"This is all your bloody fucking fault, Malfoy!"

"I fucking KNOW THAT!"

Draco pounded his fist into the wall, bare inches from Ron's head. The two boys glared at each other for a moment in furious silence before spinning on their respective heels and resuming their frantic pacing about the perimeter of the room.

They were in the Gryffindor common room, which was deserted but for the three of them, due in part to the fact that it was a Hogsmeade Saturday, and in (much larger) part to the fact that Draco was looking dangerously unbalanced and the abrupt shouting matches between him and Ron had been going on for quite a while now and were becoming more frequent and more potentially violent as time wore on. The first and second year students, though too young to visit the village, had nevertheless made themselves scarce, terrified by the seventh year boys who were prowling the common room like caged beasts.

Which was, for all intents and purposes, exactly what they were.

The silver-blond and the redhead were pacing opposing tracks around the edge of the room, glaring murderously at each other whenever their paths crossed, both occasionally kicking at a piece of furniture or punching the wall. As for Harry, he was standing perfectly still in front of the fireplace, which contained no fire at the moment, it being near noon on a sunny May day. His back was to the room and his head was resting face-down on his arms, which were folded on the mantle. Shoulders hunched, face hidden from view, he was the very picture of abject despair.

Hermione had been missing now for over two days. This was, in fact, late afternoon on the final day of the three that Lucius had given Draco, and if Dumbledore and the Order had any plans for Hermione's rescue, they had not shared them with the boys. Harry, Ron and Draco had been confined to Gryffindor Tower by the placement of magical wards at the portrait hole, in order to prevent them from sneaking off the grounds and apparating away- as they were all now seventeen, they had learned apparition earlier in the year. All floo access to Gryffindor Tower had been cut off. Even their broomsticks had been confiscated, so that they wouldn't simply fly out of a window.

Their inability to act was tormenting all three of them. The tension between Ron and Draco, born of their mutual desperation, hopelessness and rage, was nearing the breaking point. It was bound to boil over very soon.

And it did.

Quite suddenly, from the opposite side of the room, Ron rounded on Draco.

"God-fucking-damn it, Malfoy, you rat bastard," he shouted, his eyes so dark a blue with anger that they were nearly black, his voice cracking with emotion; "if she had never fallen in love with you she never would have been a target! You probably knew the whole bloody time that she was in danger just by being with you, but you didn't care. You used her anyway and then you threw her away because you never cared what would happen when you were done with her. You've never cared about ANYTHING but your own worthless fucking hide!"

"You have no clue how bloody much I care, Weasel," Draco said, his voice so low it was barely audible- and all the more frightening for that. "I told you once before I'd excuse you saying something stupid because I knew how you felt about her- and the same goes for now. But this is your last fucking chance. Say one more thing and so help me God, you are going to get hurt."

But Ron was well past caring whether or not he got hurt. "You never deserved her, Malfoy," he spat; "never."

And Draco astonished him by saying simply, "I know."

The two boys stared at each other across the room, breathing hard. Then, with lightning speed, Draco whipped out his wand and leveled it at Ron's chest. "I know," he repeated, "but even so, I warned you to keep your mouth shut, Weasley."

Ron dove to the side as Draco fired a spell at the place where he'd been standing. He hit the floor, rolled, and came up with his wand pointed steadily right back at Draco.

Swearing under his breath, Harry spun around and surveyed the two opponents, looking from one to the other, speaking to neither. He could think of no words to say to fend off the vicious duel he knew was coming. His mind was too clouded by the helpless grief he felt for Hermione; he was sinking in it, drowning.

As for Ron and Draco, they were screwing up their nerve. There could be no backing down now. Ron's eyes narrowed dangerously; Draco shook back his silver-fine hair, which had fallen forward over his brow. The tension mounted and the silence between them, broken only by their panting breath, spiraled out and out. At any second now, the room would explode into violence. The tension was far too great; it had to be released; this was the only way. Any second now…

Then-

Pop!

The silence in the room was broken by a sudden, loud noise, accompanied by a flash of blue light, but its source was neither Draco nor Ron. Its source, to the complete, unmitigated shock of all three boys, was a tiny female house elf who had just appeared in the middle of the room, clad in a pillowcase, clutching what appeared to be an egg cup tightly to her chest. She had appeared directly in the line of fire between Draco and Ron and, glancing from one drawn wand to the other with bulging eyes, she gave a terrified squeak and dove behind the nearest armchair, dropping her egg cup in the process.

Slowly, warily, Ron and Draco lowered their wands and all three boys advanced on the armchair, from behind which were coming small, muffled whimpers of fear. Harry reached her first and hunkered down before her. She peered at him for a moment from between her fingers, then slowly lowered her shaking hands from her face.

"You is Harry Potter," she whispered; "yes, you is. Hanni knows you. You freed Dobby."

"That's right," Harry said, his tone conveying only mild surprise, though in fact what he was feeling was more akin to deep shock. "Do you know Dobby?"

The elf shook her head. "No, sir, but- but Hanni has heard all about him. Hanni replaced Dobby, you see."

Harry paused for a moment, processing this information. There was something about what the elf had just said that was important- monumental, even- but try as he might, he just couldn't make the connection. His mind was too clouded by misery and despair; he wasn't thinking clearly.

It was Draco whose eyes widened in realization, who sucked in a sharp breath and, shoving Harry aside, went down on one knee in front of the elf, at the same time seizing her roughly by the shoulders and hauling her onto her feet so that their faces were level, inches apart.

"You replaced Dobby? So you come from the manor- Malfoy Manor?"

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf whispered, trembling from head to foot.

"Hermione! Is she there? Is she alive?"

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf repeated, in a barely audible voice.

Draco's entire body seemed to sag momentarily with relief as he expelled a long, shaking breath. He ducked his head, face scrunched as if in pain, and quickly pressed a hand to his forehead, shading his eyes from view. Harry and Ron could only see the line of his jaw, tightly clenched, as waves of relief swept over them as well. Ron, who had been the only one still standing, fell heavily into the armchair.

"Is she-" Draco swallowed hard. He was still looking down, eyes hidden. "Is she hurt?"

"Yes, Master Draco," the elf nearly sobbed; "yes, miss is…is hurt bad."

Draco's hand, where if rested against his forehead, clenched into a fist and a low groan of primal, almost animal pain escaped his throat. In the armchair, Ron dropped his head forward into his hands. Harry abruptly sprang up from where he had been crouching and began pacing the room just as Draco and Ron had been doing prior to Hanni's arrival, hands clenching and unclenching, green eyes glittering with angry, helpless tears.

Hanni stared for a moment at each boy in turn, then returning her attention to Draco, continued, "M-master said that no-one should help miss, but Hanni f-felt so sorry for her. Hanni asked if there was anything she could do. The only thing miss said was Master Draco's name. Hanni th-thought that miss might only be delirious-"

"Delirious?" Draco interjected sharply; "what do you mean, delirious? Is she sick?"

The elf nodded miserably.

"She's hurt AND sick? How sick?"

"V-very sick. She is b-burning up with fever."

A string of curses burst forth from Draco's mouth, so loud and long and spectacularly obscene that the nervous little creature cowered away from him, throwing her arms up to shield her face again, until, with great difficulty, Draco managed to regain some semblance of control over himself.

"Okay," he said, in a brittle voice of forced calm, "okay. You said she- she was asking for me?"

The elf nodded, peeking through her fingers before warily lowering her hands. "M-many times," she whispered. "She was v-very badly off. Hanni thought it was just delirium. But the more Hanni thought about it, the more she thought that maybe miss was trying to give a message- so Hanni came to find Master Draco."

"Oh God," Draco moaned, scrubbing the back of one hand hard across his eyes. He was seeing again the look of defiance on Hermione's face when she had spotted him through the door of her bedroom as she faced down his father, and then- far worse- her expression of blank, uncomprehending shock as Lucius had seized her from behind, her eyes wide, hurt, confused, silently begging the question, why is this happening to me?

And now she was hurt, and sick, and calling out for him, and he couldn't get to her and GODDAMN IT, it was ripping him apart!

"God, what did that bastard do to her?"

The elf said nothing; she seemed to be hoping that the question had been rhetorical, rather than literal (she could imagine only too well how he would react if she were forced to give a detailed answer), and perhaps it was, because Draco didn't pursue it. Instead he said, through clenched teeth, "how long ago did you speak with her? This morning? Last night?"

"The night before," Hanni whispered.

"THE NIGHT BEFORE? And you've only just come now?" Draco looked as though it were taking every single bit of self-control he possessed not to knock the little creature clear across the room.

Actually, had he been in a calmer state of mind, with less at stake than Hermione's life, he might have marveled at just how quickly Hanni HAD gathered her courage and come. House elves are not hasty creatures when it comes to disobeying their masters. In fact, only an extraordinary house elf would defy its master at all, no matter what the cause. For most house elves, the question of right versus wrong was simple; right was what their master said was right, and wrong was what their master said was wrong. It was astonishing enough that Hanni should take it upon herself to decide that Lucius' treatment of Hermione was wrong in the first place. And then- that she should decide to defy Lucius' orders and seek help for the girl by going to Draco- it was unheard of. Well, almost unheard of. There had been Dobby, her predecessor, after all, who had warned Harry of danger at Hogwarts- but it had taken him months to screw up his courage to do so. The fact that Hanni had managed to accomplish a similar feat after only two days of fierce inner debate was, for a house elf, incredible. Really, she was to be applauded.

Draco was not, however, contemplating any of this at the moment. The pressing question on his mind was, if Hermione had been in such terrible condition two nights ago, what kind of state must she be in now? Just thinking this drove home to him, full force, his utter helplessness- and despairing, his dropped his face into his hands. Two nights ago Hermione had been sick and hurt…by now she was probably just about dead. And he could do nothing. Nothing.

"Why did you come to me, elf?" he choked out. "What were you hoping I'd do?"

"Hanni…never presumed to…hope Master Draco would do anything," the elf squeaked, plainly terrified that she had done wrong in coming and was about to be lit into; "Hanni just thought…Master Draco ought to know. Hanni will…will be going now…"

"NO!" shouted all three boys in unison.

"No," Draco said again, more quietly. "Look, I'm not angry with you. I just- I want to help, but I- goddamn it, I'm fucking- TRAPPED!"

With this last word, he leapt to his feet, kicked over the chair next to Ron's, hurled himself at the nearest wall, and commenced pounding his head against it.

"Bloody hell! MALFOY!" Harry dove after him and dragged him, cursing and struggling, away from the wall, as Ron looked on in amazement. Draco was clearly determined to finish what he had started; to wit, beating himself into oblivion.

Ron shook his head as he watched Harry and Draco grapple- (he still wasn't ready to accept that Draco might actually be deeply affected by Hermione's kidnapping)- then turned his attention back to the quaking little house elf. Having grown up in an old, pure-blooded wizarding family, he knew a thing or two about house elves, though the Weasleys had never actually owned one. And this particular elf's behavior didn't jibe with what he knew about the creatures in general. For one thing, there was the question of-

"How were you able to leave your master and come to Draco," he asked the elf suspiciously, "if you didn't receive permission to do so?"

"H-Hanni is bound to Master Draco too," the elf squeaked, "because he is part of the family. Hanni doesn't need one family member's permission to visit another."

Ron's brow creased in puzzlement. "But- Draco's not a member of the family anymore. He was disowned- wasn't he?"

Now the elf took on a rather sly expression. "Master and Mistress have told the servants that Master Draco is not their son no more," she said, "but they haven't removed him from the family documents yet- Hanni knows. Hanni checked. Master Draco is still on the family tree- so he is still a Malfoy and Hanni is still bound to him. Hanni can come see Master Draco any time she wants, until his name goes off that tree!"

There was a touch of defiance to her high-pitched voice now; she knew perfectly well, it seemed, that she was operating through the use of a loophole; obeying the letter, though in this case definitely not the spirit, of the law. Ron grinned despite himself. Lucius would probably skin her alive if he found out what she had done- and she must know that- but she had come anyway. This elf had spunk, and that was a rare thing.

"How did you get here, then?" he asked her curiously. "I mean, not only to Hogwarts, but right here to this room?"

"Hanni b-borrowed Master's Hogwarts portkey," she whispered, looking suitably chagrined at this admission of what amounted to outright theft. "It's that egg cup over there. It's set to transport Master Lucius straight to the school's front steps, but Hanni invoked her own magic to travel a little farther; to the room where Master Draco was. A house elf can do that, sir, because the bond between the elf and the family she serves is so strong-"

But Ron had stopped listening a sentence ago. His eyes were now fixed on the egg cup that lay a few feet away on the floor, half underneath the chair Draco had recently kicked over. He held up a hand now to silence the little creature, who was still babbling on about the finer points of house elf magic.

"Wait a minute," he said, in an oddly tight voice. "Back- back up just a bit. That egg cup- you said it will take a person to the front steps of this school?"

"y-yes, sir," said the elf, looking uncertain.

Ron's eyes now left the egg cup and fixed on hers intently. "Will it work from anywhere? Will it work from HERE?"

"It should work from anywhere at all," Hanni said.

"Holy shit," Ron breathed, his eyes going again to the portkey, then, "HOLY SHIT!" as he leapt to his feet so suddenly that he upset the chair in which he had been sitting. There was now no longer a single chair left upright in the room.

"Harry," he shouted to his best friend, who, along with Draco, was staring at him in open-mouthed shock, "get your invisibility cloak! We're going after her! NOW!"

"What?" Harry asked blankly.

"Get your goddamned cloak!" Ron cried; "Harry, now! We've got to go before we lose this chance!" He snatched the egg cup off the floor. "This portkey, when activated, will take us to the front steps of the school. If we can get to the edge of the grounds, we can apparate. COME ON, WE HAVE TO GO!"

Harry, and Draco as well, were staring from Ron to the egg cup to the elf and back again. Then, without another word, Harry turned and ran flat-out up the stairs toward the boys' dorms, presumably to get his cloak.

As for Draco, he shook his head slowly, as if coming up out of a deep daze, then crossed the room to drop to one knee in front of Hanni.

"You have bound yourself to me over my father today, you realize that, elf?" he asked tersely.

She nodded, trembling.

"Good. As your new master I expect my commands to be followed without question or hesitation." Another nod. "I deem it extremely unsafe for you to return to the manor at this point, so what I want you to do right now is find the school kitchens and ask for Dobby. Tell him that you are now my personal elf at Hogwarts, but that unless you are given specific instructions by me, your job is to assist him, and the other school elves, in whatever manner he sees fit. You will stay with Dobby until you hear from me again. Do you understand?"

"per-perfectly, master Draco," the elf stuttered, staring at him in wide-eyed wonder and the beginnings of deep devotion; seeming unable to believe her luck. "B-but master- what are you going to do?"

Draco stood up then, and locked gazes with Ron as he answered, "I am going to get Hermione back."

"The hell you are!" Ron shouted, looking positively murderous.

"The hell I'm not," Draco replied softly, and then, still not looking at her, added to Hanni, "go on, elf. Get yourself to the kitchens. Now."

The house elf vanished with a squeak, leaving the two boys still staring daggers at each other.

"You're not coming, Malfoy," Ron said flatly.

"You're not stopping me, Weasley. If you try, then one of us will most likely end up dead."

Ron stared at him for a long, silent moment, before suddenly exploding, in bewildered frustration, "Why are you doing this, Malfoy? Why in the hell are you acting like you care, when I bloody well know that you don't?"

Now it was Draco's turn to be silent for a minute. At length he said, in a low, almost defeated voice, "you're wrong about me, Weasley." Abruptly he ended their staring contest, turning his back on Ron and facing the wall, unable to hold the redhead's gaze as he continued. "I've never stopped loving Hermione. I love her more than life itself. I'd give up my immortal soul to have her back here, safe and unharmed. She's the first person whose well-being I ever put before my own- which is exactly why I acted as I did. See, all the way back when Zabini attacked her, I began to suspect that my father was behind it- though I couldn't figure out why. I decided that the best way to ensure her safety was to sever her connection with me- even though it almost killed me to do it. If my father was trying to hurt her as a means of hurting me, that would put a stop to it- so I thought. I tried to make it look as though I no longer cared a thing about her- hoping that this would make my father, and the Slytherins, decide that going after her was pointless."

He whirled back toward Ron, and Harry, who was now back in the common room as well, both of them staring at him, aghast. His face was a mask of self-recrimination and misery. "It obviously didn't work that way."

"You mean to tell us," Harry said slowly in a stunned voice, "that all this time…………you were just trying to protect her?"

"I failed," Draco said bitterly.

"But your intent was-"

"It doesn't bloody matter what my intent was! All that matters is that I failed her! And she's hurt and sick and calling for me, and now that I finally have a means of reaching her-" he gestured toward the egg cup Ron held- "all the demons in hell could not prevent me from using it. And neither will you! I will kill you for that portkey, Weasley, if you make me."

Ron's eyes, which had been as wide and shocked as Harry's, narrowed to blue-black slits.

"Besides," Draco continued, abruptly changing tack, "you have no choice but to bring me along. You'll never leave this room without me."

"What the hell are you on about, Malfoy?" Ron spat.

"You're holding a Malfoy portkey, Weasley," Draco replied, his voice taking on a familiar drawling quality, "and a Malfoy portkey can only be activated by a Malfoy…or a Malfoy house elf on family business. In any case, it will not work for you. Go ahead and try it, if you don't believe me. And just for argument's sake let's assume for a moment that it did work (which it won't), and you and Potter got off the school grounds, leaving me here. Just how exactly do you plan on apparating to the manor, when you've never been there and have no idea where it is? You don't even know if it's in Britain, Weasley! It could be in Transyl-fucking-vania for all you know!"

"Wouldn't surprise me," Ron muttered, but he had to admit to himself that Draco had a point. In order to successfully apparate, one had to know where one was going. Had to be able to visualize it. He grudgingly admitted that it looked as though Draco would have to come after all.

"Fine, Malfoy," he growled; "you're coming. Is there anything you need to get? Cause we really ought to be going."

Draco shook his head. "All I need's my wand. Let's get the hell out of here." Crossing to where Ron and Harry stood, he held out his hand. Slowly, reluctantly, Ron (who had been shaken to the core by Draco's admission a few minutes ago, but damned if he was going to show it) held out the egg cup. Draco did not take it from him; he merely gripped its smooth, curved edge, opposite where Ron was still holding it. Harry then reached out and clasped one hand around the narrow part in the middle. Once all three boys were touching it, Draco said "Activate," in a quiet, yet confident voice, and in a bright flash of blue, they vanished.

00000

The instant they landed on the school's front steps, Harry flung the invisibility cloak over all three of them, muttering, even as he did so, an enlarging charm so that it would offer adequate concealment for them all. It had been, after all, a long time since he, Ron and Hermione, as eleven, twelve and thirteen-year-old children, had all fit beneath it so effortlessly; now, at seventeen, with the bodies of nearly full-grown men, there was no way the cloak would have covered the three boys without some form of magical alteration.

Once they were concealed beneath it, seeing the world through the silvery shimmer of its fabric, they set off for the edge of Hogwarts' land without a single backward glance at the school. Not one of them entertained second thoughts, even for a moment; a fact that would cause much solemn reflection, in the years to come, for the two boys who would make it back to Hogwarts alive.