Author's Note: Welcome back all! I hope you are all doing well and are having a nice week! I want to thank everyone who reads this story; it truly amazes me how many of you have favourited and/or are following it and I'm super grateful to know that there are people out there enjoying my work. I especially want to thank the people who leave reviews to share their thoughts and feelings - you are amazing and it makes me really giddy to see what parts of the story you guys enjoy especially. Thank you to Ninja Star Light, TheMushroomGuild (don't be too hard on yourself; you're an amazing reviewer 3), and Rosezelene Ersa for reviewing last week's chapter! Enjoy!

May 2, 1997
Lockeridge

As Draco crossed the lawn towards the Manor with no small amount of trepidation and his wand tightly clutched in his hand, he considered when exactly it was that he had gone crazy enough to come back here. Royal hippogriff shite, what was he doing, endangering his own life for a bunch of people he had never quite liked anyway, all because a silly Muggle girl had asked him to – and because he fancied said Muggle girl? He could only imagine the look on Lucius' face if he saw him now.

He had Apparated to the spot behind the lake where he had spent many an afternoon in his childhood, just outside the magical borders of the Malfoy property. Unlike Sophie, he wasn't completely convinced that the wards would still let him in – and he preferred to be hexed into the next century at least when he no longer felt like puking his breakfast between the bushes.

So far, however, the girl seemed to have been right. He had not been hexed when first stepping foot on the property, nor now that he found himself at the door of the patio. Looking through the windows into the darkened room, he found it difficult to imagine this was the same room he had spent a large part of his childhood in, drinking tea with his mother, taking notes as she dictated to him about magical history or British wizarding law, or simply trailing behind her complaining about this or that as she watered the plants. They had never discussed it and he would probably never admit it to her, but he had always greatly enjoyed the time spent together, just the two of them.

Of course, things had already been changing even when they'd still been living at the Manor. The rooms got darker, colder, and the house started feeling less and less like a home and more like a prison with golden bars. By the time that they had left, any emotional attachment to the house of his childhood was crushed by the place of horror that it had become.

A whispered incantation and a flick of his wand later, he found himself inside the house. A deafening silence filled the manor and Draco was loathe to admit that another of Sophie's hunches had been correct. With any luck, he could be in and out of the Manor within twenty minutes, without anyone being the wiser.

Having silenced his footsteps, Draco crept along the walls of the empty halls towards the cellar. Long ago, he remembered it being stocked with wine and good food. When Voldemort moved in, it was emptied and fitted with metal bars and locked doors – "just in case". If there were any prisoners, that's where they were bound to be. Just a few more steps, then through the kitchen, and down the stairs. In and out, he repeated to himself like a mantra, without anyone being the wiser.

Somewhere from the other direction, most likely the dining room, he could hear the sound of two deep voices. He couldn't hear what was being said – or by whom – but whoever they were seemed to be talking leisurely, clearly still unaware of his presence. Likely two of the newer Death Eaters, Draco mused, left behind to guard the house when the others had gone with Voldemort. Draco thanked Merlin for Voldemort's arrogance, or surely he would have had a much more difficult task sneaking around the house.

By now he had reached the kitchen and he cast one glance around before slipping through the crack in the door and closing it behind him with his free hand. Only to find he wasn't alone.

Snape noticed him at almost the same moment as he did him, but in his surprise, responded just a tad slower. By then, Draco had overcome his own shock and had cast a whispered Disarming spell.

Curiously, Snape hardly seemed to be affected by his wand flying out of his hand. 'Draco? What are you…-'

'Shut up,' Draco gripped his wand more tightly, trying to channel some of the Malfoy sneer that seemed to elude him in his panic. He moved forward, wand trained on his former teacher. His former mentor.

'Draco, listen…-'

'There is nothing you have to say that I want to hear. You are a traitor.'

'Dumbledore was going to die. He had to be killed. You don't understand what happened, but I can explain…'

Draco shook his head, forcing himself to ignore Snape's entreaty. He raised his wand, ready to curse him, when a sudden memory came to the forefront of his mind quite randomly. Waking up in the middle of the night because a cat had jumped on his face. Sophie's cat. Severus. He had wondered at her curious choice for naming before, but had never come around to asking her. But surely if she had named him after anyone, she wouldn't name her beloved pet after a traitor? And now that he thought of it, after Snape had murdered Dumbledore, she had not once joined in the verbal lashings of the former Potion Master. Given her general inclination for talking, that was notable at the very least.

He was at a crossroads, he realised. Everything in him – the very core of his character – called for him to curse the man he had once looked up to. It was not in his nature to forgive, to trust. But he had come to trust Sophie, had come to trust her judgment. And as it was, he could use a partner anyway.

He lowered his wand. 'I expect that explanation sooner rather than later. And I expect it to be good. For now, we need to go into the cellar.' He stepped forward but then halted, Slytherin instincts kicking in, 'You go first.'

Snape hesitated, but realising that there was no other way, nodded. 'You mean to free the prisoners.'

'Yes.'

'The door is locked with several enchantments, in addition to a regular lock. Shunpipe has the key.'

'Is he the one in the dining room?'

'Yes, together with another one of the new recruits. If you allow me, I will return with the key in just a moment.'

Draco considered it for a moment. 'We will go together.'

-xx-

Ten minutes later, they were back at the door to the cellar, key firmly in Draco's hand. As expected, the two young recruits – so painfully close to Draco's age that he tried not to think of how he could have been in their place – put up little fight. In their surprise, they had barely been able to lift their wands before Snape and Draco gagged and bound them to their chairs with magical ropes. At Snape's confirmation that they were the only guards at the house, they had returned to the kitchen.

The staircase descending into the cellar was narrow and darkened, having been intended for use by the House-Elves rather than members of the esteemed house of Malfoy. Still, descending it as a child in search of snacks had never made the hair on the back of his neck stand on end as it did now. At the bottom of the stair was positioned a chair against the wall and beyond that, bars that cut off the remainder of the cellar from the stairs. From freedom.

Illuminating the tip of his wand, Draco spotted two forms in the darkness with some difficulty. Slouching more than sitting against one of the walls was an older man with dirtied, tangled hair who Draco wouldn't have recognised as the eccentric but energised Mr Ollivander if he hadn't known to expect him. Against the opposite wall was a smaller figure, with short legs and arms, and a comparably large head and crooked nose. At their entrance, both figures looked up – but neither as of yet seemed to suspect their intentions.

As Snape began to dismantle the wards, Draco fitted the key into the lock. Moments later, the door sprung open, but still the prisoners remained where they were.

'We are busting you out,' Draco clarified, looking from the passive face of one to the other, then rolling his eyes. 'I'm with the Order of the Phoenix, okay? We're going to bring you to a safe place.'

This seemed to provide some degree of comfort, and Mr Ollivander actually lifted his head now. 'The Order of the Phoenix?'

'Yes yes,' he said impatiently, moving into the cell to help up the wandmaker as Snape helped the goblin get to his feet. 'Now let's hurry.'

'Are you bringing them to the Order headquarters?'

'Actually,' Draco sighed, once again cursing himself for doing something entirely stupid and unself-serving. Then again, he had promised the old coot. 'You will be bringing them there. My mother is already there and so is a girl who should have prepared some rooms by now. I'm sure she will back up the explanation you will give to my mother. I will follow as soon as I can.

'There is something I need to do first.'

May 2, 1997
Somewhere in Scotland

When she opened her eyes again, Sophie found herself standing in the rather spacious inside of a stone hearth that was built into the round walls of a room. Stepping out, she looked around a stone tower chamber that she was quite certain was the headmaster's office. All around her, the walls were covered with shelves and cabinets, on and in which stood instruments of the strangest nature, whistling, humming, or silently hovering above the surface that they were on. Any wall space unoccupied by instruments was filled with large portraits of elderly men and women – all who had turned in her direction at her arrival and gazed at her in silent judgment.

A part of her wanted to simply drift through the room, to explore all the magical oddities that it had to offer, but before she could battle this selfish desire, a voice called out to her. She looked around, but there was no one there. When she turned to one of the portraits, it shook its head at her, instead pointing towards one of the shelves near the door. There, on one of the top shelves, sat a pointed and rather ragged looking hat.

'Ah, I've got your attention, I see. Tell me, what is your name?'

'Eh Sophie. Cornwell.'

'Sophie Cornwell,' it hummed, as if pondering her name deeply. Then, after a long moment, it said, 'I have never met one such as you.'

Sophie wasn't sure whether to be offended by that, but instead decided to dismiss it. 'Do you know where Harry Potter is?'

'He has been here,' the Hat responded, 'But he has gone again.'

'Where did he go?'

'I didn't ask him.'

'When was this?'

'Oh, not too long ago. I daresay I was just starting to doze off again when you appeared.'

Sophie's mind raced at his answer. If Harry had been here, could she then safely deduce that his next destination would be the Forbidden Forest – and Voldemort?

She nodded, about to thank the hat and take her leave when another question struck her. 'Wait, what did Harry do? Did he use the Pensieve?'

'Not at all. Actually, he just stood here for a moment – quite where you are now standing – and then he asked a question – quite like you are doing.'

'What did he want to know?'

'That I cannot tell you. But what he asked me was whether I had ever made a mistake in sorting anyone.'

'What did you tell him?'

'Not often. And only because the person deviated from the path that was set out for them.'

She wondered what to make of that – and more so, what Harry had made of it. Had it been the answer he wanted to hear? That he needed to hear, to resign him to face his own death? What if the intention behind the question was completely opposite – and he doubted he had the Gryffindor courage needed to face his death after all?

'I have to go now. Thank you, it was nice… talking to you?' With those words she made for the door when another thought struck her and she plucked the Sorting Hat from the shelve. Someone might just need it to pull the sword of Gryffindor out of.