A/N: Thank you for the favorites, follows, and reviews!

I had an absolute blast writing this chapter! I am so sorry for my tardiness but if everything goes right, I should have the next chapter posted by Sunday.

Poetry is not something I excel in so please be super forgiving. If anyone can do better, I welcome submissions via PM. I have two more just as hideous for the next chapter but if you like Vogan poetry, then wonderful… you will love my poems. (Vogan Poetry is a nod to the Hitchhikers Guide to the Galaxy by Adam Douglas- referencing the absolute worst poetry in existence.)

13

Previously:

The moment her feet hit bedrock, Hermione launched herself at the door. It swung open and she stumbled through, catching herself with her hands, on Sigurd's encasement. The moment she got her body back under control, she turned around, slammed the door, and pressed her uncut palm to the buttery wood- chanting her destination over and over- hoping she had enough lead on Abraxas so that she could leave. When she returned, she was going to have to face his undeniable and justified wrath. She shuddered as the door pulled her into the dark abyss, the only light was a candle illuminating an old crone.

**HGHG**

Hermione stepped into a darkened world, a chamber with a single candle lit on a rough-hewn table with an old woman sitting on the chair behind it. The crone's face was shadowed giving her a spooky feel. Cautiously, Hermione walked to the table and sat in the seat opposite.

"Welcome, Hermione Granger, to the end of the world. Every time you choose to use the door you will be told one truth about your life as payment for passage. If you are willing to continue, take my hand. If you are not, you may leave this one time- by the same way you came. This courtesy will only be offered once. How do you choose?" She croaked.

Hermione swallowed nervously and slipped her shaking and bleeding hand into the crones withered appendage. The crone smiled at her as if all the secrets of the world were her burden and amusement, the struggles of mortal men so far removed from her existence that she no longer pitied them. Hermione supposed that if she were to know all the truths of every being alive and dead and those yet to come, she would soon lose her humanity too.

"So be it, Daughter of Merlin," she said in her low croaking voice. The dark room around them transformed and light filled the room. Hermione looked around in awe as they were now sitting in the living room of her childhood home. The crone drew her attention when she began to speak. Hermione's eyes had gone soft and she felt a deep well of pity spring up within her. What a terrible life this elderly relic had to see and yet never able to be a part of the human condition.

"Time for us is inconsequential here and as a rule, we do not guess when things will come to pass if they had not yet already happened. Hermione, there will come a time that the woman who considers herself as your mother will give her life for yours. She will do it purely out of love and you won't understand her until the moment you lose her. Her death will leave a great hole in your heart." The crone looked at her sadly as countless emotions flitted over her face.

Hermione's thoughts whirled around in her head. Her mother was obliviated by her own hand and was killed on Voldemort's orders. It was unlikely that this is what her truth referred to unless her mother wasn't dead after all. Hope surged in her stomach. Maybe that was what she wouldn't understand about her mother, that she was alive this whole time. The only other person that she could think of that might also fit the bill was Narcissa who had spent years as Voldemort's captive in order for her and Draco to make a break for it. She didn't always understand his mother but would forever be grateful for the sacrifices she made on Hermione's behalf.

Behind the crone, a door cracked open, the light spilling in the once again dark room. She looked back only once as sadness for the life of the crone and wondered if there was something she could do to release her from this room. Before she could do anything, the crone disappeared, leaving Hermione alone.

Stepping through the door, Hermione found herself walking out of Bathilda Bagshot's front door. The only doorway that she had walked through that one Christmas Eve two years ago that nearly saw Harry's and her own death in Godric's Hallow.

"I'm glad you decided to join me," Voldemort's amusement was palpable.

Hermione looked him over and smirked. He was looking the worse for wear. It had only been a few days since he had captured her and imprisoned her at Hogwarts. She supposed that losing all of his followers to the Malfoy dungeons would add a bit of stress to his life.

"I didn't even have to beg for you to heal me," Hermione watched as his eyes narrowed and snorted. Her wand was clenched in her hand, ready at a moment's notice. She noticed his knuckles were white as he grasped the handle of his own wand.

"What a pity," he sneered.

"You called this meeting, what do you want?"

"What would you be willing to trade for the knowledge of how to wake your sleeping suitor?"

"Sigurd? Nothing. I will figure it out on my own." She said. He chuckled dryly. She still had faith that the Manor would be able to restore all of the memories from the memory room.

"I don't think you will."

Hermione shrugged. "That's my cross to bear. You do have something else that I want,"

"And that is?"

"My allies that you have imprisoned in Azkaban."

"They are not for trade."

"But you will use them against me whenever you feel like it?"

"I was quite generous to allow you the gift of two of my prisoners. Was that not a wonderful gift?"

"You never do anything out of kindness. I would bet my left arm that you have plans for them."

"It seems we are at an impasse," He hissed. Hermione shrugged but her brow furrowed in worry. She barely kept herself from checking out the shadows around them. She held herself stiffly as though waiting for something, something that came in the form of a tiny house elf named Emmy.

**HGHG**

Abraxas yelled in rage as he pounded against the stone door that Hermione had magically sealed against him. No matter how many times Gilkey poked the tiny button, the door refused to budge. Usually, he was put together, spending hours and untold amounts of effort to look as if nature had gifted him with an unnatural allure and elegance. He had never looked so unkempt as he did in that moment. Rage burned through him; his hair a mess from his fingers constantly running through it, and his clothes were rumpled and askew from the vigorous assault against the door.

"Master?" Gilkey asked, slightly cowed. She had never seen him in such a state. No one has.

Abraxas closed his eyes and struggled to reign in his ire. There had never been a woman who drove him to the brink of insanity except for Hermione. All he wanted to do was protect her, was that such a horrible thing? The worst part was that he almost had her. He knew it, and he knew she knew it. One more touch, one more brush of his lips and she would have followed him back to his rooms. He would have made good on his promise to wear her out too. The most pleasurable distraction.

Clenching his teeth so hard that a tic appeared in his jaw, he abruptly turned on his heel and strode from the room, Gilkey following without being bid.

"Your mistress went to Godric's Hallow. Regardless of the conditions of the message, she can't go alone." Abraxas muttered to the elf.

"I can take you," She said softly.

Abraxas smiled at the elf, his eyes crinkling softly, despite the fire that still raged within.

"Thank you. I will take you up on that as soon as I find Draco. I have a feeling that she would have a harder time with her guilt of leaving him." A cunning look crossed his face.

As he approached Hermione's door, he waved his wand, letting the force of the spell blow the door open. He took a perverse satisfaction in startling Draco awake. The man in question shot up, looking around wildly. For a moment, he felt a twinge of guilt. Draco was not the person who put him in this mood. That was until he realized Draco was nearly naked in Hermione's bed. A better man would have put his jealousy aside, especially in light of current events. Unfortunately for everyone else, Abraxas was just a flawed man.

"Hermione went to meet Riddle alone."

"Damn! I thought if I kept her busy enough she would perhaps not realize until it was too late." Draco said running a hand through his hair as he bounced from the bed, his pajama pants riding low on his hips. He grabbed his wand and with a flick of his wand, was properly dressed, and his hair tidy. Gilkey held out her small hand and before any of them could blink, the Malfoy elf apparated them away.

**HGHG**

Sigurd rapidly blinked his eyes, trying to clear the blurriness from them. Patting the space around him, his hands searched for the long thin wood of his wand. Once his vision had cleared he moved with increasing panic as he stared up at the lid of his casket, a bloody handprint was smeared over his face blocking out any view of the room beyond.

"Fucking Hell," He cursed. Relief so substantial settled in his stomach as he finally found the buttery wood of his wand, made from the same tree as his door. With a flick of his wrist, the lid to the enclosure levitated off, settling against the wall in the very place it had been right before Tova settled it over him.

He pulled himself out of the coffin and looked around. The room was nearly the same as it had been a millennium ago. The only changes were his magical portrait which was now still and the empty table in the far corner.

Walking was harder than he anticipated. Tapping his thighs with the handle of his wand, he relieved them of their shaking and weakness, side effects, he supposed, of the potion that put him in a magical preservation. To be fair, the Germanic tribe that he found this nugget of power from only used it once with a limit of ten years of unconsciousness. He shrugged his shoulders. Regardless of the side effects, it had worked.

Sigurd tossed his long hair over his shoulder and strapped a scabbard to his back to sit between his shoulder blades. His Carolingian sword sat heavy in its sheath once again reunited. With his sword and his wand, he felt ready to battle. Whatever reason there was for her to wake him with a bloody handprint, it wasn't a situation he was willing to sit back and wait on the sidelines. Blood meant trouble and he suspected if she had gotten away from whatever caused her departure, it was through the door. He grimaced. He hated the door.

Taking a deep breath, he summoned his discipline and raised his large scarred palm to the door. This door was made with magic that was indescribable- a blend of the natural magic of the tree, his familial magic, and the skilled magic of the master who created both door and wand. Why the door aligned with the witch, Hecate, was anyone's guess. Perhaps she was bored being immortal and since she was no longer worshiped as she once was wanted something to entertain her. Either way, he steeled himself to accept the truth she would give him to find Hermione.

"Sigurd, my old friend," the crone cackled.

"Hecate,"

"I told you that you would be back,"

"And I told you that I would only come back if my choices were limited."

"It seems we were both right," Hecate waved to the seat opposite of her and Sigurd sat down with a slightly disgusted curl to his lips. Hecate looked the same as she ever did, old as hell.

"I wish to use the same portal as Hermione," he said. He knew the song and dance of what would be expected of him here but he felt it best to tell her exactly what he was doing. The crone was a powerful witch that was once known as a goddess. Her interest could help him greatly if she were so inclined. The shrewd smirk on her face indicated that she wasn't interested.

"That is not how the door works, Viking."

"What are your terms?" His teeth were clenched with stress. If she had attended Hogwarts, she would have been in Slytherin, hands down.

"I will show you a memory of mine. Do you accept?"

They both knew that he had no choice but to accept her terms. The moment he stepped through the door, he was bound to complete the ritual. Only for the first visit was there a way to decline and this was far from his first visit. He nodded his head sharply and waited. Around him, the dark room melted away and was replaced by the Great Hall in Hogwarts. Students filled the benches, eating a meal in almost perfect silence. The head table housed a variety of shifty characters, the only vacant seat was the Headmasters. A man with red eyes stood and pointed his wand at the door. Sigurd turned.

His Hermione was standing just inside the doorway, sparks jumping from curl to curl. They seemed to be facing off, amber eyes locked with red. A blue ball of energy filled the space between her hands making everyone watching flinch. Faster than he could believe, a green spell left the wand of the red-eyed wizard and Hermione sent her energy ball in return. They were hit at the same time, knocking both to the floor.

With a sinking feeling, Sigurd knew that Hermione was dead. His hands shook as he leaned over her spectral form. His gut clenched with fear but he was a seer for a reason. He knew that events were fluid and could change but there was fate to contend with too. Not every prophecy came to pass and not all prophecies could be circumvented.

It didn't matter. He hadn't waited a thousand years for his witch just to lose her now. Somehow, he didn't think this future included him, the wild card that wasn't supposed to be alive and could, with luck, change the outcome.

The room darkened around him, as Hecate came back to focus in the soft light of the candle.

"If you love her, you will do whatever you need to do to keep her alive and that includes sacrificing another."

"Why are you telling me this?"

"My sweet Emrys, the only man that I have loved in all of the eons of my life. Unrequited love is a vengeful magic that binds a person tighter than a Gordian knot to the recipient of such affections. It never stopped me from favoring his lineage but she is special. She is like him. I loved him too well for too long to deny his blood now. She must be saved."

Sigurd nodded his head. He understood her, this ancient witch. He was born a thousand years ago and he fell in love with a woman who was unavailable to him. It didn't stop him from finding his way to her and nothing would stop him from saving her, no matter the cost to his own soul.

"What should I do?"

A small piece of parchment appeared at her elbow with a bottle of ink and a black raven's quill. Once she finished writing and had put the quill down, she slid the paper across the table. Sigurd took it and read it before it burst into flames. The fire consumed the paper until all that was left was the ashy imprint of what it once was.

"A name?" He muttered confused, his brows furrowed in bewilderment.

"Do not use that information too soon or nothing will be able to save her." Hecate disappeared and the candle went out, the only light in the room was the door that creaked open at her departure. He was grim. Hecate did not give anything freely and he was willing to bet that this warning too would come with a price. He stepped through the door and found himself in a gravel walkway. Ahead of him stood Hermione and the red-eyed man, both with wands raised, both angry, both wary of the other.

**HGHG**

Narcissa and Harry landed at the shell of a house that used to be Andromeda's home. The evening was cooling rapidly as dew gathered on every surface. Narcissa pulled her hand from Harry's and her eyes locked on the two stone cairns on the rise behind the ruins, marking the final resting place of Andromeda and her daughter, Nymphadora. With a heavy heart, Narcissa made her way to the twin mounds and fell to her knees in front of them. She was too tired and worn out to cry. Too numb.

Harry came up behind her and put his hand on her shoulder. She just sat there, staring. Unsure of how long they stayed there, but Narcissa noticed that it was long enough for the shadows to lengthen. They needed to find shelter for the night.

Narcissa stood up but before she could go far, Harry handed her a conjured wreath, a twin of the one Hermione made for him to put on his parent's graves two years prior. Smiling gratefully, Narcissa took the wreath and laid it on the stones. Harry had leaned over the side of one of the piles while she laid the flowers on their graves. She thought he was just giving her space to grieve or cry. How ridiculous, the boy had seen her much worse than this but she appreciated it all the same.

Harry stood up abruptly with something clenched in his hand. His eyes were desperate and feverish, a new light in them that she hadn't seen before. Narcissa looked at him, waiting for him to tell her what it was he found. He held it up. It was a small purple dragon with Teddy's name in gold embroidery. The toy was pristine, clearly having been placed on the graves recently.

"He never leaves this behind anywhere and when we searched for Teddy two years ago, we also searched for this. We didn't see it anywhere. He's alive!" Harry shouted excitedly.

"And he has been here recently."

"We never really dared to hope," Harry said in a manic voice. Turning away from Narcissa, he began a frantic search of the grounds, hoping to find something, anything that would give him even the smallest clue of where Teddy could be hiding.

Narcissa took a closer look of the cairns while Harry searched the ruined house. It was when she got close to where the heads of her kin should rest when she found it. A small flat rock that was carved on the back. Furrowing her brow, she read out the words. Snuffles Cave.

"Harry," She called. "I think I found something,"

Harry trotted over and Narcissa handed him the small stone. His brows rose as he read the inscription. With elation in his eyes, he looked down at Narcissa who was on her knees by the cairns, supposedly where she found the unobtrusive rock. Slipping the thing in his pocket, he held out his hand to help her up.

"I know exactly where this is," he said.

"Well, what are you waiting for?" Narcissa asked, noticing a slight movement by the husk of the burned-out house. She began to stand, narrowing her eyes on the moving darkness but Harry was quick.

With a lopsided smile, he twisted, her arm still in his grasp, apparating them both to the hidden cave that Sirius had hidden in after he had been saved by Hermione and himself in their third year. There was something following them but Narcissa was well versed in biding her time and settled in for the wait. Pushing it to the back of her mind for the moment, she lifted her wand.

"Lumos," she murmured the moment they landed. The light from her wand tip glittered on the moisture oozing down the cave walls.

The cave was musty and dark, with very little light filtering in. Bones were littered on one side and the remains of a long dead fire on the other. Narcissa's nose wrinkled with disgust. It was absolutely filthy. Harry was searching the cave, even going so far as to sift through the sludge of ashes. He yelled with joy as he pulled out a clear plastic bag, a blue lined paper folded neatly inside.

"Well, it is someone who isn't afraid of the Muggle world," He said smiling. "Scorgify."

He opened the zip at the top and pulled out the thin paper and unfolded it. Wrinkling his brow, he moved his lips silently while reading, something that made Narcissa irritated. Weren't they in this together?

"It has to be someone who knew Sirius and me very well."

"Why do you think that?"

Harry handed her the paper and she brought it closer to her face, illuminating the paper with her wand. Narcissa read the message aloud.

When the she-witch nags,

Cover her with rags,

Behind the heavy golden frame,

You will find the next game.

She-witch in rags? Golden frames? Narcissa pondered the riddle. Another moment passed in silence before Harry laughed without amusement.

"There is only one place that this could be," Harry said running his hand through his hair.

**HGHG**

Hermione glared in Voldemort's smug face while giving Emmy the signal to wait from behind her back. The elf melted into the shrubbery. Hermione carefully kept her glee behind her strengthened mental shields.

"But," he purred. "I would be willing to consider a better negotiation for your misguided friends if you agree to my guardianship until you are given in marriage."

Hermione looked and felt like she would vomit. Those ancient laws were geared for a severely patriarchal society, a world that had no room for women as people in their own right. To give this man that type of power over her caused her to physically recoil. She took an unintended step back. Stopping herself from a further retreat by the sheer force of her will.

"I can see you dislike my terms," He smirked and shifted closer to her. He towered over her, his miasmic magic undulated around them, mingling with hers, fighting for dominance. "You, of course, are free to refuse. Just know that you can't get something without giving something of equal value in return. Those prisoners are valuable to me, to my cause. To set them free would hamper some of my most dear plans, but for you, I would enter negotiations. Be aware though that you should consider carefully before rejecting my terms. I am not likely to offer them again."

A swift refusal was on the tip of her tongue but she stopped herself just in time. It was imperative that she mind every word, every step from here on out.

"And if I agreed, I would require certain assurances," She said slowly, a flash of shock crossed his face before it was buried completely. "assurances sealed with an unbreakable vow, with death as its binder."

"What kind of assurances?"

"Only three,"

"They are…"

"One, I am to be engaged to the Malfoy line and will marry in no less than one year. Two, the war must end and rebuild a functioning society must take precedence. Three, no one including myself can be harmed or used in any way by you or your followers which include the release of the prisoners of war."

He curled his lip. "You ask for the impossible,"

"I thought we were agreed… Quid pro quo, Riddle. You can't expect me to knowingly give you carte blanche."

"I offered you the release of my prisoners in exchange for your familial alliance."

"But that's not what you really want," She challenged. Smugly, she watched as he set his jaw.

With a crack, Abraxas and Draco holding the hands of a house elf apparated into the middle of their tête-à-tête.

"I thought I said to come alone," Voldemort hissed at Hermione.

Abraxas's face was a blank mask as he walked to stand toe to toe with the sociopath currently occupying Wizarding Britain. Draco was looking at Hermione as if she had kicked his puppy.

"Did you think I would send her alone after last time?" Abraxas asked smoothly as if they were talking about tea preferences.

"I am right here," Hermione said testily ignoring Draco's wounded expression that he pinned on her. Abraxas shot her a furious look, a look that promised that there would be a discussion about her running off on him to attend this dangerous meeting. Still, she refused to back down. She took two steps back, hoping that Abraxas and Draco would follow. Their being in Godric's Hallow screwed with her plans to capture the highly feared Dark Lord and she didn't appreciate the interference.

Neither Draco nor Abraxas followed and she cursed in her head. They had taken the opportunity of her retreat to shut her out of the meeting altogether. Hermione moved to circle the small three-man ring when a thunderous boom resonated around the small sleeping town. The metallic glint of a sword met the flesh of Voldemort's neck. Hermione looked wide-eyed at Sigurd, the Viking that had been sleeping only minutes ago.

He wasn't sleeping now. His large hands handled the hilt of his sword with incredible ease and skill, his eyes were dark pools of swirling mercury, and his long, braided hair was blowing in the breeze. He was a magnificent specimen and Hermione burned to question him about the life of a Viking warrior and magic from his time and basically everything else. He was a living breathing history lesson.

He was glorious.

Draco came to his senses first. "Incarcerous," he shouted and the satisfied grin on his face when he landed his spell was infectious. Hermione struggled to keep her face neutral.

Emmy stepped out of the hedges.

"Mistress, does this mean we are not going to use Plan A or Plan B?" Emmy squeaked. Hermione looked sheepish for a moment and Draco looked at her with humor but he also kept shooting looks at Sigurd with quite a bit of academic interest.

"Yes, Emmy. The Malfoys took care of it." She choked out. She could have lived a long, happy life without Abraxas knowing that an impassioned rescue wasn't exactly what she had had in mind. Somehow, she believed he would have chalked it up to her Gryffindor tendencies and would have written it off… mostly. Knowing that she made plans was what was going to land her in a whole new realm of trouble. She avoided his gaze like it could infect her with the plague.

"If I am not back in an hour, my Death Eaters were instructed to kill the inmates of Azkaban." Voldemort threatened. He was calm, calmer than he should have been in this situation. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him, considering what their next move should be.

Sigurd pushed the finely-honed edge of his sword further into Voldemort's neck letting a thin line of blood drip from the new wound. "If I were you, I wouldn't talk, I wouldn't even make a sound. I've been asleep for a long time and I can't vouch for how steady my hand is." To make his point, he moved the blade, making the cut on his neck a little longer. "Oops," He said with the Malfoy signature smirk.

Draco spoke up, looking at Abraxas. "I will go to Azkaban prison to get the allies released."

"The Death Eaters and Dementors guarding the prison will never let them go! They know Voldemort is not dead, the mark is still active." Hermione said stepping up to stand next to Sigurd.

Curling his lip, Draco reached out and plucked a nose hair from the slit where Voldemort's nose should have been. He shuddered and he pulled out a glass vial full of polyjuice, uncorked it, and added the hair. The liquid bubbled and turned green, the same color as an Avada.

"They will not dare to talk back if I look like him and also have his wand." Draco plucked the yew wand from the clenching fingers of its former master. The wand sparked red and blue as it changed allegiance, knowing its master had been bested. Voldemort sneered at the young man that he had already killed once. Draco was fingering the wand gingerly obviously repulsed to own the loyalty of a wand that had done such wicked deeds.

"Where did you get Polyjuice?"

"That's not important," Draco evaded.

With a pop, Draco was gone, leaving Abraxas, Sigurd, and Hermione with the bound Voldemort.

Abraxas turned to Hermione, "Go home and take the elves with you. Sigurd and I will take care of this," His unappeased fury was building in strength again now that Hermione was safely out of danger.

"Elskede, please, let us take care of him. A lady shouldn't have to see the kind of things enemy captives have to endure. Plus, too many people to take care of something so simple… There are many things I want to talk to you and I don't want to waste precious time interrogating him when Abraxas is more than capable."

Hermione's nose wrinkled. It sounded as if he knew all of them rather well. She knew his mother had been the one to record the first prophecy about her. Hermione also knew that Sigurd was a seer as well since he was the artist who rendered the drawings and paintings of things in her life. But that still didn't explain how he seemed to really know them.

"Tomorrow," She began. "I want to go to this torture chamber and question him myself."

"We will see," Abraxas said. His voice was amiable, but the look on his face practically screamed it would only happen over his dead body and not even then would he consider it unacceptable.

Unhappy with being ganged up on, Hermione gracelessly acceded with the knowledge that there was nothing she could do that these two men could not. Abraxas rolled his eyes. Hermione cut her gaze to Voldemort's unnaturally calm one. It made her uneasy, the blank carefree posture as if this had always been a possibility.

Taking an elf hand in each of hers, she smiled sweetly at Abraxas immediately putting him on guard.

"Hermione, Love, go home," He said warningly.

"Emmy, Gilkey, take me to Hogwarts."

"Yes, mistress" They simultaneously said, all three of them disapparating, leaving the two Malfoy men and one bound Dark Lord alone in the cobbled street of Godric's Hallow, muggle repelling and silencing charms expertly placed.

"Fuck," Abraxas growled.

"My witch has a mind of her own. She is strong." Sigurd said with a smitten look. Abraxas shot him a look of pure loathing or irritation but mostly loathing spurred by possessiveness.

"Let's get him back to the Manor, then I have a stubborn witch to hunt down." Abraxas smiled tightly, his eyes turning cold and a bit cruel. "I have been waiting for this moment for so long and I am going to relish every single moment."

Voldemort chuckled and said, "As much fun as this has been, I simply cannot tolerate being captured. On top of that, Draco has conveniently placed himself in my grasp. Having him as leverage against Hermione will be a sweet victory." With those parting words, Voldemort vanished sans wand.

Sigurd's sword clanged off the cobblestones as it fell from its perch on Voldemort's shoulder and Abraxas wheeled around searching the deserted street for any ripples, indications of concealment.

"Now would be the time to voice obscenities," Sigurd said to Abraxas, earning himself another glare.

**HGHG**

The moment Draco reached the desolate island of Azkaban, he took a sip of the vicious liquid and waited while he turned into the foulest being alive. He rolled his shoulders, popping the vertebrae in his neck. His main goal was to release these prisoners, not just because of Hermione, but because it would weaken his greatest enemy. It was his duty as a wizard, as a former victim, as a man to fight with every fiber of his being to end this war.

He intended to have children with Hermione someday and he couldn't allow them to inherit this mess that was wizarding Britain. There was nothing he wouldn't do to protect her or his children, curly and blond children, perhaps a little girl that looked exactly like her mother.

Entering the oppressive fortress with fantasies of sharing a daughter with Hermione in his head, the happiest thoughts he could imagine in an effort to keep the dementors depression at bay. He hid everything behind his Occlumency shields, feigning a blank slate. It was how he imagined Voldemort to protect his mind and desperately hoped it would be enough to fool the soulless monsters that fed off of the prisoners.

Walking through the gates into the prison was easy. All of the on-duty Death Eaters, stood and though confused trembled in his presence. He glared at them, seemingly bored and moved past them. Voldemort would not need to ask for help. Of course, that presented Draco problems of his own. He had only been here once on Voldemort's orders for the second breakout during the summer break between sixth and seventh year.

He stopped at the first cell door and looked through the slot, noticing Ginny Weasley curled up with her back to him sitting in the only patch of moonlight in the whole room. Flicking the yew wand, he unlocked the door and entered the room. Ginny whipped her head to him, a glassy, dead look in her eyes.

"Ginny it's Draco, I'm using polyjuice potion to look like Riddle." He said gently as he moved into the room, holding his hand out. "I'm getting you out of here."

"How can I trust you?" She asked.

"Ask me a question only the two of us know, the only secret we share from everyone."

"Who did you always dream about marrying while we were in school?"

"Hermione Granger, the know-it-all-swot who was naturally my enemy the moment your idiotic brother and Potter befriended her." He said bitterly, watching her lips lift in the corners.

"If you had wanted it to be kept a secret, perhaps you shouldn't have been muttering about it while I was near enough to hear you after the Yule Ball."

"How was I supposed to know that you had wandered into the library. Everyone else went to bed."

"You died. How are you even here? Am I hallucinating?" She rasped, ignoring his question and asking one of her own.

"Hermione saved me and no, you are not hallucinating." he murmured. A ghost of a smile flitted across her lips.

"Sounds like her," Ginny put her hand into Draco and let him help her up. He couldn't help but stare at her swollen belly in shock. "Don't. Just don't. Please," Her voice cracked. He nodded his head.

Once she was on her feet, they moved to the next cell which was empty. Most of the cells near Ginny's were vacant. They were probably keeping her near the entrance because of her pregnancy.

Several corridors in, they finally got lucky. Lee Jordan though battered and starved, was alive. Draco once again unlocked the door but this time it was Ginny who entered. It didn't' take much persuasion on her part before he was following them through the labyrinthine maze of the prison.

They successfully liberated five more prisoners. Zacharias Smith, Minerva McGonagall, Oliver Wood, Ollivander, and Ernie Macmillan before the unspeakable happened. Trapped in the bowels of Azkaban prison with nowhere to run and the only ones with a wand were Draco and Minerva to whom he gave the wand he had taken from his family tomb when Hermione brought him back from the dead.

Behind them, a congregation of Dementors swarmed and ahead of them was the real Lord Voldemort and his merry band of Death Eaters.

"You didn't really think that a sword-wielding Viking, an Incarcerous, and Abraxas Malfoy could really hold me, could you?"

Draco smirked at the real Voldemort as McGonagall created a portkey behind him. The blue glow of the spell, illuminated Draco and the prisoners, allowing everyone to see that Draco also looked like Voldemort. The only difference between them was that Draco held the wand that each and every follower was intimately acquainted with, having been on the receiving end of its curses. Curses practiced and honed on his own followers. With a bright flash, the group was gone but this time, Voldemort screamed his rage and the Death Eaters looked at their Lord suspiciously, wondering if they were following the 'right' Dark Lord. Uninterested in the politics of Wizards, the Dementors disbursed back into the womb of their citadel to feed on the unfortunates that resided there.