Disclaimer: I am not JK Rowling. This should be obvious to you since I am writing fanfiction and not novels.

Bittersweet and Strange

The hustling and bustling, chattering and clattering of the Order's home base was normally a comforting sound to Hermione, but she was finding it somewhat annoying on this particular Tuesday morning.

Dean Thomas passed her seat at the conference table, holding a cup of coffee in his hand. He spoke to Michael Corner as he passed, pressing himself to the side to make room for Michael. When he did, some of his coffee sloshed out of the mug and right onto the paper Hermione had in front of her.

"Dean!" she snapped, gingerly picking the paper up by one corner and watching it drip onto the smooth tabletop. "Why can't you watch where you're going?"

Dean gave her an odd look, surprised by her uncharacteristic outburst. "Merlin, I'm sorry, Hermione. I didn't mean to, honest."

Hermione sighed. "I'm sorry, too. I didn't mean to snap like that."

"Don't worry about it," Dean shrugged. "We're all a bit stressed these days."

Hermione snorted in agreement as Dean walked away. Stressed hardly began to describe the matter.

In the seven years since the Second Wizarding War's end, the Order had been holed up in Lee Jordan's uncle's old summer home in Northern Ireland. There, they had spent their first three years in hiding, seeking out and rescuing the weak remnant of Voldemort's opposition. It hadn't been an easy task – they had lost Zacharias Smith and Alicia Spinnet to patrolling Death Eaters – but they had managed to piece the living members of the Order back together. The faithful few who lived in the Fortress, as they called their base, clung to one another for hope and encouragement. It was harder and harder to keep the faith, though; everyone in the Order had lost someone, most of them their entire families.

Sighing to herself, Hermione pulled out her wand and cast a drying spell on the paper. It still sported a prominent brown coffee stain, but it was still legible. She was reaching into her bag for a pencil when she felt someone take the seat next to her.

"Whatcha doin', Granger?"

Hermione looked up to see George Weasley giving her a curious smile. He was glancing at the paper on the table, and Hermione quickly flipped it over. "It's top secret, Weasley," she shot back, feigning annoyance. If there was one person she found it impossible to be angry with, it was George Weasley. The poor fellow had been forced to stand by and watch as his entire family was slaughtered by Voldemort's supporters, yet he still managed to keep smiling and be a bringer of joy to the Order. Besides, his smile was infectious.

George grinned at her again, leaning back in his chair. "Come on, we don't have secrets from each other here."

"You'll find out along with everyone else at the meeting," Hermione countered.

"But that's only in a few minutes!"

"Then it won't kill you to wait." Merlin, she loved making a good point.

George nodded his head to concede and turned to speak to Oliver Wood. Hermione dug out the pencil she had been fishing for and plopped a set of papers on the table just as Neville Longbottom was taking his usual seat at the head of the table. Ever since Harry's death, Neville had stepped up to lead the Order, and Hermione had been pleasantly surprised at what a strong and effective leader he had become. Neville cleared his throat to get everyone's attention.

"Okay, everybody, take a seat and we'll get started," he announced.

Hermione covertly pulled the top sheet of her paper stack upside-down to hide its contents, and George smirked at her. Luna Lovegood took the seat to Hermione's left and smiled vacantly at Hermione, glancing down at the papers before looking at Neville.

"Morning, guys," Neville greeted. "I know this is a little earlier than we usually have our weekly meetings, but Hermione asked me if we could start early because she's got a special announcement." Hermione looked down as all the heads in the room turned toward her. "But before we get into that," he continued, "Cho, have you heard anything from Katie Bell since the last meeting?"

Cho Chang was the only one in touch with the Order's one contact in the Ministry, Katie Bell. Katie alerted Cho anytime the Order was in danger of being found, and Cho, in turn, kept a close eye on Katie's safety as a spy. Cho shook her head at Neville's question. "I haven't heard anything."

Millicent Bulstrode piped up from the corner of the table, "That makes eight weeks without word. Can't we just owl her with the Ministry's stolen owl?"

"No," Luna stated. "It's too dangerous. If anyone else were to see the message, Katie's life could be in serious jeopardy, right, Neville?"

Neville smiled at her. "Absolutely, Luna. It's a good thought, Millicent, but we can't risk losing Katie. She's our only contact in the Ministry right now. If we lose her, I doubt we're going to find anyone else."

Millicent nodded, but Hermione thought she still looked disturbed.

"So," Neville said, addressing Michael Corner, "how are we doing with getting in touch with Pomona Sprout? Any word from Yugoslavia?"

Michael nodded enthusiastically. "I got a note just yesterday, Neville. Our contact there said Sprout is doing well and is living in a Muggle neighborhood with her sister and cousin. I don't think we should try to get in touch with her; it could endanger her safety for her to have any contact with the Wizarding World. However, our contact said he would let Sprout know that we know she's alive and would send her our best wishes."

There was a quiet hum through the room as everyone nodded appreciatively. After the executions of Minerva McGonagall and Poppy Pomfrey, Sprout was the only Hogwarts teacher living. The Order had taken it upon themselves to ensure her safety.

"That's good news," Neville said. "Does anyone have anything to add?"

No one did, so Hermione started mentally preparing for what she was about to say.

Right on cue, Neville looked at Hermione and nodded. "Okay. I think Hermione has something important to tell us all. Hermione?"

Hermione nodded back, managing a faint smile before standing and picking up her stack of papers. Speaking in public always made her a bit nervous, even if she did consider the Order her family. "Thanks, Neville. I'm sure you all remember four years ago when we began our search for Dennis Creevey?" Most of the Order nodded in agreement. "Then I'm sure you remember how it ended. Dennis was one of the last to be declared dead, mainly because nobody could find him. That, plus his blood status as a muggleborn, led us to believe he was probably killed in either the Battle of Hogwarts or in one of the rampages the Death Eaters made in the days following the battle. Cho, if I remember correctly, Katie was unable to find his name on any of the execution lists?"

Cho nodded. "He wasn't recorded in any of the prisons or the slave markets, either."

"Right. And, considering the fact that he was both a muggleborn and a member of the Order, it's pretty unlikely that the New Ministry would have let him slip through the cracks. I know I, for one, was on the most wanted list for years after the War. It wasn't until Parvati used that clever transfiguration trick on the muggleborn girl who was already dead that Voldemort finally was convinced that I was gone. Justin Finch-Fletchley was pursued much the same way, you'll recall."

"Okay, you've made your point," Romilda Vane said impatiently. "Dennis Creevey had a lot working against him and has probably been dead since the beginning. Where are you going with this?"

Hermione stared her down as she spoke. "I'm saying this: Dennis is alive."

There was silence in the conference room for several seconds before Neville spoke quietly. "How do you know that, Hermione?"

Hermione took a deep breath. "Because I saw him myself."

Whatever sense of politeness had been keeping the room in silence suddenly burst apart. It seemed everyone was talking at once, but no one could hear what anyone else was saying. Neville finally managed to shout over the din and make everyone sit down. He directed his question to Hermione. "How did you see Dennis?"

This was the tricky part. "I was in Diagon Alley," Hermione replied, trying to keep her voice steady. "I had run out of knotgrass for the Polyjuice Potions we need for next month, so I –"

"Going into enemy territory without telling anyone is against the rules," Angelina Johnson interrupted. "You could have been seen, Hermione!"

"I was very careful," Hermione assured her. "I transfigured my features and covered my hair and wore glasses and an old robe. I wasn't about to risk my life for a potion ingredient."

Hermione's reassuring words did little to calm Angelina. "All it takes is one person spotting you and putting the pieces together. We have these rules for a reason!"

"It's okay, Ange," George said. "Just let her finish."

Neville agreed. "We'll talk about the rule-breaking later. For now, just tell us about Dennis."

Hermione gave him a grateful nod before plowing ahead with her story. "On the way to the shop, I passed by a pavilion where a man was selling muggle and muggleborn slaves. I thought it would be a perfect opportunity to get a look at the place and see the people who were being sold, and I saw Dennis with them."

Dean shook his head. "It's been seven years, Hermione. It could have been anybody. You said yourself Dennis was probably dead."

"I know it was him, Dean," Hermione answered. "But I knew it would be hard to believe, so I took a very discreet picture. I had brought my bag with me, and my camera was in it." Hermione reached down and flipped the paper over that George had been looking at earlier. "I've enlarged it as much as I could without losing the quality. Tell me what you think."

Hermione slid the paper toward Neville, who picked it up and examined it closely. Those seated near him craned their necks to see. George leaned over to Hermione and whispered, "Now I know why you didn't want me to see it yet."

After several long moments of silence, Neville passed the picture to Parvati and looked up. "When was this picture taken, Hermione?"

"Last week," she replied. "I believe it was Friday. I would have told you sooner, but I wanted to make absolutely sure it was him before I got everyone excited. And before I got myself in trouble," she added, shooting a meaningful smile at Angelina.

"That was four days ago," Neville said seriously. "That's easily long enough for Dennis to be sold."

"I know that," Hermione said. "But, like I said, I wanted to make sure it was him before I told anyone." Everyone looked at her curiously, save for Nigel Wolpert, who was staring intently at the photograph. "I took the liberty of asking the slave master for a list of the slaves he had, and he let me look at it."

"What?!" This time, it was Lee Jordan who leaped to his feet in disbelief. "You spoke to someone? A slave trader? In public?"

"I know, I know, it was risky," Hermione conceded.

"More than risky," George added.

"Hermione, you're on Voldemort's most-wanted list," Angelina said. "Even if he thinks you're dead, all it takes is one little slip-up for you to be discovered. And once one of us is discovered, all of us are in a lot more danger."

"I know," Hermione sighed. "But I –"

"This is him!" Nigel suddenly shouted. "I know it is!"

Neville looked at him seriously. "Are you positive?"

Nigel nodded excitedly. "Of course I'm positive! I shared a room with him for four years! I'd know him anywhere. It's definitely him."

Nigel's enthusiasm drew several more people to stand, gathering around the photograph that Neville had picked up again. Hermione took her seat once more, shuffling through her papers and finding the one she was looking for with ease.

"Cho, what do you think?" Neville asked. "You saw him a good deal at the Tri-Wizard Tournament."

Cho furrowed her brow as she studied the picture. "Well… it's been a long time, but the resemblance is definitely there."

Neville nodded, then looked at George. "George, go get Fleur. She and Seamus are on watch duty up at the North Tower. Tell her we need her to identify someone."

George quickly stood and Apparated to fetch his sister-in-law. Neville turned back to Nigel. "Not to discredit your word, Nigel. It's just been a long time, and we need to make sure it's him before we make any decisions."

Nigel nodded. "I understand. But I'm telling you, there's no question in my mind; that's Dennis Creevey if I ever saw him."

A few moments later, Fleur Weasley Apparated into the room with George, looking flustered but excited.

Neville stepped toward her and handed her the picture. "Fleur, who does the man in this picture look like to you?"

Fleur studied the photograph for only a few seconds before declaring, "Ees thees Dennis Creevey?"

Hermione sighed in relief, and Neville seemed to do the same. "Yeah, we think so, Fleur. Thanks. We'll update you as soon as we've got everything figured out."

Fleur smiled and nodded before Apparating back to her guardpost.

"Well?" Hermione asked. "What more proof do you need? Fleur knew him on sight."

Neville nodded. "I know. All right, I think we've got enough evidence to at least investigate. I guess we'll get a group of five together –"

"I think I should go alone," Hermione interjected.

Another long moment of silence. Neville simply stared at her, while others began to shake their heads or open their mouths. Luna beat them to it.

"Why do you say that, Hermione?" she asked curiously.

Hermione smiled at her gratefully. "Well, I've thought about it a lot, and as we've said, it's very dangerous to go out in public. It would be even more dangerous for a group of us to go. Like Angelina said, if one of us is discovered, it puts us all in danger."

Angelina frowned. "I was talking about going off by yourself without telling anyone. I didn't mean –"

"I know," Hermione said. "I wasn't trying to twist your words, but there's a lot of truth to them. The more unfamiliar wizards are seen together, the more suspicious people are going to get. Plus, even if we disguised ourselves through Polyjuice or transfiguration, there is always the chance we could slip up. No plan is perfect, especially when there are a lot of people involved. Secondly, Neville, I'm not trying to challenge you, but what five people are you going to get? When we were doing our rescue missions so frequently in the three years after the War, it was a lot easier to get big missions like that done. For one thing, the Death Eaters were much more unprofessional and easy to fool because they weren't set up as well as they are now. My main point here is that we aren't as expendable as we used to be. I'm not saying anyone was ever truly expendable, but we're much more organized now, and if we lose someone for awhile on a mission – or even permanently to the unthinkable – it's going to be a very grave difference."

Neville frowned at her. "Hermione, are you suggesting that, out of all of us, you're the most expendable?"

"Not exactly," she responded, trying to ease the tension. "I'm just saying that if you, Neville, were to be gone for a while, it would take a lot of people from their various positions to take your place during that time. And Cho – who would correspond with Katie if she left? And Luna is irreplaceable when it comes to keeping the wards intact. Michael has contacts all over the world that might need him at a moment's notice. George is busy with the supply rations. Fleur has Teddy Lupin and Victoire to think of. The list goes on! Everyone here has a position that they are responsible for, and that position is imperative to keeping the Order going. If anyone here is expendable, it's me," she finished, looking meaningfully at Neville.

"No, you're not," he argued. "You keep the Order going as much as I do, or anyone else, for that matter. You keep all the records and distribute the money, and your impact is more felt than seen. I couldn't even begin to describe all the things you do, Hermione!"

"Neville's right," Parvati said, keeping her eyes on Hermione. "No one could replace you, Hermione."

Hermione shook her head. "Nigel has been helping me a lot with the bookkeeping; it'll be good for him to have some practice with doing it solo. As for the money, Romilda handles it more than I do; I'm more of a go-between. If you remember, I was the one who coordinated most of the rescue missions in those early days. I've had more experience with them than nearly anyone here, except maybe Neville and Dean."

"Hermione," George said sincerely, "we know you're capable of going after Dennis. No one's questioning your abilities. It's just… you're the last of the Golden Trio living. If something happens to you, it will be like losing another family member."

Hermione could see the pain in his eyes and knew he was remembering his family's deaths, as well as Harry's. She wanted to comfort him somehow, but she wasn't sure that any of her words would be comforting. "I know, George. We've all lost countless members to the dark side, and the thought of losing any of you is heartbreaking to me, too. But think about Dennis. He's lost his whole family, too, but he hasn't had anyone to help him deal with it the way we've all had each other. He's all alone and being sold as a slave, and I for one can't stand the thought of it."

"No one is belittling Dennis' situation, Hermione," Neville said gently. "We just don't think you going after him alone is the answer."

"I know. But listen, I saw the slave pavilion when I was there Friday. I wandered all through it. I can see it all in my head. If we all went – or even if we went one at a time – it would take precious time for five people to memorize it and then formulate a plan to save Dennis."

"If you were so worried about Dennis, why did you wait this long?" Lee asked.

"I told you, I wanted to make sure," Hermione said. "If I had been wrong –"

"If you had been wrong, we would have ended up saving some other poor muggleborn who's in slavery and who happens to look like Dennis Creevey," Lee finished. "Do you plan on just getting Dennis, Hermione? Because when you get there and ten dirty children are sitting on the floor in chains and looking up at you pleadingly, you're not going to be able to leave hem behind. Then what? Are you going to stage a great slave escape? There's no way you could do that singlehandedly."

Hermione sighed. "I know, Lee. I've thought about that, too. But remember what our priority is? Get enough of the Order back together so we can take back the Wizarding World and defeat Voldemort? I promise I won't let my feelings get in the way, but we have a duty to Dennis to save him so he can join us. Plus, who knows where he's been? He may have some vital information to getting an advantage on the Death Eaters."

"You don't know that," Michael countered.

"I don't," she agreed. "But it's still worth a shot."

"Draco, dear, will you please eat something?"

Draco shook his head at Narcissa. "No, thank you, Mother. I'm just not hungry."

"That's what I'm worried about," Narcissa replied with a frown. "You've gotten so thin. Are you eating at all?"

Draco shrugged. "I eat enough."

Narcissa sighed. They were seated in Draco's kitchen table, a modest room comped to the rest of the house. It was Narcissa's weekly visit, the highlight of her week. She would have come every day, but Draco warned her not to push Voldemort's patience. Only in the last two years had the dark lord only allowed Narcissa to visit Draco at all.

Draco stood and started to take his and his mother's plates to the counter, but Narcissa stopped him. "Allow me," she smiled, levitating the plates to their destination.

"I'm not a child, Mother," Draco muttered, taking a seat once more. "I don't need you to do everything for me."

"Don't rob me of my chance to baby you while I'm here," she teased. "Besides, it's only fair that you have a little magical help when you can get it. I can't imagine how hard it is to live without a wand."

Draco shrugged again. The past five years had been spent teaching himself to do things 'the muggle way', as his wand had been taken by Voldemort. He had managed to learn a bit of wandless magic, but for the most part, he did any work manually.

Narcissa gave him a sad smile. "Draco, you seem down. What's the matter?"

"What's the matter?" Draco echoed incredulously. "The matter is the same as it's been for the last five years. I'm trapped in my own home with no escape. I have no magic, no company, and no contact with the outside world. You're the only one I've seen in person for two years!"

"Now, that's not true," Narcissa said. "Why, only in the last year, I've managed to gain admittance for Blaise and Theodore."

"Yes," Draco grumbled. "Zabini and Nott. What bringers of cheer."

Narcissa frowned. Draco was not usually this cross with her. She had become accustomed to his foul moods ever since the beginning of the curse, but he had seemed particularly upset during her last few visits. "Draco, I can tell something is troubling you. More than usual, I mean. Has something happened?"

Draco scowled and put his head in his hands. "Mother… I feel like I'm going crazy! Every day is exactly the same!" He suddenly leaped to his feet and began pacing the room. "Voldemort cursed me in the hopes that I would commit suicide; I know it. He wanted to see how long I would last before I give in and end it all."

Narcissa looked disturbed. "Draco, I know this must be difficult, but –"

"Difficult?" he repeated. "Difficult?! This is hell, Mother! I live the exact same nightmare over and over! Every day I wake up and see my own hideous face, and I have to live knowing that I'm an enemy of every living creature on the earth. I am completely and utterly alone! I could live for a thousand years and never find peace. Even my dreams are haunted by that night! I can't sleep, I can't eat, I can't think… It's like living in a recurring nightmare!"

"Draco, I know –"

"How could you know?" he snarled. "How could you possibly imagine? You have your magic, your freedom, your life. You could never know what I go through." He put his head in his hands again, grinding his fists against his face. "I wish Voldemort had killed me that night."

"Draco!" Narcissa exclaimed. "Don't say that!"

"It's true," he said, sounding more lost and afraid than angry now. "He put me here alive so I could be tortured and so I would learn my lesson. All I've learned is that living is worse than dying when you're cursed."

Narcissa looked away. She couldn't bear the sight of her son in such agony. She suddenly wished that she had told him about her own counter-curse, that he could have some far-off hope of redemption, but she dared not tell him. It would only serve to enrage him further.

"Perhaps you should consider a hobby, Drac-"

"A hobby?" he asked. "What, see how much uglier the scars get by the day? Find out what poisons kill a man the fastest? Raise a cockroach farm? There is no room in my life for happiness anymore, Mother. There's no room for anything but MISERY!" He reached onto his place at the kitchen table, grabbed his water glass, and hurled it against the wall in a fury. He stared at the broken pieces on the floor for a moment before slumping against the wall exhaustedly.

Narcissa stood silently and waved her wand at the glass, reassembling it and setting it on the table. Pocketing her wand, she walked to where Draco was leaning against the wall and pulled him into an embrace. He sagged against her, laying his head on her shoulder as if he were a child again.

"I'm doing it for you, Mother," he whispered hoarsely. "That's the only reason I haven't done myself in yet. For you."

Narcissa pulled back, placed her hands on his shoulders, and looked him right in the eye. "I love you, Draco. Please remember that. One day, we'll find our happy ending."

"Now remember, no unnecessary risks," Neville repeated for the fourth time. "If anything happens and you need help, send a Patronus or just Apparate back. We won't put up any new wards until you get back."

Fleur nodded in agreement. "That ees right. I will make sure of that."

Hermione smiled gratefully at them. "Thank you."

It was Tuesday afternoon, and Hermione was preparing to leave for Diagon Alley. It had taken several more hours of arguing for Hermione to get the Order to see it her way, but Neville had finally agreed that Hermione's plan was a solid one. She had been given a Portkey, and Parvati had transfigured her features enough to be unrecognizable. She had strict instructions to locate Dennis is the slave pavilion and Apparate back to the Fortress with him the moment she found him. If Apparition wards were up, she was to immediately come back and tell them, at which time they would revert to the group of five plan. If Hermione couldn't find Dennis at the pavilion, she was to send a Patronus and tell them, at which time she could search for his records and find out where he was. It seemed to be a foolproof plan, as long as everything went the way they were expecting it to.

Hermione hugged Neville and Fleur goodbye. "We'll see you in a bit," Luna told her. Out of all the Order, Luna seemed not to be worried about the mission. "I've got a feeling it could lead to our success," she had said in the meeting.

After her goodbyes had been said, Hermione stepped to the center of the conference room to Apparate. She felt a wave of uneasiness wash over her suddenly. Talking about a plan was one thing; actually Apparating into the middle of enemy territory was another.

"You sure you want to do this, 'Mione?" George asked quietly. Hermione gave him a small smile then nodded. It wouldn't do to let the Order see her discomfort.

"Be safe, Hermione!" Angelina shouted. The rest of the Order shouted their agreement, and Hermione couldn't help but smile as she Apparated. It was a good feeling to have family.

When she had regained her senses and felt secure in her footing, Hermione looked around at Diagon Alley. A witch with bright green hair passed her and didn't give her a second look as she jostled past Hermione.

That was a good sign. Parvati had enchanted Hermione's features to be as plain as possible to remain unrecognizable, and that was what the plan hinged on. Hermione started making her way through the crowd, avoiding bumping into as many people as she could. The slave pavilion was only about twenty meters ahead, but the dense crowd blocked Hermione's view of the establishment.

After fighting her way through the mass of people for a good five minutes, Hermione was standing in front of the slave pavilion and peering inside cautiously. She didn't recognize anyone she saw, which was comforting. She walked inside casually, glancing around at the tough-looking guards who stood on either side of the doorway. She gave them a nervous smile before moving ahead and toward where the slaves were being kept. They sat in large fenced-in areas, some glaring defiantly at customers and others staring at the ground vacantly. Hermione's heart broke when she saw a girl, no more than eight years old, with tears rolling down her face as she looked up at Hermione. Hermione had to look away for fear that she might blow her cover.

Someday, she thought. Someday I'll come back and free you all.

Hermione refocused herself and began treading along the stone floor, looking into every slave pen she passed. Slave pen. The words made a shiver run up Hermione's spine. The suggestion of the word made her think of livestock, and thinking of people in that fashion made her sick. It could just as easily have been her in those pens as Dennis Creevey or any of the people there.

Forty minutes later, Hermione started to head back for the entrance. She had combed through every single slave pen meticulously, enough so that passers-by had begun to give her curious looks at her obvious scrutiny. She considered asking the slave master for a look at his slave list but decided against it; he had been eyeing her oddly for the last few minutes, and Hermione was ready to get away from him. She strode for the doorway, nose in the air like she knew a Pureblood would, but out of the corner of her eye she saw the slave master wave a hand to the guards at the door. In tandem, they stepped in her way, effectively blocking her from leaving.

Hermione put one hand on her wand. She had already overheard one vendor mention anti-Apparition wards around the pavilion. No one had noticed the guards' odd behavior, and Hermione hoped it stayed that way. If she ended up having to fight her way out of the shop, she wanted to fight as few people as possible. The guards didn't move, simply glaring at her with their arms crossed.

The grizzled slave master approached her slowly, his mouth twisted to the side. "Pardon me, madam, but may I ask yer name?" he rasped.

Hermione tried to sound confident as she replied. "Cora Goodstone," she replied haughtily. "And who is asking?"

"Augustus Sparrow," the slave trader replied. "I don't mean to bother ya, Ms. Goodstone, but I believe I saw ya in here the other day. Would I be correct in guessin' that?"

Hermione thought quickly. "Yes, you would. I was in here last Wednesday looking at one slave in particular. A tall young man with thick blonde hair and a large slash on one cheek. Is he still here?"

"Ah, no, ma'am, he was sold jest two days ago," Sparrow replied.

Hermione sighed petulantly. "And where might I find his new owner? I simply must speak with them about a trade."

"No," he said. "I'll not be tellin' ya anything just now. I have a theory, and I want to test it. Pardon me, ma'am." Sparrow suddenly whipped out his wand and muttered something under his breath, casting a spell over her. Hermione's wand was out, but the damage had been done. She could feel her features transforming back to their original state. "I knew it!" he shouted. "I knew it was her! Grab her, boys!"

Hermione made a desperate dash for the door, hoping she could Apparate back to the Fortress before they could follow. However, luck was not with her, as one of the guards lunged forward and wrapped his arms around her, holding her back with incredible force.

Sparrow stood in front of her mockingly, reaching out and grabbing her wand from her. "I've seen yer face all over posters, Miss Finberry," he spat. At Hermione's confused look, he laughed. "Don't give me that innocent look. I'd know yer face anywhere."

Given the circumstances, Hermione guessed that Sparrow wouldn't know Miss Finberry anywhere, but she kept the thought to herself. She tried her only card. "I'll have you know that I'm a spy from Wales! We're sick of your tyranny! Let me go this instant, or you'll have to deal with my people!"

Sparrow and both of the guards laughed bitterly. "Listen, you impertinent chit, I know exactly who you are. You're a Mudblood on the run! I don't know what you came in here fer, but if was the biggest mistake of yer life. My slaves don't ever get away, and they know their place, Mudblood! You'll wish you had never come to this pavilion!"

Hermione believed him. Every head had turned to face her, and all the slaves looked at her with an expression of pity. As the guards dragged her toward the back room, Hermione didn't bother to kick or scream. It was no use; they had her.

Maybe, she thought, I can somehow find Dennis this way. But looking at the guards' wicked smiles and the slaves' grim frowns, Hermione doubted herself.

Narcissa strutted along, glancing around Diagon Alley occasionally as she made her way to Madam Malkin's. She stopped to greet Calliope Greengrass and spoke to several of her other acquaintances before she suddenly halted in front of the slave pavilion. Narcissa had never actually been inside one of the establishments, but some of her friends had bought muggleborn slaves from the traders and had been pleased with the results.

Narcissa thought for only a moment before she made up her mind and strode into the pavilion. She had no intention of buying a slave for herself, but Draco…

It could be just what he needs, Narcissa thought. Even though she doubted that a Mudblood would break the curse – and even though the idea made her cringe – she knew that no self-respecting Pureblood witch would even come near Draco in his cursed state, much less fall in love with him. A muggleborn slave would probably despise Draco at first, she thought, but if she could learn to love him… the curse stood a chance to be broke. Narcissa's heart beat faster at the thought. Even if love never bloomed, at least Draco would have someone to keep him company.

Strolling through the slave pens, Narcissa frowned upon seeing young children, no older than ten, chained to a wall, looking despondent. In the next pen, several men and women sat next to a large stake that anchored their chains. And in the next pen…

In the next pen was a young woman, probably around twenty-five years old, who sat against a wall with her arms crossed, wild brown hair tangling around her face. Narcissa was instantly drawn to the girl and approached her pen, leaning against the fence to get a better look at her. She was painfully thin and gaunt, but she looked wiry and strong-minded, if the look on her face was anything to judge by. Narcissa continued staring at the girl and didn't even notice when Augustus Sparrow came to stand beside her.

"Ah, Mrs. Malfoy, how are ya today?" he drawled.

"I am well, thank you, Augustus," Narcissa replied. "I wonder, would you tell me who that girl is?"

Sparrow's mouth turned down in disgust. "That's Amelia Finberry. Wanted Mudblood. Came in here trying to pass herself off as a Pureblood witch, but I knew it was the Mudblood."

Narcissa nodded absently, never taking her eyes off Hermione. "I see. How much is she?"

Sparrow looked at her incredulously. "Mrs. Malfoy, I don't think Finberry is one ya want. This is yer first slave, correct? Well, ya wouldn't want a headstrong thing such as her for yer first. Give me some time to break her in, and then I'll let ya know. Now, I've got a-"

"I said, how much for her?" Narcissa persisted.

Sparrow sighed. "Fifty Galleons."

The girl suddenly looked up and right at Narcissa. Shadowy blue eyes met warm brown ones, and Narcissa made up her mind.

"I'll take her."

A/N: Thanks again for reading my story. It means more than you'll ever know. If you have any questions, thoughts, or ideas, let me know in the comments! I love feedback! Reviews make me write faster! I love you all!