Disclaimer: J. K. Rowling and Warner Bros. Entertainment own the Harry Potter series and films. Any likeness you read most definitely comes from them.

Chapter 1

28 September 2000

Rats visited the cells at night.

The clicking of their paws interrupted the otherwise silent prison, incessantly irritating Harry's ears. Sometimes they squeaked, and Harry couldn't help but wince when their chatters sounded too close to his head for comfort. The thought of rats brave enough to approach and start nibbling on his skin chased away any desire to sleep, no matter how weary he became, and so Harry stayed awake, using the extra time to avoid thinking about her. Of course, that failed, and the image of her etched itself firmly into the forefront of his mind.

He didn't know whether to laugh or scoff at himself when he came to the realization that at some point in between Voldemort's death three years ago and yesterday, when she led Death Eaters directly to their positions, she had changed. Without being aware of it, the image of her that he had kept treasured in his thoughts froze when they were mere children. Her kind, brown eyes, brightened with knowledge, her hair, wild and untamable like her motivation, and her magical aura, always constant, controlled, and dependable, all were impressions he kept of her. This was the way he saw her whenever he looked at her, blind to what truly appeared in front of him.

In that cell, as the shock had worn off and the night deepened, Harry discovered that one of his closest friends had changed, and it had taken something like this – a betrayal, a decapitation, a cramped cell – for him to realize it. How could he have missed it? When the tone of her Honestly, Harry's transformed from exasperated fondness to impatient frustration, Harry hadn't even noticed…until now.

Lying motionless on the hard floor, his arms folded under his head, Harry stared with half-shut eyes at the horizontal slit of a window high up on the stone wall. The sun's early rays managed to pierce through the murky glass, effectively scattering the rats back to their hiding places. It was little comfort, however, as the bright light couldn't break through the dark thoughts that crowded his mind.

He wondered whether it was only him who hadn't noticed.

The lump in his throat was getting progressively harder to ignore, and for about the hundredth time that night, Harry spoke out a name, "Malfoy."

The sound of his voice distracted him from his thoughts and memories, but the silence that followed only served to add to the weight crushing his chest.

It was strange. The thought of an old classmate dying, possible already dead, nearby was just as suffocating as seeing his partner's life snuffed out in front of him. Surely Mad-Eye's, someone he had worked beside for years, death should affect him more? But no, a life was in danger, hanging on by who knows how thin a thread, and he couldn't do anything to help. That knowledge grated on already frayed nerves.

It didn't matter that Malfoy was a bully, a Death Eater, a coward. Harry's duty was to save lives, and he had already seen so many lives lost that adding one more to the count was unbearable. He had used everything, the last drop of his magic and energy, and still, people had died. He was running dry, and he couldn't do anything for Malfoy.

He sighed. "Malfoy?" he tried one last time. "Don't die on me, you prick."

He couldn't save Moody, he couldn't save those villagers, but once he regained enough energy, maybe he could do something for Malfoy before he escaped. He breathed in, held, then out, forcing his muscles to relax as air rushed out his lungs. Sleep won't come, but he could still try to relax and recuperate. His eyes drifted around the dark cell and settled on the window, letting his eyes adjust to the morning light.

Harry continued to stare at the window until he registered the sound of footsteps that were quickly coming closer. He turned his head and his eyes immediately zeroed in on a thin, stooping man who entered Malfoy's cell with a weary sigh. Harry watched the newcomer closely, noting the tired and melancholy face covered erratically with gray whiskers and the hard grip he maintained around his wand.

With a little difficulty, the man knelt down beside Malfoy, taking care not to place his knees directly in the coagulated puddle of blood that pooled around the broken figure. Then, to Harry's surprise, he addressed him roughly without even a glance, "When did they bring him in?"

Harry blinked in silence for a few moments, chewing the inside of his cheeks as he contemplated the stranger. The man didn't look too dangerous, not exactly Death Eater material. But then again, Harry hadn't seen her betrayal coming, and so he probably shouldn't trust his own sense of character.

With a deft wave of his wand, the thin man vanished Malfoy's blood-soaked shirt and conjured another clean, folded one that he placed within reach on the floor. "Yesterday," Harry answered finally after the stranger threw him an impatient look.

When the man rolled his eyes at him, Harry raised an eyebrow.

"Give me the time, boy. Was it in the morning? Sunset? Nighttime? Was the sun shining through that window there?" the man asked as he traced his wand down the scabbing cuts on Malfoy's torso, healing them quickly without a whispered incantation.

Harry stared at the stranger's healing, amazed at the speed and skill of his spellwork. Malfoy's cuts closed cleanly and did not leave behind the slightest hint of a scar. He'd never seen a healer work as efficiently and successfully as the man before him. "Er…a little after sunset, probably," Harry replied.

He got up from his curled position in the corner to move closer to the bars separating his cell from Malfoy's. Fascinated, he watched as the man moved on to Malfoy's battered arm and almost gasped when he snapped the bone back into position with an audible crack. Less than a minute later, Malfoy's arm rested healthily at his side, the puncture wound from the bone gone. Nothing about it suggested that it had been mangled only seconds earlier.

"You're very skilled," Harry remarked with a little wonder in his voice. He didn't look away as the man continued down to Malfoy's feet and they both stared at the nearly detached foot.

"Yes, I would hope so, Mr. Potter," the man said and spared Harry a quick glance before returning his focus to Malfoy's foot with a grimace. "I was Head Healer at St. Mungo's before the Death Eaters captured me. Besides, these physical wounds were caused by violent hands, not dark curses. The spells to heal these are significantly simpler." With a small frown of concentration, he leaned closer toward Malfoy and murmured a spell at the disturbing stump at the end of Malfoy's leg.

Harry wasn't surprised that the man knew his name. Most people did.

"Captured, huh?" Harry glanced outside their cells and saw no one else. "What's stopping you from leaving? You have your wand, and you weren't escorted here."

Slowly but surely, Malfoy's foot began to reseal itself back to the ankle, although it did not position itself the way it should. The man's frown grew deeper and with a sigh, he undid his spell to try again.

Harry winced at the sight of the foot ripping nearly off again, and he regretted that he had not plugged his ears at the sickening sound it made. "Gross," he said involuntarily.

The healer ignored Harry as he casted a spell toward the foot again, and this time, the foot reattached itself correctly. He continued to cast spells in that area for the next few minutes, swathing the dim cell in multiple colored lights.

"They are keeping my family hostage," he said after he finished. He siphoned the blood off of Malfoy and the floor with a flourish of his wand and stood back up with audible creaks in his knees. He winced. "I work for them to ensure that my family stays alive and safe."

Harry frowned. Somehow, the Death Eaters had maintained their power even after the death of their leader, and no matter how hard the Ministry and the Order worked, groups of them kept popping up everywhere, pulling off violent attacks at seemingly random locations.

"I'm sorry to hear that," Harry murmured sympathetically.

The healer shrugged. "Don't apologize, Mr. Potter. The Death Eaters have kept their word, and they haven't harmed my family since our capture. They need my services too badly to risk breaking the terms of our contract." At the last word, he looked down regretfully at Malfoy's sleeping form.

Harry followed his gaze and studied his former school rival. Now that the shock of his injuries and the layer of blood that had covered him were gone, the blond's appearance improved by a large margin. However, even the healer's magic couldn't fix his obvious malnourishment or the pale, sickly pallor of his skin. His face, as smooth as it had been when they were schoolchildren, was relaxed now in sleep, and the unhealthy color of his skin only accentuated how gaunt the man had become. On the other hand, Malfoy's hair, despite being long and unkempt, still maintained its brightness, as if too stubborn to give up the last hint of beauty when everything else about him had decayed.

"What's the deal with Malfoy?" Harry asked the healer when the man showed no signs of leaving. "Why would the Death Eaters hurt him?"

The man leaned tiredly against the thick iron bars and surveyed him with calculating eyes. "It really isn't my place to say, Mr. Potter. Exchanging information isn't exactly allowed in my current situation."

Harry stared at him, suddenly aware of the growing tension flowing freely from the other man, and he wondered at the cause.

"So, Mr. Potter," the healer said after several seconds passed by in silence. "I must say, I was quite surprised to learn that you've been captured. Dolohov is powerful, sure, but I doubt he could compare to You-Know-Who himself." At Harry's heated glare, he raised both hands up, palms facing out. "My apologies if I offended you, but it's pretty hard to believe that the hero of the…" the man trailed off when Malfoy suddenly let out a low groan.

Harry and the healer watched quietly as Malfoy shifted into a more comfortable position on the stone floor, moving the previously broken arm under his head to serve as a pillow. After curling in slightly toward himself, he continued his sleep, unaware of the sudden frosty atmosphere in the prison.

"Anyways," the healer continued, bringing Harry's attention back to the man's face, which currently featured raised eyebrows and a small curl in his lips. "Mr. Potter, don't misunderstand. I am not one of those idiots who blindly thrust the fate of the world upon your shoulders. I don't fall for the hype of the boy wizard who could save us all. However, I do think it somewhat strange that Dolohov could successfully have you caught and helpless, especially with the power of the Ministry and the supposedly top-secret Order of the Phoenix behind your back." Harry could no longer see the man's brown eyes from how narrowed they now were. "If this is some sort of plan to capture Draco for yourselves, I am telling you right now, boy: I will not let you harm him. You may be The-Boy-Who-Lived, but that doesn't mean anything to me, and I won't hesitate to call you my enemy if you hurt him."

Harry could only stare at the man incredulously in response. His words didn't offend him, nor did they make him indignant or angry, but they sure as hell were not what he was expecting. When the healer's expression grew more suspicious with his silence, Harry quickly shook his head.

"You're mistaken. I'm not interested in Malfoy." Harry said, unable to keep his voice from being a little sardonic. His sixth year in Hogwarts made his last statement somewhat hard to believe, but the healer probably didn't know that. "And on the subject of my, er…current imprisonment…there was a traitor, someone I trusted deeply. We were led straight into an ambush." The words tasted bitter when they left his mouth.

The healer looked at him doubtfully, but soon curiosity became the dominant expression. "Who?" he asked.

Harry hesitated. If he were to be totally honest with himself, he had no real proof that she had betrayed him. He wanted to believe that it was just his cynical side, nurtured by the war with Voldemort, that was blaming his defeat on her, and that his capture and his partner's death were solely his own fault.

However, who else but her knew their exact coordinates? Who else knew every single one of their battle maneuvers and counter-spells to their wards and curses? Some of their spells were of her own creation, so who else but her could know the effective defensive spells?

"Hermione," Harry managed to grit out through clenched teeth, as much for his own benefit as for the other man's. "Hermione betrayed us."

Saying her name aloud didn't make him feel better, unfortunately. A rising feeling of nausea made him stumble back a few steps until his back hit the metal bars with a cold, metallic clunk. He almost wished for that mind-numbing shock that had accompanied him during the night to return. Feeling nothing had to be better than feeling this. A mixture of disbelief, hurt, pain, and confusion all swirled chaotically together, never letting one emotion reach the forefront, but all roiling into one confusing mass that urged him to empty the contents of his stomach.

"Hermione Granger?" The healer shook his head and shrugged, as if the matter of her betrayal was nothing more than a mere detail. "Well, Ministry matters and your like are out of my league, and I know to best leave it alone. More often than not, good people get wrapped up in their games and come out the worse for wear." There was a brief pause, during which the man cleared his throat. "You look ill, Mr. Potter. Something I can do to help?"

Without waiting for a reply, he aimed a calming charm at Harry, who was too distracted to flinch away from it. Immediately, Harry's stomach settled and his heartbeat, which he hadn't even realized had quickened, slowed down. "My name is Erwin Chowdhury, by the way. If you heed my word, and keep from hurting Draco here, you'll find that I am quite a strong ally to have on your side, Mr. Potter."

Harry returned the man's gaze with an even one of his own, neither trusting nor hostile. With his head cleared so suddenly of strong emotions, he was able to look about him with clear eyes for the first time since he witnessed the beheading of his partner. "Yeah, sure," Harry answered simply. "And thank you."

Chowdhury nodded and returned his attention back to Malfoy, who continued to sleep on the floor, seemingly as comfortable on the hard, cold stone as on a soft bed. He glanced at his worn wristwatch, murmured, "That should be long enough," and then wordlessly aimed a rennervate at him.

Malfoy didn't jerk awake like Harry expected him to. Instead, the blond simply opened his eyes and continued to lay still.

"Draco?" Chowdhury said, kneeling down next to him and moving to place a hand on his shoulder. The healer stopped short before he touched him, however.

Malfoy brought up a hand to his face to sweep his hair back. Then, he used the same hand to rub wearily at his eyes, his movements languid yet deliberate. Chowdhury hovered anxiously nearby, his now awkward countenance a stark contrast to his earlier confident healing.

"I wish you'd just tell them whatever they want to know before they hurt you, Draco. You look worse every time I see you. What if they don't let me come in time one day?" Chowdhury chided, and the look he gave Draco was kind, but worried. Malfoy only sat up, staring morosely at the foot that had almost been ripped off. Chowdhury sighed. "So, Draco. How are things down there? How're Melinda and the kids?"

Even through the calming haze that the healer's spell put him through, Harry sensed desperation in the healer's voice. He watched as Malfoy's gaze moved from his foot to Chowdhury, his expression serious. "They're fine. Your daughter is still experiencing some nausea, but the others are doing their best to keep her comfortable."

Chowdhury smiled and nodded his head gratefully. "Good. That's good," he muttered. The healer glanced distractedly over his shoulder toward the entrance to the prison. "I had better get going, then. I would hate to bring one of them down here to check up on me."

Malfoy nodded and leaned back on both arms with an air of exhaustion. His ribs stood out prominently in the brightening cell, and it was easy to follow the lines to the slight dip of his navel. Harry blinked and looked away.

Chowdhury hesitated at the cell door. "Are you feeling dizzy? Did I leave the blood replenishing charm on long enough? Mr. Potter told me you returned after sunset, so I calculated…"

"I'm fine," Malfoy cut him off without bothering to look up. "Just go before they miss you. If anything new comes up with Melinda, I'll let you know."

Chowdhury's head bobbed up and down repeatedly, and he even leant forward a little in a small bow. "Thank you, Draco." Then, he locked the door and left with a noticeable guilty slump in his shoulders.

The healer's departure invited a vague sense of discomfort in Harry as he realized that he was left alone with someone who not only had nearly been killed by Harry's own hand – on school property, no less – but also who Harry was certain hated his guts with a burning fury. Harry tried to keep his eyes off the other man, who continued to lean back with his eyes now closed, but no matter how many times he forced his gaze elsewhere, it always returned back to linger on the other sole occupant of the prison.

In the end, when Malfoy hadn't bothered to open his eyes and spare him a glance, Harry returned to his previous spot on the floor and sat, making as little noise as possible. Attempting to get as comfortable as he could on an unrelentingly cold stone floor was quite difficult, but Harry found that if he tucked himself in the corner where the stone wall met the metal bar, he could be somewhat content. Also, once he removed his outer cloak – a thick, red one that acted as the aurors' uniform – and wrapped it securely around the bars, Harry created for himself a nice headrest. Thankfully, the prison currently wasn't chilly enough to make his thin T-shirt and jeans lacking.

Now that he was all set up, he glanced again at Malfoy, only to see that Malfoy had finally opened his eyes and was currently staring directly at him. He didn't appear embarrassed to have been caught looking, and to Harry's annoyance, he felt his own cheeks flush when Malfoy continued to look at him relentlessly, his face totally clear of expression.

"What?" Harry snapped a few tense seconds later as all traces of Chowdhury's charm fled from his system. The intense gray eyes bothered him somehow, and he couldn't stop himself from thinking that the man before him seemed a complete stranger, not at all like the boy he knew from Hogwarts.

It was unnerving. Already in an unfamiliar environment, the last thing Harry wanted was yet another unknown. And yet, in front him, still silently regarding him, was someone who Harry was sure wasn't the same person he'd seen cowering with his parents in the Great Hall after Voldemort's death.

It appeared as though Hermione wasn't the only one who had changed.

Finally, Malfoy blinked at him slowly – once, twice – and then looked away, his stone mask fading into a clear parody of boredom.

However, just before that boredom, a split second of curiosity appeared on his face, and Harry wondered on it.

"I've seen quite a variety of reactions for being locked up," Malfoy mused, his voice faint and raspy but still somewhat ridiculing, "but you're the first who've ever bothered to redecorate. Planning on staying here long, Potty?"

His tone unexpectedly caused Harry's body to relax…until Malfoy's words registered in his brain. Stubbornly, he settled back against the rough material, exaggerating its softness by lounging lazily into it, and looked defiantly at Malfoy.

He ignored the unimpressed glance that Malfoy gave him, and after slouching down even further so that he was nearly horizontal, he asked, "Why are you here, Malfoy? What'd you do to piss off your own mates?"

Malfoy's only answer was a rather listless shrug. His expression was closed, and he looked away from Harry in a way that clearly dismissed him.

Silence stretched on for a few minutes, and Harry would let it continue, except that Hermione's betrayal was resurfacing inside his head and he needed to say something to relieve the growing pressure within him.

Distraction. He needed a distraction, something to take his mind off it. And Malfoy seemed as good a distraction as any.

"So…" Harry blurted out before trailing off when he realized he had nothing to say. He studied Malfoy once again, and marveled at how successfully Malfoy could act as if he were the only person in the room, as if Harry were no more visible than the stale air he breathed. The weariness and pain were still noticeable on the pale face, though, no matter the control Malfoy had on his features, and Harry was reminded of how the war had also been difficult for him. Harry released a long sigh and looked around their prison with a curious air.

"So," he repeated. "Got any ideas on how to escape this place?"

He didn't really expect an answer, but Harry still felt exasperation welling up inside him when Malfoy refused to acknowledge his words. "Aren't you going to try at all, Malfoy?" he persisted. He shifted his legs to cross one ankle over the other and looked at the blond with an overly expectant expression on his face. "You can't possibly just stay here, especially after they almost…de-footed you."

"Do shut the fuck up, Potter," Malfoy said, although his voice was without venom.

Encouraged that Malfoy hadn't started spouting insults, Harry jumped to his feet in one fluid motion, stretching the kinks out of his body and shaking his head slightly to rid the tired haze obscuring his mind. So much for refusing to sleep during the night.

"Alright, Malfoy. If you're not going to try anything, it looks like it's up to me again to save your arse," Harry said as he determinedly focused his mind and balanced his core. The sheer amount of magic he'd performed yesterday depleted much of his energy, but he was sure he'd regained enough by now. Well, enough to not harm himself accidentally, at least.

Malfoy's answering glare stirred feelings of nostalgia in Harry, and he quelled the urge to reply with the two-fingered salute. They weren't schoolchildren anymore.

The look on Malfoy's face quickly disappeared when Harry raised his right hand toward the door of the cell. "Wait, Pot—"

The blue light of Harry's Expulso curse hit the metal bars, but instead of blasting through an exit, the spell appeared to have been absorbed by a shimmering curtain of light that became visible the moment the spell hit.

"The fu—" Harry managed to say before an explosive pressure burst from the bars and smacked him in the face and chest, throwing him back roughly to the stone wall. The back of his head banged the wall hard enough to cause bright lights to erupt across his vision, and the loud ringing in his ears made thinking nearly impossible. "Bloody hell. What was that?" Harry mumbled as he rubbed the back of his head gingerly. He placed his other hand gently on his glasses to find with relief that it had survived the impact.

"Magical prison, you imbecile. Any form of magic gets repelled." Malfoy's reply was somewhat muffled, and Harry glanced over to see the blond leaning heavily against the wall as well. It seemed the blast had also swept him back.

Harry narrowed his eyes at him. "What do you mean? Nothing happened while that healer was healing you."

Malfoy rubbed his shoulder with a grimace of pain, and when he turned and bent down to pick up the shirt that Chowdhury had left behind, Harry could see several new scrapes along his shoulder blades. Oops, Harry thought. His eyes trailed up to the blond's neck when something there caught his attention. However, before he could register what it was, the collar of the shirt covered it as Malfoy donned the shirt.

"Erwin's a special case," Malfoy said shortly as he slotted the buttons into place. "He's their healer, so they can't restrict his magic. He's bound by contract rather than by brand."

"Brand?"

He gestured toward the back of his neck, toward the thing that Harry had barely a glimpse of. "Yes. Branded. You have one too."

Harry clapped a hand over his own neck. "Really?" he asked, alarmed.

Malfoy frowned slightly, looking at Harry with an unfamiliar stern expression. "Yes, really. The brand taints your magic, and this place absorbs it." Finished dressing, he leaned against the bars and crossed his arms. "Then, it sends it back as energy. So keep your fancy wandless magic to yourself, Potty."

Harry scowled. His situation had just gotten a lot worse now that he learned he couldn't use his magic. For the first time, Harry felt a slight nugget of concern lodge itself inside his stomach. He hadn't expected to be stuck in a prison he couldn't get himself out of. Harry sighed explosively, slumping against the wall in exasperation. "So what should we do now?"

Malfoy glared at him. "We're not doing anything. You can do whatever you want."

"Oh? Alright, then, but what are you going to do?" Harry asked, mimicking the other and crossing his arms. Despite where he was, Harry felt a small satisfaction when the annoyance on Malfoy's face increased slightly.

However, any feelings that could even remotely be termed good fled when an unexpected and soft-spoken, "Harry," sounded from the cell door. His head whipped to the side to face the speaker and a complete stillness overtook his body.

There, looking straight into his eyes and standing just in front of a grinning Antonin Dolohov was Hermione, her expression unreadable.

That's right, she can Apparate quietly, was the only thought running through Harry's head while he stared at her. Dolohov, who had her right shoulder in a tight grip, chuckled, and Hermione blinked at the sound.

"Well, well. So much for undying friendship, eh?" he said as he gestured at the bars separating them. Harry and Hermione didn't reply, and Harry struggled to read anything, anything at all, from her eyes. He knew he was begging her with his look, but nothing in her expression changed.

Moments later, Hermione's gaze slid from Harry to Malfoy, at which point a slight furrow in her brow finally broke her stone-like mask.

"Still alive," she murmured softly. Harry glanced at Malfoy, expecting to see that expression of hatred and disgust that Malfoy usually reserved for her, but was surprised when he only saw him returning her gaze with calm boredom. Harry looked again to Hermione, trying not to let his heart lurch too much when his eyes took in her familiar face.

Her brown eyes were calculating as she continued to study Malfoy, and she tilted her head slightly to the side. "For how much longer?" she asked, directing the question to the wizard at her side.

Dolohov grinned. "Come now, Mudblood. We treat Draco like precious china!" His laugh was rich and deep, and he missed the slight look of distaste on Hermione's face. Harry did not, however. "Lucius hadn't lasted long, and we assumed the brat would've followed him long ago. If he's still alive once we have our answer, I'll kill him myself." Dolohov leaned forward and gripped a metal bar with a large, grimy hand. His grin widened further at Malfoy. "You've made this hunt quite difficult, Draco, and it just tickles my heart to see you paying for it. One day, Chowdhury's not going to get to you in time, and you'll be nothing but a useless smear on the Malfoy line."

Malfoy only curled his lips in response, and Harry felt impatience rising up quickly. "What the hell is going on?" he asked, containing his voice so that he wouldn't shout. "Hermione, what is the meaning of all this?"

Hermione avoided his gaze, looking instead to a spot somewhere above his shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid, Harry. I promise everything will be fine."

"What!" The word exploded from his lips despite his struggle to control himself. "You're working with Death Eaters, Hermione! And you're telling me not to do anything stupid? Tell me what the hell is going on," Harry insisted, taking the few steps forward to reach the bars separating them. "Are they blackmailing you? Threatening you?"

Hermione turned away. "Calm down, Harry. No one's forcing me to do anything." She pointed to the back of her neck. "Don't try that again, Harry. You'll only hurt yourself. No one else will hurt you here, and the Keeper will come soon."

Dolohov gave a dramatic sigh. "Well, darling. You've seen Potter. You've seen that he's unharmed. Now, it's time for more important matters. I believe Draco's information led us to some clues." With an exaggerated bow, he offered his arm to Hermione, who placed a hand carelessly on it. She spared one last glance at Harry before the sharp crack of Disapparition signaled their departure.

Harry stared at the spot where Hermione disappeared, feeling more confused than ever before. She wouldn't answer any of his questions. She didn't even look at him as if they were close childhood friends. Had he really been that blind for the past couple of years? Had he really not noticed anything wrong with Hermione?

A movement in the other cell made Harry look over to see Malfoy making himself comfortable on the floor. The blond looked at him with an indiscernible glint in his gray eyes, until he raised an eyebrow and said in a mocking tone, "What did I tell you about making friends with the wrong sort?"

Harry snorted bitterly. "Shut up, Malfoy."

"Only if you return the favor, Potty."

Harry sighed and turned away. Everything was a mess, and once again, someone who he cared about deeply was hiding information from him. Well, he'd defeated Voldemort with the incomplete information that Dumbledore had left behind, and he'll escape this prison as well. And he'll get Hermione back. There was no way she'd help the Death Eaters willingly.

No way in hell.

AN: Sorry it's been a long time. I was a passenger in a pretty bad car accident that left lasting injuries, so I've been busy getting my life back together. Updates might be rare, so please bear with me! Sorry if I missed any typos. I'll go back another day to flush those out.