Call of the Circle

by RoBoC

During the summer after his fifth year, Draco Malfoy has an encounter that will forever alter his world.

51. Confusion and Blood

A/N: Ok folks - note at the start here. This chapter is not for the faint hearted...simply put, not everyone who is alive at the start survives to the end. Just a lil warning.

Hermione stared down at the shimmering surface of the potion in the cauldron. It was stone cold now, but it still bubbled and moved as though it were just coming to the boil. Hermione wasn't concerned about its behaviour, though, because it was supposed to do that. At least, she was fairly certain that it was. Concrete information on certain aspects of this potion had been hard to come by. Hell, it didn't even have a name so far as she had learned. The ingredients she was sure of, she'd checked and rechecked them in at least five different books, so that was something. The rest she had had to piece together from the various sources, some of which had been vague, almost to the point of being senseless.

Somewhere deep in her mind, Hermione knew she should be concerned about that. What if it was wrong? What if between it all she'd missed something, or gotten a couple of steps wrong? Potion making is, after all, a precise art, more of a science than a branch of magic. It was all precise measurements and delicate, specific procedures. Even simple potions, if brewed incorrectly, could have terrible consequences, and this was not a simple potion at all. Half of the ingredients were listed as controlled substances, most of them for very good reasons. If she had made a mistake...

Hermione shook her head hard. Thinking like that wasn't going to help. She was committed now, and there was no turning back from this. The memory of the vision threatened to force its way through her efforts to suppress it, but Hermione fought it down. She couldn't go through that again, she just couldn't. The mere memory of the image of seeing the top of that mountain explode was more than she could bear.

There was a rustle of cloth from behind her. Hermione turned to look over her shoulder at the bed. Draco was lying on his back now, stretched out full length with his head resting on the pillow and his eyes closed. He looked for all the world like he was asleep, but he wasn't. Hermione wasn't sure how, but she knew that he was just pretending. She smiled faintly as she looked at his face. Maybe, maybe just by doing that, projecting the aura of being calm and peaceful, he thought he was helping her in some way. He was scared though…and his act couldn't hide it. She didn't blame him, not really. She had just told him that he was going to die violently after all. Anyone hearing that would be worried to say the least.

The smile faded from her face as the emotions inside her swelled up again. She didn't need to see the images, they were bad enough, but the feelings that went with them were what truly threatened to overwhelm her. Her dreams had meaning now. The panic and urgent desperation she had felt every time she had chased Lupie down that corridor now had a form. The chase through the tunnel under the mountain was her failure, her failure to keep a promise. It was her arrogance, and hers alone, that would cost Draco his life.

That was the worst thing about it, the part she hadn't told Draco. There was no way she could explain why, even to herself, but she knew it was her fault. As the images had played out before her, she had just known beyond any doubt, that she was the reason that he was there at all, and the only reason he was going to die.

The vision played again. She could see the top of the mountain disintegrating in a blinding flash. She could see ripples of white fire streak the sky and the debris being hurled aloft to rain down on the mountainside. She remembered the crushing weight of her failure slamming down on her even before the sound of the blast had reached her ears. It was over, it was all over. There was no future from left after that, no hope for tomorrow. White fire and burning death, that's how it would end. That fire would burn itself out before long, leaving the lives it had destroyed utterly wasted, shattered beyond recognition. And it was all her fault!

Hermione jumped as Draco's arms slipped gently around her waist. He lowered his head to bring his lips to her ear. "Don't cry," he whispered, "it was only a dream."

Hermione realised that her cheeks were wet from tears she didn't recall shedding. 'It was only a dream!' She had lost count of how often he'd said that to her, it was rhetoric now, but, somehow, it helped. She leaned her head back against him and raised her hand to wipe them away. "I'm sorry," she muttered.

Draco gave her a squeeze and chuckled. "Don't be," he said, "It isn't your fault."

'Yes it is!' the thought rocked her.

Draco nuzzled Hermione's neck for a moment longer, and then she felt him nod downward toward the potion. "Is it ready?" he asked, his tone becoming grave once more.

She nodded slowly and took a deep breath. "Yes," she all but whispered, "I think it is."

"Well then," Draco rubbed her sides slowly, "I guess its time."

"I guess it is." Hermione's eyes settled on the intricate goblet sitting on the preparation table nearby, just out of reach. She shivered as she stepped out of Draco's embrace and reached out to pick it up. Her fingers felt numb with a sudden attack of pins and needles. She was getting them a lot lately, a side effect of her exhaustion she assumed. 'Damn it,' she thought, 'not now!'

She couldn't afford to be nervous now. She had to do this, she just had to. Hermione lowered her hand and squeezed her fingers hard to force feeling into them once more.

"Are you alright?" Draco asked.

Hermione turned to see him staring at her intently, standing now on the opposite side of the cauldron. She smiled and nodded. "Yes…just a little…"

"You don't have to do this," Draco cut across her. There was a definite edge to his voice. He was clearly still worried about the potion harming her. Hermione set her jaw. She understood his feelings…if she were to tell the truth, she shared them, but her mind was made up.

Quick as a flash, she reached out and snatched the goblet. Three seconds later and it was full to the brim with thick, deep red liquid. 'Blood!' the word was in her mind before she could stop it. Hermione pushed the thought down as far as she could, but couldn't stop herself from hesitating all the same. She eyed the goblet for a second before raising it to her lips. Her eyes found Draco's, feeling his concern through his steady gaze. She held it for a moment, drawing strength from the knowledge that she wasn't alone.

"Bottoms up," she said with forced cheer, and downed the potion in one.

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A crushing weight bore down on Etean's chest, pinning him to the floor. The darkness surrounding him was absolute. His heart rate skyrocketed in an instant, sending his blood roaring through his ears. For a moment, that sound, and that of his own, laboured breathing was all he knew. Gradually his panic faded and his heart slowed. Over the noise, he began to hear far off sounds of commotion. The sounds seemed odd to Etean. His mind struggled to figure out what they were. He should recognise them, they should make sense, but they didn't. Etean shook himself and tried to stall his thoughts, just for a moment. His skull felt as though it had been hollowed out with a pumpkin knife. He felt as certain that he just needed a moment to set things right, and then everything would start making sense again. His head was really starting to hurt and a discomforting tingling sensation started to build in his legs. Where was he? What was going on? What the hell was happening to him? Why were those people shouting?

Shouting? It hit him all of a sudden. That's what the noise was. People were shouting, lots of people, and lots of shouting, all around him. He was alone here in the dark, yet he was surrounded by hundreds of panicky screams and wails, that didn't make sense. If he could hear them, shouldn't he see them too? His mind started to buzz again. Etean felt what little grip he had on reality he had managed to regain start to slip away again and he fought to maintain control. The voices…they were real. 'Focus on them,' he heard the words in his head, 'Let the rest come, hold onto what you have.'

Voices? He could hear them all around him. They were there, even though they still didn't sound right. People were talking and they were upset, some of them sounded hurt. Why were they hurt? How bad? Was he hurt too? Was that why things felt so weird?

The buzzing in Etean's head increased as he turned his mind inward and ran a check on his body. Even thinking seemed to hurt, but it all seemed to be working; he could feel his arms and legs, and move them a little. Etean tried to sit up, but his muscles didn't seem to be up to the task. The mysterious weight that was crushing him into the floor prevented any real movement.

Grunting with effort, Etean managed to move his hands around to a position from where he could lift the weight. What was it? He pushed hard and heard a soft moan from somewhere above his ear. Etean froze. His fingers pressed upward and felt bare metal plates through coarse fabric. His mind struggled to put things in their proper place. Nothing was making sense to him. Etean probed with his fingers, and heard a second groan in reaction. Then it hit him; it was a man. The weight he was trying to move was a man's body!

Etean's mind spun round again painfully. Who was it? Where had he come from? How had he come to be crushing him like he was? Etean's fingers probed again at the metal plates. Metal plates…Etean's mind flashed white hot in a surge of adrenaline as the pieces started to fit together. He suddenly remembered where he was, the ceremony…the corridor…the explosion. A lump formed in his throat. Metal plates meant armour, and the only people that had been anywhere near him before the explosion had been…Etyar, an Etyar was lying on top of him, an Etyar that had just saved his life.

The realisation was followed by a sudden instinctive revulsion as hot, cloying liquid hit him in the face. It spattered over his skin, stinging his eyes and dripping into his mouth. He could taste it, and he knew instantly what it was – Blood! The man lying on top of him was bleeding, and very badly it seemed. Etean mustered his strength and heaved the man upward despite the sudden nausea in his gut brought on by the effort. The Etyar emitted several semi lucid groans of complaint as he was inched upward none too gently, but there was little Etean could do about that. With a final shove, he lifted the man clear and rolled him to the side as easily as he could. Air rushed into his lungs again and, for a moment, he just lay there, panting hard.

As the darkness lifted, the light shone bright in his eyes and he was blind. The pain in his eyes carried back inward through his skull and blossomed into an inferno behind his left ear. Etean blinked rapidly, forcing down the wave of nausea and dizziness that threatened to overcome him. Something was wrong. The world still didn't sound right, and, as his vision slowly cleared, he realised it didn't look right either. Etean tried to figure it out, but it did no good. The pain in his head wasn't the problem; he'd had headaches before…this was something else. He blinked again and stared around him. Dust hung in the air. He could taste it when he inhaled, just as he could smell the smoke that surrounded him. Those senses seemed fine, but the others weren't. He couldn't put his finger on it, but nothing seemed to look right. The world was a flat, grey haze. Etean let his head slump back onto the floor as covered his eyes with his hand for a moment, seeking darkness to calm his mind.

The answer came to him suddenly, silence! Despite the chaotic cries that still filled the corridor, it all seemed deafeningly quiet to him somehow. He opened his eyes and looked in confusion at his hand. It took him a second to bring it to focus, and when he did, it looked…weird. Etean couldn't figure out precisely why, but the world felt like a very alien place right now. He was still staring at his hand when he remembered his saviour lying beside him.

Sitting up, Etean felt the world slide around him. His stomach and head screamed at him to lie back down again, but he didn't listen. Forcing himself not to give in to the nausea, he turned and rolled himself onto his knees. That's when he saw him. Etean felt his insides lock up in horror as he looked down at the Etyar beside him, and saw the extent of the man's injuries.

A shard of broken glass from the window had buried itself into his throat, shredding his carotid artery by the look of it. A river of crimson blood flowed down over the collar of the guard's breastplate, marking a strong contrast with the burnished silver of his armour. Already, a widening pool of blood was gradually swallowing the dust and debris of the floor beneath him. Etean stared at it in disbelief, fighting down a renewed rebellion from his gullet; there was no time for that.

Setting his jaw in determination, Etean reached down and pressed his fingers into the gash. His eyes fluttered closed and he pictured the wound closing. He felt the tingle in his fingertips as the spells began to form. Urged on by his mind, they grew stronger and started to take shape, but then, just as Etean was about to vocalise the incantation, a sudden viscous explosion of pain erupted in the very core of his mind, shattering his concentration.

A surge of nausea rose up inside him, causing him to wretch and fall forward. He just barely managed to catch himself before he landed flat on his face. Beside him, Etyar coughed hard. Bleeding even more profusely with the effort, he reached out toward Etean. Etean blinked and shook his head, trying to clear it once more. Etyar's fingers grasped in vain at his sleeve. Etean frowned. He didn't know what the man was attempting to do, his actions made no sense.

Seeing the blood running more freely now from the gash in Etyar's neck, Etean felt his mind snap into focus. He reached out and, pushing all hope of using magic to heal the guard's wound aside, he pressed his fingers against his neck in an attempt to stem the flow of blood. Etean knew that it was already too late, however. The severity of the wound was all too clear.

To make matters worse, as if that were possible, a slight gurgling sound from deep in the Etyar's throat told Etean that the glass had also punctured his windpipe. He was still breathing, but only just. Etean's grip closed around the wound still harder, but seemed to achieve little. With every beat of his heart, more of the guard's lifeblood gushed out of him. No matter how Etean tried, blood continued to pour unabated through the gaps between his fingers.

Etean's mind raced. What should he do? What could he do? He wasn't helpless, he shouldn't be. There had to be something he could do, if he could only buy enough time, keep Etyar from slipping away until more help could arrive, then maybe… Etean's mind scrambled, searching for options, but none came. The shard was buried too deep, probably snagged on bone and tendon. Pulling it out wasn't an option. There were no options! There was too much bleeding, too much blood already lost. Etean knew it, he didn't want to believe it, but he knew it…this man was going to die.

There was a louder gurgling sound. Etyar's throat moved as he tried to speak.

"Don't," Etean's voice croaked as he spoke. "Don't try to talk…just," he struggled for words, "just lie still."

Etyar coughed hard, spraying blood into his visor. He raised his left arm shakily and began fumbling at the jaw fastening, trying to free his helmet. Etean found himself watching and he knew that it was a hopeless effort. Caked in dust and trembling with pain, his fingers could only poke and tug at it. His eyes searched from behind his mask and found Etean's. One look passed between them and Etean sat bolt upright as he understood. The guard was dying, and he knew it. He couldn't speak, so he was trying to express his final wish in the only way he could. The simplicity of it rocked Etean to the core. This, his last earthly desire, was nothing more than to be allowed to reveal his face.

Etyar never uncovered their faces, not even to their lord, ever. If asked, their typical response was to say that they had no face. It sounded ridiculous, but it was part of who they were. They had no faces, no names, no identities…they were simply Etyar, all of them! It had been that way always. The Etyar's anonymity was as much a part of who they were as their armour was. Only the few that were lucky enough to rise to the rank of captain were granted the privilege of an individual identity once more. For most however, there was only the promise of a quiet retirement, training younger men to take their place. This man would have neither fate. He would have nothing beyond this day.

Etean swallowed against the painful lump in his throat as he took the man's hand and lowered it to his chest. He then gently set about freeing his visor. Slick with the Etyar's blood, Etean's fingers fumbled on the clasps. He silently berated himself for being clumsy and awkward at a time like this. Eventually, the visor was free. Etean removed it as gently as he could and set it down on the floor.

Pale, lean and clean-shaven, he was a soldier, a warrior that had just given his life for his Lord without hesitation. Etyar, he had no other name, hadn't had since the day he set foot in the Etyar barracks. Now, it was the name he would die under.

Yet his face beneath the mask was expressionless even now. Only his eyes were alive, only they showed any expression. But even when facing death, Etean saw in them no fear, no regret, only pride and strength. He would have expected panic, he could understand panic. There would be no shame in it, not now. He wanted to tell Etyar that, and to tell him that there was nothing wrong with being afraid, but the words died on his lips. This man wasn't afraid, he didn't resent his fate, he accepted it. The Etyar lived for their duty, it was all they knew, it was all they were: loyalty and service…until death.

To be an Etyar was to give up your home, your family, your very identity, in service to a man that you may never even meet. Coming face to face with Lord Etean was, to them, the greatest honour they could receive. That was the aspect of the Etyar that no one spoke of, the part of their legend that wasn't the subject of any rumour. Etean remembered being lectured over and over about the Etyar, and the reasons for their existence. He remembered never understanding how someone could vow to give up so much, even their very identity in order to serve another. He remembered his response too, that the Etyar way was an outdated way of life, a relic from a time that had long passed. No one should have to exist to serve another, no one. He remembered shouting that, screaming it at the top of his lungs. That it didn't matter if this was the life they chose for themselves, it was too much. Who the hell was he after all to have the right to deserve that kind of sacrifice?

He was Lord Etean.

The lectures had always ended with that. He was their lord, the reason they existed. The answer hadn't made sense, not then, not ever. It didn't make sense now. How was this man's life worth less than his own? Why should he die so that Etean could live? It was wrong, it was shameful and wrong. This man should not die, not like this, not nameless.

Etyar coughed again. Etean wiped away the blood from his lips. "What is your name?" he asked.

The guard's mouth moved and a stifled croak escaped his lips. His stare intensified. 'Etyar!' he responded telepathically. Etean reeled at the contact; his mind shuddered and rocked so hard that he felt like he was going to pass out.

Wincing, he shook his head to clear it. "No," he whispered. This man had earned the right to be more than that, he had earned his name, "tell me your name," he ordered.

Over his heart, the man's left hand closed to a fist in salute. 'Etyar!' the thought came again with more force than before, rocking Etean's mind to the very core. Etyar continued. 'My…life…for…' he coughed again and his thoughts slipped away. There was a final, diminishing gurgle from Etyar's throat, and then, he was gone. Etean watched as the final spark of life disappeared from his eyes.

A fresh weight bore down on Etean, guilt this time. He felt numb. This man lying before him had died to save his life and he didn't even know his given name. He had never even been aware of the man's presence. Was he the guard he had seen earlier guarding Valjean? Or was he the one that had silently shadowed him to receive new orders? Could he be yet another Etyar, one that Etean hadn't noticed at all?

Etean shook his head; this was pointless. There was no way to tell. 'So stop it!' he ordered himself hard. After a moment's more pathetic inaction, he reached up and closed the Etyar's eyes for him. He could feel that his skin was still slick with blood, that realisation made him nauseas once again. Swearing under his breath, he wiped hard at his face with his sleeve, trying to scrub all traces of the blood away. His eyes settled on the guard's visor. Swallowing, he picked it up, clumsily wiped the blood from it before he set it back in place once more, not bothering to do up the fastenings. Etean sat back, crossed his legs and tried to get his mind to focus on something else, anything else but the swell of pain in his heart.

He found himself fixing on the pain he had just felt at the brief telepathic contact. That was odd, why had it hurt? He couldn't think of an answer; his mind was clouded by pain and confusion. His potion, he needed his potion to calm his addled brain, even for a moment. Automatically, his fingers extended and the thought passed into his mind to conjure it, but the potion never appeared. Instead, Etean was rewarded with a fresh fiery bloom of pain behind his eyes. His fingertips burned with intense, searing pain.

'Damn,' he reeled backward. Deep aches started to settle into his arms and legs, moving upward slowly. Clearly the pain in his head was not without cause. The blast must have done more damage than he realised. Etean rubbed his temple again, that was just something that he would deal with later.

A shadow passed over him. Etean looked up to see the shadowy outline of a man appear out of the haze. The man stooped low, and his face became clear.

"Mr Etean," Professor Snape hissed between his teeth, "What are you doing here? Are you alright?"

Etean stared at him. Aside from the dust that his jet-black robes were catching, he looked totally unscathed by the blast. Snape stared at Etean's face for a moment, and then turned to look over his shoulder. "Medic!" he bellowed. "I need a medic over here."

Movement in the shadows told Etean that someone had Snape's call. He turned his head to see other figures begin to appear, moving toward him. Snape moved as if to stand up to make room for them, but Etean caught his shoulder. "No, Professor," he coughed through his dry throat, "I'm…I'm ok," he coughed again, "I just need a minute here."

"Is that so?" Snape asked, sounding distracted. "Well then, take a minute, but…" he paused, looking down at Etyar for a moment, "but…you should let the medics move you to a safer location." Snape craned his neck and looked around before speaking again, "I have to find the Minister," he rounded on Etean once more, "Do you have any idea where he is?"

Etean blinked, trying to focus his mind enough to take his bearings. He stared at Snape for a moment, and then turned to survey his surroundings.

The corridor was a shambles. The light from the windows was being diffused through the thick smoke rising from the dozens of tiny fires scattered about what had once been the floor. Mixed with the cloud of dust thrown up by the explosion, it cast a ghostly haze throughout the corridor. Through the fog, Etean could see the shadowy shapes of people moving about. He tried out of reflex to focus his senses to help him make sense of everything. The Minister? Where was the Minister?

Mentally, he pictured himself relative to the layout of the corridor. From where he was, from where he had been, the Minister should be… "Over there," he pointed vaguely in the direction of the blast, "He was…by the window."

Snape nodded and stood up, but not before ensuring that one of the medics he had summoned had taken over his position. The young nurse dropped to her knees in front of Etean as Snape spun and disappeared into the fog in a swish of black cloth. Etean watched his shadow fade for a moment, before a blinding light shone in his eyes.

"BAH!" he hissed, swatting the nurse's wand away harshly, "Get that away from me."

"I was just going to examine you," the nurse said, making as though to raise her wand again.

Etean reached out and took hold of her wrist. "Well don't," he told her flatly, "I don't need help."

The rubble behind him moved suddenly. The noise made him start. Etean spun round to see Neville struggling to sit up from under a pile of debris. His face was plastered in dust and dotted with a couple of tiny scratches. From his expression, Etean saw that he was in pain, but the fact that he was awake and moving under his own power was a good sign. He turned back to the nurse, and flicked his head back toward Neville. "Help him," he told her, leaving no doubt that he meant it. The nurse hesitated, but then moved off on her knees toward Neville.

Dark shadows continued to pass before him, briefly revealing themselves to be people, medics mostly. Etean counted over two-dozen of them as they rushed past to help the wounded further down the corridor. Gradually the anguished cries and panicked yells faded, giving way to more structured, ordered utterances, orders for assistance, calls for bandages and the like.

The rubble shifted behind Etean again. He turned to see the nurse that had been treating Neville stand and then help Neville to his feet. He seemed shaky, but not badly hurt, though he paled severely when he caught sight of the Etyar's body.

By the time the nurse had released Neville and turned toward Etean again, he had anticipated her actions and was already getting to his feet. His foot slipped on a loose pebble and he stumbled, but managed to regain his footing unassisted. Etean ignored the nurse's urges to sit down again. Shaking off her steadying hand, he looked over to see Neville still staring intently at Etyar.

"Who…who is that?" he asked, paling even further behind the dust.

"A very brave man," Etean answered simply, deliberately not looking down at the body.

"Is…is he…" Neville looked, wide eyed, at Etean.

"Yes," Etean nodded, "he is."

Neville covered his mouth with his hand and gagged slightly. He managed not to vomit, but Etean wasn't surprised to see him take a step backward. Etean looked down, and felt his stomach churn. Etyar shouldn't be a spectacle like that. Etean knelt down again beside him and unclasped Etyar's cloak from about his neck. He pulled it as gently as he could from beneath the fallen man's body and then laid it over him with what he hoped was reverence.

"Stand aside…STAND ASIDE…" the order rang out in the corridor. Behind Etean, Neville started and nearly toppled over once more as he tried to step hurriedly aside, and out of the way of the dark shape that was approaching from the direction of the blast site. Etean looked round as about a dozen people came into view, all moving as a group, clearly carrying something.

'Someone!' Etean reminded himself as he stood and watched the caravan pass. As the passed him, he caught a brief glimpse of the person that they were carrying and he felt his stomach drop out of him. "Fudge!" he exclaimed.

That was, without a doubt, the Minister they were carrying and, though they were clearly taking great pains to carry him carefully, something about their bearing made him uneasy. They were carrying a wounded man, and were clearly trying to make it look like he was still alive and in need of treatment. That, however, was the problem. If he were a man in need of treatment, they wouldn't need to be deliberately trying to give that impression.

Professor Snape appeared once more behind them. He stopped when he saw Etean.

"Is he…" Etean began.

Snape rounded on him, wide eyed. "Conclusions should not be jumped to, my lord!"

Etean paused, but then nodded his understanding of the unspoken order to 'Shut Up!' Snape returned his nod, and then moved away, following the group of medics just as a second, smaller group appeared, this time carrying Renee Valjean. This group did look the part to Etean. They way they picked their way along and the way they acted on every little movement of their patient, marked a burning contrast to the first group. Etean swallowed, this was bad!

More shapes began to emerge and become people. The swarm of medics that had descended on the scene were starting to move the wounded out. Etean nodded, at least they were organised! Of those that passed by him, Etean recognised none. He found himself categorising them by their injuries. Before he realised that it served no purpose and gave up, he had counted two broken arms, three concussions and seven cases that could only be shock.

One thing he didn't see, and which suddenly occurred to him, was that he hadn't seen Ginny since…since he couldn't remember. He hadn't seen any of the others either, well apart from Neville, who had now wandered off somewhere, but he didn't care about that. In that moment, all he was able to think about was her, and where she was.

He didn't have time to wonder however. "Robert!" Ginny's voice rang out, chiming in Etean's ear. He spun to face the sound as she appeared out of the clearing smoke at a full run and hurled herself at him. Etean staggered back with the force of her impact, but managed to catch his balance and remain upright as he folded his arms around her. He found himself riddled to the core with relief. The pain and confusion in his heart seemed to melt away with the very sight of her. Etean couldn't explain it, but it did, and he was glad for it. He was grateful to her, yet he knew he could never explain why. He didn't really understand why.

Ginny was speaking, Etean could hear her voice, but her words were too muffled. He got the general gist of what she was trying to say though all the same. He twisted his fingers into her hair and shushed and soothed her as best he could, all the while soaring on the wings of utter relief.

After a time, she drew back from him and looked up into his eyes. "I was so worried…I couldn't find you…I…"

"Shhh," he whispered, and drew her to him again.

Ginny pressed her face into his neck and tightened her grip around his neck, muttering incoherently into his robes all the while. Etean continued to soothe her and hold her as he watched the goings on in the corridor. Despite the general reduction in volume, the air still held a significant charge of pure chaos that didn't seem about to abate. That was, until Dumbledore arrived.

Etean saw him approach out of the corner of his eye and marvelled at how he looked so remarkably clean and calm. The man strolled; he actually strolled amid the chaos, looking determined, yet tranquil at the same time. He was the embodiment of contradiction, the total opposite of everything around him. He stopped in the middle of the chaos and raised his hand, which was holding his wand, high over his head. Dumbledore spoke an incantation aloud, conjuring a brisk wind into the dead air of the corridor. In seconds, visibility had increased to the point where Etean could clearly see the full extent of the devastation, and the rather half-hearted attempts that were being made to sort it all out.

The majority of activity was, unsurprisingly, centred on the blast site itself. Etean spotted Harry and Ron straining to lift a large piece of stone to make way for the second of the two large doors into the ceremony hall. The purpose of this was lost on Etean, however, what did it matter if one or both of the doors could open? The rest of the Hogwarts students, along with a fair few others, were similarly engaged in seemingly useless cleanup operations. Etean shook his head at the sight, and then winced in pain. Damn, his head hurt.

"Are you sure you're alright?" Ginny asked him, picking up on his pain.

Etean smiled at that. "I'm fine," he said quietly, then looked up sharply when he heard Dumbledore call his name. Etean marvelled at the sight. Dumbledore had taken charge of the situation in seconds. The rest of the students, and a good few others were gathered round him now, awaiting orders. Etean caught the Dumbledore's eye and nodded. Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Etean pressed his thumb lightly over her lips. "It's alright," he whispered, giving her a squeeze with his other arm and nodding toward the Professor, "We're ok…both of us…but we have work to do," he waited for her to nod and turn herself toward Dumbledore before he looked up at the Professor again, "Sorry Headmaster," he said aloud, "What do you want us to do?"

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Draco's heart stopped in his chest as he watched the last of the potion disappear into Hermione's mouth. She lowered the goblet and swallowed, her face twisting into an odd expression.

"Bad?" Draco asked, though he was almost certain of the answer. Potions were not brewed for flavour.

Hermione's expression remained odd for a second, but then she shuddered and set the goblet down. "Sour milk," she said simply, "I think that's the closest thing to the taste anyway."

Draco nodded. "Could have been worse," he said, trying to hide his growing uneasiness. It was too late now to turn back. Well, it had been ever since she had gone to see that stinking centaur. 'And whose idea was that?' he asked himself.

Hermione wiped at her mouth with a handkerchief that she'd drawn from her sleeve and then hiccoughed once. Draco tensed at the sound. Hermione looked at him for a moment, and then laughed. "Calm down, will you?" she scolded playfully, "It's not like I'm going to grow horns or anything."

Draco took a moment, and then forced his tone to lighten. "Really?" he asked, cocking his head to one side and frowning, "Because...you know…I think they'd suit you."

Hermione stared at him. "Is that so?" she asked. Draco braced himself for a retort, a stinging, yet playful remark to keep him on his toes, but none came. Hermione's mouth opened as though she was going to say something, but all that came out was another hiccough, followed by an unsteady moan. "Whoa…" she mumbled, wobbling on her feet.

Draco nearly vaulted over the cauldron in his haste to reach her. "Hermione," he called, catching hold of her shoulders, "What is it?"

"Its…" she said in a slurred voice, "It's…nothing. I'm jush a little dizzy thas all."

Draco stared at her, watching her face twist up in concentration as she struggled internally for balance. "Here," he said, adjusting his grip on her shoulders and leading her to the bed, "Sit down for a minute."

"Ok," she whispered.

Draco walked her slowly to the bed and then sat her down, edging her far enough onto the bed so she wouldn't fall off if he released her. Was the potion supposed to do this? He wracked his brain, searching for the answer. It was, according to Hermione's research, supposed to make the drinker feel good, euphoric even. When she'd described the effect to him, it had reminded Draco a lot of being drunk.

'People get dizzy when they are drunk,' he told himself, 'nothing to worry about.' "How do you feel now?" he asked her anyway.

Hermione shook her head in answer. She sat still for a while, and seemed to be fighting the urge to get sick a couple of points, but in the end, she settled and appeared to come to her senses a little.

"That's better," she said aloud, her voice sounding clearer than before, but still a little higher pitched than normal. She turned to look at him, grinning at something. "I was away with them there for a bit," she said, reaching up to tap his nose with her index finger, "Wasn't I?"

Draco frowned. "Away with whom?" he asked.

Hermione stared at him as though he was now the one likely to grow horns. "Away with the fairies, silly!" she exclaimed.

'Ok' Draco thought, 'The potion is definitely working now,' "Fairies?" he asked her, wondering where the hell she'd gotten that one.

Hermione scowled. "You know," she gestured in the air with her hand, "the little evil buggers that sneak into people's houses and kidnap their babies."

"What?" Draco laughed. It was possibly the most ridiculous thing he'd ever heard. "Fairies? Harmless little fairies kidnap children from their homes?"

"Yup," Hermione smiled, her eyes lost focus for a moment, "Nashy little thingsh they are," she shuddered, "Wicked."

"Wicked…fairies?" Draco had to force himself not to collapse with laughter, "Where could you possibly have heard stories like that?"

"From my dad," Hermione said rather emphatically, "He told me all about them when I was a kid."

"Your dad?" Draco asked, "The muggle? He told you stories about evil fairies?"

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly at the muggle reference. Draco drew back; he hadn't meant it as an insult, but how else could one describe Frank Granger?

After a heartbeat of contemplation, Hermione seemed to shake it off. "He did," she said, "He used to tell me lots of shtories, and not just about fairies," she turned and stared off into space, "Let's see, there were trolls, giants, pix-HIC-pixies, elves…and lets not forget witches," she giggled, and seemed to lose her train of thought, "Have you ever seen what muggles think witches look like?"

Draco shook his head. "They don't think they look like ordinary people?"

Hermione cast her head back and laughed. "Ha…NO WAY!" she screamed, shaking her head violently, "In muggle stories, witches are always ptor…portree…" she gulped, "made out to be these horrid, twisted, evil creatures with warts all over the place and crooked teeth…" she made a nasty face and then screeched so loud that Draco nearly jumped out of his skin, "and they sound like that," she hissed, before descending into another fit of giggles.

Draco shook his head, evil creatures with warts and bad teeth? He tried to picture what muggles thought witches looked like. His mind conjured up some nasty images, until… "Filch? They think that all witches look like Filch?" he exclaimed, and then rolled his eyes, "Well I mean," he nearly had to shout over Hermione's laughter; "If Filch was a woman of course."

"Right…" Hermione laughed, holding her side, "that's it…that's it exactly," she rolled about laughing for a minute more, "Nasty, isn't it?" she asked wiping her eyes.

"Very," Draco agreed with her. He shuffled closer to her and put his arm back around her, "So tell me," he said, intrigued. The potion seemed to he showing him a different side to this girl, a happier, carefree side. He hadn't seen it in a while, and never directed at him. The realisation gave Draco a pang of sorrow. "Apart from the scary witches and the evil fairies," he said quickly, trying to arrest his downward spiral, "did your father ever tell you any nice stories?"

"They were nice stories," Hermione drew herself up and leaned away from him, "I loved them. I'd make my dad tell them to me over and over."

"Didn't they scare you?"

Hermione paused. "Well, yes they did a bit…but that wasn't the point," she added hastily, "I liked hearing them."

"You like scary stories?"

"No," Hermione slapped at him, "Don intrupt me," she said bossily. Draco clearly heard her slur the words this time.

"Ok then," he said, resisting the urge to smile wide, "Go on."

Hermione tried to glare at him, but didn't manage to do anything but pull a face. "Right then," she said, wobbling a bit, "What I was saying…hup…was that I liked the way my dad told the stories to me," she smiled, "he really got into them, you know? Different voices for the characters and all that," she paused and laughed, "He used to describe all the evil monsters with such flair," she paused again, "Of course, he was just making it all up…but he really made me believe in them. I even…" she tailed off.

"What?" Draco said, shuffling closer to her and looping his arm round her again, "Tell me."

"No," Hermione said evasively, "You'll only laugh at me…its…its shilly."

"It isn't silly," Draco assured her, really interested now, "tell me."

Hermione looked at him for a moment, thinking. "Well," she said eventually, "I…I mean, we, my dad and me…we…used to play this game sometimes…as part of the whole story thing."

"Game?"

"Yes," she nodded, "Well, sort of a game, more of a long running joke really. He called it Fairy Drill."

"What?" Draco asked, disbelieving. Hermione glared at him and he got the message clearly enough, "Sorry," he said waving her on, "please, carry on."

"Right…well Fairy Drill," she emphasised the name, "was pretty simple really. My dad would run around, pretending to panic, telling me that the monsters were in the house looking for me, and I had to go and hide until they went away."

Hermione paused, looking expectantly at him for a reaction. "Erm," Draco said, unsure of what to say, "Sounds…fun."

"It was," Hermione smiled, "We had this signal all worked out – he'd shout 'Pixies!' and I'd run from wherever I was as fast as I could down to the cellar. I had to stay there and make no noise at all until he came and got me."

"Hold on," Draco frowned, "You hid in the cellar?" he asked, astonished, "Alone?" she nodded, still smiling, "And you enjoyed it?"

"Yes, it was fun," she beamed, "I liked it down there. My dad made me this little den behind the coal store."

"Coal store?" Draco's eyebrows shot up; he couldn't imagine Hermione hiding in a coalbunker.

"Yes," Hermione giggled, "but it wasn't dirty or anything. My dad made sure of that. There was this little space that I could just squeeze through. I lined the inside with blankets and pillows… I had toys and books…"

"Of course," Draco said without thinking.

Hermione dug at his ribs. "Yes…it was great. Only me and my dad knew about it," she chuckled, "And he'd always hide little sweets and presents down there for me. Sometimes," she leaned forward conspiratorially, "He'd let me play with my Christmas present down there…early!"

Draco smiled. Hermione's life at home had been so…different to what he'd expected. To what he'd…he stopped himself before he started down that path again.

"So," Draco frowned, "How long did you have stay down there during this game?"

Hermione shrugged. "How should I know? Hours maybe," she said, "I was a bit young to be wearing a watch," she chuckled, "Like I said, I liked it down there anyway…our house isn't all that big, and that was my own little place, just for me."

She smiled at him. Draco found himself leaning forward and kissing her out of reflex. When they parted, he smiled at her. "I'd love to see it sometime," he said.

At that, Hermione's smile faltered for the first time since she'd sat down. "You can't," she said in a flat tone, "it isn't there anymore."

"What happened to it?"

Hermione sighed. "During my first term here, my mum had the cellar rebuilt…they put in an oil furnace to replace the coal."

"Oh," Draco tried to sound as though he understood, "Sorry."

Hermione didn't seem to hear him. "They built this big, ugly thing right where my little den used to be. I was so upset when I saw it."

She sighed hard and looked wistful and distant. Draco frowned at her, and gave her shoulder a squeeze. "Hey," he said in a mock serious voice, "You aren't supposed to be getting upset tonight…this is supposed to be happy Hermione's night."

Hermione turned to him. "Happy Hermione?" she said sarcastically, "Is that what I'm supposed to be?"

Draco noticed that she was leaning toward him, getting closer. He lowered his head. "Wasn't that the point of this potion of yours?"

"Well," Hermione's arm came round and took hold of his head, "It was one of the reasons anyway."

"Huh?"

Hermione's answer was a slight growl in the back of her throat. She kissed him again, never letting up with the rumbling sound for a second. As he pressed his lips into hers, Draco could feel the sound vibrate trough her mouth and into his. He couldn't understand how she could make such a sound with just her throat, but right now, he didn't care. He let his eyes flutter closed and allowed the sound to fill his mind. It was a simple thing, an animal sound. By its nature, it was ugly and harsh, but not to him, not anymore. Now it was her sound, a noise that would forever bring him to this moment, to this instant as he let it consume him.

Hermione's hand detached from his neck and slowly slid around to his collar. With gentle tugs, she started to carefully open the buttons of his shirt. Once she had reached as low as his heart, she stopped and slipped her hand inside his shirt to run her fingernails in rapid circles across his skin. Draco shivered at her touch. It was neither gentle enough to tickle, nor harsh enough to hurt. It was, simply dizzying.

The kiss ended, taking the sound of her growl with it. Draco instantly missed it and moved forward, seeking it once more. His mouth approached Hermione's, but she darted forward and bit him quickly on the bottom lip, just a nip, a message to back off. She looked at him, and Draco saw something in her eyes that he hadn't ever seen before. He couldn't tell if it was his imagination, or the way the light was hitting them, but they seemed to be sparkling with a strange iridescence. The honey-brown rings of her irises seemed to wash and pulse with their own inner, amber glow. It was the tiniest of things, but Draco was stunned all the same. The breath left him and he gasped.

Hermione's eyes widened. The glow faded, to be replaced by a twinkle of mischief. Draco felt the hairs on his neck stand up as he realised that, while he'd been mesmerised by her eyes, her hand had continued to explore beneath his shirt, and it was now trailing in ever decreasing circles around his belly button. She leaned forward and started to kiss his neck gently, pecking her way slowly downward, following the path that her fingers had just taken. Draco let his eyes flutter closed. His head tilted back and a soft sigh escaped his lips.

Hermione paused. Draco heard her sniff slightly. He figured she just had to take a breath, and that she would continue her explorations in a moment, but she didn't. Instead she sniffed again and Draco felt something warm and wet land on his skin near his heart. He frowned, had she just drooled on him? Draco opened his eyes to see Hermione turning away from him, holding both of her hands over her nose in embarrassment. He smiled and reached out to run his fingers through her hair with one hand while the other moved inside his shirt to wipe away her spittle.

"It's ok," he soothed, his fingers encountered the wet patch that was slowly starting to trickle down over his abdomen, "Don't worry about…"

Draco never finished his sentence. His gaze settled on the tips of his fingers, they were covered in blood. Hermione hadn't dribbled on him, she was bleeding!

"Hey," he called, leaning forward and trying to separate her hands from her face, "Let me see," he told her, gently at first, but then with more force when she didn't respond. He slipped from the bed and turned to kneel in front of her. Hermione kept trying to shield her face with her hands; a deeper hissing growl began to emanate from her throat. Blood had started to trickle down her chin and between her fingers; clearly she was bleeding badly from her nose.

"Hermione," he urged, rummaging about in his robes for his wand, "let me help."

Hermione continued to resist him with all her strength. Her eyes darted about furtively in mad panic, and finally settled on the tip of his wand. "NO!" she yelled, drawing back from him, "Z..ztay away," the words emerged through the rumbling growl.

Draco was stunned, why was she so afraid to let him help her? "It's just a little nosebleed," he said in as calm and confident a voice as he could manage, "I can fix it."

Hermione seemed to calm down a bit, her eyes moved from his wand to his face and the growl faded. Draco took this as a sign that her panic was fading. He moved forward toward her again and moved his wand closer to her face. All she had to do was lower her hands and let him see what he was doing and then…

"I zzzed NOOO" Hermione bellowed so suddenly that Draco dropped his wand in fright. A bone chilling snarl filled his ears, adding a sickening counterpoint to Hermione's voice, ripping all sensible thought from his brain. He lurched backward suddenly, propelled by a sudden uncontrollable fear. It was as though the sound of her words had turned into ice water in the air before washing over his every nerve, driving his body into a frenzy.

Draco landed hard on his backside, staring at her. The look in her eyes at that moment was like nothing he'd ever seen before. A mixture of fear and primal terror took hold of him, freezing him in place.

"I…zed…don't…touch…me," she spoke slowly, the words barely audible over the renewed growl that hung constantly in the air, rising and falling with every breath she took. Draco lay paralysed by fear. His mind wouldn't function. Her glare chased all thoughts away before they could form. He was reduced to staring at her face, watching the blood flow readily from her nose, covering her mouth and dripping onto her shirt.

Hermione held her stare for a few moments, and then faltered. Her gaze softened and her shoulders slumped. A deep frown caught her brow and she seemed to grow confused all of a sudden. Draco felt the use of his limbs return to him. Whatever it was that had just happened was apparently fading fast.

Hermione stared at him again, and then shook her head. "I'm…I'm sorry…I…"

That was all she said. Her eyes widened and she tensed as though suddenly in pain. She held her odd pose for a few moments, before she slumped back hard onto the bed. Draco was on his feet and standing over her before he knew what he was doing.

"Hermione!" he called, but she didn't reply. Draco called her again with the same result. He leaned down, fighting back the panic that threatened to overwhelm him. Hermione's eyes were fixed and open. She was staring straight ahead but Draco could tell that she wasn't conscious. Beads of blood had formed in the corner of each eye like tears that would soon flow down over her cheeks.

"No," Draco whispered, shaking her, praying that she was still breathing at least. He leaned down and listened to her chest. He could hear her heart beating hard and fast like she was in full sprint. Her chest was moving as she took shallow, rapid breaths. In mad panic, Draco slapped at her face, trying to illicit some reaction, any reaction. Hermione's face moved with his touch, but always returned to the same position. Her skin was ice cold, yet he could see beads of sweat forming on her forehead. Draco started screaming her name at her, desperate now for any signs of life. He stood up straight and spun, seeking something, some way to help her. What the hell was going on? What was happening to her?

Draco dropped to his knees and scrambled around on the floor for his wand. He was going to bring her around if it was the last thing he did. He felt the familiar feel of his wand in his fingers, and suddenly he was on his feet again. "Please wake up," he whispered as he took aim at her heart and shouted, "Enervate!" at the top of his lungs.

Hermione's body surged as the spell took hold, tensing still further as the energy from his incantation washed through her. Draco watched, waiting for her to come round. Instead, to his utter disbelief, something beyond reason happened. Crackling like miniature lightning bolts, the sparkling energy trails of his spell arced all over her pale skin, leaving deep, vicious burns wherever they touched. Draco watched in horror, then felt his revulsion fade in an instant, when her whole body surged again and she went into bone snapping convulsions.

Acting on instinct alone, Draco threw himself forward and landed on top of her. He struggled against her flailing limbs with all his might, trying desperately to restrain her until the fit subsided. It was going to subside, he hoped it would, all he had was hope.

Her fit seemed endless, she just continued to kick and shake violently with each passing second. Just when Draco felt his wits end draw into sight, she seemed to settle slightly. Her body seemed to ease and, at last, to relax. Draco released his grip on her. He checked her breathing and heart rate again before rolling off her and sitting up and running his sweating hand through his hair as he struggled to regain his breath. His eyes settled on the cauldron in the middle of the floor, and suddenly and terribly, he knew what was going on. His worst fears were coming true. That potion, that, wild concoction had gone horribly wrong. He didn't know if it was a result of how they had brewed it, or a result of the true nature of the potion itself, but it didn't matter. This had gone far enough, whether Hermione wanted it or not, she was going to get outside help. He had to take her to the Hospital, and quick.

Cursing his own stupidity, along with his utter lack of backbone, Draco stood and scooped Hermione up into his arms. Merlin, she weighed almost nothing at all as he turned and carried her toward the door. The stairs were a darkened blur, fading from his memory as he reached a full run down the corridor.

Draco kicked the doors to the Hospital open with such force that the wood actually splintered. There was a series of muted, yet decidedly harsh comments from the office before Madam Pomfrey appeared, looking thoroughly un-amused, just as Draco roared her name. He laid Hermione's now limp form onto the nearest bed and turned to face the nurse as she bustled over. He opened his mouth to explain what had happened, but Madam Pomfrey shushed him and then brushed right past him to bend low over Hermione's face. The nurse's fingers probed at her neck briefly before checking her eyes for a long while.

"How long ago did the seizure start?" Madam Pomfrey asked without looking up. Draco didn't answer. This was not what he had expected at all. The matron turned her head to face him. "How long?" she demanded with more force.

Draco's mind churned, he really didn't know. It could have been minutes or hours as far as he could recall. But, no, it couldn't have been that long, could it? He shook his head, the nurse needed an answer, any answer. "Five minutes," he said, but that didn't sound right at all, "M…Maybe ten…"

Madam Pomfrey looked at him hard for a moment, then nodded and turned back to Hermione. She rummaged about in the oversized pocket of her robes and drew out a small phial of purple liquid. She then pried Hermione's mouth open and poured the entire contents of the phial down her neck, covering her mouth and nose firmly until Hermione's swallow reflex took over. Madam Pomfrey tossed the empty phial aside and then drew out a soft cloth and started to wipe gently at Hermione's bleeding face. Draco watched in abject horror as the nurse checked, and then rechecked her pulse, muttering to herself all the while. The back of his knees collided with the next bed over and he slumped down, totally ignored by Madam Pomfrey.

Time passed, the nurse finished her initial examination, and then started to clean and treat the visible wounds on Hermione's face. She never once looked at Draco, or asked him what had happened to cause the injuries. Draco found that odd, yet he doubted if he could have answered her if she had. He found that he couldn't drag his eyes from Hermione's unconscious face.

Finally becoming aware of his presence, Madam Pomfrey rounded on him and ordered him to leave, but he flat out ignored her. She didn't seem to be in the mood to press the issue however; instead she simply turned and drew the privacy curtain around the bed.

Alone and confused, Draco's mind ran in circles. He could hear sounds from inside the curtain, and he could hear Madam Pomfrey pass in audible comments, the tone of which frankly terrified him. What he didn't hear was a sound from Hermione. Nothing, not a word or a muted moan came from her. Draco listened and he waited, he listened and he strained, in the end he listened and prayed for even the tiniest of sounds from her, but none came. At intervals, Madam Pomfrey emerged from behind the curtain, always at full bustle, and never straying far from the bedside. Draco continued to stubbornly ignore her repeated demands to leave, just as he ignored her assurances that Hermione would be all right. He wasn't leaving, he wasn't moving from that room until Hermione herself told him she was all right! In the end, Madam Pomfrey seemed to give up on him, but Draco didn't really care.

-------------------------------------------

It was an aching and weary Etean that climbed the stairs to his room above the Leaky Cauldron, which in the last five hours had been transformed from a dingy bar to the unofficial headquarters of the Ministry of Magic. His head didn't pound any more, it merely buzzed annoyingly. The neural damage wrought by the explosion had begun to subside, which was a good sign. He was sure that his head would have cleared completely were it not for the company he had been keeping. Ginny had been conscripted by her mother to help treat the wounded at St. Mungos, while Etean, and the rest of 'the children' were sequestered in the inn. Oh what fun that was!

What few Ministry officials had been lucky enough not to have been present at the time of the explosion, now tastefully dubbed, 'the incident', had been drafted in to 'Implement the Ministry's Emergency Plan.' Etean scoffed, after spending the last three hours listening to the particulars of the 'Emergency Plan', he was more than convinced that the word 'implement' actually meant 'invent' to these people, and they didn't seem capable of that. They were, in a word, overwhelmed. Etean supposed that they were capable enough in their own right, but none of them were prepared for the burden that had been dumped on their shoulders to suddenly. The uncertainty over the fate of Minister Fudge only added to the burden. It didn't matter that he was still 'officially' alive, he wasn't there to lead them. Despite the fact that Etean was of the opinion that not having Fudge around may in fact be a good thing in the long term, right now it was a problem. Losing their leader at such a time and in such a fashion had left what remained of the Ministry broken and deflated. They no longer believed that they could survive this war, let alone win it. What fragile hope they may have had this morning was gone. Defeat was all they could contemplate now, and still they stalled, and talked.

Etean had sat and listened in disbelief as they had spent the precious few hours that they should have used to prevent mass panic pontificating and posturing over who should be in charge of what, and which duties should be assigned to what committees and the like. Committees? Were they that incompetent? It wasn't until Professor Dumbledore had sent Snape over to take charge that things seemed to settle down.

You had to hand it to Severus Snape, what he lacked in charm, he more than made up for in sheer venom. Within minutes of his arrival he had deftly weeded out all those present that were actually capable of doing anything, and dispatched them to where they were needed. The rest he left where they were, giving them the 'important jobs', which, to Snape, meant the useless, time wasting things that nobody cared about doing. Those who remained were blissfully ignorant of this, laughably so. It gave them something to do, made them feel important and, above all, kept them out of the way of those doing the real work.

As night had drawn on, the decision had been made for the entire Hogwarts contingent to remain in London overnight. Rooms had been arranged for them in the inn. If anybody had noticed that Etean's room had already been booked prior to the events of the afternoon, they hadn't commented. For that Etean was glad. He could have come up with a lie to explain it of course, had he had to, but he was glad to be spared the need all the same. The last few hours had been a blur of dust, blood, pain and death, and he really just wanted to forget all about it. That, of course, was the problem, seeing as how that was precisely what he couldn't do.

The noise of the conversations still carrying on below drifted up the stairs on his heels. It was still early, not even midnight, but Etean knew that there wouldn't be any peace or quiet downstairs all night. Not that there ever was, but this night would be loud, even by the standards of this establishment. He doubted if the Leaky Cauldron had seen such a volume of patronage decades, the inn was full to the rafters. Tom had been fit to burst; he had even claimed that he'd had to expand the top three floors just to make enough room to accommodate all the guests. Etean shook his head, only a bartender could possibly find a silver lining today. About the only way he could have gotten any happier was if his guests had actually been buying drinks instead of just occupying space.

Drinks!

The faces of the Aurors gathered downstairs floated into Etean's mind. They hadn't been drinking, but he had seen the look in each of their eyes, they wanted to be drinking, no, they wanted to be drunk. Each of them was simply waiting for an unconscious sign from the others that the business of the gathering was over, and that it was now ok for them to get plastered beyond recovery. Etean didn't blame them.

The door to Etean's usual room was closed, but not locked, as he approached. Etean mentally reached out to the door, but it didn't budge. Clearly he was not yet back to full strength, that wouldn't do. Cursing silently, he opened it by hand and moved inside, closing the door again behind him silently. Inside, he marched swiftly to the room's single table and drew his wand to conjure his potion. He downed the goblet in one go and then closed his eyes as he felt the potion take hold. As though someone were raising the lights in the room, the world around him sprang to life again and he felt remotely normal for the first time in what seemed like forever. His mind pressed out, taking in his surroundings in a wash of colour and light, before drawing in and concentrating on matters closer to him. The room around him came into sharp focus. Etean noted every twist of fabric in the drapes, every mote of dust on the floor. Everything in that room was precisely as it should be, except for one thing.

Sitting innocently on the windowsill was a small, wooden pipe. By no means expensive or interesting by itself, only the fact that it was out of place made him notice it. To the untrained eye, such a thing wouldn't be worthy of much attention, merely a personal effect left behind by a previous tenant of the room and overlooked by a careless cleaner. To Etean, however, it was a different story. To his eyes it was much more than a simple pipe, it was charged and alive. He took one step closer to it, reaching out to lift it from the window with a touch of his renewed mental strength.

"A portkey, my lord," the words came from the shadows behind him, along with the first stir that the presence there had made since Etean's arrival.

"Indeed," Etean replied coolly, "Thank you for the clarification, Duncan."

Etean turned to see the cloaked figure materialise from the darkest corner of the room and stand to attention in the light. Duncan brought his talon-claw to his chest in a smart salute and nodded his head slightly at the same time.

"Reporting by your order, my lord," he said smartly.

'Clean, precise, formal,' Etean thought privately. 'He knows he's pissed me off!' Etean resisted the urge to roar at him. 'First things first!' he pointed to the pipe that still hovered in the air, "Tell me how this got here," he commanded.

"It was delivered less than an hour ago, my lord, by a Death Eater," a hint of worry crept into Duncan's tone at that.

Etean merely raised an eyebrow. "Really?" he asked, thoroughly unsurprised, "and were you able to identify that particular Death Eater?"

Duncan nodded. "I was, my lord, conclusively," he raised his gaze to level it at Etean, "It was Malfoy."

That did come as a surprise to Etean. He hadn't expected Lucius to be the one to contact him, not after the last time. He resisted the urge to ask if Duncan was certain he hadn't mistaken the visitor's identity. That would only lead to further questions, besides, Duncan was sure – he wouldn't have said anything if he wasn't.

"I see," he said, sending the pipe back to its resting place with a stray thought.

Reading his expression better than Etean would have liked, Duncan took a step toward him as Etean turned his back. "You cannot be considering using that portal, my lord?"

Etean paused. "So what if I am?"

"Well I…" Duncan started, "I only meant that, you are hardly in any condition to engage the Death Eaters alone, my lord…your injuries…"

Etean drew himself up, remembering just why Duncan was there in the first place. "Are healing," he said simply, "And I will do what I choose to, Duncan. Your opinion is not required, nor is your concern," he added scornfully.

Duncan let out a breath. "Yes, my lord."

"Good," Etean sighed and strolled to the window. The room he chose in the Leaky Cauldron always overlooked the muggle street rather than Diagon Alley. Etean had always preferred it that way. Muggles were always much more entertaining to watch than wizards, they were so free, so content in their ignorant little worlds. Tonight, however, the muggle street was deserted, not a soul was in sight. 'Damn!' He leaned his head against the glass, enjoying the way that the cool pane soothed the dying throb in his skull.

"If I may ask, my lord," Duncan said quietly, "How are things progressing downstairs?"

Etean laughed. "Downstairs?" he shook his head, "Nothing that happens downstairs is of the slightest consequence. All they do down there is talk, yet they say nothing. They speak merely to hear their own voices…they make noise because they fear the silence."

"It is that bad?"

Etean sighed. "It's worse," he breathed, "People, the few who retain the will to fight, are trying to pretend that they still have hope. Dumbledore, and a few others are doing everything they can to keep them together, running them about in a frenzy and chasing dead end leads in an attempt to stop them from realising just how bad things have just gotten, and they have gotten bad, Duncan, very bad. Minister Fudge is almost certainly dead, and if he isn't, then I don't expect him to live out the night. The Ministry Headquarters has been all but destroyed…as good as anyway, for all the use it will be to those that remain. Fear and mad panic are spreading like a fire through the city, its only a matter of time before the whole fucking country finds out what has happened here, and panics as well…" he trailed off, realising that he was babbling.

Duncan's footstep was barely audible, but Etean's head twitched all the same. "My lord," he spoke carefully, "your despair confuses me. This was expected, was it not? Panic…chaos…the end of reason, it was all foreseen."

"Was it?" Etean spat, not turning round, "And is that supposed to make it alright?"

Duncan sounded sure. "It was…it is…necessary, my lord."

"Who are you to tell me that?" Etean barked, "Who am I to deserve answer? This was all my fault, Duncan. Today was a day of suffering, which I could have prevented, a day of pain, which I allowed to happen, and a day of death, which I caused."

"But…"

"Good men died today, Duncan, because of me!"

"My lord…"

Etean rounded on Duncan, his mind surging out before him like a wave. "Etyar, Duncan, Etyar died today! They died because they were there today fulfilling an oath they made to me, because of that oath, because of ME, Duncan, those men lie dead now."

Duncan reeled, the walls in his mind shot up to hold back the storm of Etean's rage. "They gave their lives," he said, surprisingly clearly, "as was their duty, my lord…nothing more."

"Nothing…" Etean faltered, he could hardly believe the word had just been said, "Nothing more? How can you stand there and say that? What more can a man give but his life? What more can be asked of any man?"

Duncan's jaw worked silently for a moment as he composed his response. "My lord," his voice faded as he was forced to dedicate his conscious mind to the effort of defending himself, "please…"

Etean drew back and sneered. He reigned his anger in and allowed Duncan to relax. "Speak."

Duncan took several breaths to regain his self-control. "The Etyar who died today gave their lives in service to their cause. To protect you, and your name is the reason for our very existence."

"I know the speech, Duncan, I've heard it before, remember?"

"Yes, my lord," Duncan took a step toward him, "But if I may say so, I do not believe that you have ever truly listened to it."

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"It means…" he hesitated slightly as Etean's face betrayed his reaction to the tone he was using, "That the oaths we take, my lord," he continued in a more level tone, "they are not mere words, not to us," Duncan raised his hand and tapped his heart, "Our duty is our life, it defines who we are, and what we are. We all make the same vow, my lord, to protect you no matter the cost," Duncan sighed, "I have tried to teach you this, as was my duty, but it appears as though I failed."

Etean stepped back from him, and smiled. "You failed, did you? I don't understand?" he asked, "We'll see."

Etean turned and walked over to the table again. A wave of his hand conjured a piece of parchment and a quill. He held the quill above the page for several seconds, still unsure of his actions. The image of the Aurors below, struggling to maintain the last shreds of professionalism they possessed. "Tell me of your mission, Duncan, do the Etyar stand ready as was ordered?"

Duncan's reply was a moment coming. 'They are that, my lord, and more."

Etean laughed, but the sound was hollow to him. His fingers hesitated. This was an order he had promised himself that he would never give, and he hated breaking that promise. In a flash of desperation, his mind searched for some way out, but there were none. His options, once without limit, were now stripped away to nothing. He had no choice now, it was this or annihilation. In one quick stroke he wrote:

'Débutez l'Opération Judas'

He scanned it. 'Commence Operation Judas,' three words that meant so much to so many, and they didn't even know about it. Etean shook his head, a quick touch of his ring, first to sign it, and once again to seal it and it was done. A simple command that once given, could never be taken back. Etean stood up and rolled the parchment in his hand for a moment before turning back to Duncan. He stepped forward and waved it at him. "Orders…to be carried out before dawn, do you understand?"

Duncan nodded and took the parchment. He turned it over in his hand and then made to open it, but Etean stopped him. "What are you doing?"

Duncan looked confused. "My Lord?"

Etean shook his head. "You misunderstand me, Duncan. Those orders are for Dominic. I want you to deliver them to him for me."

Duncan's frown deepened. "I do not understand."

Etean crossed to the window and sat against the sill. "Something confuses you?"

"Yes," Duncan answered, "and, forgive my assumption, but, I believe that, by this order, you commit us to war…and you wish…Dominic to lead us?"

Etean nodded slowly. "You're assumptions are correct, both of them."

Duncan reeled backward slightly. "My lord…I…"

"Something troubles you?" Etean raised an eyebrow, "Then speak!" he ordered.

"Dominic is not a soldier, my lord."

"He is capable," Etean commented flatly.

"Capable yes," Duncan's tone bordered on becoming truly emotional for a change, "but of this, to lead us to war?" he shook his head, "Dominic is…a bureaucrat, my lord, an organiser, a facilitator, not a warrior."

"I don't need a warrior, Duncan," Etean said, "This war has its share of those, on both sides," he shook his head, "What it lacks, however, and what I need is someone that I can rely on to follow my orders to the letter, no matter what, and Dominic is more than suited for that task."

"Obey orders, my lord, I…"

Duncan's words vanished into the air as Etean reached into his robes and withdrew the tiny green bottle. He held it aloft for Duncan to see. Duncan's eyes settled on it, and then moved to Etean's face once more.

Etean schooled his features. "Your reaction tells me you know what this is."

Duncan nodded. "I do, my lord."

"You've seen this before? Or one like it?"

"I have…"

"Good," Etean sounded chipper, but his face didn't change, "Then you know why I have called you here tonight?"

"My Lor…"

Etean didn't want to hear whatever platitude was coming. "You are here, Duncan, because I felt as though I owed you a chance, this one chance, to explain yourself and your actions," he paused, and cocked his head to the side, "Tell me," he asked, changing his tone, "What is the normal punishment that an Etyar can expect for disobeying a direct order?"

Duncan drew himself upright. "Banishment, my lord, forever to be cast out, alone."

"Excellent," he turned and seated himself on the window ledge, careful not to touch the pipe, "Now then, as I understand it, your orders, prior to your current assignment, were to track down Hermione Granger and her family, and then to report back to me with a first hand assessment of their situation, is that correct?"

"It is," Duncan's back was stiff as steel now.

"And this assessment was to be made covertly?'

"It was, my lord."

"Covertly, as in no contact?" Duncan didn't answer, "Speak!" Etean bellowed at him.

Duncan paused, staring straight ahead of him at the wall beside Etean's head. "Those," he said finally, "were my orders, my lord."

"And is that what you did?" Etean asked, grinding his teeth.

"I made my assess…" Duncan tailed of and lowered his head, "No, my lord," he said quietly, "it was not."

"So what did you do?"

"I…" Duncan looked up at Etean, "I have no excuse, my lord," he said clearly, "I violated your orders," he reached up and tugged the silver rank badge from his collar, "I stand ready for your judgement," he said, holding the badge out to Etean solemnly.

In one step, Etean was before him. "Don't you dare," he roared, slapping the badge away fiercely, sending it flying into the corner of the room, "How can you have the audacity to stand there and offer not even a word to explain yourself?" He stared into Duncan's eyes, met by a dead look in return, "You are my Captain General, Duncan, I chose you for that role because I trusted you, and now you break your oath? You, and you alone knew about her. You and only you were trusted with this, and you, of all people, betray me? Why, Duncan, I will know why!"

Behind his stoic features, Duncan's face threatened to twitch. "I never intended to betray you, my lord," Duncan replied, his stare wavering slightly, "I would never…" he paused, and regained his composure, "If you believe nothing else, you must believe that. My actions were meant only to help you."

Etean rocked back. "Help me?" he spat. "You were trying to help me?" He shook his head in disbelief, "I explained to you, I trusted you with the truth. I told you at length what I needed you to do and why I needed you to do it, and you do this? How does this help me, Duncan? HOW?"

"My lord," Duncan answered, sounding careful, "I realise that my actions were out of place, and that I acted without authority, but I…I felt compelled to do something. I heard your words, I knew the strain you were under. With all the problems you already faced, I didn't think you needed to deal with the girl on top of everything else, so I took action to remove her, and her problems, from your path."

Etean took a moment to process this, when he did, all he could do was laugh. "Duncan," he breathed, "You are, without a doubt, the DUMBEST person I know."

Duncan's brow creased. "My lord?"

"Did it ever occur to you that, were the solution to the 'Problems' of Hermione Granger simply a matter of making her take a little potion, that it would have been done long ago?"

Duncan's frown deepened. "I do not understand."

"No, Duncan," Etean turned away from him, "It is painfully clear that you do not," he paused to shake his head, "Tell me, what did you think it would do to her?"

"It…" Duncan's eyes widened in sudden realisation, "What did it do?"

Etean barked out a laugh. "It did what it was supposed to do, but, thanks to you, it did it before it was supposed to do it. Right now, thanks you your 'help', her condition is progressing at ten times the rate that it should be."

Duncan's face blanched. "My lord…how? I did not realise…"

"No, Duncan, you didn't, because you are a soldier. Your job is to listen to orders and to obey, nothing more. You weren't told the full story, because you didn't need to know. You were never supposed to know. Hermione Granger was, from the start, MY problem to deal with and now, thanks to you, I must deal with it all the sooner."

"Forgive me, my lord," Duncan stared at the floor, "That was not my intention." He looked up into Etean's eyes once more, "What can I do? What must I do to correct my error?"

"I've had enough of your help in this matter, Duncan," Etean sighed.

"Then," Duncan's face fell, "What would you have me do?"

Etean returned to his seat by the window, "I would have you follow my orders, Duncan," he pointed to the scroll in Duncan's hand, "Deliver that to Dominic and see that he understands that HE is to command the Etyar until such time," he paused, remembering the rank badge. A flick of his mind called it to his hand and he held it aloft, "Until such time, Duncan, as I decide who it is that should wear this."

"Yes, my lord," Duncan nodded, "And then?"

Etean sighed. "Then, Duncan, you will clean up this mess you have made," Etean drew himself up at Duncan's raised eyebrow, "I don't see any further reason for the Granger's to exist, do you?"

Duncan paused, and then shook his head. "No," he said sombrely, "I don't suppose there is."

"So," Etean stood up again, "you understand then? I want them gone, I want it done quickly and quietly and I want YOU to do it, and leave no trace, is that clear?"

"It is, my lord, perfectly. It will be done," Duncan saluted.

Etean didn't return it, instead he turned his back. "Fine, then go."

Duncan didn't move. "What of the girl, my lord?"

Etean stopped in mid step. "The girl?" his mind flashed on Granger again, and his jaw tensed, "Like I said, she is my problem, just as she always has been. I will deal with her."

He heard Duncan lower his salute. "Yes, my lord."

A/N: Righty O, believe it or not, that was HALF of what you've been waiting so long for. My sincerest of apologies for the wait, but life kept getting in the way, you know how it goes. I decided to split this chapter when i realised how long it was going to be, now all I have to do is write the second half. In the meantime, I hope you enjoyed this addtition to my saga, was it worth the wait? As always, feel free to let me know your opinions/comments.