AN: Thanks for all the comments and favourites still coming in. Can't seem to keep writing without them. Love, love, love. DDD

Peter Pettigrew stood in Borgin and Burkes shop sniffing at a black sock Bellatrix Lestrange had pulled out of the laundry hamper at the Grangers' house. No one else could have appreciated its rich, complex aroma like Pettigrew did. It was a blend of middle-aged male Muggle feet, soap, leather shoes that had got wet with rainwater and dried several times over, rounded off with the faint trace of the disinfectant used to clean the floors at Granger Dental Surgery. Pettrigrew crushed the sock to his face and tried not to relish the scent too openly.

Yaxley shuddered at the sight of him all the same. "Anything?"

Pettigrew raised a finger, calling for quiet, as if his sense of smell was keener in silence. He held the sock to his face again.

Bellatrix snarled. "Quit snogging it and tell us if the Muggle has been here."

"Yes," he said. "He was here. He was at the door, on this rug, at this rack, and his trail stops here at - " he paused - " the Master's cabinet."

The four Death Eaters and Old Borgin exchanged looks of shock.

Bellatrix broke into laughter. "The cabinet? The Muggle came from Hogwarts through the cabinet? Little Draco did it. He's fixed it. Our Lord must know at once. Let the Muggle run and hide for now. We'll be pulling Hogwarts to the ground by morning."

"Stop!" Yaxley called to her as she was reaching for her wand to disapparate. "Stop and think Bellatrix. If the cabinet is fixed, why wouldn't your nephew have said so immediately? Something's not quite right, or why would he wait? Isn't his mother being held hostage over it?"

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes. "Yes, actually."

Carrow took up the questioning. "And why," he began, "would young Malfoy test the cabinet on the Muggle father of his lover? Wouldn't he rather send someone else? Someone more expendable, but also more capable, and with less of a sentimental attachment to him? Bully a younger student to do it? Or trick a nuisance rival? Or someone easily led and too honored by his friendship? Or at the very least, an elf who couldn't refuse?"

Yaxley stood tapping his wand against his own chin, calculating. "The Muggle's departure from Hogwarts by the cabinet begs more questions than it answers. Dumbledore and the rest would surely have wanted to keep him there. And I agree with Amycus that this Granger man makes a poor choice for a subject to test it on, helpless as he is in our world - "

"Though he did get out of here somehow," Pettigrew mumbled.

"Shut up!" Bellatrix snapped.

"I'd wager he slipped out of the school unauthorized," Yaxley concluded.

"Wouldn't they be searching for him then?" Carrow asked.

"If you really did see that mangy phoenix ruining my spell in Piccadilly Circus, then clearly they are following him," Bellatrix said.

Yaxley stepped closer to the cabinet. "This so-called repair - is it thorough? Is it legitimate? Borgin, speak up."

The old man coughed. "The young Master and myself haven't worked on it since Christmas, and at that time, its performance was spotty - unreliable. I've done a little tinkering myself since then but - I can't be sure. As far as I know, it may work in one direction only, from Hogwarts out. Or, it might be able to transport Muggles well enough, but who's to say if a witch or wizard would come through with their magic intact. No promises, no guarantees."

"You try it for us," Yaxley said, turning on him. "Show us your handiwork."

Borgin scoffed. "You'll not get me into that. If it, I might find myself in Hogwarts with Auror wands drawn on me, and if it don't work, I'm lost in the ether." He was raising his hands, waving off their threatening tugging at their sleeves. "Stop that now. You can flaunt your Dark Marks all day and I won't get into that box for you. And if you try to force me, every mace and axe and sword on that rack will fly up to protect me."

Bellatrix shoved Carrow across the floor. "You test it then. We can't bring news of the cabinet back to the Dark Lord unless we're sure of it. Do it, Carrow, you useless - "

He spun around, his wand aimed at Bellatrix.

Her snarl curved into a smile. "Oh? Shall we?" she purred, only too eager to duel.

"Stop," Yaxley called again. "Obviously, none of us is willing to risk a trial of the cabinet with our own bodies."

Bellatrix was storming toward the exit. "Just a matter of snatching someone off the street then."

"Absolutely not," Yaxley said. "Look, it's late Saturday and I need to be back in the office playing nice with the Minister on our Lord's behalf by Monday morning. We are neither authorized nor prepared to carry out a kidnapping tonight. I say we stick to the original mission as planned. We recover the Muggle and bring him back to the manor. Then we inform our Lord about the cabinet."

Bellatrix lunged close enough to hiss into Yaxley's face. "I say you're a coward who's been a bureaucrat at that bloody ministry so long you make a piss poor soldier. Gutless."

"The marks of a good solider are precisely obedience and discipline," he countered. "Which is why you are regarded not as a trusted deputy but as a reckless whore."

Bellatrix screeched, brandishing her wand.

Seeing too late that he'd gone too far, Yaxley was retreating, ducking behind Borgin's counter.

"Easy, easy!" Borgin was calling, spreading his arms to shield his most fragile inventory.

Carrow was shouting over all of them in his shrill wail, addressing Pettigrew. "Can you track the Muggle from his house to wherever he's gone now? Yes or no?"

Pettigrew nodded, sniffing the sock again. "Yes, of course. Gladly."

"Then let's be off," Carrow said, nudging the tip of Bellatrix's wand toward the floor, taking Yaxley by the arm to raise him from behind the counter. "When we've found this Granger man, we can interrogate him on what he knows about the cabinet, and then bring the Dark Lord the news with all of these dangerous questions answered. The Dark Lord loses nothing by it. Hogwarts and this cabinet aren't going anywhere."

Bellatrix blew her hair out of her face, stomping forward without consulting with the others to set a protective ward around the cabinet. "You," she said to Borgin, "leave the shop closed until we return."

"Yes, of course. As you wish, Madam Lestrange." He was only too happy to lock and bolt the door as they left.

Professor Snape was the last guest to arrive at Professor McGonagall's dinner the night before Draco Malfoy and Hermione Granger's wedding. He rushed through the door, his robe flying, the colour of his complexion higher and pinker than usual, his dark eyes darting over the room, taking in everything but Draco's face.

"Sir," Draco said, approaching him anyway. "Sir, we have some questions about the Room of Hidden Things. They're most urgent, and confidential. May we - "

"Not now, Draco," Snape said, still not looking at Draco's face, trying to get the headmaster's attention instead.

"Severus," Professor Dumbledore said, turning away from his dessert. "You're late. You must be famished."

Snape frowned, debating whether to speak in front of the entire group or waste time wheedling a private audience with the headmaster. "Yes sir," he began, speaking openly, acting on his preference to not treat the students like infants. "I've been to Malfoy Manor this evening and found the Dark Lord's deputies dispatched. I knew he planned to send them, but not with such numbers and speed. It seems they are about to," he paused, glancing at Hermione, "strike. And therefore, I suggest we move the ceremony to as early tomorrow morning as the stars will allow. Five o'clock will be sufficient, I believe."

All eyes turned to Hermione, the bride, waiting for her reaction to this last minute, unapproved change in her wedding plans. She ignored it completely. "Dispatched?" she repeated. "Death Eaters dispatched? What exactly do you mean by that, sir?"

"Gone," Snape said. "When I arrived, the house was empty but for Madam Malfoy - "

"How did you find her?" Draco interrupted.

Snape seemed to quake from head to foot. But what he said was, "She is well enough. Though with Pettigrew out of the house, the Dark Lord was particularly restless. He calmed after they sent Carrow back in Pettigrew's place, but his temper was rising again when I slipped away. I must return at once."

"Wormtail?" Harry spoke the name like a curse. "What can they use him for besides bowing and scraping to his master? He's not good for anything."

Snape took a deep breath. "Tracking, Potter. As a rat animagus, he is able to track Dr. Granger over long distances, to wherever he is hiding."

Hermione swayed on her feet, clutching Draco's arm, nodding. "As we thought. Dad is not with Remus. He never has been."

Ann rushed forward, taking Hermione's hands. "No, darling, your father left on his own. He decided to go off as a decoy, keeping the baddies too busy to even dream you could be mounting something against them."

Hermione sputtered for a moment, almost unable to say, "Decoy? Mum do you have any idea how powerful, how wicked -?"

"I do, darling," Ann interrupted. "But nothing I said convinced your father to stay here. I argued and argued but - you're his little girl. He felt he had to do this for you. And it's alright, so far. He's been keeping in touch with me by answer phone. He's alright."

The rest of the students stood shocked at what Dr. Granger had done. Ron and Pansy had the standard stereotyped impression of Muggles, that they were delicate and skittish, childlike. As for Harry, everything he knew about Muggles, everything he'd learned from his Dursley relatives, had led him to expect the worst. But now here was Hermione's father making a sacrifice like this, expecting nothing from the wizards in return.

Hermione tugged her hands free of her mother's grip. "I'm going to get him."

"Then you undermine what he's done," Ann said.

"But we can't just let him - "

"I find that I agree with Miss Granger," Dumbledore said, even as he cut her off. "Professor McGonagall, contact Remus and tell him to retrieve Dr. Granger, if you please. Fawkes will show him the way."

"Tell Remus that Pettigrew is not alone," Snape added. "He has Corban Yaxley and Bellatrix Lestrange as accomplices."

"And what about the cabinet?" Harry burst in as Professor McGonagall flared out of sight in her Floo. "The one upstairs, the one you've known has been working for days?"

Ron gasped, the girls whispering questions to him.

Dumbledore turned to Harry. "It is secured and guarded with my own seal," he said. "Ah, you are about to question whether that will hold a band of determined Death Eaters sent to attack under pain of death, and you are right to ask. It will buy us a little time, alert us of an attack, but it will not prevent one altogether."

"Then why not go upstairs and destroy it now?" Harry said, barely keeping from shouting. "Blast it to splinters and put an end to it."

Draco was shouting. "Because, Potter, as I've told you and told you, as soon as it's destroyed, they kill my mother."

"They will not," Snape called, louder than anyone, "kill your mother."

At last, Snape and Draco locked eyes across the crowded study. "I will leave you all," Snape said, "and return to the manor for Narcissa. And I will not set foot in this school again until and unless I bring her back with me."

"You need to rest," Ann said, combing Hermione's hair with her fingers as they lay side by side in bed. "We need to be up and ready to be radiant by 4 am."

Hermione rolled onto her side to face her mother. "I can't sleep. I'm thinking about Dad. I'm thinking about Draco, and his mum. I'm thinking about everything."

Ann tucked a coil of Hermione's hair behind her ear, smiling in the dim, fire-lit room with uncommon tenderness. "Well, close your eyes, at any rate. If you pretend to rest, you may fool yourself. Dad will be alright, darling. Those wizards are off to fetch him now."

Hermione blinked, trying to remember. "It was just Remus they sent, wasn't it?"

Ann blinked back. "No, they mentioned another one too. Fox, was it?"

"Fawkes? No, Mum. Fawkes is not a wizard, exactly. More like a magical bird."

Ann wrinkled her nose. "Best you not tell me any more about it."

They shared a quiet laugh in the dark room.

"That Lucius Malfoy had better get himself out of jail soon," Ann said. "I think your chemistry professor is sweet on our Cissa."

"No." Hermione gasped, raising herself on one elbow. "How can you say that?"

"How can you not have noticed?" Ann impersonated Snape's voice. "'Until and unless I bring her back with me.' Did you hear how he said it? My word, who'd have thought such a grim man could come up with something so handsome to say? And just between us, Hermione, if your father-in-law is one of those Death Eaters, Cissa may be better off with the teacher."

Hermione lowered her head back onto her pillow. "It's strange, Mum. I feel like you already know the Malfoys better than I do."

"Why is that, darling? Does Draco not take you to visit them?"

She shook her head. "You remember that day at the beginning of my second year, in the bookstore on Diagon Alley, with Draco's father and Mr. Weasley shouting and shoving and books falling down on everyone. It's always like that and worse. At first, we were afraid the Malfoys might send Draco off to school in Bulgaria if they knew about us."

Ann frowned. "That doesn't sound like Cissa."

"No, it wasn't. It was Mr. Malfoy's threat. But it meant we never went near his parents." She stopped short of telling her mother about Lucius Malfoy leading the attack on Harry and the rest of them in the Department of Mysteries.

"Well, you never brought Draco to meet us either, not until this Christmas when he picked up your suitcase at Kings Cross. Does that mean we're too much trouble as well?" Ann said.

Hermione snuggled against her. "No, Mum. You're just too perfect and precious for the lunacy of the wizard world. I wish you were back in London, asleep in our house, dreaming of dental caries right now."

Ann kissed her daughter's forehead. "Well, I don't. I do wish your father was here, safe and sound, but I'm relieved that you're not bearing all of this alone."

Hermione smiled against her mother's shoulder. "I'm not alone. And I never will be again."

"Yes, we should talk about that," Ann said. "You are taking that prescription for birth control pills, aren't you?"

"Yes, Mum. And the medi-witch here at school taught me a contraceptive spell to use as well."

Ann shuddered beneath the blankets. "You'd better use both."

"I will, Mum, just like I promised. Not that Draco and I have done anything yet…"

Ann huffed. "Still seems odd to me, for a couple about to be married. But I suppose you are only seventeen."

Hermione grinned. "Draco is still sixteen for the next few months, actually."

Ann groaned. "Good heavens, don't tell me that either. Is he - experienced, at all?"

Hermione poked Ann in the arm. "How could he be, Mum? He's been with me since he was fourteen. He did kiss other girls before that, though, including one of the bridesmaids for tomorrow."

"The brunette," Ann nodded. "I can tell. There's something smug about her, even though she's with your father's dreamy redhead."

Hermione was groaning now. "Why is Dad so taken with Ronald?"

"Because of your boy friends, he is the most like your dad himself," Ann said. "And that is also why nothing much has ever happened between the two of you."

Hermione sighed. "I did like Ron an awful lot when I was very young."

"Typical first love," Ann said. "Doomed."

Hermione laughed, perching her chin on her mother's shoulder. "How old were you, Mum?"

"When I had my doomed first love? Twelve, I suppose."

"No, Mum. I mean, how old were you, the first time you - you know?"

"Oh," Ann said, pausing so long Hermione expected her to refuse to answer. "I was seventeen as well," she said at last.

"It wasn't Dad?"

"No, it wasn't," Ann sighed. "Even though the relationship didn't last, he was kind to me and we kept dating for the rest of the summer, even afterward. It was the 1970s. It was the best we could do." She sounded sad, but said, "There's no point in regretting. But the first time - it's not like the other times, Hermione. It needs to be with someone you trust. Someone you love deeply, and don't fear in any way."

Hermione hummed, quietly considering. After a moment, she was able to ask, "It's going to hurt, isn't it?"

Ann sighed again. "Yes, it probably will. What matters most will be how you feel in your heart and soul, not - down there."

"Mum, yuck."

"It has to be said, darling. There is too much misinformation. Your first time will not be like it is for the heroines in romance novels. Don't misunderstand," Ann said. "I'm not denouncing romance novels. It's just that they tend to be terrible places to learn about first times."

Hermione propped herself on one elbow. "So tell me what I need to know, Mum. Tell me plainly, as one scientist to another."

Ann snorted. "What, an itemized list, in bullet points?"

Hermione sat fully upright in bed. "If you can. Please. I won't say 'yuck' again. Go ahead and be straightforward. It suits us."

Ann sat up as well. "Alright. First: don't waste a moment worrying about whether he's enjoying it. He is. Even if you think you might be doing a bad job of it, he's still enjoying it better than anything else he does…"

The next bits were technical - advice on speed, movement and position, what to do with her hands, how to not make a mess, and avoiding the need for an antibiotic.

Hermione nodded and nodded. "Right, right."

"And seventh," Ann said, with a welcome air of finality, "be kind to yourself. If seventeen-year-old me knew about the kind of sex forty-three-year-old me has, she'd be astounded - completely gobsmacked, howling with envy. But it did take a little time to sort it out. So be patient, my brilliant little perfectionist. Practice faithfully and you will get it."

Hermione lay back down, falling heavily against her pillow.

"Are you alright, darling? I haven't spooked you, have I?"

"No, Mum. Thank you, truly." Hermione patted her mother's hand. "Just tell me one more thing: do you like him?"

"Draco?" Ann said. "In due course, I will love him. How's that?"

Hermione dropped her arm over her mother's stomach, yawning at last. "There are dangerous days ahead, Mum. We may not have much time before all of wizarding society starts to come apart. So do be sure to come to love him soon."

Tim Granger had spent all day hiding, pretending to be touring churches in the countryside. Night had fallen, and he was now retracing his tracks, heading back to the hawthorn tree that had sheltered him the night before. In the morning, Hermione's spell would be cast, and Ann would send the school's wizards to find him and bring him back to safety. That had been the plan. It was almost over. All he had to do was survive the night.

He couldn't be sure he'd found the same tree, but Tim was too exhausted to drive any more. He turned in underneath the spreading boughs, tipping his seat back, and checked his watch. It was 1:30am.

The worst thing about these nights spent sleeping in the car in dark lanes was the fear - the vigilance that kept him never quite at rest. The second worst thing was the cold. He didn't know how long he'd been asleep when he woke up shivering, teeth chattering, to turn on the car heater, idling under the tree. When the car was warm, he shut it off.

And then he heard them.

From outside the car came a noise like the claws of a large rodent, or a badger or even a sloth, scraping along the metal bumpers and fenders.

"Is it him?" a manic, jarringly familiar voice that squeaked when it tried to whisper was asking outside his window.

"How should I know?" a man answered, swearing. "He's fogged up the glass with his filthy breath, hasn't he? Can't see a thing."

Tim's heart raced as he feigned sleep. He must not panic. In a moment, he'd bolt upright, turn the key in the ignition, and drive away. They could chase him if they wanted, but he had an escape route and he would use it as soon as he was sure he wouldn't run over the one lying on the ground.

"Wormtail, what are you doing on your belly?" the woman demanded.

There was a hiss of air. "These are the tyres," a high, whining voice explained. "If they're punctured, the car can't move. Sticks him here in place, trapped."

Tim's heart sunk. It was like being stalked by bears, or big cats. He could no longer count on running, only playing dead. The car's doors were locked. But Hermione must have told him about that ruddy door opening spell a hundred times.

He heard it spoken now.

"Alohomora," the witch said.

All four of his car doors flew open at once. Still, he didn't move until a gloved hand gripped his coat and began to pull. He grabbed at the seats of the car, his fingers scrabbling against the fabric, catching nothing but a short, straight twig from the tree, one he'd picked up and passed some time whittling the thorns from earlier in the day. It was clutched in his hand as Corban Yaxley dragged him onto his feet beside the car.

"This is him, isn't it Pettigrew? Take a whiff," the large wizard said.

Tim didn't recognize the wizard Yaxley spoke to, a shaggy, toothy man who appeared to be blowing his nose in a small dark handkerchief. "Let me have him," the man said.

The large wizard stood back, as if both the ratty man and Tim disgusted him and he was eager to get away. The ratty man felt no such aversion. He leaned into Tim's armpit, inhaling hungrily, then switched to sniff at the handkerchief which Tim now recognized as a sock.

"It's him," the ratty man said. "It's the one we've been tracking."

The witch squealed and broke into a spinning jig, sending green fire into the sky from the end of her wand.

The ratty man was leaning into Tim for another sniff, so predatory, so repulsive, Tim acted on his long disused British Army combat training. With his foot, he swept both of the man's legs out from beneath him, knocking him over, and falling on top of him. The ratty man had drawn his wand in defense and Tim was battling him for it beneath their coats, where the other wizards couldn't see.

"What are you doing, Wormtail?" the larger man asked, annoyed.

Tim kicked Wormtail in the stomach as he got to his feet, the wand they'd been fighting over held in his fist, leveled at Corban Yaxley.

Disarmed and breathless, Pettigrew was scuttling backward, retreating behind Yaxleys legs, still seated in the frozen dirt. Bellatrix had stopped celebrating and was ambling over, cackling as if at a terrible joke.

Yaxley groaned in frustration. "What are you going to do with that?" he asked. "Bloody Muggle - give it here."

He took a step toward Tim who waved the wand as menacingly as he could toward Yaxley's face. "Stop right there," Tim said. "Drop your weapons. Both of you."

Bellatrix howled with laughter.

"We will do no such thing," Yaxley answered. "Get up, Wormtail," he said, kicking at the man at his feet. "Your incompetence has given the Muggle delusions of grandeur."

"Do not move!" Tim yelled in his best sargeant's voice.

Wormtail was standing anyway. The wizards were coming together, snickering at the Muggle with the wand.

"Careful, little one," Bellatrix was crooning, mocking.

"Do you have any idea who I am?" Tim went on. "Don't you know why your boss is so desperate to catch me?"

"You're nobody," Yaxley said. "Muggle scum. Fodder for torture."

Tim stood as straight as he could, his fine dentist's hands in perfect control, not shaking at all regardless of his fear. "I am the father of Hermione Granger. Do not act like the name means nothing to you. Do not act like you don't recognize the brightest witch of her age. That's what they call her - "

"Oh, shut up and give us the wand. It's useless in your hands. This is embarrassing - "

"What are the chances," Tim shouted over Yaxley, "that the man who sired the brightest witch of her age is incapable of getting a wand to fire?"

Yaxley took a step closer. "If you had any magical abilities you would have been notified and trained as a child, now give it here - "

"You won't take it," Tim said, slashing the wand through the air in front of himself. "You won't take another step to take it from me because you know I can use it, but you also know I've never been taught. Once it begins, I can't show you any mercy. I don't know how."

Bellatrix forced another laugh, but its hard edge was dulled with something - if not fear, then at least doubt.

"I am going to get back in my car and drive away," Tim said, sidling toward the open door, "and you will not follow me."

"But your tyre," Wormtail said.

"They drive flat," Tim hollered. "Or didn't you know?"

He continued to slide along the side of the car, the wand still pointed at the wizards. He was nearly close enough to slip inside when Yaxley lunged forward, snatching at the wand. Tim let it slip easily out of his grip. Yaxley tossed it to Pettigrew. Reunited with his wand, he turned it lovingly in his hands.

Then he snarled. "It's a stick," Pettigrew swore. "It's a bloody useless stick."

Tim was already in the driver's seat, turning the key, the engine coming to life. The wizards advanced en masse toward him. And in his right hand, out the open door, he sliced through the air with Peter Pettigrew's real wand, short, brittle, and dangerous.

"Get back!" Tim Granger screamed, orange sparks flaring from the end of the wand, bouncing onto the ground as the wizards recoiled, shocked.

"Back!" Tim cried again, flailing upward now, toward the wizards' heads, their arms raised, disbelieving, as sparks singing their clothes. "Back!" he cried one last time, as he stomped on the accelerator and the car limped away.

Tim knew he may not have been making a proper escape, but every moment he fought and fled, he was finding his daughter a little more time.