Author's Note 1: Brace yourself people, the sh*t is about to hit the fan. And just in case you ever wondered, my Lord Voldemort is not an idiot. In a different world, I'd like to think he would have read the Evil Overlord Rules (http: // www . eviloverlord . com / lists / overlord . html with special attention paid to #34.) Don't forget to remove the spaces.

Many thanks to Keladry and whitehound for comma assistance, fact checking and Brit-picking.

Chapter 34: Blitzkrieg

The man known as Devrom Dollort winked at the pretty young witch stationed outside his office door, pleased when she blushed at his attention. "Ah, Marantha, diligently guarding the inner sanctum, I see. How's everything this afternoon?"

Marantha smiled at her new boss. "Everything's good, sir. Your two o'clock is already here and waiting for you inside, and Mr Latimer from Law Enforcement confirmed that 2:30 this afternoon is good for him."

"Excellent, my dear." Devrom graced her with a smile. "When Mr Latimer shows, please send him in. Until then, see that I'm not disturbed."

"Yes, sir."

Turning from his assistant, he went through the massive double doors of his office. The smiling, congenial mask of Devrom Dollort dropped the minute the doors closed and the silencing and privacy wards engaged. "Report," he snapped, as he crossed the open space of the office.

Thorfinn Rowle, who'd been leaning against one of the leather club chairs facing the room's oversized desk, leaped to his feet. "All active Portkeys have been repossessed, per your instructions. We currently have people watching for illegals. If Snape's right about Dumbledore's interference we should catch those using these mobile telephones" – he said the words slowly as if unsure of the pronunciations – "soon enough."

"Sit, Rowle." He gestured to one of the chairs. "I am well pleased with the work you are doing for me."

Rowle took his seat as Voldemort leaned back in his chair, hands clasped before him. "Muggles and Muggle-borns are a pox on our once-great society. Make no mistake, we will deal with their infestation, but do not waste significant resources there now. The Muggles were only a diversion. Our next phase of plans should be of paramount concern to us at the moment." Leaning forward he fixed his eyes on Rowle. "We are at a critical junction, Rowle. It was here, at this point that Dumbledore and his Order ruined my plans the last time. The same mistakes cannot – will not – be made again.

The fevered light of the fanatic lit Rowle's eyes, much to Voldemort's satisfaction. "No, sir. Nothing will stop your rise to prominence. You have my life, my Lord."

"Good. What of the borders?"

"When Martial Law was instituted, the old wards under Ministry control were activated. Our people now control them." Rowle gave a toothy grin. "Once they were activated, all Apparation into or out of Great Britain came to a halt."

"Excellent. Over the next two weeks I want you to increase the attacks. Bella knows the targets. Coordinate your efforts with her. Once my new security measures are implemented, we'll scale back the attacks. The population will assume that the security measures are working and be more amendable to further controls."

"What about Dumbledore, my Lord?"

Voldemort chuckled. "You wish to attack Hogwarts?"

Rowle flushed. "I know the futility of that, my Lord. Hogwarts is well protected. But can't we move to remove the old fool?"

"No, he is right where we wish him to be. With Hogwarts being threatened, by the very nature of the wards that tie him to the school, he can't abandon it. He is locked up just as tightly as if he were in Azkaban. We know where he is and with Severus acting as my eyes and ears, we know what he is doing. By the same token, we know where Potter is. And there they both will stay, corralled and watched until a time and place of my choosing."

A short knock interrupted them. A moment later the door opened. "Mr Dollort, Mr Latimer is here. Shall I have him wait or are you ready for him now?"

"Send him in please."

A small, twitchy-looking man entered, his robes of impeccable quality, but cut too large and obviously padded across the shoulders, as if he was trying to appear larger and more substantial than he really was.

"Mr Latimer, come in. Please be seated. I believe you know Mr Rowle?"

"Yes, we've met at a few Ministry functions," he said, as he gave a polite nod of the head to Rowle.

"Good, good. Well, I'm sure you are curious as to why I've asked you here. And I do hope you understand the gravity of the situation and why I've brought it directly to you. In these times, it's always prudent to know who the key players are."

The other man puffed with pride, unaware of how his ego was being deliberately stroked. "I must say that I'm rather surprised you asked to see me. I would have expected you to seek out Mrs Bones, as Head of the department. But I'm here to help in any way I can."

"I was hoping you would say that. With Mr Rowle's help, my office has begun an intensive security check of Ministry personnel. I'm sure that I don't need to tell someone as intelligent as yourself that the attack He Who Must Not Be Named launched on our beloved Ministry could only have been accomplished with inside help."

Latimer pulled in a shocked breath. "Here within the Ministry? Unbelievable."

"Indeed." Voldemort pasted on his own expression of outrage. "And much to my own sorrow, I'm afraid that we've found one viper right within your own department. It's why I felt the matter should be brought directly to you."

"Magical Law Enforcement? You can't be serious. Mrs Bones would never tolerate any such . . ." Latimer's voice trailed off as he caught look on Voldemort's face at the mention of Amelia Bones. "You can't think that . . . that . . . Amelia Bones? Surely not." Latimer looked wildly between the two men. "Mrs Bones has been a long-time and staunch defender of the Ministry. There has to be some mistake."

"No mistake, I'm afraid," Voldemort said, his expression conveying just the right mix of deep sadness and disappointment. "We have eye witness accounts of her meeting secretly with one other well-placed follower of You-Know-Who."

Latimer, eyes wide, had shifted to the edge of seat. "I'm almost afraid to ask," he said, breathlessly. "Who could—"

"Arthur Weasley."

"No! He loves Muggles."

"Exactly, Mr Latimer." Voldemort thumped his desk in emphasis. "Can you think of a better cover to throw off suspicion?"

"Oooh," Latimer breathed out slowly, "I see. How diabolically clever. I never would have suspected." A worried expression crossed Latimer's face. "But you have proof?"

"Yes, more than enough to implicate them both."

Latimer's mouth set in a firm line. "You know, I never liked Weasley. There was always something off about the man. Always going on and on about Muggle this and Muggle that. It was always just a little too much, if you ask me. And Bones. I'm just shocked, I tell you. How can Law Enforcement help you, Mr Dollort?"

Taking care with his body language, Voldemort leaned forward across his desk towards Latimer. He pitched his voice lower to give a feeling of exclusivity and secrecy. "We suspect that Bones and Weasley are part of a larger network of You-Know-Who supporters feeding information to Him. We'd like to cut off that information network."

Latimer was now leaning forward as well, eyes bright with excitement. "What are you suggesting?"

"Nothing untoward or illegal I assure you." Voldemort held up his hands in a reassuring manner. "After all, while I believe our evidence is sound and irrefutable, due process must be followed. However, if these people are indeed secret supporters of You-Know-Who then we can't in good conscience allow them free reign. No, what I'm suggesting is simple -- arrest and detainment until such time as a full inquiry can be made."

"Yes," Latimer nodded, "I see what you mean. The Ministry can certainly hold them until after this whole mess with You-Know-Who is sorted out."

Devrom Dollort gave Latimer a warm smile, pleased when the other man preened under his regard. Latimer would be easy to control. "Of course, with Bones in Azkaban, Law Enforcement will need a strong guiding hand to coordinate the department. Would you be willing to be that person, Mr Latimer? I can certainly speak on your behalf with the Minister, if you are interested?" Voldemort waved a negligent hand. "But that is business for later. I have a short list of names." He pulled a pristine piece of parchment from his desk and picked up a new quill, handing both items over to Latimer. "We've already discussed Weasley and Bones. These are the others that we believe they have been in contact with."

Hermione contemplated the door to the Room of the Requirement. Harry was using the Room for his Defence revision classes on the off nights when she wasn't using it for Potions. The door looked different – darker and somehow more threatening. It was only natural that the door was different since it was Harry who'd conjured it, but still, wasn't a door just a door? Surely the whole dark-and-threatening thing was just an overactive imagination.

"This isn't a good idea," Agnes said tartly from behind her.

Agnes' hesitation gave Hermione's courage a needed boost. She twisted slightly so she could see the younger girl. "You agreed to it. We agreed to it."

"I also said you're crazy."

"You aren't the first to have mentioned that," Hermione agreed with a sigh. "But it's got to start somewhere, and bravery doesn't begin and end with Gryffindors."

Agnes pursued her lips like she was trying to hide a smirk. "Just stupidity."

Hermione swung all the way around. "Oh, now that hurts, Agnes," she said with a laugh.

"Not as much as the hex Potter is going to send your way."

"You are far too young to be such a cynic."

Hermione found that she really enjoyed Agnes' company even if the girl was six years her junior. Agnes had a keen intelligence, a sharp wit and an even sharper tongue. She was beginning to consider the girl a friend and it was a rather novel experience. It wasn't that Hermione didn't have friends of her own outside of Harry and Ron, but somehow or another they were all guys. She'd never really had any female friends. The three closest female contacts she had were Ginny, Parvati and Lavender, and Hermione just couldn't imagine having this conversation with any of them.

"Okay, just follow my lead . . . and try to look harmless."

Agnes let out a laugh. "You have a strange sense of humor."

Taking a deep breath, Hermione once again confronted the door. Sending out a wordless plea to the universe for luck, she pushed open the door, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake.

"Oy, Hermione, you're late," Ron yelled from the other side of the room as she stuck her head in the doorway.

"Sorry. Got detained." She caught Harry's eye where he was working on shielding spells with Finch-Fletchley. "I found someone who wants to work on her Defence skills with us."

"Sure," Harry said. He made a 'come here' gesture with his hand. "Bring them in."

Pushing the door open wider, Hermione stepped to the side and let Agnes walk through the doorway. It only took three steps into the room before silence reigned.

"Everyone, this is Agnes Worth." Silence greeted her introduction and Hermione was starting to panic when Luna came to her rescue.

"I'm Luna Lovegood. Most people call me Loony Lovegood."

"Unfortunate naming. Most people think I was named after a Dark witch." Agnes gave an indolent shrug before adding, "What can you do?"

Someone in the back of the room snickered softly, a sound that was completely drowned out by Harry's roar. "Are you crazy? She's a Slytherin. Or didn't you notice that snake patch on her robes?"

Silence again filled the room. Hermione, eyes narrowed, was just about to lay into Harry when Luna once again broke the quiet. "It's not like we can help our Houses, Harry. I think you would have made a masterful Slytherin yourself. You're very suited to that House." Obvious to Harry turning an alarming shade at red at her words, Luna smiled at Agnes before completely jumping topic. "Is it true that a captive Muttlethump lives in the Slytherin dormitories and tries to eat the unwary?"

Agnes blinked in befuddlement, a reaction of most people when first encountering Luna. "Can't say that I've ever seen a captive Muttlethump."

Luna nodded sagely. "Well, you're just a first year. It may wait a while before trying to eat you. I hear Muttlethumps are rather courteous that way."

"Hermiiiiooneeee!"

It seemed that Harry had once again found his voice. After that, it pretty much all went pear-shaped.

Hermione's head pounded, the pain feeling as if a vise were slowly squeezing her temples. Even the headache potion she'd downed after the fiasco of Harry's Defence revision wasn't helping.

She was almost sure that she could still hear the yelling that had erupted ringing in her ears. Who in the world would have thought that one eleven year old girl could case such a ruckus?i/

Hindsight being twenty-twenty, Hermione supposed she could have handled it a little better. She winced as one particularly loud exchange came back to her:

"Why don't you just ask Malfoy to join us?" Harry had yelled.

"Maybe we should," she'd yelled back.

There'd been a lot more yelling until, surprisingly enough, the Hufflepuffs in the group had reminded Harry of the Sorting Hat's song for unity among all Houses and the Ravenclaws, led by Anthony Goldstein, had pointed out that You-Know-Who was the enemy and not Slytherin.

Harry had been a less than gracious loser in the confrontation.

She rubbed ineffectively at her temples. At least one Gryffindor trait had worked in her favour, or maybe it was just a teenage boy trait. Either way, Harry couldn't let himself be seen as the 'lesser' man in the situation. He'd given a grudging acceptance and dragged poor Agnes off to a far corner where he'd proceeded to work on her shielding. Of course, working on her shields consisted of Harry showing her the proper technique for casting a shield once and then throwing hex after hex at her while she attempted to block them, a move that more often than not had Agnes being knocked arse over teakettle.

It might have been a trial by fire, but by the end of the session Agnes was blocking, or avoiding, practically everything Harry was throwing at her.

Hermione, angered and ashamed at Harry's behavior, had almost put a stop to it all until she caught a good look at Agnes' face. Her eyes had been narrowed in calculation and determination but a wide grin had been plastered across her face. It was then that she'd realised, even if Harry hadn't, that Agnes had won.

All of which should have left Hermione feeling elated. Inter-House unity was a reality, if not exactly a friendly reality. Instead, she was wide awake, in pain, and feeling vaguely sure that somewhere the other shoe was going to drop.

Perched in his bed, Ron watched Harry pace in the open space of the dormitory he shared with Neville, Dean and Seamus. Harry had been pacing and complaining since the boys had turned in for the evening. Neville and Dean had both given Ron apologetic smiles, while Seamus had given him a long-suffering roll of his eyes before the three of them had promptly hid themselves behind the closed curtains of their respective beds, leaving Harry and his complaints to Ron.

Ron was wishing he could hide behind the closed curtains of his own bed. Maybe with a small silencing spell added for good measure.

Harry took a turn and paced towards the door. "Hufflepuffs? What do Hufflepuffs know about what it means to have unity?" Six steps later, he spun jerkily on his heel and headed back towards the window. "And Goldstein? Where does he get off telling me who the enemy is?"

Arriving at the window, he turned and then headed back towards the door. "I know who the enemy is. I've met the God-damned enemy." Turn and pace and the pattern was repeated.

Ron was tired of this. Hermione was already past tired if her heated, and somewhat shrill, confrontation earlier at the DA meeting had been any indication. After the Aurors shown up at the school, Ron had been holding out such hope that Harry was finally returning to the Harry Potter of old that he remembered. It didn't seem like that was happening

"Can you believe Hermione? Bringing a Slytherin to a DA meeting? What was she thinking?"

And just like that, Ron decided he'd had enough. "You want to know what she was thinking?" Heedless of his two sleeping roommates, Ron flung off the covers and stormed across the room to where Harry was standing. "She was thinking that you've become a complete prat."

"I've . . . I've become -" Harry sputtered indignantly.

Ron cut him off. "No, you're right. Not a complete prat. You've become a bloody royal prat. Did you think we didn't know?"

Harry's face paled. "Know what?" he demanded.

"We're your friends, you git! We know about the book. We know what you've been doing. We know about the bloody Dark Arts and we know that whatever you're doing with that book is turning you into a complete pain in the arse."

Colour flooded back into Harry's face. "You don't know anything."

"I don't? I don't? Who do you think has been covering for you? Who do you think has been making the apologies behind your back when you bite someone's head off? Who do you think has been running interference for you?"

"I don't need to have any interference run for me. I'm in control of it."

Ron laughed. "Yeah? Control. That explains why you tried to beat up a firstie tonight."

Harry roared, "She's a Slytherin."

"She's not your enemy," Ron yelled back. "Voldemort is. And bloody hell, I hate saying his name."

"Don't you think I know that? I'm doing everything I can think of to fight him. And when it comes time to kill the bastard, I'll do that too."

"With Avada Kadavra?"

"Yes!"

Ron took a step back and folded his arms across his chest. "Tell me again what the prophecy says," he demanded.

"Ron . . . "

"Tell me!"

Harry glared at him for a long moment. Then he started reciting the prophecy, the words spit out as if the very taste of them was vile on his tongue. "The one with the power to vanquish the Dark Lord approaches . . . Born to those who have thrice defied him, born as the seventh month dies . . . And the Dark Lord will mark him as his equal, but he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. . . "

"Stop."

"Don't tell me. Tell me," Harry snarled. "I thought you said you wanted to hear it."

"No, I wanted you to hear it. And it's obvious that you've missed the point again. But he will have power the Dark Lord knows not. Let's say that part again, shall we? Power the Dark Lord knows not." Ron stopped and waited on Harry expectantly, but when Harry just stood there glaring at him, Ron threw up his hands in defeat. "How in the bloody hell do you think the Killing Curse is using a power he knows not? I'm just making a guess here, but I think he's pretty familiar with that one."

Harry's eyes were hard chips of green glass and the lightening bolt scar stood out red and angry on his forehead as he growled out through gritted teeth, "You don't know anything."

"Yeah, well, at this point, I'd say I know more than you do. I know better than to play with the Dark Arts."

Harry's wand was suddenly in his hand. Ron, wandless and wearing only his pajamas, glared back at him, not backing down, until Harry spun on his heels and headed for the door, body stiff with anger.

"That's right. Run off and sulk. Again!" he yelled at Harry's retreating back.

A slamming door was Ron's only answer.

Tilting back his head, Ron howled his frustration to the shadowed ceiling of the bedchamber.

A soft cough behind him had Ron spinning, reaching for a wand that he wasn't wearing. Three very concerned and somewhat frightened looking roommates were staring back him, framed by their individual bed curtains. Giving them a sheepish smile, he said, "I don't suppose you'd believe -"

"No," Dean interrupted, "don't think I would, mate."

Scrubbing a hand up through his hair, he wondered what he was supposed to do now.

"Ron?"

"Yeah, Neville?"

"Was that a real prophecy?"

With a sigh, Ron wearily returned to his own bed and climbed back in. "It was a real prophecy."

Neville was silent as he contemplated the new information. "I was born in July," he said slowly. "M-My parents defied You-Know-who three times. The last time was when they were . . . were . . ."

"I know Neville," Ron said, so Neville wouldn't have to say it.

"It could have been me." What little colour remained in Neville's face drained away. "Why wasn't it me? Are you sure it's not me?"

Ron flopped backwards onto his pillow, blowing out an exasperated breath. "It's not you, Neville. It's Harry. As for why it wasn't you picked . . . we'll, I don't know for sure, so I'll tell you what Hermione told me when I asked her. She said that You-Know-Who's a great arrogant berk and he picked Harry because Harry's a half-blood like him."

Seamus, who up until this point had only been listening with wide-eyed fascination, finally spoke up. "You-Know-Who's not a half-blood."

"He's a half-blood whose father was Muggle." Ron put a hand over his eyes and wondered how he'd ever got into this conversation.

Harry stormed down the stairs from his dormitory room to the common room. How dare Ron question him? How dare Ron even chastise him as if he was some stupid little kid? I've faced and fought Voldemort four times.

What did Ron know about it anyway? He wasn't the one everyone was counting on. He didn't go to sleep at night and wake from dreams of Death Eaters torturing and murdering everyone he cared for.

Everything he'd done. Everything was for them. Ungrateful bastard.

Harry flung himself onto the couch in front of the fireplace, hand still gripped hard around his wand.

"It has to be the Killing Curse", he said to the empty room. "It has to be."

Two days after the Battle of Agnes, as Hermione privately referred to it, Harry was shut up tighter than a clam and wasn't speaking to either her or Ron. Ron had refused to explain, only saying that he'd told Harry something he didn't want to hear. But glaring looks and the silent treatment aside, Harry had not protested when Agnes had showed up for the next scheduled session.

Of course, Hermione was fairly sure the younger girl was only a side annoyance. Harry's main focus for his glares was Ron, which made Hermione extremely curious as to what Ron had said. For her part, Hermione was just ignoring him and concentrating instead on the Charms books that had been passed to her. She wasn't stupid and knew that she was supposed to be finding something important in the books. She was now fairly sure that she knew what that was.

Linking charms, she'd discovered, were a much used, but vastly underrated aspect of magic in the wizarding world. It was linking charms that connected things together in the wizarding world like the wizarding wireless, the Floo Network, and even allowed magical portraits to move from one painting to another. It was turning out to be fascinating reading and she'd come up with at least four ways to circumvent the Ministry tracking charms placed on their wands without, she was hoping, alerting the Ministry to her tampering. The only thing left to do was get the boys to help her test her theory. She was hoping that the thought of doing mischief against the Aurors would pull Ron and Harry back together.

Ignoring her half-eaten lunch, she continued making additional notes on how to refine the spell she was crafting.

"Mr Potter, Miss Granger, Mr and Miss Weasley, please come with me."

Hermione looked up, surprised to find Professor McGonagall standing stiffly next to the Gryffindor table. A quick glance at both Ron and Harry confirmed that both of them were just as surprised by the request as she was. Ginny gave a quick shrug of her shoulders to show she had no idea of what the summons meant.

"Okay, Professor," Ron said.

Quickly gathering up her things, Hermione followed the others, noting that Professor Sprout was also speaking to Susan Bones. She was surprised when they went out of the Great Hall and headed for the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster's suite. She wanted to ask the professor what this was about, but was put off by the expression on McGonagall's face. Something was very wrong.

"Blood-flavored Lollies," McGonagall said. As the stairway opened, Ron went to step inside but McGonagall held him back until Professor Sprout and a confused looking Susan Bones joined them. Once they were all together, they were ushered inside and up the revolving stair.

Hermione wasn't sure why she was there. If anyone had asked, she doubted she could have even explained how she'd got there. She'd been paying no attention to her whereabouts, simply stumbling along letting the castle and her feet take her wherever as her thoughts and emotions swirled in ever tightening circles.

She'd fled from Gryffindor Tower and the oppressive feelings of helpless rage emanating from Ron and Harry. She should have stayed, she knew that. Harry was as bad as she'd ever seen him and Ron had been helpless, caught up in his own emotions. Ginny hadn't stopped crying since they'd heard the news. But she needed to get away. She needed to deal with her own anger and grief. So she'd fled, not even heeding Ron's call as she bolted for the Tower door.

Not being sure how she got here, she nevertheless wasn't completely surprised to find herself outside the door to Snape's office.

When the door opened, he didn't say a word, only gestured her inside. There she stood in the middle of the room, arms wrapped tightly around herself while she stared at the grey slate flagstones that made up the floor. Now that she was here, she was unsure of what she was supposed to do next. What does one do in this situation?

"I don't know." The words, so soft they were the barest whisper, slipped out before she could bite them back.

Snape had moved so that he was in front of her, leaning back against the edge of his desk. "You don't know . . . what, Miss Granger?"

She looked up, blinking against the tears that wanted to flow. She knew how Snape felt about tears and she didn't want to cry in front of this man. "I don't know what to do."

He sighed then, a pained expression crossing his face before his usual expressionless mask settled into place. "Sit down before you fall down." The words were harsh, but the hand that took hold of her elbow and led her to chair was warm and steadying. "You've been told."

"Dumbledore called us all into his office. He wanted . . . wanted to tell us before it was announced in The Prophet tomorrow."

"Potter and Mr and Miss Weasley?"

"Harry is –" she shook her head, not sure how to explain Harry. "Ron and Ginny are terrified and angry . . . and . . . did you know?"

"No." He sighed again. "I am as much the Dark Lord's spy as I am Dumbledore's. It would have been the greatest of follies to entrust me with that kind of information."

She gave a jerky nod of her head in understanding. "Dumbledore didn't . . . wouldn't give d-details. You said . . . you said, you'll tell me the truth."

"Are you sure you want that truth? Will knowing the circumstances help?"

"Yes," she said, then shook her head. "No. I don't know. I just . . . I need to know."

He looked at her for a long moment before he began to speak. "Our sources within the Ministry said that the Aurors took Arthur Weasley this morning at the Ministry. Molly was at the Burrow when they took her. Neither put up a fight, or even realised what was happening until too late. They have been arrested and charged with treason and collaborating with the Dark Lord. They've both been sent to Azkaban pending their trial."

The words hit Hermione like a blow to the chest, forcing the air from her lungs. Snape's words were stark and uncompromising, so unlike the soft-edged words filled with meaningless assurances that Dumbledore had given them earlier. She drew in a deep shuddering breath as tears filled her eyes. "And . . ." she choked out.

Snape hesitated again and Hermione fought hard to control herself and look him in the eye. Whatever he saw in her expression must have convinced him, because he finally said, "Lupin was not as surprised. When the Aurors came for him, he fought back. Being a known werewolf, they were taking no chances and employed . . . harsher tactics."

"They killed him."

"Yes."

Again, a jerky nod of her head. "The o-others?"

Snape grimaced, his expression twisting into a scowl. She had the feeling he didn't want to be telling her this any more than she wanted to be listening to it. "Charlie Weasley is safe in Romania, but with the borders closed and the Aurors on the lookout for him, he won't be able to get back into Britain, at least not by the usual methods. Bill Weasley was in the Gringotts' vaults when they came for him. The Aurors were unable to find him and the Goblins were being less than helpful. The vaults below Gringotts are vast and mazelike. If Weasley doesn't want to be found, he will not be. And, as the Goblins have never been great supporters of the Ministry, they are unlikely to help in his capture.

"That's good for him," she said softly, reaching for whatever hope was available.

Snape just shook his head. "The Aurors will be watching. If he surfaces, he will be taken. He is as effectively trapped as if he were in Azkaban as well."

"What about the twins? Professor Dumbledore said he didn't know about them."

"The Weasley twins were tipped off before the raid, although we do not know by whom. When the Aurors arrived at their workplace, the shop had been ransacked and the place was empty. No one currently knows their whereabouts."

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, fists clenched to keep them from trembling. "Thank you. For telling me. For -" the word dropped off in a sob and the tears she'd been trying so hard to control spilled down her cheeks. Climbing unsteadily to her feet, Hermione turned blindly in the direction of the door, hoping to get out before she lost control completely.

She got two steps before colliding with Snape who had moved into her path. Reflexively her hands fisted in the fabric of his robes, and when she wasn't pushed immediately away, she held on all the tighter and let the tears flow.

Author's Note . . . I mean whinge 2: I'm getting better at conversations but I still don't like writing them. The Voldemort conversation was probably re-written at least six times. I hope you guys appreciate how much I suffer for you. {Please visualize Victorian-esque author with hand raised to fevered brow and wearing abject look of dismay} :-)