Chapter 11

Thankful to find the corridors free of students, who were all in their afternoon lessons, Hermione climbed through the portrait hole of Gryffindor Tower, which was really still just an open hole in the wall with an empty frame hanging pathetically sideways, since all the portraits had been banished on Voldemort's orders. She was not expecting Seamus Finnegan to sit bolt upright from his prone position on the common room sofa in shock at the sight of her.

"Fecking hell, Hermione!" he shouted, his Irish accent broad and loud. "What the bloody hell happened to you?"

Seamus leapt up from the sofa and bounded over to her, and as he approached she could see his face was a mess of cuts and bruises, as if he had been in a fight. She could see there was a cloth filled with ice on the small table next to him, he must have been treating his face.

"Never mind me," she answered, reaching out and drawing him into a hug, "why are you here and not in class, and what happened to you too?"

They held each other for a few seconds of desperate comfort before Seamus pulled back so that he could examine her face.

"I got mouthy in Muggle Studies again. Carrow, the female Carrow, not that you can really tell the difference, was insulting mixed marriages, saying they were an abomination and produce retarded kids. Like me Mam and Dad were deviant, or something. Well, I wasn't going to stand for that. Showed her just how fucking retarded I was, alright, and after she attacked me for speaking my mind I walked out of the classroom. I'm going to no more of her lessons, I promise ye that. They'll have to drag me there."

"But what did she do to produce this?" Hermione asked, gingerly touching the wounds on the side of his face.

"Same bastard magical whip that her brother used on me in Dark Arts. Six lashes, round the face."

Her hands flew to her mouth in shock.

"They can't do that, surely? That's abhorrent, and certainly not fair discipline!"

"That's Hogwarts, Hermione. That's how it's been since Snape became Headmaster, although it's worse now. Now … Harry's gone."

She shook her head, as if by refusing to believe it, it would somehow, miraculously, not be true.

"It doesn't look like you're doing any better yourself, though. Look at the state of ye! What happened, and where have you been all night? Parvati said that Carrow bitch dragged you from your bed sometime after midnight?"

Hermione remembered that her face and wrists were bruised, and that she was still dressed in last night's pyjamas, but she was reluctant to denigrate Professor Snape to Seamus, not if she wanted her fellow Gryffindor to trust the Headmaster in the future.

"Special treatment for Muggle-borns, Seamus, and I'm not the only one. Are you aware of what's happening to Orla Roach?"

"Hufflepuff Orla? No. I don't really know the girl."

"There are … conditions, Seamus, in which she and I, as Mudbloods, are permitted to study here. This means providing very particular services that fulfil the deviant needs of our resident Death Eaters. Services that pure or half-bloods would not be obliged to supply."

Hermione waited for her words to sink in, watching his face turn from confusion, to comprehension, and finally, to disgust. What could he say? He was being treated just as cruelly, if his newest injuries were anything to go by.

"We need to fight these bastards. Why are we sitting here? But where the hell would we even start?"

Although sorely tempted to reveal all, Hermione decided that now was not the time to tell Seamus everything she had learned about Severus Snape. Her hot-headed Irish friend needed and deserved a more concrete plan before they unleashed his righteous Gryffindor fury upon the Death Eaters. But there was no doubt that Seamus Finnigan would be a formidable force in their corner, when the time came for … whatever it was that they were going to do.

"I have no idea," she conceded, telling herself that at least that much was not a lie, and rubbing his arm in what she hoped was a comforting manner. "But right now, I'm going to get washed and changed before the common room fills up. I want to catch up on everything I've missed today, do you have notes from this morning's lessons? I know you don't have this afternoon's, but I don't take Muggle Studies anyway."

"Sure, I have."

He summoned a few pieces of scrappy parchment from his bookbag, which was laying on the floor by the sofa he had risen from, and thrust them into her hands.

"Thanks, Seamus. I'll be back down in time for dinner, meet you here and we'll go down together? I could do with the moral support."

"Sure, no problem. Get some ice on your neck, Hermione. That filthy Death Eater must have a hell of a grip."

He touched her neck gently, tracing the conjured bruises that Snape must have left there. Giving him a tight smile, she turned and sped up the stairs that led to the girls' dormitories, running into their room and past Parvati's bed, heading for the bathroom.

The sight that met her eyes was not a pretty one. As well as the bruising on her wrists that she could see, there was distinct bruising in the shape of choking fingers around her throat, her lip appeared to be split, as Orla's had on that first day, and her eyes looked as if she hadn't slept for a week, with livid dark circles underneath. He had done a good job. She certainly looked ravaged and abused. It was rather disturbing.

If the other Death Eaters were looking for signs that Snape had taken her relentlessly and without mercy, they were all there for open viewing, and not in a subtle way. Then again, Death Eaters were not known for their subtlety. She wasn't looking forward to the unwelcome attention that her appearance would invite at dinner.

Opting not to think about that just yet, she threw her pyjamas gratefully in the laundry basket and dressed in her uniform before plopping herself down in the centre of her bed and spreading her books around her, taking up Seamus' less-than-copious notes from that morning's classes, and resolving to have caught up by the time the dinner bell rang.

Well, caught up on that morning, anyway. The eight months she'd missed were still very much a catch-up work in progress.

-xxx-

Orla felt Draco Malfoy's eyes upon her across the Great Hall as she rose from the Hufflepuff table after dinner. Thinking that he might want to talk to her, rather than leaving the hall and heading for her common room, she instead excused herself from her friends and joined the small number of students who were venturing outside into the grounds to enjoy the warm evening, as their time finally their own until curfew.

She wandered a little way from the castle, finding a stone wall to sit on, part way between the castle and Hagrid's hut. It was not long before she heard movement close behind her.

"Mind if I join you?"

"Of course not."

Orla patted the wall next to her, partly covered in moss, and Draco slung his legs over it, sitting beside her and looking down the hill towards the gamekeeper's hut, where they could see Hagrid sitting on the steps, making something with a long tree branch and chattering away to a slobbery black dog.

"How are you?" he asked, and she could feel him looking at her, and she supposed he was scrutinising her for more injuries.

"Not so bad."

"Yaxley was in the castle again on Friday."

"He was, yes," she replied, non-committally, hoping that Draco wouldn't ask for details that she would prefer to forget.

"Did he …?"

"Yes. He did."

Orla heard him swear under his breath, and she finally turned to face him.

"You can't stop him, Draco."

"I want to."

"Well, you can't."

Malfoy looked away from her and back down the hill again, his blue eyes staring angrily from beneath a curtain of white-blond hair.

"I'm fucking terrified, Orla. I wake up every day not knowing if it will be today that the Dark Lord loses patience with me and just goes ahead and kills me. Or if I'm going to get tortured. I think that might be even worse, just wanting to die but not being allowed to."

"All of us are scared, Draco, these are uncertain times, and …"

"I want to run," he interrupted, in a surprisingly forceful tone.

"I'm sorry?"

"It's all I can think about; how easy it would be to run. How long would I last? Would Voldemort send Death Eaters after me, or would he just let me go, write me off as no great loss?"

Draco spoke in a quiet but impassioned voice, and Orla had no doubt he meant everything he was saying.

"You can't run, you'd be found. You know you would," she replied, gently.

"How do you know? You were in hiding for months, you told me, before coming back to join the other students for the battle. How did you do that?"

"I hid in plain sight, in the Muggle world," she agreed, "but every day I was terrified, so scared that the next knock on the door would be the Ministry registration committee, come to arrest me."

"But you know how to do it? Tell me."

Orla sighed. It seemed that Draco was not going to be put off the idea, and who was she to dictate to him, anyway?

"My parents are Muggles, and I was raised wholly in the Muggle world, until I was eleven and found out I was a witch. I understand how it works, you know, Muggle life, but you don't, Draco. You are a pureblood wizard, you have no concept of what you will need to do to blend in."

"I will if you come with me, and show me."

He dropped his bombshell, and left it pregnant in the air for her to digest.

"I can't …" she began.

"Before you say I can't," Draco interrupted, "will you at least think about it? I mean, really think about it, properly."

He grabbed both her hands, exactly as he had done when the two of them were secreted in Helga's Hideaway together.

"I can't stay here, Orla. And neither can you."

Before she could answer, they were interrupted by a black-clad Death Eater storming down the hill towards them. Walden Macnair, and he did not look at all happy. When he reached them, not even slightly out of breath, he looked disapprovingly at their joined hands.

"What is this, Malfoy?" he sneered. "I hope you are not attempting to interfere with the property of one of your brothers?"

"Orla is no one's property, Macnair," Draco replied, angrily, not letting go of her hands, despite her pulling gently to release herself.

"I don't think Yaxley would see it that way. Perhaps we should ask him?"

"Ask whoever you want, I don't care. She is my friend, we're not doing anything wrong."

Draco's face had blanched even paler than his usual white, and Orla suspected that his bravery was no more than words, as he looked bloody terrified.

"Since when were Slytherins friends with Hufflepuffs? Especially Mudblood Hufflepuffs. I doubt that your father would approve, Malfoy."

"I don't give a shit what my father thinks, anymore. You would have noticed, if you kept your face out of the buffet and your fingers out of the whores long enough to look around you."

Macnair purpled with anger, and he leaned in close to Draco so that he was practically hissing in his face.

"Oh, I'll have you, you pampered little shit. I'll have you for that. You mark my words. I can't touch you now, but trust me – I will."

"I'll look forward to it, Walden," Draco replied, in an arrogant tone and using Macnair's given name as a pointed mark of disrespect. "Now, if you've finished? We were having a private conversation."

Macnair spun around so violently that his Death Eater robe lashed Orla around the back of the head, and stalked back up the hill towards the castle.

They were still holding hands, and Orla's realised that his were trembling.

"What did you do that for?" she asked, concerned.

"He's an arsehole."

"He's an arsehole that can get you killed."

"He won't, because I won't be here to find out. Now, are you with me?"

Draco's eyes were alight with both enthusiasm and fear. It was a tempting suggestion. But she barely knew him. This was only their second proper conversation, and now he was asking her to run away with him – spend their days in each other's sole company, evading Death Eaters and Snatchers?

"Draco, I don't think so. Here at school, I don't have to run. I have security, I'm being fed and educated. I'm here with Voldemort's approval and I'm not being hunted by the Muggle-born registration committee. I feel safe here."

He scoffed, and his usually handsome face looked most unattractive with the gesture.

"Safe. Sure, Orla. Safe until the next time Yaxley turns up and wants to rape you and hurt you. Safe until the next Death Eater the Dark Lord wants you to service."

She winced, and finally pulled her hands out of his, feeling strangely bereft at the loss of his warmth. Turning away from him and staring at the Forbidden Forest on the edge of the school grounds, she knew he was looking at her, his gaze icy but sincere.

"This isn't living. We can't let him win," he said, quietly.

"And what do you suggest we do? I'm not a fighter, I'm not brave, I'm not clever. I am a bloody Hufflepuff, for Merlin's sake, Malfoy."

He smirked, and she couldn't help the same creeping to her lips as she brought up the old house rivalries. Puffs were much braver than they gave themselves credit for, and they both knew it.

"Just think about it. That's all I'm asking. You know how to hide us, keep us safe. I can do the rest," he told her, earnestly.

Orla looked at him again.

"How would we even get out of the castle, Draco? The wards are impenetrable, and there'll be no jolly trips to Hogsmeade where we can slip off to the Apparition point."

"I know how," he replied, with a touch of arrogance.

"You do? Tell me."

"No. Not until you agree to come with me."

"Now that is very Slytherin."

"Snakes will use all available methods to achieve their ends," he grinned.

"So I've heard," she replied, returning his smile, and taking up his hand again.

At the same time, Walden Macnair was ascending the spiral staircase that led to Snape's office, having some information on Draco Malfoy and Yaxley's Mudblood that he was breathlessly desperate to impart.

-xxx-

"Hello? 'Ermionee? Are you there?"

Remus ran down the stairs of Grimmauld Place as he heard the disembodied voice from the kitchen. Bursting through the door he saw the head of Fleur Delacour in the fire, and he rushed over to it, kneeling on the hearth so that she could see him.

"Fleur?"

"Oo is zis? Where is 'Ermionee?"

"It is I, Remus Lupin. Hermione is at Hogwarts, at school, but she was here yesterday, trying to call you through the fire."

"Oh, Remus. I am sorry, I could not see you clearly. 'Ow are you, mon ami?"

"As well as you, I should expect. May I come through, or do you wish to come here? We can talk better face-to face than through the Floo."

"You come through. I am not dressed to leave the 'ouse."

Brushing down the front of the lumpy brown cardigan that he had been wearing for the last three days in order to chase off any stray crumbs, Remus stood and stepped into the green flames and through the Floo connection that Fleur had opened from her end. He was unsurprised to find himself in the living room of Shell Cottage. Fleur had returned to the Secret-Kept home she had shared with Bill during their all-too-brief marriage. His heart ached for her as much as himself.

"Oh, Fleur."

He held out his arms for her to approach him, not wanting to push or overwhelm her, but needing to offer whatever comfort he could. She threw herself into them, bumping hard against his chest and beginning to cry - deep, gut-wrenching sobs that echoed his own exact feelings with their sense of desperate loss. He did nothing but hold her until her distress began to subside, having been alone all this time since the battle, she must be in dire need of company and solidarity.

"Remus. 'Ow can zey all be gone? That wonderful family. My brave 'usband, 'is parents, those children …"

"There is no sense to be made of what happened that night, Fleur. We can only honour their memory by fighting for the causes that they believed in," Remus told her.

"What do you mean, fight?"

He guided her to the light blue sofa, impeccably furnished with matching blue and white floral cushions, and sat her down, noticing for the first time her dishevelled state, her dirty hair scraped back, her beautiful face etched with tiredness and the spots of broken blood vessels.

"Have you been vomiting?" he asked, nodding his head towards her face.

"Oui, oui. It ees ze bebe. Always with zis sickness. But zis is not important. I asked you, what do you mean, to fight?"

Lupin took a deep breath.

"There are still a few of us alive that are loyal to the Order of the Phoenix. We believe that we can never stop fighting, not until the task is completely fruitless. I for one, would rather die than lay down and accept Voldemort's leadership."

"I am with you too. If I go ze same way as my William, then we shall meet again. If not, then I 'ave done all I can to make a better world for 'is child."

Fleur grabbed hold of both his rough hands and squeezed them tightly in her small, soft ones.

"But tell me, Remus, 'oo is with us? 'Ermionee for sure, but 'oo else?"

"Kingsley Shacklebolt. He, and his wife Audrina are in hiding at the Burrow. And … Severus."

"Severus Snape? The 'Edmaster? Non! 'E is a terrible man!"

"I can assure you that he is on our side, and always was. I am meeting with him and Kingsley tomorrow night, at midnight, at Grimmauld Place. Will you come?"

She looked slightly offended and gave a rather dramatic, Gallic sniff.

"Well, of course I will come. I want to see what zis Snape 'as to say for 'imself!"

"You will be surprised, Fleur, I promise you. He has been sending food twice a day for me from Hogwarts. He tells me to keep warm and clean. It is as close to care as one could expect from a man so surly. He and Hermione also claim to have formed an alliance whilst at Hogwarts, and they came to see me yesterday, together. She seems to have complete trust in him, and I trust her judgement."

"Well, zat remains to be seen."

Lupin fumbled around for a change in the subject. He had invited her tomorrow, and she could make her own judgements. There was nothing further to be said, at this point.

"We were worried that you may have tried to make your way back to France, home to your family."

"Ah, non. I need to be 'ere, in our 'ome. I feel close to Bill, 'ere at ze beach. Also, it is such a long way to travel, I would need to Apparate many times, and I am not feeling well enough. It would not be good for ze bebe."

"That is good. There are many people out there who would do you harm, Fleur. Snatchers have been stationed at all international Apparition points throughout the country, watching for those who are trying to leave the country to escape Voldemort's regime.

Fleur shuddered. Clearly, this thought had not occurred to her.

"I am a strong witch. I do not need my Maman."

"Have you been caring for yourself? Food and warmth?"

"I have been caring enough, but maybe not enough. I cannot stomach much food at ze moment. It is warm weather, but I should be 'aving a bath, for certain. I must look 'orrible."

"You look beautiful, as always, Mrs Weasley," he replied, enjoying the smile that crept to her exhausted face. "But, if it is not too personal, would you allow me to draw you a bath? It can be an effort in these early weeks of pregnancy, but if the bath is drawn and waiting it is easy for you just to get into it. Tonks … she found that helpful. Of course, I shall leave you to bathe in peace."

She looked choked, and for a moment Remus thought he had overstepped the mark, but as her eyes filled with tears she was also thanking him, grateful that he would think of such a simple but kind gesture. He left her on the sofa and slipped upstairs to the bathroom, using his wand to set the water to flowing and filled the tub, filling it with restorative essences from the bathroom cupboard and casting a calming spell atop the foam and swirling the magic through the warm water. As a final touch he conjured some small candles and lit them, placing them on the windowsill.

He was assaulted with an acutely painful memory of doing the same for his wife.

Her smile of delight as she would enter the bathroom, exhausted from a long day, and from the baby growing inside her, and see the blissful pleasure of a ready bath awaiting her, nothing to do but slip her tired body into it.

Sometimes Remus would stay, massaging her shoulders or washing her hair, terrified of what was to come as the wizarding world began to crumble around them, but so grateful that this astounding young witch had given him, an older wizard and a werewolf to boot, such a chance as this. A chance to be a husband and father.

The chance that had been taken away with a single cruel spell cast from the end of Antonin Dolohov's wand.

He forced himself to leave and descend the stairs, lest his emotions get the better of him, or her bathwater cooled.

"Your bathroom awaits," he smiled, re-entering the living room. "I shall return to Grimmauld Place now, and will see you tomorrow at midnight. However, I am only a Floo call away should you have need of me."

"You are very kind, Remus Lupin," Fleur smiled, standing up and heading towards the stairwell.

Lupin's mouth twitched with a small smile as he threw a handful of powder into the flames, watching them turn green before returning to the empty kitchen from whence he had come.

-xxx-

The volume of chatter in the Great Hall seemed to rise as the post owls entered, swirling around beneath the enchanted ceiling and looking for their allotted recipients. Severus wished he could cast a silencing charm across the whole room, like a flock of Fwoopers, locked down and quiet.

He had gone to bed with a headache after a long and fraught meeting with Macnair, who brought to him a story of Draco Malfoy fraternising with Miss Roach that he intended to bring before the Dark Lord, considering this to be base treachery on Draco's part, since the Muggle-born girl had been promised to Yaxley.

Severus hoped he had managed to diffuse the situation, but his years of experience with these psychotic fuckers meant that it was likely the subject would raise its ugly head again, most probably in a meeting with Riddle himself. This meant that he would have to attempt to deal with Draco at school level, to save him from even worse punishment at the end of Voldemort's wand.

What the fuck did the stupid little bastard think he was doing? Was there not enough Slytherin girls to play romantic fools with? Why did Malfoy feel the need to interfere with the one witch that he shouldn't? He would arrange to see the boy at break time, and no later.

The post owls began to drop the morning letters and parcels at the tables, along with many copies of the Daily Prophet, since lots of the students and all the staff had a subscription to have the wizarding newspaper delivered each day, even though it was now fully controlled by the Dark Lord and his pureblood idealists.

The exclamation of shock and disgust from the students, teachers and even the supervising Death Eaters rang out across the hall before Snape had even unfolded his own copy of today's paper. As soon as he did, the reason became clear.

***BREAKING NEWS***

Minister for Magic, Pius Thicknesse, has been deemed unfit for purpose and therefore removed from high office. His replacement, as sanctioned by Lord Voldemort, will be Dolores Jane Umbridge, who has kindly agreed to hand over control of the Muggle-born registration committee to her successor, Ranford Travers, in order to take this prime position.

From everyone here at the Daily Prophet, we wish you all the best, Minister Umbridge.