::31::

"Are you sure you can't think of anything?" asked Potter again, sounding like a broken record when he did so. "He was your father, wouldn't—"

"I can't think of anything, Scarhead, and if you want to help, just be quiet," snapped Draco, having lost his patience for the bespectacled wizard long ago. His silver eyes watched as he wandered around the room, hands wandering against each stone on the wall, as if it would magically make an exit appear. He did note, however, that the Gryffindor was careful not to stray too far to the middle.

A short silence followed the blonde's waspish reply, which came as surprise to him, but sure enough, moments after he had privately remarked on it, Potter came forth with another question: "I suppose we could try wandless magic, couldn't we?"

"What sort," drawled Malfoy, "hurry-up-and-save-us or bring-back-the-vanishing-corridor?"

"Do you really have to have a snarky comment to everything I say?" shot back Harry irritably, "Pardon me if I haven't given up on surviving this whole ordeal yet."

A wry laugh came from the taller man, who was sitting in the corner, knees up. "Even the-boy-who-lived has to die someday," he said, "You do know that, right?"

"It's not going to be today," snarled his counterpart, his irritation succumbing to rage. Draco watched as he walked toward the barrier again, predictably finding himself sprawled on the ground, one hand resting lightly on one of the blonde's feet in the process.

"Going to gun for a third time, Potter, or have you finally gotten the concept of impenetrable through that thick skull of yours?"

Harry turned around, scooting over to Malfoy's side. "There has to be some way out of here, Draco."

The blonde didn't answer, but simply looked directly above where they happened to be. "There is one difference between this place and the Manor," he said, seeing the other man mimic his movement. In the center of the ceiling, a few feet from where they sat, was something that strangely looked like half of a globe. What countries or cities happened to be portrayed on it was impossible to tell, and the other side appeared to had been either cut off or was swallowed up by the room above, because it was nowhere in sight.

"It looks like a disco ball," supplied Harry unhelpfully, and Draco chose not to bother asking what it was he was on about. "Perhaps we can break it—we just need to find—" The wizard began looking around the room, as if something would appear if he said it enough times.

"With what, Potter? In case you haven't noticed, there's not a whole lot here." He watched as the boy wonder began untying his left shoe, causing his leg to nudge into his own. The Slytherin made no effort to hide his disdain. "What are you doing?"

He rose to his feet, the shoe in his hand, and choosing to let his actions speak for him, threw it in the air, toward the half-globe. It haphazardly sailed to the far right and made the barrier screech as it brushed past, narrowly missing its owner as it barreled back toward them.

Harry felt himself being pushed aside roughly before a familiar voice muttered, "Move. You can't throw to save your life. How you ever managed to get a spot on the Quidditch team is beyond me." As if it had come to life, the shoe flew through the air, filling it with the sound of crackling.

The globe, apparently not pleased with having to put up with any assailment of any kind and also apparently in possession of a mouth akin to the Sorting Hat, bit into the sole of the shoe, shook it to and fro like a dog, and spat it right back out again.

Then it croaked, quite prissily, "Don't think those dragonhide boots of yours will get you anywhere, either."

Draco, momentarily taken aback, turned to look at Potter, who was staring at the shoe. It was badly singed and actually smoking. Deciding him to be preoccupied, the Slytherin turned back and snapped, "You could have mentioned you could talk a while ago!"

The indentation of an eyebrow rose at him. "You didn't ask—I am only allowed to have direct contact with the sole proprietor, one Draco Lucius Malfoy. Your father bequeathed me to you."

"When?" Draco, not surprised that his father had kept secrets, but surprised that he'd had the time to bequeath anything. He reminded himself that Lucius had known, perhaps for months, of his eventual death. He wondered if there were any more surprises he should know about—they were getting rather tiresome.

"I do not keep time, Mr. Malfoy," responded the globe again in that snotty tone; it spun around once as if to show its displeasure, "It is not my purpose."

"What is your purpose?" asked Harry, who had been trying to figure out if his shoe was able to be put back on (it wasn't) and so he decided to discard the right one as well. The whole situation struck him as incredibly ludicrous—something he supposed he should have been used to, as his whole life had tended to follow that vein—and something as simple as losing a shoe made him wonder how normal people lost their footwear.

He was fairly certain magical globes were not part of the list.

As though it hadn't heard him, the globe stayed silent. Draco repeated the question and then turned to him, saying, "He prefers you over me, Potter."

Harry muttered that it figured, being something obviously connected with the Dark Arts.

"My purpose is to create a vault so secure that no Muggle nor Wizard could possibly get through. It needed to be convenient, and thus was built in connection with the Manor, for easy access, as well as inconspicuous enough so that it could not be found."

"What was my father hiding here?"

"He was planning on hiding you here, Mr. Malfoy—he entrusted me to your care for as long as you would need prior to transport. Additionally, I am able to transport you to wherever it may be that you need to go. This feature can only be used once, however, as your father wanted for there to be no trace of you."

The savior behind Draco said, "Well, that can't be right—it's missing the endless shampoos and hair gels and general Slytherin décor."

"For your information, I don't have to use hair gel anymore," he answered, his tone akin to the one the globe used, "and you would be well advised to invest in some."

"You like my hair," Harry shot back, "You told me once, after you'd taken a pain potion."

Pretending to not hear the comment, the Slytherin turned his attention back to the globe. It regarded him silently, with a regal air that he had no doubt was his father's doing—he made sure to get the best of the best. He was willing to guess that what created the Sorting Hat probably had magic in common with the object above him. It just happened to be a little more sociable.

"What happens after I use it?" he asked.

"I will implode." came the calm answer, as though the idea wasn't threatening in the least.

Holding one pale hand out for Harry to grasp onto, Draco muttered, "We're leaving. Now."

"I cannot do that, Mr. Malfoy," interjected the magical globe in a silky tone, something eerily like what Lucius used to use when he was angry and in a public place, "your father made sure to make it very clear—you are the only one able to use this escape."

"Potter can't come with me?"

The globe all but sneered at him, as though knowing what Lucius would have thought about Harry James Potter being saved by his son and said, "You are correct, Mr. Malfoy."

Draco looked at the man beside him, who hadn't let go of his hand yet. "Surely there's another way out, then? An emergency exit, perhaps?"

"I'm afraid this is the emergency exit," pointed out the globe irritatingly, "and, you, Mr. Malfoy, are the only one I have been designated to serve."

::32::

Ron found that the trip to see one of his least favorite people in the world, dead or alive, was woefully short. The fact that so little of the Hogwarts he knew existed any more was simply another twist to the knife currently resting in his side. Most of the building and interior, on the side they were on at least, had been stripped away to the barest of gunmetal stone and foundation.

Luna apparently had been unbothered by his silence, because he realized he hadn't said another word to her when she gave him and Hermione her farewell. It didn't escape the two of them that the Ravenclaw had made sure to leave before they reached the point of their destination, which, she said, was just around the corner.

Hermione sighed, taking his hand and being sure to firmly guide him down the rest of the darkened corridor, the bare walls testament to the downfall of their school and also to the fact that, dead or alive, few people seemed to be able to tolerate Severus Snape for long.

"There, I think," said the bushy-haired woman, pointing at a tall, narrow rectangle a few feet in front of them. A white sheet was over it, shielding its contents from view. Most would say it was to protect the item from any dust or residue, but the two Gryffindors both knew it was likely the contents that warranted the cover.

Her husband, perturbed by the sense of anxiety and dread the man could still elicit in him, was too distracted to uncover the portrait. Hermione took a deep breath and leaned over to pull off the fabric, being sure to step back sharply as she did so.

A very familiar sneer greeted them. "Granger," dark eyes regarded her before sweeping over and looking at the man next to him, which only deepened his scowl more, "and Weasely too. What on Earth made you think I'd care to have you as company any longer than I needed to?"

"It's Malfoy." Blurted Hermione out, also apparently having some anxiety due to seeing her professor again. The man looked uninterested by this, and exuded the sort of air that always made her feel like she'd said something stupid. She persevered however, and continued, "He's gone missing."

Snape regarded them silently for a moment, as though trying to figure out what they weren't telling him. He drawled, finally, "This has something to do with Potter, doesn't it? It always does go back to him."

Neither one of them answered, which was enough to confirm Snape's suspicions.

"They've disappeared in the woods by the Manor," supplied Hermione finally, after a long silence and tense stare from the man in the portrait.

"They?" echoed Snape icily.

"Harry went after Malfoy."

Thinking the opposite of the actual scenario, Snape spat out, "Well, it's no surprise that Potter's managed to get a job as an Auror. Has he managed to wrangle out Head Auror yet from the Ministry, or is that what Draco is for?"

"He's not an Auror," snapped Ron heatedly, fed up with the barrage of undeserved comments about his friends, "and Malfoy went there willingly, Harry went after him to try and bring him back."

Snape seemed like he either thought the ginger-haired man was lying or simply had no idea what he was talking about. He didn't know, obviously, what had developed between the two former rivals, nor did he fully know the outcome of the war, as he had died in the process. Ron wondered if all he and Hermione would get from their visit were simply disparaging comments.

"Forget it, Hermione," he snapped finally, whirling around angrily, "Just because he's in a portrait doesn't mean he's changed."

The woman looked at the scowling man, then at the dreary environment surrounding the black frame. It seemed, oddly, like he agreed with Ron's sentiment. She had to relent, and regretted ever dragging Ron back to this place.

Turning to leave, watching him disappear around the corner, the icy tone that always seemed to be made of silk stopped her.

"Granger," Snape said, pausing for a moment, clearly not happy with having to give in to the fact that he would have to employ her help if he cared for Draco's safety at all, "I won't repeat myself, so listen closely." He made sure she nodded before continuing, "Look in the cellar. The Malfoy Manor has more rooms than you can see."

She was caught off-guard by the help he offered, and it made her feel strangely nervous—as though he knew something she didn't. Nodding at him, she opened her mouth to share gratitude but Snape stopped her.

"Don't give me your Gryffindor rot, but mark my words, Granger, if you've done this to get Draco in Azkaban I will haunt you and all of your bushy, ginger-haired children."

Hermione didn't doubt it for a second.

Just to give you a heads-up: these next few chapters will be shorter but more fast-paced—I designed it that way, but I'm trying to keep everything going together smoothly without too much jarring of the storyline.

Additionally: I hope to have this done by September 4th! Hopefully that's before most of you start school (if you happen to be in it).

Thank you for your patience over these last few weeks—I've been dealing with a lot of personal/family related things, so writing is hard to get to some days. Your reading can be the highlight of my days sometimes, so, I really do appreciate everyone here!

-B.