The Paths We Tread

Chapter 10:

The Hell Where Youth and Laughter Go

Lower Level Dungeons

Hogwarts

September 1, 1996

"I'll never understand how it's so nice and homey in my common room, but so dreary down here," Sue muttered, her eyes narrowed as she swept her wand back and forth across the halls. Beside her, Seamus snorted in agreement.

"Bloody creepy is what it is," he replied, rubbing his hands up and down his arms. Sue eyed him nervously for a second, her gaze trained on his wand. When Seamus wasn't paying attention, he tended to accidentally shoot flames. She only had one class with the Gryffindors, and she still had seen him do so a dozen times before the D.A. had even started. At least.

Smiling absently, Sue nodded. They had twenty more minutes on patrol before they would be relieved, and thirty minutes to make it to the next D.A. session. She hoped they were doing some offensive training – these days, if Hannah had to go a full twenty-four hours without breaking something, she was liable to have a meltdown.

Her heart twisted painfully as the night before flashed through her mind, going to bed to find Hannah curled up in the window in their now-shared room, eyes blankly staring off into the distance. She had tried for a good hour to get her best friend's attention with no luck, and finally just joined her there, sitting in silence. When she had gone to bed near two in the morning – they had to be alert on the platform, after all – Hannah still hadn't moved, hadn't spoken.

Almost every night had been that way, for weeks. The only time the other girl showed any emotion was when she was with Emily, or when she was fighting. Sue was terrified her best friend wasn't really in there anymore.

The feeling of being watched crept over her, and Sue shook her head and glanced over to see Seamus looking at her, an expectant expression on his face as though he was waiting for her to reply. When had they stopped walking? "I'm sorry," she murmured, tucking a strand of auburn hair behind her ear. "I was distracted."

"I see that," the Irishman replied. "Good thing nobody attacked us down here," he scoffed, his usual mirth a little subdued.

Sue forced a small smile, shaking her head to clear it, and turned her attention back to the halls. They had almost reached the cell block, and the air was becoming dank and heavy with every step they took.

Her Auntie would be ashamed of her, letting her guard down on a patrol like that. After all, there were millions of hiding places in the castle – especially in the dungeons. And it wasn't as though they could say nothing bad had ever happened in the castle…

A sudden shuffling sounded through the darkness, and Sue stiffened, straightening her wand to aim it straight ahead of them. Reaching out with her free hand, she put a hand on Seamus's arm, shaking her head as the boy began to move forward. Seamus stopped dead in his tracks, his face unnaturally serious, and she quickly conjured a shield as they waited. What good reason would anyone have to be down this far in the dungeons, this late?

The shuffling noise turned to footfalls, and Sue stood perfectly still, staring down the hallway as she waited. Suddenly, a broad-shouldered bald man came into view, and Seamus let out a sigh of relief as Auror – Professor, she corrected herself – Shacklebolt stopped in front of them, his eyes narrowed in confusion.

"Sue? What are you doing down here?" her Auntie's long-time colleague asked, his brow furrowed as he lowered his wand.

"Patrolling, Professor," Seamus replied quickly. "You gave us a right scare!"

Shacklebolt – Professor Shacklebolt! Merlin, that was going to take some getting used to – grimaced slightly, carefully stowing his wand back in the holster. "Sorry, kids," he said with a wry grin. "I'm heading back up. Are you coming?"

Without waiting for a reply, he moved past them towards the exit. Sue turned her head and watched him go by – he had a nasty bump on the back of his head and scrapes on his neck. Dust and dirt clung to the back of his robes.

Something didn't feel right. Kingsley Shacklebolt had been a regular fixture since she was about six years old, and she'd never once seen the man drag his feet. Nor had she ever seen him with so much as a button out of place or speck of dust on his clothes outside of a fight or training. Something was wrong.

But maybe not. Maybe she was just a paranoid cop's kid, as Justin often told her. Maybe…

Trust your instincts, her Auntie's voice echoed in her mind.

"What were you doing back there?" she questioned, and Seamus shot her a questioning look as she watched the Auror stop in his tracks. Seamus had already stowed his wand, but Sue didn't drop their invisible shield. An arm's length away, Shacklebolt turned his head slightly, looking back at them with a confused expression.

"I was patrolling," he said slowly, and Sue just looked at him.

"Did you find anything interesting?" the Hufflepuff asked lightly, and she watched Shacklebolt's brow furrow. The Auror-Professor hesitated before shaking his head.

"No, no one else down here," he said with an elegant shrug.

"What happened to your head?" she said quietly, and Shacklebolt reached back, pressing his fingers to the lump that was forming with a frown.

"Must have tripped," he chuckled, shaking his head. "There's a fair bit of stray bones and debris down that way."

Right. That settles it. Kingsley Shacklebolt was a large man, that was true. But he was a graceful large man. There was no way he tripped.

Sue smiled at him softly. "Looks painful," she said sympathetically. "Why did you come down here, specifically?"

Seamus made a questioning sound at her side. She flicked her eyes over to him for a second, then looked back at Shacklebolt, who had turned and was looking at her with a bit of impatience.

"I don't know," the Auror said. "I haven't checked down here in a while, I suppose."

There was no other sound behind them, so maybe he had been the only one down there. But – Kingsley Shacklebolt would not be caught dead walking around with dirt all over his robes on a normal day. Nor would he usually let someone question him like that without the slightest reaction. She shook her head and smiled easily, dropping the shield as she moved towards him.

"We have a meeting to get to," she said softly, waving a hand at Seamus to follow. The Irishman was standing in the hallway with narrowed eyes, staring at her with undisguised puzzlement. When she shot him a look, he shook his head and followed them, drawing his wand back out of his sleeve and holding it lightly at his side. "We might as well go along."

Her Auntie's friend smiled at her, gesturing for her and Seamus to precede him down the hallway, and escorted them up to the main level. When they reached the first floor, he nodded once and disappeared down the corridor in the direction of the Defense classrooms.

As soon as his back was turned, Sue stopped in her tracks, staring after him with narrowed eyes.

"What the bloody hell, Sue?" Seamus asked with a scowl, and Sue shook her head.

"Come on," she muttered, and she took off for the Room of Requirement.

Going up seven flights of stairs should have taken ages, but she moved at a near-run, her mind racing. Behind her, she could hear Seamus swearing at her, muttering darkly about 'crazy birds.' She ignored the hot-headed Irishman, skidding to a halt outside the Room of Requirement with a gasp, then stopped dead in her tracks.

Maybe she was wrong. No reason to cause a panic.

As Seamus doubled over next to her, hands on his knees and head hanging down, Sue opened the door and moved quickly into the training room, her eyes scanning the room.

"Where's Hermione?" she demanded as Neville straightened up from the opposite corner, where he had been stacking bean bags.

"On an Order project," the stocky boy replied, raising an eyebrow. He set down the bean bag in his hands and turned towards her, brow furrowed. "What's wrong?"

She glanced around the room quickly. Luna had set down the scroll she was reading and was watching them curiously. Harry and Ron were nowhere to be seen, and no one else had arrived yet.

"It could be nothing," she said slowly, "but…"

"What, Sue?" Neville asked again, his eyes narrowing.

"We ran into Shack in the lower dungeons," she said quietly. "He had a lump on his head and the back of his robes were covered in dirt. I asked him if he'd found anything down there, and he said no. But…"

"Couldn't remember why he'd gone down there, either," Seamus added, shooting a glance at Sue as he finally caught up with her train of thought. "Was bloody weird, mate."

Sue bit her lip and said nothing. Really, the boy hadn't realized anything was wrong until she didn't drop the shield.

"Memory charm?" Neville muttered to Luna, who had moved to stand next to him, and the blonde Ravenclaw frowned.

"Not many students that would be strong enough," the girl replied. "Especially as it's Kingsley. He has a very organized mind."

"Are you sure?" Neville asked Sue, staring at her steadily, and Sue shook her head.

"It's not like I could check," she said honestly. "I don't know how. But when I asked him where he got the lump, he looked surprised, and said he must have tripped."

Even Luna's dreamy face went grave at that. With the exception of Seamus, who had only been around him two or three times that summer, they all knew that Kingsley Shacklebolt tripping was as likely as a Dementor taking up ballet.

Seamus raised an eyebrow, but Neville shook his head. As she watched Neville's face change, Sue felt a chill in the air.

"You and I both know who it was," he said lowly, and Luna blinked at him.

"Hermione trusts him," she whispered, and Neville scoffed.

"Hermione is wrong."

"Excuse me," Sue cut in, "but if someone memory charmed Shacklebolt, what are we going to do about it?"

"I'll call Dora," Luna murmured, and she moved quickly from the room.

"There must be something down there," Sue said stubbornly, glaring at Neville.

"We'll get to the bottom of it," he said as the door behind her opened. The stocky Gryffindor stepped closer as the other D.A. members started to trickle into the room, lowering his voice even further. "Stay on the alert in Potions class from here on."

Potions? But… Sue bit her lip, watching Neville closely. "Auntie says that Dumbledore vouched for him," she replied softly, and Neville just looked at her evenly, then stepped around her and moved toward the front of the room. As he stepped onto the dias, Hannah appeared at her elbow, looking back and forth between her, Seamus, and Neville with narrowed eyes.

"What's going on?" Hannah whispered, and Sue shook her head.

"Tonight, we're going to be working on striking spells," Neville called from the front of the room, as the D.A. settled in. "Get in your squadrons and – "

"Tell you later," Sue whispered back, and Hannah frowned at her before turning her attention to the stage. Sue shot a look at Seamus, and the normally boisterous boy was frowning, his eyes dark and troubled. She squeezed his arm lightly, and he bumped his shoulder with hers, nodding at her solemnly when she met his gaze.

They would be ready.

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

"It should be simple enough to create," Hermione said earnestly, "just… time-consuming."

Bill snorted as he held the door to his workshop open. "Time-consuming," he muttered back. "You mean we'll be here all night, and that's if it works."

Hermione bit back a heated retort. She already knew the cursebreaker's temper had been stretched thin for weeks, and lord knew he had enough to worry about.

Her nerve-endings prickled as she followed Bill into the workshop. She was exhausted, her hands trembling, and a pounding headache was starting to form behind her eyes. She was so worn out she'd even let the glamours slip for the time being. They just required too much energy to maintain, energy she couldn't spare if she were going to help her friend.

You shouldn't be here, her Snape-sounding inner voice echoed, and she bit her lip, shooting a glance at Bill. The cursebreaker was moving through the room, tapping his wand along the walls and whispering under his breath. She watched him for a moment then frowned, turning to study her surroundings.

The space they were in was massive, putting her in mind of the tent from the Quidditch World Cup. Expansion charms, she thought to herself. A long table lined the far wall, a single armchair beside it. Her eyes narrowed as she took in shelf after shelf of books surrounding her, some bound in leather, some in – she felt bile rise in her throat and shook her head.

She wasn't sure she wanted to know.

Jewels, crystals, and statues littered the space, some arranged in clear patterns, some artfully displayed. She was deathly curious about the ones she saw tucked behind books, however – those had to be the interesting ones.

But there wasn't any time to explore. Ginny needed her. Hopefully, Bill would let her back into his domain another time. She was certain there were dozens, if not hundreds of useful bits of hidden knowledge in this room.

"All we have to do is reverse the beacon," she replied. "If it works, which it should," she shot him a look, "we'll be able to pinpoint her exact location."

"And rain Order members down on it." The eldest Weasley son stalked toward the back of the shop, twirling his wand idly in his left hand as he moved. He stopped just before a steel door, reaching out and pressing his fingers against a mirror on the wall. As Hermione watched, bars and doors dropped down from the ceiling, sliding into place and blocking off all the shelves they had just passed.

She looked at him silently, and Bill just shrugged. "Don't want anything to get damaged," he said lightly.

Uh-huh, Hermione thought, then shook her head. Bill was probably the most paranoid person she'd ever met, even counting Moody. He'd muffled his voice when he'd said the ward key to open the door. He was hiding everything in the shop and –

And she could feel it, just like she had every time she'd been at Shell Cottage that summer, getting stronger and stronger. That sense of unease, of mistrust.

Maybe there was an artifact at the cottage that she could feel. Maybe something had affected her.

Maybe it's just him. Maybe you're paying attention.

Glancing over to the right, she froze as she saw the empty cell, cot still inside.

Bill followed her gaze to the cell, then frowned lightly. Turning on his heel, the older man pulled the heavy door open, propping it against the wall and raising an eyebrow at her. Hermione peered beyond him into the room and stepped through. It looked to be a normal ritual set-up, small altar, low stone table, cauldron in the corner.

And out of the corner of her eye, a soft blue light shone. She turned her head and moved towards the light, staring at vial after vial of –

Memories, she realized shakily, pressing a hand to her mouth. Her eyes narrowed as she looked over the hundreds of vials, all carefully arranged in a small cabinet. Whose memories were those, and why were they hidden all the way in the back of an already guarded workshop?

She stood perfectly still, staring at the collection of memories in horror. The Mind Arts were the one magic she didn't want to master – the mind was sacred, and to her, it was nothing less than a violation to trespass on another's mind. So many things that Bill had been doing raised alarms in her mind, but this –

This was –

Logically speaking, she knew that they would have to do terrible things in a war. Hadn't she told Kingsley as much herself? But something was just –

She felt a heavy gaze on her and glanced back over her shoulder to see Bill watching her evenly. "You don't want to know," he said simply, and Hermione bit back a scoff.

Hermione couldn't claim to know the man behind her well – she'd been around him only a handful of days before the last few months – but she had seen enough to know something was different with him. Something was off, and she couldn't let it go.

But this was Bill Weasley, big brother extraordinaire, genius, and all-around general good guy. When her parents had been memory charmed, he'd been the last one awake and sitting with her, the one that just waited until she finally broke down and cried, that sat on the couch and let her weep on his shoulder for hours. He was the one who had seen Ron struggling to sleep and put his foot down, demanding someone help him cope with the memories. He was the one who had refused to leave Luna living alone at the Rookery all summer, and had pushed Tonks to take her in. He was the one had noticed Harry getting more and more withdrawn, had taken action to help him, had found a way to make him breathe and relax, for crying out loud. He was the one who had literally staked his life on the job of keeping Harry alive –

So why couldn't she shake this voice? Was something making her feel so unsettled, or was it really because of him?

Spinning on her heel, she pinned the older man with a steely glare. "What is going on?" she demanded, her voice trembling slightly as she stood there. "What happened to you?"

Bill's gaze narrowed and his face went blank. Moving slowly, he stepped all the way into the room, letting the steel door slam shut behind him. Hermione didn't move, standing with one hand in her pocket, watching him warily. The cursebreaker was staring steadily at her, not blinking. Was he reading her mind?

Get out of here, the dark voice whispered in her mind, you shouldn't be alone with this man. Hermione shook her head.

Suddenly, Bill grinned. "Well," he shrugged, laughing slightly, "I already knew you were daring. Ever thought about going into curse-breaking?"

Hermione stared. The voice in her mind went silent.

The Leaky Cauldron

London, England

"Do you ever think, Georgie, that we're wasting our lives?" Fred asked conversationally, twirling his wand between his fingers as his brother stared steadily at the entrance to the Leaky.

George just grunted.

They stood on the street corner in Muggle London, hovering in the dark. George and Tonks had called it a 'stake-out,' but Fred preferred to think of it as the eight circle of Hell.

Honestly, who could stand in one spot for so long without going mad? And people wondered why there were serial killers.

"I mean, here we stand, at the behest of our little brother, who basically runs an army," he continued, waving his hands dramatically for emphasis. George cut his eyes Fred's direction for a second, then turned back to the Leaky.

"And here we are, at the mercy of a complete stranger," George replied lightly, shrugging as he rubbed a hand across his forehead. His twin's stony expression finally cracked as he yawned, and ahead of them, the door swung open. "Ever miss the good ol' days?" he asked with a grin. "Back when all we had to worry about was Mum finding out we had detention?"

"You mean before Harry came to school?" Fred scoffed. "Nah. Things are way more interesting." Fred shoved upright from where he'd been leaning on the lamppost. "Hang on," he muttered, eyes narrowed. The man who had walked into the street was moving quickly, his head down, and dressed in an impeccable Muggle suit – but like Tonks had warned them to watch for, it was a bit too posh.

He stared after the man heading down the street, then raised his wand and shot a spell at the window the man was passing. The reflection sharpened and he let out a hiss between his teeth.

"Excellent," Fred muttered, a wolfish grin appearing on his face. His twin nodded sharply, face twisted in a grimace, and as one, they straightened and followed the man slowly through the city. The man was walking with an unhurried gait, arms swinging loosely at his sides. Nothing at all like the contained, calculated movements they regularly saw from Shack, Lupin, even Tonks when she wasn't tripping over something.

Maybe the man was a traitor. Maybe he was Imperiused. All Fred knew was that he had vanished right about the time Ginny had been taken.

So he really didn't give a damn if the man was innocent or not.

"Hold up," George said suddenly, grabbing his arm, and Fred stopped in his tracks as his twin pulled him behind a tree. Ahead, he saw the Auror pause mid-step, his eyes narrowed and his ponytail swinging as he looked up and down the street before ducking through the door of a shadowy tavern.

"Isn't that where Tonks said – ?"

"Yeah," George nodded, face twisted in a scowl. "It's a wanna-be Death Eater clubhouse."

"Right, then," Fred replied shortly, drawing his wand from his sleeve. He took a step forward and George grabbed him again, dragging him back.

"What if she is in there?" George hissed angrily, his face pale beneath the freckles. "Not to mention, Freddy, there's the matter of the price on our heads!"

Fred's hands started to shake, and he shoved them in his pockets, glaring at his twin. "He might know where Gin is," he whispered back. "I can't just – "

"Ron said to follow him only," George continued like he hadn't even spoken. "Do you want to make them have to rescue us too?"

"They won't need to," Fred said stubbornly, wrenching his arm from George's grip. "We can do this, George."

"We're not soldiers, Fred!"

Fred met his twin's eyes. He tried to think of something witty, some joke to make to cut the tension, but nothing came to him. All he saw was tiny eleven year old Ginny, pale and still in a hospital bed.

"It's time we learn," Fred said calmly, and he spun on his heel and crossed the street, slipping quietly through the double doors. He felt a chill run through him as George followed, and the tavern went silent as everyone in the room turned and stared. From a table near the center, three men – almost Hagrid's size – rose and started to move towards them, cracking their knuckles menacingly.

So maybe he should have listened to George. What else was new? Hopefully, Ron wouldn't kill them if they ended up dead.

"Right," Fred said loudly as George began to swear at his shoulder. "We just need to talk to that guy," he explained in his most chipper voice, gesturing towards Williamson, glaring from the bar. "No need to get all grouchy. We'll just collect him and be on our way."

The three goliaths continued to skulk towards him, and Fred cringed. Behind him, he heard George whisper, "For Merlin's sake." A rustling sounded and then a cloud of black powder sailed past his face, and everyone shouted as the room went dark.

Fred burst out laughing and dove into the darkness.

And their mum had said their inventions were a waste of talent.

Hirta Island, St. Kilna

Outer Hebrides, Scotland

"Hours," Charlie griped, swatting at a branch that had bounced back in his face. "We've been traipsing around blindly for hours."

Alastor grunted at him, eyes narrowed as he watched the dragonkeeper stomp through the woods. "We'll find something eventually," he replied, unscrewing the cap on his flask and taking a quick sip. He held out the flask to Charlie, and the younger man shook his head with a scowl. Moody shrugged and closed his drink, stowing it back on his side. "Any place this well hidden is worth finding."

"My sister is worth finding," Charlie almost snarled, and Moody felt a flash of pity. An image of the little redheaded girl glaring at him, her hair shorn almost to the scalp, flashed through his mind.

"Aye, that she is," he agreed, clapping Charlie on the shoulder. The younger man tensed, shrugging him off, and Moody pretended not to notice. "But Bill and Granger are working on a way to find her, and we might as well be useful while we wait for a target."

Charlie muttered darkly then stomped off ahead. Moody stood watching the younger man, his good eye narrowed as the night grew colder.

Everyone called him a paranoid bastard, and he knew it. Hell, he was a paranoid bastard. It stood to reason – one could only be betrayed so many times in a forty-plus year career before he stopped trusting people. And coming from his family, seeing what he'd seen growing up, he wasn't the most trusting person in the world to begin with. It was only natural, being a Moody. When made famous for being a warrior against the darkness before even stepping into Hogwarts, before even picking up a wand, trusting others became a luxury that could not be afforded.

When he was around the Order, the core members, he was the closest to relaxed he could remember since he was an eleven year old Slytherin, watching his older housemates slowly get sucked into a web of intrigue and fantasy. Dodging spells and curses being sent his way, for no reason other than his name.

His family had been dead for ages. The Order was the closest thing he had to a family. But something had been setting alarm bells off in his head lately. Something was off.

He moved through the underbrush quietly, eyes narrowed on the back of Charlie's head. He flattered himself that he knew the Weasley family well. Years of helping Arthur to cover his tracks and keeping even Scrimgeour from knowing he knew – his attempts to recruit first Bill, then Charlie – he'd been watching the Weasley family for a long time. Though the family hadn't been active in the first war, most of them being tots or in nappies, he'd been around Art for decades, had seen these kids grow up.

Charlie Weasley was a gregarious boy. He was energetic, excitable, and generally rambunctious. But he'd never been an angry boy.

Maybe it was the stress of the war, worry for his family. After all, not everyone was meant to be a soldier.

Maybe it was something else.

All Alastor knew was, Charlie Weasley's mood had been off since they had found him in the mud on the banks of the River Thames.

Even Tonks had noticed something. She had gone to him days ago, complaining that Charlie seemed to be getting tired and impatient more easily. She was worried about her friend, hoping he would talk to the boy and see if he was alright.

Moody was more than worried. They'd done every possible check while he was in the hospital wing. They'd run every test. There was no indication that Charlie was compromised in any way.

But he couldn't shake the image of Charlie grabbing Tonks' arm, begging them not to 'bring' him. Something was just off.

And with Arthur down for Merlin knew how long, with Bill distracted with the Potter boy and now finding his sister – who else was gonna watch out for the kid?

A raven Patronus soared through the trees. "Over here!" Scrimgeour's voice echoed, cutting through his reverie, and Charlie spun around sharply, his eyes wide and frantic. A ray of light shined through the trees, coming from at least two miles to their east. Moody paused just long enough to let Charlie precede him, falling into step behind the younger man. They wound through the trees, path completely abandoned, Charlie crashing through the underbrush without the slightest regard for stealth. After fifteen minutes of running, they came to a halt at the mouth of a cavern, and Charlie doubled over, hands on his knees, and glared as Moody looked patiently between Lupin and Scrimgeour.

The lycanthrope was standing perfectly still, eyes fixed on the cavern opening. A couple paces to his left, Scrimgeour had his wand up, trained on the open space ahead. Dozens of little stars circled the other man's head, lighting up the clearing in which they stood. And under his feet – the pathway that had led them to search the woods in the first place, small pillars lined up along either side.

"Alright," Alastor growled. "Did you find something in there?"

Scrimgeour snorted. "We haven't gone inside yet. It was hidden," he replied. "Looked like more woods, same illusion Bill broke to find the pathway. That one smelled it." He gestured at Lupin with a slight scowl, his face twisting in distaste.

"The air smelled different," Lupin said absently, his eyes still fixed on the cavern.

"Good work," Moody grunted, ignoring Scrimgeour's slight shudder. He didn't have time for his former house-mate's hang-ups. "Alright, there could be all manner of nasties in there, so everyone at the ready." Taking a deep breath, he moved to Lupin's side, then stepped forward into the mouth of the cavern. A sudden shock travelled up his body, starting in his feet, then branching off and racing through his bones. As Charlie shouted behind him, he looked down to see a soft blue glow emanating from the ground beneath him. He opened his mouth, struggling to speak, but a croaking sound slipped out, and he swallowed roughly. Clenching his teeth, he struggled to lift his arm –

The air swirled before him, and a glowing specter appeared in the air, the ghostly basilisk hovering in front of him, its snout almost touching his face. Behind it, a dozen smaller creatures appeared – snakes, birds, even a couple insects – in a half-circle formation. The basilisk stared at him, a continual stream of hissing echoing from its form. Finally, it seemed to nod to itself, then flickered and vanished, and the air before them shimmered. Moody felt the shock begin to recede and lurched forward, gasping, and fell against Charlie's side as the younger man propped him up.

Alastor stared as the cave seemed to grow transparent, ripples running down the rockfaces like dripping paint. A brilliant light flashed, and the cave disappeared. In its place was a giant stone door, etched with dozens upon dozens of runes.

Moody swallowed, then nodded to himself. "Right," he grunted. "We'll need to come back with Bill and Potter – and a bigger team. Mark this spot somehow."

He turned on his heel and shoved past Charlie, stomping off into the woods.

He didn't have near enough drink in his flask to stay on the accursed island a moment longer than he had to.

Somewhere in England

It's only pain. Ginny gritted her teeth as she hung against the wall, the sharp metal cutting into her wrists. It's only pain. You can handle pain. Her side was burning, the slashes along her ribs still flowing freely, and the sound of her own blood splashing on the ground echoed through the dark space. In front of her, Lucius Malfoy smiled, lowering his wand.

"Truthfully, Ginevra," the aristocrat murmured, "I have dreamed of hearing your screams since I first learned that you were the reason my master wasn't reborn sooner. That you had thwarted his plans with the Chamber." Reaching down, the man straightened his cuffs, idly glancing at her as he spoke. "Really, was it so difficult to just kill a couple mudbloods? That was all we needed, just enough to get the school shut down."

A chill ran down her spine, and Ginny swallowed roughly as blood bubbled up between her teeth. Now she really had to escape. There was something else in the school, and nobody knew. She drew a sharp breath then spat at the man's feet, blood flecking his robes. Malfoy simply grimaced, stepping back with a slight huff. "You're never getting into that school again," she hissed at him, gasping.

Malfoy smiled again. "I wouldn't be so sure," he said softly, raising his wand again.

"Luciussss," a voice echoed through the cell, and Ginny froze as Malfoy turned, his wand immediately dropping to his side. "Get her down."

"My Lord," Malfoy said in a grating drawl, "surely – "

"Down," Voldemort repeated, and Ginny watched as the monster himself swept into her cell, robes billowing around him, feet not quite touching the ground. In the back of her mind, Tom Riddle's voice began to whisper.

From behind him, Pettigrew appeared. The cowardly man scurried over to her, reaching up and releasing the chains that held her to the wall. Ginny landed roughly on her feet, stumbling as her knees tried to give out beneath her. The rat's hand clamped like iron around her arm, hauling her into an upright position. She shook her matted hair back from her face, raised her head, and met glowing red eyes without flinching.

Voldemort smiled, revealing sharp, pointed teeth, and gestured imperiously. "Get her a chair," he murmured, and Pettigrew drew his wand, conjuring a small, rickety wooden chair. As she watched, Voldemort raised an eyebrow, then with a wave of his hand, the chair became a squashy, blood red armchair.

At least I won't stain it, she thought inanely, as Pettigrew shoved her down into the chair then stepped back, hands wringing. The cringing man moved to stand behind her to her right, with Malfoy hesitating for a moment, then gliding over to her left, his eyes narrowed on her face the whole time.

Voldemort conjured his own chair and sat gracefully, leaning back and watching her silently for a time. His eyes travelled up the length of her body and Ginny suppressed a shudder. You'll always be mine, Riddle's voice echoed in her mind.

"I wish to tell you a story," Voldemort said finally, and Ginny scoffed.

"I've heard enough of your stories, thanks," she spat, and Voldemort simply chuckled.

"You'll appreciate this one," he whispered, and Ginny glared at him. "Once upon a time, in an orphanage far away, lived a special little boy."

Merlin, Ginny thought angrily, meeting Voldemort's gaze evenly as blood began to pool in her lap. Kill me now.

The monster's eyes flashed with amusement.

But we've so much to accomplish together yet, his voice echoed in her mind, and Ginny's blood ran cold.

The Chamber of Secrets

Hogwarts

"This is pointless," Ron muttered, tossing another book to the ground. "Honestly, Harry, why aren't we just storming Malfoy Manor? You know that's where they're keeping her."

"Dobby says otherwise," Harry replied immediately, eyes narrowed as he ran his hand down another page. "If Hermione can't create a tracker on the pendant, we need another way. I know I saw a blood tracking spell in here somewhere."

"Blood magic," Ron groaned, shoving his hands into his hair. He clenched his fists so hard his vision started to grey, and he let go with a shaky breath. "We can't do that."

"Hermione can," Harry said shortly. He pulled another book over to himself across the narrow room, dragging another to himself with an absent wave of his hand. "If she can't, Bill can. If he can't, Dumbledore can."

"Harry," Ron gulped, shaking his head. "I can't – " The redheaded Gryffindor trailed off, staring blankly off into space.

Harry felt a sharp rush of sadness and pity. "I know," he whispered.

"She's my sister, Harry."

"We'll find her," Harry murmured, and Ron turned red-rimmed eyes his way. "We'll find her," he repeated.

Ron stared at him for a moment, then nodded sharply, moving back across the room. "Right," he muttered, throwing himself back into a chair. He dragged another book towards himself and began rifling through the pages, eyes narrowed on the hastily translated text. "Tell me again what you remember about this blasted spell."

Little Hangleton Cemetery

Little Hangleton, England

September 2, 1996

The hour after midnight was his favorite.

Augustus Rookwood stood silently in the graveyard, his eyes narrowed as he stared down the rows of headstones. A pair of Dementors flanked him, the robed creatures floating like silent sentries. In the back of his mind, the screams of his baby brother echoed.

Rookwood's lips twisted in a humorless smile. The memories of the past had stopped hurting him long ago. And to be truthful, he rather liked the chill the Dementors gave off. Formal robes could be so stuffy. It was nice to get some relief.

He wished he weren't doing this alone. Was it so much to ask for some company? Malfoy would rather torture the whelp. Dolohov was off in Muggle London, probably spelling some poor woman to look like the mudblood girl before he played with her.

Theodore would appreciate the beauty, the artistry, of what he was about to do. Augustus wished Nott weren't still in blasted Germany.

With a shake of his head, he set off down the rows, carefully counting out the graves. The calculations had to be precise, the timing perfect – one tenth of an ounce off, and he would end up with nothing but a bunch of reanimated body parts flopping around, like undead fish out of water.

Amusing though that image was, it wasn't all that practical a battle plan.

It had taken him the better part of six months to get everything in order. Not having his former contacts made everything so much more difficult, not to mention the fact that the Department had been thoroughly cleaned out before the Ministry was reduced to smoldering ashes. Arthur had to have known what he would be after, and he had been smarter and faster. They always had been closely matched, and only Augustus's general ruthlessness had ever given him an advantage.

But his best friend had grown hard while he'd been… away.

Rookwood smiled again as Arthur's face flashed through his mind. They had been inseparable once, and he liked to think he was the one behind the other man's success. The true genius behind the throne, so to speak. All those late nights huddled together in a heavily warded room, going over recruitment files and protocols. The building of a hidden empire, right under the Ministry's nose.

He was fairly certain Arthur would never forgive him for turning 'traitor.' Honestly, didn't the fact that Voldemort had never learned of his true job get a man any credit?

Augustus paused next to the grave of a sixteenth century Weasley ancestor, frowning absently. Perhaps he didn't have to raise every –

But no. The Dark Lord had been clear.

There weren't many lines left to cross any longer, anyhow. He'd trampled most of them beneath his stylish boots over the years. What was one more?

Shaking his head absently, he reached into his robes and withdrew a small phial, filled with a glittering black liquid. He held the phial up in front of his eyes, peering absently at the contents.

It was a beautiful thing, for something so terrible. The black liquid had the thick consistency of ink, a brilliant sheen to it, and little sparkling pinpricks of light dotted the surface. It was almost like staring at a liquid container of the night sky, riddled with stars.

He wanted to keep it, to study it longer, to –

But he sighed, unstoppered the phial, and poured the liquid out onto the ground. As it seeped down into the soil, he knelt gracefully, pressing his wand lightly to the earth.

With a slight murmur, he sent a soft orange glow into the dirt, and the liquid grew, spreading across the cemetery and sinking into every grave.

He stood smoothly, slid his wand back into his sleeve, and nodded resolutely.

Change required sacrifice. One day, Arthur would understand.

Tonks Cottage

Sandwood Bay, Scotland

Snarls echoed through his ears as he stood in the darkness, staring at the door. He jabbed his wand roughly, sending talismans and artifacts soaring through the air into a giant burlap sack. Beside him, the door rattled on its hinges, and it flew inward, dead things scuttling towards him like crabs. A rotted face leaned towards him, its empty eye sockets fixed on his face, and its unhinged jaw opened wide – The tree flashed through his mind –

"Breathe, Arthur, breathe," a warm voice echoed softly through the room, and Arthur gasped as a sharp pain stabbed through his ribs.

Arthur blinked rapidly in the darkness, tears stinging at the corners of his eyes. He struggled to slow his breathing, hands shaking at his sides as he gasped harshly. A pair of soft hands rubbed his shoulders lightly and with a groan of pain, he reached up and squeezed his wife's fingers lightly, forcing a smile.

He blinked again and colors finally formed before his eyes, swirling madly before settling. He closed his eyes against the light, groaning again, then opened his eyes slowly as he heard the woosh of the torches going out.

His wife smiled at him gently, looking down at him with red-rimmed eyes. She shifted closer to his bedside, pulling his arm down to rest at his side, and clasped his hand between both of hers. Leaning forward, she pressed a gentle kiss to his forehead, and Arthur let out a sigh.

He closed his eyes again, drawing a steadying breath, then opened them and stared searchingly at his wife. "The Ministry," he said hoarsely, and her smile faded.

"You got out," she whispered, squeezing his hand. "That's all that matters."

"No," Arthur replied, shaking his head. His skin felt raw, down his neck and all along his collarbone, like he was lying on sandpaper. "Did they get anything?"

"Get anything?" Molly frowned, looking at him in confusion. "I don't – "

"You succeeded," a stern voice sounded behind them, and Molly spun sharply as Scrimgeour strode into the room. Arthur turned his head as far as he could, meeting the grizzly man's tawny eyes. "The Ministry is nothing but ashes, so it's rather difficult to search," he continued, "but Bill and I inventoried the items you brought. You retrieved everything that would have done harm."

Arthur felt a thrill of relief rush through his veins, dropping his head back further onto the pillow as the strength ebbed out of his body. He closed his eyes and let out another shaky breath.

"You should know," the Auror continued, his voice low, "that Fudge has declared you and your entire family traitors. The Burrow was raided and burned to the ground."

Arthur's eyes flew open.

Beside him, he felt Molly gather herself. His wife forced a smile, leaning over him and squeezing the still-raw flesh of his arm. "We'll rebuild," Molly whispered to him reassuringly. "It was a wonderful home, but we are still together. We can start again."

He placed his hands flat on the mattress to either side of himself and shoved upright on shaking arms. "Arthur!" Molly gasped, moving her hands to his shoulder, and he shrugged her off impatiently, eyes fixed on Scrimgeour's face.

"Just the house?" he demanded, and Scrimgeour's eyes narrowed.

"The grounds nearest the building were damaged," the Auror replied slowly. "We were able to stop the spread."

So perhaps… but the house was gone. That meant, unless Bill had added something he didn't know about – which he probably did, he thought dully – the wards were down.

He spun suddenly, swinging his legs off the bed. His wand lay on the endtable beside him and he snatched it up, shoving it into his pajama pocket. Molly made a sound of protest and he shoved her hands away. "Move," he said brusquely.

His wife stared at him, her lands falling limply at her sides. Arthur felt a pang of regret. He hadn't taken such a tone with her in over nine years.

He'd have to get her flowers.

Molly stepped back, tears swimming in her eyes, and folded her arms across her chest, hunching over slightly. Arthur pushed himself to his feet on shaking legs, taking several halting steps towards the door. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Scrimgeour shoot a look at Molly before the other man moved forward, carefully grabbing Arthur's left arm and swinging it over his shoulder. He tucked himself into Arthur's side, taking some of his weight, and Arthur grunted an absent thanks as some of the fire eased in his legs.

"Where are we going, old chap?" Scrimgeour asked quietly, and Arthur scowled.

"Orchard," he hissed, and he saw Molly freeze.

His wife pressed her hands to her mouth, then lowered them slowly. He turned his head to look at her, quirking an eyebrow, and Molly stared back, fear and anger warring on her pretty face.

"Arthur," she said lowly, "what is out there? What did you have near my children?"

He felt Scrimgeour tense at his side, but he didn't reply, shaking his pounding head instead. Lurching forward, he led the way out of the room, and the other man helped him down a flight of stairs and out onto a beach.

Christ, even the touch of the wind on his skin hurt. When you do something, old boy, you do it right, he thought humorlessly. Closing his eyes, he pictured the orchard in his mind, and he felt Scrimgeour push his power into the effort. They vanished, appearing in the wooded grove, and Arthur's knees buckled beneath him. He landed roughly on the ground, his breath coming out in a pained hiss, and he heard Scrimgeour mutter apologies behind him.

The Auror cupped his hands under Arthur's elbows, pulling him up, and Arthur shrugged him off lightly, stepping forward towards the knotted tree, his heart pounding in his throat. If his hiding place had been uncovered – if the chest had been found –

The war was already lost.

He lowered himself carefully to the ground, kneeling before the tree, and pressed his hand to the knot lowest on the trunk. With a sigh, he dug his palm into the bark, feeling the wood slice his hand, and his blood seeped into the tree. The trunk seemed to shimmer a moment before the knot faded, and Arthur's hand rested on a small, cherrywood box tucked into the tree.

Behind him, Scrimgeour let out a surprised grunt.

Arthur closed his eyes, leaning his head on the tree as he sagged in relief. He quickly cracked open the lid, peering inside, before shutting the chest with a snap. Turning slightly, he looked up at Scrimgeour with a frown. "Do you have a dagger?" he asked quietly, and the other man quirked an eyebrow then nodded. The Auror reached into the folds of his robe and withdrew a long, narrow silver blade. He held the blade out hilt first, and Arthur glanced at the dagger a moment before accepting.

He wished his old friend would get over that fear.

Turning back to the tree, Arthur let out a steady breath then held the dagger to his left forearm, pressing down roughly. His skin split open and he hissed as blood welled up on his arm. "What the devil – " Scrimgeour muttered behind him. Arthur didn't reply, just pointed his wand at the chest and focused, sweat beading up on his forehead. The chest glowed brightly, then hovered in the open space. Slowly, it began to shrink, and Arthur plucked the tiny chest out of the air and set it on the cut on his arm. Another whispered spell had the tiny box sinking into his skin, and Arthur swallowed as he felt the magic racing through his body. Whispers prang up in his mind and he closed his eyes, swaying on the spot as he swallowed harshly. Behind him, he heard a rustling sound, and Scrimgeour's hands banded under his arms again.

"What do you need to do?" the Auror asked woodenly, and Arthur opened his eyes. The pain vanished.

"Seal it," he whispered. Images flashed before his mind – a wood, a boulder, a lake – golden hair and a crown of wildflowers… He swallowed roughly again as he felt the skin on his arm knit together, and the thrumming in his veins continued. His magic surged up in his chest and his mind raced, everything he'd ever seen or done coming to the forefront. He saw his eldest brother, looking down on him as a baby – his mother, crying at his wedding – baby Ginny crying in his arms, a tiny little bundle wrapped in a soft yellow blanket –

A heavy silence fell over them as Arthur knelt there, struggling to breathe normally, and Scrimgeour held him upright with his hands under Arthur's arms. After several moments, Arthur cleared his throat and shook his head, and Scrimgeour stepped back. He pushed to his feet, shakiness gone, then leaned down and spelled the cover back onto the tree again, turning to face the Auror.

Scrimgeour's tawny eyes were dark and troubled, and Arthur shot him a lopsided smile. The other man had seen him do any number of deadly and foolhardy things over the years, but never had he seen him hide an unknown artifact in his own skin.

I'm not mad, he thought angrily, as Scrimgeour continued to stare at him.

"What is that?" the other man asked finally, and Arthur shook his head.

"I'm going to hide this," he replied instead, his voice still cracking, "somewhere only you or I can reach. If I die, you must find it and move it somewhere else, and make sure someone you trust implicitly can reach it in case of your death. Nothing is more important than protecting this chest."

Scrimgeour watched him evenly, eyes narrowed. Arthur stared calmly back, and after a long moment, the Auror nodded.

"Where to now?" he asked simply, and Arthur smiled.

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

"I don't know how they figured it out," Tonks muttered darkly. "But I'm bloody well positive they are right. Someone Obliviated him."

"Since he's been at the school?" Bill asked, his eyes narrowed, and Tonks nodded.

"I talked to him right after the kids arrived," she answered, scowling down into her scotch. "He was completely normal."

"That's unsettling," Bill murmured, staring into the fire. "Do you really think we need to wonder who did it?"

Tonks snorted. She tossed her head back and downed her glass in one go, cradling the empty tumbler in her hands. "The question is why."

Bill fell silent. With a shake of his head, he pushed to his feet and started pacing the room, now and then glancing at the fire. Sparks began to form at his fingertips as he moved, and he let out a steadying breath.

"How's she doing?" Tonks asked quietly, glancing towards the front door. Bill followed her gaze in the direction of his workshop and scowled. He shoved a hand into his hair, ripping his ponytail halfway out as he glared at the wall.

"She thinks she almost has it," he said with a sigh. "Whatever wards Gin is behind are powerful, and they've blocked out the first dozen different tracers we've tried. But she got a backlash from the last one, which means we've found a hole. It's just a matter of figuring out how to get through it."

Tonks nodded. "Nev told me that Ron and Harry are working on something else," she murmured. "Harry thinks he remembers seeing a blood spell for tracking family in one of the Slytherin books. They're looking now."

"Good," Bill said absently, spinning on his heel and staring into the fire again. "We have another problem."

"What now?" Tonks asked warily, and Bill scowled again.

"Hermione Granger is not the only one in her mind."

Tonks dropped the glass.

Order Safehouse

Somewhere in Hampshire

Minerva was not happy.

She stepped out of the fireplace with Lovegood on her heels, face twisted in a scowl as she looked around the room. The tiny little blonde girl bobbed impatiently at her side, and Minerva held out her arm, holding the girl back as she cast spell after spell, her eyes roving over every inch of the space.

Finally, she dropped her arm and turned to look at the impertinent child. "How did you figure out where he was being held?" she demanded, and Luna simply smiled up at her. A tiny little glowing moth peeked out of her hair, flying in circles around the girl's head before diving into Minerva's robe pocket. The little creature buzzed happily, and Minerva closed her eyes.

Morgana, give me strength, she thought wearily, and opened her eyes again, looking down at the little Ravenclaw. Luna looked rather proud of herself, her normally absent gaze sharp and focused.

Minerva sighed. "Effective," she said simply, and Luna smiled again, crooking a finger towards the glowing creature. The moth buzzed more loudly, flitting over to vanish back behind the girl's ear. The young Ravenclaw stepped further into the room, her brow furrowed as she gazed at the heavy steel door in the opposite wall.

She looked so much like Pandora. Minerva felt her heart lurch in her chest.

"Must you speak with him?" the Gryffindor head asked worriedly, and Luna frowned.

"Yes," she replied simply, and without another pause, she skipped across the room, swinging the door open wide.

Minerva stared. She knew Bill and Shacklebolt had been the ones to determine where to hold the prisoner. That door had to be warded six ways to Sunday.

But Luna stood in the doorway, and Minerva quickly crossed the room to her student's side, glaring down at the man who sat casually on the barren cot in the stone room.

Brand's eyes narrowed as he glared at them, then his gaze softened, his eyes lingering on Luna's face. "You look just like her," he breathed, and Luna smiled gently.

The little Ravenclaw slipped into the room, sitting crosslegged on the floor and fixing the spellcrafter with a piercing stare. With a string of Scottish swears, Minerva followed her, moving to stand between her and the prisoner.

Luna ignored her, continuing to gaze at Brand. "You can help me, can't you?" she asked in her soft singsong.

Shell Cottage

Tinworth, Cornwall

"Does she know?" Tonks asked shrilly, and Bill shook his head, grabbing the scotch bottle and taking a swig.

"I think she can tell something is wrong," he said. "She's frightened. She's noticed she's distrustful and she doesn't seem to think her own emotions make sense. She's… questioning."

"But it's only you." Tonks shoved her flaming red hair back from her face with a shaking hand. "Why you, specifically?"

"Maybe not," Bill replied. "It's not like I've been spying on the girl. She was just acting more and more nervous every time she's been around me, and tonight, she snapped. So… I took a peek."

He shook his head again, taking another swallow from the bottle. "Oddly enough, she seemed to relax after that."

"So maybe she really does realize something is…"

"But what?" Bill said, scowling again. "She hasn't been memory charmed. It isn't Imperius. It's like he can talk to her, Tonks, like he's speaking directly into her brain."

Tonks shuddered.

"She thinks it's her conscience, I think," Bill continued. "You know, how when you've spent so much time around someone that sometimes, your thoughts sound like them? And the worst part is, that's reasonable."

"So how do you know that's not it?" Tonks asked worriedly, her eyes narrowed on his face.

"Because her own thoughts wouldn't be laced with dark magic," Bill said bitterly.

"So what do we do?"

He glanced across the room, his harsh gaze softening as he looked at his brother's best friend. Tonks looked furious, but terrified, the slender Auror's face pale and stricken.

She was getting as attached to Hermione as he was to Harry, and if they couldn't help the girl, she'd be devastated.

"Nothing, for now," he said simply. "We have to get Ginny back, and Hermione won't be able to concentrate if she finds out. And you and I both know she has to help, or she won't forgive herself."

Tonks nodded slowly.

"We keep her away from him for now. Keep an eye on her. But once Ginny's safe, we'll have to confront him."

For a long moment, the crackling of the fire was the only sound in the room. Bill looked at Tonks steadily, waiting.

The metamorph's hair was slowly darkening, going a solid, inky black. She met his gaze with pitch black eyes, a vicious smile on her face.

"Severus Snape," she said slowly, "is going to rue the day he ever met that girl."

Headmaster's Tower

Hogwarts

"Were you successful?" Dumbledore asked sharply, and Snape nodded jerkily, his oily hair falling across his face.

"They will be – easily led to believe that I've abandoned the cause," he whispered, his silky voice echoing through the room. "And I believe the Dark Lord will be most pleased when the whispers reach him from other sources."

"Dare I ask what you did?" The Headmaster leaned back in his chair, his bones creaking as he gazed at his Potions Master. Nearly twenty years had taught him to never underestimate Snape's – ingenuity. But he still wanted to believe there was a line the man wouldn't cross.

After all, hadn't he been fighting for love, all these years?

"Best not, Headmaster," Snape replied easily, his mouth twisting in a smirk. "Assume that Tonks, Shacklebolt, the wolf, the Weasleys, and the Dream Team will be sufficiently enraged, and they will help to solidify my cover quite… publicly."

"I still wish you would have just – "

"The Dark Lord wants to disgrace you, not kill you," Snape cut him off, and Dumbledore sighed. "And you are needed yet, old man."

He was tired, so very very tired. Dumbledore pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose, closing his eyes, then let out a steady breath and looked up.

"Will you go now?" he asked sadly, and Snape nodded.

"Shacklebolt, the changeling, the wolf, or Indiana Jones might well kill me," he said simply, and Dumbledore felt a flash of sorrow.

Honestly, Severus deserved better for all he had sacrificed.

He wanted to thank the younger man. He wanted to tell him he was appreciated, he was redeemed, that he mattered.

"Be careful," he said instead, and Snape nodded again, then turned on his heel.

In the doorway, the spy paused, glancing back over his shoulder. Dumbledore waited patiently.

"Might I ask a favor?" his young friend asked quietly. "Have I earned the right?"

"Anything I can give," Dumbledore said softly.

Snape looked back at him, dark eyes shadowed. "This time," he whispered, "save the girl."

And with a swirl of his robes, he was gone.