Disclaimer: Harry, love. I'm not your master!

Note: Merry Christmas. I would like to thank my two reviewers, and if others can join in too, great. This chapter, in no way, promotes gun violence. Now off to drink a glass of wine :)

It had been hours since Harry disappeared with her wand. It was getting quite late, and she really wanted to start a fire.

Normally this would be no problem.

A self-contained jar could easily be conjured up, and nothing more would be thought of it. But as Hermione tried for a consecutive fourth time, to rub two pieces of bark together, the appreciation of magic hit full force.

Magic was the fabric of life.

At least, her life.

She was starting to regret snapping at Harry earlier. The blame could simply be placed on the Slytherin Locket, if Hermione didn't know there was an element of truth behind it. She was starting to resent the long nights they spent outdoors, though she would never admit it to Harry.

He was so confident they were close to a breakthrough, she didn't want to admit otherwise.

That was right. When he came back, she was going to apologise. Maybe she could rustle up a sandwich, with extra turkey slices and cucumber.

"Hermione, I've got news!"

Well, the sandwich had to take a backburner. The apology really couldn't wait, though she was dying to know if it was about Ron…

"It's about Hogwarts!"

Oh, OK. Not as interesting, but a very good substitute. She watched Harry burst into the tent, and wildly look around for her, even though she was curled up in her favourite spot right in front of him.

"Over here," she waved from her bunk, impatient to hear from The Daily Prophet clutched in Harry's hands. The newspaper now wielded Voldemort propaganda as a tool, and was useless about information regarding the Order, which was more underground than ever. Going by the articles, it was tough to believe there was any Potter supporters out there, though Hermione knew it was far from the case.

"Has Snape finally resigned?" she asked hopefully.

"Nothing like that," Harry shook his head. "Let me read straight from the article. It's only a column. Ahh…here it is. The Headmaster of Hogwarts had an unusual visitor last night, in the shape of a former pupil. Draco Malfoy, who is still of school-going age, rubbed his truancy into the Professor's face, by requesting a private meeting outside office hours. A source tells me he is hunting for an address. Hunting perhaps for a kill."

Hermione was watching Harry's face with blatant scepticism.

"I thought you were having visions of him struggling to torture prisoners? How can that kind of guy be capable of killing anyone?"

"We should be thankful," Harry closed his eyes. "A lack of bloodlust is rare in a deatheater."

A week later, the entire scenario seemed to repeat itself. Harry grimly handed over the newspaper, he had just swiped from a passing wizard in the woods.

"Read this."

Alarmed, Hermione looked down at the front page. The picture arrested her immediately. It was a large picture of a house on fire, plummets of smoke spiralling into the sky. The house was a former shadow of itself, windows long shattered. "Merlin," Hermione felt ill. "Was anybody inside? Did they manage to escape?"

Harry let out a long sigh. "It was derelict."

"Then that's good!" she cried, putting the paper aside, before the niggling got too much. "Hang on," she frowned. "Why would they put that on the front page? This was an act of arson, not murder."

"You're right," Harry raised his eyebrows. "Normally this wouldn't make third page, let alone first. Hermione, I don't know how to tell you this…but look at who the house belonged too."

Hermione snatched up the paper, this time scanning the caption. "My parents?" her eyes bugged. "They went after them. Well tried to at least." Her confused eyes sought out Harry. "Why would they do that?"

"To get at you, obviously," Harry stated. "It's a good thing you hid them before we came here. Seriously impressed by the way. I had to get the Ministry involved to move the Dursley's, but you did this all by yourself."

"Thank you," she didn't bask in the compliment longer than necessary. Pressing matters were on hand. "That's not what I meant. Why would they set fire to an empty property?"

"To gain attention," Harry suggested. "They might actually have succeeded," he jokingly nudged her side with a leg.

Hermione didn't quit frowning. She was starting to put the puzzle together, but it was taking it's sweet time. Hermione ruffled through the pages, and a title called "Requests for Ministry Transportations" caught her eye.

"Merlin," her face paled. She looked like someone had chucked a glass of milk over her face. "This is my worst nightmare come true."

"I thought that was getting 9 out of 10 on a piece of homework," Harry teased, before seeing the look on her face. "…No?"

"Draco Malfoy has put in a request for a portkey to Australia," Hermione clarified, gnawing her bottom lip with her teeth. "It all fits. Going to Hogwarts to acquire my address, which he wasted no time burning down, before booking a trip to a country where my parents coincidentally are."

Harry watched, as Hermione got up in a rush and started gathering clothes. He would have put it down to laundry, if she hadn't grabbed her purse to shove it inside. "You're clutching at straws," Harry went over and grabbed the cardigan she was trying to fold neatly. Hermione tugged it right back. "None of it-"

"Don't you dare tell me it's only happening inside my head," Hermione growled, snapping the clutch close. "I know when something's not right. Would you like to be stopped if you were in my position? Stand back and let Ginny be slaughtered? Sorry Ginny," she looked up at the ceiling. "Only using you to win the argument."

"Consider it won," Harry said shakily. "But I can't let you do this alone. It could be an ambush."

"Puh-lease," Hermione scoffed. "Do you know how big Australia is? We'll be back by nightfall, after checking their position hasn't been comprised."

"I don't know," Harry rolled his shoulders. "I feel like we're following a trail of breadcrumbs designed to entice us."

It would take a bigger person to admit Harry was right. Unfortunately, Hermione was feeling confused and worried sick. If her parents were at risk of being captured, she wanted to move them to another location. The Himalayas was a possible contender. Or a rural town in China, would work just as fine. She could change their names to Xiao Ling, and-

"Earth to Hermione? Catch!"

Instinctively she caught the item Harry had just lobbed to her. It was an empty cola can. It was the type of innocuous object, people walked by in everyday life. Wizarding folk generally favoured banal portkeys, to guarantee minimal detection when travelling.

"Portus," she pointed her wand, picturing the place she wanted to go. The cola can glowed bright yellow, before it faded completely. Harry stared at it, weighing it up in his mind.

"Is it ready?"

"In about ten minutes. Do you want to douse the campfire?"

The last ten minutes was spent, sweeping the dirt around the tent and other little chores. They had unanimously agreed not to bring their abode with them, because (touch wood) they were coming back relatively quick.

But it was with a sadness, she put the broom in the corner and lifted the cola can again. Harry was eager to close the gap, like he was afraid she would spirit off without him. Chance would be a fine thing! She was glad he was coming, despite how forlorn her plan had become.

"I never prepare for this bit," Harry squeezed his eyes shut, just before a hook jerked under their navels. They spun screaming into the darkness, appearing at their destination seconds later.

Harry bent over and panted. "Are we close? Tell me we're close."

"Achingly. Sneeze and they might hear you."

"Oh," Harry blinked. "Good thing I brought tissues."

Hermione, fighting back giggles, picked a plucky path through the woods that bordered an inlet of properties. Harry crouched down behind her, gazing directly into a backyard dappled with sunlight. Through the kitchen window, he spied a man in his early forties snogging his wife. They were clearly in the middle of baking something. Flour was everywhere. The man was even fishing raisins out of the woman's undergarments-

Harry spun around to dry-heave. There was no point asking Hermione if her parents were all right. Anybody with two eyes, could tell they were laying foundations for another baby. Hermione looked far from heartbroken. If they weren't currently hidden in some foliage, Harry had good suspicion she would be a vocal spectator.

"This takes voyeurism to a whole new level," he paused to continue, when Hermione squeaked, and threw herself flat on the ground.

"What?" He looked up and down. "What happened?"

"My dad just saw me!" she hissed. "My mother too."

"Oh great," Harry threw his hands up. "How did they look?"

"Pretty mad."

"Understandable if I was in their shoes," Harry nodded, now daring to look back at the kitchen window. Not a soul was to be seen. The next second, he was biting his words, when the back door was thrown open and Mr. Granger appeared with a rifle.

"They've got a gun?" he yelped, shaking Hermione still lying prostate on the floor. "I think that's our cue to leave. NOW!"

A gunshot ricocheted through the air, whistling past Harry's ear.

"Are you satisfied?" he yelled. "I think they can handle their own against unwanted visitors!"

Suddenly, they were running. Back from whence they came. The cola can had long been dropped, but Hermione was perfectly content to create another illegal portkey. In fact, she was kind of banking on it. They wheezed another hundred yards, still shouting at each other.

"Stop being presumptuous!"

"Hermione, I'm entitled to my opinions. Even Voldemort would think twice, before breaking down their door."

"HARRY!" she cried, distraught.

There was footsteps behind them, raising suspicion to believe Mr. Granger was still giving chase. Harry darted off to the right, leaving Hermione to head straight on. She was just sailing over a branch, mid-leap, when a jet of red light skimmed her shoes.

"Stupefy!"

What the hell?

Someone with magical power was chasing her. Hermione snarled, when another jet missed by inches. She sent spells flying behind her, but all she was rewarded with were masculine grunts.

"Granger! Stop! We have you surrounded!"

Draco emerged from the trees, and started keeping pace with her. There was quite a distance separating them, but he was trying to navigate towards her general vicinity and still keep the speed. Well, one would have to give. Without warning, Hermione veered to the right, away from him, and nearly fell into a twenty foot gulley disguised as a heap of leaves. She threw her arms out, teetering on the verge and looked over her shoulder.

Draco was eating up ground, faster than a rattlesnake.

"STUPEFY!"

The spell hit her square in the back, just as gravity overpowered Hermione's body and it went into freefall.

Draco ran to the tip of the bank, fully expecting a dead body at the bottom.