Disclaimer: I don't own HP! :)

A/N: Hello everyone! I am updating in a surprisingly short amount of time! It is shocking even to myself, having completed this chapter in the margins of my Calculus notebook and on the back of napkins in the cafeteria. :) I am feeling quite proud of myself - becoming quite a young adult, no? Hahaha. Anyway, I hope everyone who got one had an enjoyed Fall Break. Also, I hope you enjoy this chapter. :) Gaah, I'm so excited to finish the end!! The outline that I finished earlier needs some major work, but that shouldn't be a problem... hopefully :)

Read on!!

"What is that?"

Her voice was surprisingly melodic as it rang out through the stark air. It was the first interuption the landscape had experienced in hours. The rustling of clothing continued the disturbance as she turned to listen to her own echo. It was unsettling to be so quiet for so long – like they were waiting for something terrible to happen.

Hermione waited a few moments for her voice to travel the white distance between her and the boys. She saw neither of them at the present and presumed she had been left behind. She could not bear to leave the sight alone in an effort to find them, and instead turned back to her target. She moved tree branches out of the way and peered out through heavy lids to find her subject once more.

She supposed it to be a man, but her eyes were slack from overuse. Sleep was a precious commodity that seemed quite rare in the night. Instead, she watched – shadows, birds, branches moving in the wind. But, this was no darkened silhouette against the canvas of a tent. Hermione was sure this was a human being, crawling slowly across wintry dunes. The posture, the pose, the build… all these things supported her theory.

When Hermione came to this conclusion, her mind swam with possibilities. It could be someone she knew – an agent ,a master – or it could be Seamus. The latter was reaching, and she realized that with a heavy heart. It was too easy, Seamus just appearing after only two days of his rescuer's arrival. It simply could not be. Yet, still, Hermione's heart leapt quite painfully and she wished with all her body that it could be him.

There was a scrambling in the bushes further off that made her jump. Ron came lumbering out of the bleak forest, a solemn look on his unshaven face. His hair was long now – past his neck and curling around his red ears. He looked like a wearier, stretched version of his seventeen-year-old self. Hermione caught her thoughts drifting as he came slower, momentarily lost in the past. This was like their final journey against Voldemort, she figured. Before Ron left. She was just as glad to see him now as she had been the day he'd returned to their tentflap.

Squatting beside Hermione, Ron pushed his arm against hers for warmth and comfort. They had no time to discuss themselves since Harry had joined up. They felt awkwardness sneaking back into their conversations, making them unsure of how to act or speak when alone. They settled for silence and it seemed to be working.

Hermione pushed back against his weight."What's the ruckus about?" he kept his voice unnaturally low, as if enough had been done to their quiet solace already. Or was it trepidation? They all feared that at any moment, their words could be heard from the valley into which they looked. Watching, spying, deviating – whatever they wanted to call it – was dangerous. Their cover was in a thick scrub forest that had died with the season, creating an ominous black smudge on the otherwise pristine hills. It was a good spot that overlooked Headquarters. The trio had taken to spying through trees and rocks – a tedious and time-consuming task that yielded little.

"You don't think they'd just let Seamus out for a stroll, d'you?" Ron had bit sarcastically at the mere suggestion of a possible stakeout. "There's nothing we could possibly learn now, staring at a bloody building. It's the dead of winter. No one comes out and no one goes in without being so wrapped up it's impossible to tell who the hell they are!"

It was a strong argument, Harry had conceded, but a foolhardy one at that. Learning the land was an essential step for Aurors – something in their training they could not dispatch. Hermione had stood by Harry's side, signifying her place in the argument. There were things she wanted to watch for as well. Though she knew the layout quite well, she wasn't sure the men fully understood from her stories. She wanted them to be thorough in their examination. No mistakes this time.

Eventually, Ron had begrudgingly acquiesced to Harry's proposal. His blood was still quick and hot within him, aching for confrontation. He wasn't used to waiting, not an impatient man like himself. In his own Auror days, things moved swiftly and it was crouching in bushes for hours on end that he began to appreciate those consistent assignments. Ron always lost the Waiting Game.

Now, Hermione extended her hand to the north, where the site lay dormant underneath her finger. Ron's eyes followed the signal and easily picked out the black body.

"Is that…" he breathed, squinting, "human?"

"I think so," she replied seriously. Her eyes ran over Ron's face, painted in concentration. His lips were pressed thin and drawn. She looked for any sign of agreement, but he was guarded at the present.

It took Ron awhile to reply, weighing out the possibilities in his overworked mind. He shifted in the snow, drawing his knees closer to his body, warming his belly. Much better. He shook his head. "I think so, too."

"What do we do now?" it was question she hated to ask, relinquishing what little authority she claimed to the decision of the group. She was still staring into Ron's large, lined eyes, waiting. "Should we go down there now?"

Again, Ron shook his head, but it had a very different connotation. "Much as I'd like to – I don't suppose it would do us any good."

"But what if that's him?" Hermione's voice sounded clipped, even to her own ears. She felt her muscles tense. Her heart fluttered, turning over the question again and again. Assurance flooded her as she snuck another look below. It did not come from Ron's words, but an instinctual part of her mind. She rationalized it was actually Seamus below, but the reason came with no words for explanation.

Trust. Ron would just have to believe her.

"It has to be," her voice was definitive.

For Hermione's sake, Ron leaned forward and studied the scene. It was a low-lying valley that had no distinguishable features naturally. There was a large house a few feet away from the center of the bowl. It was browned brick with a thick layer of snow decorating its draped, dark windows. There was a path leading from a side door, but from where the couple sat, it ended somewhere behind a snow bank. There was a smaller shed to the left of the front door, but its doors remained locked. Presently, there was a figure – a proposed man – that had wandered slowly from behind the mysterious dune. Ron was about to speak on the matter when the man dropped to his knees, then collapsed face-first onto the planks that constituted the walkway. He did not move again.

"I'll be back," Ron responded, instead. He took Hermione's hand from its place clasped onto his jacket, pressed it to his chapped lips briefly, and then hoisted himself to his feet. Without another word, Ron started in a completely opposite direction from which he came. He had to find Harry, he thought to himself, as his footsteps grew quick with panic.

Hermione leaned over the decaying scrub to get a closer look. She saw a vague outline and was immediately disturbed. From his coloring, this man was not clothed – not at all. Again, her heart leapt painfully in her chest. It was Seamus. This was how the Shop treated their prisoners – she had firsthand experience. Hermione also knew their "storage facility" was not the dilapidated shed, but a bricked place under the cold, unforgiving ground.

Her body was not in a mood to be complacent. Her idea had wormed its way through her blood and was fully prepared to make her act on it. Hermione pulled herself to her feet, clasping the pricked branches of the plant with both red hands. At first, she tripped down the steep incline. The snow was hard packed due to the prolonged wintry conditions, and her boots stuck unexpectedly in their prints. Hermione was launched by the weight of her own body head-first into the ground. Terror gleamed in her eyes, before they tightened shut. Her feet followed soon after her initial crash and Hermione found herself tumbling comically down the hill.

The horrendous ride could not stop quickly enough. Hermione's hands grasped for purchase wildly, as she tried to keep herself from screaming aloud. Her body came to an abrupt halt as her fingers wrapped around an errant tree root left over from the clearing. Her feet hit last, smacking the snow painfully. The boots that kept them from these kinds of dangers had been accidentally discarded in their self-made slots. Wincing, Hermione pulled herself up to her elbows and peered over her stinging cheeks.

The naked man was only twenty feet away, lying face-down in a mound. His head was bald, nondescript. His skin was bluish. However, starting from the base of his skull a ribbon of tattoos fluttered their way down his bloodied back. The long, cursive lines exploded into larger, blacker scenes and tributaries. "FATHER" was scripted officially down his right arm, while "MOTHER" ran down the other.

"Seamus," Hermione whispered, too horrified to truly understand the situation. Scrambling forward on hands and knees, shaking, she threw herself at Seamus' body. It was a sight she had never imagined – never even dreamed of. Her hands landed on his cool flesh, smearing dirt and crusted blood over his back. She began to tremble, shaking as if she were possessed.

"Seamus!" she called again, louder than before. Dear God, this couldn't be happening. Not to him! They couldn't have. Please, God, please. Hermione could not stand the shock, turning him over with great difficulty. Dear Lord, she prayed, let this not be Seamus. Let me see his face and find it strange. She succeeded in her efforts, still clinging to her childish wish. It was not meant to be, the reward of turning him resulted in defeat.

In the motion of resting his head on her lap, Hermione confirmed that it was Seamus. Though his body had lost its tone and weight, though he wore the marks of unfair and foreign battles, though his eyes and cheeks were bloated and ugly – this was Seamus. Tears stung at the sides of her wan eyes. Shock prevented them from falling; only adding to her despair.

"Seamus!" she screamed a third time, rubbing at the tracks of dirt that ran across his calm face, "Answer me!" Hermione shook him with a great force, wanting something – anything at all – to happen. "Please," she pleaded, grasping at his shoulders, "please." Greif overwhelmed her body, making her movements erratic and groggy. She cradled his head in her lap, rocking him as she began to cry.

There were crunching footsteps from somewhere beside her, but Hermione barely noticed. She figured Harry and Ron had followed her and now watched from a safe distance. Her thoughts flew to Ginny, to Dean Thomas, to Viktor. How would she break this awful truth to them? Would neither of the boys come to aid her? Or comfort her? The tentative footsteps drew nearer and stopped only a short distance from her periphery vision.

"Eleanor?" a voice asked, covered in incredulousness.

Hermione whipped her head around at the mention of her old name – her false title. A tall man, dressed in red robes and black scarf stood – seemingly astounded – watching her. His black hair caught errant flakes as he stared, those flakes catching on his pronounced nose and shoulders. He seemed so ordinary.

"John?" was all Hermione managed. Her throat closed up after the name was spoken, fearing what other might bring. Standing next to her was the incarnation of evil. There was nothing she could do, with her thoughts buzzing and vision slurring.

"We've been looking for you," his voice was simplistic and clear as he dictated his intentions. John Rivers' mind overcame its original confusion, becoming calculating once again. Their ploy had worked – that was a surprise in itself. He was going to kill the both of them. Right here at this very moment. His hand darted into his robes and withdrew clutched around his wand.

"John," Hermione again repeated, feeling bile rise in the back of her throat. Her vision narrowed around the edges, framed in blackness. She was plagued by lightheadedness, unable to move. What was she to do? Get to her feet and run? Stand and try to fight? Leave Seamus? There was no energy to do any of those things. She feared death was upon her, felt comprehension slide down her back coolly. Her muscles grew tense, coiled rigidly.

"Say goodbye," he advised, advancing on his prey. It was a game to him, and an extremely easy on this time around. He thought only of the commendation he would receive upon delivery of the two carcasses. Finnigan meant nothing, but Granger was worth her weight in honor. The reward would be great. Already, fleeting images of congratulatory handshakes and admiring smiles filled his mind. He walked towards them carefully, deliberately. She wasn't going to escape this time. As soon as he was close enough to see the naked fear flashing in her eyes, John Rivers raised his arms. Slowly, he licked his lips.

Hermione clung to Seamus, her knuckles turning white with the effort. Her hear leapt and thrummed violently. This was the same man that incarcerated her, cut, burned, and broke her body. He had been completely uninterested in her screams and begs for mercy. He had meant to kill her there in captivity like an animal. And now, now that plan had failed, he had come back. She had brought herself to this place knowing the risks, but determined to ignore them. The warnings of the past echoed in her head, reminding her of the stubborn choices she had made. All of them led her back to the Shop. It held a power over her that Hermione knew could never be described to anyone, no matter how sympathetic.

It was desire that burned through her during their journey – a need to know what had happened to this place. She wanted to know that everything was different. That somehow, despite all the horrific things that had been said and done, her work meant something. She needed to know that the spell the Shop had cast over her those years ago – alluring and filled with the promise of danger – had been broken. Hermione simmered with want of knowledge, an old craving that never stopped picking at her. She was different from these people, the ones that had so readily accepted her as a friend and agent, she was good.

It was the look on John's face that brought terror to her. They were polar opposites. He would never understand the meaning of empathy, of caring, of love. None of them meant a thing. Rivers was bloodthirsty and disturbingly cold. Nothing had changed.

Death.

"Expelliarmus!"

The word was clear as it echoed throughout the quietude of the valley. It was followed by a shock of light. John turned swiftly, having seen Harry and Ron crashing down the hill with their hands waving and mouths open. A wand dropped softly into the snow.

A/N: Did you like it??? I hope so! I desperately do. :) Thank you to all the readers who keep checking on this story. I know it's been quite the long-haul, but I hope my readers find that it's worth it (at least a little). And thank you for all the reviews!! Replying to one review about the last chapter being a bit cheesy.... yes, haha, I agree. I just have quite the thing for Seamus and couldn't control myself. I had originally intended for him to be saved in the cell by Harry, but that, too, seemed like Harry To The Rescue Again. This isn't Harry Potter Scraped His Knees - it has to be more about the under characters. Anyway, to end that tirade... yes, you are correct in calling me out. But wasn't it heroic?? :)

Two things before I go: WHO IS EXCITED ABOUT TWILIGHT??? And, is anyone else competing in National Novel Writing Month? This is my third year trying to write a novel and I am thrilled with it. :) Have a great weekend, everyone!

Katie