Another tasty chapter for you guys! Things are really heating up. I hope you guys enjoy this! I put a lot of effort into it! Thanks to all my reviewers, I think I replied to all of you. If I didn't I'm really sorry. I will do soon. Be sure to tell me off.
Read it! And don't kill me for the ending. A lot of this is in drabble form - I think I've finally discovered my style!
Draco knew where to go; he had been there many times. It did not phase him that he would have to use childhood memories to remember where - under threat, he could do anything.
His footsteps hit the pavement hard. He was not in a hurry to make himself invisible to the rest of the world. His enemies were already aware of what he was doing. His smile deepened as he saw the house in the distance. Pureblood society dictated a great deal of mixing between each part and arm of the pureblood series.
Rita Skeeter was one such pureblood. Her family, though considered 'blood traitors', were more than happy to take their place in society. Her father and mother had suffered at the mocking made of their family after their son - their heir - entered Hufflepuff.
When Rita entered Slytherin, it caused only relief amongst the purebloods. One family like the Weasleys was more than enough - purebloods were limited anyway.
The door was on the floor, already broken. Looked like Potter's style.
But if Potter had entered the house, that could mean one of two things. That Potter had rescued Hermione already or that Potter had somehow been captured. The footsteps lining the path were old. No fresh ones had crossed over for at least a few hours.
Potter had failed.
Draco sighed. He always had to go clean up the mess his predecessor made.
No, if he wanted to rescue Hermione, the door would not be a good option. They would expect it.
He had two options; the roof or the window - they could both support him. Choosing a window, he took his broom from his charmed bag, pulling it out.
He hovered.
When he did rescue Hermione, she would not be happy about descending on a broom.
He smiled.
Marietta sat on the sofa with a smile of satisfaction. A self assured grin filled her as she sat facing the quivering Hermione. Marietta's hands slowly raised, and she felt her puckered skin where her scars remained.
Sneak. It was this girl opposite her who had done that to her. Her anger bubbled.
"Hello, Harry. How are you?" She smiled coyly as she observed the uncomfortable Harry, before settling back again. His wand hand twitched before he relaxed again.
Marietta knew there was a high chance of them getting caught - unlike Rita, she had evaluated this. But she was not scared. It was the Ministry she had supported.
Hermione had been encouraging treason - it was besides the point that at the time the Ministry had been infiltrated at the time.
Marietta had devoted too much time and support to the Ministry - for little return. She no longer cared. Hermione Granger was well worth this.
If Hermione suffered, then Marietta would be fine with a stint in Azkaban. Besides which the Dementors were no longer under Ministry employ - and were not used unless in exceptional circumstances. She would be ok.
Her eyes hit Rita, as she heard the other woman giggle. Rita was foolish, stupid and easily disposable. But she was a good cover to hide behind.
No one would suspect Marietta as the real mastermind. Poor little Marietta, with the flawless record and the parents who were ministry workers.
Her parents had been disposed of too. They were nothing but a hindrance. Stupid as well.
But Marietta was smart. She had carefully planted ideas in Rita's head; she had even encouraged Rita to claim them as her own. When all this was over, with or without the time in Azkaban, she would move to Switzerland.
Or Finland.
Some place in Europe. Quiet.
She would become the pretty, innocent wife. She would finally develop the potions she wanted. She would be free from the shadow that had darkened her doorway too long.
The Ministry.
It was silly to give importance to the Ministry. But they had served her well. They had funded her research. 'A brilliant, young woman.' That's what they had called her. Never the brightest witch of her age.
It did not matter anyway. Hermione was nothing but a small distraction. She smiled pityingly at Rita. It was a shame Rita had had to be dragged into this.
When Rita was done having fun, the woman would be just a shell of the bright, passionate witch they all knew and loathed.
"Rita, do calm down, love." She said, as the woman laughed even more uproariously.
But that wasn't enough for Marietta. Unbeknownst to Rita, Marietta intended to not only tear Hermione's soul, but also to dispose of her body.
And there was a very simple way to get rid of Hermione.
Poison.
There was a problem with everyone; Rita was getting too big for her boots - sadly her humanity remained intact even after all the pain they had inflicted onto Hermione.
Marietta smiled as she watched Hermione quiver - fighting the orders that told her to kill, her wand firmly clutched in her pale fist.
Kill.
Why do you want me to kill? I love him. He's my best friend.
Kill.
Please.
Kill.
Please.
Draco gripped the cold broom tightly, balancing with the skill of an athlete.
His eyes could see past the glaze of the glass. Heat flooded his body as he caught a glance at the brunette witch, who drove him mad. The one he was here to rescue.
She did not look ill - or harmed. His eyes narrowed, focussing on her. Her skin was pale - and she looked tired. As if she had suffered.
Anger bubbled to the surface, pushed down in a coldly involuntary manner. He could make out what she was doing now.
A pale, worn Hermione stood, her wand aloft. His eyes furtively darted to see who had caused her wrath.
Potter.
He blinked. Potter was her dearest friend. Closer to her than Weaselette, and never changing - more so than Ron was. Had been.
There was no possible way that Potter would do anything to make Hermione turn on him. He was too caring, in a way. Draco had insulted him many times, but this was one thing he could not fault Harry on.
So, what was going on?
His eyes could see the quivers leaving Hermione's form. She was doing this against her will.
His urge to protect her flared. He was not chauvinistic in any way. But she was his, in a way at least. And no one would hurt her, as long as there was breath in his body.
He would not relinquish her any time soon.
He needed a plan. But first she needed to fight it herself.
Hermione could tell exactly which spell was on her - thanks to Rita's reasoning. She knew that there was no way that she would not be able to follow the orders that were being given to her.
But she knew one way to combat it.
The orders could not be specific. This was the one failing of the potion. While it lasted longer then imperio, it could not give direct orders.
So, though it told her to kill, it could not specify who she was to kill. She wondered whether Marietta and Rita were aware of this. And if they were, then it was decidely foolish of them to use this potion.
She could easily turn and kill them.
But this caused another dilemma. Hermione didn't want to murder. To kill.
Even during the Great War, she had not murdered. Injuring others severely was as far as she would go. The words Avada Kedavra had never passed her lips.
She did not have the hate required for it.
But when forced to do it, she would kill. No matter what morality dictated.
"Rita. Stop this. Stop it." His voice was urgent, his eyes looked tired - his face red.
It was Hermione doing this - and it wasn't. He couldn't just harm Hermione in the hope of saving himself. They would hurt her. They would kill her, for his idiocy.
It wasn't easy when he wasn't fighting a person's body and soul. He was fighting Hermione only in body. She was being controlled. And yet he couldn't harm her. Because it was the image of his best friend.
His sister.
Rita giggled.
"Please, Rita, stop it." Harry begged, once more.
"The great Harry Potter begging for his life." Marietta spoke softly.
Harry held his tongue. He wasn't begging for his life, rather for his friend's sanity. She was not one to kill, or murder. But Edgecombe didn't need to know that.
Edgecombe did not have any obvious motivations. She had sat demurely - neither aiding nor stopping Rita. But she seemed to have power. Or perhaps Rita had power over her.
It did not matter anyway, Harry realised. He needed to get Hermione out of here. And her spell needed to be dealt with.
How?
He did not know. And it was a moment before he realised how he would do this great escape.
It was a flash of colour that alerted him to his future actions. Only one person in the entirety of the wizarding world had platinum blonde hair, so pale that it was almost white. And that person was no doubt someone who would approach Hermione, in an instance to rescue her.
He smiled suddenly, to the alarm of the others in the room. In the position he was in, he was the only one who could see Draco.
He needed to make sure that they did not turn to the window where Draco was hanging. If they did, Draco could very easily be caught.
Harry trusted Draco with Hermione. He did not know when it had happened but Draco was very obviously devoted to Hermione.
It was Harry who had thought this of Ron. And Ron had turned out to be someone entirely different to what Harry had envisaged.
But Ron was dead. Hermione didn't know that yet, he remembered.
Draco would save Hermione. But as he watched the athletic man dangle from the window ledge with a look of panic highlighted on his face, Harry knew Draco needed all the help he could get.
In a dramatic change to his former self, from mere minutes ago, Harry needed to distract them all. And keep them distracted for long enough, so that Draco could come in.
A simple stunning spell or disarming spell would knock out one of the two ladies. But Harry knew enough about people to know that one of them would try to use Hermione as a human shield.
Harry could feel his wand in his pocket. He would disarm one of the ladies, and hopefully in the confusion Draco would rescue Hermione.
This didn't change the fact that Hermione had been ordered to kill him.
From the sheen of sweat that lined her forehead, it was clear they had five minutes or less. They had five minutes or someone in this room would be dead.
Draco knew that Potter had realised that he was here. He was the only one facing the window, and that meant that Potter would be able to help.
He took his wand. Potter might be distracting them, but it was unnecessary. For once in his life, Draco Malfoy was going to be reckless. He took his wand from his robes.
Bombarda.
Panic floods them. They scream. They cry. And suddenly there's spells flying everywhere. Of blues and reds. Wiry sparks flood the air, the heat exploding from each individual spell.
And a woman out of the three in the room screams. There's a green light in the room. And everyone recognises it.
Avada Kedavra.
Two bodies falls to the floor.
And everyone watches in horror.
It's only a few minutes before Aurors are present. The Avada Kedavra curse has attracted them. The only thing they all know is that out of the people in the room, one is a murderer.