A/N: You, my lovelies, were a quiet bunch on last chapter. I know you were disappointed, but don't lose hope. Remember, when all seems rosy, it's my job to push them off a cliff. I'll lose my author card if everything goes smooth and easy. The story would get boring, everything would become predictable and then they'd come and confiscate my keyboard. Ergo, I couldn't write any more for you. You wouldn't want that, would you?

No comment on my man-eating bunny slippers? Wow, tough crowd.

Since you're cranky, we'll get right to it. Reviews feed the bunny slippers. (Font formatting issues belong to FF. It's fine in my source.)

-Elvee

Snatch

Chapter Twenty Four

"Roused by the lash of his own stubborn tail, our lion now will foreign foes assail."

-John Dryden

In Draco's room Hermione was busy transfiguring some of his clothes to fit her. He had enough clothes in the closet he wouldn't miss them, and if he did, who the hell cared? Two changes of clothes and a jacket. She stuffed them in a conjured backpack. The food Dobby had packed went on top. She changed a belt into a wand sheath and strapped it on her forearm, sliding her wand into it.

She looked around, making sure everything was packed. Parchment, quills, ink, yes. Clothes and food, yes. There were no books to pack, no potions either. She'd be going in alone and woefully under prepared. She tightened her jaw with determination. This had to happen, and it had to be done alone. Once she had the damned bag, she'd be through with it. No amount of whinging was going to make her continue this engagement farce any longer than she had to.

The later in the day it got, the more gullible she felt and the angrier she got. He'd made a fool out of her and she didn't take that lightly. There would be no cuddling in bed tonight, no more kisses. She'd keep her distance and her end of the bargain. She'd stuff her feelings for him and stick to the new plan: get the bag, disable Lucius and return the documents. He could reset his own damn wards. Git. Then she'd throw the ring at his head. He could choke on it.

She really didn't care.

Coming out of her funk, she looked around to find Dobby fidgeting nervously in the corner. "Dobby, hide this behind the sofa in the living room." She handed him the bulging backpack.

The elf shifted uneasily, never meeting her eye. "Please, Miss. You can't! Mister Malfoy will hurts you! Harry Potter will be very angry..."

"Harry will understand, Dobby. He and Ron have things of their own to do. While I'm away, I want you to look after Narcissa and Draco. You are not to punish yourself, no matter what they say. Do you understand?" Dobby gave a morose nod. She gave him a tired smile. "I won't be gone long and when I get back, you and I will be heading back to Great Britain."

The elf cocked his head, confused. "Dobby, Mistress and young Mister Malfoy, you means?" He squeaked, unsure.

"No, Dobby. Just the two of us." She straightened his stack of knit hats, then chivvied him out of the room, "Now quick, go hide that and make sure no one sees."

A few hours later, Hermione emerged outside to find the patio drenched in deep shade. Draco was leaning over a piece of parchment with a quill, explaining something to Harry and Ron. Her friends stood on either side of him, their faces pinched in concentration as they studied the parchment. All three looked up at the sound of the closing door. Harry's expression was guarded, but optimistic. Ron's look was somewhat confused.

"Did I miss lunch?" she asked sweetly, flashing her best smile at Draco. If he was going to mess with her, she was going to make damn sure he missed her when she was gone.

Malfoy elbowed Ron. "Move Weasel. You're in her spot." Ron glared at him, but moved over to claim a chair across the table.

Draco stood and pulled out a chair for her. As she settled in, he swooped in and kissed her full on the mouth. She quickly tamped down the surprise and the traitorous tingles that accompanied it. She'd promised herself no more kisses. Watching Ron turn away and hearing Harry clear his throat – both done without protest- she realized she'd have to keep up the charade, just until tonight.

Draco tucked her chair in and laced his fingers through hers as he resumed his seat. "Sleep well?" he asked quietly, lifting her knuckles to his lips and brushing them softly. She smiled gently at him and he returned it.

"Dobby!" Harry called, putting in a request for lunch when the elf appeared. Dobby spotted Hermione and Draco holding hands, his eyes widening for a fraction of a second before he cracked away.

"Draco, we need to talk about going back to get my bag. I need a rough idea of the floor plan of your Berlin summer house." She pushed a piece of blank parchment in front of him.

"When are you thinking we should go?" He asked as he began to sketch.

She shrugged, lying smoothly. "A day, maybe two. We'll have to send Dobby for some supplies."

Dobby had reappeared with trays piled high with sandwiches, a huge bowl of fresh greens and a chocolate torte. With difficulty, Ron tore his eyes from the food long enough to ask, "Wait. You're going back?"

"Back where?" Harry asked, distracted by straightening his notes.

Hermione bit her lip. Draco raised an eyebrow at her, but turned back to sketching when she said nothing. Ron stopped piling his plate, gaping, "You are, aren't you? Blimey, Hermione! You can't go back there, Lucius Malfoy will kill you!"

"I don't have a choice, Ron. Something very important got left behind." She said stiffly.

"Don't worry, Weasel. I'll be going with her."

"Lot of bloody good that did last time, didn't it?" Ron snorted, his mouth full of sandwich. "We had to be yanked away from hunting..." Ron squirmed at a sharp look from Harry. "Er... doing stuff to come save you."

"'Mione, no. Bad idea," Harry said. "Anyway, I have something Dumbledore told me to ask you about."

"It can't be helped, Harry. The sooner I get this bag, the sooner I'm free to..." Whoops. That was close. She rushed to cover her miss-step, "To, ah, do other things."

Draco lowered his fork, narrowing his eyes at her. Well, shit. "What kind of 'other things'?" He asked, his voice low and dangerous.

"You know," Hermione said a little too brightly. "Uh, beaded wedding dresses and things."

Draco slapped his napkin on his full plate. Grabbing her by the arm, he towed them a few strides away from the table. Hermione looked back helplessly at her friends. He spun her to face him and planted a hand firmly on each of her shoulders.

"Liar," he whispered. "What are you up to?"

"Nothing," she lied.

He searched her face, apparently finding no trace of her lie, he said, "We're going to get this bag, then you're staying here where its safe."

"You can't tell me what to do! Who the hell do you think you are?" She hissed, seething.

"I'm your fiancee! You're going to be my wife!" He hissed right back, his eyes falling from the usual easy soothing gray to something dark and dangerous.

She pointed a furious finger at his nose. "If you think for one second just because I'm wearing your bloody ring you have any say over how I live my life, you've got another thing coming! I might not be a part of the Order, but I'll be damned if I'm going to stand by and watch my friends fight this war without me!" She spat.

"Absolutely not!" He swatted her finger out of his face. "It's too dangerous!"

"A year ago you would've danced on my grave, Malfoy." She gave a grim smirk.

"A year ago we weren't engaged!" He growled, those dangerous eyes flashing.

"Don't worry, Malfoy. I'm sure Parkinson will be happy to comfort you when I'm gone." Sneering, she whirled on her heel to go back to the table, but he roughly yanked her from her stride back in his arms. "How dare..."

He slammed his lips into hers. He didn't even care when she didn't respond. He didn't wait for it, either. His mouth angrily ravaged her, staking his claim. His arms were like iron bands, forcing her up against his length. She fought to free herself, but he was too strong. She tried to reach her wand only to find her wrist caught fast in his grip. How dare he force himself on her like this! She kicked him viciously in the shin.

He jerked away from her, but kept his grip on her wand hand. "Let's get one thing straight: If I wanted Pansy, she'd be wearing that ring. Not you." She tried to kick him again, but he side-stepped it, chuckling darkly. "Face it, Granger. You're stuck with me."

"We're not married yet, Malfoy," she threatened.

As they were seething at each other, behind her she heard Ron snicker, "'Bout time. Cute, cuddly Malfoy was making my skin crawl."

She tore her wrist from his grip and stomped to the table, whipping Draco's incomplete sketch up and smashing it into her pocket. "Suddenly, I'm not very hungry. I'll see you later." She stalked across to the door and slammed it behind her with a bang.

Harry watched Draco turn his back on them and run a frustrated hand through his hair. Out of the side of his mouth he asked Ron, "Did you finish packing?"

"'Course." He said under his breath, stuffing a huge bite of chocolate cake in his mouth. "Surprised it took her this long."

Harry looked back at Malfoy who was currently pacing and swearing up a storm. "Think we should put him out of his misery?"

Ron rolled his eyes and sighed, shooting crumbs across the table. "Yeah, okay," he said reluctantly.

"Oi! Malfoy!" Harry called.

Hermione stormed into the living room and snatched up her backpack. Dobby stood in the middle of the room wringing his hands. "Not one word!" She growled at him, before getting herself under control. She took a deep breath, then stooping to Dobby's level she said kindly, "If I'm not back in three days, let Harry know where I went. If I don't make it, tell Harry and Ron I'm sorry. Tell them I did what I could and they'll have to finish it without me." They stood awkwardly looking at one another for a moment, before she continued through a tight throat, "And tell Draco... Tell him it wasn't a game for me."

Dobby gulped and nodded. Hermione gave him a gentle smile, "Dobby, you've been the best house elf a girl could ask for. Thank you." She cupped his little green cheek and planted a kiss on his blushing forehead. "I'll see you soon."

She pulled out her wand, cast a disillusionment charm on herself and disapparated with a crack.

She landed like a cat in a crouch, not daring to move. Fighting the nausea of apparition, she held her breath. It was completely and utterly black, as expected. She hadn't wanted to apparate outside in the garden in case any house elves or even Lucius himself were home. Since apparition was a bastard cousin to memory charms, at least in wand movement and theory, she went to the place she remembered the best: her cell.

The only sound was water trickling in the distance, echoing from the stone walls. It was cold enough to cover her in gooseflesh. She held her position, fighting the urge to shiver for about five minutes. Each minute seemed like an hour. Her shaky breath sounded thunderous in her ears. She listened for the smallest sound as she waited: a whisper of cloth, the hush of a stealthy footstep, the shushing sound of drawing a wand.

Her mind raced as she waited. What did she know about Lucius? He was sly, calculating and patient. He was clever and malevolent. He had hubris to spare. But he did have the advantage. This was his home, his dungeon, his lair. What did she have that he didn't? Daring, for one. He'd hardly be expecting her back in this house. She had patience as well and knew she'd have to move slowly and deliberately. Stealth, for another. Unless he cast a hominum revelio charm, she'd be all but invisible down here in the darkness.

Lastly, she was Hermione Granger, brightest witch of her age. She wouldn't let this time turn into a battle of magic. She'd out think him, out maneuver him, and render him helpless before she approached. That was the plan. The hard part was going to be sticking to it.

Nobody came. No panicked footsteps out in the hall, no shouts of alarm, no hexes whizzing over her head. That was interesting. Either the wards hadn't bothered to alert Lucius of another 'family' member stepping foot on the property, or he knew and he was biding his time.

If the second was true, and Hermione always planned for the worst, the last place she'd want to be cornered was this cell. She took a single, silent step in the dark, dancing her outstretched fingers over the stone wall. She wouldn't risk light unless she had no other choice. She waited, ears straining to listen. Took a breath. Took another breath. Took a step and waited.

Painstakingly, step by near silent step, she made her way around the cell she'd been held prisoner in to the door. The fingers of her right hand held her wand at the ready. The fingers of her left hand told her the door was thick, heavy wood reinforced with some kind of metal bands. It was slightly slimy to the touch. There was no handle on this side and it wouldn't open. No light came from underneath. She pressed her ear to it and listened. Patience and caution, she reminded herself. They'll win the day.

She whispered an alohamora charm on the door and winced in anticipation of the loud metal on metal sound of the twisting lock. At the first utterance from her mouth, the disillusionment charm lifted, sending a shiver chasing down her spine. The door held fast and silent. A stronger charm, then. She ran down an encyclopaedic list in her head of all the opening charms she'd read about, learned and cast over the last six years. She started at the most difficult, found last fall in a secret visit to the restricted section. She whispered the incantation and waved her wand. Nothing.

After the seventh spell she was becoming disheartened. None of them worked. She recast the disillusionment charm and sank down with her back against the door to think. She could weaken the wood with a rotting jinx. That would take a long time and make quite a bit of noise. A silencio spell could cover the noise. She could try to blow a hole in it with a reducto. Too loud. The silencing spells she knew weren't strong enough to cover an explosion. She could try to levitate the hinge pins out of the hinges and hope the door didn't crush her to death, or slam into the wall on the other side of the hall.

Sometimes, it was hard knowing so much. It made making decisions a long and tedious process. She shook herself. At least she had a chance of choosing where and how hard the door would land, and it would be quick. She quickly cast an accio charm to summon the hinge pins, the levitation spell on the tip of her tongue to control the fall of the door.

Nothing. Of course, the whole damn door could be spell resistant. She leaned both palms against the door and hung her head in frustration, swearing in six languages in her head.

The ring around her right finger grew warm and the door gave a soft click. She dropped to a crouch, cast a silencing charm on the hinges and let the door swing open. She listened, hearing nothing but the sound of her own breathing.

Please let it be here. Please let these be the laziest house elves in the history of house elves, Hermione begged silently. Poking her head around the door at knee level, she risked casting a bluebell flame on the floor about three meters to her left. The little blue flame flared to life and she ducked back around the door frame to avoid being temporarily blinded.

"Hello?" A cracked female voice called softly from down the hall. "Is anyone there?"

Hermione's eyes flew wide open. Her shaky breath rushed back and forth out of her mouth.

Two weak thumps on wood. "Help me, please," the voice whimpered.

Pulling her wand, her head still on knee level, Hermione risked a look at the hall. The walls were made of long rows of dressed stone blocks. The floor was a covering of grime and dirt over the same type of stone. Torch brackets hung empty, like rusting skeletal fingers. To her left was a set of stone steps leading up. To her right the blue light faded into the darkness of more hallway.

There was no sign of her precious beaded bag.

The sound of muffled sobbing came from the right. With a flick of her wand, she extinguished the flame. A squeak of fright followed the light going out.

"Please," the voice begged. A weak thump on wood.

Hermione cursed inwardly. She'd never even considered a prisoner. Pressing down her reluctance to be in the Malfoy dungeon any longer than necessary, she slipped around the doorway to the left. As much as she wanted to leave, as much as she wanted to find her damned bag, as much as she wanted to be done with this whole ordeal, she couldn't – she wouldn't- leave anyone to rot down here.

Silently, she slid along the wall toward the sound of the woman's sobs. She stopped in front of a door about ten meters down from her old cell. She listened. She could hear the hitching breaths of Lucius Malfoy's prisoner. Reaching out her hand she pressed it against the door. It gave a soft click, opening inward. She cast a lumos charm, giving the end of her wand a soft, yellow glow.

She took in the bloody heap of rags and hair on the floor in front of her. Long chestnut hair was matted with blood. A fine silk dress was shredded and filthy. The hand she could see ended in bloody, ripped fingernails. The woman on the floor tipped her face into the light and Hermione gasped. "Parkinson?"