The glint in his eyes from behind his ratty spectacles was quite enough indication that Potter had come up with a plan.

On a good day, Draco would have told Potter (in a very self-satisfied tone) to shove said plan up his arse, and bugger off.

On a mediocre day, Draco wouldn't need said plan to come from Potter at all—he would have already formulated a brilliant plan to escape this current unpleasantness, and he would currently be contemplating whether or not he should make the rest of his companions grovel in a hilariously undignified fashion before he shared it.

Today however, was turning out to be neither, and Draco was very close to nasty, brutal death unless the Boy-Who-Is-Astonishingly-Self-Righteous could come up with some way out of this situation.

Potter had yet to say anything.

"Well!" demanded Draco, borderline hysterical. "What's the goddamn plan?"

"I'm still perfecting it…" he muttered, looking around the room, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Oh, great! That was his first mistake. Trusting—even for a second—that Harry-fucking-Potter would be able come up with a better plan that he could. (Well—it was a fair estimate considering the only plan Draco could come up with right now involved dying horribly.)

"We could try calling the Order," suggested Weasley.

"I don't think they'd be able to get here fast enough," said Potter, shaking his head.

"There's no way any of your bloody friends would be able to get past the security on the house anyway!" spat Draco.

"Yes, thank you, Malfoy," said Granger, who seemed to have calmed down significantly now that Potter had offered up the potential for a "plan." What the hell? He hadn't even said anything useful yet! Still, the three of them seemed much calmer, now that they were huddled together trying to come up with a plan. Granger seemed to notice his distress, and gave him a small smile. "Don't worry—" she said gently. "We're going to figure a way out of this."

Oh, right! They were all still scared, he could tell! What the hell was wrong with them? They were about minutes away from being blown to bits, and there they were, banded together like a bunch of little heroes on the back of a bloody postcard. 'At least we're together! Teamwork will save us!' Merlin! They still managed to make him sick!

Oh, fuck. He was going to die.

"If I get out of this," muttered Draco, his eyes drifting idly to Granger. "I'll read a goddamn book everyday."

She whirled her head around. "Really?" she said, her eyes glittering mischievously. "I'll hold you to that you know…"

"Malfoy," said Potter sharply. "Is there any way out of this room?"

"Yes," he said. Though he didn't see what difference it made. "There's a secret exit—but it takes us back into the stairwell next to the bloody ballroom, which isn't a place I'm too keen on going, I hope you understand why—"

"Fine," said Potter, ignoring most of everything else he said. "That's a start." He turned to Granger. "And you said…what? 200 people?"

"Yes," she said, as Weasley winced. "But I don't know if they're all going to come up here to kill us."

"Why not?" asked Potter.

"I don't think they're all actually Death Eaters, professionally speaking," offered Weasley. "I think some of them are, you know, just here for the bloody food. They probably just got invited from work at the Ministry or something. Oy, you should have heard Dad talk about the twits at work, I bet half of them would jumped at a chance to come here and get on the good side of You-Know-Who…" he grumbled.

Potter seemed to ponder this for a moment, not at all surprised that Weasley had said something intelligent. It never failed to astound Draco. Maybe Weasley was hiding a brain in there somewhere. Or maybe all those whacks in the head with the Quaffle had caused his brain cells to start synapsing again…

"Malfoy, how many of these people do you think are going to actually murder us? Half?" asked Potter.

"I don't exactly know—I'm not really a favorite around here…" he sighed. "I don't know. About 50? I actually doubt the more important lieutenants would linger here for too long…" He was starting to feel a little better. Maybe he wouldn't die, after all. At least not right away…

"OK…" said Granger slowly, "So we have a majority of people who are probably just going to stand around and look angry and bewildered…and then about a quarter who are going to try and kill us…"

There was a crashing sound in the hall that caused them all to jump. Their conversation continued with renewed urgency.

"As long as we stay out of the ballroom, we can avoid most of the people actually attacking us—or figuring out what the hell is going on," Granger rattled off, her voice breathless but unwavering. "What we need is a way out of the house."

"There's got to be a Floo Portal around here somewhere," said Weasley, looking around as if he expected to see one at any minute. Idiot! Why the hell would there be a Floo Portal in a security vault? Draco scoffed. But he was right. There were several portals. The main, formal one was in the living room of course, but…

"The closest one to us now is the Master Bedroom of the East Wing, just around the corner," he said, almost dazedly.

"What we need is a distraction," said Potter resolutely. "But first things first." He strode over to the Horcrux case and jammed the keystone into it, twisting it until the glass around the cup dissolved. He snatched it away quickly and hurried back to his friends. "Here—" He thrust the Horcrux into Granger's hands. She looked at him, wide eyed and uncertain.

"Harry—" she began.

"Ron—" he said, turning to Weasley. "Go with Hermione. I need to know both of you—and this—are safe." Granger looked like she desperately wanted to argue. Weasley looked worried, but he nodded, clapping Potter on the shoulder. They shared a meaningful glance. They both knew what was necessary.

It was…odd. Potter trusted Weasley—who was still very stupid in Draco's opinion—to protect the Horcrux and Hermione. How the fuck was Weasel-brain supposed to accomplish that? And that look—they—they trusted each other. With their lives! Draco couldn't really imagine trusting anyone with his life like that. Potter didn't even have to say what he wanted him to do—or order him to do it—or anything. Draco had to spell everything out to Crabbe and Goyle—occasionally with a diagram—and they still barely managed to grasp the concept. Trust. Loyalty. How did he solicit that from him? What was the trick? There had to be a trick somewhere, didn't there?

Draco pushed aside a twinge of something that felt suspiciously like jealousy. Him? Jealous of Potter? Again? Well—screw him. He didn't need trust—fear was a way better motivator right? And besides, ordering people around was half the fun!

Hmph. Weasley. Granger would be safer with him and he knew it! It was his bloody house!

Potter handed the invisibility cloak to Weasley and pulled something out of his pocket. It was a small, clear cube about the size of an apple, glowing soft and bright with a strange, bluish light.

"What's that?" asked Weasley.

"It's from your brother's shop," said Potter, sounding pleased. "They gave it to me while Draco was having…fun with the ladies' daydream fantasies…" He grinned at Draco, who retaliated with a rather rude gesture that caused Weasley to snigger.

"What does it do?" asked Granger, frowning at Draco. Oh, as if she cared about his propriety. Control freak.

"Stupefy!" Potter dropped the cube on the floor and began firing hexes at it. The box twitched slightly, absorbing the curse and glowing a bit brighter, before settling back down, motionless. "Stupefy!" he said again.

"What the hell?" demanded Draco.

"It's like—stupefy—a 'battery,' according to Fred and—stupefy!—George," he explained. "Apparently, they—stupefy!—got the idea from their dad's obsession with Muggle—stupefy—stuff."

"They really aren't as silly as they like to pretend, are they?" said Granger almost admiringly, shaking her head.

"OK—" said Potter, a little breathlessly. "Now we just have to—"

CRASH!

Granger shrieked and they all ducked as several curses blew through the door and ricocheted around the room. Draco's head snapped around. There was a gaping hole in the door to the vault, and it was growing wider with each curse.

"Where's the way out?" demanded Weasley, striding towards Draco, perhaps hoping to shake him.

"This way," he said immediately. He whirled around and they followed quickly as he strode to the far wall of the room. He tapped one of the large oak panels with his wand. "Dissilapsus."

The panel slid aside, revealing a narrow, winding passageway. They hurried inside and slid the panel shut, leaving only a thin slit with which to see the rest of the room. Draco, with Potter craning his neck to see above him, leaned around and peeked through the gap, a thin strip of light cutting a sharp line across his face.

The room was rapidly filling up with people, shouting, cursing, and frantically knocking things aside in a vain attempt to find its inhabitants.

"Move," said Potter quietly, without breaking his eye contact with the scene beyond the door. Draco did not argue. Potter slipped his hand around the edge of the panel and pushed it open a little wider. Draco retreated a little further into the darkened passageway. Potter stood motionless for a moment. Draco's heart pounded in a continual crescendo as time ticked by. He could hear the scrambling and crashing as the intruders moved closer to the entrance.

"Gimme the cloak, Ron," he whispered. Weasley shoved the cloak into his hands.

"For fuck's sake, Potter—" Draco hissed, his chest tightening in fear. "What are you—" Potter pulled the cloak over his head and threw open the door, sliding it shut behind him. Granger and Weasley looked mortified. Weasley made as if to lunge towards the door.

"No, Ron!" whispered Granger frantically, pushing him back.

Though rather terrified, Draco couldn't resist. He slid the panel open a crack and searched the room. Wordlessly, Granger and Weasley clambered over to peer over his shoulder. For a moment, nothing—and then, quite suddenly—

Potter pulled off the invisibility cloak and stood casually in the center of the room, grinning broadly. Potter, observed Draco ruefully, is insane.

"Why hello," said Potter in the tone of voice one would use to welcome guests to an afternoon tea party, as over a dozen heads snapped around and stared at him. "Fancy seeing all of you here."

For a split-second, they almost seemed too stunned to react, which Draco couldn't exactly blame them for. Then, naturally, someone screamed,

"Kill him!"

"NO! The Dark Lord wants him alive!"

Granger shifted above him, her breath catching in her throat. Draco could see in the little bit of light that she was suddenly frowning. He also became suddenly aware of how closely they were pressed together, trying to peer through the same narrow slit in the door. She didn't seem to notice at all—in her eyes she seemed miles away, and worried.

Still grinning cheerily, Potter pulled the glowing cube out of his pocket and crouched low to the ground. In the moment it took for the other inhabitants of the room to start forward menacingly, he tossed the cube up in the air, where it spun rapidly at about eye level. Potter whipped out his wand and aimed it straight upwards, at the cube.

"Librum Incantatem!"

Potter flattened himself further on the floor as the cube shattered. Waves of blue light shot straight out in all directions, colliding with the heads of every upright person in the room and knocking them onto the floor. Draco gaped. Weasley gave a small whoop of triumph. Apparently not one to stay and gloat over his victory—(Draco would have felt inclined to at least a little bit of gloating, perhaps a nice kick to the rump of one of the charming people stunned on the floor)—Potter scrambled to his feet and ran back towards the passageway.

"Time to go!" he said loudly. They all obliged willing, slamming the oak panel behind them and hurtling down the passage in his wake.

000

A standard Stunning Spell will last for 12 to 24 hours, given an average to strong magical efficaciousness of the caster, and the resistance strength of the receiver. The spell can be immediately countered with a standard awakening spell, otherwise known as Ennervation.

Hermione was fairly certain that spreading a stunning spell over that large of a radius would seriously deplete its effects, even with a caster as powerful as Harry. They could have as little as five minutes before they all woke up again. Or perhaps less. However, she had other things to think about at the current moment.

They raced through the narrow, winding passageway, churning up dust beneath their feet as they went. The tunnel ended abruptly at a solid wall, where they paused, panting.

"What's next, mate?" asked Ron.

"Well—" Harry looked around. "I'm sort of making this up as I go…"

Breathe, she instructed herself. Breathe! She much preferred plans that were thought out in advance. Well in advance. And written down neatly in a nice dayplanner, right next to "Research Charms Essay!" This apparently, was not one of those plans.

"Kill him!"

She turned the Horcrux over in her hand, watching it glitter dully in the light from their wands. She hung back slightly in the hall. Ron and Harry were nearer to the end of the tunnel, arguing or possibly just trying to work out the logistics of a plan. She distinctly heard Ron hissing the phrase "too dangerous!" at least a dozen times.

"NO! The Dark Lord wants him alive!"

Something was wrong here…a lot of things. There was something—something she was missing. There had to be. However—one conundrum at a time…

There was something a little…off about the Horcrux. It seemed different from the last one. She turned it over again with her hand and tapped it gently with her wand. There was a useful little spell to reveal the hidden magical signature of things—test how old they were—how powerful they were. She stared at the cup. Her eyes widened.

Oh, dear.

000

"Are you mad, Harry?" demanded Weasley, in an angry but controlled voice.

Yes, supplied Draco silently, resisting the strong urge to roll his eyes. They were bickering about the best way to get themselves killed. Did he say killed? He meant the best way to escape. Yeah. Right. Escape.

They were so doomed.

"Look, Ron—just go—let me worry about that—" said Potter dismissively. He had slid open the panel at the end of the passage open a crack, and was peering through at the surrounding stairwell.

Weasley looked irate. "C'mon mate—it's way too dangerous for you to go out alone—" he said almost pleadingly.

"I—er—" Potter tipped his head towards Draco. "won't be totally alone, you know…" he offered.

"Is that supposed to make me feel better?" snapped Weasley, glaring at Draco. Draco scowled at the Weasel. As if he was happy he was being dragged down into some death trap with Potty! Merlin and Agrippa.

"Ron, please—" said Potter, whirling around. "We need to do this, alright? I don't like it either, but…"

"We're doing this with you, remember?" he said crossly. "Wherever you're going!"

Potter clapped his hand heartily onto Weasley's shoulder. "I'm coming back, Ron. OK? 'No turning back,' don't you remember? I promise."

Oh, Merlin, were they having a moment? He pantomimed gagging motions in the dark, which they either ignored or didn't notice. He looked around. Why wasn't Granger sharing in their cuddly Gryffindor specialness? He saw her hanging slightly around the corner, slightly out of sight in the darkness of the crooked passageway.

She was cradling the golden teacup in her hand, looking stricken. He absently wandered towards her.

"Are you alright?" he asked, the words slipping out of his mouth before he could stop them. Damn. Maybe he was going soft.

She looked up at him in surprise, the panicked look in her eyes registering something that Draco had momentarily forgotten. Oh, right. They were all going to die! Is that what was worrying her?

There were a million things he wanted to say to her in that moment, but he just didn't have the words for any of them. How could that be? He was never tongue tied. Well—rarely. "Don't—don't hesitate," he said uncomfortably. "Go. It'll be fine."

She looked like she almost wanted to smile remorsefully. So now he's trying to comfort her? Ironic, of course. But something else flickered in her eyes. He tried to look away, but he just couldn't.

"Be careful," she said, her voice almost a whisper. They stared at each other. His brain screamed for him to say something—anything. You should be careful, too. I hope you do die, Mudblood! If you don't make it out of here—I don't have anything. Thank you. You'll know the vase, it's black and gold. Thank you. Please—please—I'm sorry. Bitch! What are doing to me? He opened his mouth, but no sound came out. They stood there, silent, in the darkened passage. Draco felt like time had slowed down to an agonizing crawl, or perhaps, stopped entirely.

And then he did it. Quick as a flash, like he was reaching out to snatch up the Snitch, he—he kissed her. It couldn't have been more than a second. He seized her shoulders and pressed their lips together for the briefest of moments, before pulling away and stumbling backwards dizzily in a haze of softness and warmth.

She stared at him, her eyes widened in shock. But—not rage. At least he hoped not. Instead, her eyes were shimmering softly, over-bright and brimming with a sense that she might possibly be as confused as he was. She also looked like she was considering whether or not she should slap him across the face. Again.

It was different, because now he was even more uncertain than before. Something else had driven him to her lips this time. Something more than the desire he felt in that moment of madness on the train. They both knew it. He could see it in her eyes. It wasn't disgust or pain so much as it was…fear.

Trying not to focus too keenly on it, he turned and walked over to Potter. Potter and Weasley looked at him, apparently oblivious. Weasley draped the invisibility cloak over his arm. Granger strode up to join them, still looking rather stricken. Was that his fault? No, she looked upset before that, right? Right?

"C'mon," whispered Weasley urgently. He grasped Granger's wrist. "Let's go!"

"But—" cried Granger, looking frantically at Potter. Weasley started to pull her. "Wait—"

"No time for that," said Draco loudly, wondering if she was going to mention his recent indiscretion and significantly shorten the span of Draco's life. He ushered them towards the opening. "Up the stairs, second door on the left!"

Draco saw Granger open her mouth in protest one last time before she and Weasley disappeared under the invisibility cloak. The panel slid open and shut quickly, and he and Potter were left all alone in the passage.

"So, explain to me this brilliant plan of yours again…"

Potter sighed. He explained the plan.

Draco groaned. "Right. I just wanted to see if it was still the worst bloody plan I have ever heard in my life." Potter tilted his head questioningly. "Don't worry," Draco assured him. "It's still the worst plan I've ever heard." Potter frowned and turned away, pushing open the panel and stepping out into the staircase. He stood backwards at the edge of the door leading into the ballroom, gripping his wand tightly and grimacing.

"Ready?" he asked, casting a quick glance over his shoulder. Draco nodded grimly. "OK—and Malfoy?"

"What?" Draco stepped out of the passageway so he was directly facing Potter.

"Try not to have too much fun cursing me, eh?"

"Don't worry," he reassured him, raising his wand to eye level and smirking. "I will!"

"EVERTO!"

Potter flew backwards through the door and skidded across the ballroom floor, amidst the shocked gazes of onlookers. He immediately leapt to his feet again yelling theatrically.

"Malfoy, you traitorous bastard!" he cried, as Draco strode purposefully into the ballroom. "INCURSA!" Draco skidded sideways, as the curse grazed his cheek.

"How dare you, Potter! This is my house! PERCUSSUM!"

"IMPEDIMENTA!"

"INCARCEROUS!"

"PROTEGO!"

The occupants of the room gaped at them, obviously unsure if they should join in or not. Both of them seemed to be kicking each other's arses quite efficiently thank you very much. Actually, neither of them were aiming to do any serious damage, though Draco couldn't resist catching Potter head on with a Stinging Hex. Heh heh. Hey—it was suitable revenge after that curse he had thrown at him that day in the bathroom.

"RICTUSEMPRA!"

Where did Potter learn Dark Magic anyway? And why was he so goddamn good at it? Not that Draco was intimidated. At all! Potter was extremely unthreatening. So there.

"PALMULA!" Draco reeled as he was slapped upside the head with the force of the jinx. Trying as they were, not to do any real harm—well—what did Potter expect? Moron.

Apparently, someone had organized the inhabitants of the room while they were distracted. Quite a few people raised their wands. Potter threw an apologetic glance at Draco just before quite a few stunning charms attempted to blast them in several different directions. Compensating for the misdirection, Draco collapsed to the ground right where he was, unconscious.

000

They walked carefully, but quickly through the hallway. They were still alone—the stunning charm must not have worn off yet.

"Hermione—" said Ron, frowning in confusion. "Are you OK? Harry's being a git about this, I know—but I'm sure everything will be OK…"

Hermione shook her head, trying to refocus on the task at hand—not getting massacred by Death Eaters. "I—I know, Ron," she said, looking up to throw him a weak smile. "It's just—never mind...we'll worry about it later." Focus. It doesn't matter now...

Something stirred ahead of them, and they both froze. Ron pulled them both until they were flat against the wall, slowly pulling out his wand and staring determinedly down the corridor. People were slowly emerging from behind the smoking, ruined hulk that had been the door to the vault. Hermione looked around. Second door on the left. There it was! She tugged Ron's wrist and they hurried across the hall and into the room.

Ron let out a low whistle as he looked around the room. Everything was rich and overly decorated—to the point of absurdity in Hermione's opinion. Honestly. How many yards of velvet curtain could you hang over a bloody bedpost before it snapped off? She could hear footsteps coming down the hall. She started towards the fireplace—

The door swung open suddenly, and several of the masked partygoers entered, sweeping the room with suspicious, narrowed eyes. Ron grabbed her and pulled her backwards. They both stood stalk still against the wall behind the door, afraid to breathe. The Death Eaters were between them and the fireplace…

"BANG!"

The sound from downstairs was muffled, but intense nonetheless.

Harry…Draco…

"Crash!"

The inhabitants of the room snapped around, giving up their search of the room in favor of racing downstairs to investigate. Hermione breathed a sigh of relief, but still couldn't shake the feeling of being even more terrified for the wellbeing of her friends.

Ron had that look on his face. That look that said, "I should go down there and join them, so I can get captured or possibly killed!"

"No, Ron," said Hermione sharply. "You were right. Let's go." They moved towards the fireplace. Ron, who was much taller, grabbed an ornate black vase off the top and opened the lid, revealing a wealth of fine gray dust. He scooped out a handful and handed the pot to her. She took a handful as well.

"You go first," he said. She sighed. "They'll be fine, Hermione."

She bit her lip. "It's—it's not that." She took a step towards the fireplace. "It's actually about the Horcrux." She threw her handful of dust into the fire. "Number 12 Grimmauld Place!" she annunciated clearly.

"Tell me," he said curiously.

She told him, stepping into the flames as she did so.

The last thing she saw was the hysterical look on his face before she was sucked into the Floo Network.

"IT'S WHAT?" he bellowed.

000

Draco woke up in a cell in his family's dungeon, tired, sore, and angry. He was also rather exhausted, having been hit directly and indirectly by a large number of unpleasant hexes. He lay on the floor of the dungeon, panting. He tilted his head to see Potter lying in about the same state. Neither of them seemed to have the energy to get up, though neither was grievously injured.

"Buggering hell," grumbled Draco. "I think I need medical attention."

"Stop whining, Malfoy," said Potter in a raspy voice, coughing up a small amount of what seemed to be blood. Draco wasn't sure whether to be pleased or disgusted.

"We're locked in a dungeon, Potter," he pointed out crossly, glaring up at the ceiling.

"Completely part of the plan," he rasped evenly. "Provided you can keep up your end of the bargain."

Oh, right. Still…

Summoning what strength he had left, he rolled over slightly and kicked Potter as hard as he could in the shoulder, mostly because it happened to be near his foot. Unfortunately, all the strength he could muster at the moment was not very much. He scowled, flopping back to his original position.

"I fucking hate you, Potter."

"Oh, good," he replied, smirking. "I was beginning to worry that you had gone completely crackers, Malfoy."

000

AN: Yes, I'm very sorry. LOOOONG space between updates. This chapter gave me a lot of trouble for some reason. Possibly because the possible plots were branching out in a dozen different directions and I couldn't choose one. Arg! But, never fear, here is the chapter complete with the plot mapped out. Also, I had total writer's block on the escape plan.

Draco: (beats Harry with a large, blunt instrument) "How are we going to get out of here, Potter?"

Harry: "…"

Authoress: "Wait a minute…I have no freakin' clue!"

I'm sorry, I don't "plot ahead" nearly as well as I should. Ah well…plus, I had to write about 40 pages worth of assignments in World Politics. Maybe I should have had Hermione lecture everyone about the United Nations and the International Criminal Court. Or possibly the war in Kosovo. I totally did research on that! No? Ah, well, back to the Horcruxes it is.

Here's another quickie poll:

There will be lots more Snape next chapter. So, in terms of Wormtail's appearance:

1-Yes! He's so important, I want to see him now!

2-A little cameo, not much.

3-Maybe a mention, no appearance. Eww. Save him for later in the story.

4-No Wormtail ever. Let's pretend he's dead. Or in Antarctica.