I woke up this morning to find that this story has hit 100 reviews. That is absolutely mind boggling. You guys are truly amazing, thank you to anyone who takes the time to review/read!

As a reward I'm gonna post a little earlier in the week than usual, I hope you enjoy :)

Warning this chapter implies dark themes during Hermione's passage, but it is very briefly mentioned and not graphic. If that bothers you please skip!

Now let's see what our favorite Gryffindor's are up to!


Harry's initial shock seemed to wear by the time they were in the Transfiguration corridor. Before that, Ron had been silent, clear dead set on making it back to the tower unnoticed.

This wouldn't seem to be the case as the chosen one came to an abrupt stop.

"Ron, I know where she is." He spoke in a broken voice.

All thoughts suddenly left his head.

He could give a shit less if Malfoy marched up to them right now and hexed their bollocks off. If the entire Chudley Cannons team flew in and announced they'd won the World Cup, he wouldn't even bat an eye.

No, the only thing he could think of right now was Hermione.

Seeing her again. Looking around a room and knowing she's safe. Telling her all he wants to say. To hold her...

"W-what?" He chokes after a second. It's the only coherent thing.

"Sort of," Harry adds in a whisper, suddenly feeling sorry for obviously getting Ron's hopes up. "I'll explain everything but not here. We need to find Neville and get back to the tower."

And if that's what needed to be done for Ron to get some sort of bloody explanation, then you better believe that's what he was dead set on now.

Because of Draco's impromptu appearance at his dorm, they finished earlier than anticipated. Neville was surely still at the pitch doing all he could. Thankfully, they weren't very far so they jogged outside for him.

"Neville!" Harry called after spotting him in the stands, waving his arms manically.

Neville looked shocked at their presence but tried to hide it as he clambered down the stands.

"Harry, Ron, I thought you still had a half hour? Is everything alright?" He whispered worriedly.

"Fine, it's fine. Look, come on, I'll tell you everything," his green eyes flicked to Ron's, "both of you, just not here."

Neville nodded anxiously as the three rushed hurriedly back to Gryffindor Tower. Soon enough, they reached their dorm as Ron was ready to burst in anticipation.

"Okay Harry." Ron said before Potter could even shut the door.

He hurriedly ruffled through his robes and smacked the picture atop the nearest surface, someone's trunk.

Like before, the ginger can do nothing but stare at it in confusion.

Neville voices as much, "I don't understand..."

Harry's eyes lock with Ron's. There's a fire behind them, one he hasn't seen since that day he ran after Bellatrix, vowing to avenge Sirius.

"Do you remember Ron that night at the Burrow. That night it happened, I saw him, I saw Hermione." He spoke rapidly.

In response Weasley nodded, "yeah, he came twice. Once right after, once that night." He recalled.

"Do you remember what I said? When Mad-Eye asked who was there? What I saw?" He encouraged.

Ron isn't keen on the fact Harry's trying to place guessing games rather than just blurt out an explanation, he supposes he'll play along. "Yeah, you said it was just a big cold room." Every detail of that night was burned into his brain and revisited often.

The raven haired boy nodded in encouragement more than anything else, as he cocked an eyebrow.

It was evident the chosen one was coaxing something out of him, "And..." he screwed his eyes in thoughts. Harry's strangled voice echoing in his brain.

"The only thing I remember was a chandelier. It was the only thing shining in the room, you couldn't miss it."

"Blimey, a chandelier." Ron almost laughed. So overcome with a sense of hope on the realization.

A small smile struck Harry's lips, "this," he pointed to the photo, "this was the chandelier I saw."

"So wherever the chandelier is, that's where Hermione is, yeah?" Neville voiced, having caught on.

Harry nodded vigorously. "That's where I saw her."

The excitement that had been bubbling deep within them soon dropped, "only problem is, where is that chandelier." The brunette Gryffindor whispered.

At this Ron's own hope seemed to dwindle a bit, but he wouldn't let it stay that way for long. No, they were onto something, they had to be.

Think Ron, think! What would Hermione do, come on...

It came to him a minute later, "I saw that picture in The Prophet. Over the summer."

"Okay..." Harry said not really understanding where this was going.

"There was an article on the lower corner of the same page. It mentioned Percy. Dad was right pissed off after he read it. He incendioed the damn paper. Said he couldn't believe his own son was apart of such trash that he was sharing a page with the Malfoy's." He explained.

"Ron?" His friend pushed again.

"Every article, every picture, in The Prophet article cites a place, an author, a photographer. There has to be something."

"Mate you just said it yourself, your Dad set it on fire. Either way, I doubt your folks hoard The Prophet." Harry reminded sounding a little defeated, but the spark was still evident.

"You're right, they don't," he paused, "but the library does."

Neville's face lit up like it was his Birthday, "he's right! When we started up the D.A. last year, Hermione and I went through archives from the first war to pull pictures for the board. That's brilliant Ron!" He exclaimed excitedly.

They turned to Harry, gaging his reaction. Soon, a grin etched his way onto his lips, "what are we still doing here? Let's go to the library."

They all began racing out.

"Blimey, spending my night in the library. If only Hermione could see us now." He whispered to himself.

...

Her mind may be muddled but she isn't stupid. Far from it.

There's a small crack in the cell next to hers, right on the ceiling. If she strains her ears enough she's sometimes able to hear what they're saying.

"When?" She swears she hears Bellatrix ask.

"Two nights. I need time to prepare. The Order has been around." Voldemort hisses.

"Of course my lord." Hermione can visualize her bowing in compliance.

"Until then, not a word of this to the girl, understand?"

"Yes. Yes, of course. You have my word." She hears Bellatrix promise.

Hermione gulps as she hears the cracking of disapparating and stomping of boots from above.

Painfully, she slinks back into the far corner to rest. It's an absolute miracle she's even conscious after everything upstairs.

Teeth. Nails. His hands, oh god, don't think-

She screws her eyes in thought, pulling roughly at her shirt with her less injured hand.

Her clothes are mangled and tattered. Practically shreds at this point. Her entire body is exposed and that alone makes chills dance along her spine.

She doesn't know if the blood covering the expanse of her most personal spots are a good or bad thing. Either way it makes her wretch.

She hears footsteps come down the steps. The candle flickers on which makes her ease a bit. It only does that when Natali- no, Narcissa, comes down stairs.

She takes a moment to berate herself. Maybe she's not as smart as she once thought.

Stupid, stupid mind, you're supposed to be brilliant! She scolds, the voice in her head almost sounds like Bellatrix.

She's broken from her thoughts as a large clinging of metal practically makes her jump out of her skin.

Hermione looks up to see the woman with a hand over her mouth, eyes wide in fear.

Carefully Hermione surveys the room, trying to find what has her in such a state.

She soon realizes it's her. This causes her to self consciously throw her arm over her breasts.

"Oh child, what did they do to you?" She cries out, dropping to her knees.

The brunette cowers a little at her words, silent tears streak her cheeks.

Like last night, she can tell Hermione needs comfort now more than ever, as Narcissa thoughtlessly throws open the bars and drops to her knees.

Welcoming the soothing touch as opposed to the burning she gets when Greyback or anyone else touches her, she falls onto the woman's shoulder.

They sit like this for a while. Narcissa strokes her matted, disgusting hair, soothing her.

It isn't until Hermione calms down that she realizes Missus Malfoy has thrown her cloak around her frame.

"They're planning something. I don't know what." Narcissa tells her in an honest whisper, "it won't be good for you." She says next.

And the words should really evoke some terrible fear deep within her, but they don't. She's just numb to the pain at this point.

"Was it worth it?" She pulls away to look at Hermione's dull, almost lifeless eyes, "was what you did today worth all this?" Narcissa has to know. She's not patronizing her, she's just trying to understand.

Momentarily she can see a spark in the young witch's eyes as she nods.

"W-worth e-everything." She stutters out, having trust that Harry was doing something. Anything.

All the days she's spent here she's felt useless. Like some damsel in distress waiting for her prince to come get her out, but today was different. Today she felt like she controlled her own fate, if even a small portion.

The consequences were dreadful, unbearable, but in that moment when she called for Harry, she felt like herself again. If only for a second.

She hasn't felt that way in weeks.

Narcissa nodded at her words and then returned to hugging her small frame.

Neither knew that what Hermione did today would cost her nearly everything.

Madam Pince gave them no trouble when they requested the archives. Ron imagines it's pretty empty here considering it's most common occupant has been away.

The book is an enchanted one. You tell it a date or just a general period time and it'll open to the exact copy from the requested time.

Harry currently had it in front of him at the table.

"What do we say?" He asked, eyeing it curiously.

Ron thinks, "well, the article was over the summer. It was after school, but before Hermione arrived. So I reckon it was between a two week period." He thinks aloud before deciding, "The Daily Prophet, June Twenty-Seventh 1996." He told it.

Suddenly it's pages fluttered to life, lightly ruffling the boys' hair as it flicked hurriedly. It stopped after a few moments with a large headline labeled, 'Dumbledore due to Retire after Ministry Break-In!'

"Rubbish." Neville mumbled reading it.

Knowing this wasn't it, he told the book to keep flipping.

Most of the headlines were shite. All boasting about how wonderful the ministry is, how awful Hogwarts is, even mentions of Harry.

'The Boy Who Lies, Again!' The title for June thirtieth read with a picture of Harry from the Ministry.

Upon seeing that, Ron only hurried his calls to the book.

"Next day!" Nope. "Next Day!" Another page down.

Just as he prepared to call for it to move on, Neville yelled out, "stop!"

His blue eyes peeled from Harry and to the book. In front of them sat the picture of the Malfoy's, above it read 'Malfoy Mentality' in thick capital letters.

For good measure Harry shakily held up the photo from the dorm next to it.

A complete match.

Wordlessly, the three moved closer and anxiously began to read the contents of the article.

It was a load of rubbish. Just going on and on about how the Malfoy's manage to remain so respectable during these times (their words not his). A few quotes from Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were also sprinkled about.

Ron can't say he was shocked when the whole article was written by one Rita Skeeter. Even more maddening, not once did they talk about wherever the hell that picture was.

Next, he flashed his eyes to the photo in question, squinting to make out the small font underneath it.

Photographed by

"Balthasar Bartolo Brimblehawk!" Neville yells out, causing someone to shush him from nearby.

He flushes red and drops into a whisper, "Brimblehawk, I know him." He tells them.

"You do?" Harry asked, astonished at their luck. It's almost as if they raised Slughorn's stash of Felix Felicis prior to coming here.

He nods a little madly, "he was a big deal way back then, with The Order and all. Those pictures, the ones we had from the D.A. I reckon he took all of those."

"Then why the hell is he now taking pictures of the Malfoy's?" Ron asks before he can help it.

Neville goes on, "he took my parents wedding photos, my Gran's too. He even took some photos of me when I was little, my Gran owl's him from time to time. Last Easter she was having tea with and I heard them talking. I mean normally it's just gossip mind you, you know about other women or-"

"Neville." Ron says gently, trying to steer him on track.

"Right. Sorry." He says, "anyway, I zoned in because they mentioned You-Know-Who. When The Prophet had their little, uh, change, they wanted only the best. Brimblehawk is the best photographer for this type of thing I reckon, war times and all."

"But?" Harry interjected knowing it was coming.

Sadly, Neville nodded, "but, apparently he refused to be a part of it. Next day his shop was broken into, ransacked. They never said who it was, of course one can only assume..." he trailed, "scared for him and his grandkids, he agreed to do work for them. Reckon he didn't have much of a choice."

"Bugger." Ron mumbled. He wasn't naive, he knew how wars worked. His Mum lost her brothers to the last one, but it didn't make the fact innocent people. People like Brimblehawk, like Hermione, were paying the prince.

"Last I heard he stills develops photos from time to time down at his shop, he lives above it. Heard he takes less pictures now because of everything, plus he's rather old, probably around Dumbledore's age now." Neville finished with a shrug.

"And could you get in contact with him? Your Gran maybe?" Harry questioned anxiously.

He sighed and shook his head, "If I sent an owl he'd surely be confused, tell me Gran and all. Then my Gran would demand answers, well, you know how that goes. I don't wanna ruin this whole thing, it's a bit of a secret."

"Yeah a bit." Ron scoffed sarcastically.

The dark haired boy monetarily glared at his friend, "okay, so that's out of question, I think face to face interaction would be best. Where'd you say his shop was?" He asked.

Neville looked a little defeated, "I didn't. It's in Diagon Alley."

"Diagon Alley! The next time we'll be allowed over there is Easter holidays. I can't wait that long!" Ron exclaimed in a harsh whisper.

"I know, shite." Harry mumbled, nibbling nervously on his finger nails.

"Maybe someone else could? I mean, you guys said McGonagall and Dumbledore-" the brunette started.

"No." Harry dismissed, "they'd ask too many questions. If too many people knew, word could get back to whoever has her. They could move her. We need someone who understands how important this is. Someone who knows Hermione as more than the Brightest Witch of our Age."

"Who?" Neville asks after a moment, thinking the chosen one was onto something.

Harry didn't speak, but Ron did.

"Fred and George."


Finally big strides are being made to getting Hermione back. Can you feel the suspense yet?

Hopefully this preview will tie you over until next time:

There he found Ron, sitting cross legged on the bed, a dreamy look on his face. It's the happiest he's seen him look in months.

"Ron?" He called out, cautiously stepping further into the room.

"Harry!" He called excitedly from the bed, jumping to his feet and smiling.

"Hey..." he replied nervously.

"Have you seen her?" The ginger asked almost anxiously.

Oh what could it be!

Keep reviewing please :)