Author's Notes: Not a particularly long chapter by any means, but a significant one. Let's get this ball rolling! Enjoy! (Also massive apologizes for the inexcusable delay)
The apparation from the Leaky Cauldron to Malfoy Manor was rougher than ordinarily. Whether it was her somewhat sleepy state or the potential dehydration from the countless hours she had spent crying in the bed, Hermione wasn't certain. They landed outside the front entrance just inside the tall iron gates surrounding the perimeter of the property. With the sun still hidden safely from sight, the manor's tall stone walls seemed darker than she had previously seen it. They approached the front steps, the doors left strewed open as the one on the left hung dangling off its hinges. Two long yellow strips of caution tape extended over the length of the entrance, denying entrance to anyone who dared to proceed. She took a step forward to examine the tape. It held the insignia of the Ministry of Magic on either end with a solid bold warning 'Do Not Enter.'
"Are there charms or protective spells to alert the ministry if someone enters?" Hermione asked the house elf, tempted to step forward herself, if only to smell the familiar smells and feel the warmth of the few rare areas in the ancient home that hadn't gone cold over the years. The library, the bedroom, anywhere they had been together. It all called to her, but she didn't dare trip off any charms the ministry may have placed over the building.
Mimbi paused, lifting a large floppy ear to the doorway as if to seek out the spells through sound alone. She sniffed at the air, once, twice, and went back to listening. With a cheery smile and a confident shake of her head, she pulled at the caution tape until it snapped off of the door frame and fell down to the porch's floorboards. "Safe, inside." Mimbi stepped through the doorway and waited, but nothing happened. No alerts went screeching around them nor did any deterring spells shoot out to scare them away. Hermione followed her inside.
She was in awe at the state of the once elegant home. There had been a raid, and as she tip-toed over torn up floorboards and ogled at the gaping holes left scattered throughout the walls, her heart sank. It had been grand, once. Mimbi grabbed her hand like an eager young child and guided her through the halls, silent and wide-eyed as she saw with Hermione the utter destruction that the manor had been put through. 'If walls could talk,' Hermione mused quietly as they made their way to the second floor. They had skipped various hallways and rooms, no doubt just as destroyed as the rest of the manor had been. The second floor was in no better shape. As they roamed around the empty home, going from floor to floor, wing to wing, the entire building's insides had been left to rot away in pieces. Mimbi brought Hermione to the library's heavy door but stopped before they could reach it. She nodded towards the door, silently urging Hermione to open it.
The witch's hand fell to the doorknob, twisting it slightly until she heard the familiar click and pushed the door open. She closed her eyes, readying herself for the carnage that was surely hidden inside. It smelled of old parchment and the aged adhesives that bound the books pages to their spines. The warmth she had remembered washed over her as a heated breeze escaping out of the room and into the hallway where they stood. Her heart raced as she pressed her eyes tighter together. To see their sanctum, their shelter above all the other rooms, obliterated and torn away from the manor's structure would prove to be her undoing. She wouldn't be able to fight back the tears and the wrenching in her gut. To lose their safe haven would mean to lose him all over again. Hermione couldn't will herself to open her eyes, she needed to prolong the torment for as long as she could and pretend it simply didn't exist.
"Look," Mimbi urged her gently, her hand slipping back against Hermione's palm with a comforting squeeze. "Miss Granger, look."
Hermione took a deep breath and forced back the distress that had begun to creep up her throat, locking itself in place with a large knot. She exhaled slowly, calming her fears, and opened her eyes. "Mimbi..." She breathed out in disbelief. The library was spotless, as warm and inviting as she had remembered it. Each book on the shelves sat organized and dusted clean. The sofa where she had spent countless nights learning all there was to know about Lucius Malfoy, and he with her, had been left untouched, saved by some means while the rest of the estate had taken the brunt of the ministry's assault. "How?" Hermione asked through brittle breaths.
Mimbi smiled proudly, letting go of Hermione's hand as the witch went off to go inspect every element of the room; the doubt at what she was seeing had surely set in. "Mimbi hide." The tiny elf patted her chest just as she had done before and repeated, "Scared."
"You were here?" Hermione hadn't expected Mimbi to stay during the raid. If anything, she imagined the fragile little house elf had vanished, apparated from the property until it had all ended, then came back to inspect the damage after the ministry workers were gone. No wonder the poor little thing had come to her in the middle of the night, terrified and wanting her company.
Mimbi pointed at the door silently. It appeared to be charred, though only from the inside. The thick wooden slab had burned, darkest around the edges and had gradually spread throughout the entire surface. It had been seared by magic, strong magic. Mimbi held up her hands towards the door and closed her eyes. Her brows furled as she concentrated hard, the strain reaching her temples and forcing the veins to protrude outwards slightly while her skinny little arms tensed. When she looked as though she was about to pass out from the built up pressure contained in her tiny, stick-figure of a body, a bolt of bright light flashed out of each hand, spreading from the palm down her long fingers and shooting out from the tips. It hit the door, slamming it shut and forcing it to seal firmly in place, warded against any and all forms of entry.
Hermione was in shock. The house elf pulled away from the door, dropping her hands down to her sides in exhaustion and drew in heavy breaths to recover the energy she had lost. House elves held incredible power, utilizing their own form of magic to assist in their day to day tasks and duties as servants to the wizarding community. But when push came to shove, they were nothing to laugh at. If they hadn't been sworn to serve witches and wizards, the possibilities for their own communal development and livelihoods were endless. But still, to fend off their assaults for who knows how long, Hermione was in awe. For the door to be left charred and burnt from the heat of her spells, Mimbi must have been protecting the room from their entry for an hour at least, perhaps longer. She stared at the tiny elf in shock. "You're incredible, Mimbi."
The elf's eyes squinted happily as she grinned proudly, fiddling with her fingers nervously as compliments seemed to be somewhat of a foreign concept. Though startled at first, she beamed giddily when Hermione moved towards her, wrapping her arms around the sack of skin and bones that made up the tiny creature's figure, and hugged her like she would a friend, a true friend. Mimbi was ecstatic, nearly moved to tears as she clung to the tall witch with wild hair and a warm heart. "You, stay?" She asked curiously. "Safe," Mimbi added firmly, reciting Malfoy's instructions like law. "Keep Miss Granger safe."
The witch nodded. "I'll stay for a day or two." She looked down at the elf still hugging her waist. Her eyes were tired and bloodshot, the wrinkles of her face seemed deeper and more pronounced than usual. She looked utterly exhausted, though through just cause. "But first, you get some rest. You've done wonderfully tonight, but you look like you're about to pass out." Hermione sent Mimbi off towards the sofa before turning to face the door and drawing her wand. "I'll set the wards for tonight. Maybe then we can both get at least an ounce of quality sleep."
After sleeping in late, Hermione woke from within the confines of the library, her head resting comfortably on a pillow with a massive chunky house elf foot lying a few breaths away from her face. It stunk from the lack of footwear, the bottom left callused and dirty. Hermione held her breath and carefully moved it away from her face as Mimbi snored away at the other end of the sofa. Quietly as not to wake the tired little elf up early, Hermione walked around the side of the sofa and roamed over the shelves of books. Plucking one off the bookcase, she carried it over to Lucius's enormous desk and sat down. Her fingers flicked through the pages as her eyes fluttered over the contents. It was a book she had read before, one he had introduced to her. The eerie family photographs came first, twin girls and a devoted, concerned wife. Her husband had tried his best to do what he thought was right, what he thought would help his family thrive and grow. He had been lied to, cheated out of the perfect life he had been promised, and in the end, killed for his poor decisions. He placed his trust in the wrong people and his family had to suffer because of it.
Hermione rubbed a bit of moisture from her eyes before it could develop into something heartier. She stared down at the family portrait placed significantly at the end of the story, unfinished, yet purposefully so. Her hand dropped down to one of the desk's drawers before shifting over to the one below it, searching for a spare bit of parchment. With a quill in hand and the fresh parchment at the ready, Hermione wrote her own ending.
He was a good man. When the weight of the war had lifted, his feet found their way home. He danced at his daughters' weddings, held his grandchildren in his arms, and died in the embrace of his loving wife, peacefully and painlessly. His legacy was that of honor, courage, and the unwavering ability to change and rise above the scars of the past. His grandchildren and their children after them learned of his trials, his struggles, and loved him all the more for having overcome his demons, rather than crucify him for being too weak to shake them sooner.
She dropped the quill back into its ink holder and read it over again. It was as it should have been, if the world had been just and the war had been merciful. She slipped the parchment in at the back of the book and closed it shut, leaving it out on the desk as she heard Mimbi begin to stir.
The rest of the day was spent restoring the kitchen. They abandoned the idea of somehow saving the dining hall. The table had been shredded into a mess of splintered shards of wood and the chairs weren't left in much better of a state. Hermione had always hated the institutional feel of it anyway, much rather favoring a cozy snack in the privacy of the library or on the small little antique table she had discovered only a day ago with Lucius. After cleaning the kitchen and preparing a halfway decent lunch from whatever remained unsoiled in the pantry, Mimbi and Hermione set out to tackle an even bigger beast.
If they planned to spend another night alone in the Manor without a proper Malfoy ancestor to restore the ancient wards that had held strong around the property for decades, they would need to place their own set of protective charms around the area. If the ministry workers planned to return, or worse yet, if the V.R.S. decided to drop by, they would need some sort of barrier between themselves and any intruders. The better part of the afternoon and spanning into the evening was spent fixing the broken front door, repairing any shattered windows, and finally lying down their own intricate layers of protective charms over the majority of the property. The massive front gates were strengthened, reinforced as they had once been.
When they had finally finished, it made Hermione wonder if she would ever truly bring herself to leave. Mimbi was just as devoted to her as she would be to her Master, and with the fresh wards to protect them, they could lock themselves away within the safety of the Manor until the war had passed. Lucius had suggested it, when they had been together days ago. His voice had seemed gentle, hesitant as he made his offer, yet she had ignored it then. Now, as their plans unraveled and her hopes had crumbled like the walls or the furniture of the manor, she regretted not agreeing to his offer when she had the chance.
Dinner was simple, a mixed pasta dish that Mimbi and Hermione had made together. The elf insisted over and over that it wasn't proper for Hermione to assist, that she could manage on her own, but after the fifth or sixth time of trying to wrestle a mixing bowl or wooden spoon away from the determined witch, Mimbi gave up, threw her scrawny arms in the air, and returned to the stove top to tend to the boiling pasta.
Before turning in early, Mimbi pulled a book off the shelf and brought it over to Hermione on the sofa. "Are you sure you want me to read this one? It's not exactly a story book." Hermione asked as the elf brought her a bright green book with gold trim and lettering over the hard cover. It was a book documenting the migration patterns of wild hippogriffs throughout Europe during the early 1900's. Without the ability to read, Mimbi had simply plucked it up off the shelf based on the beautiful design and the shiny gold lettering on the front. She nodded happily and curled up on the sofa right beside Hermione, her head resting comfortably against her shoulder as she waited for Hermione to begin reading.
The witch laughed. "Okay then." She flipped the pages between her fingers and began reading. Within the first twenty dull pages, Mimbi's snores interrupted her. Her head had flopped down fully onto Hermione's shoulder as she curled up closer to her side, snuggling tightly against the witch. No doubt her mind was racing with dreams of soaring hippogriffs and whatever else might help the frail little elf escape from reality, if only for the night.
When Hermione woke the following morning, Mimbi had already prepared breakfast. She brought their plates into the library on a neat little tray and set it down on the coffee table in front of the sofa just as Hermione took in a long yawn. "You're awake early." She commented and thanked Mimbi for the food. "We should try to straighten up a bedroom. Or drag a bed in here." Her spine popped as she stretched her arms up to the ceiling.
Mimbi stood beside the sofa and watched her patiently. Waiting until Hermione seemed a bit more awake, the house elf withdrew an envelope from her ragged garments. "For Miss Granger." She held it in front of her, her arm stretched out straight and stiff as her eyes bounced between the envelope and Hermione nervously.
Hermione hesitated, suspicions of all sorts already running rampant at the unexpected offering. "What is it?"
"For Miss Granger," Mimbi repeated and pressed the envelope closer to Hermione until she finally took it. "Very important." She added. The witch carefully opened the envelope and read the letter inside.
Go to the Weasley home. It is safe now, but be cautious.
Keep your wand on you at all times. Stay away from the battles.
I can't protect you anymore. I'm sorry to have disappointed you.
Please stay safe.
-Lucius
"When did he give you this?" Hermione questioned firmly.
Mimbi paused to work out the days in her head before replying, "Monday."
"Before we left for the meeting..." Hermione thought out loud, her eyes rolling back over the words on the parchment as if they would somehow change into something else if she concentrated hard enough. 'I can't protect you anymore. I'm sorry to have disappointed you.' She repeated softly in her head. It sounded like a goodbye, like he had truly accepted his Azkaban sentence and had finally given up fighting. Hermione shook her head with a frown. "This doesn't sound right. Did he say anything when he gave it to you?"
The elf nodded and tried her best to recite his instructions exactly, step by step. "Wait until Wednesday morning. Feed Miss Granger." Mimbi stopped to glance down at the tray of breakfast foods with a proud smile. "And give letter." Again, she seemed satisfied as she eyed the letter in Hermione's hands, promptly delivered just as she had been instructed to do. "Keep Miss Granger safe." Mimbi recalled the last of her orders, a strong conviction in her tone as though this final command from her Master had not been a command at all, but instead a mutual desire they both shared.
When the elf said no more, Hermione looked back down at the letter and read it again. 'Go to the Weasley home. It is safe now,' he had wrote. 'Safe?' She thought quietly. 'Now? Was it not safe before?' Folding the letter along the creases and slipping it into her pocket, Hermione turned to Mimbi. "That's all he said? Did he mention the Weasleys at all?" Mimbi shook her head. Something was wrong. She needed to get to the Burrow. "Mimbi, I need to go."
"Miss Granger come back?" The happy little elf asked with a sweet smile.
Hermione gathered the few items in the room that she had brought and shrunk them down to fit in her pockets. She took one last bite of the breakfast Mimbi had prepared for her and headed for the door. "I don't know, Mimbi. If anyone comes back here, I need you to leave, okay? Go somewhere safe and wait for them to leave before you come back. Can you do that?" The elf nodded again, sadder this time. She seemed like a child again, shoulders slumped down and in, as her head bowed towards the floor. She was disappointed, and possibly still afraid, but an order was an order and she would follow Hermione's instructions, even if it meant not seeing the witch again. Hermione pulled the tiny creature towards her and wrapped her arms around her skinny frame, gathering her up into a tight hug before departing alone for the Burrow.
As she apparated a short distance from the Weasley's properly, something felt wrong. A stirring in the pit of her stomach twisted uncomfortably as she caught sight of a deep red stain against the front steps. Her feet carried her steadily, carefully closer, as she saw a matching crimson splotch covering the door's handle. It appeared to be dry, perhaps hours old, but as she stepped over the soaked-in stain on the porch steps and tried to control her growing concern, she began to overhear familiar voices coming from inside the small home.
"Arthur dear, the wards. Someone is outside." Mrs. Weasley's hushed warning reached just barely beyond the door to Hermione. The sound of scurrying feet replied quickly before complete silence took over. Hermione stood frozen, uneasy with the fearsome anxiety in Mrs. Weasley's voice. Had they been expecting someone dangerous? And the wards, they had never been charmed to alert to visitors before. They had only ever been charmed to alert the casters if an intruder made an attempt to break in. All Hermione had done was step foot on the porch so she could knock, though now she was uncertain if knocking would be a safe decision at all given the amount of wands that were probably pointing at her from behind the door.
"I-," She began hesitantly. "It's just me, Hermione." She called innocently through the door.
The silence remained inside for a few seconds longer before one of the curtains in a nearby window shifted, just barely allowing a person from inside to peek out. "Ron, get back!" Arthur Weasley scolded quickly and the curtain dropped back into place.
"It's Hermione." Ron insisted but from the sounds of rough scuffling and a heavy thud against the wall from the opposite side of the door, Hermione guessed he had been subdued, if not tackled down to the floor before he could reach the doorknob.
Hermione paused, taking a step back. "C-Can I come in?" She asked tensely before adding. "There's blood. Is someone hurt?"
"We need to make sure it's really her. Ron, Harry?" Another voice spoke, deeper and with a thick accent that she recognized as that of the Minister of Magic, Kingsley Shacklebolt.
Again, another pregnant pause filled the air between them until Harry finally asked confidently, "When you took the Defense against the Dark Arts final exam in our third year, your boggart turned into a professor. Who was it?"
Hermione's cheeks began to turn pink. She remembered it, of course. She had felt so embarrassed, running out of the room crying as the boggart yelled and berated her for failing. If someone truly was impersonating her now in an effort to get inside the Burrow, they would no doubt say it had been Snape. Everyone knew how hard he had been on the Golden Trio. It'd be a shock if he had been anyone's favorite professor, let alone a Gryffindor's favorite. And yet, when confronted with the boggart during third year, Snape was no where in her thoughts. "It was Professor McGonagall," Hermione answered loudly so Harry could hear her through the door.
A few whispered voices mumbled quietly, perhaps asking Harry if her answer was correct. Suddenly the knob began to turn and the door clicked away from its frame. Mr. Weasley was holding it open, stepping back with an apologetic look on his face. As she stepped inside, Harry wore the same expression and gave her a shrug. "Sorry, we just had to make sure."
The frizzy-haired witch took a quick scan over the people in the room. The entire Weasley family, plus Kingsley and a few Aurors from the Ministry stood scattered around the room. Nearly all of them looked battered. Their arms and hands were sprinkled with cuts and wounds of varying degrees of severity. Their faces appeared worn, bruised and swollen in some cases, while simply tired with blood-shot eyes for the others. "What happened?" Hermione breathed out in disbelief. If Lucius had known the Burrow would be attacked and ordered Mimbi to keep her away from it, unable to warn them or help fight along side them, she could never forgive him. But as she looked around the room, nothing seemed too badly out of place. There was no broken furniture, no holes in the walls like there had been at the Manor. The fighting had taken place somewhere else. "Was there an attack?"
An awkward feeling shifted around the room as its occupants glanced silently towards one another. Everyone was thinking something that no one was willing to say and if they remained mute for a moment longer, Hermione would have snapped, demanding to know what had gotten them so spooked and so uncomfortable around her. It was as if she was entirely out of the loop and it felt humiliating as their eyes simply bore into her with a certain judgment. 'They must know I was with Lucius at the meeting. They must have been told how I broke down and begged them not to take him away.' Hermione realized quickly, cringing at the hateful comments and remarks they must have made about her when Harry or Kingsley had told them what happened.
She thought of turning around and leaving without another word. Lucius had said the Burrow would be safe for her. Obviously he was wrong. Hermione began to shift slowly back towards the doorway when the Minister finally spoke. "I believe it'd be best if we spoke privately for a moment." He must have seen the concern in her eyes because before she could protest or ask another question, he added sternly, though masked with a mix of reassurance, "You have nothing to fear here."
Harry nodded in agreement, urging her to come forward as Kingsley began to move upstairs. Though apprehensive, Hermione followed. Harry stepped up the stairs behind her, completing the sandwich that she subconsciously noticed was trapping her from leaving. They took the stairway up to the first landing and entered the room that Hermione recognized as Harry's and Ginny's. It was dark and quiet until Kingsley flickered on the light and Harry closed the door behind them.
"Miss Granger, sit, please." The Minister instructed gravely, motioning towards the desk chair beside her. They waited for her to get seated before taking their own seats atop the bed and against a small dresser. Harry sat closest to her, laying his wand down peacefully against the mattress and bedsheets, though Hermione took note that he kept it on the side furthest away from her. 'Subtle,' Hermione thought and swallowed apprehensively.
Harry watched as her eyes trailed from his wand up to his face. "It's okay. I know you're probably still angry."
She didn't know how to respond. If she agreed, she would be admitting that Lucius meant more to her than he was supposed to. It would show how much it had hurt her for them to lock him away, but if she acted as if she couldn't care less, knowing how she had behaved during the meeting, surely they would see right through her lies. She gave a shrugging nod, so as to not fully commit to an answer, but to instead simply acknowledge that she had heard his statement.
Kingsley reclaimed her attention sharply. "Have you been in contact with Lucius Malfoy?"
Hermione frowned, holding back her bitterness as best as she could. 'You know I haven't. You saw to that when you sentenced him to life in Azkaban.' Her private thoughts were much saltier than her actual response. "How would I?" She asked, almost sarcastically as she bit her tongue. If they had summoned her up to this room to ask her stupid, trick questions, she regretted even more not leaving when she had the chance.
Her question went unanswered as Kingsley began with the next one. "Where were you last night?"
"At home." Hermione replied, vague though not entirely a lie. Since returning to the Wizarding world, she had spent nearly as much time at Malfoy Manor as she did at the Burrow or her parent's home. Even her rented room at the Leaky Cauldron could be considered her home for lack of a better term. She crossed her arms over her chest defensively and turned to Harry. "What's going on?"
The golden boy looked pained, as if he wanted to answer, wanted to cave with the good guy, bad guy act, and just talk to her like the long-time friend he had always known her to be. But Kingsley continued with his questioning, this time asking for something personal, something that would leave her defenseless and vulnerable, something he had asked of Lucius before they detained him. "Miss Granger, if you could please hand over your wand."
A harsh scowl hardened her expression as she made no motion to withdraw her wand from the safety of her pocket. "What aren't you telling me?" Her tone took a demanding turn. She would play coy and polite no longer, pushing her vague responses and her bitterly sarcastic replies to the side. "There's been another attack, that's evident enough." Hermione motioned loosely towards Harry's forearm. The sleeve of his shirt had been torn, stained red from the wound that had begun to heal through magical means. She didn't need them to tell her what she could plainly see the moment she entered the Burrow. Her friends had been bruised and bloodied. It had to have been an attack, but they wouldn't even tell her that much and that's what didn't make sense. "You don't trust me, I get it. The second I walked through the door, you all made that extremely clear. But you don't need to treat me like some criminal."
Harry stopped her, carefully placing his words as sensitively as he could to make him appear as receptive as possible. He tried to hide his judgment, but she could feel it burning into her every time he looked her way. "Hermione, we just need you to tell us any type of involvement you've had so we can help you get out of this. Let us help you."
"You have nothing to fear here," Kingsley repeated his earlier phrase, granting it more significance as she realized it wasn't her closeness with Lucius that had them so untrustworthy of her. It must have been something else. They thought she had done something horrible, but they weren't dropping enough details to let her know what crime she was being so wrongly accused of.
One final desperate plea of innocence was all she could offer. She couldn't even say what she was innocent of, but it would have to do. They would have to believe her. "Whatever it is you think I've done, you're wrong. I haven't done anything. Harry, you've known me for years. We grew up together. You, of all people, have to believe me."
He wanted to speak, wanted to agree with her and tell her she was right and that he trusted her. He wished he could just get up and give her a comforting hug, for both of their benefits. She could see as much in his eyes, but there was something else there. Doubt.
Kingsley let out a whispered sigh as he made a slightly firmer attempt. "Hermione, I'm going to ask you one more time and I need you to be completely honest." His words hurt, the true depths of their distrust laid out there raw and steaming as she tried to understand what had caused them to go against her so strongly. The Minister of Magic bore into her critically and continued, "Did you have any part, through Lucius or otherwise, with the attack last night?"
She was exhausted of fighting them, tired of trying to guess what they were talking about and even more frustrated that they still seemed to think she had anything to do with it. "No, I had no idea there had been an attack until I came here and saw the blood on the front steps. Please, just tell me what's happened."
Her desperation must have shown through in her plea as Harry finally answered. "There's been a breakout at Azkaban. It lasted nearly all night. We only managed to get back here just as the sun was coming up. It was..." Harry seemed lost for words, shaking his head as he peeled over the long list of gruesome terms rolling through his head. "It was a massacre." He shook his head again as anger and devastation all mixed into one until his brows pressed down hatefully over his tear-glazed eyes. "We lost so many. I don't know how we're going to win this."
"The way we always have." Kingsley answered. "The light will always shine through, even in the darkest of times." He stepped away from the dresser he had been leaning against and lowered a reassuring hand onto Harry's shoulder.
Hermione watched as Harry began to recollect himself, pushing away the moisture at his eyes roughly with the heel of his palm and repositioning his glasses on his face. She wanted to comfort him just as Kingsley had done, wanted to tell him everything would be okay and that they could conquer any challenge they were meant to face, but she couldn't bring herself to rely on the hope that good would always trump evil, no matter how much she wanted to believe it.
In as poor of taste as it was, she wanted to ask about Lucius. She needed to know if he had survived the battle at Azkaban, for her own piece of mind, but she knew better than to ask. "If we lost as many as we did, surely they must have lost some as well. How many of them managed to break out?"
The Order had been so overwhelmed, so outnumbered and unprepared. They had to retreat, had to escape to safety before the area could be fully reclaimed and secured. It was a losing battle and as a result, they lost control of the prison. Harry shook his head, not wanting to believe what he knew to be the truth. "All of them, Hermione. We've lost."
"No," The Minister of Magic insisted firmly. "This war isn't over yet."
A/Ns: Lots of behind the scenes things going on in this chapter. I'm sure a lot of you will be able to sort of map out everything that's happened, how it's played out, and what went on, but if not, next chapter should help clear things up a bit. But at least we know one thing for certain... This war is ON!
Feel free to leave reviews either here or through tumblr. I love reading how everyone interprets different chapters. Any guesses yet for how the story will end? It's coming closer and closer with each passing chapter!
Thank you to everyone who's shown so much support and given so much feedback for this story so far. You all really are incredibly important and I really look forward to hearing from more of you. 3 Thank you.