A/N: Happy Wednesday all! In the middle of a grueling work week and eager to see the weekend. Hopefully it will be filled with plenty of writing! It's been a bit, but this is a nice size chapter so I hope you enjoy. Thanks for all your encouraging words regarding this story. I'm so excited to write the next few chapters and bring light to some of the mysteries in this story. Much love XxX

Beta Love: RoOjoy and Maloreiy-thank you so much!

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~oOo*oOo~

Sirius navigated The Valor into the small inlet, a chill sweeping through him as he guided the vessel to shore. There was something decidedly eerie about the place. It was quite odd, really, Aruba was usually prone to sunny weather with a spot of rain here and there, but on this side of the island, it sat under a thick cloud of fog.

He could only see a small way in front of him and the shore snuck up quicker than he had expected.

"It's only like this when she's here," Minnie spoke in a chilly whisper, before turning blue piercing eyes on him. "So I guess you were wrong—this isn't simply busy work."

Sirius gulped, feeling something akin to trepidation churning in his gut. "It's not me that was wrong—it's Harry—he would have never have sent the two of us had he known."

"Are you suggesting we turn back?" she challenged.

He averted his gaze, suddenly finding the slight witch bloody offputting. "It's something to consider."

A smirk tugged at the corner of her lips as she promptly bumped him with her hips, sending him staggering to the railing. "Coward," she called over her shoulder.

"I'm not a coward." He frowned, anger flooding his features. "I'm just not sure we're the best spokespeople to be dealing with this."

She turned the vessel sharply, aiming for the rickety and greying wood of the dock. "You didn't say that before...on the way here."

"I thought it would be a bloody vacation, that we could have some fun in Aruba. You know, you really are getting rather boring in your old age."

"I'm twenty-seven," she was compelled to remind him. "Two years younger than you."

"Exactly."

She scowled. "You haven't proved any sort of a point you know. And what if Harry's watching on his little map? Suppose he sees us barely get to where we're supposed to be before we turn around?" She loosened the rope and handed it to him, gesturing to the anchor. "No, we'd better do what we were sent here to do."

"Fine," he muttered sullenly, dropping the anchor into the shallow waters. "Let's get this over with then, the bloody witch scares me."

Minnie begrudgingly nodded her agreement and together the pair of them made their way off of the boat, stepping carefully onto the worn dock and traversing the waves towards the shore.

It was different on this side of the shore—no sandy beaches for miles like they were used to in the more populated area of Aruba. No, here the vegetation ended at the water's edge, sand colliding with mineral-enriched soil. It was the ideal place to farm, and on either side lived many farmers who grew island crops to trade, but in this inlet specifically, there was nothing but overgrown shrubbery.

They could just barely make out the crudely built house belonging to Circe. The balcony hung over the line of the water and smoke curled out from the chimney, signifying she had some sort of cauldron brewing. Sirius shivered as he thought of what she could possibly be brewing in there. Circe was a grey witch, which meant she wasn't opposed to using Dark magic as well as Light.

"Think she's in there?" Minnie gestured to the side of the house they were facing. "Or out there?" She pointed to the yard.

Sirius was about to answer when something that looked suspiciously like a black cloak rippled just a few feet in front of him, it's edges fluttering and shifting. He instantly propelled himself into action, placing one hand in front of Minnie to block her from danger and whipping out his wand with the other.

"Expecto Patronum!" A wispy, white light shot out from his wand, folding itself into the form of an Ibizan hound and charging headfirst for the dark creature.

The thing sprouted off into the fog, chased off by the corporeal Patronus, but Sirius still had his wand trained after it.

"Hey," a lilting voice cut through the silence. "That was my friend. You didn't need to scare him off."

"Him?" Sirius couldn't conceal the shock in his voice. "That was a bloody Lethifold, did you want it to suffocate us to death?"

"It protects me." She leveled her brown eyes at Sirius, irritation evident in her expression. "From intruders like you."

Minnie glanced from Sirius to the witch shrouded in a fraying cape, blonde hair peeking from her hood and face etched in shadows.

"You keep questionable company," he couldn't help but inform her rudely.

"Do I?" She sneered. "I wager the merpeople and Lethifolds are a sight better company than you are."

He felt a hand grip his arm and looked to see Minnie staring at him with a meaningful look. She turned back towards the witch clad in her rags. "Circe?" she inquired, voice hesitant but firm.

"That is who you came to seek, is it not?" The witch dropped her woven basket on the ground, herbs peeking through the opening.

"Yes." Minnie nodded. "I apologize for my partner...scaring away your friend."

"At least one of you has manners."

"I'm sorry." His apology came out more like a snarl. "We've been seeking you for quite a while and are relieved to finally have found you, if not also a bit on edge."

Circe's eyes had the odd effect of skewering him. "That's not really the case, is it?" she deadpanned. "You came here for a wild romp in the island's more shadier of spots. You don't really want to be here."

Minnie glanced away. "She's a Legilimens," she whispered urgently.

"That's right, so how about you both do me a favor and just spit out your reason for being here, so you can leave."

Sirius' posture stiffened and his jaw tightened. "Harry needs more sacred elixir," he begrudgingly told her, staring not quite into her eyes. "He's used it all up, what you gave him last, and he needs more."

"That may be what he wants, but not what he needs." Pink lips twisted in a smirk, as if she were mocking him.

"Please," Minnie beseeched the formidable witch. "We were able to restrain one but still need to deal with the other, most expediently."

Circe actually chuckled. "Is that what you think you need? I merely bought us time, allowing you to restrain the Old Soul, the key was just a child—she hadn't awakened—but now it's best I do not meddle."

Sirius was getting a headache trying to make sense of the mad witch's words. "What?"

"Everyone marching around," she murmured madly, and Sirius once again wished he could make out more of her face. She was hunched like an old woman but her hair was strikingly blonde and her voice was impossibly young. "So many strands, so many opportunities to cross, in time...they will meet...just be patient."

Sirius could not stand to hear the ramblings of a clearly mad woman. His magic crackled menacingly in the air, his frustration brimming over.

Minnie cast a wary glance his way. "Is that what you wish us to tell Harry? That strands need to...cross?" she phrased the words delicately.

"She's bloody mad is what she is, drank too much damned elixir herself, is what I think." Sirius stance was alert and guarded.

Circe turned to face him, her magic snapping in the air even more menacingly than his. "Then be gone with you. There is nothing here for you." She gestured flippantly with glove covered hands. "Here is not where you need to be...go back and heed the Divinator's words."

"Come on," Sirius groaned, grabbing Minnie by the wrist. "It's clear this is all very pointless." Minnie could hardly keep up with his long strides as he left without so much as a backwards glance.

When they were safely aboard the ship, away from the unsettling shore, Minnie whirled on him. "Couldn't you have shut up?"

"It didn't matter. The witch is mad! Let Potter sweet-talk her. I told you we weren't the ones for the job."

Minnie placed her hands over her chest, allowing Sirius to pull up the anchor. "Speak for yourself." She narrowed her eyes. "And it wasn't pointless. I for one, will be telling Harry exactly what she said. It could have more meaning than you think."

~oOo*oOo~

It was so bright.

But the brightness was not unwelcome. It was illuminating and he found he treasured the light. Thanks to the light, he could see the tall spears of dewy grass swaying in the breeze that drifted across the lush green meadow spread out before him. The smell of apple blossoms wafted through the air and when he glanced upwards, the leaves of the star tree provided him much appreciated shade.

But even better, thanks to the light, he could see her.

She lay curled by his side, chestnut hair sprawled across the ground, a small smile gracing her lips. Her eyes were wide and heavy-laden with wisdom. For a brief moment, he was struck by a sharp pain in his heart.

He had missed her.

It had been so long, and now here she was.

Alive and vibrant, as he remembered her!

It was as if she never left; but she had, and the pain he'd felt during her long absence was not easily forgotten.

He knew it wasn't her fault—how could it be? But still, she'd spent a lifetime away from him, facing new experiences without him being by her side where he belonged. It wasn't supposed to be that way. It was wrong.

His fingers curled around her hair, fingertips brushing against luxuriant curls. His free hand gripped her waist, holding her tightly against him. He had the strong urge to tighten his grip and never let go. She was finally here, and he would never let her out of his sight again.

"Has it really been that long?" She tilted her head quizzically, her expressive eyes seeking his.

A lump formed in his throat. He looked out past the grass and to the shimmering pool that sparkled a brilliant blue in the sunlight. Beyond that sat their friends—reunited after so long apart. They were laughing and joking, casting spells along the water's edge. It was almost as if the bleak period he'd endured hadn't even existed. He'd like to forget it had.

"Quite long," he answered simply.

Hurt flashed over her face and her eyes closed in concentration. "I know. I can feel it."

"Do you remember nothing?"

Her jaw tightened. "I remember Egypt...and before...but I know there was something after that, and I don't seem to be able to find it, as if it's been...locked away."

He pulled her more securely to him in a gesture of comfort. "It doesn't matter," he assured her. "We won't let it happen again. We'll make sure they don't get in the way of our happiness this time."

He slipped her chiton past her shoulder and lightly kissed the smooth skin revealed to him. She was here in the flesh! He wouldn't let a moment pass without cherishing it.

"We'll have to fight this time. We make the next move before they do."

For a brief moment, her face went blank and her eyes turned vacant. It was that far off look she got when she was no longer present. He waited patiently, knowing it was better to do so than to rouse her when she was like this.

"Yes," she finally breathed. "prépei na agonistoúme."

When Draco finally awoke, he sat up gasping for air, his chest rising and falling in short pants. It had been a rather pleasant dream. Truthfully, he hadn't even known he was dreaming. His subconscious had certainly painted him a vivid image. He could still recall the scents that wafted through the sweet air—still feel a rather peculiar ache in his chest when he remembered her soft smile.

It was Hermione in his dream—of that he was sure.

She was somewhat different, but still the same.

There were others that looked vaguely familiar in the distance of his dream, barely on the perimeter, but just when he thought he was close to solving their identities, the answer would disappear, just out of reach.

It was a very off-putting dream. One filled with so many emotions. He could swear he felt things stronger than he'd ever felt anything when he was awake. The words she had said to him rang in his ears. It was in another language, and one he was unable to place. Aside from the New World, no one spoke in other languages and hadn't for several hundred years. The crown declared English as the language of the world, and countries would be punished if they were caught speaking their old languages. Draco knew a bit of Latin, and he knew his father kept some old texts that were not written in English locked secretly in the vast Malfoy library, but everything else had been lost to them. Soon even the New World would join the rest of the earth in speaking English. It was only a matter of time.

Greek.

The thought flitted through his brain unbidden. Somehow, he knew they had been speaking Greek. Not just the last bit, but Draco realized with a jolt that they had been the entire time—and he'd understood it. The revelation made him feel slightly unnerved. He had enough to worry about without having time to devote to unraveling some dream.

He was alone in bed.

Of course, after their desperate coupling in the library the night prior, he was unable to take her in his arms and drift off to sleep with her. They had to go their separate ways, but Draco hoped that he had made her feel better, even just a little. He didn't like to see her so unsure, it didn't suit her! From the minute he'd met her, she'd been confident and fiery, breaking all of the preconceived notions he'd had about first Muggles, and later Muggle-borns. To see her insecure and faltering made him feel sick to his stomach.

Ever since landing on the island, he thought the only thing he wanted to do was leave and get back to his home, if not back to the sea. But now that he had his wish, the result was only foul and bitter-tasting. They'd had it so good cut off from the rest of the world, and he definitely missed their little paradise.

He dressed robotically, the grandfather clock in his room informing him it was long since time he readied himself for his meeting with Macnair. There wouldn't even be time to grab breakfast. He selected fine green dress robes with silver trim, marveling at how little he'd thought about his appearance since his days on the island.

The remnants of the strange dream stayed with him as he made his way to the Floo. There were things he needed to say to her...things he hadn't said the prior evening, but that he could hardly ignore now. To a degree, he'd still been careful, guarded even, when attempting to comfort Hermione the prior night. He'd clamped his mouth shut on the feelings of devotion that threatened to tumble from his lips. He'd been afraid to admit them to himself, let alone to utter them aloud, and now…

...Now it was as if he no longer cared about protecting himself.

Be it the odd dream that brought feelings to the surface he had no idea he was capable of feeling or something else, he was suddenly sure beyond a shadow of a doubt regarding how he felt about her. When he met with Astoria for the first time in months—beautiful, perfect, Pureblood Astoria—he was sick with the notion of marriage to her. It would be a forced imprisonment. She was not for him and they had nothing in common aside from being on the same continent. He didn't hesitate for a moment in informing her there would be no union. The thought repulsed him. His heart belonged to another. When he closed his eyes, it was Hermione he pictured.

He needed to tell her. Damn the King and his orders. He needed to tell her now. Perhaps he could convince her that there was nothing for them here. If anything, it would be a danger for them to stay. They could do nothing, make no difference with these people. Their right to be together - freely - would be threatened if they stayed. He couldn't take that risk. He needed things...access to a ship, firstly.

His thoughts drew to his parents, to his grandfather. What would become of them if he left? They had been better off believing him to be dead. At least that way his family would not pay the price for him fleeing. But the idea of forcing them to come with him was equally problematic. His parents enjoyed their lives here. They liked the parties, the power, the people. They were integrally part of the system and he wasn't sure they would willingly accompany him unless he just forced them to go and they saw how serious he was about being with the witch. His parents would probably try to convince him to take her as a mistress, but he had no desire to do so—she deserved better.

The Floo swallowed him up in a blaze of green flames, and then he was stepping out into the Ministry and making his way through Court.

Perhaps he could sell the Firecrab shell and use it to procure a ship? Maybe stock it with livestock and plants; if he could do so stealthily, it would make life easier on the island. They could put up the Pratendio Charm and be protected from sight forever. The vision in his head was highly appealing. He had a new wand, a loner his Father gave him until they could properly find a new one in Diagon Alley, and now he could actually be of assistance instead of just using simple spells.

He wondered how many others there were that had done what he was debating. Were there more magicfolk that wished to live free from the tyranny of the Crown and had settled secretly on hidden isles? The thought of actually raising their wands against King Riddle was insane. The King had the entire might of the nations on his side. Fighting with him was an impossibility. It was better to flee and hide and live out their lives in peace.

Draco was jolted from his thoughts by the sight of Blaise and Theo jogging up to him.

"Circe's tit," Theo swore. "You really are alive." He gaped at Draco as if he couldn't believe his eyes.

Draco felt his heart lurch unexpectedly at the sight of his friends. They looked somehow different, leaner, maybe, and he reflected on how long it had been since he'd seen them. They hadn't even been present at the ball the evening prior, and he felt a stab of guilt on not seeking them out sooner.

"Theo," Draco greeted, embracing his friend, then turning to Blaise. "What can I say? Just lucky, I guess."

"Bugger," Blaise said. "You really must have Felix Felicis running through your veins to have been able to make it to land after being knocked out stunned in the water."

"We thought you dead," Theo added. "I didn't think there was any way…" he trailed off uncertainly.

"This reunion is sweet and all," a gruffer voice said from the corner of the room making Draco aware of the others that were there with them. "But hopefully your luck will not run out on this next mission, if you call losing your ship to the rebels luck."

Draco turned to face Thorfinn, who stood with his arms crossed over his chest. Besides him and to the left was a witch. In a moment of shock, Draco realized it was Astoria's sister—Daphne. He quickly looked back to Thorfinn whose eyes narrowed angrily at Draco.

"We were outnumbered and unprepared," Theo, ever the one to come to Draco's defense even when he didn't need the wizard to, told Thorfinn stiffly. "Whatever this mission is, you'd better hope we don't cross paths with them again."

Thorfinn appeared to be unmoved by Theo's declaration. "They're giving us The Lumos, the fastest ship on the seven seas. We can fly right past Potter and his army of Mudbloods."

"Fly past them to where," Blaise said, glancing at everyone in the room. "What is this whole thing about?"

"Yes." Draco furrowed his brows in curiosity. "And who exactly will be joining us?"

"Everyone you see here," Thorfinn replied stiffly. "This is our team for the duration of the mission."

Draco blanched. "Not to seem rude, but Miss Greengrass will be joining us? I had understood there to be some modicum of danger associated with this mission."

"More than some modicum," Thorfinn spat cruelly, seemingly irritated but in agreement with Draco's concern.

"More?" Theo frowned. "What exactly is it we will be doing?"

"That's for me to tell you," came another voice.

Draco spun around to face the elder wizard that approached them.

"Pardon my delay," Macnair said graciously. "I wanted to be sure you were all here when I delivered your orders."

Draco inclined his head, waiting patiently for the man to speak. A growing sense of dread began to churn in his stomach.

Macnair stared at each of them intently. "Rowle has only recently returned from South New World, tasked with locating an artifact most important to the King. His entire team was wiped out save him."

Draco shot a glance at Thorfinn, seeing the truth of Macnair's statement in his eyes. The Viking's only response was to tighten his jaw and place a protective hand around Daphne's shoulder. Draco became suspicious. How close was he to his intended? Would he do anything for her, as Draco would do anything for Hermione? Was he angry Daphne was being required to participate in this? He suspected the answer was yes. Draco became certain that whatever the King had planned did not bode well for him, let alone for his plans with Hermione.

"The mission was not a complete failure, as we now know that amulets are to be outfitted on each person who will be making this journey." Macnair strode over to the table, the only piece of furniture in the room and withdrew several chains with precious gems hanging heavily on them from a chest. "Not only will the five of you be tasked with going back to South New World to pick off where Rowle and his former team left off, but you will be expected to retrieve the artifact and bring it back to the King most expediently." He began passing out the amulets. "The King has personally seen to it that his most competent wizards, and witch, have been selected for this most prestigious honor. Zabini and Miss Greengrass are known for their unmatched ability in deciphering Runes, and Malfoy, Nott, and Rowle have an excellent track record in dueling and spellwork. The three of you should be able to face off whatever obstacles lay in your path and ensure the five of you reach your destination. It's simple really. We are giving you the fastest ship in the fleet, reinforced and shielded by the King himself, with the most competent group we can manage. You simply must grab the object and bring it back as swiftly as you can. It's not very difficult."

Draco swallowed against the rapidly forming lump in his throat. "May I ask how Thorfinn's comrades fell?"

"They were incompetent, of which you are not, so you mustn't worry about the fates of those that have went before you," Macnair told him decisively.

It appeared Draco needed to enact his plan sooner than he thought. It was already clear that his plans with Hermione were being threatened. Perhaps this provided an opportunity? Could he convince Blaise and Theo to help him overpower Thorfinn and take the ship for his own purposes? Perhaps he could stun his parents and sneak them aboard? There wouldn't be time to find livestock or new wands, he would need to act much sooner. And what if his friends were more loyal to the King? Draco never would have doubted them before, but they had spent weeks in the dungeons. What if they had changed since then?

"Very well." Draco injected ease into his voice, a tendril of fear worming it's way into his chest. "I shall only require a few days to get my house in order before we leave."

Macnair scoffed. "A few days? Have you not heard anything I've said? This matter is of utmost importance to the King. You leave now. Everything you need has already been outfitted on the vessel."

Panic rioted against his ribcage. Leave...now? Draco had no doubt the King had orchestrated this for a reason. The King did not offer trust easily, and he probably harbored slight concern that any one among the forced partnership of this team would rather flee than show up when duty called. They were being forced to act now, before they could make a plan to avoid it. His posture stiffened. There was no way to get out of this! Draco had no choice but to walk with them to the docks, plans be damned! He felt as if he had just been given an execution order.

"Now that you have been briefed, I'll leave you to it. Rowle is in charge and he will lead you to the ship." Macnair spun to leave, without even offering the opportunity for questions, let alone an appeal. Draco watched him as he sped off, his heart plummeting with each echoing footstep.

He turned to face Rowle, imploring him with his eyes. "Just delay it several hours, I only want to make a few arrangements."

"Yes," Blaise agreed. "The damn Solstice dinner is tonight, anyway."

Draco suppressed his irritation, willing Thorfinn to grant him this small request at the very least. Would there be time to grab Hermione and run? How quickly would they be after them if they did?

Thorfinn was impenetrable. "The King wishes us to leave immediately, so leave we must." He turned to Blaise. "I'm sorry about your dinner plans," he sneered. Then, back to Draco. "And I'm sure you wish to say goodbye to your Intended, but Miss Greengrass can wait. The sooner we get this done, the sooner we can return."

Draco paled. He wasn't going to get the chance! It was slipping out of his fingers. In one last-ditch effort he attempted to appeal to the man. "I only wish to say my goodbyes...to my parents, to…" he faltered, "to Astoria. You have your Intended with you," he nodded to Daphne, "you can protect her, I can hardly protect mine."

Daphne spoke up for the first time. "I assure you, Lord Malfoy, Astoria will be just fine and she will wait for you."

"Daphne is in far more danger with us then any pampered lady staying here," Thorfinn said with a snarl.

How wrong you are, you thick Viking brute! How will Hermione react if I don't even get to say goodbye to her.

"No," Thorfinn said definitively. "We leave now. The sooner we leave, the sooner we return."

Draco swallowed audibly, his friends exchanging sympathetic glances with him. He had no choice in the matter. It was happening, with or without his consent.

~oOo*oOo~

The table settings were immaculate.

Hermione saw to it that each piece of silverware was strategically placed, drawing on her past serving experience from her time spent at the Hornby Manor, which seemed so long ago. There was not much she could do with the centerpieces which were reinforced magically, as were the decorations gracing the garden hedges and hanging above her head. But there was still manual labor Narcissa hadn't done which needed to be finished.

She felt much better.

She blushed when thinking about the prior night spent with Draco, but ever since yesterday evening, she felt as if a weight had been lifted from her shoulders. She had been riddled with doubts! She had no idea where they all came from, but they were like leeches sucking the life out of her. Still, Draco had said all the right things! He showed her that he truly cared. There was a feeling bursting through her chest, causing her to feel as light as air. She briefly worried she would float away from the task at hand and almost wanted to let herself.

The feeling was love.

In recent weeks she'd wondered how she felt about Draco. The forbidden Pureblood caused her to feel a lot of things, and do a lot of things, but she still hadn't quite decided how she felt about him.

It was clear as day now…

...She loved Draco.

The admission gave her such a giddy feeling, she had to suppress a smile, it would never do to be found giggling. She loved him! How she could be so lucky to have found him was beyond her but it was impossible to deny the feeling any longer.

Perhaps he didn't feel the same for her yet, but she didn't doubt that he could eventually! The amount of care he showed to her, the amount of respect he had...there had to be so much more to his feelings and she believed it was possible that he could feel the same.

The thought gave her life.

She may be preparing for another stuffy Malfoy dinner party, this one begrudgingly featuring the King, but nothing in this world could touch her heart—that was hers and now it was his.

"Careful with that, girl." Narcissa cautioned her, gesturing to the fine china Hermione was holding. "My complete china collection is worth all my Muggles combined."

Hermione doubted that, but very carefully polished the surface of the plate, before setting it down.

Even Narcissa, who Hermione quickly realized liked to take her stress out on her servants, couldn't sour Hermione's mood. It would be awkward to see Draco at dinner, at the table of where she would never be accepted, but the two of them had a secret and that would keep her heart filled with joy.

It was becoming clear that Hermione's initial wishes of making a difference on the mainland were something close to a pipe dream, but perhaps with Draco's newly crowned Chancellor position, he would have unprecedented access to the Muggle-borns in Azkaban. Maybe they could set some of them free? Maybe some could join them back on the island where she could protect the place from the King's influence? It was possible. Risky, but possible. She didn't think she could sleep if she did nothing. As tempting as it was to beg Draco to take them back to their island and hide from the rest of the world, she would have to live with herself after, and that would be difficult. The prisoners in Azkaban were just like her - no different! - she had to help her fellow comrades. Even if it was to only help a few, and even if there were tons of prisons around the world housing Muggle-borns, to know that she could do something here in the heart of it all was the first step.

"I have to leave now," Narcissa informed her, straightening her dazzling dress robes. "I only have a spot of time to freshen up before the guests start arriving."

She seemed nervous and unsure. Hermione did not know why—the witch was bloody breathtaking. Hermione did not know what more Narcissa could do to improve her appearance. "You look lovely, Lady Malfoy." She told the Malfoy matriarch before she could help herself.

Narcissa glanced sharply at Hermione, her blue eyes piercing and thoughtful.

Hermione was initially afraid, was it wrong of her to have complimented Narcissa? Would she now be angry with Hermione?

Emotions flickered through Narcissa's calculating gaze, first surprise, then fledgling amusement. "You are a rather strange girl. Peculiar, but I suppose it's for the better, being as you did help my son." For a minute, her stare was open and honest, before she clamped down on it and her face became unreadable once more. "In your own small way."

Narcissa turned abruptly away before leaving the garden completely and making her way to the back entrance of the manor. Hermione refocused her attention on the finishing touches, breathing a sigh of relief that she was able to escape Narcissa's wrath. She was finding more and more that it was better to remain unnoticed around the Purebloods. In her memory, those that caught the attention of their masters were the ones subject to torture and reprimand. It was much better to do her job quickly and disappear into the background.

Hermione could not be bothered by the fact that she would be assaulted by visions of witches and wizards in their best attire. Draco would be there, and that's all she cared about. The man grounded her, and just knowing he was present was enough to cool off the rage she felt from her mistreatment and the unjust inequality of it all. As she went about her duties, she suppressed a giggle when she thought about their secret. It was like they were on a shared mission—only the two of them knew why they were really here. She couldn't wait for the opportunity to meet with him after the party. Perhaps they could indulge in a repeat of the night before? It didn't really matter—so long as she was with him.

Party guests began to trickle in. She kept her eyes ducked and stayed to the shadows of the trees unless needed. It was a bit challenging to do—she so wanted to look for Draco! Though she liked seeing him carefree in torn trousers and an open shirt, the vision of him dressed in all of his Pureblood finery was appealing as well. Hermione just wanted to see him period. Replaying all the memories she shared with him kept her entertained the length of the night. With sharp clarity, she suddenly realized that her best memories were made with him.

It was time to serve the starter course, of which she did mechanically, careful to keep her face empty and impassive. It did not escape her notice that Draco's seat was surprisingly empty. Narcissa and Lucius seemed to ignore it, stumbling over themselves to greet a guest that had arrived late. It was no matter, he was probably just held up at the Ministry.

Back in the shadows, she allowed herself to think about the future. Draco had mentioned growing food staples indigenous to Britain on the island. Hermione wondered how foreign vegetation would fare. He'd even mentioned sneaking livestock into the cargo hold of the ship they would obtain. The idea of starting a farm - a tropical farm - filled her with much excitement. It was easy to ignore the happenings before her when she thought about their plans internally.

The second course was due to serve. Falling back into her role easily, she shoved her dreams aside to focus on the task at hand.

There was something decidedly different about the table. She couldn't put her finger on exactly what it was, but something had changed. It was as if a foreign presence had arrived, one that innately called to her. It was strange and unsettling. She chanced a glance around the table, Draco's seat still distractedly empty, and saw for herself that their were many foreign dignitaries, as well as important Court officials and Lords and Ladies.

So why then, did this particular presence stab at her so?

Her magic had become on high alert. It was quite odd, it was as if it wanted to come out and play all on it's own. Her magic recognized something Hermione herself did not, and that was disconcerting.

Under her lashes, her eyes eyes scanned the table, pausing when they landed on one man who sat at the head of the table in the position of honor. Hermione instantly sensed the power exuding from him and recognized this particular wizard as the source of her previous confusion. It didn't even have anything to do with the small crown he wore on his head, she noticed that last.

It was the King.

It had to be.

He sat pompous as you please, seemingly unaware of how others perceived or viewed him. He was completely at ease. He was breathtakingly handsome, but it was a sort of cruel beauty. His pale skin contrasted harshly with his dark hair. His eyes were obsidian black, and - Merlin! - they were staring straight at her! Hermione quickly ducked her head, cursing herself for blatantly staring at the King. Rule number one was to not bring attention to herself, so why had she broken it?

His dark gaze felt like insects crawling over her skin.

Something hammered behind her chest, wild and displeased.

Why was he still looking at her? The table talk had quieted before dying completely, and now Hermione felt numerous pairs of eyes focused solely on her.

Oh dear.

This was bad!

Hermione wished desperately to be dismissed, but kept her eyes trained on the blades of grass sticking out between her shoes.

Suddenly, a very unwanted voice cut through the silence. "Sweet Morgana, that's the Muggle that was so disobedient to me yesterday!"

Before she could stop them, Hermione's eyes flew up to face her accuser. Not surprisingly, it was Astoria Greengrass that stared angrily back at her, fury burning in her eyes. Hermione felt a true moment of fright. Draco wasn't here! How could she face the wrath of Astoria alone and unarmed and with an army of Purebloods hanging on the wretched girl's every word?

Hermione saw Draco's parents exchange glances from the corner of her stilted vision, but her brain was quickly becoming fuzzy as the adrenaline rushed in pulsing waves to her temples.

"See how impertinent she is? She doesn't even respond when singled out!" Astoria snapped, seeming to relish in the attention not only on her from their table, but from several tables nearby.

Lucius ducked his head in what seemed to be embarrassment whilst Narcissa shot daggers at Astoria. Abraxas did not seemed pleased by the turn in conversation in the slightest.

"An impertinent slave?" a rolling, melodious voice practically sang. "I doubt the Malfoys would entertain such foolhardy behavior in their Muggles."

The King had addressed her! Should she look up? Should she run away? Merlin, but those winged beasts were not terribly far away, perhaps she could scale one and convince it to fly her into the night?

"This one is different, Excellency. She thinks she's above all the rest. She thinks she's special." Astoria's petulant pout sent fear sparking down Hermione's spine.

Why wouldn't the girl shut up? What had Hermione ever done to her, ever really done to her, to call forth this? The Greengrass witch couldn't really think Hermione had anything going with Draco, anything that was a threat. Okay, maybe she could think Hermione had been involved in illicit relations whilst being the only woman to accompany Astoria's Intended on the island, but would that be reason enough to bring shame to her on such a large scale at this party? Surely she would rather punish her in private, if at all, with Draco's wrath to be surely tested due to Astoria's actions.

Apparently, Astoria had every intention of embarrassing Hermione in public.

"The slave has wronged you?" Lucius asked carefully, his face inscrutable.

Astoria grinned maliciously. "She has, my Lord. I was having a little chat with her just the other night. She was quite cheeky, and fled before I could swiftly reprimand her."

"I'm sorry, milady." Hermione curtseyed deeply. "I did not mean to cause offense."

The King's gaze was still on her, as if weighing her strengths and weaknesses. She felt suddenly sick to her stomach.

"And now she speaks out of turn," Astoria said shrilly. "Do you see what I mean? She is quite disrespectful."

Hermione paled considerably, a shiver passing through her. Which was it? When she spoke she was wrong, when she stayed quiet she was wrong, was there any action she could take that would be considered right?

"Astoria, please," Narcissa begged. "I know you are disappointed Draco has left so recently for another mission for the Crown, but do not take it out on his slave. He would not be pleased."

Draco—gone? It couldn't be. A lie. Draco would come waltzing around the corner any second. Together they would laugh at this. What a close call! - they would say. Hermione was too stunned by Narcissa's statement to even realize the cunning way in which the older witch had mentioned Draco had left due to orders from the Crown. Whether it was for the King's ears or to assure Astoria, Hermione wouldn't be sure of which later on.

The threat lay heavily in the air. Through her shock at Narcissa coming to defend her, Hermione felt trepidation—Astoria seemed to be fuming.

"She deliberately disobeyed an order, Lady Malfoy. Is that the sort of behavior we should come to expect from Muggles?"

Instinctively, Hermione knew there was nothing more Narcissa or any sympathetic Malfoy could do. Astoria had so effectively walked her into an impossible situation, and Hermione knew a punishment was inevitable. The hope that they would go back to discussing frivolties as they had been disappeared into the magically heated air, and she braced herself for what was to come.

"Such insolence should not be tolerated," King Riddle spoke, his dark words curling around Hermione and squeezing her like a vice. "Perhaps Miss Greengrass is just in seeking her revenge."

It only took a look, one look of approval and then Astoria was on her feet, maple wand trained steadily at Hermione.

And then Hermione had tumbled to the floor. She hadn't even heard the word, but she felt the full impact of the perhaps novice Cruciatus being wielded over her.

Her back arched off of the grass as she screamed and twisted under the agony of the Dark curse. Insects feasted on her organs before they became compressed and fit to bursting thanks to a heavy weight baring down on her. Her fingernails and toenails were roughly pulled back before being plucked off completely. Tiny blades stabbed at her skin, cruelly causing an indescribable amount of pain to tear through her body. Her skin and muscles were roughly peeled back, like layers from a mango, exposing her vulnerable insides to the night air. Her limbs were taut and stretched and she couldn't take the pressure. Make it stop! Make it stop! She inwardly chanted.

When the curse was lifted, the pain still remained. She saw stars and then literally saw the night's stars assaulting her vision when she forced her eyes open. She couldn't make sense of what she was seeing as her vision blurred and shifted stiltedly.

"Very good," she heard a distant voice praising.

She didn't like the voice. The voice was pompous and needed to be put in it's place! Distantly, she was aware of a girl - her attacker - sitting back in her seat, apparently pleased with herself. Another wand was trained at her, and even though she couldn't see it, she innately realized it was a pale, yew wand. It magically summoned her upright on her two feet.

She wavered precariously, and sought purchase from the ledge of the hard table in front of her, uncaring of the indignant gasps that resulted from her need to hold on to something.

Her magic…

..it was wild!

It was crazed and...Merlin...she couldn't get a hold of it.

It was angry and it was roiling. She was too weak to call it back fully—to contain it. Tendrils of her magic escaped, shooting through her, testing the air, stretching.

"Your spellwork is impressive," continued the annoying, praising voice, amid snickers from the immediate crowd. They relished in her suffering and bathed in it.

Was it? Hermione could show him impressive.

King Riddle turned to address Astoria. "Wonderful spellwork!" She preened under the compliment, and then the King was spinning around to face Hermione. "How about it, girl? Have you learned the proper way to address your betters?" The King smiled up at her from his seat, a cool and detached smile, but calculating nonetheless.

Her magic…

It wouldn't stay still. It was angry and pulsing with such white, hot need that even she was fearful of her power.

"Thank you, Excellency." Astoria batted her eyelashes prettily. "Shall I try again? I've been practicing this curse with the utmost fortitude."

The King laughed, only to be immediately joined in by the others, including those tables away that probably could not hear what was going on, but could see it. The King's magic rolled off of him in dark, exhilarating waves, completely at ease in the situation.

The sound of the laughter only incised Hermione's magic more. It soon bristled across her skin, leaving a burning sensation in it's wake. The fuzziness from the after-effects of the Cruciatus abruptly vanished as she suddenly focused her gaze squarely on the King, his magic strangely irritating her own.

"If you wish to, Miss Greengrass," the King generously offered.

Hermione's magic wouldn't stand for the threat of more pain. It burst through her in an ecstatic fury, rolling over her skin in delightful waves. Unable to help herself, she closed her eyes in bliss as her magic wildy shot through her, uncontained and free.

She couldn't summon the will to care if it brutally slammed through the air - slammed through the meal - the precious Malfoy china - the people. In that moment, she would have laughed at their discomfort—at their unease. The haughty Purebloods deserved it.

She felt fear burst through the air as china and glass exploded around her. People ducked to avoid the sharp, jagged pieces. Hermione merely straightened to her full height—proud and liberated.

Draco had left her.

He'd joined a mission and hadn't told her he was doing so! How long would he be gone? Why had he not bothered to tell her he was going? Something dark and sinister churned in her gut. He hadn't wanted to tell her. Despite his insistence that they were equals, that he cared for her, he hadn't mentioned it! Which contrasted starkly with what he'd claimed.

It was betrayal.

It left a bitter taste in her mouth.

Her mind was not in charge, but rather, her heart was...and her heart was scorned.

She'd never summoned so much magic before—never. She supposed she should have tried harder to stop it - harder to reign it in - but she couldn't be bothered.

She was numb and sluggish and the garden was spinning. Vine threaded fences were tilting, she was tilting, she was falling, there was screaming, and she didn't care—blackness was coming and with it came and insurmountable amount of peace.

~oOo*oOo~

How...interesting.

It was all rather delightful. She passed the test. She proved her value. The effect of the magic...it was glorious! When was the last time he felt such raw power? It was captivating. It was...what was the word that infernal girl to his left had used?...it was special.

The King chuckled to himself while something akin to chaos erupted in front of him.

They were so plebian...so weak.

He valued strength and cunning and rage.

He would not be disappointed, because he recognized it. There would be no hiding elemental magic from him. He was an expert. He'd had years to train...lifetimes.

He chuckled again. It was all too perfect! He couldn't have planned it better himself. That he would simply happen upon it...how could he not take advantage of such an opportunity? An opportunity laced with vulnerability. Oh, how sweet patience was!

The weak ones were panicking. They were screaming and shrilling and reacting in ways that were decidedly not healthy. The source had fainted. It had all come to a halting stop, but that didn't seem to calm them. So he would have to come up with something.

With a lazy flick of his wand, he righted the crystal. Pieces came falling together, as did the china and the various serving dishes. It was nothing, causing him a mere hiccup in his magic. He made it all as it was, and slowly, his subjects began to calm, their eyes drawing to him in an effort to gauge what they should do. That was good, they were too ignorant to think on their own.

When they had seated themselves, when the annoying sounds they made came to a blessed stop, he finally spoke. "Not to worry," he assured them. "Just a power influx." He could tell many of them had correctly deduced it came from the girl. All eyes were on him, even from the far tables, no one had missed the spectacle. "Happens when so many fearsome witches and wizards get together," he jested, trying for light and attempting to misdirect them into thinking the magic hadn't come from her, not like anyone would ever question him anyway. "Don't worry about the Muggle." He gestured to the helpless witch lying on the grass, then he turned to address the Malfoys. "I will take her off your hands." Strangely, emotions varying from worry to fear passed through their eyes. Ah yes, the young Malfoy's claim. It wouldn't be an issue. "I do enjoy breaking the noncompliant ones," he told them, smiling sheepishly. "I believe the trouble-maker will serve me well."

Not surprisingly, it was Lady Malfoy who gathered the wits to speak first, after seeming to have bought the story that it wasn't the Mudblood's fault, not that it mattered, since he fixed everything anyway. "We would be honored and thankful to gift her to you, Excellency. She will never be welcomed at Malfoy Manor again."

~oOo*oOo~

Stay to the stone.

That's what it said...the message.

Had she really seen the message? It was hard be sure. Her mind certainly wanted her to have seen the message. Wouldn't that be preferential? It would mean there was hope. Dare she remember what exactly hope was.

Keep practicing.

Don't let them take you!

Also messages from the mysterious purple orb. She couldn't remember hearing the sound, per se, but she remembered the words flitting through her brain.

It had been an orb. It was there. She could not have imagined something so beautiful as when it chose to relay the information to her. She was due for the next batch of siphoning, it was her turn, but she'd climbed her way out of it. She went back to the cells, finding an empty one to lay in. This one was on a narrow slant, driving others to insanity in their efforts to not go to sleep lest they roll off of the rock floor. The wards would surely rip them to pieces should they succumb to temptation. But she liked it. She stayed here whenever she was very awake. It provided her a glimpse of the outside world. It was all grey and even though there were barely any days when she could actually see the ocean, sometimes she could.

"Did you see the orb?" she had asked another like herself, who was passing with lifeless eyes.

"Sight is subjective," the dull creature informed her. "To see is to die."

She didn't know if that was a yes, or a no.

The orb had instructed her to keep practicing, and she thought that could have meant many things, couldn't it?

Practice staying out of sight…

Practice missing the revelries…

Practice her forbidden magic…

Practice her Animagus form.

It hadn't taken her long to decide what the orb had meant, if there was an orb, of course. Azkaban had a way of making you question your truths.

Even so, she practiced anyway. She hoped the mysterious sender of the message-spouting-orb knew that even if she wandlessly perfected her Animagus form, the numerous wards on the outside would surely keep her from breaching them completely. And even if she did manage to breach them, she would find herself in the midst of roiling, angry ocean waves, and then where would she be?

Better than where she was if her father hadn't insisted on publishing text which he called "the truth."

Yes, better than that she supposed. Because that move in itself had earned her and her father a one-way ticket to Azkaban, despite being fortunate enough to be born Purebloods.

Luna squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to draw upon her suffocated magic. It was inherent, despite the wards, it couldn't quite be severed from her. She willed it to shift her skin, to transform and morph her into something else, something that could fly far away from here. She hoped the orb knew what it was talking about, she hoped it came from an intelligent person. Imagine if she listened to it, managed to transfigure, and leapt off of the cliff just so the wards could have at her.

Hopefully not. It was much nicer to cling onto hope that the orb knew what it was talking about. Luna had quite enough of Azkaban, and she suspected the siphon-riddled Muggle-borns she was imprisoned with had too.

~oOo*oOo~