Hermione huffed as she shoved the bed back into place over her poor attempts at scratched writing on the wooden floorboards. She could already see the light of the sun starting to shine in through the grimy windows and that meant it was time to play 'avoidance'. Which basically meant she would fake sleep until she actually fell asleep, drifting in and out of consciousness, until after dark. Although probably not the best tactic she could use, considering her mind was always running a mile a minute, the brunette had discovered this was the easiest solution to avoiding Dumbledore whenever he came into try to talk to her.

She absolutely refused to talk to him while he had them (well, she assumed Ron and the twins were also in some form of isolated hell but-) locked up like petty criminals.

Not only that but she had a sneaking suspicion that had been steadily growing stronger since day two, that he was trying to form some kind of Stockholm Syndrome bond with her as the only person she was allowed to see during her 'punishment for utter stupidity'. As if any adult in the Wizarding World had the right to call her stupid, not with how their collective mind had their heads shoved up their arses. And then there was Dumbledore, preacher of the 'good', shepherd of the mindless flock she had once been a part of. Not anymore, though. She'd cut herself away from him and slammed the door in his bonding attempt by utterly ignoring any drivel he'd start spouting.

One thing Hermione had never thought she'd be grateful for was getting lost in her own head when processing large loads of information. It was a fantastic way to drone out his incessant attempts of placation, manipulation, and bribery. Honestly, as if she'd give her best friend over to the madman that had stolen him from a vampire coven. It was little wonder Harry's magic would go haywire every year.

With a huff, she turned and snatched up the food that appeared with a small pop, and gobbled it down as quickly as possible without making herself sick. Afterwards, she hopped in bed, throwing the blanket over her face and settled in for the long haul. She absolutely ignored her twisted joy, despair, and frustration when the old man walked in and sat himself down like he owned the place. Technically, it belonged to Harry now, not that Dumbledore had ever mentioned such a thing. She'd had to parse it out from his earlier attempts to speak to her and the common knowledge of Sirius and Harry's relationship. Of course, Professor Lupin's brief mention of Harry as Heir Black (which she hadn't really thought on much at the time even though she should have) helped a lot as well.

And there went his voice, irritatingly buzzing in her ears again. Asking after Harry -as if she'd tell him-, trying to bribe her with more books -oh merlin, how she ached for an intellectual distraction from all the shit she was working through right now-, and, oh that was new, begging for her cooperation in returning their savior -he wasn't theirs and certainly owed nothing to the world that had only used and abused him-.

And then he was finally gone, and the pathetic little girl inside of her cried out for the lack of company but Hermione ruthlessly squashed it. She needed some sleep, at least…

Almost twelve hours later, the brunette witch dragged herself out of bed to sit in front of the plate of dinner on the floor. This time she ate much slower, allowing her groggy mind to wake up, not really processing the slightly burned flavors of the vegetables. Her nightmares had been a wild mix of possessive mine, I miss you and a wand pointed at her face stealing her precious knowledge.

Finally done with her plate, she left it on the floor and stumbled to her feet to drag the bed away from the corner of the room again. Once it was sufficiently removed, she concentrated on her hand willing a bluebell flame to appear. It sputtered a few times before settling and that feeling of pride settled in her chest once more; wandless and wordless. It had taken two days of intense practice after she was stuck the first day not able to go to sleep, her thoughts restlessly circling around and around in a never ending loop. But Hermione was nothing if not determined and with sod all to entertain her mind, she'd gone a little stir crazy. It was a good distraction to keep her from angrily pounding on the door at any rate; one a lot more useful as well.

She let it hover over her shoulder as she settled on the floor, legs crossed and hunched over the bottom of her theory chart. With a rusted nail she had yanked from the bed she focused on continuing her last train of thought.

She had determined, through her mind swap -and it was a swap, she wan't stupid enough to believe he hadn't gotten anything from their little exchange- with the curly headed vampire, that someone -most probably Dumbledore with all the evidence- was messing with her head. The most obvious bits were the blank spots in her memories she knew she shouldn't have. While Hermione did not have eidetic memory she was bloody damned close. In total there was almost an entire year of scattered memories she was missing and all of them pertained to trying to help Harry get away from his relatives or looking for 'forbidden' knowledge. The less obvious bits, were the subtle thought changes at crucial moments that lead into Harry and Ron and her getting into some sort of trouble. Those… were the most insidious honestly. She couldn't even trust her own head anymore. So, she took the avoidance route because the witch was terrified that if she so much as looked at the man she might lose something again.

She sat there all night, working through more and more of her tangled thoughts, reaching dead ends and frustratingly incomplete answers. She didn't even notice the pain in her fingers or back.

Ron breathed in deeply before breathing back out slowly.

Breakfast had been another charred meal that only reminded him of the heavy cost of their excursion. He missed his siblings and his Mom. He'd been assured by Dumbledore that the twins had survived and were still healing but that had been at the cost of several chess games and practically begging to hear something before he threw himself out the window from grief. Then the old bastard finally capitulated. Utter dick.

In the beginning, Ron had taken the time to think about their mistakes, what they could have -should have- done better, and worrying over Harry to avoid thinking about the new lack of females in his immediate family. It hadn't exactly been healthy but it was better than going stir crazy or destroying his room a second time. So, when Dumbledore came on the second day to talk to him it had been a sort of relief. The mess of shattered wood that had been his room was fixed and there was human company he could distract himself with. He wasn't exactly fond or trusting of the man but he was better than nothing.

Until the interrogations started. They were subtle but with all his previous ruminating and the blaring warnings in the back of his mind telling him to watch his words, Ron noticed a pattern start to form. Whenever Dumbledore used the words 'my boy' the redhead felt a stronger need to confess everything, and looking into his eyes was a glaring mistake as well. As a wizard-raised he'd known about legilimens before but he'd never really thought too much on it until the grief that was still particularly poignant was suddenly shoved aside in order to talk about Harry. He hadn't even realized that fact until after the conversation.

The next session Ron was more guarded, focusing on his chess pieces and strategies, weighing Dumbledore's words and double meanings. He wasn't the smartest out there, he couldn't parse out hidden meanings as well as his amazing girlfriend would be able to, but he was good at strategy and he had hours to sit and think of maneuvers.

After a week it was somewhat exhausting to always be focusing on something so intensely, he hadn't done that since the grudge he'd had on Harry in fourth year and even then it wasn't on his mind 24/7. It wouldn't cost him unknown consequences.

The door clicked open and Ron blinked up at the Headmaster, a small smile forming on his face as he greeted him.

Dumbledore returned it pleasantly while he conjured a table with the chess set, the pieces muttering and raring for another fight.

"I believe you're almost done with your Father's punishment, my dear boy. Are you excited to see your family again?"

Oh, right. Dumbledore still expected him to believe his dad would be cruel enough to punish his kids with the isolation. Yea. No. Good try old man but still not working.

"Y-yea," Ron hummed. "I think I want to see Fred and George first. Y-ou did say they were doing okay, right?"

Dumbledore smiled genially and the redhead focused on how one curve of the lip went up higher than the higher. A fairly noticeable smirk, really. Or was he just reading too much into it?

"Oh, yes. Yes. I dare say both of them should be up and running around pranking like normal in no time."

He highly doubted that. Even Ron could see how devastated Fred had been at almost losing his twin. Maybe that twinkle that would always appear in the old man's eyes was actually a sign of madness? Hm, possible.

"That's good to hear," he sighed. "What about Hermione?"

Because the last time he'd asked, Dumbledore practically waxed poetic about how concerned he was for the poor dear. It was particularly worrying that she refused to so much as look at the Headmaster, sleeping all day instead just to avoid him. What was she thinking? What had her brilliant mind cooked up? Was she feeling as trapped as he was? Merlin, he just wanted to hold her in his arms again just for the comfort of human touch. Like hell would he try to get his fix of contact from the old man.

"Ah." The Headmaster's shoulders drooped, mouth moulding into a soft frown. "Still sleeping, I'm afraid. I'm particularly worried about what happened between her and the vampire but until she comes to me there is not much I can do for her I'm afraid."

Ah. Another of his mistakes when dealing with the man. In the beginning he had probably said more than he should have, telling a summary of what they had done just for the relief of getting it off his chest. Of course, that was also after a 'my dear boy' comment which Ron had berated himself over several times. He really needed to know how to word warfare better and faster than he currently was but as he could count it a win as long as no new information spilled from his lips.

"So, what's going to happen then? Can I see her when I get out? After my brothers?"

"See her? My dear boy, she could be compromised and until I can ascertain she is not a threat to the Order she must stay away from important information."

Ron almost choked at how blunt he was. But then the information actually processed. He wasn't going to let her out? He was just going to leave her to rot until she did what he said?

Fuck no. Not if Ron had anything to say about it. More things to strategize in his plentiful spare time.

Remus watched his leader settle down in the living room, the new meeting room since Arthur couldn't stand to enter the kitchen anymore, with a forlorn sigh. The werewolf couldn't help but purse his lips as the undercurrent of something rotten settled in his wake. It was quite distracting, not something he'd noticed before recently as the stench only grew stronger. Unfortunately, he'd yet to figure out exactly what it meant.

"How are the kids," Arthur croaked, looking up from his hands with a bleary gaze. Remus swallowed harshly, avoiding the man's gaze. His guilt weighed heavily on his shoulders and it had kept him from talking to the single father. Remus knew he should, it was his fault that he didn't leave immediately, that he couldn't protect Molly, but every time he even made a move to talk, his heart and stomach shriveled up into his throat.

"Ron is doing quite well. He asks after his brothers constantly and has not had a rage episode since the first one. He should be let out in a few days, give him just a little more time to grieve. As for Hermione… something's very wrong with the girl. I have yet to ascertain whether it is just grief or if the vampire's were able to somehow influence her, but either way I do not think her ready to be among us. There is too much at stake now that any information ending up in the wrong hands could be extremely dangerous."

Remus quite agreed that she shouldn't be allowed around important information but… did that mean she had to be so very alone? He could keep her company, at least. Being on one's own was never easy after all. But he could not force the offer past his lips, just like most things he'd tried to say recently. What if he made the wrong choice again, after all.

"Remus." The werewolf blinked up at his leader on the musty couch across from him, not realizing he'd looked down at his feet. "I've looked into quite a few avenues and I might have possibly found a way but… it would require you to appeal to the local Vampire King."

For a moment, he almost thought he'd heard wrong but the Order's leader was looking straight at him with a particularly solemn expression. That… there was no way he'd be able to walk in there and not be ripped to shreds!

"If we are to have any chance of getting Harry back we must have the backing of their court in the search. You are the only contact in the community that I can trust to accomplish this."

Oh. Of course. He had to go for Harry. He couldn't leave the only one of his pack left in the hands of some rogue vampires. They'd never be able to care for him when he inevitably gets sick again.

"Of course, Headmaster."

He received a pleased smile in response.

Voldemort impatiently tapped his long nails on the arm of his throne to the side of a bone white wand. Just as always his followers were droning their completions or failures (upon which he meted out appropriate punishment, of course) of their given tasks. It wasn't enough to distract him from his thoughts about last night, unfortunately. Through the link he somehow shared with the boy, Lord Voldemort had almost been awash within a swirling release of negative emotions strong enough to put the Dark Lord on the floor. For many hours afterwards, the fine tremors in his hands wouldn't stop no matter how much he dug through and compartmentalized all the information he had received.

And, lo, what a treasure he had been gifted!

Years of abuse and neglect, memories wiped, and actions manipulated. Harry Potter was ripe for a turning and if he could convince the boy to join his cause, Britain would fall within a week. The Ministry was already overtaken, most employees left not in his ranks had submitted and sworn oaths of secrecy. Hogwarts would be easy to take since he knew exactly where the outer ward anchors were located and children made wonderful hostages (even if he'd have to be careful to bring his less unhinged followers to avoid unnecessary death).

All Lord Voldemort had to do… was find the boy. Which was apparently much harder than it looked. After the emotional blast the mental door had been slammed shut and was held that way by something other than Potter himself. He could tear it down but a full assault would take too much energy, and though he was slowly working on it, it was taking too long to do it the safer way. He could not risk the Order finding and leashing Potter again, not when he was so delightfully rife with such darkness.

"We've been in contact with the courts, my lord. Though, they seemed to be quite reticent; the request has gone through. An audience has been granted for two weeks time with King Havardr at midnight."

Lord Voldemort returned his attention to the quivering peon in front of him.

"Crucio."

He kept it up, the screaming doing nothing good for his introspective mood, for only three seconds before releasing it, slowly lowering his wand back onto the armrest. Though technically completed, he did not have time to wait two weeks for a lead that could possibly lead him nowhere.

"Did I not tell you time was of the essence?"

"Y-Yes, My Lord." The man said nothing else and Voldemort twitched. With a horribly covered squeak the Death Eater fell back into line.

Honestly, if there was enough time in the day, he would do everything himself for how incompetent they all could be most times.

"Lucius, you best have good news," he hissed, turning to the next report.

"Of course, My Lord," the blond murmured. "The contacts my son made in Durmstrang will be here within the week to take the mark and my wife has managed to turn quite a few healers to our cause. They can also be here within the week."

Finally, some worthy news. Malfoy's pathetically sniveling son had failed his first task, almost losing him his Potions Master through an idiotic unbreakable vow. So he had reassigned them both to Durmstrang, out of sight but still useful. Narcissa, for her mistake, had also been assigned to recruiting but much closer to home and with far more consequences should she fail. He would not suffer such crucial mistakes again or he would be leaving her in her dear sister's care for a while. He could not afford the loss of any magical healer he could get his claws into.

Healers swore an oath of neutrality but were required by law to turn in any criminals they healed. There were already a few crooked ones, willing to take bribes to not report anything, but it was not near enough for what he would need in the future. He was not a stupid man and he had noticed that Dumbledore's hypocritical 'second chance' that he preached to his followers had been rescinded recently. If this was going to turn into a bloodbath, he would have St. Mungo's, with the rest of the healers put out of commission until the war ended. The less magical blood spilt the better.

AN: As always, I would love to hear from you guys in a review!