Eloise burst free from her stupor and surged forward, pushing her way until she was face to face with the intruder. The men behind him tensed, their wands held ready and menacingly. She glared at them, her mouth snarling. A few shrank away, but most held their ground.
Incensed that so quickly she had lost her position, Eloise silently fumed. "How could you?" she spat, her voice filled with loathing. "He did everything for you; moved you up, kept you at his side. You were his oldest friend -- he trusted you!"
"Friend?" he sneered. "You know what I was?" He leaned in closer. "Cannon fodder. It suited him to have me by his side; Gregory was smart -- at least he got out in time."
Something clicked in Harry's head as he suddenly realize who it was that was threatening them. A glance over at Ron told him that he too had realized who it was.
Vincent Crabbe? That thick-head bodyguard of Malfoy's? Harry glanced at the prone form next to him. But I thought he and Goyle were totally devoted to him...? he wondered in shock. The last he heard, the three of them were still together, still wreaking havoc as they used to back at Hogwarts.
The man in question gave a wave of his hand as he dismissed the men behind him. "Go and wait outside."
"But sir!" They hesitated, unsure what to do. "You'll be outnumbered!"
"Get out!" Crabbe yelled. "GET OUT!" he bellowed, his face red as he screamed for them to go.
Quickly, they scrambled over themselves to get out. If they weren't in such a grave situation, Harry would have been tempted to laugh at the Death Eaters bending themselves backwards in fear of Vincent Crabbe. He wasn't even that high up in the Death Eaters.
Crabbe turned back, slowly, unholy gleam in his eye. His face was collected as he looked over the three.
"Crabbe." Ron's lips curled in distaste. "That's befitting -- a traitor being betrayed by his own man."
"How could you, Vinny?" Eloise repeated, her face betraying her perplexity. "How could you!"
Crabbe tilted his head. "Do you know why I joined Malfoy's little circus in the first place?" he asked philosophically, ignoring Eloise's question. He went on before they could respond. "He," Crabbe said, pointed at Malfoy on the floor. "told me that I had a choice. I could either choose You-Know-Who, the choice that wasn't really a choice or I could join him in the fight against You-Know-Who. Fight a good fight he said, show those bloody Gryffindor's wrong who think we have nothing to offer this world but more evil." He paused for a moment, his eyes glassy but with a jolt, his eyes cleared and he resumed his speech. "You know what? I don't know why I joined him. I never should have -- the good guy thing just isn't in my blood, but Draco always has a way of captivating his speakers. A silver tongue..." he trailed off, once again lost. "But you know what, Malfoy?" he was speaking to the body now. "You can't speak, you can't do that damn trick of yours where you open your mouth and I come running to obey! I'm the man in charge now! How do you like that!" Crabbe gave Malfoy a feral grin that would have been a tad fearful if he had been awake.
All through Crabbe's one sided conversation, Harry and Ron both watched as he became more and more agitated, as the crazy glint in Crabbe's eyes grew and grew until it was all they could see. When he started to rave at an unconscious body, they were a bit taken back, Eloise and Ron both moving back a few steps as Crabbe stalked over to the body, but Harry refused to budge from his spot. He looked up at the wild face of a man Malfoy must have once called friend and compadre and felt a pang of sympathy for Malfoy. He was no stranger to betrayal himself. No I'm not, Harry thought regretfully.
"Don't do this, Crabbe," Harry tried, futilely, even though he knew it probably wouldn't do any good.
"Don't do what? This? I've already done it! The deal's sealed Potter. I will forever be known as the man who brought down the Gregon, the Gregon's most trusted subordinate as well as the Boy Who Lived and the Weasel! That's worth all of the grief and trouble I went through with him!"
"It couldn't have been that bad," Harry appealed.
"No," Crabbe agreed to their surprise. "Not always. It started off fun." He grinned that big stupid grin of his. "Especially when we would do in a prominent Ministry operative or one of Dumbledore's people. Like that black kid from Gryffindor... What was his name again?" he mused.
Both Ron and Harry saw red in their eyes at the ruthless mention of a fallen friend. Ron looked as if he was about ready to spring on Crabbe but a wand held ready warned him.
"Don't even think about it Weasel. I would really hate to see you hurt."
"Really?" Ron spat. "Who was it that captured me three years ago with the Cruciatus?"
Crabbe grinned at the memory it brought back. "That was me, wasn't it? How you twitched," he rubbed in.
Eloise glanced sharply at Ron who had emitted a low growl. There was something in his expression that she didn't like and as much as she would love to dismember Crabbe at the moment, she needed to plan. She glanced at Draco. What would he do? She was at a lost. Suddenly unmasked and rendered vulnerable did that to a girl.
They needed to get away from the dungeons, that much was clear. And her staying on the island was no more an option. Covertly she glanced around, searching and hoping for a way out to magically appear before her eyes. If she wasn't such a pessimist she would hope that some how there would be divine intervention, but there's no use in hoping for God to do something.
There was no way out through the cell door -- they were on the lowest part of the dungeons, the only thing surround them besides solid rock was solid earth. Even if they wanted or could blow their way out, they would never be able to. There'll be no place to go.
They're was only that one way out and with it they'll have to get past both Crabbe as well as half a dozen armed Death Eaters. Thinking about it made her wince, but she quickly masked her expression. It wouldn't do her any good for her to give herself away before she even tries to escape.
Harry glanced around, much as Eloise had done moments before, assessing their situation. The Death Eaters are a hindrance, he admitted. But, he countered. We still have our wands for some reason. It seemed as if Crabbe had forgotten that they were still on them, even though they had held them up and posed only a few moments ago. But when they realized that he seemed to have forgotten all about their wands, they slowly moved them out of sight, though still in their hands. He was never very smart, Harry thought, critiquing Crabbe's poor showing. He was irrational, allowing his emotions to get the better of him. For a split second he wondered how long he had been holding on to this hate and why he had allowed it to consume him.
A few feet away Ron was wondering the same thing but he was also drawing the similarity between Malfoy's henchman and himself, the sidekick to the Boy Who Lived. Both had resented their partners, both had let the jealously and anger take a hold of their lives. But, Ron thought. Where he allowed his hate to fester, mine was resolved. And ironically, Crabbe was part of the reason why his resentment of Harry was resolved in the first place. He looked over the shuddering man with a critical eye. You obviously had no such luck. For a moment, Ron allowed him to feel something other than disgust for the man he probably would have become himself if things had been the way they hadn't happened the way it had happened.
Smirking, Crabbe turned back and rapped the iron cast door a few times. The three of them froze, anticipating what is it was that was about to occur, each of their minds telling to act now, that this would be their last chance before they were truly well captured. But no matter what their minds were telling them, they could not come up with any sort of defense or offense that wouldn't get them in more trouble or more hindered than they were now. And as much as they hated to submit, there was no way for them to anything. Eloise knew that -- even if she didn't care about Potter and Weasley (which she didn't), she still couldn't risk Draco. No, she shook her head. She couldn't. She glanced at the duo, both of their body's reflecting their inner torment. She knew Potter and Weasley, almost as well as Draco knew them. Potter wouldn't endanger anybody, be it friend or foe. Though at the moment, she wasn't sure of which column she would fall into, she felt fairly safe that she could count on Potter not doing anything rash. Weasley on the other hand...she wasn't as sure about him.
Weasley is a hot-head, arrogant fool. In many ways, she mused. He's a lot like Draco in the early years. If she were in any other situation than this, she would laugh. She knew how Draco would react if he heard her comparing him to the Weasel. And she had a sneaking suspicion Weasley would react in the same way.
But what would he do? She stared at the redhead, trying to puzzle him out as if she could separate each of his facets and examine them closely. On one hand Weasley was impetuous, too rash for his own good. On the other, he wasn't a total idiot. At times, he was really not that stupid. If he was aware of the risks and thought them out fully, she was sure he would do the right thing. But the problem with him was that he doesn't think about the risks and the consequences, reacts rather than planning his thoughts out like Draco did. One again, Eloise wished Draco was awake. He would know exactly what to do, whether it was action or to bide their time.
A man, short and stout, his dark robes, swishing as he appeared in the opened door.
"Take their wands," Crabbe ordered. "If they give you any trouble, do what ever you want -- just keep them alive." He turned back to the three, smiling at their glaring faces. "Sit tight. And don't worry...you'll be having a special visitor soon." He laughed and ducked out of the cell, laughing as he went.
A special visitor? Harry questioned. He had a bad feeling about that. In his mind, there was only one person whom he could think of that would want to see him. And once HE came here, it would all be over. Years of hard work, of pushing him away and back time and time again would end just like this. And he wouldn't even go out with the supposed bang that everyone wanted. He would die, that he was sure of. And he would die with nothing less than a whimper.
The short man walked in, his gait uneasy. He shuffled over to Eloise, reaching for her wand clenched in her hand. She refused him, pulling away. "Don't do this, Oscar," she warned.
He flinched, but still he tried again to take the wand. "Please Eloise. I have to," he pleaded. "Just give it to me. I promise I'll...I'll put it somewhere safe."
Eloise snorted. "So what if it's safe? It's not as if I could use it when I'm dead," she snarled.
He was taken aback by the menace he heard in her voice. "I'm sorry, Eloise. I really am... But I...I just can't..."
"Save it Oscar," Eloise spat. "If you were really sorry, you would help us out." Eloise moved closer to Oscar, pushing her body up to his. "Please, Oscar. If not for me, do it for Draco." Eloise lifted a hand and placed it on Oscar's cheek, forcing him too look at Draco. "Look at him, Oscar. He's done so much for you -- you owe him."
Oscar yanked himself away. "I own him nothing," he denied, yanking Eloise's wand from her. "Don't try that again Midgen. You'll regret it." He turned to glare at the other two. "That goes for you two too. Hand them over or do I have to get messy?"
Both Weasley and Potter both ignored him, refusing to hand over their wands. Eloise could see Potter's fingers tightening, both hands holding onto the small, thin piece of wood. Uh oh, Eloise thought as she saw Weasley looking to do the same. Her eyes widened as he quickly moved to intercept. Stopping in front of Harry, she laid her hand on the wand. "Don't," she whispered. Angry eyes answered her, but still she managed to pry the wand free from it's owner. "Trust me." She tried to convey her sincerity through her eyes, but then realized what she was doing and stopped. She didn't want to reassure Potter! She moved over to Ron and pulled his wand out of his hands as well after a bit of a tug-of-war. She whirled around. "There," she announced, handing the wands to Oscar. "You will make sure they come to no harm?" she asked, feeling a bit silly as she did so. They were wands but they were their wands. No one but a wizard or witch could understand the bond that existed between the wand and their owner.
"Of course, Eloise. I know what it means." Oscar gave the wands a pat and left, leaving the door slam with a hollowing thud.
The sheer force that had been holding Eloise up left her and she started to slump. Glancing around, Potter and Weasley didn't look too much better.
"What the hell did you do that for?" Ron burst, not able to hold it in any longer. "Do you know what you just did?"
She blinked in confusion -- almost believable that if Ron wasn't already immensely annoyed with her, he would have laid off a bit.
"I was doing you a favor," she said levelly. "No need to thank me."
"Thank you?!" Ron nearly screech. "Do you know what you just handed them?!"
"I was saving it."
"Oh! So you do know! How the hell could you just hand it over to that man...just like that? How could you--"
"Get over it Weasley," Midgen interrupted, her voice just showing a hint of annoyance. "I could see Potter over there. You were going to snap it, weren't you?" With her eyes she dared Harry to deny it.
Harry shrugged. So I was going to do it, so what? "Yes, so?"
"So? Do you understand what that would have done?" Midgen asked in surprised.
"My wand's nearly the identical twin to Voldemort's. They're like brothers -- both equal and both just as powerful. Do you know how long he's been trying to get his hands on my wand? I can't exactly allow that," Harry patiently explained.
"Of course I know!" Midgen hissed. "Stop acting as if I have no idea what has been happening for the past decade -- I probably know more about the last few years better than you do! You really have no clue, do you? There you are, working for the great, old Dumbledore, doing your little missions and your little stunts against our side, never really knowing what's really out there."
Harry's eyes narrowed. What is she talking about? He couldn't understand where that anger was coming from or why. It was obvious she had something against the two of them and whenever she opened her mouth, she got the nagging suspicion in the back of his mind that he wasn't privy to everything. And now, she was practically confirming his suspicions.
"What?" Harry tried, keeping his voice calm so that he would provoke her. "What exactly don't we know?"
Midgen rubbed a hand across her eyes, lifting her head up and for the first time, Harry could see the toll this experience was putting on her. "Everything. Draco has been worked so hard, planned for so long, and you two...You two just waltz right in and ruin everything up!"
"No hold on!" Ron interjected. "We ruin everything? What about you people? You can't even get your loyalties straight! This wasn't our fault -- we were trying to help! You got yourselves into this mess!"
"I never asked for your help!"
"Well obviously someone did or else we wouldn't be here, now would we?" Ron shot right back, his body tense. Midgen was no less. They were literally at each others' throats, both straining to get the upper hand.
"Okay, okay!" Harry yelled, trying to break it up. "Stop it! Both of you!" He pushed in between the two warring bodies, forcefully pushing them away from each other. "This isn't going to do any good if we fight the entire time!"
The two of them glared each other, dimly aware of Harry.
"Well if the stupid Weasel hadn't started it going about...going about..." she trailed off, her mind failing her for a moment. In all of the commotion, she had forgotten what it was exactly that had started the whole argument in the first place.
"My wand," Harry supplied, a bit gratified. If they thought as hard as they fought, we would be out of here by now.
"Yeah, his wand!" Ron agreed. "What do you think you were doing handing it over in the first place?"
"I was trying to save it from your impulsive partner over there." She jutted her chin out over to Harry.
Harry's eyes narrowed. It was one thing to argue with Ron about her supposed stupidity but to insult him...
"He was going to snap in two," she continued.
"Of course he was! The Dark Lord -- sorry Voldemort," Ron corrected when he saw Harry's sharp look. "Voldemort has been trying to get his hands on Harry's wands for years now. We aren't going to allow it to fall into his hands now. We've gone over this before."
"Yes," Eloise strove. "But if you eliminate Harry's wand, what is powerful enough to counter-act Voldemort's?"
Her ease at saying the Dark Lords name shocked Ron. He knew she was like him -- a pureblood who've been raised in the Wizarding world where the name Voldemort has been shrouded in darkness, where even the mention of his name was avoided.
"Why do you think you've kept it for so long?" Eloise's amusement and disgust was clearly evident in her voice. "You think it's because of your prowess? Please," she scoffed. "Do you know how many times you've come to losing it? Thirty-four times since you've graduated. Just be glad Draco has always been there to get it back or that one of our people have avoided taking it."
Thirty-four times in nine years? Harry thought in disbelief. Though he somewhat believed that Draco could have a part in the fact that his wand had never been successfully stolen, he can't believe he's almost lost it thirty-four times. Even that seems a bit excessive for him. "No," he denied.
"Yes," Eloise affirmed, taking delight in it. "Draco has always gotten it back, had made it a top priority for our people. Rule One: Trust Draco above all else. Rule Two: All information is filtered through Draco. Rule Three: Make sure Potter's wand never makes its way to enemy hands," she rattled off. "The top three rules, number four being if you betray Draco you will not live to regret it."
Why she had thrown that last rule out was unknown, but Harry had his own guesses about that. But it surprised him that Malfoy would place such a high value on his wand. He had always thought about how it had to stay out of Voldemort's hands at all costs -- Malfoy thought about how it need to stay out of Voldemort's hands and how it need to stay in Harry's hands at all costs. Who'd ever thought Malfoy would think ahead like that? He'd come a long way from the rash boy he had gone to school with.
"See?" Eloise pointed out, what exactly he wasn't sure. She moved slowly towards him and for a moment considered moving back until he realized she was moving closer to Malfoy, not him. She sank to her haunches, hunching over his body. She ran a hair through the red streaked hair and her hands got tangled in the blood matted strands. Regretfully, she pulled her hand out, settling for petting the top of Malfoy's head. "You didn't know that. You don't know just how many things Draco has done to make your lives easier, to make sure you were safe." She sniffed and pulled her hand back. Rising, she faced the other two men. "For some reason, he's always thought that you," She was talking to Potter. "and you," This time to Weasley. "were key to the fall of the Dark Lord. Why, I don't know. If you ask me, he's," She nodded to the prone form of Malfoy. "done more for the Light than you two have."
At the mention of how they didn't deserve to be thought of as important to the defeat of the Dark Lord, Harry could see Ron's fists clenching again as his eyes flashed. No, he shook his head. Let it go.
Ron backed down a bit but Harry could see he was not pleased with the prospect of having to retreat. But Eloise didn't even notice, her eyes only on the barely moving chest of her fallen leader.
"Hmm..." Hermione voiced absent-mindedly as she read over the scrolls that contain the latest Intel on Death Eater movement in the past year.
Slowly, Voldemort had been slowly concentrating less and less in European Wizarding Communities, branching outward and involving foreigners more and more. The inclusion of the Yanks only served to prove the point. Voldemort in the past had been a British problem, but it seemed as if he was becoming more and more aggressive and is widening his spheres of influence.
She knew this already; had read the reports like everybody else of Dark Lord activities, though she was more informed than the average witch.
This is not good... not good at all, Hermione thought. She could almost hear her analysts telling her what she already knew. Voldemort is a threat, even more so than two decades ago when he had first came into power. At least back then he had concentrated his attacks on British Muggles and muggle-borns with the occasional French or German. Now his influence could be found in every single corner of the globe to Adelaide Australia to Montreal Canada, in Russia and in the African Continent. He'd even involved the Asiatic Wizards whom had been known in the past to not interfere in Western Wizarding issues, thinking they were superior to that sort of behaviors. God only knew how they could not afford to lose the Japanese nor the Chinese in this fight.
And as much Hermione liked the idea of Wizarding nations and Wizarding people around the world bonding together against a common evil, reality kept on interfering. What had been a purely British defense against the Dark Lord, they now had American wizards and witches meddling with their operations and affairs, demanding to be included in every little thing. As if we didn't have enough. Now we have to baby-sit hot-head Americans who think they know everything, Hermione thought in a huff, thinking of one brash American in particular. John Braxton, the American wizard who was, she supposed, her counterpart. They've crossed lines a bit too often for her likes and she much as she's tried, she'd never been able to figure out the extent of the information he possessed or the exact preemptive measures as he called them he had staged. It did give her some satisfaction that she knew to an almost certainty that she knew more about his operation than he know about hers.
There were some coordinating being done, a few joint operations -- the one in Singapore being one -- but it wasn't through her division. Diplomatic Relations she believed, was apart of the Ministry, but she had very little to do with them. As far as she was concerned, if they stay out of her pond, she won't dry up theirs,. Hermione cracked a smile at the metaphor. It was just like something Draco would say. I think I've been spending too much time with him.
Hermione's face twisted as she remembered Draco and the danger her husband and best friend was in because of him. And for a moment she regretted ever getting into this business, regretted being in a position where was not oblivious to her husband's actions, even though he tried so hard to keep his work away from their lives.
She and Ron had gotten together in the sixth year at Hogwarts -- something everyone had delight in telling them that they were surprised they didn't get together sooner, that it was obvious that they were meant to be together. In seventh year, they had discussed their plans. After the rising of Voldemort in the fourth year, he'd become more and more bold with his annual attack of Harry, each time killing more and more innocents, causing more damage. The whole Wizarding community in Great Britain was disrupted -- they were plunged in another era of darkness, of fear for even walking out late at night. They were being terrorized daily and without proper guidance, they froze. No one knew what to do. They had The Boy Who Lived to rely on, but he was still a student still at Hogwarts. They had the Gregon, but he was only stories, false hope that no one could validate. Dumbledore did his best, organizing his people and his work the way they could work outside of the official Ministry, but it wasn't enough. The Ministry was dying, its Minister of Magic corrupted. Thank God Fudge was killed early on, Hermione thanked, thinking of that accident that had befallen the old Minister. But then again, it wasn't exactly an accident. After all, who would be stupid enough to use cadaver berries in a simple relaxation potion? Everyone knew that the acid in the berries would react to the chamomile, creating a potentially lethal potion.
They, they being those at the Ministry who investigated the unusual death, had attributed it to Fudge's old age, that he was finally becoming senile -- it had been the widely accepted response.
None the less, Fudge's death was probably for the best. It had opened everything up. Though Voldemort had wanted to move Lucius Malfoy into the position of Minister, but it had been foolhardy at best. No one -- no matter how much money Malfoy flung around -- would elect that Death Eater to the highest position in the land; Dumbledore would have made sure of that if things had not ended the way it did.
Thinking back, she could remember when Malfoy had been trying to get elected, remembered how Draco had gloated about how he was going to be the son of a Minister of Magic, especially of a Minister who was one of the most powerful Wizarding nations in the world. And she could remember the fight that resulted from Draco over doing things, as he often did back then. Draco had gone too far, spreading the rumors that his father was as good as elected and the first thing he would do was to get rid of those Mudbloods and those Mudlovers and demote that Muggle-loving Weasel. She could remember the hate she had felt, remembered her confusion at how someone could say something like that, but it wasn't she who was most hurt by it.
Like usual, Ron took offense. The shade of red he had turned rivaled his hair, his eyes flared with passion -- she had never seen Ron look like that before. It was as if he was possessed by the Imperius Curse.
It took four professors to disband them at the end, each supporting a number of wounds and bruises. Ron had ended up with three bruised ribs and a busted lip while Malfoy came out with only a sprained wrist and a black eye. The injuries were fixed easily enough by Madam Pomfrey, but only after they had been left to the pain for a few days, hoped that if the boys had felt the consequences of their actions to help deter them from further fighting.
And it turned out that it was all for naught. Less than a two weeks later, Malfoy pulled out of election and a witch named Zerina Vanier, an avid and dedicated Light supporter.
Of course Draco sulked for weeks, complaining about how a stupid Mudlover could get the job and how if his father had stayed in the race, they would never have elected the witch in the first place.
Ron however, was on cloud nine when he heard Malfoy dropped out. He made no attempt not to rub Draco's face in the fact that his father ran like a coward, knowing that Vanier would beat him any day. Draco could only glare and stay out of the way. At the time Hermione thought it was fitting, that it was indeed nice to see the pompous, spoiled Malfoy taken down a peg or two and that Ms. Vanier won was just an added bonus.
Thinking back, she now realized that during that time, Draco was already the Grey Dragon and had been for two years. And his hate of his father was not foreign to her so the disappointment and the brooding he had done when his father mysteriously, for no reason at all, pull out of the race must have been an act. It was surprising to think back on those little tidbits of memory and coupled with the things she knew now, look back on them on an entirely new light.
But she supposed, it was that whole incident that really started her journey on this path that she was on now. After Vanier was elected, everything seemed to have changed. Vanier was a miracle worker. With her at the reins things suddenly began to look up. Almost immediately after she had gotten the position, she started working on returning the Ministry to the way it used to be in the past. It was she who trusted Dumbledore enough to give him the resources to do his own thing and it was she who reformed the different departments under her. She had even convinced Arthur Weasley into taking a much more prestigious, more active role in the Ministry.
It was also Vanier who offered Hermione the job so many years ago when she was just getting out of seventh year. But she hadn't seriously considered it -- she had assumed she would be where ever Ron and Harry were, but obviously what she had assumed wasn't what had happened based on where she was now.
It was their first major fight -- her desire to be with her friends and lover versus Ron's desire to keep her safe and out of harm, as if she was a china doll to be taken out when he wanted to play with her and them put on a high shelf later on, safe from prying hands. And it didn't help that Harry somewhat agreed with Ron. To her, it seemed as if he was siding against her but she truly understood that Harry wanted her safe because she was his friend.
To think I had put such a fuss, she thought, looking back. But she didn't regret any of her decisions. She had done a lot of good in her position, a lot of good which is more than some can say and she was happy with her life. Well, not exactly, she amended, thinking of Ron and Harry and Draco again. But she had hope and when in a war that was mostly hopeless, it was good to have hope.
Hermione looked up from the scrolls, her eyes blurring and tearing up on her. "Mistia?" she called out softly, hoping she haven't had left already. It was pretty late, but Dumbledore's secretary practically lived in the headquarters. Many people did.
It took a few moments, but her blond head bobbed through the opening of her door. "Yes, Ms. Granger?"
"Do you have the scroll for the month of April 2006?"
Mistia furrowed her forehead as she tried to recall the scroll. "Isn't it with you? I remember giving you all the scrolls from 2002 and on..."
Hermione looked through her stack of scrolls again, trying to make sure she didn't over look it. "No... I've got every one of them, except that." She gave Mistia a beseeching look. "Could you please find it for me?"
She was already on her way out. "Of course, I'll be right back."
Hermione nodded her approval and devoted her attention back to the scrolls. Her eyes felt lazy, threatening to droop but as they started to close, she would force them back open though they protested. It seemed as if sleep was the only thing her eyes wanted to do at the moment, but she couldn't, not when Ron was... Besides, she couldn't fall asleep and then wake up to find herself alone. And there was work to be done. Work...
"Ms. Granger?"
Hermione's head shot up, the soft, but firm voice shaking her awake. "Huh?" she said groggily, half in reaction.
Demurred, Mistia replied, "I have the scroll you wanted," with the object in question held up in her hand.
"What? Oh, right, the scroll," Hermione thought, trying to clear the fog in her head. She raised her hands and rubbed at her fuliginous eyes.
"If you don't mind me saying so, ma'am. You should be at home, resting," Mistia commented as she walked into the office to hand the scroll to Hermione.
"Home?"
"Yes. Whatever work you have can wait until tomorrow and at least them you can work on them with a clear mind." Mistia held out the scroll, concern written on her eyes.
Hermione shook her head, shook the notion of going home off. She couldn't go home. "I'm fine," she insisted, but she couldn't even convince herself that she was. "Don't worry about me." She took the scroll out of Mistia's outstretched hands and immediately started to unfurl it, trying to ignore the pitying eyes from the secretary. She didn't need that, not even from a friend who meant well.
Mistia lingered for a moment; she could feel her eyes on her hunched over body and tried to make herself concentrate on the scroll in front of her. She was tense and body rigid. She reread over the line she had been reading a moment before, but still she couldn't comprehend it. She knew the words and recognized them but when put together, they made no sense, passing easily through her.
Finally when she heard Mistia's quiet steps away from the office, she relaxed. Momentarily forgetting the scroll, she leaned back into her chair. She stretched, her aching muscles really feeling the brunt of over an hour of sitting in one place. She stayed like that for a while, trying to forget she had a care in the world, but less worries. But she couldn't put off her work for too long -- she never could. She reached for the scroll again, this time determined to read it through and actually understand it. From the reports she had already skimmed through, nothing of interest popped up at her, and most likely this one would be no different, but still she couldn't just dismiss it. The Death Eaters were planning something; it was her job to figure out what that was.
A quick look told her that the scroll was penned by a Erwin Maxwell. I think I know him, Hermione mused, her mind conjuring this tall, prim man in dark robes. Is he the one who made the arrest of Samuel Parkinson? Pansy's father? Or was he the one who exposed Mary Ellen Walthorp of Liverpool? Though she couldn't really remember all to well, she still felt she had met the man once, maybe just in passing, but definitely had met.
She skimmed through the text, trying to pick out specific days and points that would be of interest later.
April 3, 2006
Several well-known supporters of You-Know-Who have disappeared, each for two weeks at a time every month and then returning to their lives. They would disappear to a different place each month: Switzerland, Belgium, France, the Netherlands, never the same country in a row and never through the same entry point. Unfortunately we lost them each time they would enter a country and are unable to determine which cities they've gone to.
Now that was odd... Death Eaters, generally were habitual creatures. It was so that if anyone were to be observing them, they would be not suspect if they did something out of character. Most of the time, they would incorporate their Death Eater duties along with their regular routine.
April 6, 2006
Grant Culthers sighting in Moscow, Russia in route to the Ukraine.
Why would Culthers be in Russia? Hermione wondered. Grant Culthers was a wealthy businessman and recently in the last few years, a high rising Death Eater.
April 7, 2006
Culthers in Ukraine, arrives in L'viv. Lost trail half-past twelve.
April 9, 2006
Still no sign of Culthers.
Martin Twell and Cynthia Sexton apprehend documents from suspected Death Eater Fidela Sanchez. See Item 4586ST in Section GW749. Unable to understand significance of documents, most likely nothing of interest.
Making note of the item and the section, Hermione told herself to check the documents later. Maxwell might not find them of any interest, but she would feel better checking them out for herself.
April 12, 2006
Rumor Culthers has left the Ukraine. Can not verify.
April 13, 2006
Culthers has indeed left the Ukraine. Spotted at home in Distington, England. Purpose in Ukraine: Undefined.
Hermione yawn and she rubbed her face with, trying to bring back some life into her weary mind. The month of April was no help. She had been hoping that it would help her see things in perspective, but it didn't. In fact, it seemed just as useless and if she was honest with herself, just as boring. It was the basic sly Death Eater activity that had always perplexed them. So what if Culthers was in Russia or for a week? Or in the Ukraine for that matter? What was in Russia and the Ukraine? The Ministries of Magic or their like counterparts there weren't that involved as of late in world politics. Even the turbulent Muggle governments there were quiet for the past few years ever since the joint energy conservation and alternative means of electricity treaty (JECAME Treaty) was signed.
Stretching, she tried to make herself comfortable. One look at the trusty, old muggle, Magic powered clock told her the time was 3 A.M. It is still early yet, she thought, recalling all the times she had put in all-nighters that had lasted until dawn. Of course, never in the presence of Ron -- always when he was away on a mission. But when he was at home, she would always be home by 7 P.M. at the latest -- a typical bureaucratic lifestyle that was expected of her.
And Ron thought she was safe. That was the most important part. After all the fuss he made just before graduation, keeping him happy was all she'd ever wanted. And if she was enjoying her job that made a contribution to the fight against Voldemort, all the better.
Though it did bother her a bit that she had been willfully omitting the truth about her work to her husband, her best friend and love of her life for the past nine years. Actually, she thought, chewing the bottom of her lip. It bothers me a lot more than just a bit.
She was tired of it; tired of having to make excuses and lies that weren't fully lies. She was tired of the half-truths, from both sides of them. They were getting no where when each was avoiding the subjects the defined their lives. She can't even remember the last time she had spoke honestly about her work or when Ron had divulged what he did the safety of the night and away from her eyes. They were practically strangers at home. That wasn't what they had both wanted when they had gotten married five years ago. Something had to change.
When he gets home, I'm telling him, she resolved. It was the only thing she could think of that would work. This was finally it. She was finally going to tell Ron what she did for the Ministry, laying it on the line and hopefully when he hears what she had to say, he would accept her decisions. Because if he didn't, she didn't know what to do.
Ron sat, crouching as he leaned onto the left wall, his eyes glaring at the woman who was sitting on the other wall glaring at him right back. They had fallen into a uneasy silence of sorts, each content on trying to transmute their feelings of the other through their eyes. Harry was still by the body of Malfoy, but now he was rather sitting than crouching. His folded figure, looming over the body, reminded Ron of one of those muggle stone statues he had seen with Hermione of their honeymoon, standing guard like the ever mindful watchman.
It confused him to see Harry so damn considerate of Malfoy. It wasn't supposed to be like that -- it was never like that before. Things between the pair had intensified up to seventh year, the feelings of animosity only grew after they had graduated and stories of the atrocities Malfoy had committed. It had been a beautiful thing -- to hear his best friend condemn the man that he had hated throughout his life, ever since the beginning of first year when Malfoy had snubbed his family.
But ever since Dumbledore had told the both of them of Malfoy's little side-job, Harry's opinion of the man had started to change. He could tell; he was his best friend after all. Like now, sitting right next to him, essentially protecting and shielding the man whom papers had called the Malicious Malfoy, the Murderous Butcher and more. If that wasn't a sign of changed emotions towards the man, what was?
And Midgen's blind loyalty of Malfoy didn't help either. In some ways she reminded of him of his Hermione, always knowing the right answer to everything, always have to be right and the ability to argue her point to the death even though Ron knew he was right inside.
So now they were all trapped. Malfoy was still out of things, not a stir out of him since they had been here. Maybe it was better that Malfoy wasn't awake. If he were to come back to the land of the living, he should be at the age of a twelve year old. He remembered how Malfoy was when he was twelve and wasn't in rapture to meet the little snot again. He was an annoying, little pest, there was no denying it. He was a terror that had later matured into a monst-- He suddenly realized that he couldn't say that. Monster, was what he had planned to say, but knowing what he knew now about the Grey Dragon and Draco Malfoy, it wouldn't fit as neatly as it did before.
Now there was a contradiction if he's ever heard one. Malfoy not a cold, unrelenting monster. Ask any good witch or wizard, including he and Harry only a few days ago and they would tell you that Malfoy and the words cold and heartless would fit together like jam and scones. They were made for each other.
And he hated it. Hated that all of his preconceived notions had to be messed up by Malfoy. It was just like him to do something like this. If he wasn't unconscious with large chunks of his memory missing at the moment, I bet he would be laughing his head off at me. He could just hear the taunts: "How'd you like that Weasel? Everything you've ever thought about me was wrong. How does it feel to be so incorrect about a person and still want to cling to the past?" He wouldn't put it past him to get some perverted sense of joy out of his dilemma.
It just wasn't right. He kept going over all the things he knew about the man that he thought was Draco Malfoy and the things he knew about the Gregon. How could the man who murdered thousands, or had organized the killing and persecution of innocent men and women be the same person that he revered for saving countless lives, foiling so many plots by the Dark Lord to gain some sort of edge over the Light? It was unbelievable and absolutely irreconcilable.
Ron dropped his head into his hands. God, I don't want to deal with this. It was just too much to think about. He didn't know what to think any more. Bad was good -- what was the world coming too? All of a sudden, he was hit with an empty feeling he had never felt before. Ron tried to ignore it, lifting his head to look up around the sparsely lit cell.
Midgen wasn't glaring at him any more, rather she too seemed to have her thoughts occupied by whatever it was she was thinking about.
Her being exposed was never part of the plan and he could see no other alternative other than to take her with them. As much as he was loathe to admit it, it was their only option. No doubt Midgen knew it too and wasn't exactly ecstatic with idea of having to leave her post, unmasked.
Harry was most likely trying to think of a way out of the place. How, without their wands and being tens of feet underground, he didn't know, but knowing Harry, he was thinking of something.
He just hoped, whatever it was, would be soon. If he remembered correctly, they were on their fifth day of the potion's length. They would only have two more full days before Malfoy would remember again, if they couldn't get out before that, You-Know-Who's follows could most likely be able to get the information that he needed out of the man and then they would all be screwed.
He had been staring at him for a while now. For some reason, he couldn't take his eyes off the bloodied man in front of him. There was something about the way the lines on his face softened or how peaceful he looked, his chest rising and falling evenly. Even the way his reddened hair, matted on his head looked adorable, albeit a bit sickening. And the fact that he knew what sort of horrors this man had done in the past, didn't seem bother him as much as it did before. And the fact that that didn't bother him as much bothered him the most. Malfoy was bad. Gregon is good. Malfoy is the Gregon. So by logic, Malfoy is good. But Malfoy was bad. He'd established that first thing, didn't he?
And he couldn't just sit here -- he had people depending on him. Dumbledore, Ron, Midgen, Malfoy. He needed a way out, he needed something to do. He needed to plan.
"Are we just going to sit here all night?" Ron voice cut through, echoing his thoughts.
"I don't suppose you've got an idea, Weasley?" Midgen rejoined, her voice sarcastic.
"I don't see you with anything," he shot back, just as quickly.
Harry lifted his weary head up. "How many ways are there to get out of here?"
Midgen nodded her head towards the door. "You're looking at it Potter."
"The only way?" Harry asked, a feeling of futility permeating his every being.
She nodded. "As far as I know and I know this island pretty well. I've been here for years. The only way out of this dungeon cell is to go out that door, up the stairs we just came up from and out one of the doors. To the Manor, there's about six different exits out. Off the island, you have to go by boat. At least the only way you can get off this island," she added as an after thought.
"What do you mean you? You're in this too, or did you forget?" Ron pointed out. Midgen shot an irritated glare at him and he smirked right back.
Harry opened his mouth to speak, but before he could utter a word, Midgen was already responding.
"You and me, as a we? You've got to be joking. I wouldn't even be in this position if it were for you and the almighty Potter butting into my affairs!"
"Hey!" Potter cried out, indignant. "I've had about enough of you--"
"Of what?" Midgen interrupted, getting to her feet. Seeing her rise, both Ron and Harry did the same, trying to gain some equal footing. They met somewhere around the middle, Harry and Ron on one side of Malfoy's body, Midgen on the other. "Of saying the truth, Potter? Tell you don't revel in the fact that you're the Boy Who Lived! Tell me you don't like having the people look up to you!"
"I don't!" Harry roared. "Do you think it's easy having all everybody depend on you? Look to you for miracles and solutions you don't have? And here I am, always alone, always losing people... Do you know that feels? I hadn't even a friend until I was eleven!"
"Poor ol' Potter," Midgen mocked. "With his sad sob story and his trusty Weasel and Mudblood. You could have just walked away, but you stayed."
"Shut up!" Ron said through gritted teeth.
"What?" she asked, sounding concerned and innocent-eyed. "Don't like me talking about your Mudblood wife?"
"Shut up!" Ron yelled, leaping on her. "Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"
Midgen easily moved away, ducking from Ron's hands while Harry reached for his friend in a vain attempt to stop him. He wrapped his arms around Ron's body, stopping him from getting out of his embrace and killing the other woman.
"Stop this!" Harry hissed, tightening his hold on his friend. "This is not help us! We have to get out of here and we have to find out." He turned his head to speak into his Ron's ear. "I'm going to let you go. Don't do any more trouble." He let go of Ron and stepped away. Ron stiffened and smoothed out his robe, all the while glaring at Midgen, who was looking away nonchalantly which infuriated him even more.
A soft moan below them turned their heads. There on the ground, Malfoy's once straight body was curling into fetal position. Harry's eyes widened as he realized what was happening. Malfoy groaned again and instantly they rushed to his side.
Midgen kneeled on one side, Harry on the there other with Ron flanking him. She reached out to steady and soothe the man.
"Draco?" she said softly. "Are you okay?"
Malfoy's body turned again, but then stilled. Moments passed before anything happened. But then, his eyes started to flutter, his eyelashes slowly rising as he took in his surroundings.
When Harry could see into his eyes, he felt his breath catch as he stopped breathing. What he saw was unexpected and was something he thought he would never see in the eyes of Draco Malfoy. In the silvery eyes of his former adversary was the deepest fear and absolute terror he had ever seen.
A/N: I am so sorry (but I always am) for taking so long with this chapter. I have really don't have time to write all that much now, with work and school and finals and all that sort of stuff. That combined with a lack of interest to actually spend the free time I do have writing and with a new betaing job I'm doing for a fellow H/D shipper has me taking so long to get this out. Go read it by the way. It's by Serafitus and it's called The Shining Prince. A great peace of work into the insight of Draco Malfoy and an interesting way of how Harry and Draco get together and how their relationship works.
I have to face it. It's going to take a while to get every chapter out, at least until the summer. Hopefully with free time coming up (that is if I don't take a nice long vacation during the summer) I'll be able to get the next few chapters out a lot sooner than the rest.
ailsinjiin: I am so sorry! I didn't have writers block but a lack of time to write. So sorry! And lol for the image you painted of me -- gave me a laugh! And I am so happy that you actually reviewed a few times -- totally makes my day! No one has ever been as considerate as you are to me. :)
Personally, I hate Ron, so that's why there's so much Ron bashing in this story. Hermione, in my opinion, is good when she's not paired with Harry. When she is, look out because I really would want to kill her off.
Keeping him in character is something I like to do. He's so good to have as a punching bag.
SilverWolf: Oh, I don't mind rambling! I ramble way too often for me to judge a fellow rambler. Thanks so much for the review. I look forward to your hauntings.
Tionne: It's clearing up, no? Hopefully, all the unclear items will be cleared up by the stories end. Well, my pen pal's name's Eija, and I think she's a HP fan but I doubt she has any knowledge of slash or anything about it. I met her through the net, and she's my age.
Normal Girl: Thanks! I so apprieciate you taking the time to review! I love hearing from readers of mine! Hope you enjoy this chapter!
MOI: Thank you, thank you, thank you! Eloise wasn't exactly all my idea -- I wanted Pansy too, but she was a bit too obvious as my friend Kara said. So she suggested Eloise and the rest was history. Thank you for reviewing, even though your comp was working against you. Many would have just given up and not done anything at all. That you kept at it, touches me deeply.
Soul Sister: I'm so glad you like it! Eloise, seems to be a good addition to the plot, based on the other people's reactions.
Wildfire Friendship: He's waking up... And Draco's twelve. :) Let's see if I can do endearing... But ya gotta remember. Even though this is Draco after he's been tortured, he is still a twelve year old and we remember how a twelve year old Draco was like...
Veefa: Hope this helps! Thank you so much for reviewing!
I am so glad Eloise didn't come off too Mary Sueish, but I think after this one, she's a bit more Mary Sueish than she was in the last chapter, no?
Anyway, thanks always to Red Dragons Order for betaing (read her stories, they're great!) and for Kara for encouragement.
Hopefully I'll see you all soon.