Blaise turned away from the fireplace, shaking his head in puzzlement. The Slytherin common room was deserted, it being the middle of the night; the fire was burning low, casting long, flickering shadows across the room, and Blaise had just concluded yet another floo conference with Lucius Malfoy. His employer must be mental, he thought- not that it mattered much to him, as long as Lucius was inclined to keep paying him. Just so long as those sleek Malfoy owls kept arriving with little sacks of galleons tied to their legs, Lucius could be just as mental as he liked.

And it wasn't as though Blaise was complaining; tonight, at any rate, he had been very pleasantly surprised by Lucius' reaction to his news; news he had been putting off delivering because he had considered it disastrous, and had been extremely apprehensive about his employer's reaction to it. He had waited, in fact, a good two weeks since the breakup to make this report, hoping against hope that the situation would somehow remedy itself; that Draco and the mudblood would somehow find it within themselves to kiss and make up before he was compelled to tell his employer that all their carefully laid plans had come to naught; that attempting to capture Draco using Hermione as bait would be a futile exercise, since the school's former golden couple now appeared to hate each other with a passion. Draco would never come after the mudblood, because she no longer meant anything to him.

And yet-

When he had told Lucius this, his employer had seemed absurdly pleased by the news.

A slow, maniacal grin had spread across the face that Blaise had expected to contort with rage. Lucius had asked eagerly for details of the breakup; who had taken the initiative? And when Blaise had recounted that it had been Draco who had broken it off, and in a cruel and publicly humiliating manner no less, and that it looked as though reconciliation was out of the question, Lucius had laughed outright. The expression on his face, bizarre under the circumstances, had been one of mingled triumph and glee.

He had then informed an astonished Blaise that, knowing his son as he did, he was confident that Draco, through these actions, had just proved- unintentionally, of course- how very much he DID care for the mudblood. He had perceived Blaise's attack on her as a very serious threat, and a threat somehow connected to himself; he had been correct on both counts- and so he had severed ties with her in an attempt to remove her from harm's way. It was the exact reaction Lucius had been hoping for; he would have been disappointed with any other.

He had then informed Blaise that the way he saw it, the final stage of the plan was ready to be enacted, and would be put into motion the following night. He didn't anticipate needing Blaise's assistance with this portion of the plan, but nonetheless an owl would be dispatched immediately bearing a generous sum of galleons, should Blaise agree to keep himself alert throughout the night in question, just in case he should be called upon to act.

Blaise had of course agreed instantly. The only thing better than being paid by Lucius Malfoy was being paid by Lucius Malfoy for doing nothing! So tomorrow night instead of sleeping he would sit awake in the common room, studying by the fire. He didn't mind this one bit; Blaise was one of those people who posses the rare and enviable ability to thrive on very little sleep, and anyway, he had a lot of preparation to do for his NEWTs. He might just as likely have sat the night up studying anyway; now he would be some two hundred galleons the richer for it.

That was just fine with him.

So after going over with Lucius, one final time, the coordinates for the portkey that would transport its creator directly into the head girl's bedroom- coordinates he had obtained with the use of his new invisibility cloak one night as Hermione had cried herself to sleep in Harry's bed- Blaise had been released from the conference by his employer, feeling better than he had in two weeks. As he headed off toward his dorm, relief swept over him at the knowledge that the information he had been so afraid to impart had, in fact, been just what Lucius had been hoping to hear. This was followed by a feeling of immense sarisfaction; both the traitor and the uppity mudblood bitch were about to get their just desserts, and he, Blaise, had the satisfaction of knowing that he had helped to bring it about.

Not only that, but he had been paid handsomely to do it!

Yes, life was good.

00000

Heart pounding in his ears, Draco sat straight up in bed, his left hand shooting out reflexively to grab his wand off the nightstand. It was pitch-black; the very dead of night, and he had no idea what had awakened him. Something was wrong, though. He could feel it; he KNEW it. Something was very, very wrong.

"Lumos," he whispered, then held his softly glowing wand aloft and quickly scanned his bedroom, looking for anything out of the ordinary; any clue to his sudden awakening. But all was as it should be.

It must have been Hermione, he decided a moment later; nightmares again. It was far from the first time since their breakup that he had been awakened by her cries; it had happened several times, in fact, since she had moved out of the boys' dormitory and back into her own room a little over a week earlier. (Indeed, it had been the return of the nightmares that had caused her to finally leave Ron and Harry's dorm, though of course Draco didn't know this. Apparently with the new stress that had been added to her life, even the strengthened sleep potion she had been taking had lost its potency; she had been horrified the night she'd awakened Harry and Ron, plus every other occupant of the room, with her frantic screams. She had managed to convince them, as she had clung trembling to Ron while Harry had rubbed her back soothingly, that it was a one-time, stress-induced occurrence, and had moved back into her own room the following day.)

It ripped Draco up inside that he could no longer go to her, hold her, comfort her. A couple of times he had actually gotten as far as her bedroom door before forcing himself to turn around and go back to bed, trying desperately to ignore the sound of her heart-wrenching sobs. He wished she would tell Potter and Weasley what was happening to her at night, so that one or both of them could be on alert to offer her the comfort he no longer could; but so far she had said nothing to them, as evidenced by the fact that they did not come. No one came anymore when she cried out in the night; she was left alone to sob herself back to sleep, or to lie awake until morning.

Telling Potter and Weasley himself was out of the question, of course; he could barely be in the same room as the two of them without fearing for his life; actually approaching them and broaching the subject of Hermione would be suicide.

He sighed and raked his right hand through his sleep-tousled hair, still gripping his wand tightly with his left. Nightmares again, that's all it was- and not a damn thing he could do about it. Best just to try to go back to sleep. But then why did he still have this sick sense of foreboding down in his gut? Why wasn't it going away? It was not rational; it was deep and ingrained; an instinctual red alert that was blaring, DANGER- DANGER- DANGER!

And then he heard it; a sound, coming from Hermione's room, all right, but it was not one of her panicked, nightmare-induced screams. This sound was, in its implications, much, much worse. A dull, heavy thud, as of a trunk or large piece of furniture being overturned, followed by a voice- a male voice- low and menacing and chillingly familiar.

"It can't be," Draco said, not realizing, in his intense horror, that he had actually spoken aloud. His throat felt suddenly very dry and tight. "No. It can't be. No. No."

In one fluid movement he had thrown off the covers and was out of bed and sprinting for the door. He burst through it, crossed the hallway that separated his room from Hermione's at a dead run, and flung himself at her door; his right hand going to the knob as he slammed his shoulder into the stout wood. The door shuddered violently in its frame, but it held. Moreover, the knob promptly burned his hand, causing him to jerk it back with a cry. From within the room, he heard a burst of low, vicious laughter. There was no longer any doubt in his mind as to whose voice that was.

He had known from the first time he'd heard it, really; he just hadn't wanted to believe.

His father was in there with Hermione.

Panic swept over him.

"Fuck!" he shouted, in mingled fear and frustration. He backed up and threw himself at the door again, thudding into it with all his weight behind his shoulder, but again it held. It shouldn't have been able to withstand two such assaults, and it sure as hell shouldn't have burned him; it had been enchanted.

"FUCK!" he cried again. "HERMIONE!" More evil laughter from within, but not a sound from Hermione. Why wasn't she calling out to him? Was she unconscious? Worse? Oh, God………….

Get a hold of yourself, his mind screamed. Brute force isn't gonna do jack shit in this situation, so you need to think clearly! He closed his eyes for a second and took a deep, steadying breath. Right then. Okay. Can't break the door down- gotta- gotta fight magic with magic.

"Alohomora," he said in a cracked voice, placing the tip of his wand against the red-hot door handle. Nothing happened. "No," he whispered, "ALOHOMORA!" as tears of frustration sprang to his eyes. Nothing. He racked his brain, then shouted "Reducto!" in an attempt to magically blast the door out of his way. Still nothing. Losing his fragile control, he kicked savagely at the door. "Hermione!"

From within the room, he heard two voices- one male, one female- shout two different spells at the same time; this was followed by another crash, this time as of glass breaking, and a cry from Hermione that could have been fear, or pain. Or both.

Well, at least now he knew she was alive and conscious, but still- this was So. Fucking. Not. Good. And why the hell wasn't she answering him? If he could hear her, then surely she could hear him too.

"Bloody, bloody hell," Draco swore frantically. He HAD to see what was going on. Even if it was going to take him a minute to figure out what to do about the door, still he needed to SEE-

"Transparo!" he shouted, pointing his wand at the center of the door. And then, quite suddenly, he could see. Straight through the door and into the room beyond. The heavy wooden door now had the appearance of thick brown glass, with wood-grain patterns still running through it. The room on the other side of it appeared distorted, but pressing his face against the surface of the newly transparent door, he could see well enough to tell what was happening.

Lucius and Hermione were facing each other across her bed, wands trained on one another. At the foot of the bed, her trunk was overturned, spilling its contents out across the floor- the heavy thud he had heard from his bedroom. Lucius was standing at ease; completely unruffled in his crisp black robes, not a hair out of place, a smirk playing about his lips as he held his wand steadily, almost carelessly, pointed at Hermione. Hermione was a different story. She was positioned in a half crouch, looking for all the world like a trapped animal, eyes wide and chest heaving as she literally panted with fear. Behind her, the curtains of her large bay window were billowing inwards; he realized that the window was broken- the sound of shattering glass he had heard. Her dark hair was blowing wildly about her head, buffeted by the wind, and Draco was fleetingly surprised to see that she was wearing a badly rumpled school uniform. He realized with a sudden pang that she must have been sleeping in it and wondered if she had done that often since the breakup.

"Stupefy," Lucius drawled in a bored voice, as Draco looked on helplessly.

"Protego!" Hermione cried a fraction of a second later, deflecting the jet of red light from her assailant's wand.

"HERMIONE!" Draco cried, slamming the flats of both hands against the door, wincing as his burned hand exploded with pain.

Her head jerked toward him, her eyes widening still further with the shock of suddenly seeing him there,

through the transparent door. Their gazes locked for a heartbeat, and then her eyes narrowed, blazing suddenly with a fierce light of defiance, and he realized then that she had heard him calling to her all along, and had made a very deliberate decision not to answer him. Her expression in that split second told him that even now, in this desperate situation, she wanted no part of him.

And- he couldn't help it- it stung. Of all the times, he thought, to be so bloody fucking stubborn- here I was thinking she could be DEAD-

And then catastrophe struck, in the form of Lucius taking advantage of her momentary distraction. Just as she was beginning to turn back to face him, he shouted, "Accio!" catching her completely off-guard and causing her wand to fly from her hand into his.

There was a pause as a triumphant smile twisted Lucius' thin lips- then things happened very fast. Now pointing both wands at Hermione, he said "Stupefy" again in a lazy sort of voice, clearly convinced of his victory. In the same instant, though, Hermione dove out of the way, causing the jets of light from the wands to fly right out the open window. She hit the floor, rolled, scrambled to her feet, and without a second's hesitation raced straight toward the door, and Draco.

"NO!" he yelled frantically; "don't touch the-" but it was too late. Her hand closed around the doorknob for just a fraction of a second; then she yanked it back with a cry. She stumbled backward from the door, bent momentarily double from the pain in her burned right hand, which she was clasping with her left. She raised her head and stared at him; her eyes huge and dark in a pale face surrounded by tangled, windswept hair, and there was no more defiance in them; only a sort of blank, uncomprehending shock that broke his heart into a thousand tiny pieces.

And then Lucius' arms wrapped around her from behind like a vice; pinning her own arms tightly against her body and effectively immobilizing her, and he was grinning at Draco over her shoulder; a cold, malicious, gloating sort of grin.

"Why, thank you, son," Lucius drawled out; "if you hadn't distracted the little mudblood for me, I don't think I could have caught her."

As Draco watched, stricken to the core by his father's mocking words, Lucius very slowly and deliberately raised both the wands he held until the tips hovered a bare inch from Hermione's temple. She squeezed her eyes tightly shut and when she opened them again a second later, staring once more directly at Draco, he saw they now held dull resignation; her eyes said that she fully expected to die right then, right there.

Her breath was coming in shallow, rapid bursts, her whole body tense as she braced herself for the killing curse that Draco could tell she was expecting. A single fat tear spilled down her cheek. Behind her, Lucius' grin widened still further as he watched his son standing pressed against the door, trembling from head to foot with barely controlled panic, anguish written all over his normally guarded face.

"So," Lucius said conversationally, "so. Here we are. Did you honestly think you could reject your family and everything we raised you to stand for, to BE, and never suffer any consequences? Did you, Draco?" He shook his head slowly in mock woe. "Tsk, tsk, son. I knew you were a fool when you betrayed our cause- when you betrayed ME- but I didn't think you were that big of a fool. It appears I was mistaken."

Draco, jaw clenched, made no reply. He merely balled his hands into fists, ignoring the fresh burst of agony in his burned hand.

Lucius, who had apparently been hoping for a verbal response, frowned. When next he spoke, his voice was brisk; businesslike. His eyes were cold and hard. "Well, Draco, if you have any parting words for your little mudblood girlfriend, I suggest you speak them now."

Draco attempted to speak, found he could not, due to a severely constricted throat, swallowed convulsively, and tried again. His voice, when it came, was a hoarse whisper, and though his eyes remained locked on Hermione's, his words were addressed to Lucius.

"Father…don't."

Lucius' maniacal grin reappeared. Quite suddenly, he jammed the tips of the two wands hard into Hermione's temple, causing her to tilt her head to the side with a jerk and a gasp. She bit her lip hard.

"NO!" Draco shouted, pounding both fists on the door.

"Oh yes," Lucius hissed, and then, "Stupefy!"

There was a brief flash of red light and Hermione went limp in his arms, her head falling forward, hair spilling across her face.

On the other side of the door, Draco sagged as well, leaning his forehead against the translucent wood as a wave of overwhelming relief swept over him. He let his own eyes fall momentarily shut, drawing in a deep, ragged breath. He hadn't been expecting his father to stun Hermione. He had been expecting him to- to-

"Why, Draco," Lucius said, his voice tauntingly gentle- Draco's eyes snapped open once again and he stared unblinkingly at his father- "you didn't actually think I would kill her, did you? I assure you, she is worth much more to me alive than dead- at the moment. You see, I fully expect her to accomplish a task that I myself cannot; she's going to bring you home. Miss Granger and I will be catching a portkey back to the manor very shortly, and then, of course, you will be following us. Won't you, boy?"

Again he paused, waiting for a reply; again he got none. His lips thinned into a hard line, suggesting that Draco was definitely trying his patience. "You WILL come home, Draco, if you want to see the mudblood again. I understand that you may have to find a way around that wily old bastard Dumbledore; he will surely try to prevent you- so I will give you three days, which I think is most generous. You have my word that if you come to the manor within three days, you will find her alive. I cannot, however, promise that she will be unharmed. The longer you delay, the worse her condition will be when you arrive, so I would recommend you come as quickly as you can. Delay past three days-" he wound his hand through Hermione's thick hair and jerked her head back up so that it rested against his shoulder, then drew the tip of his wand slowly across her throat. "Do I make myself clear?"

A sudden, powerful surge of bright, hot rage engulfed Draco, but with a conscious effort he suppressed it in the next instant, out of fear for Hermione's safety. When he finally spoke, his voice was flat and dead.

"You don't have to take her. Lay her back on the bed, open the door, and I'll come with you right now."

"You've no idea how I wish it were that simple, Draco," Lucius said, the regret in his voice too highly pronounced to be entirely believable, "but unfortunately, that would be quite impossible. You see, Dumbledore has you carrying a charm that would render me Stupefied if I were to set foot in the same room as you within this castle. So it is your beloved headmaster's fault that I must take the girl instead of you. I trust you'll take that up with him after I've gone. Speaking of which-" he reached into a pocket of his robes and drew out a small, ornately crafted hand-held mirror- Draco recognized his father's favorite foe glass- "the man in question is nearly here." Sure enough, Draco could hear the pounding of footsteps approaching rapidly.

Lucius slipped the foe glass back into his pocket, and when his hand reemerged he was holding something else; a small silver shoehorn which Draco knew was one of Malfoy Manor's many return portkeys, guaranteed to whisk its bearer back to the front gates of the manor from anywhere in the world at a word. He laid one end of it against Hermione's pale cheek- it needed to be touching her too, after all, in order to transport her along with him.

"You want her back, you know where to find her. As a gesture of good faith, I won't even cast her into the dungeon. I think I'll put her in your old bedroom- that's a quaint touch, don't you agree? I'll be expecting you, son- remember, three days."

"No!" Draco shouted, panic rising in him like a tide. He backed away from the door and hurled himself at it again- knowing rationally that it was no use- not caring- he couldn't just stand there and do nothing as his father vanished with the only person in the world he loved more than his own life, he had to TRY-

"Activate," Lucius said softly. There was a brief flash of blue light and then he and Hermione were gone. In the same instant Draco hit the door, which burst inward, spilling him into the now empty room. He stumbled and fell to his knees in the place where Hermione had been a fraction of a second before.

"No," he whispered despairingly, raising his hands to cover his face as Dumbledore, accompanied by McGonagall and Snape, raced into the room behind him. "Oh God, Hermione, no. Oh no."