Things start picking up in these next few chapters, so be ready! This is a big chapter with a lot going on... so much, that I had to split it into two parts. The second part will be coming soon. Thanks so much beaweasley2 for your awesome betaing :)

Made-up spells are my own, and I apologize for my lack of knowledge about latin.

Leo fell through darkness, the familiar sensation of compression on all sides squeezing the air from his lungs. His pulse filled his ears and he tried to fight what felt like invisible hands gripping his throat, but Hermione dug her nails into his arm to keep him from twisting away as they burst forth into a small, dusty room. He tripped over something large and fell flat on his back, gasping for air as the wind was knocked out of him. Another form tumbled over him with a small shriek, and he bit his lip to keep from crying out as Hermione's knee came dangerously close to his groin. She wriggled a little as she tried to hoist herself to her knees, but her ankle collapsed under her and she found contact with Leo's hard chest once more.

Leo coughed as the dust they had kicked up whirled around their heads, and they lay there stunned for a moment before he realized that Hermione's soft, warm body was still entangled with his. They were cloaked with her Disillusionment Charm, and he only became aware of how close their faces were when her breath tickled his cheek.

A tiny, deliberate cough from their left brought him back to reality, and he bolted upright as Hermione crawled off of him and fumbled with her wand. "Lumos."

Kreacher stood with his arms crossed, eying the empty space where the two of them presumably were. "If Master is done, you may exit through there," he said, pointing a long finger to a square on the floor that was outlined in dim lamplight from the corridor below. "And if Master presently has no more need for Kreacher, he would like to be getting back to his sleep."

"Sure," Leo said absentmindedly, brushing more dust from his clothes and trying to shake off that unfamiliar feeling from having Hermione so close to him. He decided to attribute it to the impending full moon, and refused to give it any more thought. "I'll go first, I suppose." He supported himself on the trunk they had stumbled over and got to his feet, but as he straightened, his head cracked against a hard surface and pain shot through him.

"Fuck!" he hissed, rubbing the crown of his head. The attic was obviously not built to accommodate someone who was 6'3, and he had to double over to keep from hitting his head again on the rafters as he advanced towards the square on the floor. Leo ignored the giggle that Hermione was trying to suppress, reached for the thick iron handle, and pulled. The trapdoor was surprisingly heavy, and he was glad she couldn't see the strain on his face as he lifted it.

He poked his head out, and upon seeing that the corridor was empty, hoisted himself into the hole and jumped to the floor with all the grace of a cat. It was a short, narrow passage, framed with peeling wallpaper and a lonely, dusty wall sconce, which had already flickered to life upon sensing their presence. "Coast is clear," he murmured just loud enough so Hermione could hear it.

"Um…"

"What?"

"Leo… I, um… my ankle."

Oh, that. Bugger. "I suppose you could… oh, just jump, I'll catch you," he sighed, hardly believing the words that came from his own mouth. He did need her in one piece, after all, and he was anxious to get to the rest of the house.

"I can't even see you! How will I know where to jump?" she said, a nervous quiver in her voice.

He was beginning to get exasperated. "Just bloody jump, okay? Trust me." He held his arms wide below the trapdoor's opening, figuring she'd land on some part of him, anyhow.

"But I –"

"On the count of three…"

"Oh, bother."

"One, two, three!"

Something made contact with his outstretched arms and he swept her up as she heaved a sigh of relief. Again, that odd feeling nagged at him, but he shoved it from his mind as he hastened to set her down on the ancient carpet runner. He ignored her mumbled "thanks," already striding to the landing in front of them and descending the stairway, bound and determined to put as much space between Hermione and himself as possible.

"Wait!" she hissed, and he stiffened, pausing on the second step. "Hominem Revelio." Nothing happened. "Leo," Hermione ventured, "I think it's safe to lift the Disillusionment Charm. There's nobody here but us."

Leo nodded, then, remembering she couldn't see him, muttered, "Finite." He heard her do the same, limping behind him as he descended.

The stairwell was narrow and the steps wound tightly downwards, leveling at a second landing that connected to another corridor like the first. Sconces roared to life as Leo approached, noting with interest that these had been dusted very recently. Two doors led off of the corridor, one on either side. The first bore a neat little sign, though slightly faded, which read:

Do Not Enter

Without the Express Permission of

Regulus Arcturus Black

His fingers itched in excitement. Leo knew, from his research, that this would have been his uncle Regulus, who deserted the Death Eaters around the time Leo was born, and was never found alive again.

His stomach clenched as he suddenly realized what must be behind the second door. Slowly pivoting in his boots, his eyes found the second sign, which said only Sirius.

It took every ounce of his strength to lift one heavy foot from the floor and place it in front of the other. His mouth was dry; he tried to swallow, feeling as though his tongue was made of sandpaper. His heart jumped in his throat, pulse rushing in his ears when his fingers brushed the doorknob. Everything he was feeling was only amplified by the nearness of the full moon; it was also because of this that he could pick up the sound of Hermione shuffling quietly backwards from the mouth of the corridor, slowly and gently easing down the stairs to give him his privacy. He wished she could feel the waves of gratitude radiating from him, because he would never give her the satisfaction of a personal "thank you."

He turned the knob and pulled.

Hermione backed down the stairs, tearing her eyes away from Leo as he opened the door to Sirius's old room. She'd be lying if she said she wasn't anxious to get a look around there herself, but it felt like way too intimate of a moment for her to interrupt… and lately she was becoming less fond of 'intimate' moments with her kidnapper. What happened in the attic and the corridor below it were… unsettling, to say the least.

Unsettling, meaning 'enough to make her heart start racing for no good reason at all.'

She approached the next landing, recognizing the room that Harry and Ron had slept in during their previous stays here. Why not, she thought. Leo will probably be awhile. She took a breath and pushed the door open.

It was just as she remembered it, down to the moth-eaten curtains and ancient wallpaper, which Harry and Ron had taken upon themselves to try and remove; their lack of success was evident by the long, curling strips that made up the surface of the wall which held the door. Hermione grinned, remembering the endeavor, and then felt a small pang along with it. She tried to forget how much she missed her best friends as she moved over to a tall bookcase, floor creaking underneath her. She drew her finger slowly along the row of weathered old spines, savoring the feel of leather as she read each title.

Famous Famines of the Fifth Century… A Purebred Wizarding Genealogy… 101 Uses of the Unicorn in Magic and Potions. Hermione shivered at the last one, remembering her experience involving unicorns in the Forbidden Forest during their first year.

"Why hello, Miss Granger. I daresay it's been too long," came a sarcastic drawl from behind her.

She jumped, biting back a scream and whirling around to face the source of the voice. Her eyes widened; she could have kicked herself for being so forgetful! "P-P-Phineas?"

The bearded, turbaned man in the portrait on the wall opposite the bookcase gave her a dry smile. "I'm so touched that you remembered me. Word has it you'd been off on your own little adventure… There are a great deal of people that are worried about you, you know."

She huffed. "You sound terribly concerned."

Phineas shrugged. "What reason do I have to be concerned? I had enough issues when I was alive; I prefer to remain a spectator during these sorts of things. And you're standing in front of me, clearly alive and well." He leaned forward in his chair. "My question, however, is this: why allow your friends to go on believing you're missing?"

"Actually," she said, stilling a slight tremble in her voice, "that's rather complicated. You see, nobody would believe me if I told them who I've…" she trailed off. A little voice inside her head whispered that mentioning Leo was probably not the wisest idea just yet. You are trying to build trust there, she reminded herself. "That's not important right now." She shook her head. "I can't tell you how I came to be here, but I can tell you that I'm safe… at least, for the time being."

A thud came from the floor above, and she jumped, panicking a little. She had no idea what Leo would do if he found her talking to Phineas. "Look, I can't talk for long, but I need you to do something for me."

He shifted in his chair and sniffed haughtily. "I love being reduced to a messenger. If I had known that's all I'd be doing now, I would have never had this thing painted."

"Phineas, please?" she pleaded, glancing at the door. "I need you to go to your portrait at Hogwarts and tell Dumbledore what I told you. Tell him I'm safe, but I can't try and escape just yet. He shouldn't come looking for me; it'll only complicate things right now, because… because this is a very delicate situation. And tell him…" a lump formed in her throat, and she fought tears. "Tell him to tell Harry, Ron, and everyone that I miss them… can you do that for me?"

Phineas sighed, getting up. "Alright," he conceded, "but only because I'm so sick of hearing about this back at Hogwarts. That's the only reason why I'm in this dreary place, anyway. I had the most awful time sleeping there." He gave her a small bow. "I'm glad I'm not you, Hermione." And with that, he turned and walked away from her until he disappeared from sight.

Harry sat in the moonlight on a stone bench in the Owlry, stroking Hedwig and looking out across the glassy surface of the Black Lake. He pulled his scarf tighter around his wind-chapped cheeks and ears, remembering the time when he soared across the same vista on Buckbeak three years prior. He also managed to grin in spite of himself at the image of the enormous Hippogriff rearing back and knocking a spluttering Malfoy into the dirt.

Too many weeks had passed since Hermione's disappearance. Idleness was not something Harry did well, especially when his friends were in danger; his patience with Dumbledore and the Order was wearing thin. He was sick of inconclusive reports from the headmaster, he was sick of everyone's reassurances that Hermione wasn't taken prisoner by Voldemort, and he was especially sick of sitting around, waiting for her to appear, like it seemed everyone else was doing. He sighed and smoothed the crumpled parchment that he'd been holding captive in his gloved fingers. It seemed like Lupin was the only person he could trust to give him information that wasn't sugar-coated.

Harry,

We're pursuing several leads, but I really can't tell you much more than what Professor Dumbledore has explained. I understand this is difficult for you to take sitting down… you remind me so much of James in that way.

You asked me if I believed her kidnapping could've been the work of Death Eaters, and my answer to you is that it's just as likely as any other lead we currently have, but Professor Dumbledore was being honest when he said we have reason to believe that this wasn't Voldemort's work. We both know that any Death Eater would have presented her to him as soon as they had her, if only to gain Voldemort's favor; however, there is a slim chance that they might have tried to get information from her first. But it's been so long now, I seriously doubt that's the case.

I know it's not in your nature to just sit idly and let things play out, but we don't want to rush into anything prematurely. This is very delicate. However, I won't necessarily deter you from trying to find out a few things of your own.

Moony

Harry grinned at Lupin's ending quip. He folded the letter and stuffed it in his pocket, gave Hedwig one last pat, and got to his feet. He wasn't entirely sure what he was doing as he took his invisibility cloak off the bench, but he knew that he sure as hell wasn't going to sit around any longer. With a renewed sense of purpose, he stepped over owl droppings as he crossed the threshold and pulled out the Marauder's Map, tapping it with his wand.

"I solemnly swear that I am up to no good," he whispered as he pulled the cloak over him and descended the stone staircase to the rest of the castle. Sweeping the map, he spotted Filch patrolling by the library and Professor Dumbledore pacing in his study; he eyes roamed to the kitchens and the entrance to the Hufflepuff Common Room. He grinned. Crabbe and Goyle's names appeared, their footprints leading sluggishly away from the painting of the pear that was the entrance to the kitchens. No doubt they had been grabbing a late-night snack.

He picked up his pace, eyes trained on the map as his own footprints neared those of Crabbe and Goyle. When he turned a corner and spotted them at the end of a corridor, he murmured "mischief managed" and shoved the map back into his cloak.

Down into the Dungeons they went, passing the Potions classrooms and the hall where Nearly-Headless Nick's deathday party was held, until they came upon a stone wall that was marked only by an inconspicuous, serpentine wall sconce. "Starthistle," Goyle sputtered, flecks of rhubarb pie flying through the air. He and Crabbe shifted the sweets in their arms and ambled through the passageway, Harry close behind them.

The last time Harry had been in the Slytherin Common Room, it had been during his second year under Polyjuice Potion, when he and Ron were trying to find out from Malfoy who the heir of Slytherin was, and if that person could be the one opening the Chamber of Secrets. Now, as Harry slipped into that stone room bathed in the dark green glow of the moon filtering through the lake, he realized he hadn't a clue what he was actually doing here. He didn't have a plan. He didn't even know what exactly it was that he was looking for. He just had a gut feeling… which, when he really thought about it, wasn't all that comforting.

Crabbe and Goyle settled down on the black leather sofas, dumping their treasure on a nearby table. Harry treaded lightly over to the entrance to the boys' dormitories. He had a feeling the two would keep themselves occupied for a good while.

Harry pointed his wand at the hinges of the large, wooden door and murmured a lubricating spell he'd been taught by opened with ease and he slipped through it, shutting it silently behind him. He was met with barrage of light snores and let out a breath he wasn't even aware he had been holding; at least he could move around in here more easily without being heard.

He padded down the aisle between the rows of four-poster beds, which, instead of sporting the red-and-gold curtains of Gryffindor, had black curtains edged with silver. Some of them were drawn, some were wide open, and still others hummed with defensive spells and alarms that were set to go off when anyone got too near. Harry was grateful for the lessons that he'd had from Mad-Eye towards the end of the summer at the Burrow (Mrs. Weasley didn't have a clue about it, otherwise she surely would've put a stop to them), which taught him how to identify a number of dark defensive spells and additionally how to counter them. He was careful not to trip any alarms now as he advanced down the row, pausing at a bed with the curtains tightly sealed with defensive charms. A trunk at the foot of the bed was made of black dragonhide, with the Malfoy coat-of-arms was engraved on the lid in silver. He wrinkled his nose at the extravagance.

"Circumspicio." Harry did a diagnostic of the magic surrounding the four-poster, making quick work of the alarms and leaving the defensive spells, which were more trouble than they were worth to both dissolve and reconstruct later. He didn't care about Malfoy, so long as he didn't trip any alarms; he only cared about his belongings.

Where would Malfoy be keeping information? He'd probably received letters from his father, so he could've stowed them in his trunk… but if they were important enough, and he wanted to have quick access to them, he'd probably keep them close by, in the bedside cabinet. Harry tiptoed over to the drawer, prodding it with his wand and working quietly to negate the spells upon it. By the time he finished, he was sweating and his wand hand was trembling. He had no idea how long he had been down there.

When he was sure he would be granted access without leaving broken spells or any evidence that he'd ever been there, he murmured the same lubricating charm he'd used on the door hinges and slid the drawer open. Disappointment immediately set in. It was nearly empty, save for a leather-bound photo album and some spare parchment. This was such a stupid idea; he didn't even have any reason to suspect Malfoy of any wrongdoing, and he knew Hermione would have pointed that out to him.

Harry was about to abandon the search and put the spells back in place when he paused, looking more closely at the photo album. A young Draco was smiling in the arms of Narcissa Malfoy, whose blonde hair streamed away from her face in a gust of wind. She looked over her shoulder at the camera and smiled, the beginnings of crow's-feet wrinkles becoming more defined around her eyelids, and toddler-Draco playing with a silver pendant she wore around her neck. She looked so… so happy, so carefree. And it was hard to imagine that Draco had ever been that young, what with the way he and Harry had always been such bitter rivals. Harry had just assumed that Draco was born evil, really. Of course that was stupid, he told himself. Even Voldemort had been a baby, once.

His curiosity got the better of him and he slid the photo album from the drawer, cracking it open.

The first photo was another like the photo from the cover, except Draco was frolicking on the lawn in front of what Harry presumed was Malfoy Manor. He trampled through flowerbeds as he chased a white peacock, stubby little fingers reaching for the poor bird's tail feathers. Narcissa knelt on the lawn in a flowing, pastel-blue skirt and blouse, laughing at her son.

The second picture was of a Draco that couldn't be any more than five. He sat in a large office chair that dwarfed him, with his arms folded, and seemed to be struggling to keep a serious look on his face. The desk behind him held stacks of books, parchment, and a very expensive-looking quill and inkwell set. Next to him stood a younger Lucius, whose hand lay on the back of the chair, and looked down at his son with poise and pride. Suddenly, Draco's lips began to quiver and then his face split into a huge grin that revealed two missing front teeth.

The next few pictures were similar, but Draco's good-natured innocence seemed to fade away as he grew older, and there were no more candid shots. Harry felt a little uncomfortable invading Draco's privacy like this, but as he turned the next page, his breath caught in his throat.

Draco was about ten or eleven, standing in his father's study. Another boy, about three inches taller than Draco stood beside him, with his arm around his shoulder. Draco's hands were stuffed in his pockets as he grinned up at the boy, looking slightly disheveled, as if maybe he had just been the victim of a noogie. The taller boy was what had caught Harry's attention, though. He had a familiar air of charm and confidence, dark, unruly curls, piercing blue eyes… and a very, very familiar lopsided grin.

Harry felt his heart skip a beat. The resemblance to Sirius was almost nauseating.

Suddenly, the door to the common room opened. Harry jumped, nearly dropping the photo album as he searched for a place to hide, before he remembered that he was invisible. Crabbe and Goyle meandered through the doorway, clutching their bellies and climbing into their respective beds with mumbled goodnights.

Harry didn't dare move until he was certain he heard their snores. He slowly removed the photo from its clear sleeve, careful not to leave any fingerprints on it before he touched it with his wand and mumbled, "Transcriptum." As he pulled his wand from the photo, silver threads came off of it and knitted together to form a flat square; when the last thread was in place, the square flashed dimly and the image of Draco and the boy was imprinted upon it. Harry folded the second photo and placed it carefully in his pocket next to Lupin's letter.

Heart pounding, he quickly put the original photo back in the sleeve and then placed the photo album exactly the way he had found it. He reconstructed the wards that had been in place around the bedside cabinet and then the alarms that had surrounded the bed before slipping out of the dormitory, then the common room, as quickly as his feet could carry him.

Phineas Nigellus walked purposefully down a long, dark corridor towards a rectangle of light in front of him. Voices floated through what appeared to be a window, and as he neared, the headmaster and a stocky wizard whose back was turned came into focus. The wizard was wearing dark trench coat and had a mop of bright orange hair.

"… and as soon as he told me, I jumped in the Floo. A Disillusionment Charm, Albus… We've traced it back to a flat on Rogers and Mabry, and Kingsley's making preparations as we speak –"

"Arthur, to what do we owe the pleasure?" Phineas interrupted, looking down his nose into the room as he situated himself in front of the glassless window.

Arthur Weasley turned and looked up at Phineas' portrait. "This is hardly any of your business," he said, struggling between confusion and disdain. "Albus and I were just-"

"About to call off your search for the Granger girl?" he finished for him. "I have some information that might be of interest to both of you," he said, nodding at Dumbledore as well, "but Hermione has insisted that you not go looking for her. She seemed very distraught."

Dumbledore peered over his spectacles at the portrait, surprise only evident in the sparkle of his blue eyes. Arthur was visibly shocked, his mouth agape as he struggled with what Phineas had just revealed. "You've spoken to her? You've seen Hermione? But how…"

"How, Arthur? I only have one other portrait. She paid me a little visit at my dear great-great-grandson's house."

Dumbledore nodded at Arthur, who rushed to the fireplace, murmured something and threw some Floo powder in the hearth. Green flames erupted and he knelt, sticking his head through them.

As Arthur conferred with someone, Dumbledore stepped closer to the wall that held the portrait and craned his neck upwards, brows knitted together. "Tell me everything, Phineas. Was she alone?"

"She came into my room several minutes ago. She was alone then, but I have reason to believe she wasn't alone in the house. There was a thump from another room, and she seemed to panic, as if she wasn't supposed to be there."

"Did she say who she was with, or where she was being held?"

"No. In fact, she said that we'd never believe it if she said who she was with. The message she told me to relay to you was this: She's safe for the time being, and that if you went looking for her, it would disrupt a very delicate situation."

Dumbledore stared at nothing in particular for a moment, absentmindedly stroking his beard. Arthur pulled his head from the fireplace and stood up, brushing the soot from his hands and knees. "Kingsley's set Remus to monitor the flat in the meantime. He's called off Dedalus, Tonks, and Alastor."

"Thank you, Arthur." Dumbledore turned back to the portrait, and sighed wearily. "Is that all, Phineas?"

"No, headmaster. She said to tell you all that she misses you." He sniffed dramatically and folded his arms, enjoying the thoroughly perplexed looks on both wizards' faces.