Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. Just the plot bunny.

Intro: Six months post-war, Malfoy is in serious trouble. He's on the run from the Ministry, Death Eaters, and a deadly curse which is eating him alive. When he hits rock bottom, a change in fortune lands him in 12 Grimmauld Place under the Ministry's custody - and forces Hermione to remember the secrets they've both kept for years. Dramione, Sick!Draco, flashbacks to Hogwarts

Chapter Twenty Two

The tiny kitchen of Grimmauld Place was crammed with people barely half an hour after the attack. Despite the unexpected ambush, injuries had been minor – the Aurors had arrived quickly enough to make the Death Eaters panic and bolt – but the room was tense with the unspoken understanding that this had been too close a shave. Thomas had been caught with an aggressive stupefy and was still shaking off the effects, Luna had sustained a vivid red burn to one cheek and Potter had a large gash on his forehead and a series of scratches from the broken coffee shop window. The whole lot of them looked shaken, aside from Luna who seemed more quietly contemplative as one of the Aurors from the ministry patched up her burns. Those who had been uninjured – George, Ron, Seamus and Pavarti – were grouped around one end of the kitchen table as if in solidarity.

And then there were the Aurors.

The Aurors had descended on the place in alarming speed – five of them in addition to Hestia, followed by six other members of the ministry who set about repairing the coffee shop and the damage to the street. After Draco had finally pulled himself together enough he had been marched back to the house by Hestia, flanked by Hermione and Potter, barely even given time to take in the frenzy of activity around them. Despite his grip on reality being shaken by what he suspected was a pretty nasty concussion and the nausea that had taken hold as soon as he started trying to produce magic, he was able to catch a brief glimpse of bricks flying back into place in walls, a lamppost being uncurled from its crumpled mass on the floor, a small group of muggles who were gazing blankly at a ministry worker, who was telling them in a quiet, calm voice to go home and go about their business as usual. The Aurors flitted across the street, wands drawn, gaze darting frequently to the small group crossing the road to Grimmauld Place. Draco felt their eyes narrow as they focussed on him, and a moment later felt Hermione's small hand slip into his. Despite the solidarity, he knew what the Ministry would be thinking - suspect.

Their group was ushered into the small kitchen of Grimmauld Place - Potter, Hermione, George, Ron, Ginny, Thomas, Finnigan, Luna, Pavarti, and Hestia. People seemed to appear out of nowhere within seconds – McGonagall came spinning out of the fireplace, her face pinched with concern; Mr. Weasley came darting into the room with messy hair and an ashen complexion; four of the Aurors from outside filed in mutely, wands already drawn; even Kingsley Shacklebolt and his right had man appeared. The kitchen was, to say the least, crowded. Draco sat in the chair beside the fire, a seat he had been fervently ushered into and advised to stay in. He didn't like the way the Aurors gathered together on the opposite side of the room, didn't like the way at least one of them was always watching him. Hestia spoke with them for a while in low tones before striding over to him. She had her wand out, and for a moment he was convinced she was about to curse him straight to Azkaban, but instead she leaned over him. Her serious eyes fixed on the bleeding gash her wand was hovering beside, and he was suddenly reminded of the first time he had met her. He almost laughed; he couldn't wait for a month – or even a week – when he could avoid being cursed, jinxed or blown up in one way or another. His head throbbed angrily, chastising him for his most recent scrap, and he was aware of Hermione's eyes repeatedly darting over to him while the others talked quietly. He felt his hands clench anxiously on the arms of the chair and tried to force himself to relax.

"Hold still," Hestia said.

He felt a warm pulse in his head and gritted his teeth. "I am."

"Hold. Still."

He tried to avoid scowling. His ears caught at the conversation taking place on the other side of the room, between Shacklebolt, the Aurors and Potter – Potter who was looking very pale, chewing on his nails, eyes fixed on the kitchen table. He actually looked scared. Something which Draco hadn't seen all that often.

"This is no longer a safehold," Mr. Weasley was saying. "I'm sorry Harry, I know you don't want to hear it-"

"The Death Eaters knew where Grimmauld Place was before, they followed us here once when we were hunting Horcruxes," Ron piped up from the corner. "Why would it suddenly matter now?"

"Because now they feel organised enough to threaten you," McGonagall replied. "Their coming here was not a random attack."

"So, what happens?" Ginny asked, glancing around. "Do we… Is this the start of another war?"

"No," Hestia replied emphatically, straightening up. "It's simply small-scale terrorism. They've shown their hand – the next 72 hours are crucial." She inspected Draco's head for a moment longer. "Alright?"

He knew that she had closed the wound up, but a headache was still splitting his skull. He hadn't stopped shaking since producing the measly amount of magic he had forced during the fight. He didn't trust his voice not to give him away, so he just nodded. He felt like vomiting. He could see from her face that she wasn't fooled, but she turned away from him and moved around the table to stand opposite Harry, her face stern. Hermione, who had been standing just behind her with her arms crossed, instantly stepped forward to stand beside him. Her eyes searched his face, but he looked away.

"They've made their first move, which means they have a plan set in motion," Hestia was saying. "They will have a fall-back strategy."

"What can we do?"

"We've got people tracking them, and we have a team working globally to remain vigilant," Shacklebolt said, his voice as calm and reasonable as ever. "In the meantime, we'll be evacuating this house."

Potter looked up abruptly. "No. This is… No."

"Harry, it's no longer safe here," McGonagall put in.

"This is my home, this is the only home I've…"

Harry trailed off and Ginny reached out to put her hand on his arm. Draco had a sudden memory of Malfoy Manor, of sprinting down the huge staircase as a child, breathless, engaged in some game or other. Potter had never quite had a real home, if he remembered correctly. He had grown up with Muggles who, as Draco understood it, were more than a little averse to the wizarding world. Which meant that Grimmauld Place, being the only house Potter had ever lived in out of choice, must be important to him. The way his face was becoming as hard and impassive as stone would suggest that leaving it did not feel like an option.

"It's not forever," Mr. Weasley said kindly. "The Ministry is close to shutting them down-"

"In what way?" Potter demanded, his voice tight. He looked sharply from Shacklebolt to Hestia. "Since when?"

Shacklebolt frowned. "It's too dangerous to stay here. Better we move you out to a safehouse until this is over."

"And when will that be?"

"As long as it takes."

"What about our Auror training?" Ron put in, half-rising from the table. "We want to fight, we want to be involved–"

"And you will be, but not on the front lines," Mr. Weasley said, his voice suddenly quiet.

The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment. Mr. Weasely's point was all too clear – even Draco felt the absence in the room. Eyes glanced awkwardly at George and then away. George said nothing, his arms folding over his chest, his eyes glittering silently. Ron's face twisted as if he wanted to argue, but eventually he too pressed his lips shut. Ginny spoke up eventually, pulling the conversation away from subjects too raw to be spoken aloud.

"So where? Where are we going?"

Hestia had remained surprisingly quiet during the discussion. Her hands were clasped behind her back, gripping her wand, and her mood was decidedly sullen. Draco got the impression that she had failed in some way, that she was about to be put on trial herself. But now, Shacklebolt looked pointedly at her and her shoulders straightened. She took a small step forward, taking leadership. Her gaze moved slowly across the upturned faces in the room.

"You'll each be transferred to a location outside of London tonight. Luna and Pavarti, you'll go with McGonagall; Dean, Seamus and Neville with Patrick; Ron, George and Ginny with your parents; Harry and Hermione with me. The location of each group will not be shared further than its members."

There was a beat, and Draco felt something in his stomach curl up. The omission of his own name from the list confirmed the fearful voices that had been whispering in the back of his mind. He wished he could excuse himself before the meaning became clear to the rest of the group, but he got the impression that would not be permitted. Hermione broke the pause, her voice small.

"And Draco?"

Hestia shot him a glance, and then immediately looked away again. He knew at once that what she was about to say wasn't good.

"Malfoy is to remain here under surveillance."

"Wait, what?"

"The attack came at the same time as the suspect's return," one of the Aurors said coldly. "We can't rule out the possibility that he was involved."

Draco felt all eyes in the room fix on him. He directed his own gaze down at the floor, his heart drumming fast in his chest. He had, once again, made the mistake of thinking that they had actually started to accept him. His lips twisted into the sneer he was able to hide behind, but Hermione was speaking up furiously.

"What? After all we've… Draco's proven that he's got nothing to do with–"

"He's proved nothing, only used our resources to heal himself."

"The fact he even had the curse in the first place shows–"

"It could have been a way to gain our trust. We can't be certain."

"If he's staying, I'm staying."

Draco swallowed hard. "Hermione."

She looked at him, her brown eyes shimmering dangerously. Her head shook the smallest amount, daring him to silence her, her arms still folded tightly across her chest. She stood there in the way that a sea wall stands against the tide. And despite their earlier argument, he couldn't help but feel a well of fondness for her. She had said she would side with him still, and she was not going back on her word. He tried to pour everything he meant into his gaze, trying to ignore the other people crowded around them. Not the best place for a domestic.

"It's ok."

"No, it's not."

"They're right, you golden kids will be their target," he tried to retain some hint of mockery in his tone, even as his lips quirked unexpectedly. "It would be stupid not to hide."

"So you consider staying here hiding?"

He made the mistake of hesitating and she stabbed a finger at him, the colour rising to her cheeks. As always, she was too quick-witted to be fobbed off with Hestia's placating words.

"Of course you don't! Everyone here knows that the Death Eaters want you dead almost as much as they want us dead."

She turned on her heel, facing up to the Aurors, and to Hestia who was looking stoically at the tabletop.

"You can't just keep him here, completely defenceless, when they have a vendetta against him–"

His pride flared. "Hermione, I'm fine."

"Really?" her voice was shaking. She pointed fiercely at the kitchen sink, beside which the washing up was in its usual pile. "Accio that cup."

Despair and anger turned his skin cold and he looked back at her, his eyes narrowing. The room had turned silent, most people looking puzzled by her request, others understanding. Not everyone knew that he was having trouble with magic. And he most certainly did not want to be exposed like this. Sure, he had been getting better at performing spells and had just about managed to hold his own during the skirmish that day, but it had taken so much out of him. He did not enjoy feeling like a waste of space.

"Malfoy?" Hestia prompted. "Are you unable to perform magic?"

He gritted his teeth. Potter, of all people, suddenly spoke up.

"No, he was fighting just now. Outside…"

He trailed off as Hermione shook her head. "Since the curse, he hasn't been able to cast like he used to. He's getting better, but he won't be able to do anything after this morning."

Her words burned in his ears, and he removed his eyes from hers instantly, seething. She had betrayed his biggest insecurity in front of a room packed with people who hated him. It was incredibly difficult to see the advantages of such a decision. McGonagall cleared her throat, apparently trying to dispel some of the tension.

"Mr. Malfoy, could you please try Accio for us?"

So, he had no choice. He sat there for a few moments longer, sullen-faced, trying to think of a way out. But they were waiting, and the longer the silence dragged on, the worse his humiliation would be. So he clenched his jaw, pulled out his wand, and glared at the cup across the room. He still felt dizzy and sick from the last hour of conflict, but his pride wouldn't allow him to admit that he couldn't do it. He tried non-verbally at first, knowing it wouldn't work, and then finally muttered the incantation, his lips stiff.

"Accio."

Heads turned to look at the cup. Apart from Hestia, who he could see watching him from the corner of her eye. His fists clenched reflexively, and he tried to pour everything he had into the spell. Almost at once the pounding in his head leapt to an unbearable level – he let his arm drop, swallowing back a gasp, gripping the bridge of his nose in an attempt to relieve the pressure. His vision was uncomfortably blotchy, and it took a few moments to blink away the dark patches. When he risked glancing up, he saw that the cup had indeed moved – it had tipped onto its side, the dregs of water inside spreading over the counter. The shame in his stomach veered towards rage, and he fixed his eyes on the floor, unable to risk looking at any of them should it explode out of him.

"It's not uncommon in severe magical maladies," McGonagall was saying. "It will, I'm sure, come back with time."

He was still lightheaded, and he hated it. He felt more than heard Hermione moving back over towards him, but refused to look up. She had given him away, forced himself to show that he was weak in front of the others, and he did not want their pity or hers.

"We will need guards here anyway," Hestia said, as if nothing had happened. "For now, one of our Aurors will remain to keep an eye on him. Once we get security over to this place they can both observe and defend him."

"We're not splitting up," Hermione insisted.

"We are."

"Draco–"

"This is not up for discussion," Shacklebolt interrupted, his loud voice cutting decisively through the air. "We stick to the plan. If the Death Eaters have not been subdued in a week's time we'll review."

Hermione's lips closed, her eyes narrowed, and her shoulders grew rigid. Draco almost laughed – it was as if they knew exactly what to say to get her to avoid cooperating at any costs. With any luck, Hestia would be able to keep her and Potter out of trouble. George cleared his throat tentatively.

"What if someone else stays here too? Not one of the, ah, golden trio."

Ron looked over sharply, and Draco almost smiled. George taking up the term was a new development, and one which seemed to irk Ron considerably.

"None of you are suitable to remain behind," one of the Auror's replied wearily. "You all seem to have become, for some reason, acquainted with the suspect. This means we can't trust you not to make the right decision in a crisis."

"Not all of them, actually," Hestia said. She cocked her head. "Ron, you've been training with me for a while. You've shown good progress. What if you remain here with our Auror and Mr. Malfoy as additional security until reinforcements arrive?"

Ron rose at once out of his chair, his eyes widening. Draco almost swore aloud. As if things weren't bad enough, Hestia just had to twist the knife. Mr. Weasley was shaking his head already, but Draco could see the spark in the Weasel's eyes – he couldn't resist the opportunity to finally have the upper hand on him.

"I can assure you that there is, shall we say, limited friendship between these two," Hestia continued, directing her words at the other Aurors. "Perhaps that will satisfy both parties."

There was an uncomfortable silence, and it was quite clear that neither party was all that satisfied. Draco made the mistake of making eye contact with the Weasel, and gritted his teeth against the barely suppressed delight on the other boy's face. Ron, at least, was quite happy with his new role as prison guard. Shacklebolt offered a short nod.

"Only until reinforcements arrive. At which point, Miss Granger, this building will be quite secure." He gestured to his companion and made his way across the room towards the fireplace. "I expect you all to be thoroughly compliant with any request Hestia makes. She's here, after all, for your safety."

He stopped beside Draco as he took a scoop of Floo powder from the box on the fireplace, and for a moment their eyes met. Draco managed to pull a humourless smirk onto his face in an effort of defiance, but something told him that he didn't quite pull it off. And before he could try again, Shacklebolt had stepped into the fireplace and disappeared with his right hand man in flash of green light. The kitchen became quiet. Hestia lifted her chin pointedly.

"Everyone ready in twenty minutes," she said in a clipped tone. "I suggest you start packing."

Slowly the others began getting up from the table and filed off towards the stairs. Hermione stayed, her arms still resolutely folded. Draco kept his gaze on the fire. He knew that George was trying to catch his eye from across the room, but he didn't want conversation. His head was pounding viciously, and he could feel cold sweat drying on the back of his neck. He found himself wishing they had never left the cottage by the sea. Any interaction with the others only seemed to lead to catastrophe. He noticed that the Auror who had been tasked with watching him had remained where he was and suppressed a groan of frustration.

He huddled over himself, resting his elbows on his knees and his forehead against his knuckles. All he wanted to do was retreat back to his old attic room and sleep and smoke cigarettes until it was all over. His whole body ached, not to mention the fact that his pride had been stamped into the ground in front of the whole bloody pack of them. He heard footsteps and groaned under his breath.

"What? You want me to put on another little demonstration for them?"

He sounded too tired to pull off the sarcasm. Hermione crouched in front of him and he felt her hand on his knee, felt her hesitation tremble for a couple of moments before she spoke. He could almost hear her mind buzzing like a beehive, refusing to drop the subject, unable to let an unsolved puzzle lie.

"You can't stay here on your own. We shouldn't split up."

The mixture of frustration at his inability to defend himself and warmth at her steadfast resolve not to leave him behind provoked a short laugh. "We don't have a choice."

"I don't trust them to defend you," Hermione hissed. "And I'm not letting anything happen to you, you're barely back on your feet-"

"Hermione for fuck's sake, I'm not made of glass."

But despite the clipped words, he knew she was right. Splitting up felt like the worst decision in the world right now. After having her within shouting distance for so long, after having her close enough to be a combination of guardian and lover, the idea of her disappearing off to an unknown location left a bad taste in his mouth. Yet, unlike her, he was quicker to accept that the Ministry was not going to change its mind. Heaving out a sigh, he lowered his hands and looked back at her, resolved to place his hand over hers where it rested on his leg. An olive branch.

"We're better off playing their game for now," he said. "They don't need any more reasons not to trust me."

She shook her head, but he could see that she was beginning to admit defeat. She wove her fingers between his, looking immeasurably dejected, and he forced himself to shake off his bad mood. He leaned forward on his chair and pressed a slow kiss against her forehead.

"Go pack," he muttered against her. "Still got your stone?"

She slipped her hand into her pocket, withdrew it with the stone clasped between her fingers for him to see. He nodded.

"Me too. So we'll be fine. I'll check in with you every couple of hours."

She sighed heavily, and then pushed herself up to her feet. He held her serious brown-eyed gaze for a moment longer until she finally relented and turned away towards the stairs. Her feet dragged as she made her way across the kitchen, but she didn't look back at him before she made it to the stairs. He listened to her footsteps grow faint before putting his head back into his hands and letting a breath he didn't know he had been holding rush out of him. He remained like that until she came back down, making a point not to meet the laser-eyed stare of the Auror across the room.

She came down bundled in her coat, her backpack hefted on one shoulder. At her collarbone a glimmer of light reflected, and he realised she had put on the necklace he had given her all that time ago at Hogwarts. The one she used to wear under her shirt, hidden but for the odd occasion her fingertips would lift to brush against it halfway through a class, letting him know in the most subtle way that she had it on. He felt moved by the gesture, and rose up out of the chair to meet her. Everything she did was with purpose – he knew she had put it on as a show of solidarity, as a way of holding onto him from a distance. She shot the watching Auror a glare before she pressed a kiss against his cheek.

"Don't forget," she said softly. "You said you weren't going anywhere. So you better not. And remember – every two hours."

"I'll be right here," he replied. "Promise."

She smiled, but her eyes remained sad and haunted. He shivered slightly as she drew away, unable to shake off the feeling that she knew more than he, that something bad would happen as soon as she set foot out of the door. He heard the thunder of footsteps in the hallway upstairs, and knew that they would be getting ready to go. He heard the hum of voices, listened as they disappeared one by one. As he sat down again in his chair, he was suddenly struck by the realisation that he had no idea how long it would be before he could see her again. His hand snaked automatically into his jacket pocket and closed around the smooth stone which always lay there. Now, more than ever, he was grateful to have a piece of her with him still.

He kept his fingers wrapped around it for so long that he lost track of time, trying to picture where she was, trying to imagine where Hestia would take them. It could be anywhere in the country, from a basement flat in Manchester to a mountain top in Aberdeen. His eyes wandered to the fire blazing in the grate, and the flickering light etched into his eyes. He managed to forget that the Auror was even there until the other man cleared his throat. Upon the reminder, he schooled his features into a scowl and climbed out of the chair, preferring not to sit in awkward silence with a stranger who, no doubt, believed him to be a Death Eater. The Auror straightened up at once, eyes trained on his every move. Draco smirked.

"Am I permitted to go for a cigarette?" he asked, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "Or are you going to tie me down?"

The Auror just looked at him. Draco cast his eyes upwards and pushed himself up out of the chair. He moved gingerly towards the stairs, hating that every movement felt painful.

"You know… that's not a bad idea."

Draco froze. The Auror was the only other person in the room, and yet the voice with which he had spoken was not his own. It was different, slightly distorted, and yet becoming clearer and more recognisable with every second. His hand moved at once to his wand and drew it.

"I mean, I wouldn't want you wandering off. Not when we've only just become reunited."

He wished he could convince himself that he was hallucinating, but that didn't happen to him anymore. Which meant that the voice was real. He forced himself to turn around in time to see the Auror's hair rippling, turning from dark to dirty blonde as he too turned, his features twisting and blurring as if seen from behind warped glass, and then becoming horribly clear. Draco's mouth had turned dry. He tried to disguise the shock that must have shown on his face. The man standing across the room took a step towards him.

"Malfoy."

Draco wet his lips. "Travers."

He found himself reaching for the kitchen counter, his other hand lifting his wand. His wand, which had just been exposed as useless. He thought at once of the stone in his pocket – if he could get a message to Hermione, who could then alert Hestia… Travers pulled his wand from his pocket and pointed it purposefully at Draco's head.

"Put that down and keep your hands where I can see them, eh?" he said in a low, dangerous tone. "Always were a slippery little snake, weren't you?"

Draco kept hold of his wand, wondering if he could somehow bluff his way out of it – if he pretended to cast to make Travers take cover and made a break for the stairs, if he did something… The smirk on Travers' face disappeared and the tip of his wand began to glow warningly.

'"Accio that cup, Draco darling.' Don't be stupid, I was saw the whole show." He cocked his head. "You know, I think it might be difficult to keep you as our hostage if you don't have a face."

His point was all too clear. Loathing every second of it, Draco slowly placed his wand on the kitchen counter and lifted his hands, never breaking eye contact with Travers. His ears strained for any sound of movement upstairs, any indication that the Weasel was coming down. Where the hell was the other boy anyway? Travers lazily Accio'd the wand, pocketed it, and then held out his hand again.

"Come on," he said in response to Draco's raised eyebrow. "How stupid do you think I am?"

Draco said nothing. His heart lurched violently and he could feel sweat prickling on his forehead. He couldn't allow what Travers was asking. Again, the tip of the wand aimed at his head sparked.

"You were going to communicate with her. She had a rock of some kind. Protean Charm, is it? Where's yours?"

Silence shivered in the small kitchen, disturbed intermittently by the crackling fire. Draco considered taking the stone from his pocket and hurling it into the flames, but he knew it wouldn't be destroyed. Travers would simply fish it out again. His mind spun with everything he knew about the charm – as far as he could remember, he didn't think it could be used to track the partner. And he knew better than to test Travers' patience. Slowly, loathing every second of it, he slipped his hand into his pocket and pulled out the smooth stone. His lifeline. Before he could even hold it out, the stone had flown out of his palm and into Travers' waiting fingers. The Death Eater grinned and settled back against the counter on the other side of the room.

"Don't worry, we won't be long."

Draco swallowed hard. He didn't know if he was more afraid or angry. He stared at the stone as Travers span it between his fingers, watching it grow more tainted with every passing second. His pricked ears caught the click of the front door, heard slow, heavy footfalls on the tiled hallway floor. He wanted to believe it was Hestia or one of the others coming back, but Travers' smirk did nothing to comfort him. He heard the drumming footsteps of someone on the staircase above them. Weasley. It must be. A muffled shout, the rattle of curses bouncing off the corridor walls, a violent bang followed by utter silence. Travers did not move from his spot at the end of the kitchen, and his relaxed composure wore against Draco's nerves like a pestle against grain. He could feel his raised hands trembling, and hated knowing that Travers had probably noticed.

Footsteps sounded on the stairs, and Draco dared to feel hopeful that the Weasel was coming down, that perhaps he had come in useful after all. That is, until Travers smiled and called out.

"Down here."

The kitchen door opened. A lean face appeared out of the darkness, and Draco's stomach lurched unpleasantly. Travers' voice was silky with triumph.

"The other one?"

"Incapacitated," Selwyn replied, moving fully into the room. "The Ministry?"

"Didn't suspect a thing, and they won't find this Auror's body for another two days at least." Travers indicated his Ministry uniform. "Ready?"

Selwyn turned his gaze on Draco. "I hear your magic's been neutered. Funny that."

Draco stared back at him, steadfast. He thought of the complete silence in the hallway and strained his ears for any sign of movement – he wasn't quite ready to face up to the fact that Weasely could well be dead. Although 'incapacitated' did not sound like a final enough sentence for that. Travers finally pushed away from the counter, and the two of them moved in like wolves on their prey.

"Ready to go, Malfoy?" Travers said. "We've called a meeting."

Draco's skin flooded with chills. He didn't have time to think of a sarcastic response – Travers' hand was already closing around his arm. So he did the only thing he could think of – he gripped Travers back, drew back his elbow, and delivered a punch to the Death Eater's face. It was the kind of action that screamed of desperation, a feeling he didn't enjoy much at all, but he knew what would happen if he let them take him. As Travers staggered backwards against the kitchen counter, he felt the heat of a jinx rush close to his face. He whirled around and threw himself at Selwyn with all he had.

He could only hope it would be enough.

~O~

Hermione's fingers drummed against the arms of the chair she was sitting in. The other hand held tight to her Protean Charm stone, waiting for the heat that would indicate a message coming in. She had sent a few words since they arrived at the tiny flat in Brighton, but had so far heard nothing but silence. Hestia had disappeared into another room of the flat and Hermione could hear the rumble of her speaking – she could only assume the Ministry was having a meeting to plan how they would move forward. She glanced at her watch, and decided she would give him another half hour to respond before going to knock on the door.

It had been three hours since they had parted.

She tried not to let her mind run. The Protean Charm could have failed – he could have dropped it, or left it somewhere, or fallen asleep – anything could explain away his lack of response. The only reason she wasn't panicking yet was because they were with Hestia, and Hestia would be able to confirm what was going on. She would have ordered security to be stationed at Grimmauld Place, and would raise the alarm if something went wrong. Still, Hermione couldn't relax until she was sure. She watched Harry, who was sitting on the other side of the tiny kitchen table, staring grimly at the floor. He had not been invited to whatever meeting Hestia was having – a fact that seemed unusual, but which Hermione couldn't bring herself to wonder about with everything else that was happening. He hadn't argued much, perhaps preferring to sit with her in silence, waiting for answers to be delivered up to them out of the darkness.

The place was small, the kitchen in particular so tiny that she could almost touch each opposite wall by reaching out her arms. The cabinets jutted out at awkward angles and the fridge seemed to take up a whole quarter of the room. The cramped conditions did nothing to comfort her trembling nerves. It seemed a strange place for Hestia to live. The Ministry could surely enhance spaces with magic, or at least maintain some of the mould that seemed to be growing in on corner of the ceiling. She looked down at the stone, wondering for the hundredth time if she had missed a message come in, but it was still blank. She sent another, chewing on her lip as she did so.

Is security there yet?

She felt as if she was speaking the words into a black hole. Her eyes travelled again over the cupboard doors, across the grimy sink.

"Hermione?"

She glanced up. Harry's eyes were on her, his face sombre. He had been slouched in his chair like a deflated balloon since the moment they had arrived. He glanced at the door to the corridor, which stood ajar, before continuing.

"What do you think the chances are of the Death Eaters being found within the next couple of days?"

She shrugged. "They've been clever enough not to be caught so far. If they have any sense they will have gone straight back underground, and they won't come out until the Aurors lose the scent."

"You don't think they can be tracked?"

"Do you?"

Harry grimaced. "I don't understand what Hestia thinks they can do now that they haven't tried before. If any new information had come to light, we would have heard about it by now."

"Hmm."

He sighed. "You ok?"

She met his gaze. He looked like she felt. His brow was permanently furrowed with concern, his hands wringing uncertainly together, his lips tightening. He had not yet taken off his coat, and she knew that he didn't want to accept that he had been evicted from the first real home he had. Maybe he thought that they might still go back that very night. She wet her lips and spoke.

"I asked Draco to check in with me. He hasn't yet."

"I seem to remember him holding grudges," Harry replied, managing a small smile. "Maybe he's pissed."

"Don't think so."

"Maybe he's asleep?"

He was voicing all of the thoughts that had been running circles in her head, and yet it did nothing to calm her. She just shrugged. She searched for some way to shift their conversation away from her fretting, and was handed an opportunity by the sombre expression on his face.

"Are you alright?" she said. "I'm sure we'll be back at Grimmauld Place before long. This chase can't go on forever."

Harry grimaced. "It's dragged on for so much longer than I thought it would. If you told me at the Battle that I'd still be worried about Death Eaters after so many months, I would've told you to get lost."

"The Ministry will find them."

Her words sounded empty to her own ears. She was sick of hearing it too. The exhilaration in the aftermath of the battle had made her feel like they could do anything, that they could close the chapter of their lives when they had to be afraid all the time. And yet still they couldn't shake off the residual wounds Voldemort had burned into each of them. She could imagine that the frustration was somewhat more tangible for Harry, who at that moment looked up at her with an earnest expression on his face.

"When do you think this is going to be over?" Once again, he was reading her mind. "When are we going to be able to talk about this in the past tense?"

"I don't know Harry," she said honestly. "Maybe it's never over. Maybe it just depends how far away from it you get."

His face fell in the most microscopic way, and she instantly regretted her words. She had wanted to be reassuring, but her current mood was doing nothing to help bring optimism to the conversation. She opened her mouth to try to fix it, but even as she began to speak the stone in her hand grew warm and she lurched upright in her seat, her heart leaping with a thrill of surprise and relief. She heard Harry huff out a small laugh at her reaction.

"There you go. Told you he'd get back in touch."

She stared at the stone, reading the words again and again, trying to make them form sense in her head. The pause stretched longer, and Harry cleared his throat.

"Hermione?"

She lifted up the stone for him to read the words that were chasing across its surface.

Hestia is traitor. Meet at Knockturn.

She watched his eyes read and re-read the message. He looked up at her, clearly shaken, words trembling on the brink of his tongue. She put a finger to her lips and snatched up her wand. Within seconds the door to the corridor had closed and a silencing charm was settling over them to mask their words from any listening ears. She was reminded vividly of their days hiding in the forest, and at once felt adrenaline begin to pulse in her fingertips. Harry sat upright in his seat.

"Is that from Malfoy?"

She nodded.

"Why would he say that?"

Her mind was racing. She had so many questions, and yet the message left no room for any of them. And yet, wouldn't it make sense? The more she thought about it, the more the statement answered some gaps in the Ministry's strategy that had been steadily widening over the last month. Hestia was the most informed of their behaviour, it had been her idea to split up, she had been in charge of locating the remaining Death Eaters… Had Draco taken so long to reply because something had happened after they had left? Had Hestia known something would happen, and therefore arranged for him to be left at Grimmauld Place alone, for them to be separated, and then hidden herself away to avoid any questions she or Harry might have?

"It's impossible," Harry said, whispering despite her charm. "How could–"

"Nothing's impossible," she replied, her voice hard. "Peter Pettigrew lived as a rat for fifteen years. Lucius Malfoy worked at the Ministry for Magic."

"But… Hestia?"

"Harry." She found herself looking furtively at the door to the hallway. "What if Hestia hasn't found the Death Eaters yet because she's not really looking for them? How can it taken a whole division of Aurors in the Ministry so long to find a tiny group of Voldemort's idolisers?"

"But why would she–"

"She's brought us here alone. None of the others know where we are."

Harry stared at her, his eyes wide and glassy. He glanced over his shoulder, and she knew that just like her, he was beginning to feel a thrill of terror in his bones. His tongue darted across his lips.

"Hermione… I know you don't want to hear this, but is there any chance that–"

"What?"

Her voice was low and cold – she knew what he was about to ask. And she was so exhausted of hearing that question. Harry clocked her tone but only hesitated for a moment before pushing on, holding eye contact with her.

"Is there any chance that Malfoy has been playing us somehow?"

Despite the frustration and anger that boiled up in her, she made an effort to consider his perspective. She tried to question Draco's loyalty. But she could see him diving out of the air to pull her from a freezing lake, she could see him standing between her and Bellatrix at Malfoy Manor, she could see him torn apart by a curse he had taken for her, and she knew. She tried to keep her voice cordial when she replied.

"It's not even a question. And, after five years, I think I know him better than you know Hestia."

Harry had the decency to look guilty. But he was still undecided, still unsure.

"But what about Ron, why would he go along with something like this? And why Knockturn Alley? That's the last place–"

"Maybe he doesn't know either. And Knockturn Alley is out of sight of the Ministry, isn't it? And if Hestia is a traitor…"

Harry shook his head. "This is too… We can't just…"

She trained her eyes on the table, blocking out his halting words. Despite her certainty that Draco wouldn't lie to her, she understood Harry's hesitation. Knockturn Alley, in particular, stood out as strange. She and Draco had a hundred secret places only the two of them knew – why would he choose a potentially dangerous location? And it didn't seem possible that Hestia could be a double agent, not when the Ministry was run by Shacklebolt and the rest of the Order… although the length of time their guardian had spent locked away in her room was beginning to make Hermione's skin prickle. She didn't like that they were isolated. She didn't like not knowing, not having control of the situation. She had felt safer out in the woods in a tent, on the run from the whole world, than she felt now.

She stood abruptly, snatching up her scarf and coat. Harry scrambled to his feet too, reaching across the table to grab her arm.

"Hermione, wait – we're not just rushing over there. We can't."

"I'm not staying here," she hissed back, pulling free and dragging her coat on. "I'm going to Grimmauld Place."

"Why?"

"Because if Draco and Ron are there, the message is fake. And if they aren't–"

"It could still be fake!"

"But then we'll know one way or another if they're alright."

Harry's face twisted. She could see the tug of war going on in his own mind, and knew that he didn't want to be left behind sitting in a dingy kitchen any more than she did. After being at the centre of the action for so long, sitting on the sidelines didn't suit either of them. He glanced over his shoulder at the hallway door again.

"And then what? We don't have a plan here, we're making ourselves vulnerable."

"Harry, Draco should have contacted me an hour ago!" she snapped. "I don't care about a plan. Something feels wrong, and I know you think so too. I'm going back there."

"Hermione, we should wait for Hestia–"

"Why? So she can figure out what we know?"

"Fine, fine! Then I'm coming with you."

She caught her breath, filled with relief she didn't know she had been waiting for. Because even though she would have gone alone, she really, really didn't want to. A brief memory flashed through her mind – a massive, three-headed dog looming out of the darkness towards them, a hand which had been much smaller then grasping for her sleeve. She almost felt her chest grow tight at the thought. Somehow, no matter how bad things got, they were able to stay beside one another. A thought that made the fact that Ron was not with them suddenly wrong, and filled her with renewed determination.

Harry looked down at his bag, but then seemed to decide against bringing it and simply held out his hand. She took it, and they both lifted their wands.

"Ready?" he said.

She nodded. Together they rolled through the familiar squeezing darkness until Grimmauld Place appeared before them. For a moment, she saw the lights on in the upstairs windows and allowed herself to believe that it had all been some kind of mistake, that the house was untouched. But then her gaze moved lower, and her stomach dropped. She crossed the street almost without looking for cars, Harry hot on her heels.

"Slow down, Hermione–"

"Harry, the door."

"What?"

"The door."

Her voice was tight with panic and her shoulders were beginning to shake with terror. She flew up the stairs to the front door, which was hanging ajar. She shot a quick glance back at Harry, who had fallen silent. She lifted her wand and listened for a moment, but the house seemed quiet. Slowly, she inched the door open.

The hallway beyond had been wrecked. The walls were scorched with blasts from curses, and the mirror that usually stood on the wall had shattered. Hermione's eyes darted across the scene, all too aware of the sharp intake of breath she had heard behind her. She made for the stairs, her heart in her throat. Harry seemed to find his voice again.

"Hermione, careful–"

"Check this floor and the kitchen. Now."

She knew she should be checking more carefully, but there was no time. She flew from room to room, knowing more with every door she kicked open that she was going to find nothing. She reached the attic room last, and forced herself to breathe deeply before pushing the door open. For a moment she was convinced she would see a body, but the room was quiet and empty. The bed was made. The surfaces were spotless. No one had been in there. The house was as silent and empty as a tomb.

She heard Harry calling for her and made her way numbly down the stairs, her legs tripping over one another as she went. She could hear her own blood in her ears, roaring like static from a broken television. Harry was on the first floor landing, his eyes wide with panic. His white-knuckled hands gripped the banister of the staircase.

"There's no one downstairs."

She shook her head. "They're gone."

There was an anxious pause. She knew that they were both thinking of the message from the stone, and of the sender. She heard Harry take a deep breath.

"Ok. So, first scenario – the Death Eaters came, Malfoy and Ron fought back and escaped. And they messaged us to meet them at Knockturn Alley. Second scenario…"

"What second scenario?" she demanded as his voice trailed off. "Harry, the house is a mess. Where's the Ministry? Where's the security team Hestia was supposed to call in?"

Harry opened his mouth and then closed it again. Hermione snatched at the banister. Her palms were sweating and her skin was prickling with sheer panic. Her mind wouldn't accept what she was being faced with. That she had been so sure that something would go wrong, and then let everyone convince her to go along with the plan anyway. That she had left him alone in the state he was in. But the message on the stone meant that he must be alive, must be alright… She looked up at Harry.

"I'm going to Knockturn Alley. I have to."

Harry's face was very pale. His eyes travelled down the stairs, towards the chaos in the entrance hall, tracing the shards of glass on the floor. She suddenly realised that the first time Death Eaters had broken into a home belonging to him, his parents had been killed. And now, his best friend was missing. She took a step towards him, opening her mouth to offer comfort, but he suddenly turned back towards her. His voice was unwavering when he spoke.

"Let's go."

He took her hand and 12 Grimmauld Place melted into nothingness around them.

The sight of Knockturn Alley that took its place was as dark and cold as she remembered. A thick fog had rolled in over London since their Quidditch game that afternoon, and the lights from the streetlamps and shops were little more than smudges of orange in the haze. The damp mist clung to her hair and skin, her ears caught at the sound of water drizzling somewhere nearby. The air had that heavy, expectant quality which suggested imminent rain. She turned up the collar of her coat against it, and glanced at Harry. His green eyes were shining nervously back at her in the dark, his skin waxy bright against his hair. Despite her resolution to plunge into the unknown, to demand the truth, actually seeing Knockturn Alley materialize around them brought more uncertainty to her mind than she cared to admit.

"Where should we go?"

She remained still and quiet. She was beginning to regret her decision to go in there blind – even more so for bringing Harry too. She felt like the two of them were standing on the edge of a cliff, looking down at a roaring ocean, a pack of wolves howling somewhere in the darkness behind them. They were in limbo – until they could confirm things one way or another, they would not know who to trust, or what their next move could be.

"We have to wait for a sign," she replied eventually.

She led the way forward, and Harry followed close behind her. Her eyes flicked to and fro, seeking out shadowy figures in the dimness, but she could see no one. It wasn't the sort of night to be out in. The shops were dark, the signs in the windows flipped to 'closed'. Up ahead was Borgin and Burkes, a shop she remembered from their brief previous visit to the area, and she made for it automatically. Between its large, dull window and the opening of an alleyway was a corner, just big enough for the two of them to slip into, out of sight of prying eyes. She pressed herself back against the cold bricks, Harry following suit. He spoke up once more, keeping his voice to a whisper.

"Maybe you should reply to his message?"

She nodded and reached into her pocket for the stone with shaking hands. She hesitated as she crafted the message to send back, rewording it a couple of times in her head. She wasn't sure why, but something still felt wrong. Perhaps it was simply being in Knockturn Alley, but she felt somehow that the whole situation was slightly off key. As if she had come home one day and found everything she owned replaced with an exact replica. She thumbed the stone worriedly, but eventually sent through a brief response – Here. She returned the stone to her pocket. Either way, there was no going back now.

"We've been out of the safehouse for about fifteen minutes," she said softly. "Hestia must have had an alarm set up for people Apparating in and out. She might have already realised we're missing."

Harry's eyebrow quirked. "We should contact Arthur. Or George. What if they're in trouble too?"

She fastened her teeth over her bottom lip. In her rush to make sure Draco was safe, she hadn't stopped to think about the fate of the others. If Hestia was a traitor in some way, it was entirely possible that some of the other Aurors were too – how could they be sure that the others hadn't met a similar fate as Draco and Ron after being transported to their various locations? It was not a particularly encouraging thought, and she could tell by the sheen in Harry's eyes that he was feeling the same sense of creeping despair. And yet, as she tried to pull herself together and muster a plan, a shock of white blond hair appeared at the end of the alleyway to their left, and she felt her heart stop in her chest.

She lurched forward before Harry could grab for her, stepping into the light of the lamppost at the mouth of the alleyway. She didn't have to speak – the figure ahead of her cocked his head towards the fork at the other end of the passage and then promptly disappeared around the corner. She flew into action. She heard the smack of Harry's trainers against the stone floor as he hurried after her, heard his breathless voice in her ear.

"Hermione, be careful!"

She lifted her wand in a wordless response. She strode to the end of the alleyway, rounded the corner – and found herself face to face with clear, blue-grey eyes. His lips quirked and his teeth appeared between them for a fraction of a second.

"You got my message?"

A sob forced itself into her throat and she threw herself at him, unable to believe he was real until her arms closed around his shoulders. His hands lifted to her back as she clung on, desperately trying to keep her emotions in check.

"Draco… Draco, god, I was so…"

His body was slightly stiff under her arms, and she slowly drew back, looking him again in the face. He held her glance briefly, a thin grimace chasing across his face, and then his eyes moved towards Harry. She let go, sensing a reluctance in him, trying to figure out what it was. Was he angry that she had left him alone at Grimmauld Place? Had he been hurt somehow? But his disposition was not particularly sour – he even smiled as he pushed his hands into his pockets, casting a look around the deserted alleyway.

"Did you come alone?"

She fumbled for words. "Yes, we didn't–"

"What the hell's going on, Malfoy?" Harry broke in, apparently unable to hold back any longer. "Where's Ron? What's all this about Hestia?"

Draco jerked his head absently. "Death Eaters ambushed Grimmauld Place. Ron and I fought them off, but we had to make a run for it."

"But how is Hestia involved?"

His eyes shifted towards the end of the alleyway. "We can't talk freely here. Come on."

He turned away and headed towards a pile of bins in the corner. Her eyes travelled to the hem of his coat, which hung down almost to his knees and was slightly ragged. She was sure he hadn't been wearing it when they had last seen each other. The obvious answer would have been that he had grabbed it from Grimmauld Place before escaping. She watched as he reached the bins and clawed through the top pile of rubbish inside, pulling out a tin cup. He returned, holding it up.

"A portkey?" she said, raising one eyebrow. "Where does it lead?"

"Not here."

"Obviously," Harry snapped.

She felt a ripple of cool air pass over her – Harry had muttered a silencio. He had been hovering behind her shoulder, but now he moved up to stand in line with her, his eyes narrowed behind his wire-rimmed glasses. Draco looked back at him, eyebrows arched, an almost bemused expression on his face.

"Problem?"

"You're fucking right there's a problem." Harry was practically spitting through his teeth. "You don't just… just call us here, telling us that Hestia's a traitor, and then expect us to follow you wherever you say. My house is in pieces, my best friend is missing – I'm not going anywhere until you explain what happened."

"We don't have time for–"

"Where. Is. Ron."

Hermione stood silent, watching Draco's face. It had hardly changed throughout the whole conversation. Ordinarily he would start rolling his eyes, or plaster on a sneer as soon as his decisions were challenged. He looked perfectly normal – even the cut on his head from that afternoon was there – but something felt different. She couldn't explain it, even to herself, but the hairs on the back of her neck were standing on end. Draco's ice blue eyes, eyes she had woken up to every day for the past month, slid towards her.

"Ron's not here," he said. "He was injured in the fight."

Harry's frustration deflated at once. He looked at her quickly, clearly shaken, but she kept her eyes on Draco. She was waiting for him to push his hair back out of his face, as he always did when he was uncomfortable. She noted that she had not had the same reaction Harry had experienced to the news of Ron, and added that to the growing list of inconsistencies.

"What happened?" Harry said haltingly, the aggression leaking out of his voice. "Is he ok?"

"That's why it was urgent," Draco replied coolly. "That's why he's not here now. And we have proof that Hestia was involved in the attack, but it's not safe to discuss it here."

He glanced down pointedly at the tin cup in his hand. After a moments longer hesitation, Harry stepped forward to stand beside him, looking awkwardly back at Hermione as he went. She didn't move. She watched Draco watch Harry, watched the odd glint in his eyes. She had never seen that expression on his face before. She felt her hand clench unconsciously around her wand.

"Draco?"

He looked back at her, his brow furrowing in irritation. She lifted her hand to her necklace, watched his eyes flick down to it and back to her gaze, indifferent.

"Yes?"

Her heart shuddered to a stop. She did her best to try to stop her feelings from registering on her face. She had to hide her suspicions for a moment longer, until she could be sure.

"I wanted to wear it for you. "

His face flexed into a carefully formed smile. "Oh, yes, very nice. We should go now, come on. We shouldn't waste time."

She felt her hands grow cold. As he looked back down at the portkey, she lifted her wand and aimed.

"Impedimentia."

The light of the jinx that erupted from her wand illuminated the shock on both Harry and Draco's face before it hit. Harry darted away as Draco, who had seconds before been standing calmly beside him, flew backwards and hit the alleyway wall. Harry was still reeling from the surprise as Hermione strode forward. Her spell had incapacitated him, but not disarmed him – she saw his wand still clutched in his hand and flicked her wand again. The wand sailed into the air and landed in Harry's fumbling hands as he spoke up.

"Mione… What're you…"

"Who are you?" she ground out, not removing her stare from the man pinned against the wall.

"What're you talking about?" he muttered, teeth gritted into an uncomfortable smile. "I'm–"

"Don't you dare." She glanced briefly at Harry. "Draco gave me this as a Christmas present. It was the first time… first present he gave me. He wouldn't forget something like that."

She managed to cover her first explanation, which would have conveyed a little too much about how special that particular necklace was. Harry's eyes widened in understanding and he lifted his own wand.

"You're sure?" he said softly.

"Positive." She glared at the man against the wall. "You know what, I don't need you to tell me who you are. You're a Death Eater."

The man said nothing. She felt something in her stomach begin to burn, felt her breath grow tight in her chest. She couldn't tell if Harry was speaking or not. If he was, her words trampled over his in a stampede.

"You took him. And Ron."

Still, he said nothing, but the gleam in his eyes told her she was right. She wet her lips.

"They're alive?"

The man who was wearing Draco's face twisted his mouth into a sneer. Hermione felt terror beating in her chest and pressed her wand forward, knowing that hot sparks were beginning to fly from the end, her heart thundering.

"Answer me. Answer me!"

"It doesn't matter. They're either dead or about to be." He paused, letting his gaze rove slowly over her. "Filthy, stupid Mudblood."

Hearing that word in Draco's voice seemed to hollow her out. Her arm lost its strength and she turned away blindly, let her feet carry her to the other side of the alleyway. Harry caught at her, one eye still trained on the immobilised Death Eater.

"Hermione, he's just trying to get to you."

"It's true, isn't it?"

It all seemed to rush in on her at once, and she reached for the damp brick wall as she sank down onto her knees. She felt as if she had been suddenly cut off from reality, severed from it all, and was now simply watching everything unfold from a distant television screen. Her frizzy hair was clinging to her face from the mist and the rain, straggling around her, hiding the outside world. She couldn't accept it, couldn't let herself comprehend what was happening. Couldn't bear to imagine him trying to fight them off as they poured into Grimmauld Place. She had known it would happen, she had known in the pit of her stomach that she should not leave him there in that house, and she had done it anyway. And all her racing mind could think of now was whether the Death Eaters would have enough reason to keep him alive, or whether he was already dead, whether they would have been too eager to get their revenge… she felt sick.

I'll be right here. Promise.

A hand was on her shoulder, and she blinked until Harry's face came into focus in front of her. Rain had peppered the surface of his glasses – his eyes were blurred behind them.

"We need to get help. Right now."

"How?" Hermione mumbled. "They're already gone. There's nothing…"

"Hermione, come on." Harry's grip on her shoulder tightened. "Don't do this. We have to think. That's what you do, remember?"

"But what if…"

Her voice trailed off.

"We're getting Hestia," Harry pressed. "She'll know what to do. And then we're going to make a plan. We'll get them back, Hermione."

She just shook her head. The puddles on the floor were soaking through her jeans. She leaned her forehead against the cold brick wall.

"We still don't know if we can trust Hestia."

"But the message was a fake–"

"But we still don't know how they got into Grimmauld Place, how they knew Draco and Ron would be alone. We're on our own, Harry."

Uttering those words seemed to bring something back into her. After all, there was no one coming to help them. She swallowed hard, pushed her hair back out of her face. She reached for the wall and pulled herself upwards. Her legs shook but she forced herself to hold onto the brickwork until she was steady again. She realised that Harry was still holding onto her arm. She looked at him. He was worried about her, she could see it in his pale, tight face. She turned away from him. The man who was not Draco was watching them in silence, that alien smile still lingering on his face. It filled her with contempt and she strode back to face him, lifting her chin defiantly.

"Where are they?"

"Fuck off, Mudblood."

Her eyes narrowed.

"That's not good enough." She lifted her wand. "Imperi–"

"Hermione!"

Harry caught at her wrist and she broke off, her heart beating fast and hard in her throat. He was staring at her, shaking his head fiercely.

"Hermione, that's not… that's an Unforgiveable Curse. You can't sink to their level – the Ministry will–"

"They can do what they want," she snapped. She felt wild, as if electricity was coursing through her veins. "We need to know. I'm not giving up."

"This isn't you, Hermione."

"I think there are some fights that even I can't win with books. Unless you have a better idea?"

She shook him off and lifted her wand again, and this time he didn't stop her. Her hand was shaking as she opened her mouth to repeat the incantation. Before she could begin, a steely voice cut through the mist behind them.

"If I were you, I would put that wand down. Immediately."

The chill of the rain was eating into her flesh. Hermione held fast to her wand, her breath frozen in her lungs. It seemed their time in limbo on the cliff edge was coming to an end. There was only one choice left – the wolves or the ocean.

Thanks for reading! Reviews are always welcome.

SUPRNTRAL LVR.