dining room of the Malfoy's, and recovering from her nauseating journey through the Floo network, she propped herself against a wall until the urge to vomit passed. She reminded herself to use someone else's fireplace next time; Borgin and Burkes had always been a stomach-turner.

"Lucius!" she called, her shrill voice calling back to her in the emptiness. "Lucius! It's Bella!"

She waited, craning her neck to hear anything that might indicate Lucius was home. When she received no reply, she clumped into the foyer, which was equally inert, and called for him there. Her eyes wandered to the banister, where she had seen him standing on countless nights, observing all his wicked guests file through the front door, calling meaningless good-byes. They were always so cordial and proper, but give a pack of starving wolves a doe and see if they don't rip each other apart trying to get to her first.

Bellatrix wondered into the kitchen and the parlor next, and neither one of them contained Lucius. She wondered absently if someone had already been here and killed him before she got a chance to discuss her business with him. This thought only added to her anger, and she stormed into the living room with her fist tight around her wand. If she saw someone other than Lucius, she was going to fire at will.

Luckily, the first face she saw was Lucius, and her expression softened but only minimally, "I was calling for you, Lucius."

"I know," he mumbled.

He was sitting at an old writing desk that was caked with dust, and his eyes, frosted over, were fixated on the cloudy sky outside the window ahead. He looked like his soul had fled and all that was left behind was a hollow shell. Even Bellatrix, in all her sadism, had eyes to see that Lucius was not himself, but she hardly believed that was reason for abandonment of their cause. The only solid reason for that was death.

"Why didn't you answer me?" Bellatrix snapped in reply.

"I tried not to hear you," Lucius grumbled. "Apparently all efforts were in vain."

"Apparently," Bellatrix repeated, settling down on the sofa behind Lucius. After a moment of quiet, she continued, "We need to talk about… arrangements." Lucius didn't respond for several moments, pupils still stuck to the sky. "Lucius?"

"It was all my fault…" he murmured.

Of course, Bellatrix thought, the new Lucius that believed in everything invisible. Like happiness and guilt and – Merlin forbid – true love. It was rather embarrassing for Bellatrix to witness.

"Don't you dare Lucius Malfoy," she said through gritted teeth. "None of this is to blame on you. If you want to blame someone, blame your son. If it hadn't been for him and that filthy Granger girl, we wouldn't be having this… this debacle."

Lucius shook his head, "No. If it weren't for me, this would have never happened. No one would have gotten hurt."

Bellatrix clicked her tongue, " All these years Lucius I've known you have been sitting on the fence. You never believed that the Dark Lord was returning, but when he did, you rushed to his aid because you are tactical and like to be on the side with the upper-hand… I've always respected you for that Lucius. After all, personal issues should always be on your agenda; I believe that myself. But now, Lucius, now your son has gotten our innocent Cissy murdered, and you choose to hop the fence again?" She took a step closer to Lucius, leaning on her elbows on the writing desk, and whispered, "You've seen what he can do Lucius. I'm only trying to help you understand. You think you're valuable to him, but value only works in your favor for so long. You've abused your rights, Lucius. His mercy is running on empty for you, and frankly, so is mine."

Lucius rose quickly from his seat then, breathing heavily in Bellatrix's face, "I will not be allied with the creature that murdered my wife, not for you and not for anyone. This isn't over, Bellatrix. You know the war is on the horizon, and I don't want to be wedged in between the swords. I'd rather be fighting with Draco… for Draco. Otherwise, he will be caught in the same fate as I was."

Bellatrix sighed lackadaisically, "Suit yourself, Lucius." She made to leave, boots thumping towards the front door. Lucius followed her with a worried expression. She was standing in the doorway when she spun on him, "But you should know that the Dark Lord isn't your only adversary."

A pang of dread shot through Lucius then for he knew that Bellatrix was livid, and he knew that she would do anything to get revenge on whoever she saw fit. Right now that person was his son, Draco. Lucius rushed out the front door, robe flapping behind him, and he stood on the front steps and clutched the stair rail. He called, "Bella! Bella, if you touch my son, I swear to Merlin – "

The only sound he heard in response was Bellatrix's insane cackle. It flooded the empty property, rushed over the high hedges, crept into the gardens, and filled every crevice with a mad howl. It burned his insides with anger and utter panic. No time, he thought, no bloody time. Bellatrix would already have a plan, and he was helpless against it. He was about to lose everything… everything he had ever cared about, and there was absolutely nothing he could do. Even still, though knowing it would be in vain, Lucius scrambled inside to the writing desk that had become his only refuge as of late. A faded, crumpled photograph of Narcissa had been placed there – by Bellatrix, no doubt – but it was quickly brushed aside. With shaking hands, Lucius fumbled for ink and quill and nearly ripped the parchment stored in the desk as he began to scribble a letter, addressed to the one person he most afraid to lose.

Ginny Weasley was lounging in the Gryffindor Common Room. There was a fire crackling calmly in the pit, and the faint aroma of butterbeer lingered on all the furniture and clothes. Christmas decorations still dangled – ripped and broken – over the couch and fireplace. Ginny had the urge to take them down, but there was still one more night of holiday break. She'd be dead before she took them down, though perhaps given recent events she shouldn't speak so lightly of death. Hermione was sitting in a chair across from her, if she was even there at all. It seemed Hermione had transformed into more of a ghost over the past few months and increasingly so over the holidays, and although Ron had hoped she would be happier with Draco gone, Ginny knew it would only make things worse.

"What do you think he's doing right now?" Hermione blurted suddenly, looking at Ginny for an answer.

After countless inquiries such as this, Ron had politely excused himself and disappeared into his dormitory grumbling under his breath. Ginny wanted to do the same, considering the circumstances, but Hermione was simply heartbroken. It was a breakup with a boy Ginny couldn't stand but a breakup nonetheless, and she couldn't expect Hermione to emerge from it skipping.

"I don't know Hermione," Ginny said. "I'm sure he is wondering what you're doing."

Hermione nodded, "Sure. You're right, Ginny. I'm being ridiculous. I just hate not… you know… being with him."

"Well no one put a ban on him…" Ginny pointed out. "You just broke up… Broke up mutually too, which is basically not a break up at all. Right?"

"I suppose…" Hermione sighed. "But I can't just… hang around him. That would defeat the purpose of breaking up in the first place."

Suddenly someone was lolling down the steps to the common and the conversation came to a halt as Ron shuffled to a stop before them. In his hand, he held a letter, and he rubbed his eyes as he stared at it, "Bloody middle of the bloody night and an owl comes tapping on my window…"

He tossed the envelope at Ginny, who picked it up from the couch and broke the seal with a long fingernail. She slid the enclosed letter from inside, and all was silent as she read quietly to herself. The more Hermione watched Ginny's face, the more certain she became that the letter was about Harry. As Hermione observed further still, she was sure that it was not a good letter about Harry. In fact, after completing the note – or reading as far as desired – she began to cry into Hermione's shoulder. Ron shot Hermione a panicked look and snatched the note from the floor to read it aloud.

"'Dear Ron, Ginny, and Hermione: I have both good and bad news to deliver. The good news is that the locket of Slytherin has been destroyed. The bad news is that Harry has been captured by Snatchers and is being held hostage in a location currently unknown." Ron glanced up at Hermione, " Either way, we are trying our best with what little information we have. Ginny, don't you fret dear. We will find him. In the meantime, however, keep your eyes and ears open at school for anything that might help. Love, Molly Weasley.'" Ron stared at the worrisome letter, "Blimey."

Hermione stroked Ginny's ginger hair as she continued to sob into Hermione's shirt, and all the while Hermione was thinking, the wheels in her head were churning with no result. Harry could very well be anywhere, even hidden somewhere in the Muggle world. It would be nearly impossible to find him unless they had some sort of lead. And if they were going to pick up on a lead, it was going to have to be very, very soon. Harry's days it seemed, by the urgency of Molly's letter, were numbered. Thinking about it, sheer panic rose inside of Hermione; there wasn't enough time or information.

"What are we going to do?" she asked quickly, voice cracking slightly. She could feel tears burning her eyes.

"I don't think there's much we can do," Ron mumbled, making Ginny weep harder, "except what mum said – keep our eyes out here… Blimey, Harry."

Bellatrix stepped into Borgin and Burkes for the second time that day with a foul grimace plastered to her face. The witches were no longer hovering over their brew, but it was still steaming in the corner. Several containers had been filled with the black liquid and placed in a basket behind the cauldron, something Bellatrix would not have detected had the shopkeeper not previously informed her of the poison. It was late so there was no one manning the counter, and Bellatrix wondered if they would notice if she took a vial or two for herself. She decided no witch has the patience to count her potions and filched two bottles from the basket before wandering into the storage room behind the counter.

She cursed under her breath as she turned to see the large tattooed clerk on a cot against the wall. His bulging stomach was rising and falling with his rumbling snores, and Bellatrix noted with distaste the half empty bottle of rum within his reach on the floor. She fingered one vial of poison in her pocket while pensively eyeing the alcohol. She figured he was going to be overwhelmingly disappointed if he awoke to the knowledge that she had infiltrated his store and gone against his earlier order of keeping his merchandise out of Hogwarts affairs. In fact, she thought he might be very, very angry with her, which might endanger her life considerably. So given the situation, Bellatrix justified that she must do something to protect herself from future harm and figured it was his fault if she did. If he hadn't been passed out drunk, he probably would have seen her slip a bit of poison into his drink. She constrained a giggle as drops of deadly liquid dripped from the neck of the vial and swirled in the contents of the man's bottle.

"Mmmm…" Bellatrix hummed at a nearly inaudible level. "There you are dear. It's much better than the liquor I promise. And besides, you don't have to fret over that legal trouble I'm getting you into now…" She pulled her wand from her pocket and whispered, "Stupefy."

Bellatrix smiled as she guessed he would never know the difference between drunken unconsciousness and the result of the spell, poor bloke.

She stepped as quietly as she could into the Vanishing Cabinet that was placed across the room from the man on the cot. The door squawked in protest as she pulled it shut but it closed with a soft click, and she had a dizzy spell before opening the door into a room filled with useless junk. Books, clothes, and contraband among other miscellaneous items were scattered about in swaying piles. It was a wonder that someone hadn't looted this room with all the valuables in it, and Bellatrix made a mental note to investigate sometime. Right now, however, she had other business to attend to.

Stepping over various piles, Bellatrix made her way slowly to the door, which was inconveniently on the other side of the room. Tiptoeing through the mess, she eventually found herself in the hallways of Hogwarts. She jumped once in excitement, the only sight in the darkness her teeth glimmering in a manic smile. She had made it alone, when Voldemort had needed an entire crew of men. Wait until she told him this story. Taking into account this small victory, Bellatrix opted to skip down the corridor, all the while humming a melancholy tune and keeping her black eyes open for the unlucky fool who might be able to help her with the password. It took longer to find a Gryffindor roaming the halls than she thought, so long that she had stopped skipping long before she found him. It was simply the trouble she had gone through to get into the school that had kept her searching, even if she had an inkling she wasn't going to find anyone. But look! Here he was! Rather skimpy for a big, brave Gryffindor, but she didn't need him for any sort of courageousness. If he could talk, that was all she would require from him.

He took an awkward step backward when he saw her, eyes bulging through his eyelids. Bellatrix sensed his fear, a quality she had picked up from her many years as a Death Eater, and she absorbed it like a sponge, practically feeding off of it. She edged gradually closer to the boy, who at her first advance took off running in the opposite direction, but Bellatrix was quick and cast a spell that tripped him. He skidded across the rough stone with a sickening scratching sound as Bellatrix caught up with him. She rolled him over with the toe of her boot, examining the damage, and seeing the bloodiness of his pajamas, she was cruelly satisfied. The boy's lip quivered for a moment and let out a yelp to which Bellatrix counteracted swiftly.

"Mollis," she muttered, directing her wand at the boy's lips. His screams were now reduced to a low sigh, and Bellatrix closed her eyes and took a deep breath. "Now, now, can't have you attracting attention. I need to ask you a question…"

From among the stolen vials in her pocket, she produced a small container of veritaserum, something she had filched from someone at one time or another. She shook the bottle in the boy's frightened face, "You know what this is…"

The boy nodded.

"And you know that I'll use it…"

Another nod.

"And if you're smart, you'll play along and tell me the password to that lovely little house of yours…"

The boy shook his head vigorously. Bellatrix gave an animalistic growl and shoved the vial in between the boy's lips, the glass of the bottle clinking against his teeth. He struggled, kicked, punched and bit when he had the chance, but Bellatrix had his jaw and was forcing the liquid down his throat despite his efforts. She gave a slight laugh when she realized she had succeeded in administering the potion, and settled back on her haunches, the boy's skinny, shaking face in her left hand and her wand in her right.

"Now, tell me the password of the Gryffindor Common Room," she snarled with a hint of a smile playing on her lips.

The boy fought the words in his throat for a moment; she could see him trying to swallow them back into his stomach with tremendous exertion. But they both knew that veritaserum was reliable and that the words were going to escape eventually. The boy, after several minutes, wisely gave up trying to shut his mouth.

"C-caveo m –malum," he stuttered as Bellatrix leaned in close to hear his rasping voice.

"Very good," she smirked.

For a moment, she considered casting a quick and easy avada kadavra on the boy, but judging by his injuries, she probably wouldn't need to. Blood was pouring from places where his skin should have been and gathering on the floor, spreading like miniature rivers through the network of grouting. No, she thought, he would be just as well without her help. She left him lying there in the sticky puddle of crimson as she spun towards the Gryffindor Common Room. The cool wind of her cape over his open wounds would be one of the last reliefs he felt, but she barely considered it. She had one thing on her mind and one thing only.

From the perspective of most, the castle was unsettling at night, but Bellatrix found it rather exciting. The torches on the walls had been merely embers since curfew ended, thus there was no light in the corridors, save for the occasional window letting in the faintest glow of solemn moonlight. There were no sounds but the cooing of owls in the distance. The empty deadness was overwhelmingly exhilarating to Bellatrix, and in her impatience, she quickened her pace.

The Fat Lady was asleep when Bellatrix arrived at her painting. Her head was lolled against her hefty breasts, and gurgled breathing sounds were emanating from her gaping lips. Bellatrix pulled up the hood to her cloak and coughed meekly. The Fat Lady stirred drowsily, her eyelids sliding open only enough for her to make out an outline of what might have seemed to her like an ordinary student. Bellatrix stayed still until the portrait said something to her.

"What in the name of Godric Gryffindor are you doing up so late, young lady?" the Fat Lady mumbled, still half-asleep. "Erm… yes, well. Password?"

Bellatrix tried to disguise the distinguishable pitch of her voice as she said, "Caveo malum."

The door swung open lazily, and it took all Bellatrix had not to laugh out loud at her own cunning. She would dare anyone to say that she wasn't placed into Slytherin for a reason. She stepped inside to the darkness and coldness. She could smell it, the reward waiting just above in her dormitory like an innocent rabbit waiting to be snatched by the sly fox. She was so close, so close, just up the steps, easy now, one at time Bellatrix, don't get too eager, take it nice and slow, savor it… Oh yes, she was going to enjoy this. There were others in the room of course, who she would be unfortunately required to take out, but what is one death to another? A few more casualties couldn't hurt to shock these poor ignorant schoolchildren. Oh, what would the headmistress think if she found three dead bodies in a dormitory normally filled with four living ones? And on the first day back at school? Thinking about it, Bellatrix realized that her timing had been brilliant, though she hadn't planned for it to be. She was giddy with the idea of ruining a multitude of people's day when they discovered her felony.

She grinned even wider at her luck as she saw posed on the dormitory doors, the names of the occupants. Spotting Hermione's name on the third door to her left, she rushed to it. The doorknob was like ice to Bellatrix's hungry hands, and she turned it with struggling patience and caution. On the other side lay her prey like helpless lambs, and she was prepared to stick them under her powerful paw with a quick swipe of her wand. And she wouldn't feel particularly terrible about it either.

Cold air rushed into her face through the crack in the door, and upon entering the room she saw that the window had been opened, the red and gold curtains waving in the icy breeze. Deep breathing was emanating from each of the four beds, and Bellatrix wondered how she was going to do this without alerting the entire room. She decided the prize was worth the suicidal risk; after all, hadn't Narcissa lost her life? What difference would it make if Bellatrix suffered the same fate?

She glanced at each of the slumbering faces. Two of them looked the same – dark skin, dark hair – and one of them was blonde. But one, one was exactly who she was looking for. Light brown curls were scattered over the pillow, shimmering ethereally in the moonlight over her bed. If pressed, Bellatrix might admit that the mudblood was pretty, a real rarity for muggles to produce, but she was in no position to say such a thing about a filthy bit of wasted magic, especially Draco's filthy bit of wasted magic.

It happened quickly, all at once. Three identical spells, flying bright green from Bellatrix's wand, tainting the room with an eerie emerald glow. Simultaneously, Granger shot up from her pillow, mouth open in a silent scream, but Bellatrix was rapidly at her throat, eyes hidden behind the hood of her cloak but still seething with malice. She twisted the wand into Granger's slender neck, a growl rumbling in her chest, "You make one single noise, and I'll shoot the worst sort of sorcery into your pretty little gullet."

Granger's eyes flickered unintentionally to her wand, which lay on her suitcase on the other side of Bellatrix. Bellatrix took immediate advantage of Granger's mistake, reaching with her free hand to grab Granger's only possible defense. She studied the wand for a moment before laughing quietly, "Looking for this little thing? I think I may keep it for a bit. It looks rather… mmm… valuable."

Suddenly Granger roared, hand snapping towards a quill on her bedside table. It came soaring hurriedly in the direction of Bellatrix's side. Bellatrix saw the shining tip of the quill at the last moment and jumped back from the jab. As she dodged it, however, the makeshift weapon still

caught on her forearm with surprising force, the point tearing skin from the crook of her elbow to the palm of her hand. She held in the cry of pain that was pushing its way up her throat, for she couldn't scream now and alert the neighboring dormitories. She was too close. Instead, she gritted her teeth and clutched Granger's sneaky hands in her own.

"You little prick!" she whispered forcefully through clenched teeth. "I don't have to be gentle with you, but I would really like to keep you breathing until I'm through with you. Even still, one more bloody move like that one and the only way you'll ever see the light of day is if they dig you up from your teeny tiny Muggle grave."

There was a moment of stillness in which Bellatrix was glaring at Hermione under the shadow of her hood, squeezing Hermione's cheeks together with one hand. It was in this moment that Hermione sucked in her cheeks, pooled saliva under her tongue, and spat directly onto Bellatrix's forehead. Involuntarily her grip loosened on the mudblood's face to swipe the string of spit that was dripping down her nose, and almost instantly Bellatrix realized her blunder. Granger sprung up from her mattress, feet dodging the lifeless forms of her roommates, in an attempt to escape. Blindly, filthy mudblood spit in her eyes, Bellatrix fired a stunning spell, knowing her entire scheme depended on its accuracy. A thud followed as Granger's unconscious body crumpled to the ground. Her hand, which had been on the doorknob, slid down the door with a hiss.

Bellatrix smiled in satisfaction as she scooped Granger up, threw her haphazardly over her shoulder, and left the way she came. She crammed into the wardrobe and came out again at Borgin and Burkes. The cold body of the shopkeeper was lying in an awkward heap on the floor, foam dried around his lips. The bottle of rum was emptier than his quiet heart. Drank himself to death, poor bloke, Bellatrix thought to herself and cackled.

Her laughter was a flock of a million ravens screeching through the moonless night, its black feathers falling on the indifferent ears of beggars and criminals in the dark, wet alleyways. Sick pleasure flew beneath its wings and carried it to the children of Hogwarts slumbering in their beds. Ignorance would lend them no comfort for they should have known and innocence would grant them no relief on the part of the missing.

Draco sat awake in his bedroom, wide awake in fact because something felt very much out of place. Perhaps, he thought, it was only the idea that Hermione was staying with Ron and Ginny in Gryffindor tonight. The password had changed numerous times since he last knew it, and she was just out of his reach beyond the portrait of the fat lady. He knew he shouldn't be so protective as Ron and Ginny wouldn't let anything happen to her, but he didn't like being away from her knowing that something could happen. Darkness crowded in around him until he couldn't see his hand in front of his face, and he looked to his bedside table, where his candle had flickered out.

"Alright," he whispered to himself. "I suppose that's a sign, then."

He took a deep breath and settled down into his comforter, but it didn't calm him down. If anything it made him feel farther away from Hermione, and he lay awake under the comforter that was just one more thing in between he and Granger. He was being selfish and knew it, but he couldn't stand the thought of Hermione with that weasel. If he could be selfish, then so could Draco, especially since Hermione didn't belong to Ron. Still, it wasn't like Draco didn't trust Hermione; she knew what was within her boundaries, just as he knew what was in his. And in all honesty if anyone were to cross the line, by the record, it would probably be him. Therefore there was nothing to worry about… maybe.

"I can't sleep like this," he grumbled. He tossed his covers off and heard them land on the floor at the foot of his bed. "Bloody Voldemort. Should've died in the first round, you foul git. Then we'd both be rid of our problems…"

Frantic knocking was Draco's alarm clock the following morning, but he groaned and tried to ignore it. His sleep had been restless and his dreams nothing good, and he wanted nothing more than to drowse in peace. Was it too much to bloody ask? Still, the knocking continued, pausing every few seconds for the opportunity to be acknowledged, but Draco did no such thing. Not until he heard the door click open.

It was Snape.

"Knocking is a courtesy Malfoy," he snapped. "Not that you would know any better."

"What is it?" Draco disregarded Snape's comment, not particularly wanting to chat.

"All students are required in the Great Hall," he replied and turned from the doorway.

Draco was unsure what lured him out of bed, especially since it was early. Maybe it was simple curiosity, but something told Draco that this was urgent. Why else would McGonagall call such an early gathering? His thoughts drifted immediately to Hermione, probably just as unwilling as he to get out of bed, but knowing her, she wouldn't miss it for the chance that it might involve Potter.

He threw on his robes rather messily not bothering to glance at himself in a mirror, and left the common room. He wound through the labyrinth of the dungeons until he came to the narrow staircase and exited into the Entrance Hall. Many people were gathered in the small space, talking and waiting to go into the Great Hall. Draco tried to eavesdrop to attempt to find out what was happening, but nobody else seemed to know either. Whatever was going on was something no one had expected.

Draco pushed through the dense throng to the Great Hall, which was equally as crowded, and sat down at Slytherin. He gazed about the room, eyes still squinting with drowsiness. Upon the High Table, the teachers were talking gravely in low voices, lips sheltered behind their hands. Occasionally, they would glance woefully at the students gathered at the house tables and then turn to talk again. The only one that didn't seem to be speaking much was Snape, perched in his usual seat and focused straight ahead, but that didn't shock Draco much. The students were just watching – watching the High Table, watching the air, watching the other students. No one at the four tables appeared to be talking, or even seemed like they wanted to. Three tables over at Gryffindor, Ron was glaring at Draco with unrivaled loathing, his sister Ginny looking up frequently to allow her pupils to flicker nervously between Draco and her brother. Draco did not expect to find Weasley so hateful this early in the morning, and he absently wondered if Weasley simply woke up angry every day. Hermione was not beside him and nowhere else to be seen. She slept in, Draco convinced himself. But he had an uneasy feeling in the pit of his stomach that was growing and growing, like a spider spinning a web

Eventually everyone was seated in the large room and eyes were focused on the High Table, where McGonagall was rising from her seat to address the mysterious issue. Even she looked like she was on edge, a bit flustered, which was not at all common. Her fingers twitched on the podium as she began, "Good morning all… I apologize for the early waking. As many of you are aware, today was intended to be the first day back to school, but I am sorrowful to announce that this will not be the case." A few students cheered, but one glare from the headmistress was all it took to shut them up. "The reason for this is… difficult to swallow. It seems, by the account of several Gryffindors and a handful of others, that there was an intruder in the castle last night. They invaded primarily the Gryffindor Common Room, though other areas in that vicinity had signs of an unwelcome visitor. The intruder killed four students, all Gryffindors, and one Gryffindor is unaccounted for."

Silence. A multitude of eyes flickered to the Gryffindor table, to the places where the missing would have been sitting. The realization came to Draco like a whomping willow, like a thousand blast-end skrewts. His stomach twisted with the mere thought of the truth, but he knew that it was the only legitimate assumption.

"Professor," Draco said suddenly, almost unaware he was speaking at all, "who is missing?"

He did not look up to make eye contact, to affirm the suspicious stares that were pouring onto his bowed head. He focused on the table in front of him, on the sickening green and dull silver, on the words he knew would emerge from McGonagall's mouth, on the inevitable confirmation he didn't want to come.

McGonagall did not look taken aback by Draco's question, but she didn't answer immediately. Saying it had happened was easy but accepting that it did was harder. She replied shortly, "Hermione Granger."

A rustle of whispers and robes occurred as everyone turned to gawk at him, as if he were the persecutor. He was appalled that people distrusted him so much as to imagine that he would lay a hurtful hand on Hermione, that he would even consider murdering people when he couldn't even kill a wild owl. The stares did not stop when they were dismissed, not when Draco shuffled in a trance up the Grand Staircase, not when he felt the iron grip of panic in his chest, and especially not when Ron Weasley appeared in his face, stopping Draco in his tracks.

"Malfoy, you git! Where the bloody hell is she?" Ron was saying, pushing Draco every few syllables. "Where the hell is she?"

"I don't know Weasley!" Draco said, frustrated with being accosted. "I don't bloody know! I love how something goes wrong and everyone points to me like I'm at the bottom of it." Draco raised his voice now, almost like he was speaking to the entire Entrance Hall, "Did it ever occur to any of you that maybe, just maybe, I had nothing to do with this?"

Draco pushed past Weasley but he only followed, keeping up with Draco's fuming pace.

"No it most certainly did not bloody occur to me! If you didn't know she had been taken then why did you ask like you knew?" Ron said, his irate voice pounding on the walls and high ceiling.

"Because I was concerned after what's happened before!" Draco roared, turning about on his heel. "Why didn't you ask, Weasley? She's your best friend. Here's a thought. Perhaps you should be more concerned about your world than mine."

"What's that s'posed to mean, Malfoy?" Ron's voice cracked with volume. "If you're implying to keep out of your business, I can't! Hermione is my business, and you and Hermione apparently go hand in hand!"

Draco pushed Weasley into the wall, his forearm barred across Weasley's chest to keep him in place. Underneath his robes, Draco could feel his heart beating wildly, and judging by the look on Weasley's face, he knew Draco had stuck him between a rock and a hard place.

Draco spoke through his teeth, "For the entire year, Weasley, you've been sulking… Oh, woe is me. Draco's stolen Hermione from me. You've played the victim like – "

"I haven't pl-"

"Shut up!" Draco shook his arm against Weasley's neck. "You've played the victim like a professional. And even now, when Hermione is missing and in danger, you try to turn things around on me because you're so jealous you can't even see properly!" Draco paused. "I'm going to find her, Weasley, and you'd do best to stay out of my bloody way…"