Chapter Twenty-Nine: Things Finally Start Picking Up

"I was meant to be a warrior please

Make me a Hercules."

-Hercules-Sara Bareilles


"Mum? Dad?"

There was no reply.

The narrow hall was dark, even in the light of the morning, which streamed in weakly from the kitchen up ahead. Two small black frames adorned the wall to her right, when she looked at the pictures her parents smiled back at her, frozen in their poses. Out of all the frames that had once hung on the wall, only two remained. Without thinking, Hermione raised her arm, her hand found a particular spot on the pale yellow paint.

The photograph of the three of us in Paris used to hang here. And here- her hand moved along the cool, grainy surface, here was one of me on my first birthday, and there was one of me and dad on a fishing trip.

One by one, she envisioned each photograph where it had once been, but all that met her now was a bare wall except for the two on the left.

Her own bedroom was at the other end of the hall, facing her.

Dare I look?

The door seemed to expand, almost as if it was mocking her, daring her to enter.

No. The pictures and the lonely hall were enough. What would her own room do to her? And besides…

It's not my room anymore.

Her legs itched to move forward, but she didn't move.

I'm home, she thought. I'm home, I'm home!

And she was; only she wasn't really. All traces of her had been wiped from the neat little brick house.

A tear trickled down her cheek. Hermione wiped at it impatiently.

This is ridiculous. I shouldn't be crying. I'm home, and I should be happy. I'll find mum and dad and lift the spell and maybe go to their favorite ice cream shop and I'll tell them how much I love them.

With that decided she exited the hall and found herself in the kitchen.

There's that silly porcelain chicken Jen got Mum for Christmas years ago, and the scorch mark on the wall is still there, from when I accidentally set them ablaze the day I got my Hogwarts letter.

The cheerful little kitchen gave her strength, and through the heavy silence she heard voices. Her heart leapt into her throat.

The living room greeted her next, and at last, there they were. They sat on the couch facing the telly though it wasn't on, holding something in their hands.

"Mum! Dad!" the words came out in sobs she was so happy. Hermione rushed forward. "I've come home!"

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Mum, it's me!" she said, laughing, and stood before them. "I've missed you so much-"

"Who's Hermione?" her mother asked.

What? Oh, the spell. Of course they don't remember. Lift the spell, you dolt!

Giddily, Hermione reached into her pocket for her wand, and found nothing. Odd. Frowning, she checked the other pocket, and something on her hand snagged on the fabric.

Why am I shaking?

Light glinted off the ring prettily, the large gems caught all the light in the room and suddenly Hermione was doused with cold clarity.

I'm in a dream.

"No…" she moaned, turning back to her parents.

They were reading a letter together, brows furrowed in confusion. Hermione looked at the envelope, which lay beside her father on the couch, and felt an absurd swell of hope rise inside her.

Mr. Weasely sent it! They know I'm missing!

"Do you know any Hermione Granger?" her mother asked her father.

"Not at all," he replied.

It's me, me! She wanted to shout. Your daughter!

"This Arthur Weasely sounds very worried about her. I wish we could help, but I've never heard of this Hermione," her mother said, placing the letter down onto her lap. "I suppose they must've mixed up the address."

"Lovely name, though; Hermione," her father quipped in an appreciative tone.

It is, Hermione thought, blinking back tears as the dream began to fade away. You chose it.


The cut on his cheek was bleeding again. Ron grimaced and pressed a scrap of cloth to the wound. If he wasn't such a dunce at healing spells he would have healed it right after they had left Knockturn Alley, but he would rather let it heal naturally than risk it with magic. In his other hand was the hair. Long and wild, it was, tightly curled in some places and straight in others.

Much like the person we got it from.

Bellatrix Lestrange was a madwoman, which was one thing all wizardfolk agreed on regardless of what side they were on. Dangerous and unpredictable, she was, which was why he and Harry had to be the same to get what they needed from her.

Stupidest plan we've come up with so far, really, and that's counting the things we did in First Year.

He and Harry had donned disguises-bits and pieces to wear from Fred and George's shop and bits of Polyjuice to make sure their true identities would not be revealed. Once that was done they'd gone separately to Knockturn Alley to find their places and wait until she appeared. Ron had heard days prior that their target was to pay a visit to some unsavory shop-for what, they didn't care to know, but a miraculous opportunity had presented itself to aid them in their next mission and that was all the incentive they needed to act upon it.

They ended up waiting hours until she showed up. Ron had nearly panicked, thinking it was a trap or that Lestrange had decided not to end up at all. The streets were deserted as always, and Harry had the Cloak for extra measure, even if he was in disguise. Wedged in extremely narrow alleyways opposite each other where neither could be seen, they waited until they heard her approach. A Death Eater accompanied her, scowling without his mask.

Harry moved first. Quickly hobbling towards the woman with a chipped cup in his hand, opening his nearly toothless mouth to beg for a coin, Harry flicked his eyes at Ron, who emerged stealthily from his hiding place, wand ready.

"Spare a sickle, m'lady?" Harry wheezed. Ron Stunned the Death Eater, caught him before he hit the ground and lopped off a short lock of hair. He allowed the Death Eater to drop the rest of the way down with a quiet thud.

The woman had already rounded on Harry, flinging curse after curse until he staggered backward, too busy shielding himself to fire a hex back.

"Filthy, undeserving scum!" she hissed, eyes widened with fury. Ron hastened over and raised his wand but she had heard him and turned with a hex on her lips. A slash opened on his cheek and blood poured out. Ron cursed and crouched to avoid the killing curse she sent next, and shot another Stunner back. All the while the woman was shouting at them, obscenities and the like while spinning away from their curses. The battle was going nowhere and all sported wounds-if it hadn't been for her companion's limp form that she tripped over and lost her focus, Ron felt they might have been done for.

They hadn't been able to Stun her, either. Bellatrix Lestrange was much too clever to allow that. They took one step towards her and she shot them a cruel smile, showing her yellow teeth. That smile formed ice in Ron's veins.

She's going to kill us, he thought, bracing himself to counter-attack before her face changed to that of one in pain, and grasped her forearm. Conflict flickered in her eyes for a brief second. Ron knew what she was thinking: kill them, or attend to Voldemort's summons? She sensed Harry's next move before even Ron could and Apparated away with a cackle, and the red jet of light hit the brick wall behind the space she had previously occupied.

There was no reason to linger. They'd left instantly, and now Ron was just realizing how stupid they'd been.

We could have been seen. She could have called for backup! Summoned more Death Eater cronies? For fuck's sake, the Dementors could have got us!

And yet they didn't, a firm voice in his head said. You got what you needed and made it back in one piece.

The cut throbbed, and sighing, Ron picked up the cup in front of him.

And this is just as dangerous, if not worse, he thought as he added the hair into the potion. He watched as the potion turned black, and fought not to gag at the smell.

"Merlin's balls, that's foul," he groaned. Ron had had to endure many bad smells in his life, but he was sure this was the foulest he had ever come across.

Fantastic. Bloody fantastic.

Before he could dwell on it more, he held his breath and downed the sickly concoction, silently thanking Fred and George in his mind for a childhood of daring him to eat questionable things. But this, this was worse than any of it, worse than the mud mixed with garden gnome's piss, worse than the cut up flobberworms in his stew, worse than anything he'd ever tasted. Twice he thought he might retch but he clamped his lips shut and forced himself to swallow with tears in his eyes. He was gasping when he was done, and by then his features had begin to bubble and twist, he shrank quite a bit and his hair lengthened, curling past his chest.

Gods, this feels wrong, Ron thought, panicking as he looked down at himself, but only succeeded at getting a direct view of his breasts. A shiver of revulsion coursed through him. Luckily, they were covered by the robes he'd been smart enough to slip into before he'd taken the potion, an old but simple pair that they'd deemed was something the madwoman was likely to wear, and important above all else: totally black.

"This is mad," he said. "Completely mad."

The robes were so long he was able to keep his trainers on, for that he was grateful. They felt a bit loose, to be sure, but they were better than the heels. The mere thought that he and Bellatrix Lestrange had nearly the same sized feet made an absurd giggle push past his lips.

Ron spent a few minutes getting used to his new height, walking around the length of the tent on unsteady feet.

This would have been easier if Hermione was with us, he thought sadly. She was the best actress of us three.

"Ready?" Harry appeared, wearing a Death Eater's form. Ron looked at him enviously. He'd grown a foot and plenty of muscle had turned him into a thick rope of a man, only his unfortunate face Ron did not envy. But, they'd drawn straws and his was the shorter, so there he was.

This is going to end horribly.

"Yeah. Let's go before I change my mind."


So far, this was all the information Hermione had been able to gather:

1: All the doors leading out of the house were always locked. Nothing she did could fix that.

2: Only Draco could access the Floo. Various searches had not been able to find where he kept the powder for it, but she wasn't sure she would use it if she ever did find it. The Floo network was always watched by the Ministry, and she from what little Draco told her, Voldemort had already taken over there.

3: Any newspapers were instantly burnt once read. Draco always read them alone in his study in the evenings, and she was forbidden to enter until he was finished.

4: Bogg was forbidden from ever helping her escape. (He spent little time enough with her as it was, but after she made the mistake of mentioning S.P.E.W, he completely avoided her unless Draco ordered him to wait on her.)

5: The only other person who had ever been inside the Manor was Blaise, but she had not seen him in weeks. This led her to suspect he and Draco only met when she was asleep, to avoid her listening in to their conversations about the war, or whatever else they spoke of.

6: The ring prohibited her from using magic, be it with or without a wand. Only with permission from the owner could the wand work, or else she could not even touch the wand (much the same with weapons of any kind, even a butter knife). Hermione frequently wondered where he had found such advanced magic.

7: The Manor had at least five floors. Rarely did they ever go up to the last two floors, which were filled with grand empty rooms and locked doors. She couldn't imagine why anyone would want to live in a house so big. There was a great stone balcony in the back of the great manse behind some French doors. Draco had led her up there once some weeks ago, only to take her from behind against the cold stone as punishment after he had found her trying to steal his wand while he was asleep (before she had known it would not have worked anyway). It was very high up and made her dizzy to look down-she had cried when he had raped her up there in broad daylight. The stone cut into her tummy and bruised her all over, and he'd bent her over the edge and forced her to look down even as she begged for him to forgive her (something she was ashamed of) while he took his pleasure. When he had finished her whole front was scraped and raw and red all over, and her nipples were chafed and bleeding from rubbing against the stone.

She had always been frightened of great heights, even as a little girl.

And he only helped make the fear worse, Hermione thought, scratching her hand absently.

The dream she'd had that morning had left her in a foul mood, made even fouler when Draco had decided to wake her by placing his mouth between her legs. While she dreamt his tongue tasted her and she was all but torn from slumber when he forced an orgasm from her and the shock washed through her even after she had pushed him away. Sleep had claimed her again shortly after, and she had eagerly succumbed to it, falling back asleep while he moved around the room.

Since Narcissa's passing he had fed her the love potion more frequently, sometimes consecutively for days on end, ignoring her when she warned him days had to pass before another dose was taken. There were side effects if the potion was not taken correctly, she had tried to warn him, but he would not listen.

In the beginning she had fiercely fought the effects of the potion the first and the second and the third time he'd given it to her. The sixth time, she was too weary to keep fighting and let the numbing haze envelope her mind. The love potion filled in that empty space she left easily enough, and Hermione discovered that with a bit of practice she could tuck herself away deep inside. There, she could tune out everything that was happening 'outside' and no one could reach her. It was quite comfortable, too. Or sometimes, if she wanted to, she could focus and see what the fake her was up to.

Under the Amortentia's influence the days and nights passed faster than before, and she would emerge and claim herself again once the potion wore off. More often than not, when she 'woke,' she would find herself sprawled atop or beside Draco, who would smile a stupid soft smile at her.

Today, however, she awoke and found herself on Draco's bed, naked save for the sheet draped over her lower half. The cold air hung heavy over her bared skin and she shivered, uncomfortably aware of the pleasant soreness between her legs. It took some effort to sit up since she was so sore but she did it anyway and sent the sheet flying to the other side of the room before getting off the bed. It took her a moment to realize Draco himself was not there with her, and relieved, she let herself relax. There were no clothes laid out for her anywhere-that meant he had either forgotten or did it on purpose.

I'll burn all his clothes off while he's still wearing them, and see how he likes it, she thought angrily. The sheets were her only option, but she didn't want to go anywhere near them. They smelled of him and her and just thinking about what he did to her in them made her want to cry.

She was still cold, though. Hermione sighed and walked over to where the sheet had landed on the floor, and bent to pick it up when she caught sight of the green jumper lying beneath the bed. It looked warm enough, so she picked it up and pulled it down over her head, pushing her arms through the long sleeves. It was a little scratchy against her skin, especially against her breasts, but it was long enough to cover her where she wanted it to and saved her the trouble of finding some trousers.

Once she'd done her business in the loo she tried the door, only to find herself locked in. It didn't bother her.

That only means one thing, she thought to herself as she curled up at the window seat, tugging the hem of the jumper over her bruised knees.

Blaise is here.


The air inside the vault was too heavy; it made him feel like each breath he took might be his last.

And right now, it might be.

His foot shifted and accidentally nudged a golden cup, which exploded into several more cups, burning hot to the touch. Harry cursed and edged along more carefully, reaching for the cup of Hufflfepuff. It was still too far, though.

"I don't mean to be a bother, but we do need to be quick," Ron called nervously. He stood by the vault's opening, already knee-deep in the cursed treasure. Harry could see his skin reddening from the heat-Ron was trying not to move to keep from activating any more of the cups.

"I'm trying!" Harry hissed, shuffling forward carefully. It was no use. There was gold everywhere, and even if his shoe barely grazed the damned things the replicas would come raining down. If he wasn't careful he would be buried alive in gold.

That's the dream, isn't it? He asked himself sarcastically. He tried reaching for the cup again, but it was too high up. The only solution was to climb the pile of treasures and take the cup, quickly, before he drowned in gold.

Good thing he was a good climber. He was feeling somewhat grateful to Dudley and his little posses growing up, who liked to practice boxing on him, or Ripper, Aunt Marge's dog, who always chased him around. Both always had him going up trees or scaling high fences for safety, and by the time his Hogwarts letter had come he was a natural. So Harry braced himself and began to climb.

By the time he reached the top his hands felt like they'd been beaten raw and pulpy and stuffed into thick rubber gloves. Everything he touched burnt him and it took effort not to cry out when the blisters seared his skin. His robes were smoldering and he smelled burnt hair but paid no mind and reached for the cup though it was still too high.

Damn. Damn, damn, damn.

And then it hit him. The sword!

It took a few seconds of pawing at his pockets to remember he'd slung Hermione's purse over his body and scrambled to open it. His wounded fingers fumbled but at last he drew the sword from the charmed purse and wildly thrust it towards the cup, hoping he could catch it by a handle. It could have been a trick of his mind but he could have sworn the cup actually moved away from the sword, as if pushed by an invisible hand. Harry had to lean forward, trying not to fall over to try again, but at last the task was accomplished and he was free to make his way back down. He slogged through the sea of hot gold as fast as he could but it felt like the coins and cups were trying to drag him down into their depths as their numbers increased. His legs ached, his heart pounded and he was burnt all over by the time he reached Ron.

"Let's go. Now." Ron didn't need telling twice. They pushed through the piles of gold with all their strength and left the wretched trove behind them without a second thought, only to come face to face with the goblin Ron had Imperiused into watching for intruders outside the vault.

Ron immediately reached for his wand, but Harry stopped him.
"It's too late," he said as the goblin began to shout for help and run to the main corridor, "they would have found out at one point or another. Run."

As they ran, Harry remembered the cup, and decided he would destroy it now before they could be intercepted. But as he slid the cup off the sword, he realized it had already been taken care of. The neat, golden little cup was twisted and charred beyond repair. Harry had little time to relish the dart of triumph that shot through him before a wail of an alarm began to sound throughout the tunnel.

"Shit," Ron muttered, turning pale. They began to run even faster. Harry dropped the sword and the cup into the purse just as they reached the railcar.

"Go, go, go!" they shouted, and with a groan the car lurched forward. Harry allowed himself a moment of quick relief before the dread pushed its way back in and he realized their mistake. The alarm was still blaring and there was shouting behind them but he daren't look back. Not only that, they were going the wrong way, he was sure. A sideways look at Ron told him he had come to the same conclusion.

"What," he began to ask, but was cut off as the car stopped abruptly and tipped over, dumping them into the darkness. Ron screamed. Harry's mind was racing, racing, trying to figure out what was happening. There was nothing but darkness below and something huge and white off to the side. They were falling, falling, and if they weren't killed on impact then whoever found them surely would. Harry felt as though he had left his stomach at the start of the fall, but his heart was in his mouth, bloody and red and pumping so violently it was sure to burst and they were about to land, he could feel it and they were going to die and he would never see Hermione again-

"ARRESTO MOMENTUM!"

The words flew out of his mouth before he knew he wanted to say them, but that was fine just fine because suddenly they were hovering inches over a dark ground that looked as though it would not have greeted them warmly. There was a second in which he was able to catch his breath and Ron gaped in shock and then they landed lightly.

They stood shakily. Ron looked as if he might throw up. Harry made sure he still had the purse.

"I could kiss you right now, mate," Ron said faintly.

"Don't," Harry warned. "We're not out yet."

They weren't. Wherever they were, it was dark and spacious and…earthy. There were rocks beneath his feet-not cobblestone or marble but regular, sharp rocks. Where there weren't rocks there was damp soil instead, and unless the ringing in his ears hadn't gone away yet there was an odd rumbling noise in the area around them.

It's getting closer, too.

Ron seemed to have heard it too and drew his wand. "We're not alone."

"No."

The rumbling grew louder, only there was a new noise mixed in. Chains?

"Rude of them not to tell us we would have company." Harry had to appreciate how light Ron's voice was, even if he was afraid. It was a welcome distraction because he was afraid, too.

Harry looked around. There was a hulking white mass approaching them, though in all the darkness he couldn't tell what it was. He drew his wand as well.

"Yes," he agreed. "Very rude."


Something was the matter with Draco, Blaise had decided, and he was positive it had nothing to do with his dead mother. That wasn't to say his friend wasn't still grieving, because Blaise knew he still was, but this was something else. Something more troubling.

Part of him was dying to ask, but he figured Draco would tell him in his own time. They knew each other well, and if Blaise knew one thing about Draco it was that the pale prince did not like to be rushed. That and he was terribly possessive of the secrets he chose not to share with anyone.

"They'll find out soon that she's not with the other two," he said, "and they'll start looking for her. Aren't you worried?"

"If they haven't noticed she's missing by now they'll never find her," said Draco dismissively. "Especially not here. I've taken every precaution necessary and extra to make sure she won't be found. If by some miracle they find this place, I have other locations I can take her until the searches cool down, but for now, I've no need to worry."

"Potter doesn't seem like the type who'd let up on searching for her," Blaise said offhandedly.

"No, he probably isn't, but I've a plan for that as well." Draco smirked.

"You've got this all figured out, don't you?" Exactly how long ago did you realize that this was what you wanted?

"I protect what is mine," said the other darkly.

Hoard, more like, Blaise thought. You lock up your wife in your room like she's a bleeding sorcerer's stone. Yeah, mate, that's how you'll secure her affections. But all the same…

"Well." Blaise set his glass down and rose from his chair. "If that's all?"

"Sit."

I'm not your bloody House-Elf, he wanted to say, but Blaise sat back down, disgruntled but curious.

"I'm sure anything won't happen, but in case it does, in case I'm called away by the Dark Lord or if we're found, I want you to promise me something." There was an edge to his voice-that and a tinge of desperation, which Blaise was not used to hearing in Draco.

This does not bode well.

"What?"

"I want you to take care of her. Promise me you'll make sure she is safe from them."

The shorter of the two young men threw a sharp, concerned look to the other. "What-do you think something's going to happen?"

"I'm sure we won't be found, but if anything should happen to me, I want to know you'll be there to protect her from them."

"Why them? They'd never hurt her." She's practically their Virgin Mary, you'd think, by the way they treated her.

"She's precious to our side, Blaise-to me. Someday she will be made doubly so, and I would not hesitate to start another war if she is lost."

Blaise wasn't quite sure what to think. Start a war? What is he going on about? He thought on Draco's words some more. Doubly precious…

Thinking this referred to the impending pregnancy of the witch, Blaise nodded solemnly.

"Of course."


The blind dragon had flown off after they landed in the water and was rapidly turning into a gaunt shape in the sky. Harry and Ron had already reached the shore and immediately stripped off their sodden costumes before changing into dry clothing from Hermione's purse.

"Bloody mad," Ron said, pushing strands of wet hair away from his eyes. "Ride a dragon? Break into Gringotts! And we're still in one piece! Mad."

Harry wasn't listening. The brisk waters had soothed the stinging of his burnt hands and he struggled to move quickly, slinging the purse over his body once more and withdrew his wand.

"We're going to the Burrow."

It took a second for Ron to register his words. When they did, his jaw went slack.

"Wha-the Burrow? Have you lost your mind? What for?"

"I need to know," Harry said. He lurched forward, seized his best friends' arm and turned on the spot.


Neville's dinner stared up at him from his plate, but he made no move to touch it. The sound of his schoolmate's chatter, once lively and boisterous, had since faded into a quiet murmur of voices in the great room. Ginny's seat was empty beside his-her family had sent for her to return to the safety of the Burrow once it had been discovered Hermione had been taken. He was glad to know she was out of harm's way, but now that she was gone he was left in charge of commanding what was left of the DA. Their meetings had grown more frequent, but as they had all made much progress, their danger of being discovered had risen too. Indeed, if it weren't for the enchanted coins Hermione had come up with in Fifth Year then none of their meetings would have been possible. Neville was proud of them all- "the resistance," as Seamus called it. For what they were training, he couldn't say exactly. Harry had warned him of battle and that was all, so he was doing his best to make sure they would be ready for when it came.

He glanced at the staff table. The Headmaster's seat was empty as usual. Neville wondered what kept Snape so occupied that he spent most of his time in his office. His eyes wandered down the length of the table and he caught eyes with Professor McGonagall, who gave him the tiniest nod. Neville acknowledged it and turned away. His back was still very sore from the lashings he'd gotten some days past. Thinking of it sent his gaze wandering back to the staff table, and he watched the Carrows eat angrily.

We will take you all down.

Dean and Seamus were watching him when he looked down at his own table. Their eyes were inquisitive.

He knew what they meant, and gave another tiny nod. They looked away promptly. Neville reminded himself to send a message through the coin once dinner ended. First he would need to go get the Maurader's Map, which Harry had left him before he had gone.

"You'll need it more than I will," he'd said, "and you'll be the first to know when I come back."

But when? How much longer must we wait?

Months had gone by, and as each one passed Neville grew angrier, and impatient. McGonagall had all but banned him from her office; he had taken to visiting her frequently to see if any discoveries had been made in Hermione's case. Another glance at Hermione's empty seat made his fingers tighten around his knife. The Slytherin table beside the Gryffindor table boasted another empty seat-Draco Malfoy's, which was directly opposite Hermione's. Hatred surged inside him in a strong current.

He has her now, he thought. What must she be going through?

A loud laugh caught his attention and he looked up to clash gazes with Pansy Parkinson for a fleeting second before she turned away to clap her hand on her friends' arm, still shrieking with laughter. Zabini, sitting beside her, wiped his mouth and left the table, grinning to himself. Neville felt a hot streak of hate course through him as he too rose from the table abruptly.

He had to know. Wasn't Zabini the murderer's best mate? He must know something….

Not sparing a glance back at the faces turned curiously to him, Neville strode out of the room and into the hall, looking quickly in each direction to gauge where the Slytherin had gone.

"You're looking for me, I'll wager?" The handsome Slytherin stepped out of a shadow just ahead.

"Yeah, I am," Neville said angrily. "I want to know what you're still doing here at Hogwarts."

Blaise quirked an eyebrow innocently. "Isn't it obvious? I came back to finish my studies."

Neville wasn't fooled. "You were part of the group that broke into Hogwarts last year to help murder Dumbledore. You didn't have to come back. You shouldn't have."

"I was pardoned, don't you remember?" Blaise asked. "And in case you have forgotten this as well, I was not the one who killed your beloved Headmaster." He tipped his head. "You forget much, Longbottom."

"You should not have come back," Neville repeated. "What are you up to?"

"Many things, and none of them your concern."

Neville narrowed his eyes.

"You know where Malfoy is."

"Now, I don't recall ever mentioning that," Blaise said, leaning against the wall.

"Where is he keeping Hermione?"

Blaise laughed. "You ask too many questions, Longbottom. It would be best if you asked someone who had answers."

"Lucky, isn't it, that I've found him?" Neville asked, pulling his wand out of his pocket.

Blaise mirrored him. "Sure about that, are you?"

"I'll ask you one more time, Zabini, and this time I expect an answer. Where is she?"

"What does it matter to you? Mooning over your lost love, is that it? Did you fancy her?" With a swirl of his robes, Blaise darted to the side in time to dodge Neville's curse. He stood, a gleam shone bright in his dark eyes. "That's it, isn't it? Either you love her or you just wanted her in your bed."

Too focused in his words, he'd let his guard down, and Neville's hex sliced at his cheek. Blaise hissed in pain, wiping away the blood.

"It's neither, you arse. She's like a sister to me, and with or without your help I'm going to get her back." Neville ducked to avoid Blaise's Stun and sent his own back in retaliation.

"And what makes you think I'll help you?" The Slytherin asked, sneering. "We've chosen our sides. Best stick to them."

"Your side will lose," Neville snapped, narrowly avoiding another curse. "It's obvious, but you're too blind to see it because you've aligned yourself with Malfoy."

"You know nothing, Longbottom," Blaise snarled, slashing at the air with his wand. Neville gasped and clutched at his wounded shoulder, but stood his ground.

"It's too late for Granger," he continued, circling Neville. "He'll never let her go."

He felt a little bad, saying it, but it was the truth.

"SHUT UP!" Neville roared, and with a slash of his wand Blaise slammed into the cold stone wall roughly. There was a clatter as his wand fell from his grasp and rolled to the floor.

"I mean it," Blaise said heavily through coughs. "You think hiding around the school will help her in some way? She is leagues away from here, and every day that passes Draco's hold on her grows."

"Liar."

"Oh, does it bother you to think of it?" Blaise asked, pulling himself back up. "Then you should have protected her better if you care about her so much. He captured her because you pathetic lot couldn't do one thing right."

"You help her, then."

Blaise fell silent, clutching his ribs. Neville had a look of resigned hatred on his face and had lowered his wand.

"Pardon?"

"I don't know where she is, but you do. You've seen her, haven't you."

Blaise collected his wand. "I have."

"So get her out."

"It's not that easy, Longbottom. You think he hasn't got trackers on her? He doesn't let her out of his sight. It would be easier to steal from Gringott's."

"The least you could do is try. You know she doesn't deserve what he's doing to her."

"You say all this like I won't be putting my own life in danger as well as hers."

Neville half-raised his wand on impulse, then put it back down, letting out an impatient sigh.

"So you won't help her?"

A little ways behind them, the doors to the Great Hall burst open, and the students began to stream out, chattering amongst themselves.

Blaise put his wand in his pocket. "I'll try."

He left promptly, leaving Neville alone in the corridor that was quickly filling with people.

His shoulder was still bleeding and his head hurt quite badly.

Neville slammed his fist into the wall behind him, relishing the pain that laced up his arms, and set off to the Gryffindor Tower. There was a DA meeting to announce.


The wards allowed them to slip through and they stole through the grounds, straight to the ramshackle house. It had been Harry's design to enter through the front but upon nearing the yard, he caught sight of a figure standing by the hedges, watching them, and he set towards it at a faster pace than before.

It was George, they came to find upon reaching the gardens at last. Fred had stood with his back to them, but it seemed upon sensing his twin's shock he turned and joined his brothers.

"Harry!" they said in unison, with equal parts surprise and curiosity in their like voices. "Ron!"

"Where have you been?" Fred asked, just as George asked, "What do you need?"

Ron began to say something, but Harry cut him off.

"Where is she?" he asked.

The twins exchanged uneasy glances.

"Come inside, you two," Fred said. "The others will be happy to see you, and it's better to speak of this indoors."

"You two look like hell," George added. "Rest awhile, and then we can talk."

"We can't," Harry said curtly. "There isn't time. Where is Hermione?"

The twins looked very unhappy.

"He has her. Malfoy. Ginny looked for her everywhere the day after the Christmas ball, but couldn't find her. She wasn't on the Hogwarts Express, either. We reckon he took her after the ball."

Ron swore. Harry felt numb. The locket wasn't lying…

"Has there been any news? Any message from Malfoy? A ransom? Anything?" His voice was weak, desperate.

"Nothing. McGonagall and the Order have been searching since we found out."

George rubbed his neck. "We thought she was with you lot. We all worried, but knew that if you three were together, you'd be safer that way."

"Well you were wrong," Harry snapped. "That bastard stole her." He suddenly felt quite sick.

"Look," Fred tried again. "Mum and dad will want to see you both. And Ginny. She feels especially guilty, since she was supposed to find Hermione before they left the school. Lupin, Tonks, and Charlie are coming 'round for dinner, so we can try and figure something out."

This time Ron spoke up before Harry could.

"We can't. We've already put you at risk just by coming here, and we haven't finished what we set out to do. Tell mum and dad we're sorry, but we don't want to put anyone else in harm's way. Tell them we'll see them soon."

The twins seemed like they wanted to argue, but nodded solemnly. It was strange, Harry thought. This was the first time he'd ever spoken to the Weasely twins and had not laughed once. But there was nothing to laugh about now.

"Before you go," George said, "we've come up with loads of new items in the time you both have been gone. We thought some of them might help in the near future." Fred nodded. "There's a bag of them in our room, they could be of use to you." Sensing Harry's hesitation, they both said at once, "We'll be quick, we promise."

"Alright," Harry said. "But quickly. And don't tell anyone we've been here until we leave."

"Gotcha," they said, and with a wink they Apparated into the house.

The words the locket had spoken repeated themselves in Harry's head, threatening to split his mind in half.

Your fault. It's all your fault, a sinister voice hissed at him.

Ron stood still and pale beside him, enwrapped in his own worries.

The twins were back as quickly as they promised, and presented Harry and Ron with a sack of goods, which they grimly accepted and deposited into Hermione's charmed purse with muttered thanks.

An awkward silence arose. Ron cleared his throat. An expression of sadness etched itself onto the twin's faces. It seemed they all realized at the same time they had to part.

"Be careful, you two," Fred said quietly. "Don't go breaking into any more banks."

A chuckle burst from Ron's throat. "You heard about that?"

"Aye, who hasn't?" George asked, grinning. "What were you doing?"

"Something stupid," Harry and Ron said together.

"That sounds right up our alley, hey Georgie?" Fred asked his twin. They looked at Harry and Ron with sparks in their eyes, grinning. "We'd be glad to help if you've got anymore Stupid planned."

"No," Ron said at once. "Stay with the others, they need you here. We'll contact you if we need you."

Fred and George were obviously displeased, but said nothing more.

"Do everything you can to find Hermione," Harry said. "We'll be looking, too. Take care of yourselves and the others." Fred and George nodded, eerily serious.

"Tell Mum and Dad I'm alright," Ron added quietly. "I'll be home soon."

"Be careful, Ronnie-kins," they said sadly, and Ron and Harry Apparated away at last. None would admit it, but they all wondered if they'd seen the last of each other.