Bittersweet and Strange

Chapter 11: The Gathering Storm

Diagon Alley was practically buzzing on Saturday morning, and Neville shouldered his way through the crowd, trying to look purposeful but not noteworthy. He was currently using Polyjuice Potion to impersonate a muggleborn man named Norville, which Neville probably would have found amusing had the situation been less stressful. Neville had approximately six hours left until the potion wore off, but he wasn't terribly worried about that.

Neville and four Order members – Penelope, Nigel, Padma, and Michael – had used five vials of the precious little Polyjuice Potion the Order possessed, and all five of them had deployed into various locations to hunt for clues. Penelope and Michael were currently scouting out the area around Felix Goyle's house per Katie's last instructions, and Padma and Nigel had taken the more dangerous job of obtaining a list of slave sales from the Ministry. Now that Dennis' location had been discovered, Neville wanted to give more attention to Hermione's situation, which he had regrettably been forced to neglect in the recent frenzy of excitement.

Neville was the only one out without a partner, and though Luna had offered to accompany him, he argued that someone needed to keep order within the Order (he had smiled at the pun); besides, they couldn't spare the Polyjuice. His job wasn't that difficult or dangerous anyway; going through slave markets and keeping his ears open for any informative news that might be flying around. Something definitely had stirred up the flood of wizards and witches in Diagon Alley, as nearly everyone was talking about the same topic of interest.

"Did you hear?" a middle-aged woman asked secretively. "The Ministry's gone into a panic over this whole scandal."

"Scandal?" another scoffed. "It's an embarrassment. The most powerful institution in the Wizarding World, and they can't even keep a handle on their staff. It's disgraceful, if you ask me."

Neville could only hide a smile as he pushed further into the crowd. Just outside of Borgin and Burkes, a bespectacled elderly wizard said to another, "I used to see that girl near every day. She always seemed so pleasant and collected. Never would have suspected. No, I surely never would have suspected."

The other man nodded in response but caught Neville standing close by and listening. He raised his eyebrows at his friend, and the two men walked away, leaving Neville to turn away and head in another direction. Everyone was suddenly suspicious of everyone, and Neville knew exactly why.

Katie Bell's defection the day before had caused an uproar in the wizarding community the likes of which hadn't been seen since Voldemort took control. Everyone's worldview had been flipped inside-out; a mole in the Ministry meant active enemies to the Ministry, and that set everyone on edge. Neville knew he needed to be careful listening to people's harried conversations, but he derived a certain amount of satisfaction knowing that the world now knew that the spark was not dead.

There was still hope. Neville could feel it pulsing everywhere he went; hope was at the heart of every conversation between every gossiping mother and drawling storekeeper. Even those who were involved in the Ministry and its derivatives were obviously excited by the news, and not just because it was unusual. A large number of people who claimed to be loyal to the Wizarding World's new government were secretly wishing for change, and it struck a chord of hope in Neville's heart. This is what the Order fought for. This is what they died for.

Neville cast a solemn smile at the ground. He wished he could talk to Hermione about it all. In the days before her disappearance, she had seemed so restless, so ready for a bit of news to light a spark of hope back into the Order's actions. Neville tried to imagine what she would be doing right now, with Katie's revelations and defection; she would be more excited than anyone, he thought sadly.

Not for the first time, Neville wondered where Hermione really was. Of course, everyone had theories – some thought she had been captured or killed, while others thought she could be hiding out and waiting to make a move. Neville was sure that she hadn't simply given up; Hermione was too dedicated for that. He wished so much that he could find her and tell her what she meant to the Order. Her statements in her last Order meeting echoed back in Neville's mind, when she had implied that she was the most expendable member. Neville thought about George Weasley, pacing the floors at all hours of the night while he worried about Hermione. Angelina Johnson was obviously racked with guilt over some of the things she had said to Hermione. Neville, too, felt guilty for taking Hermione for granted; Luna was a close confidante of his, but Hermione had been his right hand. He felt strange giving out orders without her there to back him up.

Hermione, wherever you are, we're not giving up on you, Neville thought. I'm not giving up.

Tightening his jaw with resolve, Neville straightened his shoulders and strode ahead into Diagon Alley.

Aim, push, release. Aim, push, release.

Over and over, Hermione kept the mantra going through her mind. She had taken to using wandless magic to do her cleaning, and she found that working distracted her from her intrusive thoughts. The scrub brush moved back and forth across the stone floor of the empty third floor room, the wandless magic saving her hands from the toll the brush normally took.

Draco Malfoy was a Horcrux. Two days later, the news was still almost too much for Hermione to process. When she wasn't aggressively blocking out her thoughts, she ran over and over her newfound information in her head, wondering how she hadn't guessed it in the first place. Now that she knew, it seemed to be the obvious answer to all her previously unanswered questions, but, then again, why would she have guessed something so horrendous?

A Horcrux. Hermione tried to think of everything she and Harry and Ron had learned about Horcruxes when they were searching for Voldemort's first set. Horcruxes were only created by a cold-blooded murder, and Hermione couldn't help but wonder who it was that died for Voldemort's immortality. Perhaps Lucius? Hermione hadn't heard anything about him since she arrived; maybe Draco's own father had paid the price for Voldemort's soul.

There were several ways to destroy a Horcrux, but Draco was right: Basilisk venom was the most logical solution to Draco's condition. The thought made Hermione want to vomit, but what other option did they have? If the Order was to prevail and right the wrongs done by Voldemort, the dark lord himself would have to die first, and Draco before him. And since practically no one had access to him but Hermione, she would indeed probably be the one to do it. It was a sickening thought.

So she tried not to think about it. Aim, push, release. Aim, push, release.

Wandless magic wasn't making her any calmer. In fact, it was only serving to irritate her anxieties more, since every swipe of the scrub brush made her remember all the time they had spent working together in the past months.

Why? Hermione thought, stopping the scrub brush's movements. Why does everyone I love have to die?

And there it was. Hermione had skimmed past the thought many times, trying to ignore it, but she didn't stop herself this time. Despite all odds, the stars in their courses and fate itself, she was in love with him. Against everything she had every known and felt, she had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy, her sworn enemy.

And the worst part was that it had been so easy. A mere three months had passed since Hermione came to live in Draco's house, and it had taken him less time than that to break down every wall she had built, every misgiving she held toward him. Granted, it had been much easier after she discovered that he was fighting on her side, but she still had seen past him and everything he had always been, and she loved him. How strange, she thought, to be able to change one's mind so quickly about a person.

She felt tears spring into her eyes but blinked them back. A vision of Harry and Ron, of the Order, of all the loved ones she had lost, appeared in her mind, and she wondered what they would say if they knew she had fallen in love with the enemy.

But he's not the enemy, she reminded herself. He's on our side. The thought gave her little comfort, though, for another quickly rose to take its place.

And now I have to let him go.

Ernie MacMillan had not changed much in eight years, a fact that both surprised and delighted Penelope Clearwater when she saw him. He was sitting outside a small library, immersed in a book and oblivious to the world. Penelope did a double take when she saw him, but when Michael Corner confirmed her original thought, she could hardly contain her excitement. She hadn't seen Ernie since Voldemort took over, but he was well-known for his work at the Daily Prophet. Ernie, pure-blooded as he was, was not an open supporter of Voldemort, but he had never made an effort to oppose Voldemort or help the Order. Still, he could be a valuable ally if he were willing, and Penelope and Michael decided to take advantage of their happening upon him.

The two Ravenclaws carefully edged toward Ernie, who remained still as he read. When they got within speaking distance, Ernie briefly glanced up at them before returning to his book. However, he suspiciously raised his eyebrows at them when Penelope took a seat across from him.

"Hi there, mate. Didn't you used to go to Hogwarts?" she asked, trying to alter the sound of her voice to match her unfamiliar face.

Ernie gave her a puzzled look. "Didn't we all?" he countered.

Penelope shrugged, gesturing to Michael, who sat down at the table as well. "My friend and I just thought we recognized you," she remarked casually. "MacMillan, isn't it?"

Ernie relaxed a bit more but still looked suspicious. Penelope didn't blame him, not with the news about Katie Bell still flying about like mad. "That's right. Ernie MacMillan. And you?"

"Hezekiah Smith," Michael replied smoothly. "Ravenclaw. Ella and I didn't know you that well, but we thought we recognized you."

Ernie's brow furrowed at the names that Michael had made up on the spot. "Hezekiah Smith," he repeated, looking at Michael curiously. "I knew a Zacharias Smith, but he's been dead for years."

Michael shook his head but kept a disarming smile on his face. "Nah, no relation. You probably just don't remember us. It's fine; we were a couple of years ahead of you."

Ernie nodded slowly, still deep in thought. Penelope spoke up, "I used to see you a lot with the Abbott girl and that other boy. What was his name?" she asked Michael.

"Justin," Michael answered, keeping the charade going.

Ernie's eyes lit up when his two best friends' names were mentioned. "Yeah! Hannah and Justin. Merlin, it's been so long…" He trailed off, obviously remembering his days at Hogwarts.

Michael didn't waste any time. "What ever happened to those two?" he asked casually.

"Oh." Ernie's smile disappeared. "Well, Hannah's still around. She and I dated for a while, but that was a few years ago. She owns the Leaky Cauldron now, actually."

"And Justin?" Penelope pressed, trying not to let on how interested she was.

Ernie swallowed and cleared his throat. "Um… Justin died. Killed, actually. It wasn't long after the war ended. He was helping some… well, I don't know exactly what he was doing, just that he was killed by Death Eaters."

This, of course, was not news to Penelope or Michael, as Justin had been fighting for the Order when he was killed, but they feigned surprise and made sympathetic sounds at Ernie's statement.

"I'm sorry," Penelope said. "I had forgotten all about that."

Ernie shrugged, resuming his previously casual demeanor. "'S fine. It was a long time ago."

"I remember something about the… Order? Was that right?" Penelope directed her question at Michael, but she was hoping Ernie would answer.

He hesitated but answered anyway. "Yeah. Yeah, I think so."

Penelope pressed on. "Funny, isn't it? You'd never know about some of them. Justin never seemed the type to fight in a rebellion to me. Did he to you?"

"Did he what?"

"Seem the type to fight in a rebellion?" Penelope repeated. She knew she was pushing her limits, but time was of the essence and Ernie wasn't moving quickly enough.

Ernie's walls seemed to come back up, and he shrugged. "I don't know. Maybe, maybe not. You never can tell about a person."

Michael tried to recover the relaxed atmosphere that had been lost. "Isn't that the truth. Did you hear about Katie Bell and the whole undercover bit in the Ministry?" Ernie didn't reply, so Michael continued. "Yeah, I must have seen Katie a million times at Hogwarts. Went out with her once. She always seemed so… unassuming, wouldn't you say so?"

"Definitely," Penelope replied.

Ernie eyed them both gingerly before nodding once. He was obviously getting suspicious, but Penelope didn't blame him; they were sounding like Ministry spies, and Ernie was too smart to be caught in a trap.

Michael didn't seem to be concerned about coming on too strongly now. "Who would have thought the Order still exists, eh?"

Ernie narrowed his eyes. "Who said the Order still exists?"

"Well, it seems pretty logical to me," Michael commented, leaning back in his chair. "I mean, Katie had to be spying on the Ministry for someone. She was always in tight with the Order and the D.A. Seems logical that she was working for the Order, doesn't it?"

"Well, I don't know…" Ernie mumbled.

Michael leaned forward suddenly. "Well, who else would she be working for?" Penelope put her hand on his arm, cautioning him to be careful, but Michael kept staring at Ernie intently.

Ernie wasn't having it. "What is this, an interrogation?" he demanded. "I don't ruddy know. What do you think I am, some kind of spy, too? You think I'm in on this?"

Penelope spoke gently, trying to calm Ernie down. "Of course not, Ernie. We were just wondering if you knew any more than we do. We've been away traveling for a while, and we aren't too caught up on what's been going on, that's all."

But Ernie was stirred up now. "Oh, is that so? Well, listen to this. I don't remember any Hezekiah Smith or Ella whatever-your-name-is, and you look about as familiar as a Dementor's Patronus to me. I don't have anything to do with any of this mess, so just leave me alone!"

Michael shot up out of his seat, catching Ernie's arm before the latter could walk away. "Ernie, believe me, we're on your side. You don't have to be afraid of us."

Ernie looked unconvinced and terrified, so Penelope continued, "All we want to know is if we can trust you or not."

"Trust me?" Ernie echoed, his defensive expression morphing into one of confusion. "Who are you? What do you want?"

Michael and Penelope exchanged a look, and Michael nodded affirmatively as Ernie looked on in bewilderment.

"We're from the Order, Ernie," Penelope said. "The Order is still alive."

"Hannah!" Ernie shouted, shoving aside a disgruntled customer to the Leaky Cauldron. "Hannah, where are you?"

Penelope and Michael followed close behind him as he weaved in and out of the crowded tables at the pub. Ernie was beside himself with excitement at discovering that the Order – and so many of his friends whom he had thought were dead – were alive and in need of his help. Ernie had insisted on going straight to the Leaky Cauldron to tell Hannah the news, a sentiment that Penelope and Michael had reluctantly accepted.

Ernie's eyes lit up when he found Hannah, her long blonde hair pulled up into a bun and a tired smile on her face. She nodded to Michael and Penelope as Ernie hauled them up to the bar Hannah stood behind.

"Hannah, I have incredible news," Ernie practically shouted. "I –"

Michael shushed his friend with a hand gesture. "Ernie, not here."

Ernie thought for a second and nodded, leaning in to the counter and motioning for Hannah to come closer. She did so, eyeing Michael and Penelope suspiciously and looking confused at Ernie's enthusiasm. "Hannah," Ernie said in a quieter tone, "do you have some place where we can talk privately?"

Hannah raised a skeptical eyebrow. "I'm running a business, Ernie. I can't just rush off and leave my customers."

Ernie gave a frustrated sigh, reached across the counter, and grabbed Hannah's shoulders, pulling her close enough that he could whisper in her ear. Michael and Penelope watched awkwardly from Ernie's side, but Hannah's eyes widened after a moment, and she gave the pair an astonished look.

"How is it possible?" Hannah whispered, more to herself than anyone else. She turned her gaze back on Ernie and said in a low voice, "Give me five minutes, and I'll meet you in Knockturn Alley."

Hermione had managed to avoid Draco all day, hoping not to have to talk about the whole Horcrux situation for awhile. But it wasn't to be, for no sooner had she come down the staircase to the first floor, spellbook tucked under her arm with the intent of studying up on anything she could find, did she see Draco himself, his back to her as he faced the door of the entry way.

Hermione thought about just turning around and going to her room to read before he noticed her, but she decided against it and continued down the steps. Draco didn't turn around or give any indication that he knew she was there, but when the reached the doorway of the living room, he suddenly spoke.

"Granger." His voice startled her just a bit, and she turned to face him, his eyes still locked on the door to the outside.

"Malfoy," she replied softly. "What are you looking for?"

His voice held traces of irritation, and he restlessly tapped his foot on the floor. "The two sods who claim to be my friends but who decided not to show up today with my floorplan. It's been a day and a half, and there's been no sign of Blaise or Theodore."

Hermione furrowed her brow and took a step toward Draco. "I hope nothing's happened to them."

Her comment made Draco turn an amused smile on her. "Don't tell me you're starting to grow fond of two more despicable Slytherins, Granger."

His tone was teasing, so Hermione chuckled and replied, "I guess they've grown on me a little. Certainly helps knowing they could be my link to the Order."

"I've been thinking about that," Draco answered, turning to face her with a serious expression. "From some of the things they told me the other day, it sounds like something's been stirred up in the Ministry. Thicknesse knows there's a mole, so he's got everything practically on lockdown. I pray to heaven that floorplan doesn't get discovered by him."

Hermione frowned. "Are you positive Theodore had it?"

Draco shrugged. "Who else? Besides, he's got no reason to lie about it that I know of."

"Say the floorplan did fall into enemy hands. What would happen then?"

"Lots of things," Draco said. "First, they would probably question Theodore, Blaise, and anybody associated with them to get as much information as they could. Once they found out it belonged to me, they would go crazy trying to figure out who created the portkey."

"Didn't you create it?" Hermione asked.

"No, Dennis did. It was before I was caught, so I was the only one who used it, but the portkey was his idea. That's what worries me." Draco sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If they can somehow trace it to Dennis, it would incriminate him as my partner-in-crime. I know you said he was captured, but as long as no one finds out his connection to me or the underground movement, he's safe enough."

"How much do Blaise and Theodore know about Dennis and the underground?" Hermione queried. "If they know too much, they could be put under Veritaserum or Legilimency and save the Ministry the trouble of tracing Dennis' magic."

"That's why I've been so careful," Draco replied, sounding slightly less worried at the thought. "Blaise and Theodore know just enough to get by. I'm not even sure if they know Katie Bell is the mole. They might have figured it out by now, but I haven't told them. It's just too dangerous. As far as I know, they don't know anything about Dennis' involvement with the underground."

"Good," Hermione replied. She was quiet for a moment before adding, "It seems you've thought of everything."

He gave a humorless laugh. "I've certainly had time to think. If you think it's dull here now, you should have seen it the seven years before you came."

Hermione shook her head. "My time here has been anything but boring, if you'll recall."

"That's true." Draco simply looked at her for a moment, her eyes cast to the floor and her fingers playing at the edge of the book she was holding. "I'm sorry I sprung that news on you the way I did the other night, Hermione." She looked up at him, and he continued, his voice shaking ever so slightly. "I wasn't planning on telling you, but I'm almost glad I did. It'll give you some time to process it before anything actually has to happen."

He was skirting around the words, and they both knew it. She didn't give him a chance to elaborate. "I'm not going to give up so easily, Draco," she said resolutely. "I've been thinking, and there has to be some way to get around this."

"Get around it?" Draco echoed. "Granger, I've spent seven years thinking of ways out of dying. It's just the only way. If Voldemort is to be defeated, I have to die first."

"I know that," Hermione declared. "But I did a lot of research on Horcruxes when Harry and Ron and I were searching for Voldemort's first set. If there's one thing that's for certain about magic, it's that there's always some kind of reversal. Maybe there's some way we could kill the Horcrux inside of you but let the rest of you live on. Maybe we could somehow transfer the Horcrux to something else and destroy that. Maybe –"

"Slow down, Granger," Draco said, placing his hands on her shoulders gently. She tried not to react to his touch, staring straight into his crystal-clear eyes instead. "I know you're trying to find a way around the spell, but believe me, this is it. I'm a doomed man, and I have been ever since I made the decision to join Voldemort. And think about it this way: death is almost an escape for me. Even if we did find a way so I could live after the Horcrux is destroyed, what kind of life could I live? My face is so disfigured I'd probably be shot down by some well-meaning wizard who thought I was a beast from the forest. Besides, I'm known as a traitor to both sides. Whether I've helped the Order or not, I've done enough wrongs to spend the rest of my life atoning for them. And there's always the off chance that Voldemort's death won't break the spell on the house, and I'll still be stuck here, and so will you. When I die, you'll be free, Voldemort will be vulnerable, the Wizarding World will have a chance to start over, and I'll have finally paid the price for my wrongs."

Hermione felt tears flowing freely down her cheeks as Draco spoke. He was so resigned to his fate, and it broke her heart. If only the Order could see him now, broken and ready to sacrifice himself for others. Was it even possible that this was the same arrogant git she had despised at Hogwarts? The same Death Eater who had unflinchingly killed his former teachers and friends? A lump caught in her throat, and she fought to keep her voice steady when she spoke.

"Draco Malfoy," she said, "I have made a promise to myself that if there is any way on this whole earth that I can find to save you, I will do it. If I have to die myself, I'm going to let you finish your redemption. You've come so far, and I believe you can right this. I'll do everything I can to keep you alive."

Draco didn't say anything, but his hands tightened on her shoulders, and his eyes spoke volumes to her weary soul. It was enough to make Hermione's knees go weak.

She finally found her voice. "I've been scouring the books in my room and the tower, but none of them have anything even close to Horcruxes or counter-curses or anything like that. I'll keep looking though, and I'll let you know –"

Draco silenced her with a quick shake of his head. "Come with me," he told her, taking her hand in one of his.

"Theodore Nott, you have done some utterly stupid things since I've known you, but this is more than I even thought you were capable of."

Theodore shook his head, something that was difficult to do since his head was resting on his forearms on his office desk. Blaise had paid him a visit at the Daily Prophet, suspicious after Theodore didn't show outside Draco's house the previous night. After hearing Theodore's story about losing the floorplan at Grimmauld Place – to Cho Chang, of all people! – Blaise was livid.

"It wasn't my fault." Theodore's voice was muffled, but Blaise had no trouble hearing him.

"Well, then, whose fault was it?" Blaise demanded, pacing Theodore's office anxiously. He had put a silencing charm around the room so that no one could hear their conversation, but he felt capable of screaming loud enough to break the spell himself. "Did someone tell you to go to Grimmauld Place? And, while there, did someone tell you to take the floorplan along, because why not? Did this same person tell you it would be fine to leave the floorplan lying on the ground in plain view while you investigate a stranger skulking around at night? Is that it, Nott? You're such an idiot."

Theodore finally raised his head and looked at Blaise with eyes that looked as though they hadn't seen sleep in days. "Blaise, I didn't mean to lose the map. If I had known what was going to happen, I wouldn't even have gone."

"Yeah, and if I had known Voldemort was going to take over, I would have joined the Order while we were at Hogwarts." Blaise's voice dripped with thinly-veiled sarcasm.

"At least the Order has the floorplan!" Theodore shouted back. "It's not like Thicknesse is the one who got hold of it. It was Cho Chang, and she's got to be with the Order."

"What if she's not?"

"Who else would she be with? She's certainly not working for the Ministry."

"Fine," Blaise conceded. "But what if it wasn't really her? What if it was someone using Polyjuice to look like her?"

Theodore gave Blaise a scornful look. "Who would voluntarily disguise themselves as a war criminal?"

Blaise nodded and threw himself into a chair by Theodore's desk. He few quiet for a few minutes before asking, "Theodore, are you positive that you've checked everywhere?"

Theodore sighed again, lowing his head onto his arms again. "What do you think I've been doing for the past two days? It's all I've thought about. I can't think of any single way to get in touch with the Order, especially now that the Katie Bell news is everywhere. I've already been given two assignments here at the Prophet on Bell, and I haven't even started them."

Blaise leaned forward. "Granger."

Theodore looked up. "What about Granger?"

"She can tell us how to get in touch with the Order." Blaise's eyes burned with intensity. "Theodore, we have to make a move, and the best way to do it is through Granger."

"But if I talk to Granger, I'll have to tell Draco about the floorplan," Theodore muttered.

"So be it. You got yourself into this mess, now get yourself out."

"Thanks ever so much, old buddy," Theodore said sarcastically. "I can't do it. Not just yet."

Blaise rolled his eyes. "What difference does it make? Today, tomorrow, or a week from now, you're not going to get the floorplan without talking to Granger first. Just tell Draco the truth."

"I can't."

"Why not?"

"Because he'll think I've failed him!"

"You have!"

"I told you, it's not my fault!"

"It is your fault! If you hadn't lied and said you didn't have the floorplan with you when we were there on Wednesday –"

"Do you think I planned on this?"

"You never plan on anything! Well, Theodore Nott, Draco is my friend, and if he's your friend, you'll go over there and tell him the truth and beg his forgiveness!"

Theodore buried his head again, all out of arguments. "I just can't do it, Blaise."

Blaise sighed, looking disgusted yet somehow sympathetic. "Then I will."

Theodore's head jerked up for the third time. "No! Blaise, no. If it has to be done, I'll do it myself."

"Oh, really?" Blaise mocked.

"Yeah." Theodore gave him a pleading look. "Just give me one more day to search. Maybe I'll find something."

"Theo–"

Theodore set his jaw. "One more day."

Blaise held his defensive glare a moment longer and then sighed. He could never remember beating Theodore at a battle of wills. "Fine, Theo. One more day, and then we tell Draco what's happened."

Luna Lovegood sat at the conference table in the main hall of the Fortress, humming and running over her list of protective wards around the manor. Parvati Patil was sorting through a cabinet full of potions, which were running dangerously low, when she asked, "How long have they been gone?"

Luna looked up distractedly and took a moment before replying, "I'm not sure. Probably close to six hours by now."

"What could possibly take six hours?" Parvati asked worriedly.

Luna shrugged. "I don't know. Neville said to send a search party after them if they weren't back by midnight, and they have –" Luna pulled out her watch – "about seven more hours."

"Seven hours," Parvati repeated, plopping down in a chair opposite Luna. "The whole Fortress could be massacred in half that time."

Luna smiled softly. "You don't have to think of it that way, Parvati. We're on the winning side, remember?"

Parvati scoffed. "Oh, to have your optimism, Luna. The winning side happens to be running dangerously low on provisions. Someone's going to have to cook up another batch of Polyjuice Potion, or we'll be out in no time at all."

"Hermione always did that," Luna remarked quietly.

"Yeah." Parvati was unusually quiet. "I wonder where she is, if she's even alive."

Luna stared off into space for a short time, deep in thought. "I think she is. Hermione is a survivor. If anyone can make it out there alone for this long, it's her."

Parvati shrugged, resting her chin on her hand and letting her eyes close. Luna resumed her list-checking and humming, and all was peaceful for a little while.

Then the dam burst.

The entire conference room swirled with color as five people Apparated simultaneously. Luna and Parvati leaped to their feet, and Dean Thomas and Romilda Vane ran in from the next room to see what the commotion was. Everyone was talking at once, the five new arrivals chattering and laughing in delight. Neville sent Parvati and Dean to round up the rest of the Order, and within two minutes the Order was gathered in the conference room to hear the news. When everyone had taken a seat, Neville, still wearing that fellow Norville's face, spoke.

"I don't even know what to tell you all," he said, a smile playing across his lips, "except that this has been the most successful mission we've had in years." A triumphant cheer rippled through the room, and Neville continued, sounding more encouraged than he had in a long time. "The Wizarding World has come alive since Katie defected. I don't think anyone realized that there was any kind of hope of a fight against Voldemort, but this news has spread like wildfire and affected everyone. They can't stop talking about it; it's all in the newspapers and on every poster. It does bring an element of danger now that so many people know for sure that we exist, but it's also brought hope, joy, and a willingness to fight that I've never seen before. We've been fighting for so long against the odds with no hope in sight, but I can tell you all without a doubt that our time is coming faster than we ever thought!"

The cheer started again, louder and more celebratory, and the Order members laughed, cried, hugged, jumped, and screamed for joy. Neville let them carry on for a few minutes, and when the noise died down, he announced, "Now, if we'll all listen, there's a lot more news and all of it important. Michael?"

Michael and Penelope stood from their chairs, their disguises mostly faded and their smiles wide enough to break their faces open. Penelope nodded at Michael, who began excitedly, "We definitely found Dennis' location. He's in Felix Goyle's house. We didn't get to talk to him, but we got a glimpse of him through a window. He's obviously without magic and bound to the house, but he seems unharmed, and we've pulled off more dangerous missions than this. We should have him out in a day or two if we plan it right."

The Order was in a cheering mood, for they all started up again as soon as Michael finished talking. Penelope had to shout to be heard over their voices. "That's not all!" she declared. "This is the most important news of all. We were scouting the area around Goyle's house when we happened upon Ernie MacMillan outside a shop. We approached him and made him mad enough to basically admit that he was on our side, and he couldn't believe it was really us and that we were from the Order. He took us to the Leaky Cauldron – which Hannah Abbott owns, by the way – and she's part of the underground movement! She's a member! Ernie helps, too, but Hannah has been directly involved for years."

"Are you serious?" Oliver Wood asked, looking awestruck.

"Yes!" Penelope squealed. "We now have a contact in the underground movement!"

"Did Hannah say why the underground hasn't tried to get in touch with us all these years?" Millicent Bulstrode asked. "I mean, they've existed for nearly as long as we have, but they've never tried to collaborate with us."

"If anything, they've kept themselves hidden from us," Seamus added.

Michael nodded. "It's been too dangerous. I don't think we ever realized just how much danger Katie Bell put herself in to be our informant. Most of the underground members are just everyday citizens who wanted to join the fight against Voldemort. They're almost more secretive than we are, if you can believe it. That's how they've lasted this long without being caught."

"What exactly are their plans?" Neville asked seriously. "We've all risked our necks to rescue slaves, foil Ministry missions, and keep ourselves secret. What have these people been doing?"

"We don't know exactly," Penelope responded. "But we're going to find out."

"When?" George Weasley asked.

Penelope and Michael shared a knowing smile. "As soon as we rescue Dennis, I'd say," Michael remarked.

"What's that supposed to mean?" Angelina Johnson demanded.

Penelope couldn't keep from laughing in euphoria. "It means that Dennis is the leader of the underground movement!"

For a moment, the only sound in the room was Penelope and Michael giggling, as the rest of the Order was stunned into silence. Finally, Fleur Weasley found her voice and said, "Ees thees a joke?"

"It's no joke, Fleur," Michael smiled. "Hannah told us. He was captured about three months ago and sold in a slave market, but he's been leading the movement for years. Kinda makes all the pieces fall into place, doesn't it?"

No one knew what to say for several moments, but finally everyone was talking at once again. Neville shushed them once more. "There's more news, guys," he announced.

"About Hermione?" George asked.

"Yes," Padma Patil answered for Neville. She and Nigel stood, each holding a stack of papers. "Here we have the list of sales for all slaves sold in the last four months. It was murder to get them, but Nigel and I managed."

"Well?" Cho asked.

Padma shuffled through her stack of papers and selected the one she was looking for. "It says here that a fugitive muggleborn named Amelia Finberry was bought on September 15, 2005, by Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy."

"What does that have to do with Hermione?" George asked, sounding frustrated.

"Just this." Padma tossed the paper at him, and it slid across the table to land in front of him. "Look at that picture and tell me that isn't Hermione Granger."

George took one look at the paper before him before facing Neville. "Well? We know where she is. Let's move."

"There's just one more thing, George," Neville said. "The thing Cho brought back from Grimmauld Place."

"What did you find out about it?" Cho asked excitedly.

"Not much," Neville admitted. He pulled the paper from his pocket and examined it. "I took it to Borgin and Burkes to see if anyone knew anything about it, and the owner said it was the floorplan to a house. Apparently, several of these kinds of homes were built around the same time, so it could belong to any one of them. He said Dolohov owns one, and Malfoy, too."

"Narcissa Malfoy?" Seamus asked.

"No, Draco," Neville replied. "It would seem that the reason no one's heard about him in years is that he and Voldemort had a sort of a falling out, you might say. Voldemort cursed him to have to stay in his house forever, which means this floorplan probably isn't his."

"Why?" Cho asked.

Neville frowned. "How would this get out of Malfoy's house if he can't leave?"

"No," Cho amended, "I meant, why did Voldemort curse Malfoy? I thought Malfoy was a Death Eater."

"He was," Neville said. "But he isn't anymore. The man at Borgin and Burkes just said that Malfoy did something to upset Voldemort."

"What a surprise," Angelina muttered.

"Why wouldn't Voldemort just kill Malfoy instead of imprisoning him?" Nigel asked.

Neville shrugged. "I don't know, guys. I wasn't looking for answers on Malfoy, just Hermione, Dennis, and this floorplan."

"I still say it was Theodore Nott who I saw at Grimmauld Place," Cho stated.

"And I still say it's impossible," Dean retorted.

Neville sighed, rubbing his face wearily. The Polyjuice was wearing off, and he could feel his own face stretching back into place. "Let's not get into that again. There's no way of knowing if it was Theodore or not, and even if it was, it won't do us any good. Nott's on Voldemort's side, so we don't dare try to question him. Let's just be glad we've made such big progress today."

"Who are we going after first?" Millicent asked. "Dennis or Hermione?"

Neville thought for a moment. "Dennis' situation seems to be under control for now. Let's worry about Hermione." He looked around the room thoughtfully, making plans in his head. "We'll have to be secretive about it, so we can't all go. George, you lead this one," he said, a mischievous smile on his face. "I think you're the most anxious of all of us to get to Hermione."

George tried to hide his smile by looking away. "I'll do it."

"Good." Neville rubbed his hands together. "It would seem that it's time to pay a visit to Mrs. Narcissa Malfoy."

"Don't worry, Mrs. Malfoy, I'll be in contact with you as soon as I find anything out."

"Excellent." Narcissa gave Blaise a stern gaze. She had paid him a surprise visit at his home, just minutes after he arrived from talking to Theodore. "I'm not pleased that my son has been unnecessarily endangered."

"I know, and I'm sorry," Blaise said apologetically, "but Theodore and I are doing everything we can to track the portkey down."

"Where does the portkey lead?"

Blaise hesitated, remembering Draco's specific instructions to keep Narcissa as sheltered as possible for her own safety. "I don't know that I should say –"

Narcissa's expression turned harder. "I am Draco's mother, Blaise. I'm not going to betray him."

"Oh, I know that, Mrs. Malfoy!" Blaise exclaimed. He always felt under-intelligent when talking to Draco's mother. "It's just that… well, Draco has asked me not to endanger you by telling you too much."

"Nonsense, I know what I'm doing." Narcissa flashed a confident smile. "If you will recall, I've survived in this world longer than you have, Blaise Zabini."

Blaise sighed. Outwitted again. "The portkey leads to Grimmauld Place."

Narcissa frowned. "Grimmauld Place? But that's… that's where Draco was caught, is it not?"

"Yes," Blaise nodded. "And his contact could be traced through the portkey."

"Who is his contact?" Narcissa waited for an answer, and when none came, she sighed. "I suppose if Draco won't tell me, you won't, either."

Blaise gave her an apologetic look. "I'm sorry, Mrs. Malfoy. It's for your own safety; it really is."

Narcissa sighed again, a sentimental smile crossing her face. "Many the times I've said that very thing to Draco. I suppose the tables have turned quite severely, haven't they?"

"Yes, ma'am," Blaise replied. "I'm doing all I can, I promise."

Narcissa's face relaxed a bit, and she allowed a smile. "Thank you, Blaise. I appreciate everything you've been doing. You're a great comfort to me these days."

Blaise smiled sadly. "I'm glad to hear that. I envy Draco having a mother who cares so deeply about him."

Narcissa's face resumed its normal reserved expression. "And I consider myself fortunate to have a young man whom I can consider my second son." Blaise started to speak, but Narcissa continued, "And tell my third son that he had better find Draco's floorplan."

Blaise laughed hollowly. "He's all but turned the world inside out trying to find it."

Narcissa nodded, taking a step towards the door to indicate that she was ready to leave. "Thank you again, Blaise. Don't endanger yourself trying to help Draco and I. The Ministry has their eye on all of us."

"The same to you," Blaise replied. "Would you like for me to see you home?"

"It's not necessary, thank you, dear," she said sincerely. "Goodnight."

Blaise waved a goodbye to her as she Apparated away. Narcissa's words gave him the incentive he needed to make his decision. Theodore or not, he was going to go to Draco's house the first thing in the morning and find out exactly where the Order was hiding out.

"Fiendfyre is another option," Hermione mused, flipping through the pages of a worn book. "It can be used in the place of Basilisk venom to destroy a Horcrux."

"Marvelous," Draco spat. "I can be burned to a crisp rather than consumed by a poison."

Hermione gave him an exasperated look but withheld comment. She and Draco were currently sitting in one of the locked third-floor rooms, which Hermione had given up on trying to get into. It was, however, surprisingly clean, and every wall was lined with a wall of books. According to Draco, he had collected books for years and stored them in this library. It, along with the laboratory/basement, had become his safe haven after the curse. When Hermione brought up her lack of study materials, Draco had immediately taken her up to the library, and she had nearly fainted when she entered. She hadn't seen so many books since Hogwarts burned to the ground. She was vaguely irritated with him for not showing her sooner, but it was hard to hold a grudge after the past few days.

Hermione set the spellbook aside and began thumbing through another, her thoughts not on the book itself. Numerous as they might be, the books in Draco's library held little information that was useful for their situation, but Hermione was determined to make the best of it.

Heaving a sigh, she set the second book aside and rubbed her tired eyes. They had been researching for hours, only stopping once to eat a two-minute dinner. Draco noticed her actions and set his own book aside. "No luck, eh?" he asked.

Hermione shook her head and closed her eyes. "Nothing I didn't already know."

"Ready to give up?"

"No." Hermione opened her eyes and fixed him with a steely gaze. "I will stay up here all night and all day if I have to. I am not going to give up."

Draco shook his head in amusement, leaning back in his chair and staring at the rows of books surrounding them. "Gryffindor spirit never dies, I suppose."

Hermione didn't answer but picked her book back up and started flipping through it again, seeing nothing of use. Draco glanced around a bit longer before standing and stretching. Hermione's eyes seared into the spellbook hard enough to bore holes in it in an attempt not to glance at Draco. If he noticed, he didn't let on, instead walking toward the window on the side wall.

"What a lovely view," he remarked dryly. "Vines and thorns. Really puts a man in the Christmas spirit."

Hermione smiled and stood to join him. Her eyes widened in wonderment when she reached the window. "Draco, look! Is that snow?"

"Where?" He strained to see.

"Here, look through the spaces between the vines." Draco followed the line of her hand and narrowed his eyes, trying to peer through the skinny gaps in the vines. "Do you see it?"

"Yeah," he replied. "I think I see it. Shame it can't get through."

Hermione didn't reply. As she stared out the window, her face took on a dreamlike quality. "I always loved the snow. When I was a little girl, my parents and I used to build a snowman every year and put my clothes on him. I thought it was the funniest thing I had ever seen." Her expression softened. "I wonder if they still make a snowman, now that I'm not there. They don't even remember having me."

Draco lowered his eyes to the ground. "I'm sorry."

She raised her chin and squared her shoulders, looking out the window again with a brave expression. "It had to be done. It's painful, but it's better than knowing they're in danger because of me. They're safe this way."

"I understand," Draco replied. "I've tried to protect my mum ever since my father died. She deserves better than he ever gave her. She deserves a better son than me, but I guess I've done my best."

"I'm sure she appreciates it," Hermione said softly. They stood in a comfortable silence for a few moments, each staring out the window and pretending they could see the snow. Hermione finally ventured, "I don't mean to sound nosy, but I'm curious. What happened to your father?"

Draco's eyes clouded as he recalled an obviously painful memory. Hermione instantly regretted asking, but she didn't say anything. Draco cleared his throat and spoke with a thickness to his voice. "He drank himself to death, more or less. He got more and more unstable after Voldemort took over, and he was jealous of me and my favor with Voldemort. He attacked me once, but I managed to hold him off. It happened one night when he went out to a pub. He was drunker than I'd ever seen him, and he picked a fight with some wizards at the bar. They ganged up on him and massacred him. I couldn't believe it when I heard. It always seemed like he'd live forever." He set his jaw firmly. "I'm glad he's gone, though. He was never good for anything but abusing people. I always used to ask Mum if he ever hurt her, and she always said no. I'm afraid he did, though. She was just too loyal to ever incriminate him."

Hermione didn't know what to say, but she found her voice to say, "I'm so sorry, Draco." He didn't make a sound, so she quietly took his hand in a comforting gesture.

Several quiet minutes later, Draco tugged on her hand lightly and said, "Come here. I want to show you something."

Hermione let Draco lead her behind a few sets of bookcases to a darkened corner of the library. A small, carved wooden table was nestled in the shadows, and Draco pulled it out into the light with a squeak of its time-rusted feet. Hermione gasped a little when she saw what sat on the table.

A red rose, in full bloom in the dead of winter. The rose was encased in a glass dome, floating several inches off the surface of the table and sparkling with a sheen that told Hermione the rose had been enchanted somehow. It was the loveliest thing she had ever seen. She felt an inexplicable pull toward the flower, and she cautiously laid her hand on the glass dome. It felt alive, humming under her palm, and she looked at Draco in wonder.

"What is it?" she asked, her voice hushed.

Draco leaned against the wall casually. "My mum enchanted it. Apparently, it's one of the roses that used to grow around the house before the curse. When my mum found me, she took the rose and enchanted it to live forever, sort of as a token to remember the day by. She says it symbolizes hope that one day I'll be free. I don't think she realizes what we're up against."

Hermione smiled distractedly, her eyes transfixed on the rose. "It reminds me of the fairytale Beauty and the Beast. The Beast had an enchanted rose that would bloom until his twenty-first birthday, and when the last petal fell, he would remain a beast forever."

"Did he?" Draco asked curiously.

Hermione shook her head fondly. "No. Beauty declared her true love for him just before he died, and it saved his life and turned him back into a prince."

Draco's eyes were thoughtful as he listened to Hermione talk. "I've never heard that story before."

"It's a muggle fairytale," she explained. "It's French, I believe. It's one of my favorites."

"Maybe that's where Mum got the idea," he said. "I don't know why she would know about a muggle fairytale, but she's always surprising me."

Hermione smiled at him, pulling her hand away from the glass dome. She still felt drawn in by it somehow, but she fought the urge and turned to face Draco. "You know, I once had a dream that I was the beauty in the story." Draco looked at her curiously, and she continued, smiling fondly as she remembered her childhood dream. "I wore a long yellow dress, and I danced with a prince, and I lived happily ever after in a castle. Funny how when you're little, anything seems possible, doesn't it?"

Draco nodded thoughtfully. "Well," he stated, "I don't have a yellow dress for you, and I'm certainly not a prince in a castle, but if you want to dance, you're welcome to dance with the beast."

Hermione laughed at that, and Draco laughed with her. "I don't know how to dance," she chuckled.

"Oh, yes, you do," Draco countered, pointing his finger at her. "I saw you whirling around the Yule Ball with Krum. You can dance and dance well. Hold on a minute." Hermione watched curiously as he rounded one of the bookcases and scanned the covers of each one carefully. After a moment, he found the one he was looking for and set it on the table they had been sitting around. Draco opened the book gently, and when it rested all the way open on the table, soft music floated through the library.

"It's enchanted," Draco said unnecessarily with a smile. "Pansy gave it to me years ago, and I never had the heart to throw it out."

Hermione laughed as Draco gave an exaggerated bow and offered his hand to her. She took it as gracefully as she could and tried to keep breathing when he stepped forward and held her in Proper Dance Position One. Neither of them was a perfect dancer by any means, but Hermione couldn't help but smile when Draco tried to twirl her and accidentally elbowed her in the face. She retaliated by accidentally stepping on his feet numerous times, but they managed to exude a certain amount of grace as they swayed back and forth in a makeshift waltz.

"So, Pansy?" Hermione asked, a smile playing at her lips.

Draco shrugged. "Yeah. She and I used to go together back at Hogwarts, and she was always wanting to dance. I guess she thought a musical book might make me want to."

"Did it?"

"No," he snorted. "She was a terrible dancer. Always all over whoever she was dancing with, and trying to make witty remarks the whole time. She drove me crazy."

"Why'd you date her, then?" Hermione laughed.

He shrugged again. "I guess she was the only one I could even imagine being with. It was never a good relationship, but it was a relationship, and that's all I cared about. I was feeling pretty alone, so just being able to say I had a girlfriend was enough for me."

Hermione nodded, understanding the feeling but not wanting to say so. Another thought came to mind. "What does Pansy do now?"

Draco's eyes darkened again, and Hermione felt him imperceptibly squeeze her hand a little tighter. He wasn't swaying as much, and Hermione let him lead, slowing her own movements down to match his. When he raised his eyes, moisture glistened in the corners and threatened to roll down his cheeks. Hermione had the sudden urge to wipe the tears away, but she fought it.

"Pansy was killed about five years ago." Draco's voice was thick with emotion. "Mum told me about it. She had gotten married to some heir to a fortune, and he was abusive. He killed her and then told everyone she committed suicide." Hermione opened her mouth to offer some comfort, but Draco wasn't finished yet. "I didn't think it would affect me so much. She and I never got along well, and I certainly didn't have any lost love for her, but she was one of my housemates, and I just couldn't believe she was gone like that. She had a good heart under all that bluster; she wanted to be a nurse, I think. She probably would have made a good one if it weren't for her stupid family and husband and reputation…"

Hermione felt tears of her own surfacing, which surprised her. She and Pansy had hated one another at Hogwarts, but even she felt some amount of sadness at hearing Pansy's demise, especially since Draco had been so affected by it. "I'm sorry, Draco. I didn't know." He didn't reply, his swaying all but stopped as the charmed music quieted to a whisper. Hermione thought hard about anything more to say, and she finally decided to share her experiences, too.

"Ron and I were in love," she said quietly, and Draco looked at her with a curious expression. "We bickered all through school and always had major differences, but there was always some sort of spark between us. We kissed at the Battle of Hogwarts. It was strange and untimely, but I'm glad we did. Voldemort killed him just a few hours later. Ron was one of the first to be caught. He was trying to protect Ginny. I'm glad I didn't have to see it; I don't know that I could have stood it." She blinked back her tears valiantly. "I don't know that a relationship would have worked out between us, mainly because we were so different, but it's hard not to wonder after all that happened."

Draco was quiet for several minutes, trying to think of anything he could conceivably say after so many years of hating Ron Weasley. "Weren't you engaged to someone else?" he finally ventured.

"Not at the same time," she quipped, smiling through her emotion. "His name was Edmund. He was from Wales. He came and helped the Order for about a year. He and I were sort of unofficially engaged, you might say. But I told you what happened to him. He committed suicide to avoid getting caught with information. It's strange; I never thought I could fall in love after Harry and Ron and Ginny and everyone had been taken from me, but Edmund made it easy. I think we would have been happy together if we had had the chance."

Hermione looked so downcast, so broken from her memories, and it broke Draco's heart. He knew that it was his group of people that had done so much to hurt Hermione, and in that moment he would have died a death for every loved one of Hermione's he had killed, if just to bring them back for her. It was in that moment that he realized with a jolt that he loved her. Of course, it was ridiculous to imagine that she felt the same way, but he couldn't deny the feeling that was welling up inside him, terrifying him but igniting him at the same time.

Hermione wanted to add something to her talk about Edmund. She wanted to say, But now I've found you, and that makes the pain of losing Ron and Edmund and all the rest a little more bearable. She wanted nothing more than to reassure him and comfort him, but she found that all her years of fighting the war of emotion had made her unsure of how to even say I love you. So she didn't.

Draco was trying to hold his breath as Hermione slowly raised her eyes to his, memorizing her face as she stared into his very soul. He knew without a doubt that this is the face he would see as he took his last breath. The moment hung heavy in the air, and Draco refused to let it pass.

When he lowered his head to be on level with hers, he told himself that it was to comfort her and let her know he cared, not to silently scream I love you in the only way he knew how. When his hands moved to cradle her face, he told himself that he should back out before it was too late. But he didn't listen, and all thoughts of talking himself out of it vanished when his lips touched hers.

Hermione felt a jolt of electricity run through her body, and she wondered if Draco could feel how rigid she had gone when he kissed her. A kiss had been the last thing she expected at that moment, but she couldn't bring herself to pull away. Her realization of her love had been too recent to tell him, but she tried to tell him through her kiss.

Draco had just started to pull away, realizing that Hermione wasn't a willing party, when he felt her lips move in response and her hand rest on the side of his neck. Seizing the moment, Draco wrapped his arms around her and pulled her as close as he could, feeling her arms slide around his neck. Their kiss was healing, entrancing, and innocent, yet it held such a passion and intensity that Draco could feel his heart pounding in his throat. This was the moment he had been waiting his whole life for.

The kiss lasted an eternity to Hermione, and for the first time in her life, she couldn't form any coherent thoughts the entire time. Her complete attention was focused on Draco and the way he was making her whole world spin. She felt breathless, dizzy, and utterly overwhelmed. It was intoxicating.

Once eternity had passed and rolled on, Draco felt himself pulling away from Hermione, his brain screaming at him to do the opposite. The look on her face was utter shock, and Draco immediately felt guilty. What right did he have to kiss the golden angel of Gryffindor, the lioness of the rebellion, after all he had done? He should be at her feet, begging her to forgive his transgressions and let him die a miserable, lonely death. She deserved so much better than him.

"Forgive me," was all that came out. Draco realized that Hermione thought he was asking forgiveness for the kiss, but he was too overwhelmed to correct her.

Hermione finally found her voice and shook her head lightly. "You don't have to apologize."

Draco suddenly realized that the music had stopped, and he stepped back, out of her reach but still mentally wrapped up in the essence of her. Large brown eyes stared back at him, but he couldn't read their expression. He was painfully aware of his own skin, how mottled and horrendous it must look to Hermione. He had never actually read Beauty and the Beast, but he couldn't image a beast more hideous than the one he had made himself into.

Little did he know that the exact opposite thought had crossed Hermione's mind. Had his scars always been so insignificantly small and pale? They were the same as they had always been, but Hermione realized with astounding clarity that his scars were a part of what she loved about him. They symbolized his desire to change, and he wore them as a badge of honor. Perhaps he didn't see them that way, but Hermione couldn't imagine anything more beautiful than his scarred, longing face.

The moment slipped away, and neither of them felt it when it happened, merely felt a sense of loss when they realized that they had been silently staring at one another for several minutes. They awkwardly stammered, shuffled their feet, put their hands in their pockets, but the moment had passed and they had to deal with the fallout.

They went back to studying the spellbooks, and they stayed there all night, though any hope of retaining information had been lost.

Narcissa Malfoy arrived in her entry hall in a swirl of color, taking a moment to gain her balance before rubbing her eyes wearily. The entire spectacle with Katie Bell should have relieved the Ministry, but it had only made them more antsy. Closer scrutiny had been placed on everyone directly or indirectly involved with the Ministry, and Narcissa was exhausted. All she wanted to do now was get some much-needed sleep.

She quickly pulled out her wand and dimmed the candles around the entry hall, making her way down the hallway toward her bedroom. But as she passed the entrance to her parlor, Narcissa Malfoy received the surprise of her life.

At least a dozen young people stood gathered in the parlor, anger and resolve painting every one of their faces. A tall, red-haired young man stepped forward and, before Narcissa could think or react, had shouted, "Accio wand!" and had her wand in one hand and his own in the other.

"Mrs. Malfoy," he said, ice tinging the edges of his voice and chilling Narcissa to the bone, "we're here for Hermione Granger."

A/N: Hello again! Thank you so much for reading my story! Reviews are appreciated and treasured by yours truly. To all my followers, reviewers, and readers, you absolutely make my day and give me the incentive to keep writing.

Also, school's out now, so I can devote more time to writing. Hopefully, this story will be completed over the summer, but even if it's not, I won't give up on it. If there's one thing I can't stand, it's an uncompleted story.

Anyway, thank you again for reading and tell me what you think of the story so far and where you think it's going. Bye for now!