A/N: A slightly shorter chapter this time just because it made sense to end it there and because I wanted to update sooner rather than later. I haven't had much feedback for awhile-sniff- would greatly appreciate it! Fifty points for Gryffindor if you recognize where the titles of the last two chapters originated.

Muggle Bound Chapter 22 Skim Milk Masquerades as Cream

Hermione raged at herself. How could she have been so weak? How could she have let her guard down? Where had her wand been? Why hadn't she suspected something when she saw the thin layer of mist appear? Why had she been so stubborn and not told Ron her secret?

The good news was that she was still alive. If her captors' goal had been her death, then she would surely be dead by now. Of that she was certain. Obviously they were holding her for another reason. She shuddered at thoughts of what that reason could be. She now realized that the mist that had filled the study had been a rare form of potion – aeriosa obliviatus. This potion could be used in a spray form causing a thin cool mist which temporarily immobilized the person breathing it long enough to hear a command or order which the victim was then helpless to obey. Hermione had thought it might come in useful on their Horcrux search but had discovered that many of the ingredients were on the Ministry restricted list and almost impossible to obtain. This made sense when she reflected on it. A mist sprayed over a large population, which was then told to carry out orders, could cause untold disaster in both Wizarding and Muggle worlds.

That made her wonder how the Death Eaters had obtained the ingredients. A Ministry connection? It seemed likely. She only had the vaguest recollection of the voice that had commanded her to obey, only that it had sounded familiar. Aeriosa obliviatus had the unfortunate effect of blurring any memory after the victim inhaled it.

Now she observed her surroundings for at least the tenth time, searching for a possible escape route. She appeared to be in a damp cellar of some sort. Dank grey stone walls festooned with moss and lichen, water dripping in one dark corner and a thick wooden door minus any handle and studded with rusty spikes did nothing to encourage her hopes. The only light source was a small barred window at the top right hand corner of the room. A wooden cot with a thin stained mattress provided little comfort.

Most puzzling was a wooden perch set halfway up the wall opposite the cot. Behind it was a round aperture large enough for a small bird or rodent to enter. A wooden panel currently blocked it. Below the perch was a makeshift table holding a chipped cup, a jug, and some rudely carved figures. A badly made stool stood beside it. Rising from the cot, Hermione experienced another attack of dizziness, no doubt yet another after effect of the mind-immobilizing potion. She tried again and this time made it to the stool. She examined the table as she leaned on it. Frowning, Hermione took a closer look and recognized a faint pattern scratched into it. Wonderingly she picked up one of the wooden figures. Instantly Hermione's brain cleared and clicked into gear. What in Godric's name was a Chessboard doing in this godforsaken hole that was her new prison?

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At the Weasley's present residence, all was in chaos.

Harry's scar hurt and his head ached abominably. He'd always known that Hermione and Ron were at risk because of him. They had shared so many potentially fatal adventures and each time had come out relatively unscathed although the Department of Mysteries and Ron's poisoning had been very close calls.

But now things were different. If the stakes had been high before, they were now soaring into the stratosphere. Not only was it in Voldemort's best interest to strike at Harry – it was undoubtedly to his advantage to disable any of Harry's allies. Hermione and Ron were his best mates and the chief allies in his strong support network.

Without Hermione's encyclopedic knowledge, her cool reasoning and her iron determination, Harry knew his search for the missing Horcruxes could fail. But all that aside, the most important reason the stakes were higher was because of Ron.

Harry could not begin to fathom Ron's reaction to Hermione's capture and possibly worse, her murder. Ron's bond with Hermione, always strong in friendship even through their many rows, was now forged in steel by their growing love for each other. What Ron might do to save Hermione or punish anyone who might have harmed her, did not bear thinking about.

And that was the other problem. Where were Ron and Charlie? Presumably they apparated immediately after he and Hawthorn. Over an hour later and they had still not appeared.

Harry looked up and met Ginny's eyes from across the room. Ginny's eyes were wet with unshed tears as she comforted a distraught Molly Weasley. Next to them a grim-faced Dr. Granger was similarly comforting Hermione's mother who was gallantly trying to stem the flow of her tears. Harry wanted to offer some form of reassurance but found it impossible as another spasm of pain coursed through his head.

A white-faced Tonks sat next to Harry. Tonks, normally so good-natured and easy-going had an expression on her face that Harry had never encountered in their short but close acquaintance. Her lips were pursed, her cheekbones taut with tension but her eyes, gold-flecked with brown, flashed a fire that told of an inner depth of rage that Harry sympathized with completely. Her head jerked up and Harry became aware that Kingsley Shacklebolt and Remus Lupin were speaking.

Shacklebolt's deep voice rumbled, " This is what we know so far."

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Arthur Weasley considered his youngest son thoughtfully. When had he matured so quickly? The gaze meeting his so openly was that of a confident determined young man, not of a gangly boy so unsure of himself in many ways.

"Look, Dad. Herodotus Henckel was your brother's best mate. I know he can be trusted. It wasn't like him to cancel our appointment. I think he may be in trouble." Ron made his case convincingly.

Charlie added his voice." What can it hurt to check it out, Dad? You know where he lives. Only a few minutes to apparate and make sure things arealright."

Ron gave his brother a grateful look. His mind had been so focused on Hermione that he'd ignored the niggling feeling of discomfort about Herodotus Henckel's cancellation the previous morning. When he thought of the old gentleman again, a strong sense of foreboding had hit him. What if someone, particularly someone in the Ministry, did not want Ron and Harry to meet with Herodotus Henckel?

Arthur Weasley sighed but could not shake the feeling that his sons might be right. He recalled vividly his discussion with Remus Lupin the previous evening about various matters. First there was that suspicious bird at Privet Drive and secondly Professor McGonagall's strongly held conviction that Ministry personnel leaked information that resulted in the attack on the Granger residence. Taken together these were indicators that nothing could be taken at face value.

"Just a moment while I send an owl to your mother," Arthur replied.

"Dad,"Ron was insistent, "Let's not waste any more time."

"Why don't we take an owl with us? Then if there's any need for us to stay, you can send the owl from there," Charlie suggested.

Arthur Weasley did not notice a lingering shadow in the corridor as he fetched an owl from the owlery next to the main elevator.

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"The Ministry Team was due here at 11:00 am," continued Kingsley Shacklebolt. "Miss Granger breakfasted with everyone, went to Professor McGonagall's room to continue some research, and then had a short conversation with Ginny Weasley before arriving at the study to set up and check equipment at approximately 10:30 this morning."

Lupin took over. "At 10:50 Harry and Hawthorn arrived here in the parlor. Ginny showed them up to the study. Hermione was not there when they entered the room."

" A search of the premises was made and still no sign of Miss Granger," Shacklebolt finished. "We can only conclude that Hermione Granger has been taken against her will by a person or people unknown as we are convinced that she would not leave on her own."

"And what about Charlie and Ron?" sniffed Molly Weasley." We've heard nothing in over an hour."

Harry shook his head. "Ron was a little upset about Hermione hanging up the telephone on him last night. Maybe he and Charlie stopped to have a heart to heart." Harry knew that was very unlikely but he was grasping at straws not wanting to think the worst.

Hawthorn frowned and objected, "That wouldn't have taken an hour and besides they knew they were under a time constraint. Besides I had the distinct impression that Ron was-um-extremely anxious to –uh- meet with MissGranger."

Even under these adverse circumstances, Harry and Ginny could not help exchanging faint grins at Hawthorn's undoubted understatement of Ron's mood.

A rustling of wings interrupted the silence that followed Hawthorn's statement. A very bedraggled owl came to a halt before Molly Weasley. Its feathers were ruffled; one wing was damaged and caked with blood.

Molly Weasley's fingers trembled as she grasped the parchment attached to the owl's claw.

Molly,

Ron, Charlie and I are on a short mission. Tell Remus and Tonks to meet us at the home of Herodotus Henckel- there may be need of back up. Don't worry,

Love, Arthur

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Herodotus Henckel lived in a picturesque thatched cottage beside a millstream. A quaint stone path curved to a stop at the royal blue door of the cottage.

Arthur Weasley smiled to himself," Once a Ravenclaw, always a Ravenclaw."

All was quiet and peaceful the way that one would expect on a hazy summer day in the country. Charlie's knock at the door rent the stillness. No answer. Charlie repeated the knock. Receiving no answer again, Charlie uttered, "Alohomara," quietly and entered. His father started to scribble on some parchment.

Ron meanwhile was exploring the garden. His eyes were drawn to a splash of colour out of context with the many old-fashioned pastel-coloured flowers. A royal blue scarf lay abandoned and half hidden in a wild rose thicket beside an ancient stone well.

"Dad, Charlie!" Ron called as he picked up the scarf. Charlie stopped his search of the house and Arthur finished the last few words of his hurried screed, rolled up the parchment, attached it to the Ministry owl and sent it on its way. As Charlie and Arthur Weasley approached Ron, a faint groan sounded from the well.

Simultaneously, three distinct pops indicated that the Weasleys were no longer alone. Three Death Eaters now formed a barrier between Ron, his brother and father.

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Hermione awoke with a start. After the exploration of her prison cell, she had been overtaken by another strong bout of dizziness and had made it back to her cot just before she lost consciousness. A squeaking ratchet-like sound stopped almost as soon as it started. Hermione sat up groggily and peered around her dimly lit surroundings. Nothing seemed to have changed. Wait, though. What was that scuffling noise in the corner? Instinctively Hermione drew her knees up onto the cot. A flutter of wings stirred the dust in the air.

Hermione rubbed her eyes. There on the stool stood a small songbird. She mentally searched through her files on birds. A wren-no-perhaps a nightingale? The instant she'd decided it was a nightingale, the bird's shape began to blur and Hermione caught her breath.

Within seconds the bird had vanished leaving something quite different in its place. A slightly stooped, very thin, grey-haired man now occupied the stool. Even in this murky light, a distinct gleam of red shone through the silver hair. A pair of blazing blue eyes stared at Hermione.