Chapter 51 – The Opening Sally

The following morning, Harry and Hermione were released from the hospital early in the morning, Harry receiving the matron's expected direction to try to stay out of trouble for once while Hermione was admonished to continue taking her potions regimen for the next week, and to return immediately if she was feeling unwell. Harry merely grinned at the elderly matron, thanked her for her care and concern, and led Hermione from the hospital wing.

They walked down toward the Great Hall hand in hand, and as Hermione was apparently content to retain the comfortable silence between the two friends, Harry reflected upon the past day. A night of sleep and the fact that his best friend had emerged from the ordeal intact—though not unscathed—lent a certain perspective to the situation in Harry's mind. The actions of one little ferret were still repugnant, and still would be even if someone other than Hermione had been targeted for his vile acts. Until the previous day their problems with Malfoy had still seemed like schoolboy rivalries to a certain extent. Now they were very real and very dangerous. It was made even more so with the revealed actions of Malfoy senior in the background. Harry had no doubt that had this incident never happened, that Malfoy was still on the path to emulate his father—he had undoubtedly gone much too far for redemption, even should the boy even want such a thing. Harry was certain he did not, and would never desire it; he would have to feel remorse and would have to understand that his beliefs and his father were wrong. The idea that Malfoy would admit that he was wrong was laughable.

The light of the bright morning sun had certainly not changed Harry's resolution from the previous night. He would do whatever it took to keep both girls safe—and indeed his resolve extended to all of his friends—no matter what the cost. At present he did not know how he would accomplish it, especially with the specter of the horcrux hanging over his head like an axe waiting to fall. He only knew that no sacrifice was too great, even if his life if it came to that. He had avoided thinking about the matter for the past several months, but there was no guarantee that a solution to his horcrux problem would be found, and if it could not be, then he would accept the inevitable and make sure that Voldemort was to be defeated before he himself met his fate.

He would need to be careful to keep any suggestion of such thoughts away from Hermione and Fleur in particular, but also especially from his other friends, and Sirius and the Delacours, not to mention Dumbledore. None of them would appreciate him harboring such thoughts.

But Harry fancied that being under such a death sentence gave him a perspective that the others could not truly understand. And it was this perspective that filled him with the determination that should he be required to die, that he would make certain that his death meant something.

When they entered the Great Hall, he and Hermione were surprised when their friends at the Gryffindor table welcomed them with cheers and applause, not to mention whistles and catcalls, courtesy of the Weasley twins. With some embarrassment at the display, they sat amongst their friends, which also included Luna from the Ravenclaw table, Susan from Hufflepuff, and Tracey and Daphne from Slytherin. It did not escape his notice that the rest of the students watched their entrance with interest, and that the whispered conversations were rampant. Clearly the events of the previous day had not, as yet, been fully been explained to the student body as a whole

It was Fleur who approached them first, with a hug for Hermione, and kiss on Harry's cheek. "Welcome back," she whispered to both of them.

Harry returned her kiss with a fervent one of his own, reveling in the closeness he was coming to share with the blonde girl, reflecting that he was lucky to have two such wonderful women in his life.

"We've got hand it to you, Harry," one of the twins said when they had taken their seats, "you've really got the market cornered when it comes to rescuing damsels."

"Maybe you should start a business," chimed in the other. "You could call it call it Harry's Rescue Service."

"Potter's Recovery Rangers?"

"No Creature's Too Big Inc."

"Ferret to Basilisk and Everything in Between: Pest Control for All Occasions."

"Either way, I bet you'd make a killing."

"Not helping," Harry replied in warning tone.

"Methinks he doesn't know us, brother."

"Especially if he thinks that we were actually trying to help."

A round of laughter spread through their friends, but soon the discussion turned much more serious. Daphne turned an exasperated eye on the twins, who immediately quieted—though their irrepressible grins did not fade a jot—and then she turned back to Hermione.

"You're okay, Hermione?"

"Other than those foul potions Madam Pomfrey insists I take, I'd say I'm recovered."

"Good. I only wish there was a way we could show you to Malfoy before they take him away this morning. It would serve the git right to see you returned to health while he's got a date with the Dementors."

"And really piss him off!" Ron burst in with a chortle.

This time, there were more grim looks than laughs, part, Harry thought, of this indefinable change which had settled over them all. They had all been altered by these events, and had grown into perhaps more responsible and determined individuals. They were becoming warriors, if such a term may be used for those so young and still truly inexperienced. Harry had no doubt that the coming conflict would see them all gain that experience, and likely far sooner than any of them would have wished.

"Thank you all for your help yesterday," Hermione was saying. "Without you all, I might not have made it."

"Hey, Hermione," Ron replied, "what are friends for? You just make sure that the next time one of those gits tries anything, that you hand their arse back to them in a sling."

Hermione smiled at him. "I'll keep that in mind, Ronald."

"You know, I can't help but think that maybe I'm a little to blame too," Daphne said into the ensuing silence.

"Unless you Imperiused Malfoy into attacking Hermione, I hardly think you can be blamed," Ron replied. Despite the serious nature of the conversation, there were a few grins at the sight of Ron actually defending a Slytherin.

Daphne sighed. "I don't really think it was my fault. It's just that I should have seen what was coming. On Saturday night, Malfoy was pretty blatant. He told me that I had better be prepared because he was coming after me next."

"Sounds like Malfoy's typical brand of bravado," Harry stated.

"Yes, but he's been acting at least a little more Slytherin since winter break. I should have warned you all. I should have figured out that he was trying to deflect me in another direction from what he was really trying to do."

"You don't know that, Daphne," Tracey interrupted in her usual blunt manner. "It's equally possible that he was just being the same old Malfoy. If he had really wanted to distract our attention, I think he would have said or done something in front of us all."

A chorus of agreement met Tracey's words, and Harry, agreeing with his friends' sentiments, reached across the table and grasped her hand, squeezing it in a comforting gesture. "Now is not the time for thinking about what might have been. If you think about it, I'm far more to blame for allowing Hermione to go off by herself."

"Don't blame yourself, Harry," Hermione insisted. "He turned out to be a little sneakier than we gave him credit for."

"But that's my point. If I'm not to blame for what happened, then Daphne certainly shouldn't blame herself."

Daphne gazed at Harry for several moments, a half smile on her face, before she responded. "You're a good man, Harry Potter."

The discussion became a little more typical for breakfast in the Great Hall after that, and Harry, though he participated by saying the appropriate words when necessary, was also left with some time for his own thoughts. And perhaps unsurprisingly, his thoughts centered on a certain dark haired and very attractive Slytherin of his acquaintance.

Ever since their conversation on the Hogwarts Express when they were returning after the Yule celebration, Harry had watched the other girl closely. It appeared like she had given up on any thought of making an alliance with him by means of a betrothal contract, and for that he was grateful. She seemed to understand now that she was his friend, and as such was trusted and valued as an ally. A betrothal agreement was not necessary in Harry's mind—Harry Potter took care of his friends, and a piece of paper enforcing that fact was simply unnecessary.

What he was not certain of was just exactly what the girl felt for him now. He was well aware of the fact that she was at least interested, and he had not forgotten of his promise to revisit her potential interest at a later date. He also did not know how he felt about her. She was intelligent, beautiful, and truly a good person, and Harry was well aware of the fact that she was very desirable as a potential marriage partner.

But Harry already had two women he felt would end up as wives—Fleur for certain, due to the marriage contract, but also to his rapidly deepening feelings for her, and Hermione who, while they were still young, fit together with him as though they had been created for each other. Did he really want to dilute his attentions to the two extremely important women in his life in order to focus on another one? And would Daphne be content to be one of three, rather than the sole focus of his attention?

Harry had no answers. And though he knew that there was still plenty of time to determine those answers, it was still on his mind. Maybe he was too concerned about the future. The present was, after all, filled with uncertainty and this did not even take into account the Horcrux, the existence of which continued to cast doubt on his very future—and was, in fact, the very subject he had just ruminated on while making his way to the Great Hall.

It was then that Harry felt a little disgusted with himself; now was not the time to consider romantic attachments. After Voldemort and the Horcrux were both sorted out he could worry about such things, but until then he would focus on what was important.

Near the end of the normal time for breakfast, Dumbledore stood and called out for the attention of the students. It quickly became clear that he wished to address the rumors which ran rampant throughout the school about exactly what had happened the previous day, as he quickly launched into an explanation. He covered the topic in a vague manner, focusing on the fact that Malfoy had been thwarted by the combined efforts of Hermione's friends, and that he was to be taken to the Ministry and would be facing charges. And though Dumbledore did not address the fact that one of the charges the little git would face was the use of an unforgiveable—which carried an automatic life term in Azkaban—he still made it clear that Malfoy would not be returning to the school. At the same time, he also announced the fates of Crabbe and Goyle, saying only that their expulsion was a result of their own actions in attacking another student in the halls. If it had not been clear before that such behavior would not be tolerated, it certainly was now—anyone else who acted in the same manner would face the same punishment.

While there were no outright cheers at the announcement that Malfoy would not be returning to Hogwarts, it was obvious from the relief on most faces that he would not be missed by the vast majority of the students. Only a few Slytherins showed any sort of chagrin at the fact that the leader of their bigotry would no longer be present to carry their standard. Of course it was the ever-faithful Pansy who seemed most upset, and the glare she shot at Harry's section of the Gryffindor table was positively poisonous. For the rest of the students… well it was very evident that Malfoy was one of the most hated students to have passed through the halls of Hogwarts in many years.

It was after breakfast was largely finished when the Headmaster approached Harry and gestured for him to follow, while directing a smile at his friends. "I need to borrow Mr. Potter for a few moments. Do not worry—I shall return him to you in time for your first class."

Agreeing, Harry squeezed the hands if both of his girls before turning and following the Headmaster. They did not go far—only to a nearby anteroom, which had the distinction of being empty, before Dumbledore turned and faced him. Harry could immediately see that whatever he wished to discuss, it was something serious.

"I took the opportunity to visit with Mr. Malfoy again this morning, Harry," Dumbledore began without preamble. "And I have discovered something of a potentially serious nature. It seems as though Mr. Malfoy expects a major attack by Voldemort's forces to occur shortly."

Harry was more than a little skeptical. "What would Malfoy know about it?"

"Unfortunately, not much, though I would have expected him to possess little actual knowledge. He did not know the target or the timetable, but as his information is corroborated by Professor Snape, I believe we must take it seriously."

That got Harry's attention. "Professor Snape knows something is about to happen?"

"Again, nothing specific. Last night Professor Snape was called to Voldemort's side, and he reported that though the Dark Lord's lair is usually fairly quiet, last night it was a hive of activity. Voldemort did not confide in Professor Snape, but he was asking questions concerning my whereabouts and my routine for the next few days. It all points to an imminent attack."

Harry sat back in his chair, one thought echoing in his head. "So it begins." But now was not the time to feel pity, or wish that it had all been different. Obviously Dumbledore had a reason to bring this up.

"I have informed Madam Bones of my suspicions and she is preparing the Ministry's forces, though they have actually been preparing for some time, as we knew that Voldemort would not allow the execution of his inner circle members to pass without responding."

"Why are you telling me?"

"Because I want your Defense Club to be ready for anything."

Though he had perhaps not expected this, Harry was not fazed by Dumbledore's words. "What about the teachers?"

"They will, of course, be in charge of the school when I am required elsewhere. However, I would like for your Defense Club to handle the patrolling of the school should it be required."

Dumbledore paused for a moment and he fixed Harry with a stern gaze. "Harry, let me be blunt. I am concerned that Voldemort's plan is nothing more than a ruse to draw me from Hogwarts. He may attempt to take over the castle while my attention is fixed elsewhere."

"Can he get past the wards?"

"The wards are strong, but not infallible. Our best defense is vigilance, and that is why I have asked for your help.

"Normally I would ask Professor McGonagall to have the prefects patrol the halls as we did at times during the first war, but I am afraid that we cannot know who might be a Voldemort supporter. From what I see of the Defense Club, the members are personally loyal to you. I believe that we are better to put our trust in your club."

"To me?" Harry asked, surprised at such a suggestion.

"Indeed," Dumbledore replied with a hint of a smile. "You are an exceptional leader, Harry—do not sell yourself short. I suspect you will have ample warning should Voldemort try to gain access through the wards. What I want from you and the club is for you to thwart any other methods of the Death Eaters gaining access to the castle, most likely through the help of those inside."

"Do you think they can?"

"I hope not. But I am not infallible, and it's possible that I may have missed something. With your members patrolling, we should be able to foil any attempts before they get started."

Again, Harry was somewhat surprised that Dumbledore was willing to trust him, considering the fact that they were all still schoolchildren. Still, he supposed that short of stationing a platoon of Aurors at the school—which might not be a bad idea should the situation deteriorate—the Defense Club was the best option Dumbledore had. It also did not escape his attention that only the week before, Daphne had suggested the change to the Defense Association, and a more structured, militaristic organization. It would assist them in the event that their assistance was required as the Headmaster was requesting.

"We can handle the patrols, sir," Harry replied. "Fleur, Hermione and I can set up a kind of a headquarters in the Great Hall and work with Professor McGonagall, and we can set up a duty patrol of the castle. Last week we decided to change it up a bit. We've now got a basic command structure, with several troops, each with leaders and assistants, and everything. We should also keep an eye on other important locations—watch the entrances to the passages, station watchers on some of the towers. Stuff like that."

Dumbledore nodded with approval. "That is exactly what I was hoping for, Harry. I will allow you to work out the details with your friends. I might also advise that you devise some way to communicate with each other."

This was a very good idea, Harry thought, and he was certain that if Fleur and Hermione put their heads together, they could come up with something which would serve admirably in very little time.

"We'll do that."

"Very well. I believe it is now time for you to return to your friends and attend your first class today."

They parted at that point, Harry headed straight toward the History classroom, which was to be his first class of the day. Along the way, his head was filled with thoughts and plans, ideas and bits of inspiration, all clamoring for attention in his head. This was something they could accomplish, a way to make a difference if only in a small way, and Harry was determined to justify the Headmaster's faith in him.

In the Great Hall, the friends continued to converse for the few minutes before classes were due to start. The conversation was desultory, and not of any great depth, but for Hermione, being returned to the bosom of her friends was a ray of sunshine after a dark night. And the night had indeed been dark, and Hermione knew that to a certain extent, the horror of the previous day would stay with her for the rest of her life.

Physically, Hermione was mostly recovered, with just the aches and minor pains still left over to remind her of what had occurred. Madam Pomfrey had assured her that there would not even be much in the way of scarring left, so effective had Professor Snape's counter-curse been.

Mentally, however, the true effects of the incident were still to be known, Hermione was certain. The previous night she had slept well, but that was because of the dreamless sleep potion which Madam Pomfrey had insisted she take, for which Hermione was grateful. Hermione was not certain that the following nights would be free of night terrors—in fact, she was almost certain that she would hear Malfoy's words, hear his disgusting promises, and feel again the pain of the curse which had almost taken her life, over and over again in the coming weeks and months.

The physical pain and the violent attack, while disturbing, were not the worst, however. The worst were the vile things that Malfoy had said to her, the promises of what her fate would have been had he been successful in spiriting her away. Given some of the things which had been revealed during the Death Eater trials—and more specifically by the cretin's father!—Malfoy's words had created a vivid picture in Hermione's mind as to the horrors which would have been inflicted upon her by those animals. Hermione was well aware of the clarity and vividness of her imagination. The words and the images had combined to make an almost nausea inducing picture of what awaited her should she ever be captured and actually taken to Voldemort. Better she died before that happened.

In order to combat such night terrors, Hermione attempted to put up a front of health and unconcern, and to a certain extent, she thought she was successful. Her friends were perhaps a trifle more sympathetic toward her, and were perhaps extra caring in the way they tried to comfort her, but she witnessed no overt worried looks or expressions of concern, though she was certain that they were watching her a little more closely than normal. And as long as she concentrated on what was happening at the time, or the conversation of her friends, she was fine. It was the night she was dreading.

The other change was the way Harry had treated her that morning, or at least until he had been called away by Dumbledore. He had not been shy in his demonstrations of affection, and had been extra solicitous, offering to prepare a plate of breakfast for her, making certain she was comfortable in her seat, and helping her to rise or sit when needed. If there had still be any doubt as to whether she was involved with Harry in a romantic sense, his behavior that morning would have dispelled it completely.

Harry had saved her twice now—three times if she counted his Patronus driving away the Dementors in their third year. And though Hermione fancied herself intelligent and emotionally mature enough to have feelings for him based on something other than the way he had acted to save her, she could not deny the fact that this incident had served to expand her feelings for her friend to an even deeper level than they had inhabited before. Simply put, Hermione was well aware that she was head over heels now for her friend, if she had not already been before.

The unknown factor in all of this was Fleur.

That was not to say that Fleur had behaved any differently than she had previously—she was still the same contented, genuine individual she had been as long as Hermione had actually known her. It was more the subtle things that perhaps no one who was not as close to her as Hermione had become would have noticed. The previous night while she had visited with her parents, Hermione had watched Fleur and Harry as they interacted together, and what she had seen had caused a little concern. Hermione had caught Fleur with a bit of a wistful smile on occasion, while at times she thought that she had detected a hint of sadness in Fleur's manner. These were things that she had rarely seen in Fleur over the past several months, or even really since she had known the girl well since the previous summer.

After Hermione's parents had departed and Harry had left them alone for a moment to prepare for bed, Hermione had taken the opportunity to subtly prod Fleur about her behavior. But the French witch had claimed that nothing was the matter, and that she was as contented as ever. She had specifically and with much passion declared how thankful she was that Harry had managed to intercede before Malfoy had been able to escape with her, and in that Hermione knew Fleur was genuinely happy. Whatever it was that was causing Fleur to be a little melancholy, the other girl would neither acknowledge, nor be explicit. Hermione was determined to find out what it was and to help her closest female friend through whatever was bothering her.

Harry's departure with Dumbledore was the perfect opportunity, as Hermione knew that she could not really have a conversation such as the one she was contemplating with Harry present. He would immediately latch onto it and blame himself for whatever was bothering Fleur, noble as he was.

When they left Gryffindor table and made their way from the Great Hall, Hermione made certain that she walked next to Fleur, as they made their way toward their first classes—Hermione to History, and Fleur to the Transfiguration corridor. Seeing that no one was close enough to overhear their conversation, Hermione began, hoping to coax Fleur into revealing the source of her upset.

"I think we have to be the two luckiest witches in existence," she began.

Fleur, who had apparently been deep in thought, started and looked over at Hermione. A moment later she caught on to what Hermione had said and smiled. "Harry is everything any girl could ever want. Yes, I do think we're lucky."

"I want to thank you for offering this chance," Hermione continued, glancing at her companion. "I knew what I felt for Harry, of course, but I never would have acted on it. I'd never have found something so wonderful in another boy if not for you."

Fleur paused very briefly—which in itself spoke volumes—before she smiled at Hermione. "I knew the feelings you had for each other; they were clear to any Veela paying attention. I'm glad you've joined us, Hermione. Harry deserves whatever happiness we can give him, and I'm glad that I have someone like you to help me make him happy."

"Are you sure there are no other marriage contracts out there?" Hermione asked playfully.

A theatrical shudder met Hermione's question. "No, I'm certain that Papa and Sirius checked to make certain there were no others. Another one could muddy the waters significantly, and I know they wanted to avoid that."

"That's a good thing," Hermione replied. "I'd hate to have to share him with someone like… Cho Chang."

Fleur turned a curious eye on Hermione. "Do you have something against Cho?"

"Not really," said Hermione with a shake of her head. "But she's always seemed a bit… I don't know. Needy perhaps? I'm not sure I can put it into words. Anyway, she just popped into my head as an example."

"Better her than Bulstrode."

This time it was Hermione who shuddered. "Don't even suggest such a thing."

A tinkle of laughter met Hermione's words, and she quickly joined in with her friend. Whatever Fleur was being bothered by, she did appear to be in better spirits now than she had been before. Now did not appear to be the time to press her on the subject, as she did not wish to ruin Fleur's good mood. And if her sadness was gone altogether, then so much the better. Conversely, if she did show signs of melancholy later, Hermione could take steps then to find out what was bothering her and to cheer her up.

Satisfied with her efforts for the time being, and having arrived at the location where they would have to part to get to their separate classes, Hermione reached out and grasped Fleur's hand, squeezing it once in farewell and turned to depart.

"One moment please, oh fair maidens."

Hermione and Fleur turned as one to see their friends approaching from where they had been following behind. In the lead were the Weasley siblings, though some members of the Gryffindor Quidditch team were also present, as well as Luna, Neville and many of their other friends.

"Please allow us to escort you to our next class," one of the twins said to Fleur, offering his arm to her.

Ron approached Hermione and performed the same function as his older brother had provided to Fleur. Within moments, Hermione found herself in the company of her friends, walking through the corridors toward the History classroom. She felt almost like she was being escorted by a cadre of bodyguards, as her friends were now almost surrounding her and Ron as they walked.

Turning a suspicious eye on Ron, Hermione said, "So what's all this about?"

"What's what about?" Ron tried innocently. She made him aware that she was not fooled in the slightest by virtue of the less than amused glare she directed at him. "I think you'd best allow us to take care of you, Hermione," Ron replied without a hint of a smile.

"I think I can take care of myself, Ron," Hermione replied, before she blushed as the memory of the previous day once again intruded on her mind.

"No doubt you can," Ron replied, eschewing any mention of those events. "But me and the rest of our friends talked about this. You and Fleur are now bigger targets because of your relationships with Harry, and we're not about to let anything happen to you again."

Startled, Hermione peered around at the other members of the group. Other than Neville, Daphne and Tracey walked with them, as well as Susan, Hannah, Parvati, Padma, and most of the rest of their year mates. It was clear that this was not only a show of solidarity of their close friends, but also of the entirety of the club.

Hermione turned her attention back to Ron, who was now grinning at her, no doubt emboldened by the fact that he was backed up by just about every member of their year. "So Fleur and I are both going to get this treatment?"

"Well, perhaps not precisely the same treatment," Susan piped up. "There are a lot more fifth year members of the club than seventh year members. But yes—you will both have escorts from now on. It's the least we can do after what Harry has done to teach us, and what you and Fleur have done to assist him in preparation."

"Besides the fact that you both make him happy," Daphne added.

Hermione shared a long look with the Slytherin, and at the end of it she nodded once in the other girl's direction. Hermione was not unaware of the interest the Slytherin girl had shown in Harry, but it seemed that in this matter, friendship and mutual support were more important than any budding interest.

"I suppose I'll just have to get used to it then," Hermione replied.

In truth, she was not displeased with their presumption. It had been proven to them all just what a determined enemy could do given the opportunity. Hermione was not about to resist such a gesture based on nothing more than pride, or a belief in her own competence. She knew she was competent—she did not need to prove it to anyone else.

"But that goes for all the rest of you too," Hermione continued sternly. "If Malfoy can trick us all and come after me, then any one of you could also be targeted. We all need to make sure we keep to the company of friends and not get caught alone and unaware."

And so the pact was agreed upon, and her friends all promised that from now on, no one would walk the halls of Hogwarts alone. Hermione could not help but think that they had just taken a significant stride forward that day, and they would all be safer because of it. Just let Nott or Parkinson, or any other Voldemort supporter try to catch them unaware!

In another part of the castle, there was a certain Voldemort supporter who longed to catch Hermione Granger and all of her friends unaware. The fact that he had failed once already quite escaped the boy's notice, so consumed was he by the thought of wreaking bloody vengeance on the lot of them.

To put it mildly, Draco Malfoy was incensed. Not only had his plan been foiled by the untimely arrival of that jumped-up Halfblood, but Draco was required to put up with these unsuitable accommodations. With distaste, Draco peered around the dim confines of the cell he had inhabited since the previous day. Who even knew that Hogwarts had cells? Draco would have thought that the cells would have disappeared long ago in light of the fact that the world was now more civilized than it had been.

"Civilized!" thought Draco with utter contempt. As if Dumbledore and the others could claim even the slightest jot of civilization, with their embrace of Mudbloods, creatures, and other filth. Draco had wished that he had a wand available when the old fool of a Muggle lover had shown up twice to talk to him—Dumbledore deserved nothing but his contempt.

But the worst was Potter. Though his line had been polluted with his father's unfortunate decision to marry that Mudblood, his was still a long and distinguished line. And yet he had rebuffed Draco's efforts to show him the correct path. Perhaps the Dark Lord might have been induced to forgive the Halfblood the actions of his parents, if only he had chosen the proper path. Of course he would always be inferior, given half of his heritage, but at least he could have been respectable, with Draco's guidance. It was now all just dust in the wind—Potter must die, as must all who opposed the Dark Lord.

And how had he managed to thwart Draco's carefully thought out and executed plan? Once the Mudblood had been induced to leave her friends, his success should have been assured, even if the ruse had been discovered. How had Potter known where to go? It almost seemed like he had known in advance, but if he had, then why had he allowed Granger to leave the hall to be captured? It made no sense whatsoever.

It was a conundrum that Draco could not solve, no matter how he worried at it. Perhaps it did not matter—it was not as though Draco would have another chance at the Mudblood after all. At least not for some time.

But there would come another time, Draco coldly assured himself. The Mudblood would pay. For now, he would have to submit to the Ministry, though it galled him to have to submit to anything. Eventually, however, the Dark Lord would ensure his release and Draco would become his right-hand man. The world would learn to fear his name.

The lock in the door suddenly turned and the door opened, much to Draco's surprise. He rose and scowled as his head of house entered the room. Former head of house, he supposed, as the old Muggle lover would almost certainly expel him now.

"Draco," Snape greeted. His voice and his manner were as cold as Draco had ever seen from him, and that was saying something—the man had never been known to be even remotely friendly, even to the members of his own house.

"What do you want?" Draco demanded.

"Charming to the last, Mr. Malfoy," Snape replied, a faint but still frigid smile coloring his face. "I have come to speak to you before you are removed from these premises."

"I don't want to talk to you," Draco replied, attempting to keep the sullen note from his voice. Given the sneer the potions master favored him with, he had not been successful. "Shouldn't you be cozying up to Dumbledore or something?"

"I suggest you worry about your own situation, Mr. Malfoy, and allow me to concern myself with my own affairs."

"What do you want?"

"Only to remind you of what you should already know," Snape replied. "That was a very foolish thing you did. Now the Dark Lord has lost three assets at Hogwarts which will almost certainly affect his plans."

"Three assets?" Draco asked, confused.

"Yes." Snape sneered at him, and leaned against the wall, arrogance alive in his very posture. "Once Potter learned of your abduction of Granger, he went haring through the halls to find her, when Crabbe and Goyle ambushed him. They are both buffoons, so Potter made short work of them, but since Dumbledore made it clear that attacks on other students would no longer be tolerated, he expelled them. They were removed from the school yesterday."

"Idiots," Draco mumbled under his breath.

"Indeed."

The potions master said nothing further, and if Draco had not known better, he might have thought that he had included Draco in with the 'idiots' by the tone of his last statement. Draco peered at the potions master, wondering exactly what his game was. "What I did was commanded by the Dark Lord. Would you have me refuse him?"

"Of course not," Snape replied with more than a little impatience "However, I would expect you to carry out your instructions with competence and ensure your success!"

"It would have been at least partially successful if you'd let the bitch die!" Draco protested hotly.

"So that Dumbledore could discover my true allegiance?" Snape replied, the scathing tone in his voice seeming to almost flay Draco where he stood. "Then I would become as useless to the Dark Lord as you have. I had no choice but to save her, you fool!"

Chagrinned, Draco glanced down at the floor, though internally he was seething at being dressed down by one who was, after all, his inferior. "I have no idea how Potter managed to find us. He shouldn't have known where to look for us, even if he did discover the ruse with the polyjuice."

"Let that be your first lesson," Snape instructed. "Never underestimate your enemy."

"Potter is nothing but a glorified Halfblood."

"And if you continue to think that way he will continue to best you."

Draco glared at Snape, but the potions master merely returned his stare, not giving an inch. "Do you think the Dark Lord underestimates Dumbledore?" Snape asked quietly. "Watch the Dark Lord and attempt to learn from him. If you do not, you will never be successful in his eyes. The Dark Lord can be patient, but he does not accept repeated failure. He also does not suffer fools lightly."

Draco looked up sharply at Snape, wondering if he had understood him correctly. Snape sneered and nodded. "Yes, you are correct. The Dark Lord has asked me to tell you that he will extricate you from your current predicament. But you must not expect him to act soon; I rather suspect he will allow you to suffer for a while so that you may consider your incompetence."

With that, Snape—ignoring Draco's anger—turned and sauntered from the cell, closing the door and locking it as he left. And Draco was indeed left to stew in his own thoughts. Unfortunately—or fortunately, depending on how one looked at it—he was not left alone for long.

The door once again opened and Dumbledore entered with his typical lurid robes, but this time he was followed by a pair of grim-faced Aurors. Draco decided to stay silent—there was nothing to be gained by speaking, and the old fool would not listen to him anyway.

"Up on your feet, Mr. Malfoy," the Headmaster said. Draco could detect a hint of regret in the man's tone, but he ignored it as not worth his notice. "You will be accompanying these Aurors to the Ministry today, to begin to answer for the things you have done."

Again Draco chose to ignore the elderly man. The Aurors stepped forward, one grasping his hands, and the other fitting him with a pair of magic suppressing cuffs. Draco peered at the two men with contempt, making sure to memorize their features. They would pay for this indignity.

"Very well," Dumbledore said when they had finished. "He is all yours.

"I hope, Mr. Malfoy," Dumbledore continued, turning to face him, "that you take the time you will undoubtedly have at your disposal to think about your actions and atone, if only for your own peace of mind."

"Your time will come, old man," Draco snarled, completely forgetting his determination to avoid speaking.

"I am certain it will," Dumbledore agreed affably. "But neither you nor I know when that time will be, so I believe I shall be content to wait patiently for it."

With a final nod at the two Aurors, Dumbledore departed from the cell. The Aurors turned to follow, prodding Draco as they moved. They were not unkind or rough, but Draco still found himself enraged at the fact that they had dared to touch him at all.

"Come on, son," one of them stated as he led the way out the door. "We don't have all day."

"I'm not your son," Draco said haughtily. "I could not imagine being descended from such common stock as you."

The Auror—a tall, black-haired man, with grey appearing at his temples—regarded Draco evenly. "No, I suppose you are not. I guess we can all pity you for the father you had and the way you were brought up."

Draco bristled. "My father was a great man!"

The other Auror snorted. "It's no use talking to this one, Pete. He'd never listen to anything you or I had to say."

"Maybe he'll listen to the Dementors," Pete replied.

Though his captors said nothing further, Draco continued to speak to them, informing them of how they will lose their jobs for this travesty, but they appeared to pay him no mind, which only served to infuriate Draco all that much more.

They led him through the school, up to the main level, and then over toward the entrance hall, and along the way, they passed by several students, though most were in classes at that hour. The disdainful looks and overly exaggerated glee at his downfall shown by those who were to be found along their path once again filled him with rage, and no small measure of shame. To think that they could witness him—Draco of the prestigious house of Malfoy!—escorted from the premises with such ignominy was almost more than he could bear.

But the worst was undoubtedly when they passed by Potter, who watched him closely as they approached. Draco sneered at him with disdain, but if he was honest with himself, the expression on Potter's face—the total contempt and promise of pain should they ever cross paths again—unnerved him. But Draco could not allow a mere Halfblood to see that, so he allowed his typical expression, reserved for those so obviously inferior, to come over his countenance.

"Shouldn't you be in class now, Potter?"

"Classes let out a few minutes ago," Potter replied. "You should really keep up with these things, old boy. But then again, going to classes is something you'll never have to worry about again, is it?"

Draco snarled at the boy. "You'll get yours, Potter," he promised.

"Possibly," Potter said with a shrug. "But where you're going, you won't be around to see it. I will tell you this, though." Potter's voice became abrasive, akin to flint grating on steel, and his eyes hardened, like emerald chips, as his gaze bored into Draco's face. "I don't expect to see you again, as I know you used the Imperius on at least two students, but if you ever make your way back to polite society and you so much as frown at Hermione or Fleur, there won't be anything left of you but a stain on the carpet."

"Tough threats from a meager wizard, Potter."

"Who said it was a threat?" Potter replied pleasantly.

"Now, now, boys," one of the Aurors broke in. "We really do need to get Mr. Malfoy to the Ministry."

Potter waved them off. "He's all yours, gentlemen. I just wanted to have one last chat with him before he meets his fate."

Draco watched Potter as he walked away, a corrosive hatred such as he had never before felt filling his very being. If it was the very last thing he ever did, Draco would see Potter suffer the loss of everything he held dear before he was put down like the mongrel he was.

"Shall we be going then?"

Though he did not deign to respond to the Auror's words, Draco allowed himself to be dragged away, though he looked over his shoulder several more times to catch a glimpse of the retreating Gryffindor. All too soon they walked out to the entrance hall, and from thence onto the grounds of Hogwarts. For a moment he felt a wild surge of hope—perhaps this was where the Dark Lord would see to his rescue!

But nothing materialized as they walked, and once they had passed through the ward boundaries, the Aurors stopped, and one of them took what looked to be a small, metal toothpick. He waved his wand over it, and it expanded until it was a metal rod about two feet in length.

"All right Mr. Malfoy," the Auror named Pete said. "Here's where our journey gets a little faster. This rod is a portkey—we'll be at the Ministry in moments."

Draco cast a regretful glance about the area, but he made no reply to the Auror's words. The Aurors each grasped one end of the long rod and each grasped one of his arms in turn. Then Pete intoned, "Home Base!"

The pull behind his navel told Draco that the portkey had activated, and Draco felt himself being pulled along with the two men. After a short, but dizzying journey, Draco landed on his feet and stumbled, only just managing to catch himself, quite a feat considering his hands were bound.

And that was when all hell broke loose.

A concussive blast knocked Draco's hard won balance askew, and he tumbled heavily to the floor, landing on a shoulder with a grunt of pain. All about him, shouts rang out, the various colors of spells rocketed this way and that, and a smoky haze filled the room in which they stood. Just where had this portkey taken them?

"Avada Kedavra!"

Two brilliant green spells shot out almost simultaneously, each impacting with one of his escorts and they were thrown back to hit the floor with sightless eyes gazing vacantly up at the ceiling. For a moment, all Draco could do was to peer at them, stunned with the rapidity of their fate.

He was pulled roughly to his feet and dragged off to the side of the room, away from the center where he belatedly realized he would be a sitting duck for any stray spells. He looked around wildly, coming face to face with the harsh features of a man he did not know. The man jerked his hands out and, inserting a small key, loosed Draco's bindings, allowing him to fall to the floor. That accomplished, the man pushed Draco's wand and a small rock into his hand.

"The Dark Lord wants to see you."

With that, Draco again felt the pull behind his navel, and for the second time in less than five minutes, he found himself travelling by portkey. The Dark Lord would be there and Draco could not wait—he was free, and could now plot his revenge.

On the Chunnel train, a couple sat in the very back of one of the commuter compartments, as far away from other passengers as they could manage, given the fact that the train was rather busy that morning. A carefully erected though mild Muggle repelling charm and a few other privacy charms had guaranteed their isolation, and though they had not—as far as they were aware—garnered any special attention that morning, it did not hurt to be certain. Their conversation demanded such measures—one did not speak of soul shards and Dark Lords in the middle of a bunch of Muggles.

Thus it had been for much of the journey that morning. Though the information in the library and everything that the society had been able to tell them indicated that there was no way to remove a horcrux, Remus was not about to give up. So they spent their time debating various ideas and thoughts, brainstorming anything they could think of which might lead to a solution.

"I think we might need to leave this to Dumbledore," Tonks finally said. Their ideas had at once grown thinner and successively more outrageous, and this last silence had been of several minutes' duration. "If the ancients—who actually created Hhrcruxes—couldn't find the answer, then what chance do we stand?"

"I'd hope that advances in techniques and different magical systems would allow us to be better suited to solve such a problem."

Tonks snorted. "You'd think. But practically speaking, I'm not sure that holds true in this case."

Remus sighed and acknowledged her words with a terse nod, falling silent. Their speaking of it was certainly not leading them to any quick ideas of how to solve the riddle, and Remus had to admit that she was likely right. There did not seem to be anything they could do—perhaps Dumbledore would have more luck.

Upon leaving the train, they were to apparate to the Ministry—Remus was all for returning directly to Hogwarts, but in this instance, Tonks had overruled him, insisting that Hogwarts could wait. She needed to check in with Madam Bones first, and from there, they might find additional news which would tell them how to act. The return of Voldemort was now an acknowledged fact, but what they were not aware of was the status of the country, including how much leverage and influence Voldemort had managed to gain in their absence.

It was perhaps a good thing that they were going to the Ministry first for another reason—it would allow Remus time to formulate his thoughts. There was a lot of information which they would need to share once they arrived at Hogwarts, and it would need to be disseminated in a logical manner to avoid misunderstanding. Remus would welcome that time while Tonks checked in, to get everything into order in his head.

"Remus," Tonks's voice pulled him from his thoughts. "I was wondering if I could ask you something?"

"Sure," Remus replied, turning back to look at her.

Tonks hesitated for a moment, seemingly indecisive, before she almost visibly squared her shoulders and peered at him from behind long lashes.

"I was wondering… What I mean to say is…" She paused and then sighed. "I've been sending you… signals, and I was wondering… Are you not interested, or just obtuse?"

Remus could not help but smile. He had wondered when this conversation would come about, and clearly her hesitance was born from some inborn witch's reticence about such matters, and though he knew Tonks was a Halfblood, apparently some of the proper Pureblood behavior had passed from mother to daughter. Apparently not enough, though.

"Smooth, Tonks," he replied with a grin.

"Just answer the question, you big lug," was her irritated reply. But though she feigned gruffness, she did not truly appear to be displeased. Such was the strength of the bantering relationship they had built up.

Sighing, Remus felt his amusement bleed away—he had been dreading this conversation since it became clear that she was interested. He knew he had to let her down, and it had to be done gently, as he did not wish to hurt her. The fact remained that she was a beautiful young woman, and he was a broken down man who had seen too much, experienced too much sorrow, and had spent too many full moons as a ravening beast. It simply would not work.

"Noticed, yes," he replied.

"And?" Tonks prompted through narrowed eyes.

"I'm sorry, Tonks. I just don't think it's a good idea."

"What's a good idea?" Tonks demanded.

Remus sighed again, slightly annoyed that she was making him be explicit. "I think there is someone out there who will eventually sweep you off your feet. I'm sorry, but I can't be that person for you."

"Can't or won't?"

"Can we just leave it be?" Remus asked plaintively.

Tonks regarded him, her expression unreadable. "Just answer me one question, and then I'll leave you alone. Are you just not interested in me?"

"It's not that," Remus said earnestly. "I think you're a great girl, Tonks."

"Then what is it?" she asked, though her manner and displeasure suggested that she already knew what he was about to say.

"You know of my reasons, Tonks," Remus replied, injecting a firmness into his voice which he hoped would discourage her from continuing on with this line of questioning. "I cannot subject my problem—"

"Oh spare me the werewolf sob story, Lupin," she said behind clenched teeth. "If it doesn't bother me, then why would you worry about it?"

"You don't know—"

"Yes I do, Wolfie. Are you forgetting that I just spent more than two months with you? In that time you've had three transformations. I think I know what I'm dealing with."

Remus allowed his head to slip back against the back of the seat, and he looked toward the ceiling, praying for patience. "Listen, Tonks. You are a great girl and anyone would be lucky to be with you. I just can't subject you to my affliction."

"Shouldn't I be the one to decide if you are 'subjecting' me to it?" Tonks asked.

"What about children?" Remus demanded, though on some level he knew he was grasping at straws. "I don't even know if I can father children, and if I do, will I pass lycanthropy on to them? You might never be able to have children if you pursue this."

"Well aren't you a quick worker?" Tonks jibed, though with a smile. "You're moving on from a suggestion to give a relationship a try, all the way to marriage and children all in one go. A bit presumptuous of you, don't you think?"

Gazing at her soberly, Remus reached out and grasped her hand. "I think I know a little something about you," he said. "I don't think you would take such a step without considering the future first. I want to make sure you've considered all of this before you do something you may regret."

"So you're not opposed to seeing me as more than a friend."

"You know what my objections are, Tonks. They're not objections of you."

She was silent, regarding him for several minutes, and though Remus could not claim to be able to know what she was thinking, the responses to which he was accustomed from others when considering his lycanthropy—pity, disgust, revulsion—were most decidedly not present. She appeared to be thinking of how to respond and Remus, though secretly flattered that she could consider him in such a manner, roundly wished that she had not brought up the subject in the first place. It could come to no good in the end, and she was better if she just dropped it.

"I think you don't give yourself enough credit," she finally said, much to his surprise. "You're kind and compassionate, firm in what you believe, gentle, intelligent, and a fine catch for any woman. So what if you're weighed down by an affliction which is not your fault? It doesn't have to rule your life, Remus! It can only continue to do so if you let it.

"I can tell you one thing—your lycanthropy does not scare me away. The only thing which will scare me away is your own feelings. If you can't feel anything for me, I won't like it, but I will accept it. And as for children, there are a lot of unknowns. But I think that if we brought a child into the world, the child would be loved and accepted for whom and what it was, not for what traits it might inherit from you."

Remus peered into her eyes, his own beginning to water at the depth of her sentiments, and the import of her words. He found that he was moved by her words, but could not respond, so fierce were his emotions.

"You do not need to answer me now," Tonks said with some compassion. "But I refuse to be frightened away when I know that you are one of the gentlest men I know. You think about it. Think about what you want in life. I'll be here waiting for you."

With that, Tonks turned toward the window and intently peered out of it, though there was not much to see in the depths of the tunnel. Remus looked down at his watch distractedly—it was almost time for the train to emerge from the tunnel. They would be in England very soon.

He looked back up to see that Tonks was still keeping her vigil out the window, and thus he was left to his thoughts. Could Tonks be right? Had he allowed his affliction to rule his life and weigh him down? It had been a part of him so long that he did not know anything else—he certainly did not remember a time before Greyback had bitten him. It was a serious affliction and one which had to be given proper consideration. But did it need to rule his life? Could he have the same kind of relationship with a woman two of his closest friends had once had? Was it possible?

The train made its way out of the Chunnel and through the English countryside, but Remus was largely unaware of its progression, so involved with his thoughts was he. When it finally came time to disembark, he reluctantly put them aside, determined to visit them again later. He did not miss the speculative looks Tonks sent his way, but he did not comment. She was obviously curious as to what his reaction to her words would be, but as Remus did not have any answers at this time, he kept his own counsel. There would be another similar conversation in their future. He was certain they both knew this.

They made their way through the terminal and past the customs agents and, finding an empty alley a few streets away, they apparated to the alley near the public Ministry entrance. It was only a few moments later that they were in the phone booth, descending into the depths of the earth.

What they found upon entering, was just about the last thing that either expected.

The first indication that anything was amiss, was the shouts of the combatants and the screams of the injured. A shouted curse drew Remus's attention, and he ducked behind the phone booth to avoid it, wincing as it shattered the glass in the booth.

"What's going on here?" Tonks yelled as she returned fire, catching an indistinct figure in the gloom with a reductor. The person on the other end of the curse let out a cry and hit the wall with considerable force. From further away in the direction of the elevators more shouts and screams echoed out and the hail of spells, splinters of wood and smoke moved through the air.

"Death Eater attack!" Remus yelled as he saw the distinct mask and robes of one of Voldemort's followers as it moved, barely visible through the smoke in the distance.

"We'd better fight our way up to the Auror department and the administrative offices," Tonks yelled in between curses. "The Minister would be their main target."

Mumbling to himself that it seemed impossible that anyone would target such a useless specimen as Fudge, Remus nevertheless prepared himself to make the push.

War had come to the Ministry.

Updated 05/31/2014