Chapter Seventeen

Her body was numb. She was only vaguely aware that she was being moved into a seat because of the minute changes in the view that passed before her dazed eyes. She thought perhaps she might've even lost consciousness due to shock for a few seconds, there, because another of her dreamed memories drifted into existence, unfolding in her mind as though she had all the time in the world to examine the recollection.

"You cannot go with us," nine-year-old Thorfinn informed her, what she surmised was a delighted sneer twisting his features.

Sabina frowned, plucking up the length of her fine, robin's egg blue robes in her little fists as she hurried after him. "But why not? I am just as capable as you!"

"Maybe you are, maybe you are not, but the Jarl's Hunt is only for those who have already proven themselves in the wild."

"Well . . . ." She pouted, shaking her head as she followed at his heels. The little witch new perfectly well her betrothed did not normally walk this fast—he was deliberately walking quicker to keep her running. The scoundrel! "How is one supposed to prove themselves in the wild if they are not permitted to go on a hunt?"

"I would not know, where we came from things were different. Here, everyone is so concerned with injuries." He stopped abruptly, chuckling in a way that seemed a bit too mature for his age when his sudden halt caused her to run into him, her face planted firm between his shoulder blades for a moment.

She backpedaled, rubbing her palm over the bridge of her stinging nose. "You did that on purpose."

Thorfinn turned on his heel, sneering at her once more. "Prove it."

"I do not need to prove a truth."

He rolled his eyes, she always made sense, sometimes simply not in a way with which others agreed. "Grouse all you like Sabina, you cannot go. Pure, simple, and none of my concern. Besides, you would be safer staying behind in the castle."

She knew it was not because she was 'a girl!', for his own mother was participating in the event. "Safer?" she echoed, her tone shrill.

Thorfinn clamped his hands around her tiny shoulders, appearing wise beyond his years as he spoke. "You have no experience in the woods. You could get hurt, anything could happen. You could . . . you could fall over a tree root, smash your head on a rock and die. And what then? How am I supposed to marry a dead girl, hmm?"

Sabina scowled up at him.

The young Viking was not ruffled in the least by her irritation. "Now, off with you. I have training."

She scowled harder, knowing full well she was normally allowed to watch his training, but now he was making it seem different and special and secretive, since this training was specifically in preparation for that big, stupid hunt tomorrow.

"Fine," she huffed, stamping her heel and whirling away from him. In her wake, she could hear the Jarl's deep, rich, chuckle as he warned his son that—if he were luckyhe would someday learn to regret angering his woman.

Once out of their eyeline, Sabina whirled right back around. Ducking behind the nearest wall, she backtracked, finding her way to a place from where she could have a clear view of today's training. Typical, she thought, watching. They were using wooden weapons—she knew it was practical, giving the trainees the feel of the proper weight of the items, while the worst injury that might occur was some bruising or a broken bone, perhaps, if an impact or swing had enough power behind it. Certainly, a broken arm might put one out of training for a time even with the proper medicinal potions, but you learned from it. Broken bones healed, severed limbs did not.

She shielded a snicker behind her cupped hand, imagining Thorfinn trying to hunt with his practice weapons. Absurd! One couldn't hunt without their . . . . Her hand fell back to her side as a wicked grin curved her lips. No, one couldn't hunt without their proper weaponry, could they? No, no, of course not. Without it, he'd be trapped in the castle, just as safe as her.

Just as left behind.

The sound of the Jarl's bark the next morning as he demanded to know how his son had managed to misplace his sword could be heard throughout the entirety of the castle.


"And you really have no idea where the young man's sword disappeared to?" Uncle Godric asked, his voice secretive as he lowered his wand, having finished this most recent medical exam.

"None," she insisted, glancing over his shoulder toward where her father stood, watching with a deep frown creasing his face. No one had thought she was responsible, except for her father and her uncle. And Helena, of course, but then Helena actually knew her sister had taken the sword, as she'd been the one to catch her sneaking through the castle carrying itbut in that strange way of sistersshe'd kept it to herself. The moment the wizards had heard about her betrothed's missing armament, their gazes had leapt directly to her.

"Well?" she asked, looking at him expectantly as he stood from where he'd been seated before her. "Am I all right?" Really, these examinations were tedious. Every week since Mother had taken ill, Father and Uncle Godric dragged Sabina off from whatever she had been doing to perform wand readings on her, gauging her health.

Not father. Not Helena, just her. Surely, Sabina spent much time around Mother, but not nearly as much as Father did. Shouldn't he be in danger of becoming infected with her mysterious illness, too?

"Fine, dear, of course," Godric said with a thin smile. He looked very tired these days, his thick, reddish-gold hair threading through with premature white, lines spreading out from around his eyes and the corners of his mouth. "I do need a word with your father a moment, though. Then we shall get back to this matter of your young man's missing sword, yes?"

The little girl rolled her eyes and folded her arms across her chest, but nodded.

She didn't hear what Father and her uncle discussed, but she could infer from their tones and expressions that it was yet another hushed argument. They'd always argued, for as long as she could remember, but now it seemed the only way they communicated. They never smiled, never laughed, and it seemed Uncle Godric was constantly apologizing for some overreaction on his part.

Try as she might, she could make no sense of the situation.

Father snapped something at Uncle Godric, and the ginger-haired wizard's shoulders slumped. He seemed much smaller than Father when he stooped that way, despite that they were of similar build and stature. They both had become slightly more frail since Mother's first symptoms appeared, despite that neither of them were sick. Sabina thought perhaps it was how tirelessly they were working to find a cure, but why Father seemed to blame Uncle Godric for the fact that they hadn't yet come up with one, she hadn't a clue.

Father plastered on a smile and stepped around his friend. "You, little serpent, are perfectly fine. Again. We simply . . . worry. We are done for today. No more missing sword business, either, as I trust it will turn up soon enough. I believe Helga expects you in the kitchens to test the elves' newest confections."

Sabina didn't want to be appeased and distracted by the thought of fluffy sweet cakes, or scrumptious biscuits . . . but she was only a little girl, after all. Who could resist such temptation? "Fine," she said, hopping down off the cot and propping her fists on her hips. "But only because you are so insistent."

Her father smirked at her bravado and made a shooing gesture.

Her little face scrunching in a suspicious look—she was always being sent off to anywhere else when Father and Uncle Godric had to go back to work. So strange, before Mother's illness had struck, they had adored her curiosity, letting her sit in on the experiments which had led to so many breakthroughs in potions and charms. Now, it was as though they feared a strong breeze in the wrong direction would make her fall ill, too.

As she reached the door, however, a notion occurred to her. Spinning around on her heel to look back at the pair of elder wizards, she asked, "How does one prove themselves to be included in a Hunt if they are not permitted to go on one until they have proven themselves?"

The two exchanged a look. This from the minuscule witch who claimed to have no idea where Thorfinn's sword was, because she had no interest whatsoever in hunts or wilderness, or 'any of that nonsense.'

Father shrugged. "I suppose one would have to simply go out and hunt on their own. Bring back their kill as proof." Even as he spoke, she could tell he dreaded imparting such information to her.

Could tell he knew precisely why she was asking.


Thorfinn found his sword—tucked beneath his bed, where he could have sworn he had already looked a dozen times—the day Sabina Slytherin had declared her intentions to the Jarl.

Their fathers had sat around a table, discussing . . . she didn't know, matters of magical state, or whatever. Thorfinn had come running through the Hall to show his father his recovered weapon.

Just as he was explaining that he thought perhaps one of the castle spirits was playing pranks on him, the doors to the Hall crashed open, seemingly on their own. There stood little Sabina, her normally ordered hair in wild, bushy disarray around her like a darkly golden-brown cloud of frizz and unmanaged curls. Her face was streaked with dirt, and her pretty emerald robes torn at the hem in more places than could be counted in a single glance and mucked up so heavily one could no longer see the original brilliant green for all the greyish brown overlaying it.

In her hand she clutched the wand that had been crafted for her, but that she had not yet been thought able to use. Tucked into the strand of fine pearls 'round her waist a jeweled dagger Salazar immediately recognized as belonging to her mother, crimson still dripped from the end of the blade, dotting a dark line down her dress. His little girl had blown open those doors with a spell!

He was as proud as he was confused by the spectacle.

She held something behind her back, keeping whatever her secret was close as she strode into the room and neared their table. Thorfinn watched her through narrowed eyes as he stuck his sword behind his back, suddenly not so certain the spirits had anything to do with its disappearance. Of course the blade was clean, so whatever she'd done, that dagger at her waist was the only weapon she'd used.

"Father," she said, her tone crisp. Sabina turned her full attention on Dagfinn Rowle. "Mighty Jarl." She nodded to him in a strangely formal gesture and then pulled her arm from behind her back. The Viking wizard's brows shot upward as the little witch slapped her kills down before him.

Tipping his head to one side, he trailed his fingers over the still-cooling bodies. A hare, a fine, fat little bird, and a pair of red squirrels.

"I demand inclusion in your next hunt, My Lord." Leaving her kills before him, she turned and started for the doors, not waiting for a response, letting all present understand that it was not a request.

"Sabina?" Salazar called, his tone giving away that he was just as stunned as Dagfinn and his son.

The girl only looked back over her shoulder as she continued from the room. "I am sorry, Father, but if I am to wash up and redress in time for dinner, I really must go right now."

The Jarl was examining her kills. He nodded slowly, perhaps she had used magic to quiet her movements, allowing her to sneak up on them—had she used a petrificus on them to halt them for her attack, their bodies would still be locked. That particular charm wouldn't wear off before the blood cooled. "Your daughter is quite impressive," he said with a nod, more certain than ever that she was a perfect match for his son.

Salazar smirked and shook his head, no idea she was lingering outside the door, lest she never know if the Jarl might tell her father she still could not join. "I agree, though her hubris worries me. Such a small thing, believing she is capable of taking on the entire world." After a moment's thought, he tacked on, "And causes me concern for your son."

Dagfinn's chuckle boomed through the grand room. "Oh, yes. There is that. Poor boy."

Thorfinn did not seem to like the elder wizards laughing at his expense. "What is that supposed to mean?"

His father shrugged, calling forth an elf to take the witch's trophies. "It means your betrothed gets to join us on our next Hunt. You had best keep a tight hold on your sword until then."

Feeling quite satisfied that her stunt had proven successful, she started toward the staircase. Now that she got to go—now that she would not be left behind—she no longer had need to hide Thorfinn's sword.


The Minister's office swam into focus around her. Odd, she hadn't even remembered her eyes closing, but she'd been there in the Great Hall, and now here she was back in the Ministry.

Immediately recalling what had happened, her gaze jumped to Malfoy's. If she hadn't even recalled when the memory had taken hold or how long it had taken to flit past, then she couldn't be certain she'd not spoken any of the things her younger self had said aloud.

"Are you okay?" he asked, shaking his head at her. "You fainted."

"I did what?" She swallowed hard. She hated fainting. It was so . . . so . . . bah. It didn't matter what it was, it had happened and there was no going back and un-fainting. "Did I say anything while I was, um, out?"

Again Draco shook his head.

Relief washed through her, but it was just as quickly pushed aside by her anger and panic. The sharp sting of those harsh emotions drifted back to wrap around her, choking like a scarf pulled too tight.

"It's understandable to have such a reaction, Hermione," Kingsley said in a gentle tone as he held out a glass of water for her to take. "I'm sorry the news was such a shock, but there was no easy way to tell you something like that."

She pushed herself to sit up and accepted the glass, taking a few long sips before speaking again. "I know, it's not . . . not your fault. I simply wasn't expecting to hear that. What do you think could've happened to them?"

"Therein lies the problem." The dark-skinned wizard sighed, pulling up a chair to sit rather informally facing them. "It nearly seems as though they vanished. There is no sign of them. They arrived in Australia, as you planned, they seemed to be settling into a long vacation, and then . . . it appeared that they were simply gone. It's baffling and quite troubling."

"I'll say." Hermione had no idea how she was speaking around the sensation of her heart being lodged in her throat. "Do you think someone did something to them?"

"We would have no reason to, unless—"

"Unless?" Draco echoed the word, his brows disappearing into the fringe of his pale bangs falling over his forehead.

"I hate to ask," Kingsley started, shaking his head, "but did you tell anyone, anyone at all, where you sent your parents away?"

"No one." She shook her head, taking another sip. "I didn't trust the information wouldn't get to the wrong person, somehow. Wait . . . ." The witch and younger wizard shared a grim look before she could go on. "You think the Death Eaters might have something to do with this?"

Kingsley shrugged, pressing a fist to his chin in thought. "Anything is possible at this point. If they somehow found out where your parents were—and let's face it, how much of a help you were to our side was not exactly a secret—they might've thought to use their safety against you. Or perhaps for revenge? There are at least three Death Eaters we know of—excluding the Malfoys, of course—who are still at large. As long as no one knows the whereabouts of Rabastan Lestrange, Antonin Dolohov, or Thorfinn Rowle, we cannot rule out the possibility that your parents' disappearance happened through magical means. And, given the . . . completeness of their vanishing, magical means might be the only avenue that makes sense."

Hermione looked at Draco again, the question in her eyes as she held his gaze. Other than himself, his father and the aforementioned Thorfinn, the Death Eaters were unaware of the truth. Unaware of who Hermione really was.

It was possible that—had they found out about Australia—those other two missing Death Eaters had thought to find her parents for nefarious reasons, just as Kingsley had said.

"This would be devastating news for anyone, Hermione," Kingsley said, his tone gentle. "We are sending Aurors to investigate, starting with their last known whereabouts. You should go home, let the shock wear off. Check in with me first thing tomorrow. I'll keep you posted daily. On the hour, if you prefer."

She uttered a sad, hollow laugh and waved dismissively with her free hand. "I appreciate the sentiment, but we both know you don't have that sort of time or freedom to stay on top of a singular matter like this. I'll contact you daily for updates. But please. If you find out anything, anything at all, I want to know immediately. I don't care where I am or what else is going on."

"Of course, Hermione." Kingsley nodded, his expression sympathetic as she handed back the glass and stood. "You will, of course, let me know right away if you can think of any way someone . . . unsavory might've learned of their whereabouts?"

"Of course," she said back.


The moment she stepped through the door, Thorfinn was on his feet, glaring at Draco. "What did you do?"

Malfoy's eyes shot wide. "Me? What do you mean?"

"That look on her face!"

"Thorfinn, please, Draco didn't do anything wrong." With a sigh, she scooped up Salazar, finding comfort in the press of his smooth scales beneath the brush of her fingers.

Taking a seat, she explained everything the Minister had told her. This news was as startling to her wizard as it had been to her, but for a different reason.

"They never caught Bas or Dolohov?" He sat down heavily beside her, raking his fingers through his shaggy golden hair. "This is . . . troubling. Well, Dolohov, at least. Bas probably fucked off to some exotic isle to wait out the storm."

"You think Dolohov is behind this?" Hermione couldn't imagine anyone going to such trouble for revenge, let alone someone worried about being snatched up by one of the magical law enforcement agencies scattered throughout the Wizarding world.

Thorfinn winced. He'd hoped Dolohov was rotting in a little cage in newly-renovated Azkaban, to learn he was still free out there, somewhere . . . . "Well, I've no idea how he'd have found out where you sent your parents, but I do know that he's sort of had it out for you ever since that fight in the Department of Mysteries."

"What?" Hermione felt a sharp ache slash across her torso at the memory, right where Dolohov's curse had struck her. "Are you joking? He nearly killed me that night! What could I possibly have—?"

Her betrothed's face darkened as he shook his head at her, cutting short her words with his expression alone. "Nearly. That's exactly why he has it out for you. You survived. He considers your continued living a failure on his part. Unfinished business."

She refused to let the fear coiling in her gut get the better of her. Cradling Salazar to her chest in a self-soothing gesture, she frowned. "But . . . if he's not behind the Grangers' disappearance, and he's out there still, somewhere in Wizarding Britain, is it possible he's actively after me now?"

Without warning, Thorfinn scooped up his witch and pulled her into his lap, hugging her close. "I'd kill him with my bare hands if he even tried to come after you."

The sound of the backdoor opening drew their collective attention. They looked up to see Draco excusing himself from the scene, unannounced.

Meeting their gazes in turn, he said, "I'm going to make myself useful. Poke my nose around and see if I can dig up anything about his last known whereabouts. It's all we can do for now. I'll let you know what I learn."

He left them alone, and Hermione felt the world closing in on her. She curled herself against Thorfinn's chest, trying not to give into tears as she thought of the Grangers possibly in some dank, unknown place, suffering God knew what at the hands of a lunatic like Antonin Dolohov.

"Not much I can do to help right now, is there?"

Thorfinn's mournful tone plucked at her heartstrings. He wanted to so much to protect her, even in situations where it was impossible to do so. She needed to calm down. Worrying and panicking never solved anything.

Lifting her head, she gently set a drowsy Salazar aside, whispering to him to go to sleep. Meeting Thorfinn's familiar blue eyes, she said, "Well, I could do with having something to take my mind off things."

He raised his hand, tracing her features with delicate fingertips as he smiled. "That I can do."