The story so far…

Draco and Hermione are quickly showing symptoms of werewolf mating, including quasi-telepathy. Yay! Ron and Pansy are trying to have a relationship. It ain't working because she's a whore with a mysterious brother (who's in Seneca), and a werewolf. Ron doesn't care but Draco keeps getting blamed for all the shit she does. Harry is planning something with Dumbledore. Ginny's not happy but hey, she's not gonna ask about it as long as nobody dies. Christmas dinner was a disaster but it happened. Narcissa and Moody are engaged. Everyone thinks it's weird. Hermione and Draco are getting so close, it's creepy.

The elusive Seneca is Snape's family's home but Voldemort took it. Prisoners from Azkaban are getting sent there to become part of Voldy's new army. He's still turning people into super werewolves left and right, against their will. Or torturing them like he did Lucius, which Draco doesn't know yet, and he's smart enough not to ask. It's just one of many things Hermione's keeping from him but it's all coming out slowly.

Draco is under house arrest because this guy put charges on him for the murder of those guards in Spain at the beginning of LLDM. He doesn't remember killing them but well, he might have been unconscious or all wolfy. Hermione and Draco are terrified that they're going to stay wolfy and deformed if they keep changing as it's getting harder to turn back.

Draco has switched bodies with Pansy to escape house arrest. The group tries to reach the guy, Dennis Milgrahm, and coerce him into dropping the charges but Draco leads them to an underground Death Eater mixer. They find his friend, Murth, who leads them to a hotel where Hermione can sober up. She explains everything and they go back to the party to tell Harry, Ron, & Ginny their plan to invade Seneca as prisoners. Nobody thinks it's going to work. Everybody's right.

And now…

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CHAPTER 17: Evil Overlords Can't Decorate

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"What do you mean we're invading the enemy stronghold?" screeched Harry.

"Why does it feel like we're always saying that?" mumbled Ron through chattering teeth. "Why haven't we ever captured this damn enemy? Tell me that!"

He subconsciously pulled Pansy closer, under his arm, before quickly realizing it was in fact Draco in his girlfriend's skin and pushed him off. Ginny chuckled before them. "What do you say we head back to Grimmauld Place already and get some cavalry?" she offered, feeling like the only same one in the bunch.

Hermione, Draco, and the very large Murth all shook their heads and crossed their arms. Harry raised an eyebrow at their coordination. Ginny just laughed again. She wasn't the least bit worried about anything, so long as she had Harry beside her.

"No offense, children, but I'm not stepping anywhere near the Order, let alone its headquarters. I'm listening because I still have trouble believing you lot are even connected to the Order and we need all the men and women we can get," Murth said.

"Who is 'we'?" asked Ron, not too happy about the idea of being recruited.

Murth sighed and went to sit on the roof ledge. Even though they all knew it was a solid ledge, they expected it to bend under his weight, to hear the crack of brick when he sat. It reminded them of Hagrid, whom they now all missed terribly. It was a connection to a time that, though mere months ago, seemed like decades prior.

"There is no 'we.'"

Draco snorted. "You sound like one of Weasley's exes."

"What exes?" added Harry in a low voice, staring off at the cityscape absentmindedly. Even Ron and Murth, neither of whom seemed capable of a single moment of cheeriness, smiled. They would use any excuse to smile now, as Harry so bluntly reminded them four more times before they arrived at wherever the hell their individual duties asked of them.

For Harry, it was a simple task. Alert Dumbledore. He was the only one really capable of sending a truly strong Patronus, one that Dumbledore would recognize immediately. After that, he and Ginny were to take up their positions as a standby line of defense. If Draco had to set the damn house on fire, they were going to have to play cavalry when their friends all went running out the front door with scorched hair. It was a possibility that Draco kept in the back of his mind, should they need to make the escape. Nobody wanted to kill The Boy Who Lived, not for the sake of a Slytherin.

Ron was the welcome party when Dumbledore arrived. He'd wait at the hotel as Murth instructed and prayed they brought Pansy with them so they could have another wolf on their side. If nobody came, they were screwed and they knew it. If nobody came, Ron would be the one to alert them that they were on their own. He greatly hoped nobody felt like killing the messenger.

For Hermione and Draco, however, the plan meant playing prisoner and prison guard for the night. They had no clue what that entailed, except perhaps restraints which usually qualified a normal Friday night since Draco started freaking out about turning into a werewolf permanently.

Murth was kind enough to supply the restraints. As he tied Draco up with special magic resistant rope, the two spent a good ten minutes talking about the best knot for what situation and how to avoid the dreaded hog-tie through witty conversation and subterfuge. Hermione watched in awe of the mind of evil, even reformed, and the things they spouted with no regard for company. What's worse, she was fascinated by the seemingly insignificant knowledge they held.

Once Draco was properly tied up, Murth bid farewell to the group of idiot adventurers and led Draco and Hermione to their next destination. Floo powder got everywhere and they still only ended up in a random field in any part of no-name England. The couple glared at Murth.

"Are we seriously standing in a field?" complained Draco. Of course he would be the first to complain. Even Murth was expecting it. "I don't care for fields. I don't care for fields at all."

Hermione purposefully bumped into him as they walked to seemingly nowhere. "Shush. He knows what he's doing and he's practically saving your psychotic ass so let him and don't ask questions."

"Saved my arse?" he echoed, offended. Nobody got to save him, nobody but Hermione. He took it as a challenge.

Murth just rolled his eyes and pulled them across the dark field, tug-tug-tugging them along. The sky had started to hint at the coming dawn, which meant they had to hurry towards the secret entrance to Seneca if they were going to make it under the cover of darkness. It didn't matter, really, but Pansy's face wasn't completely unknown in Voldemort's most inner circle. Darkness would help, seeing as they were stuck in their current forms.

"These heels are killing me," groaned Draco yet again. This time, Hermione clenched her jaw to stop herself from kicking him over the head.

"That's what you get," she answered. She always had to answer, Murth noticed, even though it wasn't necessary and just fed his ego.

"We're here," said Murth. Everyone stopped and stared at… nothing.

"Please tell me it's invisible," said Draco.

"Better!" shouted Murth, taking his wand from his cloak pocket. The wind swept across the vastness of the field. "It's underground!"

Hermione wasn't going to ask how they were going to get to a castle in probably a whole other part of the country from there. She was convinced that this Murth fellow was trustworthy. She'd been right about Draco, after all. She couldn't be too far off now.

As the ground opened, she and Draco held their breaths. It was just a tunnel. They prayed there wasn't a light at the end.

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Ron waited in room 222, the exact location Harry had instructed Dumbledore. He was told to wait for Dumbledore but he wasn't stupid. He was waiting for Pansy to come and hug him, even if in the body of another boy. He wouldn't care. He just wanted to see her, hold her, tell her she was a fucking moron for letting Draco talk her into body switching and that she was starting AA meetings the next day.

He waited but it seemed like they weren't going to make it.

Harry and Ginny lingered at the front gates of Seneca, just far enough not to be seen. They were supposed to have fled if Draco and Hermione took too long but it took a lot more than orders to get Harry to leave his friends.

Ginny sat with her back to the gates, up against a boulder the size of Hagrid. She looked up at Harry, who kept two vigilant eyes on the gates. She sighed and said, "If something goes on, you'll know. You'll hear the screams, Harry. Sit with me for a bit, will you?"

He shook his head, his eyes fixed on the gate. "I can't, Gin. You don't understand."

"What?" she shouted, suddenly furious. "Don't you fucking tell me I don't understand, Harry Potter."

She was used to Harry being a martyr for others but when they were together, on their walks around the lake, he was just a boy. He promised himself to her and did so with pride. She knew it was silly to think he'd abandon a lifelong crusade for her. But it'd been nice to pretend.

Now, once again in the face of danger, it was still nice to pretend.

She stood, ignoring their cover. "You could have said anything. You could have said that you loved me and that we'd be alright so long as we had each other. Why can't you just forget your boyish awkwardness just for one day? For one hour? Can't you see those are my friends in there too?"

He clenched his jaw and pulled her down beside him. "Do you want me to lie to you?"

She flinched. He almost sounded… cruel? Harry was never cruel. He slowly turned to her and Ginny saw the worry written on his face for the first time.

"No," she said. "That's not what people who love each other do. You can tell me I don't look fat in my jeans, that my love of sports is not intimidating… but don't lie to me about this. About now. Don't tell me our world isn't ending when I can feel you slipping away every second."

He turned his attention back on the gates but he reached down and took her hand, squeezing tightly and reassuringly. "What do you want to know?" he whispered.

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Murth led them down the tunnel to a stairway in the distance. It was dimly lit but ominously lit nonetheless. "It's just at the end," Murth said. "You're on your own from here. I can't be seen inside again."

"What?" squeaked Draco. "Aren't you coming with us?"

Even Hermione agreed that it was comforting to have another jolly giant by their side. Without him, she felt a bit naked and helpless in that ridiculous disguise. "How will Milgrahm recognize us – trust us – without you?"

Murth reached into his cloak and pulled out a simple white feather. He handed it to Hermione, who slipped it into her bra.

"He'll know what it means," said Murth and, with a small salute, he sent them on their way.

Draco just stared in awe, more open about his helplessness than Hermione ever would be. "A feather? Are you serious?" he squeaked again.

Hermione pulled his chain up the stairs. They found themselves in a long corridor, obviously once abandoned by the footprints in the dust.

Evil overlords never bother to vacuum, they both thought, sharing a look.

"Come, prisoner," joked Hermione, pulling him down the hall towards the set of double doors at the end. The sense of unease, of evil hanging overhead, reminded her of Malfoy Manor. "Do all Slytherins use the same architect? Explain this to me."

"No, just the same interior decorator probably. I don't know. Mother handles those things."

She chuckled, trying to rid herself of her nearly crippling fear with a few laughs. "Please make sure to lose her number when we're decorating our own little castle."

"Our own little castle," he echoed softly. "Are you planning the moat already? The ducklings by the bottomless pit? The garden of Venus flytraps?"

"I was thinking more of a little guestroom for when my parents visit and a ballroom sans the werewolf bodyguards. Maybe a cozy bedroom for us with a little cage in the corner for the children."

He snorted and she pulled a little tighter on his chain. "This may not be the best time to be talking about this."

"When the hell else are we going to get a chance to talk about this? We barely need to talk as it is."

Hermione pulled open the double doors and saw more than she wanted to see in one lifetime. She had seen dungeons before. Hell, Slytherins slept in dungeons. This was no dungeon like she'd ever seen.

It was made up of cages, cages everywhere. They were slowly being emptied. The prisoners still wore their Azkaban uniforms. Some of them wore cloaks. Civilians. Hermione recognized them from MISSING posters in the paper. Many had been socially important enough to make the front page, before they were never mentioned again.

They didn't seem important now. They seemed broken somehow. They sat in their cages like dogs and stared out at nowhere. They reminded her of the werewolves she'd seen at Malfoy Manor, the way they obeyed without question. The newer ones lingered in the back of the cages, hugging themselves and crying into their knees like defeated children.

She thanked God there were no children, none that she saw. She didn't know what she would have done if there had been children. Most were men with bite marks on their faces. They were healing but the marks were there. The important civilians had marks in other places, hidden places so they wouldn't be suspected.

"Have you seen this before?" she asked Draco, not turning around to see Pansy's face shed a tear.

Draco normally wouldn't have cried. He'd seen worse, but being in Pansy's body made him an emotional mess. He didn't respond. Hermione just understood that he had.

They knew there was another room, maybe dozens, where other things were being done. They knew in times of war, torture was commonplace on both sides. It didn't make it right. It didn't make Draco any less nauseous. It didn't make Hermione any less tired of fighting. What was the point of fighting fair if the other guys never did?

"I know what you want to do," said Draco, as soothingly as possible, "but we can't free them all. We have to get to Dennis first."

He nudged her along and they passed through the rows of cages. Hermione looked ahead, clenching her teeth. Draco looked at their faces, seeing himself in them. He nodded at some. Like Murth, they could recognize the Mark inside him. In one way or another, they all shared the same cage.

Don't look at them, Hermione. Please. Please, don't look them in the eye, Draco begged inside his head. Hermione heard and froze near the entrance, eyes focused on the double doors at the other end of the dungeon.

"Why not?" she whispered over her shoulder. "What don't you want me to see?"

She closed her eyes and gripped his restraints tightly in her fists. He lingered behind her. In their heads, his voice was his own, not Pansy's. If he was going to say anything to make her feel better about the people around her, she wanted it to be in his voice.

He understood and shut his eyes, looking for her light in the back of his mind, connecting them like never before. They're like me, Hermione. They're just like me before I met you. You never saw me truly defeated. You never saw me in a cage, huddled in a corner. You only saw the physical wreckage afterwards, the easily fixed wounds. If you looked closer at these people, saw their faces, you would see me. You'd see me like that forever and I couldn't stand it.

She gulped and moved on towards the door. She searched for the knob and waited for his touch to tell her it was okay to open her eyes. He set two gentle fingers on her shoulders and she knew it was safe. The next room was another passageway to another dark staircase.

They both sighed with relief that it didn't hold more cages. "They don't bother with basic electricity either," said Hermione, trying to lighten the mood. She tapped one of the sconces on the wall. It was one thing for her to be worried. She was worried often, for any little thing. It was another thing for Draco to be worried. About anything. He was more prone to complaining.

As soon as he stopped complaining and started worrying, Hermione began to freak the fuck out on the inside. He felt her as they walked up the stairs. The corridors were busy then. Death Eaters walked about in masks and hoods, though most masks were lifted up over their heads. There was no real need for secrecy inside the house.

"How are you doin', Sparky?" purred Draco at a passing Death Eater. The older man caught his eye, recognizing the Mark and the wolf instinct immediately. He growled at him but it wasn't territorial. It was just… recognition. By then, they both understood they were in. Only prisoners and Death Eaters made it this far inside.

The Death Eater turned around and, ignoring all others in the increasingly busy hallway, asked, "You found the Parkinson girl?"

Hermione nodded. "Yup. I heard you guys might want a report."

"She didn't need to tie me up," said Draco with a flirty smirk. "Though it is a bonus."

The Death Eater chuckled but ignored him. He turned to Hermione again. "Who are you supposed to report to?"

"Dennis," lied Hermione, always quick on her feet. "Parkinson's a friend of the family so he wanted to get a good look at her before things got crazy and she ended up in a cage. This one's not one to play house, you get me."

The Death Eater seemed a little too focused on Hermione's bosom. Draco cleared his throat and glared protectively. "Uh… to Dennis?" reminded Draco.

"He's with You-Know-Who just down the hall, third set of doors on the right with the big green smear of paint. I'd just wait outside for the meeting to end though. You-Know-Who's been in a killing mood."

"Thanks, mate," said Hermione and saluted awkwardly. The Death Eater just shook his head at Draco's flirty, girlish smirk and went on his way, scratching the back of his neck.

"I know this is probably a stupid thing to say given my well-documented libido but I love being a girly girl. It's like an all-access pass anywhere," said Draco.

Hermione found herself rolling her eyes yet again. The situation was ridiculous enough without his constant comments. She growled at him, wolf to wolf, and he got it. They walked to the door with the dark green paint smear, obviously done by hand. She was sure Professor Snape would not take kindly to having his family home defaced like that. Draco nodded in agreement, not having to read her thoughts to know they were thinking the exact same thing.

They sat on the floor by the wide doors and waited, watching the Death Eaters march on, dragging prisoners in chains. Some in prisoner uniforms didn't need shackles. They never left Voldemort's service. They didn't need the cages to be turned evil. The occasional werewolf walked by, faces disfigured in ways that made Hermione hide her face in Draco's shoulder. He'd nudge her because of course anybody who saw her tiny moments of fear and weakness would know they didn't belong.

"We'll be like that soon, won't we? That's what you were afraid of," whispered Hermione.

He nodded. "Not for you but even if I only change on full moons, I'm unnatural. I'll end up like that very soon."

"I'm unnatural too, Draco. You forget. You're not alone. And I don't care what you turn into so long as you're mine."

He smiled and waited for the hallway to clear to kiss her cheek. "Once we get out of here, remind me to buy you an even bigger place. Maybe something shiny. Yea, something shiny."

She didn't have time to smile back. The screams woke her out of their little moment. It took only a second for everything to change, for two invaders skidding on the edges of cruelty to realize the true dangers just on the other side.

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No, Dennis isn't dead. There's still hope! Tune in!

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