Despite the heavy fog, Ron felt incredibly conspicuous as he and Hermione hopped their last stone fence and flattened themselves into the ditch on the other side. They'd been torn between waiting for the cover nightfall would provide, and making their attempt now, in the hopes that they could get to Harry all the sooner. In the end they simply couldn't restrain themselves any longer, and approached the fortress just before dusk. Circling the perimeter once, trying to determine the best plan for getting inside, they'd ultimately decided their greatest chance lay with the drainage pipe protruding from the base of the south wall.
This was it, Ron thought to himself. After disobeying the Order's…er…orders, and half a day of chasing down leads and following clues, they had finally found Captarum.
It rose out of the mist like Avalon, almost ethereal in its mysticism. The imposing exterior of thick walls and spires reaching for the sky notwithstanding, it seemed somehow intangible. Anyone gazing upon it, however, would receive the impression that the fortress was impenetrable and forbidding; it sent out a vibe that said very clearly 'keep away!'.
Ron was becoming accustomed to the feeling. He glanced out of the corner of his eye at the girl next to him and nearly sighed at the lack of expression on her face. She didn't appear angry, or sad, or excited about having found the target of their mission, or anything at all. They'd exchanged the barest minimum of words over the course of the day…only what was necessary to communicate their next move, and nothing more. Initially Ron had still been obsessing over Viktor Krum's invitation that morning, and hadn't bothered trying to make conversation. But it wore off quickly enough, and that was when he'd become aware that Hermione hadn't been speaking to him, either. He knew that their confrontation had angered her, but still didn't understand the origin of her claim that he didn't trust her.
Ron wanted to dismiss it as just being one of those bewildering things that made Hermione…well, Hermione, but her lack of communication was really needling him this time. Like a splinter just beneath the surface of his skin. For one thing, he could see no justification for it. He usually had at least some sort of idea what she was on about, but this time he was absolutely clueless. For another, it was a huge contrast to the way she'd been with him the night before. For the past two nights, actually. Ever since Harry'd gone missing there had seemed to him to be a sort of…connection between them. Something more than usual, in the absence of their friend. Deeper, more personal. He couldn't understand how they kept vacillating from that wonderful new place back to this, with them hardly speaking to each other. He wanted to talk to her about it, but he didn't know how to begin.
Not to mention the fact that this was hardly the most opportune moment.
They'd already spotted a trio of Dementors patrolling the grounds – their black, tattered robes thankfully obscuring their faces – and had luckily avoided them altogether. With who knew how many more on the loose, now was not the ideal time for a heart-to-heart. Besides, Harry might be only minutes away. They had to stay focused on their objective.
With that in mind, Ron poked his head up and scrutinized the surrounding area, unable to detect any sign of Dementors. There was a scarcity of cover between them and the moat into which the pipe drained, but it couldn't be helped. They'd just have to make a dash for it.
He nudged Hermione, arching his eyebrows in silent inquiry when she met his gaze. She nodded to indicate that she was ready, and as one they scrambled to their feet and hurried across the no-man's-land to the moat.
When they reached the lip Ron paused, scanning for trouble alertly while Hermione aimed her wand at the murky water. "Solidify!" she whispered.
There was a flash, and when Ron turned back she was already slipping over the edge of the embankment. He cursed to himself and hurried after her, wishing she'd waited for a moment until he'd gotten to the bottom first and could catch her.
It seemed, however, that Hermione meant to do everything without his assistance on this mission. And so, still grumbling, he threw a leg over the top of the slope and skidded down after her.
They landed on solid ice, and while it didn't make for the best footing, Ron was too grateful that they weren't being forced to tread drainage water to complain. They slid and skated perilously over to the wide-mouthed pipe that jutted out from the base of the wall, where Ron paused to assess their options.
The lower rim was probably about a half-metre above his own head; he could easily grasp it when he reached up with his arms. Hermione was going to be another matter altogether, though. He could probably use the 'wingardium leviosa' spell to levitate her up there, but it'd most likely be faster just to give her a lift. Hoping that his pint-sized friend wasn't going to be obstinate about not accepting help when she very clearly needed it, Ron cupped his palms together and laced his fingers, forming a 'stair' for her.
After ascertaining with a quick glance up that there was no way she'd be able to reach the pipe on her own, Hermione moved toward Ron. He firmed up his stance and then bent his knees slightly, lowering his makeshift stair. She planted her foot in it, then hesitantly rested her hands on his shoulders for balance. There was a long beat where their faces were tantalizingly close. His downcast eyes flicked up to meet hers…sky blue to her mahogany brown. She blinked and looked away, breaking the eye contact. With the vague taste of disappointment in his mouth, Ron counted silently to himself, nodding each number at Hermione. One, two…
On the unspoken 'three' he heaved her upwards, pushing her foot with his hand when she grabbed hold of the pipe and hoisted herself inside. Another scan of his surroundings while he listened to her scrabbling around, making room for him, and then he tossed up his backpack. Hermione caught it and drew back again as he reached up to grasp the lower rim.
Once he'd pulled himself up, Hermione helped to drag him the rest of the way inside. They rested there for a moment, catching their breath quietly just beyond the circle of light that shone in. Hermione fished in her pocket for the rough plans they'd obtained from their last contact, angling them so that she could read in the gloom. "We'll emerge from this duct into the lower-most level…that should be the dungeon."
Her voice sounded loud in the confined space, and it was only then that he realized just how well they'd been progressing without words. The last eight months of going on missions together, and over six years' worth of friendship behind that had given them the ability to function together as a fluid unit, a team that required little to no verbal communication in order to operate on the same page. It made him feel proud, but it also sparked a pang for Harry, whose absence he still felt distinctly. The mission didn't feel complete without him…the third member of their trio, the mediating influence, the one who rounded them out and kept them focused.
But that was why they were here, right? To get him back. Back where he belonged.
Toward that end, Ron indicated with a jerk of his chin that Hermione should go first. She folded the plans neatly, pocketed them, and turned to begin crawling down the tunnel.
He wasn't sure how much later it was when he finally became aware of the strange sounds coming from in front of him. He only knew that he felt as if he'd been clambering through the chilly, inch-deep water for an eternity, so he couldn't be certain how long he'd been hearing Hermione's panting.
In fact, he wasn't sure panting was the right word, anymore. They were more like…wheezes. As if she were having a hard time catching her breath. But it couldn't be that, because she was still trudging tirelessly away in front of him. Additionally, he could detect nothing wrong with the air, and was having no respiratory trouble at all.
Ron increased his pace until he could reach her. His fingers snagged a saturated fold in the fabric of her pant leg, and he tugged gently. "Hermione?"
If anything, she scrabbled faster, her leg pulling out of his clutch abruptly. Her labored breathing became more so…harsh and gasping, with a desperate catch to it. Okay, something was definitely wrong.
Ron caught up with her again, but she didn't slow down despite his increasingly worried inquiries. "Hermione, stop!" he finally commanded, then tackled her.
Considering the tight confines of the pipe, this was no easy task. It involved a lot of yanking, a lot of twisting, until finally they were still. They ended with Hermione's back half up against the side of the pipe, the rest of her in the water, and Ron pressing against her to keep her in place. The last time he'd lain mostly atop her flickered quickly through his mind; he was helpless not to think of it. But her distress now was more than enough to help him maintain his concentration.
He didn't understand what was wrong with her…she'd never had an issue with restricted spaces before, so he knew she wasn't claustrophobic by nature. But as she continued to struggle against him in an effort to free herself, making little whimpers of fear, he was suddenly reminded of the night before. And the night before that, when he'd had to forcibly wake her from her nightmares about the house. About the…
The crawlspace. Of course.
Ron closed his eyes, willing to hold on to her until this passed. "Shhh," he murmured, "Hermione, listen to me. Listen to me. It's not like the house. Okay? 'Mione, we're safe. Well…that's relative, I suppose, but we're not in any immediate danger, and we will get out of here. All right? There's an end to the tunnel, we just have to get to it."
Her struggles gradually weakened, until she was just pressing against him, but not pushing him away. "I have to get out," she whispered.
"We will," he promised her. His right hand drifted up seemingly of its own accord and cradled her cheek as he pulled back to look at her. Her eyes were wide, her lips parted, and her chest still heaved with each ragged breath. There was a moment of irrational - rather inappropriate for the circumstances, he thought – attraction on his part, but he flicked it away and focused on easing the panic that was making her so tense. "I'm sorry, 'Mione, I didn't even think… We'll get out, I swear. It can't be much further." He paused, his eyes narrowing at her. She'd calmed a bit, but that wasn't what he'd just noticed.
He could see her. Neither had been using their wands for illumination for fear of giving away their position to anyone who might be on the other end of the pipe, but the darkness was no longer complete. From the direction they'd been heading in, a faint orange glow could be seen in the distance.
Hermione made the same realization simultaneously, turning her head also to look. Her sound of relief was half sob, half sigh. "Oh, thank goodness," breathed.
Ron seconded that. He turned back to Hermione. "You going to be okay?"
She nodded, already pushing him back so that she could resume her relentless crawl onward. "I will be, now."
The going was a trifle slower than before, due to the fact that they were trying to make as little noise as possible. Upon reaching the end of the pipe, however, they learned that their stealth had been unnecessary.
"There's no one down here," Hermione said in a defeated voice.
"And you're disappointed? Ron asked incredulously. "I don't know about you, but the fewer bad guys we have to face before we get out of here, the better."
"Yes, Ron," she agreed, "but I was rather hoping that we'd find Harry being held down here. Now we'll have to search the fortress, thereby actually increasing our chances of being discovered."
"Oh," Ron said. There wasn't really much else to say in the face of her logic.
A brief search of the dungeon yielded nothing useful other than a staircase leading up to the next level. Keeping his wand ready and Hermione safely behind him, Ron mounted the stone steps quickly but quietly. He gently released the catch on the massive door at the top and eased it open, cursing the hinges that squeaked in protest.
Ron tentatively poked his head out; all he could see in either direction were hard, bare floors and flickering torches that cast moving shadows along the curved stone walls. He motioned for Hermione to follow him, and stepped out into the empty hall. When they had enough room, Ron dug into their pack and retrieved what would be their most useful tool on this mission. Hermione stepped closer to him as he unfurled Harry's invisibility cloak and draped it around them both. The cloak was a staple of their supplies…it was packed for every mission. Luckily for them, Ron was nearly always the one in charge of the pack and had therefore been in possession of the cloak at the time of Harry's disappearance.
Every sense heightened in dreadful anticipation of discovery, they consulted Hermione's plans again and headed off to the right. They followed the hallway until they reached a set of double doors, on the other side of which they could hear voices. Ron tried to make them out, but the doors were too thick to allow him to separate the muffled sounds into individual words. He felt Hermione touch his arm and he turned toward her. She had her plans out again, and was pointing to a staircase they'd just passed. He didn't know where it led, but could tell Hermione thought it was important, so he let her lead him as she doubled back.
At the top they cautiously turned left, finding another, smaller door just where the larger ones had been a floor below.
This time Hermione released the catch and pushed the door open gently while Ron kept a keen eye on the hallway behind them. A moment later he felt her tug on his arm again, and retreated with her through the door.
On the other side, Ron blinked upon discovering himself in a great hall. The room was dim – just as in the hallways, the only lighting originated from the inconsistent flames of torches scattered all about the room proper, below – but Ron could tell that they were in some sort of upper level, like a balcony. The high ceiling stretched out over them, running all the way to the other end of the room where he could see another 'balcony' against the opposite wall.
They crept forward silently to the railing and peered down. In the room below was amassed the largest number of Death Eaters they'd ever seen together in one place. There had to be at least two dozen of them; they all sat around a long, rectangular table centered in the middle of the room. Each was wearing the traditional black robes and ceramic mask. It appeared that even here they operated in secret, not daring to reveal their faces even to each other, though Ron was sure that each knew the identity of the others. They'd been arguing about something since before their silent intruders entered the room, but now one voice in particular drew Ron's attention like an arrow to its target.
"Silence!" it demanded. "I will hear no more of your excuses! How difficult can it be to find one boy?"
The command had been more hissed than shouted; nevertheless it had a profound effect on all of those who heard it. The Death Eaters cringed as one, shrinking back into themselves as much as possible. Up in the balcony, Ron shared a meaningful – if surprised – glance with Hermione. When the hell had Lucius Malfoy escaped from Azkaban prison? And why hadn't they been informed? Worst of all, if Malfoy was searching for Harry too, then it meant that their friend wasn't being held prisoner here. Ron felt his heart sink and saw his own anguish reflected back at him through Hermione's eyes. They'd failed. Everything they'd gone through to get here, and they were no closer to finding Harry.
Ron's grip on the railing tightened helplessly in frustration before he became aware that Malfoy had gone on. "Four days have passed and not one of you has brought back any useful information as to the whereabouts of my son." Hermione and Ron shared another look, this one of renewed hope. Then Malfoy's voice went low, spiteful and insidious. "I know that Potter had something to do with it." He turned to the Death Eater sitting immediately to his left. "You're certain that the Order is still looking for him, also?"
The voice that answered was even more crafty and deceitful than Malfoy's, and even more well-known to the two former students of Hogwarts. They'd both borne the scars of his tongue lashings before, after all.
"They've had as little luck in locating Mr. Potter as we've had in finding Draco," Severus Snape said. From his place on the floor of the balcony, Ron's hands balled up into fists of rage. Even Snape's voice sounded oily, he thought angrily. He'd known it! He'd known from the very beginning that Snape was betraying them! What had Dumbledore been thinking, allowing him to work with the Order of the Phoenix?
Hermione's eyes were also flashing dangerously, but neither of them spoke. They couldn't take the chance that their whispers would be heard by one of the evil men below. And so it was that they heard with perfect clarity that which Malfoy said next.
"And what of the wizards? It was their home, after all. Perhaps they left some sort of trap?"
"We've been unable to detect any such magic," a third Death Eater chimed in.
"And," Snape continued, "the wizards were given no opportunity to prepare such a snare. The attack was swift, and they were taken nearly immediately."
"Nearly isn't good enough," Malfoy replied. Ron could practically hear the sneer in his voice. "Question them," the Death Eater ordered Snape.
"I've been questioning them about the device since their capture. They've divulged no intelligence about it all this time; I find it unlikely that they would now inform us that they'd left a little ambush if we just ask nicely."
Malfoy stood, looming over Snape threateningly. Now his voice rose. "Then don't. Ask. Nicely. Find out where my son is, then find out how we use the device. Is that understood?"
Snape stood and bowed stiffly before turning on his heel and stalking from the room. Ron indicated silently to Hermione that they'd heard enough, then crept out as quietly as possible.
Back in the hallway, Ron tried to keep his voice down. "Bloody Snape," he swore, pulling off the invisibility cloak and throwing it to the floor.
"Ron," Hermione said after shutting the door, "did you hear?"
"I heard everything," he said, scowling at the door to the balcony and trying not to focus on the treachery of their former professor. "Draco's missing, too. One of them did something. Ten to one they're in the same place."
"We've got to rescue them."
He'd known she was going to say that, just as he knew she wasn't talking about Harry and Draco. He'd already decided for himself to go after the parents. He also knew he was going to get nowhere in arguing with her, but he had to at least try to persuade her to leave, first. "Hermione…"
"Ron!" she interrupted, "it's the parents of the children we found! You heard Malfoy. They're probably going to torture them for the information they want. No one else knows they're here; we have to help them!"
"Yeah," Ron sighed. "I know. I don't suppose I can convince you report back to the mansion and leave this to me, can I?"
Hermione just stared at him, and he sighed again. "Didn't think so. All right, then. Let's go follow Snape."
VV
"I've come to give you one last chance to tell me what you know about the disappearances of Draco Malfoy and Harry Potter," Snape said.
He spoke to the witch and wizard who were chained to opposite walls inside their cell.
Hermione and Ron had trailed his every move as he made his way back to the interrogation room. He'd given no indication that he knew he wasn't alone, and so they experienced no difficulty in following him right into the room that contained his prisoners. They hung back while he questioned them, afraid to stray too close and give themselves away by some sense other than sight. Both recalled Harry's relation of events the time he thought Snape had perceived him in the hallway back in first year despite the cloak. Neither wished to risk attracting his attention.
Grateful again for the ability Harry's invisibility cloak gave them, Hermione watched as Snape stood in front of the cell door, his gaze directed at the inhabitants. Both were grimy and exhausted from existing in such conditions for the past week, and Hermione wondered when the last time was that they'd been permitted to eat or drink. The husband looked rather worse off than his wife; it appeared that he'd put up quite a struggle. The marks on his face and wrists showed all too clearly how he'd been subdued.
"Very well," Snape said after several moments of silence had slipped by. "Then perhaps you'd care to discuss the device, again. We already know what it's for…you'd hoped to be able to use your invention to locate Lord Voldemort's bases with it. And we know that the reverse is also true. It can be used to find the Order's bases in the same fashion. What we don't know is how to make it work."
He paused again, waiting for one of his captives to speak. When neither did, his voice grew impatient. "I do not think either of you fully appreciate your position. There are many, very unpleasant ways you can be made to talk. If you won't speak on your own, be sure other methods will soon be utilized. I advise you to tell me all you know, now, while you still have the opportunity. I…don't believe you'll be able to resist much longer."
Hermione wondered why he was even giving them the chance. In fact, she was sort of surprised that he hadn't already used the 'other methods' at his disposal to get what he wanted. He'd already proven through his disloyalty to the Order that he couldn't be trusted not to be unscrupulous.
There was a third gap of silence as he once more appeared to be waiting for input from the prisoners. When they were either unable or unwilling to respond, he turned as if to leave.
Hermione's breath caught in her throat as he halted abruptly before reaching the door, no more than an arm's length away from her position under the cloak with Ron. She couldn't see his face due to the mask, but could imagine his burning black eyes and the profile of his beaky nose as he turned to regard the space next to him. She dug her fingers helplessly into Ron's shoulder, feeling him tense for action beside her.
There was a long, tension-filled moment where no one moved, and then suddenly Snape sniffed and turned away, detouring over to his desk. Hermione couldn't see what he was doing over there, but several drawers were opened, then shut, and then he was walking out through the door.
As one, Hermione and Ron released a great, pent up sigh of relief. Ron pulled the cloak off and dashed to the cell, gripping the bars in each hand and shaking, as if testing their strength. Unfortunately, their construction appeared to be quite solid. Hermione drew her wand from her side pocket and pointed it at the lock. "Alohamora," she tried.
When the lock remained locked, Hermione sighed. "There's a counter spell on it. I didn't think such a rudimentary charm would work."
"Had to give it a shot, though," Ron agreed, looking around for some sort of tool that would aid them in breaking open the cell door.
Hermione bit her lip, also scanning the room. Just what had Snape been doing over there at his desk before leaving? She wandered over, her gaze flitting over each item strewn across its surface before narrowing on one in particular. It couldn't be.
It just couldn't be…because that would mean…
"Key," she said hoarsely.
Ron looked up with a skeptical expression. "It couldn't be that simple," he protested.
"It makes perfect sense," Hermione countered. "They're wizards. They might've been able to reverse any magic on the lock eventually. But without their wands they wouldn't have been able to do much, or get to the key." She picked it up off the desk and hurried over to the cell door. The key slid effortlessly into the lock and turned smoothly. Then they were in.
Hermione rushed to the woman and used her wand to dismantle the manacles, while Ron did the same at the opposite end of the cell. "He's barely conscious," he called over to her.
Hermione's charge was scarcely better off. Up close she could see her fears about the captives' treatment had been justified. The woman was pale and thin…probably neither she nor her husband had sustained much nourishment over the past week. She moaned quietly at Hermione's light touch, lolling her head to one side as her only means of escape.
"Madam," Hermione said, belatedly realizing that she'd never stopped to learn the names of the owners of the house. "We've come to take you out of here. Can you walk?"
"The children," the woman sobbed suddenly. "My babies."
"We haven't got time for this," Ron said. Hermione looked over her shoulder to find him standing there already, supporting most of the weight of the husband who had one arm slung around Ron's shoulders. "Get her up," he instructed.
Hermione looked down at the woman doubtfully. Though she was weak from her ordeal, she still had a good six inches on the young witch, and she thought her chances of successfully rousting the woman and keeping her up the way Ron was doing were dubious at best. Still, she had to try.
Hermione grasped one of the woman's arms and hauled her to a sitting position, then stood and tried to hoist her up. The woman was of little help. "Come on," Hermione pleaded. "I can't do this alone, and we've got to hurry. You must help me."
"What's the use?" the woman whispered, tears filling her eyes and spilling over. "It's been too long. My children are gone."
Hermione thought her heart would break just from the expression on the woman's face alone. She'd never seen such utter, hopeless desolation before, and felt her own eyes begin to sting in empathy. She blinked furiously, hearing Ron shuffle behind her. "We've got to go! Who knows when Snape'll come back?"
Hermione had her own thoughts about that, but now was not the time to go into them. In any case, there was no way she was going to be able to lift the woman. If she was going to get up, she'd have to do it on her own. And Hermione thought she knew how to give her the strength to do that. "I've been to your house," she said suddenly. "We went there to investigate three days after your disappearance."
Her words did what her gentle hands had been unable to…they snapped the woman awake immediately. Her eyes opened wide and fixed on Hermione's face. "Did you find the children?!" she pleaded.
Hermione felt hot tears run down her cheeks as she nodded. "In the cellar," she choked out. "We found them. Madam…I'm so sorry…but the little boy…the smallest. He…"
She couldn't finish the sentence. She didn't have to. The woman read the grief on her face as easily as if the words were written there and gave a great sob. She clung to Hermione and mourned for the loss of her child with the pain only a mother could truly know.
Hermione tried to comfort her, knowing that there was nothing she could ever say or do that could make this any easier to bear. Her hand cradled the back of the woman's head, rocking slowly as she weeped against her neck.
Behind her, Ron's voice was thick. "Hermione…"
"I know," she said softly over her shoulder. She turned back to the stranger in her arms. "Madam, I'm sorry. There was nothing we could do for him. But the others…all of your other children are alive."
She saw it happen. There was a spark in the other woman's eyes. The grief was too fresh, too deep to escape completely, but she watched as the woman pushed it down and locked it away for later. Hermione watched as she took a shuddering breath and looked up hopefully. "Alive?"
"All of the others," Hermione confirmed. "They've been taken to Headquarters, and they're waiting for you. You have to be strong for them, and help us get you out of here, all right?"
The woman's expression firmed with purpose, and she looked past Hermione to her nearly unconscious husband. "We'll do what we have to do," she said.