CHAPTER 8

The Dark Lord watched, as Hermione climbed down the tree.

'You killed Tonks.' She said, matter-of-factedly.

'A thorn in our side. But we must hurry. Did you hear anything that Potter and the Weasley child said?'

'Every word.'

'Excellent. Then you will tell me when we reach. Draco… have you got it?'

'Yes My Lord.'

'And you are sure of its functioning.'

'Absolutely untraceable, my lord. I've checked and double-checked it.'

'Excellent. You have it with you now?'

Draco swung the bag he was holding over his shoulder, and flipped it open. From it, he pulled out an extremely ordinary looking rock. The Dark Lord tapped it with his wand and it began to faintly glow.

'An untraceable Portkey?' Hermione asked, looking impressed.

The Dark Lord nodded. 'Indeed. But we must go now. This attack is incomprehensible! We must leave quickly!'

He held out the rock. Both Draco and Hermione placed their palms on it. Hermione felt a little, now- familiar jerk behind her navel, and the next minute, the whole world was spinning past her.

XXXXXXXXXXXX

The members of the order were clustered in the dimly lit room, around an oaken table. On the table, was a stumpy, lit candle that threw flickering light around. Remus Lupin sat at the head, looking grave.

'How did the attack go?' George asked, pressing him.

'It went-.' Lupin paused, and stork his jaw. 'I don't know…Harry's hurt. And Tonks hasn't reported back, yet.'

'Oh no!' Ginny cried. 'Poor Tonks!'

'Perhaps she'll turn up,' George said, hopefully.

'She has to,' Fred snapped. 'She was right there in the wood- she gave Harry and I a portkey!'

'Maybe,' Lupin said, pursing his lips. 'At any rate, there is nothing we can do now.'

XXXXXXXXXXXX

When the spinning stopped, Hermione opened her eyes. She saw herself in a small, dark, dimply lit room. There was a lantern set upon the table, and three doors led away from it. It had a worn out black carpet underfoot, and a small chair beside the table.

'Do not ask where we are,' The Dark Lord said. 'You know I will not tell. This is only a temporary hide out. We will leave in a week's time. But for now- we will stay here. It is a shack on a very high hill that much I will tell you. Now- into the rooms, and we will retire for now. Tomorrow morning we talk.'

He paused for a moment. It almost seemed like he was about to say "Goodnight." But this was Voldemort. He just didn't do things like that.'

'Adieu,' he said, softly, and glided into the nearest room. Draco and Hermione were left alone in the foyer.

'Which one?' Draco asked, a little tersely.

'Whichever,' Hermione replied, absently. 'It doesn't really matter, I suppose. I-.'

she paused, not really knowing what to say. An indescribable feeling was rising in her. Never before had she felt this way- that she wanted Draco as a friend, someone to talk to. But now, she all alone in the middle of nowhere with him and the Dark Lord. Though she respected and admired Voldemort, he wasn't a friend. He was more of an ally- a cold, distant ally. It seemed that Draco felt the same, for his icy eyes softened, and he took a step closer to her. Their earlier spat was forgotten.

'Something wrong?' he asked, softly.

She shook her head. 'No. I'm just feeling a little- alone…'

She half expected him to say that he was there for her…that he would listen to her. Instead, he shifted a little away.

'Good night.' He said, quietly. 'I'll see you in the morning.'

With that, he slipped into one of the bedrooms.

Hermione looked at the door he had shut on her face. For some reason, it had hurt her. He had closed her out, when she needed a friend.

Look at how you treated him. What do you expect?

Shaking her head, she slipped into the one remaining room.

It was a small room, with a tiny bed in the corner. The bed had a thick, downy quilt on it, made of some sort of hair. The floor was bare. In one corner was a small nightstand with a candle that threw shadows over the wall. To the far end was a tightly shut window.

She walked to the window, and flung it open. Immediately, she was hit by stinging drops of rain, and a cold breeze. She was surprised, that she couldn't hear the raindrops from inside the shack.

Cautiously she reached out, and let the rain wash her arm. Lightening flashes and she caught sight of her Death Mark. It was soaked, and water was running off it. But it would never come off, she knew. It would always be there.

Always.

She leaned out, and tilted her head downwards, trying to make out the ground. She assumed it would be grassy- or perhaps the shack didn't have grass around her. For some reason, though, she felt like it was more of a void. A black hole that was opening into her window.

She lifted the candle from the nightstand, and held it out. To her surprise, she saw the light glinting on raindrops as far as fifty feet below her.

A cliff. I'm on the edge of a cliff.

'Yes,' a silky voice, said behind her, 'It is a cliff.'

She turned around. The Dark Lord was standing there. He was clad in his robes, his hood hanging over his face. He moved towards her like a serpent in the dark.

'My Lord,' she whispered. 'Please, tell me. Where are we?'

He chuckled, softly.

'No, Hermione. I cannot tell. Nobody can break my rules. Not even me.'

He moved closer to her. One pale hand came up, stroked her cheek softly. Hermione felt a chill rush through her. She closed her eyes. Her cheek was so cold and tight it hurt...

'Hermione…' he breathed again. She did not say anything. She kept her eyes closed. Presently, the hand withdrew. When she opened her eyes, he was gone.

A feeling of overwhelming weakness rushed over her. She slumped to the floor.