I know I thanked my beta/alpha at the very beginning of this story, but I just wanted to give her another shoutout. So, HUGE thanks to RueDawn for everything she does — beta, alpha, brit picker. She's a rockstar!

Without further ado, get ready for some Impending Chaos ;)

He was surprised as the young witch threw herself into his arms. He wrapped his arms around her, savoring the moment just in case it didn't happen again. Soon, she was shaking in his arms and pulling her away from him, he saw that her cheeks were tear streaked. He moved to wipe them away, cupping her face.

"What's wrong, little witch?" he asked, brushing his thumb continuously against her cheek.

"I-I-I. am. Just. So happy," she sputtered out, hiccupping in between each word. He smiled at her declaration. He too was happy with the result of the curse, but wasn't quite as overwhelmed as she was. She buried her face once more into his neck, her sobs finally ebbing away.

Eventually she sat up and looked at him in the eyes. Her eyes were red and puffy, her skin irritated from her tears. "Feel better, little witch?" he said, brushing her hair out of her face. She nodded and pulled herself out of his lap.

Before either of them could speak, they heard the load roar of the floo. Rabstan looked at Hermione and she was already in fighting mode. He knew fighting would be useless, so he pulled her to the corner of the library behind several bookshelves.

"Milsey," he whispered, calling for his most trusted elf. The elf appeared immediately, a look of fear on her features.

"Master…" she started, but Rabastan immediately interrupted her.

"Milsey, apparate upstairs quickly to our room. I need you to fetch our dark cloaks and Hermione's beaded bag," he rushed out.

Milsey nodded and was gone. Moments later she reappeared with their cloaks in one hand and Hermione's beaded bag. He grabbed the cloaks as Hermione wrapped the drawstring of the bag around her neck. They quickly put on their cloaks, putting up the hoods to hide their faces.

Milsey was still standing there and Rabastan was unsure what to do with the elf. If he was to leave her here, she would surely be killed or transferred in ownership to his horrid ex sister-in-law. "Milsey, I need you to leave. Hide. There are bad wizards in the home that are looking for me and will torture you until they find out."

The elf nodded her head in understanding, but looked heartbroken. "Milsey will go to her family in the mountains, Master."

"Go quickly," he said in low tones. "I will call you if I need you. I promise I won't leave you." The elf perked up at that and bowed to him. Milsey apparated away and his heart lurched. If something happened to her, he would never be able to forgive himself.

"Hermione, the wards haven't lifted. They will know that I am not actually dead," he whispered in her ear. "We need to get out of here."

The look on her face screamed HOW, but he had it taken care of. The house was equipped with several secret passages through the walls, one of them leading to the grounds outside the wards. Only a true Lestrange could find the entrances and exits. Hermione would be able to go through them as long as she was touching a part of him.

Taking her hand, he pulled open the nearby portrait leading her inside. Shutting the door behind them, he moved quickly sure to never drop her hand. He knew one of the first places they would check would be the study. As he reached the secret door to the study, he peeked through the hole and saw that Dolohov was in there looking distressed. Dolohov's actions confirmed their suspicions; this group were most definitely not working on Voldemort's orders. This was all planned by the Death Eaters and with him supposedly dead, they would be in trouble. Dolohov walked out the door, luckily not looking at the paperwork on the desk.

"He's gone. Let's move quickly," he whispered, opening the door. He ran in with his wand raised, needing to unstick his Uncle Florin from the wall. As he worked on the portrait, Hermione ran to the desk and frantically shoved all of the documents into the beaded bag around her neck. He got the portrait unstuck from the wall, casting a charm on the wallpaper to make it look like nothing was there to begin with. Handing the portrait to Hermione, it joined the rest of the paperwork. As a last second thought, he grabbed the corked firewhiskey from the desk. If they were going to be on the run, the whiskey would help.

He grabbed Hermione's hand once more, leading them back into the passage this time to the kitchens to the wine cellar passage that led outside. Rabastan peaked into the kitchen seeing no one, they ran into the cellar and made their way quickly through the small winding passage.

Reaching the grassy fields past the wards of the manor was a breath of fresh air, although looking down at the manor he felt a pang in his heart to be leaving his ancestral home once more. Not wanting to see how emotional leaving made him, he turned away from his home.

"Grab my arm," he said gruffly to Hermione, masking his emotions. She didn't hesitate and wrapped her arm around his forearm. Usually he acted fine under pressure, but at that moment his mind was blank. He didn't know where to apparate to that would be safe for them both. She must have known what he was thinking because almost immediately he felt the pull of apparition and they were standing in an old courtyard, facing several homes.

The wind was blowing hard in the courtyard, as leaves scattered across the ground. Winter was nearing and this was quite possibly the worst time to be on the run. Looking around, he didn't recognize where they were. "Where are we?"

"Not here," she whispered frantically. "Muggle London is near. Follow me." She led him to a café a few blocks over where they lowered their hoods and Hermione ordered them both cappuccinos. They sat in silence until their drinks arrived.

"Where are we?" he asked again.

"Muggle London," she responded vaguely, twirling the whipped cream around her drink.

He snorted in his coffee. "Thank you for that assessment," he whispered, keeping his voice low. "Why did you apparate us right in front of those homes?"

"The Order of the Phoenix."

"The Order of the Phoenix!" he shouted, unable to hold back his shout.

"Keep your voice down!" she whispered, loudly.

"Sorry. What do you mean The Order of the Phoenix?"

"The Black ancestral home was the headquarters for the Order of the Phoenix. I am assuming the wards were re-erected after Harry, Ron and I were caught there during our hunt for horcruxes," Hermione said, biting her lip. Usually this meant she was deep in thought. "There also must be a new secret keeper because I can no longer see the house."

"Can you contact someone that would be able to help us?"

She nodded. "Neville."

He paled at her response, but knew they had no other choice. They would completely be on their own if they didn't reach out for help. He knew the little witch across from him was strong enough to live life through boxes, but he wasn't sure that he was. Sure, he had survived being in the Dark Lord's presence, but facing the son of one of victims was more than he could handle. Looking across the table at Hermione, she was looking at him with empathy.

"I know this is hard—" she said before he interrupted her.

"Send your patronus," he whispered before he completely lost his nerve. She nodded and retrieved her wand from the pocket of her cloak. "Watch for the waitress. We don't want to be obliviating anyone today." He nodded.

She whispered the incantation to produce her patronus and a silver otter appeared seemingly floating in thin air. She whispered her message to it and it flew away, disappearing from view. He was mesmerized by the patronus. Unfortunately, he was never able to produce that type of magic. No doubt it was because of the dark magic that had radiated through his body.

"Is there any possibility that we can be tracked through your patronus?" he asked her, curious if they could be located through it.

She shook her head. "It's impossible, unless you tell your location to the person you sent it to." They sat silently drinking their cappuccinos, waiting for a return patronus or at least a sign that their message had been received.

They waited and waited. It had been at least ten minutes and Rabastan was losing patience. "How long is this going to take?" he growled at Hermione. "We can't just sit here, on the run, waiting for your friends to get it together."

"Yes we can. As far as they knew, I was dead. They are most likely determining whether my patronus is legit and if they should come to us."

Just as she said that, a figure walked into café, his face hidden by a cloak. Hermione must have recognized whoever it was because she smiled, but she was hesitant to get near the figure.

"Draw your wand," she whispered quickly to him. He had no idea what was happening, but he followed the little witch's orders. He sat there in silence as the figure moved towards their table. He then saw it was a male and he had his wand drawn as well.

"You know what to do Hermione. This is for both of our safety." the voice said. She nodded in agreement. "What organization did you attempt to start during our fourth year?" he asked her.

"S.P.E.W." she whispered. "The Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare." He breathed an audible sigh of relief and lowered his wand. Hermione kept hers drawn, so he did too.

"In first year, how did you secure Gryffindor's win for the house cup?" she asked him, her knuckles turning white from her tight grip on her wand.

"Dumbledore awarded me ten points for trying to prevent you, Harry and Ron from sneaking out of Gryffindor tower. I even threatened to fight you. I believe Dumbledore's exact words were, 'It takes a great deal of bravery to stand up to your enemies, but a great deal more to stand up to your friends'," he replied.

"Neville," she whispered, throwing herself into his arms. He watched the two friends reunite, but the lump in his throat didn't go away. He was nervous for what was to happen next. Longbottom definitely didn't trust him and that was going to be a problem. He hoped Hermione had a plan for how to get her friend on board.

Now, the two friends were whispering frantically to each other, Longbottom shooting him glances every so often. He knew they were talking about him and under the scrutiny, he couldn't help but squirm in his seat. He kept a tight grip on his wand, ready to defend himself should this go wrong.

"Neville, listen to me," she said, whispering in his ear, loud enough for Rabastan to hear. "He can be trusted. I promise. And he can help us. All this can be over and we can be free again. No more running." He watched as Longbottom gritted his teeth and finally nodded. It had taken very little convincing which surprised him, but maybe things were worse for the Order than they had both thought.

"Let's go," she said, grabbing his arm and pulling him out of the booth.

"Where are we going?" he asked, but she just shook her head. They walked quickly out of the café and back toward where they had apparated earlier. Hermione walked quickly, trying to keep up with Neville, her hair bouncing on her shoulders.

Before long, they were back in the courtyard they had appeared in earlier. The Longbottom boy handed Hermione a small piece of paper and she seemed to be memorizing it before handing it to him. She passed it over and it said:

12 Grimmauld Place is the headquarters for The Order of the Phoenix

"Memorize it. Quickly," she whispered. He read a few more times and handed it back. She took out her wand and incinerated the piece of paper, the blacked pieces falling to the ground.

He looked up and he had to stifle his gasp, the townhomes in front of them were moving apart to make room for another townhome pushing its way in. He looked at Hermione, but she shook her head once more. His questions would have to wait until they were inside.

They followed Longbottom up toward the steps and they walked into the interior of the home. He shut the door behind him and looked around curiously. It was dark and dreary inside the home, ugly green wallpaper covering the walls.

"Hermione…" he started, before she cut him off.

"Not here," she whispered, grabbing his hand. She pulled him down the hallway quickly and into the room at the end of the hall. She leaned against the door, shutting it quietly. She sunk against the wall and he took in the surroundings.

They were now in the kitchen and it was just a little less dreary than the hallway. It was lighted better, that's for sure. He was surprised, but it was only the three of them in the kitchen. Hermione must have thought the same thing.

"Where is everyone Neville?"

"Well there aren't many of us left, but most of them are out right now collecting supplies. We might not have been on the run like you Hermione, but it hasn't been a picnic either."

She nodded and he swallowed, still nervous for what was to come. He knew the elephant in the room needed to be addressed sooner than later, but as a Slytherin, he wasn't known for his bravery.

"Neville, I assume you have some questions. About the both of us," she said, taking a seat at the kitchen table. Rabastan took the seat next to her just in case he needed some moral support. Her supportive hand always seemed to calm him down.

Instead of sitting down across from them, Longbottom continued to pace across the floor. They were all silent for several minutes until he stopped and stood in front of them. Rabastan could see Longbottom's eyes moving from Hermione to him, back to Hermione.

"How did this happen?" he asked, pointing to the both of them.

"Well…" Hermione started, but Rabastan cut her off.

"I'll tell the story," he told her, wringing his hands together. Like he had hoped, Hermione grabbed his hand in support and gave him a brief smile. He took a deep breath and started the long tale. He told him about how he was imperiused by his brother, how he was forced to commit crimes under the curse, including the torture of Longbottom's parents. He talked about how he knew Hermione was still alive and sent a note to her. He recounted his plan for taking down the Dark Lord and how Hermione had deactivated his Dark Mark. He told him everything, right up until the moment they were in.

He looked at Hermione and then to Longbottom. He could see the turmoil behind his eyes. He could never imagine what was going through his head. Finally he addressed Hermione.

"You trust him?" he asked her.

She nodded her head. "I do."

"Then I trust you too," he said, holding out his hand to Rabastan. He took it immediately, not wanting to miss his chance with making amends.

"I am sorry, Longbottom," Rabastan said. "For your parents." The boy nodded his head in his way of saying thank you.

"We will talk later. Around dinner everyone should be back inside headquarters. We can let everyone know of your plan and see what we can do to help," he said turning toward the door. Before he left he turned back. "I am assuming you need somewhere to stay."

They both nodded. "The first room on the left on the second floor is empty. It's the only one left." With that being said, he left the room and he was alone with Hermione.

He let out a breath he didn't know he was holding. The conversation went way better that he had expected.

"Let's go upstairs," Hermione suggested. She got up from the table and he followed her. Before they left the kitchen, Hermione turned toward him. "And for God's sake, don't speak in the hallways. You'll regret it."

He had no idea why everyone was required to be silent in the hallways, but he decided he didn't want to find out why. When they got back to the room, he would ask Hermione. They trudged up the stairs quietly and reached the first room and the second floor. Walking in, it was decorated nicely, but seriously outdated. Although, he shouldn't complain. He would much rather be here than running around on the streets, sleeping in boxes and shady hotels.

As he shut the door, he asked Hermione, "Why can't we speak in the hallways?" He assumed it was a wizarding home, and probably had curious things hidden, but what was the big deal.

"Walburga Black's portrait is in the hallway," she said, collapsing onto the bed. He watched as she laid down, her feet still barely touching the ground.

"Interesting," he said, leaving the conversation at that. So this was the ancestral home of the Black's he thought. It made all the more sense as he walked around the room. The entry way had been dark and decorated in green. This room seemed different, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it.

A picture on the wall answered his question. There were four friends with their arms over each other, laughing all wearing Gryffindor scarves. He assumed one was Sirius Black as this was his family's home. The next photo he recognized several of the faces; many of them having been ones he had seen briefly in battle. It was scary to see that most of them were children, still Hogwarts age. Looking to the left of the photo, he spotted the witch currently laying on the bed. Non smiling in the photo and her wand held at her side, she radiated fierceness.

"Dumbledore's Army," he heard her say from the bed. He turned to look at her and she had propped her head up on her hand.

"I've heard you mention that group before. What exactly was Dumbledore's Army?"

She looked at him questioningly, almost daring him to say he was kidding. He just stared at her waiting for her to respond. He kept racking his brain to see if he had heard of them before and he was drawing a blank. Most likely he had heard it before from others who were not Hermione, but the curse he was under during his time as a Death Eater made a lot of things fuzzy.

"Dumbledore's Army was a defense group started in my fifth year led by Harry. That was the year that Umbridge was our Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. She felt that reading a textbook without practical experience would help us pass our O. . That combined with the fact that no one believed You-Know-Who had returned, we needed to prepare ourselves," she explained.

"Who is left from Dumbledore's Army?" he asked, moving to sit next to Hermione on the bed.

"I-I-I don't know," she said, her voice breathy. He could tell she was trying not to let her emotions get the best of her. "Just Neville that I know of so far," she finished.

The tears falling, he let her fall into his arms, sobs racking her body for the second time that day. His life had been wretched, but he couldn't imagine what this little witch had been through. Growing up during the Second Wizarding World and being best friends with Harry Potter, she had no choice but to grow up quickly. Essentially, her and all the other Hogwarts students had been and still were child soldiers. They might be older in age, but they had all lost several years of their lives to war.

He held her until the sobs stopped and only sniffles remained. She sat up, he with her. She was red in the face, but otherwise looked quite put together.

"It's almost time for dinner. You might want to freshen up," he told her, pointing to the door leading to the bathroom. She got up from the bed and shut the door behind her. Sitting in silence once more, Rabastan tried to calm his mind as his thoughts starting running wild, no clear order on how they appeared.

The little witch appeared back in the room after several minutes. She made her way over to the door and turned back to him, beckoning him over. He was beside her in moments, grabbing her hand and brushing it against his lips.

"Ready?" She nodded and they made their way down to the kitchen, ready for whatever chaos awaited them.

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