Dumbledore looked around at his assembled group. These were to be the ones who would retrieve Hermione Granger from her father before he could force her to follow him. Severus Snape, Sirius Black, Remus Lupin, Rhys Mulqueen, and oddly enough, Arthur Weasley. He was determined to be a part of the rescue. Harry and Ron had been forcibly told they were not going, not having the experience needed to confront Death-Eaters and get out of it alive.

'Well, then,' he began, drawing their attention to him. 'I have received news of where young Hermione is being held, and it would appear we have an even greater task on our hands than we first thought. She is shut away in Voldemort's tower, an imposing structure some forty miles from here. And he is with her.'

The silence was thick with questions.

'Severus, you have been there before, what can you tell us of the fortifications?'

Snape nodded coldly at the HeadMaster, and addressed the group.

'The defences around the tower are much like those around Hogwarts. You cannot Apparate into the grounds, and unlike Hogwarts, no magic can be used inside the walls. Most of the atrocities take place in the courtyard, where magic is still available to them. Not even the Dark Lord himself can over-rule his own wards.'

'So, once we're inside, we're on our own?' Sirius asked, his dark eyes intent.

'Yes, the problem will be getting inside un-noticed. The guards are all chosen for their sharp eyes, and swift reactions. And the magical wards are very powerful.'

'Which is why,' Dumbledore added, 'I will be going with you.'

There was a loud murmur around the table.

'HeadMaster, do you think that is entirely wise?' Arthur asked, his eyes reflecting concern for the old wizard.

'Yes, Arthur, I do. I am the only one here who has the knowledge to break the wards Severus has described to me, and that is why you will need me.'

'My guess is that he will have housed Miss Granger in his wife's room,' Snape continued. 'Once we have her, we will have to get out as fast as we can. I have no idea whether he has bound his soul to hers yet, or if he is just torturing her.'

At the thought of Voldemort torturing Hermione, a wince was shared by all present. They were all very fond of her, even Snape, and they realised they had to get to her sharpish.

'We will set out tonight,' Dumbledore said, dismissing them. 'Try to get some sleep. I have a feeling we will all need it.'



*~*~*



Hermione sat alone in the darkness, cinnamon eyes wild and staring. She ran a hand through her unruly chestnut locks, wincing as her fingers snagged on tangles that were days old. She was so tired. She hadn't slept for hours, afraid they would come for her while she was sleeping. Not even Voldemort could remove her from her self-imposed isolation.

He had come to the door twice, both times retreating under a hail of flying books, discovering that, among other things, his daughter had very good aim. Now he resorted to speaking to her through the wood, keeping a barrier between himself and his irate daughter. He'd had no idea the scene they'd played out would effect her so.

There was a scuttling sound by the door, and Hermione sat straighter, peering into the darkness as her hands closed on yet another tome. She knew the Dark Lord had at least one person who could get to her in there, one who was ultimately the cause of all their troubles. She strained her ears, waiting for what she knew would come.

There was a 'whoomph' close behind her, and she spun, flailing the book like a club. The old leather hit Peter Pettigrew hard on the side of his head, sending him flying into a bookcase. Unlike Hermione, who had been in the room for days, and knew her way around by touch alone, he was totally blind. He tumbled to the floor, and lay there, panting.

'Hermione?'

She knew she shouldn't answer, it would give him a good idea of where she was.

'What do you want, Wormtail?'

Instantly, she heard him move towards her voice, and side-stepped his outstretched hands more from luck than anything. He stumbled forward, cracking his shins against the bed. Hermione whirled at his curse, so close behind her, and tightened her grip on the book. The small man felt the rush of air, and edged towards her.

'You know, you could have stopped us last night, Hermione.'

She gave no answer, determined not to give him any clues as to her whereabouts.

'All you needed to do was give yourself to the Master.'

Wormtail smiled as his sharp ears heard the stifled sob that caught in Hermione's throat. He sidled across the room, his feet moving silently over the wreckage.

'It is because of you that all those innocents were killed,' he whispered viciously. 'All it would have taken was four little words. 'I will follow you.' That isn't so hard to say, now, is it, Hermione?'

Hermione was unable to prevent the wail that rose up in her throat. As soon as the noise filled the room, Wormtail was on her, his arms wrapping about her waist. He lifted her wriggling form into the air, calling for his companions to open the door. They did so, and were greeted with the sight of Hermione Granger, kicking seven kinds of hell out of Wormtail. Unable to hide their grins, they pulled the struggling girl off him as their Master slipped into view.

'Well, well, my daughter. So, you've finally decided to come out.'

Hermione lifted a tear-stained face to glare at the Dark Lord.

'I didn't exactly have much choice.'

She stared pointedly at Wormtail, rubbing her waist where his silver arm had bruised the delicate skin there. Voldemort spared a glance at the man, returning his red eyes to Hermione. She couldn't stop her lower lip from trembling, unable to deny what Wormtail had told her in the darkness of the room.

'What is it that pains you, my daughter?' he asked, insincerely.

'Don't call me that,' Hermione growled, grinding her teeth in anger.

Voldemort leant closer, his face just inches from hers. He stroked a lock of her chestnut hair, rubbing it between skeletal fingers.

'I will call you whatever I want, daughter,' he hissed. 'You cannot deny what your precious Muggles would call simple biology.'

'I am not your daughter, you murderous bastard!'

'Perhaps you would like to rephrase that,' he said, his voice so cold it sent a shiver through Hermione's body.

She clenched her fists and was surprised to discover that she still held her makeshift weapon.

Before anyone could react, she had raised it against Voldemort, sending him crashing to the ground, a pale hand clutched to his bleeding cheek. As the Death-Eaters stared in astonishment, Hermione wrenched herself from their grip and ran, headlong, down the passageway, desperately making a bid for freedom.



*~*~*



Arthur Weasley crept through the darkness, wondering for the hundredth time why he had volunteered for this. He knew very little about such things and was only just able to defend himself, let alone someone else. And as for hand to hand combat, he didn't have a rat's chance at surviving such an adventure. He glanced over at his fellow shadows.

Albus Dumbledore. The old fool was so sure of himself, Arthur hoped to the gods that his confidence was well placed. He couldn't imagine a world without Dumbledore.

Severus Snape. The man had proved himself trustworthy so many times, Arthur hadn't thought twice about his inclusion. Now, he wasn't so sure. He could easily be leading them into a trap. Arthur shook his head, Severus would never do such a thing.

Remus Lupin, and Rhys Mulqueen. Both trained in Defence Against the Dark Arts, and both determined to strike a blow for the good this night. A werewolf, and a former Auror. Well, you never knew what was going to happen.

Finally, Sirius Black. Arthur still had his reservations about Black, unsure of him. Dumbledore had vouched for him, and the way Harry had responded to his gentle ministrations had convinced him that there was more to Black than met the eye. As to what that was, he shuddered to think.

Suddenly there was a cacophony of noise from within the tower walls. The shadows halted abruptly, six pairs of eyes searching the darkness for any clue as to what had happened. Arthur's first thought was that the Aurors had attacked, but there were no flashes in the dark to indicate a magical duel.

Then they heard clearly the voice of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named slicing through the still night air.

'Find her! Or you may soon be joining your comrades! Move!'

There was a low chuckle to Arthur's right.

'It would appear,' Dumbledore murmured, tucking his beard into his belt, 'that young Hermione has escaped.'



*~*~*



Whimpering in terror, Hermione careered through a doorway, slamming the ancient wood behind her. She had expected at any minute to see curses flying towards her, to feel the Unforgivables hit her back, and consume her will.

Leaning against the door, she listened for any sounds of pursuit, forcing herself to calm down. She didn't know why, but somehow she had kept a firm grip on her book. Glancing down at it, she read the gold lettering in the moonlight.

The Jerusalem Bible.

'How appropriate,' she muttered, placing it reverentially on the table to her left.

Looking around, she made straight for the window, pulling at the locks that held it shut. There was a tree close by the casement, and she felt sure she could swing down to the ground from its branches. A shout from high above her echoed through the tower.

'Find her!'

Hermione ran to the desk, rummaging in the drawers until she found what she was looking for. Jamming the penknife under the lock, she forced it open, pushing the window as far as it would go. She clambered up onto the windowsill and made a grab for the closest branch. Swinging herself out into the tree, she prayed that the branch wouldn't give way.

She was about to begin her descent, when the sound of running feet caused her to freeze, hardly daring to breathe. Four hooded shapes stumbled along the pathway, bickering amongst themselves.

'It was you who let her get away!'

'You were holding her!'

Hermione watched them hurry by, hoping against hope that they wouldn't glance up into the tree. With a terrifying jolt, she realised she had left the window open. They wouldn't even need to look into the branches to guess which way she had come. To her never ending relief, they hurried away, still arguing, without noticing her presence.

Slipping from the branches of the tree, she stole from shadow to shadow, keeping close to the garden walls. Her questing hand found what she was searching for under the overgrown ivy. A door.

With a low sigh, she turned the handle, only to discover the door was locked. A sob rose in her throat, which she hurriedly squashed. It wouldn't do to be discovered now, not when she was so close to freedom. Swiftly, she knelt, dragging a hairpin from the depths of her mane of matted hair, and began to prod the lock, freezing in terror as another search party ran past. After what felt like hours of probing, still the lock remained . . . locked.

Hermione wrenched her wand from her sleeve and looked sceptically at it. It hadn't worked since she'd got here, why should it decide to be in full working order now? With a shrug, she bent close to the lock, touching her wand to its rusty metal.

'Alohomora,' she whispered, in a voice almost dull with lack of hope.

The lock clicked, and the door moved outwards. Hermione suppressed a cry of joy, slipping out through the door and into the woods beyond.

As she ran through the trees, swerving in between the thick trunks, she became aware of the noises coming from the tower. It would appear that they had found her open window, and it would only be a matter of time before the unlocked door was discovered, too. Fear spurred her on, faster, until she slammed into someone, who grasped her arms in an attempt to stay upright. Convinced she had been captured again, Hermione began to thump the man's chest, sobbing in terror. A familiar voice cried out,

'Great stars, Hermione, what do you think I'm trying to do?'

Her movements slowed, stopped, as she peered up into a very welcome face.

'Mr Weasley?'