Author's Notes: So who saw The Matrix Reloaded? What the hell was that movie about? I mean, don't get me wrong, I really liked it and everything…but most of the movie was like *whoosh*…right over my head. I think it's one of those movies where I have to see it about four times to fully understand it. I watched the first Matrix twice in one night, and still didn't get it, so my friend had to explain it to me, and I'm still not 100% sure what's going on. I'm so slow. And my author's notes are so pointless. There'll be more story-related notes at the end of this chapter, I think. The chap's quite long, and I think more happens in this chapter than in the past few chapters combined. Maybe it'll be like the Matrix, and you have to read it twice to get it. I would recommend that. ^_^ Review twice, too…

***

Harry Potter fidgeted uncomfortably.

Milling about the spacious, elegant hall in which he stood were the rich and the famous, the high-ranking and the powerful. These were the social elite of Britain, with their expensive dress robes and confident gaits.

Marble statues, which moved to bow to important peoples, lined the corners of the hall. Small, round tables were scattered around, floating candles above the white tablecloths making the tables look warm and inviting. The Ministry's Department Heads, including Percy, Mr. Weasley, and Nick Foran, were clustered together in the midst of a political discussion, all wearing identical robes of steel grey, their business attire. Polite female laughter tinkled in the air as a group of influential men in high positions attempted to amuse a flock of women. A group of wealthy-looking people swept past Harry, daintily holding slender glasses of champagne and socializing before the meal began. Classical music – played by floating, musicianless instruments in the corner - floated across the room to where Harry stood, feeling very out of place.

At his side, only his partner's stiff posture indicated that she was slightly uneasy. Otherwise, the expression on Diana's face was one of casual disinterest as her dark eyes swept over the banquet hall. Her gaze was seemingly placid; but Harry knew that she was really taking in all of the details around her with sharp accuracy and precision, committing them to memory. It was something that Harry had also learned to do as an Auror, and which now came as second nature.

However, it was not his surroundings that Harry was taking in at that moment, as he should have been; it was Diana.

Feeling stupid, Harry tore his gaze away from his partner and leaned against the white pillar behind him, waiting for Ron and Hermione. Why was he staring? It wasn't as if Diana looked any different than she always did on that particular night. Despite the fact that they were attending a Ministry banquet, she had not gone to much trouble to make herself look any different than usual – her short, black hair framed her face in thick layers, and the bronze tan she had picked up in Egypt had gradually faded to a mere healthy glow. Her features were devoid of make-up as usual, save for her crimson lips; although Harry had a feeling that that had nothing to do with make-up. Yet the plain, black dress robes she was wearing had a certain elegance to them that made her look quite pretty indeed. They were made of a soft, silk sort of material that tended to cling to Diana's rather nice form.

Harry tore his eyes away, trying not to blush like a teenager, as he realized he was staring again. It was lucky that Diana was busy looking around, or no doubt she would have noticed and they would have had one of their awkward moments. They were few and far between, but Harry hated those uncomfortable moments. Harry didn't want to hate anything about Diana.

Yet how, exactly, did he feel about Diana? This had been a very grown-up kind of subject that Harry had put off thinking about for some time. But now, uncomfortable and in need of something to occupy his thoughts, Harry tentatively explored the question.

Well, he thought she was brilliant, for one. Harry would be the first to admit that he had never been great shakes at any of his subjects at school, save Defense Against the Dark Arts, for obvious reasons. But Diana was a genius at Potions, and he admired that greatly; she had been making more progress on a potion to aid the Scroll of Malady victims than some of the professional Unspeakables working on it. She even had the skills to teach the difficult subject to students, an ability which Harry already admired in both Ron and Hermione, but that he himself was sadly lacking. Any time Harry tried to speak in front of a large group, his tongue got all heavy, his mouth was filled with cotton, and his palms became sweaty. It wasn't that he wasn't smart enough to teach, or not confident enough in himself; he just hated being the centre of attention.

That was another thing about Diana; she seemed confident in herself, and usually was. Deep down, however, she could be insecure at times, and for some reason, Harry liked that. He knew about her insecurities because she had told him. Harry felt quite pleased knowing that he was one of the only people whom Diana trusted enough to let down her defenses around and really talk to. He could talk to her, as well; there were no awkward silences or insecurities there. They just…talked. They both had had rotten childhoods, and it was good to talk to someone other than Ron - who had been showered by the love of his enormous family all his life and could never properly understand - about growing up with the Dursley's.

Plus, Diana was funny. She had what Hermione called 'Harry humour'; a dry, sarcastic kind of wit that Diana had too. And it was always worth joking with Diana Drago to be rewarded with a rare smile, or an even rarer laugh. The two of them had a certain dynamic together when they were teasing each other, which Harry was convinced he wasn't imagining. And then there were moments in which Harry was sure that something would happen, that the electricity between them would translate itself into something more; but it never did.

They were a good team, good partners, good friends. But, Harry realized, he didn't want Diana as a friend or a partner. He wanted more. Harry straightened against the pillar, realizing that this was a very mature thing to admit. As Hermione would say, he was on the road to self-actualization. Harry wasn't quite sure what self-actualization was, but it was quite a good feeling.

This wasn't a schoolboy crush based on looks and popularity and a few butterfly-causing smiles on the Quidditch pitch. Nor was this a schoolgirl crush-turned-relationship, which never really lived up to the romantic expectations of said schoolgirl, and only disappointed both parties. The feelings that sometimes came over Harry when he was particularly close to his partner were based upon teamwork, honesty, respect, and real, open trust.

Harry could have pulled a Ron and started mentally proclaiming his love for his partner right then and there, but he felt that was going a bit too far with things. He'd leave the star-crossed lovers thing to Ron and Hermione. But Harry Potter had just admitted to himself that, for lack of better words, he had feelings for Diana Drago. And this, he felt, was a great accomplishment on the road to self-actualization.

"Potter."

She rarely called him by his first name. Harry grinned to himself; he kind of liked it, though, when she called him 'Potter'.

"What are you grinning about?" Diana asked in amusement, snapping Harry out of it this time. He shook his head to clear it and grinned lopsidedly at her.

"Just remembered something funny," Harry answered, shrugging nonchalantly.

Diana lowered her voice, "Oh well, good, I'm glad one of us is having a good time," she said. Impatiently, she scanned the room again. "Where the hell is Stark?"

Harry sobered as he remembered the reason they were there; to get information, and to keep an eye on Dameon Stark. The last time he had spoken with Ron and Hermione, that night in the fireplace at Hogwarts, he had been informed of Malfoy's possible involvement in the entire scroll affair. Still, in Harry's mind, that did not rule out Stark. Diana may have been skeptical about his suspicions of Stark, but she hadn't been as slow to accept the possibility that Malfoy was involved. She knew Draco Malfoy from a brief run-in during her days as a student at Durmstrang, and through reputation.

Hermione thought that Malfoy was not capable of handling the Scrolls of Scuro. Harry was convinced that Malfoy was capable of anything. One thing he had learned, the hard way, was to never underestimate Draco Malfoy.

"They're here," Diana announced as Ron and Hermione appeared amidst the crowd of aristocrats. Both looked as uncomfortable as Harry felt, which re-assured Harry somewhat. Hermione was looking pretty in dress robes of pale blue, and Ron at least somewhat distinguished in navy. Spotting Harry and Diana, Ron grabbed Hermione's hand and all but yanked her through the crowd towards them. They obviously had something very important to say.

"Harry," Hermione said breathlessly as they approached, being dragged by Ron. Closer up, Harry could see that her face was paler than usual, and her eyes looked sort of glittery, as if she had a fever. Forgetting what she was about to say, Hermione blinked and stared, long and hard, at the woman next to Harry.

"Diana!" she finally blurted out in recognition. "Good heavens, I didn't even recognize you with your hair all short and – " Ron squeezed her arm and Hermione fell silent, looking embarrassed.

"What's up?" Harry asked anxiously, searching his best friends' faces.

And then he heard it; a cold, confident drawl which sent shivers up the Boy Who Lived's spine.

"Well, well, well…"

There was no hesitation; Harry recognized the voice straight away. And he felt his blood begin to boil.

Malfoy.

The four of them whirled to meet the owner of the voice, suddenly feeling as if a bucket of ice water had been poured on them. Harry's skin crawled as he looked into the smug face of Draco Malfoy. His platinum hair was neat and slick; the candle-light made it shine, as if his hair was made of plastic. His pallor was still pale, and his sneer still haughty; but there was a sort of hollow emptiness in Malfoy's eyes which either indicated barrenness, or a great loss. A moment later the emptiness was gone, however, as the eyes glittered with malice.

All in all, Draco Malfoy had not changed much in the past eight years.

Suddenly it all came back to Harry in a whirlwind of images and smells and an odd rushing sound in his ears – Cedric's body, and the bodies of so many others. Dean, Collin, Susan. Death Eaters Apparating into the castle. Finding out Professor McGonagall was tortured. The sick realization that Voldemort was in the dungeons. Harry, Ron, and Hermione starting down the dungeon steps. Snape, dead. The sickening smell of Voldemort's body, dead and sizzling…

Harry felt an all-consuming, fiery hatred flow through him as he faced his old nemesis. Malfoy had been responsible back in seventh year. He could now be responsible for the sickness of millions of Muggles.

But somehow, Harry's voice was calm and cool. "Malfoy."

The pale man had grown in height, at least; he now towered over Harry quite a bit, his crimson robes all too reminiscent of blood.

Like Collin's blood covering the staircase in sixth year, sticky and dark.

They had said that it was an accident, that Collin had somehow fallen down the stairs and cracked his head open. But then why had Malfoy been there when they'd found Collin? Perhaps Malfoy hadn't intended to kill the small fifth year, but he had intended to hurt him. And now Collin Creevey was dead. Harry's vision swam, and he saw red.

"Ah, what a lovely little reunion," Malfoy said silkily, his voice full of concealed malevolence. "The disgrace, the Mudblood, and the fallen hero. Nothing better to do these days than patrol a banquet, Potter?"

Draco spat out Harry's last name as if it had a vile taste in his mouth. It was nothing at all like the teasing, friendly way Diana called Harry by his last name.

Malfoy's eyes were now drawn to Diana, standing staunchly at Harry's side with a sort of smirk on her face. No doubt she was remembering her last encounter with Malfoy, which had ended rather painfully for Draco. But Draco seemed oblivious to that incident, or he didn't remember; his eyes raked over Diana appreciatively, and he gave Harry's raven-haired partner a sick smile. Harry abruptly felt the hatred flowing through him settle in his stomach, becoming a churning ball of abhorrence.

Malfoy's interest in Diana seemed to dwindle as she continued to smirk at him, as if silently laughing at her own private joke. Draco Malfoy did not take kindly to this, and his smile turned into a look of annoyance. "Do I know you?" he demanded, irritated.

"No," responded Diana sweetly. The last time her and Draco Malfoy had met, many years ago, she had ended up kicking him in a rather painful area.

Harry began to wonder how Ron could have possibly stayed silent for so long, and glancing at him, he knew. Ron was so furious that he couldn't make a sound. "You – " Ron managed to choke out, shaking with rage, "how dare you show your face here?"

"I was invited, Weasley," Draco spat, rolling his eyes.

"I'm surprised you have the guts to show yourself after you ran off with your tail between your legs and all," was all Harry said, his voice still surprisingly calm and collected. Inside, he was a tumultuous mix of rage and hate. Cedric, Dean, Collin, Susan…he had no proof that Malfoy was responsible for their deaths; all but Collin had been killed and/or tortured by Death Eaters. It was very possible, however, that one of these Death Eaters had been Malfoy's father. Or that Malfoy himself had given them information on how to find them and their families.

"I was cleared by the Council of Magical Law," Malfoy drawled, obviously enjoying the effect he was having on the trio. "I have been travelling Europe, for your information, residing in more…civilized countries."

To Harry's shock, he saw Hermione reach within her robes. She did not draw her wand, but he knew her fingers were clutched tightly around it. "Give me a reason, Malfoy," she said, her voice shrill and shaky. "I don't care who you were cleared by; give me a reason and I'll give you something worse than what your parents got."

Both Diana and Ron looked quite impressed with this bold speech. Malfoy pressed his lips together tightly, finally affected by this blow. "Don't you dare speak of my parents, Mudblood," he hissed. "You're not worthy enough to even speak their names…"
"We have you, Malfoy," Ron suddenly said triumphantly. "You're through. It's just a matter of time before we get enough evidence to convict you." Hermione seemed to snap out of it and put her wand back, looking surprised at herself.

"Oh, is that so?" Draco replied in amusement, reverting back to enjoying himself. "On what charges, may I ask?"

"Don't play dumb," Ron said angrily, "you dirty – "

"Ah!" a warm, pleasant voice suddenly said. It belonged to a handsome man in his thirties, wearing olive green robes and a winning smile. The dark-haired man came to stand next to Malfoy, perfectly at ease, still smiling. "Draco, you made it. Excellent." He looked around at them all, basking them in his flashy smile. "Friends of yours?" he inquired of Malfoy, who was smirking at them all superiorly. "Draco is an old friend of mine," he explained generously, "who has charitably donated much…support to my campaign."

This was, of course, Dameon Stark.

"Save it, Stark," Ron said harshly. Dameon blinked and looked taken aback. "Stop playing games. We know."

"Quiet, Ron, not yet…" Hermione murmured, placing a restraining hand on his arm. Ron seemed to fight an inner struggle and then gave up, content to glare at both Stark and Malfoy with such venom and hate in his eyes that Harry almost shuddered. This was not like his best friend. Never before had he seen Ron so full of fury.

"I don't believe we've met," Stark said to Hermione instead, ignoring Ron as he held out his hand and gave her his winning smile. "Dameon Stark, at your service."

Hermione stared at the hand as if it would burn her. She did not touch it, only looked at him with anger almost equivalent to Ron's. Harry began to get a bit intrigued and excited; Ron and Hermione had evidently stumbled upon something, something good. Perhaps they could prove Stark and Malfoy's involvement with the Dark Hand.

"Dameon Stark," Ron repeated, laughing bitterly.

"Ron," Hermione said warningly, trying to tug him away. "Let's go." Harry's eyes met hers in silent agreement; the four of them had to get away to speak privately, preferably before one of the trio killed Malfoy.

"Yes, let's go," Ron said to Hermione, though he was staring down Stark and Malfoy. "I'm not sure I can stomach Malfoy and Ademon for much longer, anyhow."

Harry had no idea what Caius Ademon – one of the men, he knew, who had been in the original Dark Hand - had to do with anything, but Stark faltered. Even Dameon Stark could not disguise the fleeting look of panic and surprise that flickered across his face. But he quickly changed it into one of bemusement. Before Stark could respond, Ron turned on his heel and walked away from both of them, pushing through the socializing crowd. Harry, Diana, and Hermione quickly followed. Yet Harry couldn't let it go. He briefly turned back to Malfoy.

"You killed them," he said shortly, venom dripping from his voice. Draco knew exactly who Harry was talking about. "This isn't over, Malfoy."

Harry spun around before Malfoy could respond and followed his three companions.

***

Ron Weasley made his way to the door and pushed it open with his shoulder into the crisp, clear February night. He waited for Harry, Diana and Hermione to follow him into the Ministry courtyard and then shut the intricately designed, glass doors behind them. A quick glance around the frigid, starry night revealed that they were alone. Taking a deep breath of cold air, Ron slammed his fist into the wall.

"Ron!" Harry exclaimed.

"That – " Ron yelled out every single dirty name he could possibly think of for Malfoy, and then proceeded to do the same for Stark. He hated them. He abhorred them. How could they dare stare him in the face and pretend when they were planning to eventually kill Muggles? Planning, perhaps, to eventually kill Hermione?

Ron let his arms fall to his side once he'd exhausted his vocabulary, feeling empty. He expected Hermione to lecture him or something on letting Stark's real last name slip, or for using several inappropriate four-letter words, so he turned towards her like a guilty child. However, to his surprise Hermione was busy seething, and was paying no attention to him.

"I wanted to kill him!" she blurted out, folding her arms against the cold. "I was going to kill him, if he had given me an excuse, I would have killed him…" She took a deep breath shakily, shivering in the frosty night.

Hermione had never wanted to hurt, never mind actually kill someone. It was a mark of how much she hated Malfoy that she would even dare to say this. Ron moved next to Hermione and put an arm around her shoulders, drawing her close to him for warmth.

"I did too, Hermione," Harry reassured her, taking a deep breath and clenching his fists by his sides, until his knuckles turned white. "But that's not going to get us anywhere."

Ron thought that Diana, not knowing their history with Malfoy, would perhaps be a little bit taken aback by this behaviour. But instead, she only commented disgustedly, "What an ignorant little prat. No wonder he's 'supporting' the likes of Stark. He's even worse than I remember him."

Ron suddenly liked Diana a whole lot more.

"What's with you two?" Harry asked, searching Ron and Hermione's faces. "What did you find out?"

Ron opened his mouth to tell Harry about Rowan's vision; but all of a sudden it seemed very silly and coincidental, just as Hermione had originally thought it was. He knew that Moody wouldn't arrest anyone based upon a vision that a kid training to teach Divination had had. They couldn't do anything without cold, hard evidence. Ron was in the middle of trying to decide how to phrase what they had discovered without putting too much weight when Hermione spoke instead.

"Oh Harry, you and Ron were right!" she burst out. "It's Stark and Malfoy…seeing them together tonight…it has to be the two of them, it's not just a bizarre coincidence any more. Why else would Malfoy have come back to the U.K.?"

And Ron was reassured once more.

They told Harry about Hermione's theory after reading the Scurian excerpt, and then about Rowan's vision (with numerous interjections by Diana, who was furious that Ron had blabbed to Rowan and Arden, and even more enraged that Harry hadn't told her about it). They finally came to the part about Caius Ademon, and Ron seemed to run out of steam. He looked to Hermione to explain the last part, but she was still shivering violently in the February cold, her face ashen and her lips blue. Ron mentally kicked herself for allowing her to wear those blue dress robes, which were made out of an airy kind of material that did not look very warm.

"What else?" Harry asked slowly, still letting this all sink in. "What's this about Ademon?"

Ron thought of the best way to break it to him, but ended up stating bluntly, "We think that Caius Ademon had a grandson, who must have happened to mysteriously 'disappear' after both his father and grandfather wound up in Azkaban. And if you re-arrange the letters in Ademon, it spells Dameon."

Harry said nothing, but Ron somehow knew exactly what he was thinking about. Perhaps because Ron was his best friend, or perhaps through their Auror's bond. But Ron could almost see the words burning in Harry's memory – Tom Marvolo Riddle. I am Lord Voldemort. Stark must have been a fan of the Voldemort's, Ron thought in disgust.

"What exactly does that prove?" Diana asked skeptically.

Harry's voice was faint and distant. "Diana likes facts…evidence…" he said. Ron was not quite sure if this was directed at him or if Harry was talking to himself.

"What exactly does that prove?" Ron repeated in disbelief. He started counting things off on his fingers. "We find out that one of the men involved with the Dark Hand years ago was Malfoy's grandfather. Then we find out that another one of those men could very well be Dameon Stark's grandfather, seeing as we could not find a bloody record on 'Dameon Stark's' family history. Both Stark and Malfoy are Pureblood, Muggle-haters. The Dark Hand suddenly re-appears at the same time that Stark suddenly becomes popular, and Malfoy suddenly returns to the U.K. And then we find them chumming around in there!" Ron wildly gestured to the building they had just come out of. "Is that enough evidence for you?"

Diana sighed impatiently. "I see your point Weasley, and I'm not saying that I don't believe you. I'm only pointing out that random coincidences and some precognitive kid's visions aren't going to hold up in a court of law."

Ron opened his mouth to argue this, and found that he had nothing to rebut.

"Wait, that's not totally true…" Harry said slowly, having fully absorbed and recovered from the news about Stark and Ademon. "I'm sure I've seen cases where Seers have been used to testify in court."

Hermione winced. "Rowan won't like that one bit." She shivered violently again, and Ron began unconsciously rubbing her arms, trying to warm her up. There was silence for a brief moment as everyone turned things over in their minds and considered their options.

Hermione broke the silence. "I'm absolutely freezing," she announced, teeth chattering. She pulled away from Ron and wrapped her arms around herself again. "I'm sorry, I have to go back inside for a bit before I turn into a Popsicle."

"A what?" Ron asked absently, still lost in his own thoughts.

Hermione gave him a rather strained-looking smile, her lips looking almost purple against her ashen face. "Never mind. Come back in when you're finished talking Auror talk, will you?" She began to walk towards the doors and then paused, as if debating whether to say something or not. Finally she gave a long-suffering sigh and blurted out, "And Harry, will you please do something about that…that thing on your face before you come back in?"

Diana stifled a laugh. Harry blinked, as if trying to figure out what Hermione was talking about, and then grinned faintly and rubbed his chin. "Weren't you going inside?" Hermione threw her hands up and stomped away, muttering to herself.

Ron failed to see her suddenly stumble as she hurried up the steps. He failed to notice her pause at the doors, as if short of breath, small fingers curling tightly around the doorknob. He didn't see Hermione open the door and disappear inside, arms crossed over her stomach.

"All right," Ron continued, unaware, "so you really think they could use Rowan to testify?"

"Even if they can, that alone won't be enough…" Diana warned them.

Ron closed his eyes and thought hard. "If you get some people to look into Stark's past deep enough, I'm sure that they'll find some empty holes in his history. We couldn't find anything about him ourselves," Ron said, his eyes flying open. They lit up and he began to get excited. "I mean, he had to have made a mistake somewhere…you can't just fashion a new identity for yourself without leaving some evidence behind – "

"But you know what this means, don't you?" Harry interrupted grimly. "Taking it to the next level would mean getting Moody and the rest of our boys involved. Which also means blowing your cover, Ron. We're going to have to confess we told you where the scrolls were hidden, and that you blabbed to Arden and Rowan."

"I did not blab to either of them," Ron retorted defensively.

Diana punched Harry's arm. "Oh yeah, by the way, did I mention thanks for telling me about that?" she said sarcastically. But Ron thought she looked rather hurt, if that was possible.

"Well, it's not like I have a choice," Ron said glumly. "We were going to have to tell Moody eventually."

Harry sighed and stared at the cobblestone street beneath his feet. "All right. I'll break it to him gently after the banquet. If he hexes me, you take over," he told Diana solemnly.

"I'm so sure Mad-Eye's going to hex you," Diana replied. But she sounded faintly unsure of herself. Personally, Ron wouldn't put it past Moody. He wasn't called Mad-Eye for nothing.

"Let's go back in, then," Ron advised, stomping his feet to stay warm. "I'm almost as cold as Hermione looked."

"And Malfoy?" Harry asked, spitting out the name in revulsion.

Ron felt the fiery hate well up in him again. "We'll try to ignore him and Stark," he decided through clenched teeth as they walked up the steps and stopped in front of the doors leading to the hall. "But we'll all keep a close eye on the both of them. Agreed?"

"Agreed," Harry said reluctantly, reaching for the elegant, brass doorknob.

He yanked on it. The doors didn't budge.

Looking puzzled, Harry tried again. The doors still didn't move. Ron reached out and tried the other doorknob, but to no avail. He scratched his head.

"What in Merlin's name…?" Ron began.

"Maybe they're frozen shut?" Harry suggested. It was quite cold, after all.

"But Granger got them open okay, didn't she?" Diana asked, eyebrows knitted together.

"I bet you it's Malfoy," Ron abruptly said angrily. "Decided to play a little trick on us, I suppose."

"Dirty, rotten, little wanker," Harry muttered under his breath, jiggling the knob a few extra times for good measure. He gave up and pulled out his wand. "Alohomora!"

Diana tried the doors. They still didn't budge. "Don't you think it's a bit below Malfoy to be pulling stupid schoolboy pranks on us?" she asked.

Ron doubted anything was below Malfoy. He whipped out his own wand. "Frateretto!"

Harry swore when nothing happened. "I'm going to break it down," he announced.

"You'll only hurt yourself if it's sealed by magic," Diana warned.

Harry sighed in defeat. "Open sesame," he tried half-heartedly. Ron snorted despite himself. He had to admit, it was a pretty ridiculous-looking situation.

"Open sesame?" said a high, skeptical voice behind them. "Are you sure that's a real spell?"

It was Sophia Foran, evidently late for the party; either that, or she had only just worked up the nerve to come. She wore elegant, grey robes, and her blonde hair was pulled back tightly, making her look very bossy and business-like. Yet the grey dress robes also made her look very small, and although her jaw was set and her expression was one of superiority, her eyes were nervous and insecure, as if she wasn't sure if she belonged there.

And suddenly Ron knew exactly who she reminded him of - Hermione.

But not the Hermione whose shoulders he had just had his arm around. Sophia Foran reminded him of the Hermione Granger he had met on the train in first year – the bossy, annoying, know-it-all who was really just as insecure as the rest of the first years, if not more, and desperately needed a good friend or two.

But by the time Hermione had reached Sophia's current age, she had matured way beyond that eleven-year-old Ron had met on the train. Ron liked to think that Hermione had become the person she was now because of him, and Harry. Sophia, however, seemed to be stuck hiding inside her little shell of bossiness. It was the same sheltered, safe shell Hermione had been stuck in ever since Ron and Harry had left her after graduation.

Sophia, Ron decided, needed a Ron and a Harry.

Nick Foran's daughter haughtily climbed the steps and took out her wand, pushing past Diana, who briefly looked like she wanted to strangle Sophia, but Harry gave her a look, and she just pursed her crimson lips together tightly.

"Is it locked? How odd," Sophia said breezily, tapping the doors with her wand. She cleared her throat. "Alohomora!"

Confidently, she turned the doorknob. It made the annoying clicking sound locked doors often make. Sophia's face fell.

"Step aside, Foran," Diana said, sighing loudly and drawing her wand. Harry and Ron followed suit.

"Together?" Harry asked, looking to the other two Aurors.

"I think that will do," Ron nodded. "What spell?"

Diana hesitated. "Apertoporta. It's tricky to do all at once, though."

"Remember the wrist movement," Harry reminded them both, sounding scarily like Hermione.

Sophia scurried out of the way as the three Aurors, quite business-like, simultaneously took a step backward. At the same time, they cut through the crisp air with their wands, performing a complex wrist motion.

"Apertoporta!" the three of them chorused.

The doors burst open.

***

Hermione Granger leaned over the toilet and was violently sick.

Coughing and trembling, she finished and weakly raised her head. Flushing the toilet, she slowly left the stall, emerging into the very fancy - and mercifully empty - restroom of the Ministry banquet hall.

She hadn't really felt sick outside with Ron, Harry, and Diana; only cold, icy cold that penetrated into her very bones until she couldn't stand it any more and had had to come inside. Despite the cold, her forehead had been on fire, incredibly hot compared to the rest of her body. It still felt hot to her touch. The nausea and the pain had only started when she had been coming back inside – it often crept up on her like that, hitting her like a tidal wave and then disappearing as quickly as it had come. But at least now the nausea was passing, even though she still felt dizzy and weak. Hermione hadn't been able to keep much down the past week or so.

Peering into the mirror, Hermione made a face at the image that greeted her. Her lips were bloodless and her face was deathly pale. There were dark circles under her eyes, which looked vacant and sort of feverishly shiny. Hermione cursed herself for never learning any of the beauty spells that Lavender and Parvarti had dutifully memorized. They would have come in handy now.

Hermione had no doubt that she was slowly getting very, very ill. And she knew perfectly well why. But Ron could not know. He had enough on his plate.

She was amazed he hadn't noticed yet, what with the keen sense of observation he seemed to have picked up as an Auror. Still, Hermione reminded herself, love sometimes makes people blind to things like this.

Maybe it was the fever, but for some reason, Hermione giggled to herself in the mirror.

Shaking her head to clear it, Hermione splashed some water on her face and then ran her hands under hot water, feeling her fingers almost ache with the warmth it provided. Feeling a little bit better, Hermione took a deep breath and left the restroom, walking down a corridor, stepping back into the ballroom…

…and into a sea of sympathetic stares.

Hermione felt her skin crawl, and tried to ignore the whispers and looks of pity that followed her across the banquet hall and over to a secluded corner where she could wait for Ron and Harry. She knew why they were looking at her like that, and it wasn't due to her ashen face or the rings around her eyes. She doubted that anyone in that room even knew about the Scroll of Malady.

It was because of Charles.

It had only been a year ago that she had come to the Ministry Christmas party with Charles Griney. Or, the man she thought had been Charles Griney. Everyone there now knew she had really been dating a murderer and a Death Eater. Everyone there knew how Donovan Owens had taken advantage of her, and them. So now everyone there was looking at Hermione with annoyingly sympathetic looks.

A group of sophisticated but snobby-looking women near her started talking in hushed voices; obviously they were excited to have found a new bit of juicy gossip to throw around. Hermione rolled her eyes as she heard one woman cluck sympathetically and whisper, "Poor dear."

Hermione really couldn't care less what these people thought of her. But if there was one thing she couldn't stand anyone calling her, even more than a Mudblood, was a "Poor dear".  She could take care of herself. She most certainly was not a damsel in distress, and she was just fine, thank you very much…

Hermione felt her stomach lurch and another wave of nausea wash over her.

Well, perhaps she wasn't just fine.

Feeling the room spin again, Hermione quickly left the main hall and went out into another adjoining corridor. Out in the dim hallway, she leaned against the wall, briefly enjoying the feel of the cool marble against her feverish neck. She closed her eyes and counted to ten. The dizziness and the feeling as if she was going to faint would pass.

"One…two…three…" Hermione breathed, shutting her eyes.

"Oh, excuse me," a diplomatic voice said as footsteps stopped in front of her. Feeling embarrassed, Hermione opened her eyes, praying that it was not Stark…or Malfoy…or worse, Ron…

Blinking away her dizziness, Hermione saw with relief that it was only Nicholas Foran, the Head of the Department of Magical Law. He smiled apologetically.

"My apologies. I was looking for the restrooms," he explained.

Hermione smiled weakly and stopped leaning against the wall, smoothing her dress robes. She knew, both from meeting him last year and from an experience in the Headmaster's Pensieve, that Nick Foran was a very important and dignified person. "They're around the corner," she said politely.

"Ah, thank you," Foran replied gratefully, but he did not make a move to go. He furrowed his eyebrows and stroked his beard, which was black flecked with grey, and made him look very distinguished paired with his olive dress robes. "Aren't you Ronald Weasley's young lady?"

Hermione felt a blush rising to her pale cheeks at being called Ronald Weasley's young lady. "Yes, sir."

Foran smiled. "Ah, I thought I saw you with him earlier. Nicholas Foran," he said, extending a hand.

"Hermione Granger," Hermione replied, shaking the hand. It was warm and moist, and the grip was firm. "We met last year, actually," Hermione admitted. She silently cursed herself. Why did she just bring up last year? Charles – no, Donovan - had introduced them…

"Oh, did we?" Foran said dismissively. He didn't mention Charles, curiously, but switched the subject. "You teach at Hogwarts with Weasley, do you not?"

"Yes," Hermione said, now a bit wary as she eyed his hand, which still gripped hers. "Arthimancy."

"Are you returning to Hogwarts after tonight, then?" asked Foran. Hermione thought this a sort of strange thing to ask, so she did not answer.

"Er…I have to get back outside, to Ron," she said, trying to pull her hand away. Foran did not let go. Hermione felt her heart start to speed up; she had no idea what was going on, but she was sure that she had not just imagined the glitter of malice in Nicholas Foran's eyes.

"I'm afraid I can't let you do that," Foran said with a sinister smile.

Hermione panicked and tried to pull her hand away with all her might. However, due to her frail condition, it was in vain. Foran calmly pulled out his wand – a thick, polished, mahogany one – and pointed it at her.

"What are you doing?" Hermione demanded shrilly, trying to get to her own wand. "Let go!"

Her wand fell out of her robes and clattered to the floor. Suddenly empowered by adrenaline, Hermione managed to yank her hand away from Foran's. She dove for her wand, just as Foran shouted, "Imperio!"

***

"Where is he?" Ron demanded as he stomped back into the hall, Harry, Diana, and Sophia Foran close behind him. Ron turned and kicked the doors that had been giving them such a problem shut violently. Sophia spotted Joel Landers and a few of the other Aurors she knew from meetings, and hurried over to harass them. Ron folded his arms and angrily glanced around the room. People were beginning to take their seats at the candlelit tables.

"If that slimy git locked us out, I swear…" Ron began threateningly, searching for Malfoy and Stark. Neither of them were anywhere in sight. Ron cracked his knuckles menacingly, narrowing his eyes.

Diana sighed heavily. "Let it go, Weasley. According to you, Stark and Malfoy have better things to do with their time than lock us out of banquets, like world domination and whatnot."

Ron wasn't listening; he was now searching the ballroom for another face. "Where'd Hermione go off too?" he muttered to himself.

"Right here."

Ron spun around to see Hermione standing directly behind him, a sort of vacant expression on her face. Harry peered closely at her and knitted his eyebrows together.

"Er…are you all right?" Harry asked.

"Just tired," Hermione replied curtly.

"Okay," Ron said slowly, turning back to Harry. "Look, we'll sit at Moody's table and sweeten him up, so he won't be so angry when you tell him afterwards. Meanwhile, one of us has to find Malfoy and Stark and find out what they're up – "

"Could we leave?" Hermione interrupted. "I'm very tired," she explained coolly.

"Uh…right now?" Ron asked stupidly, still searching the hall for Stark or Malfoy.

"Yes."

"Hermione, are you feeling all right?" Harry asked suspiciously.

"I'm fine, just tired. Could we go back to Hogwarts?" she repeated to Ron impatiently.

Ron sighed, frustrated. "Hermione, Harry and I have to – "

"I want to go back now," Hermione commanded. Behind her, Diana took a step backward and her eyebrows shot up.

"Argh! All right, all right," Ron grumbled, nearly oblivious to his girlfriend's odd behaviour. He was too excited at the prospect of seeing Malfoy and Stark go down to notice she was acting queerly. "We'll have to Apparate from here to Hogsmeade, and then get a carriage to the castle from there, though."

"Fine," Hermione said dismissively, taking his arm in an iron grip. "Goodbye," she said to Harry and Diana in a clipped voice as she began leading Ron out of the hall.

Hermione dragged him by Nicholas Foran, who smiled and waved at them both, a glass of champagne in his hand. Ron nodded absently at him.

He failed to see Foran raise the glass to his lips, hiding a disturbing smirk.

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DA NA NA!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

Yeah, a cliffhanger. Sue me. I can't do anything about it. This part of the story becomes so action-packed and stuff that I have to have cliffhangers. There's just no other way. v_v

So I must ask, did anyone see that coming? I was surprised/sort of pleased that not many people picked up on the Ademon thing last chapter, but I'm wondering if anyone saw this. Not to worry, there are many more plot twists in store, yay!

Also, a note to all…some of you seem very confused about anything that happened previous to this story. Just in case you didn't know, this story makes a lot more sense if you read its prequel, Bury the Hatchet. Just some friendly words of advice. ^_^

Aaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaand review. ^_^