I literally pieced this next part together in tiny bits! And yes, it took a long time. I have almost no free time for writing lately. But anyway, just a warning of character death – though it's just a mention. I only have a few chapters left! All is not what it seems. Enjoy!

LCailan

CHAPTER SEVENTY-FOUR

The Werewolf's Tabernacle

The unnamed man was one of the wanted.

That's what Zabini called them, anyway. Even though there wasn't many of them left. Not to mention that Zabini himself had been one of them.

Death Eater.

There was a slight burning against Fenrir's hairy forearm, a ghostly reminder of the past, of the fact that he, too, had been one of them. But sometimes it didn't matter what you believed but who you sided with. And hypocrisy didn't matter so long as one survived.

Fenrir was a survivor. All around him, his comrades had fallen. Bloody fools, all of them, fighting for an invisible cause, a whim that could change with the wind. Honor, perseverance, tenacity, steadfastness, loyalty…all that rubbish didn't matter if you didn't survive. But Fenrir had survived: that was what mattered in the end. Who you killed, who you crossed, who you betrayed…that would not matter.

It was dark in the alleyway, almost cold here. He moved, dragging the bound, un-named Death Eater along with him. He had stupefied both the child and man so that neither would know what had happened to them.

The child was long gone, Zabini having met Fenrir earlier to take him away.

At first the man had struggled but in the end, he had fallen limply against Fenrir's dirty coat and stopped fighting. After that, dragging him had been easy.

The Tabernacle stood, as if abandoned, between two, run-down brick buildings and there, Fenrir stopped, and tossed the man against the wall, watching his body hit the dirty, damp cement. He stared at his captive for a moment, scrutinizing him, breathing in his scent and memorizing those tiny, unimportant things about him.

That was what hunters did and Fenrir was a hunter.

The fallen man reeked of expensive clothing and everything about him, down to the tiny, gold cufflinks on his dirty, white shirt whispered of wealth. Even though he seemed a stranger, there was a familiarity about him and it unnerved Fenrir to the point of madness.

He is a Death Eater; surely at some point we knew each other! But who is he?

There was no familiarity about the longish, dirty hair or the angular face. There had been no familiarity in that strangled, soft voice.

Fenrir gazed into the other man's eyes, blazing behind black, wire-rim glasses. There it was! Surely, if there was any knowledge, any manner by which to know the truth would it not be written in one's eyes?

The half-wolf looked closer.

"Do I know you?"

There was a flicker of contempt in his gray eyes; it was something the fallen man could not hide. Fenrir licked his cracked lips and bent closer, giving the other man a swift, hard kick.

"Are you deaf, boy? Do I know you?"

The unnamed man kicked Fenrir in the shin and while he did so the material of his dirty, linen shirt rode up on his forearm. And that's when Fenrir saw it. He gasped and let go, pulling away as sudden recognition painted his face. There, right next to his faded Mark, was a glaring scar that any wolf would have recognized.

"Malfoy!" he exclaimed with glee.

Sweat trickled down Neville's clammy face.

The room was dark – oppressively so – and the shadows only revealed the steady, relentless pacing of Blaise Zabini.

For those few, precious seconds everything was silent but then just as it had been before, Lavender's painful screams pierced what would have been blessed silence.

And Neville closed his weary eyes, praying for that silence to return.

The mark on Malfoy's upper arm was a few inches long and the faded scars seemed to be glaringly obvious even along the paleness of dirty flesh.

Malfoy began to kick out at the wolf, trying to struggle away even though it was obvious that the curse that he was currently under was making him feel as weary as the world. Still he would not go down without a fight. Being recognized seemed to be the spark that had brought him back to life.

Fenrir stared hungrily at the faded scar along Malfoy's pale arm, the teeth marks – his own teeth marks – as clear as day. Suddenly he was assaulted by broken, faded memories.

I would have had that bushy, know-it-all Mudblood bitch! I nearly had her while I was a Snatcher! How did she get away from me twice? Why had Malfoy helped her? That imbecile Flint had been right this whole time!

The Ministry had fallen that day and she had gotten away from him – so close – and yet...

For a few moments Fenrir took great pleasure in the sport of struggling with Malfoy but soon enough he grew tired of it. Just as Malfoy kicked at him with newfound viciousness, the half-wolf pulled out his wand.

"Stupefy!" he grunted.

Malfoy lay still and for a moment Fenrir gazed down on him curiously. Then he hoisted Malfoy on his shoulder with a laugh.

"Plans have changed," he decided. After all there were no true allegiances – only survival. "And I have plans for you, boy. You'll be my perfect bait."

Blaise was watching Neville with interest.

"How long must she suffer before you cave, Minister?"

Lavender's screams could be heard from the next room and Neville, through the haze of weariness and fear, wondered what was happening to her beyond his vision.

"I…will n-not-"

"Proud, are you?" interrupted Blaise. Neville could see the flash of hatred in his dark eyes under the light of his glowing wand. "Your pride will be everyone's undoing."

Neville refused to look at Zabini any longer and moved his head almost motionlessly.

"I am…only doing…the r-right thing."

"By letting her die?" scoffed Zabini.

"It is you who is doing that to her," Neville replied.

Zabini only laughed over the sound of Lavender's tortured screams.

Hermione breathed in the scent of cooling air and the distant stench of rubbish. The alleyway was shadowed and the broken, cobbled walkway beyond it looked uninviting. She wasn't sure if her surroundings were truly uninviting or if it was the position she was in – the losses she felt – that were causing such an impression.

Pansy was moving quickly ahead of her, head held low yet still graceful as she moved across the large cracks and uneven pavements.

"Hurry," she whispered as she turned another, countless corner.

Hermione followed quickly, nearly stumbling over one of the larger cracks in the uneven cobbled walkway. The buildings around them were run down and crumbling as if time had forgotten and abandoned them. Only a handful of human souls littered the distant walkways and very few automobiles passed on the nearby Muggle streets.

Pansy took another turn and they slipped through another shadowed walkway towards Diagon Alley. Hermione looked about as they slipped through the brick wall and onto the tiny street lined with shops and cafes.

The newly-formed Ministry had breathed life back into the tiny, cobbled streets of Diagon Alley. What Voldemort's Ministry had killed, Neville had brought back. Proprietors had returned and business had been reborn. The memory of war would not be forgotten but it was human nature to move on and life never stopped.

The wizarding world was alive once more.

But Knockturn Alley was a different story altogether.

Hermione stopped, a sigh escaping her, as Pansy nodded towards another, narrower, broken path. For a reason she did not know, the long-ago night of the Lestrange's anniversary party replayed in her mind– especially the feeling that had washed over her the moment she had stepped into the posh, London hotel.

On that night she had realized how easy it was to forget that luxury had still existed in a world where she had known nothing but misery and poverty. On this day and Hermione's first glimpse of Knockturn Alley, she was struck by the fact that she had forgotten what misery looked like because she had gotten used to the luxuries of life.

The irony was not lost on her.

Here, the streets were rundown and empty and the shops were abandoned and left to decay. Neville's Ministry had cracked down on illegal activities and many of the proprietors had been given little choice but to close up shop. Here and there were still flickers of life and Hermione spied a tiny, dirty-looking pub on one corner and the old storefront of what had once been Borgin and Burkes.

Pansy stopped there and pointed towards a building on the next corner.

"There," she whispered.

Hermione followed Pansy's gaze to a wood and brick building that stood nearly across from Borgin and Burkes. It looked deserted and the rotting, wooden sign that hung over the top of the door was faded and illegible.

"That's Greyback's lair. If he still has your son, he will be there."

Hermione's heart rattled for a moment and then she grew steely with determination.

"It looks abandoned."

Pansy shrugged almost imperceptibly.

"That's how he would want it, I reckon. I used to spend loads of time in there. Back in the day it was a pretty busy pub. The wench who owned it had a thing for Greyback. When the old Ministry still existed most of the higher rank officials would be there. Astoria too…because of…Flint."

Hermione's gaze was momentarily torn away from the building and the two women stared at one another in silence. Shocks of recollection ran through Hermione as she thought of the snowy morning she had murdered Marcus Flint. There were only flashes now – flashes of emotion, desperation and fear.

She recalled the expression on Astoria's face the last time she had seen her, Flint's dismissive attitude and the way he had rushed to Pansy's-

"Flint was a horrid man," she choked out.

Pansy's lips were pressed together into a thin line.

"He was complicated."

The breeze picked up slightly sending strands of Pansy's dark hair to dancing. She pushed them behind her ear.

"I think sometimes it takes a lifetime for some realizations. And by then it is too late."

Hermione could not read the expression in Pansy's violet-colored eyes but the pain there was shades deeper than any other emotion. She wanted to ask what Pansy was thinking. In the end, Hermione didn't have to.

"Voldemort's Ministry had a way of…"

Pansy was looking away from Hermione, down the abandoned street and towards something that was not there.

"It had a way of eating away at…everything good."

Hermione started.

Like a cancer, Draco had said.

"Maybe I should have noticed Flint cared."

Hermione frowned.

"For you?"

"More than I thought," she muttered. "Probably more than I will ever know. But I didn't notice; I had decided I wouldn't. It was the worst thing I could have done. My desperation, my need for something out of my reach made me blind. Fenrir took advantage of that; he takes advantage of everything."

Draco came to just as Greyback kicked at him once more. He struggled to sit up, against the cries of his battered body.

Where am I?

Even the backs of his eyes hurt as he opened them.

The room was small and oppressive. Two windows let in the bleary light through dirty, grease-smeared panes. All around him Draco could see the faint outlines of disused chairs and tables shoved into the far corners. Other than that nothing else occupied the dusty space. The room was stuffy and smelled faintly of must and unwashed flesh.

"Greyback!"

Draco heard his own voice – weak and uncertain – and he cursed inwardly.

There was a soft scuffling sound and then a form rose out of the shadows, scraggly hair making strange shadows along the crumbling, brick walls.

"Malfoy," said Fenrir.

As he stepped into the filmy light Draco could see his gleeful smile.

"I never thought I'd see you again. But the pleasure is mine."

"Doubtful."

"Ah, but how wrong you are!"

Greyback's laughter filled the room causing Draco's blood to run cold. As the man wolf leaned in, there was the scent of decay and filth.

"You couldn't be more wrong. I am so happy to see you!"

Draco held his breath to keep from gagging and leaned away from Greyback even though he had very little room to move. The wolf kept coming with that same, unnerving smile.

"It has been a long time that I've hoped to get you in a more…compromising position."

Draco said nothing and Greyback finally pulled away, studying the bound man with interest.

"Did you know Zabini's been looking for you? Everyone believed you were dead but he just pressed on. They thought he was mad but he was right! Here you are."

Draco flinched.

"Oh, yes," continued the wolf. "He's been searching for a long time. It's been…a strange mission of his to eradicate you and the rest of the Death Eater filth from the hypocritical face of the wizarding world."

Greyback threw back his head to laugh, his words tinged with amusement.

"Can you imagine, Malfoy? A man trying to eradicate his own kind? Now, that's never happened, has it?"

The meaning was not lost on Draco.

Voldemort.

Greyback had stopped laughing.

"You'll fetch a pretty penny, I reckon," he murmured hungrily. "There's not that many of you left. And especially because he has given up looking for you. And here you are!"

After a moment of tense silence Draco finally found his voice.

"You're one of us! So is he!"

Greyback chuckled this time, shaking his head.

"That's the beauty of hypocrisy. It lends itself to many exceptions."

Draco shifted against his bonds with a frustrated groan.

"If he wants Death Eaters then he can have them! Why go after Hermione and the boy?"

Greyback's lingering smile widened with anticipation.

"Ah, so love has reared its ugly head? Such hero talk! Do you think you can save her?"

He was watching Draco curiously.

"You're no fool and you must know love never wins. Especially not the sort of love you think you feel. After all, in the end you were nothing more than a Death Eater Official fucking a Mudblood whore. We all know it – deep down inside you know it too. And that boy is your son and he will grow old with the stain of having had a Death Eater for a father. Is that what you want, Malfoy?"

Draco began to struggle defiantly against his magical shackles, wanting nothing more than to rip Fenrir Greyback apart, piece by piece, for the smugness in his voice and the glee on his face.

"We all know how it is. We were all there at one point; there were so many of those worthless, desperate women – each one more delicious than the last…"

Draco kicked out at Greyback with one, violent motion, making the bearded man laugh more.

"Shame on you, Malfoy. Allowing such a prestigious woman to defile herself with you while married to our honorable Minister?"

Draco remained silent, not playing into Greyback's hands. The wolf leered at him.

"Will you not defend yourself?"

Silence answered.

"All this time? I remember how you broke your little, Mudblood whore out of the Ministry dungeons; I remember how you got away from me. Don't you? That bite on your arm…"

Both men looked down at the faint scar on Draco's arm, just above the stain of his Mark.

"The whore didn't know, did she? She didn't know you were alive. She married another man and all this time…"

Greyback looked at Draco sharply, one scarred lip twisting up in a half-smile.

"Stop playing games, Greyback! My life is my life! If Zabini wants me, he can have me! Why does he need Hermione?"

Greyback watched him as a tense silence unfurled between them.

"Why? Haven't you figured it out? Our brilliant ex-commander has decided he wants it all. That Mudblood whore is the ticket to breaking Minister Longbottom."

The silence was deafening; Lavender had stopped screaming.

Neville felt his leaden feet as he was dragged across the room and through a small, stone entryway where he squinted against a sudden bout of milky light. But when he opened his eyes to look around he found himself wishing he hadn't.

Lavender's body lay on the dirty ground, splayed out obscenely. She did not move; she was dead.

Zabini gave Neville a shove forward.

"See what you did?"

The hiss was more animal-like than human and it made Neville shuddered.

"N-never. I didn't do anything."

"You!" Zabini raged. "Because you are a pig-headed, stupid oaf of a man!"

Neville closed his weary, watering eyes and refused to say anything.

"I would have given her to Fenrir; he wanted her…even so long ago in Paddington…"

Zabini's voice had taken on a strange, nostalgic note.

Neville felt the other man pull him back so that he couldn't move and he felt breath against his neck.

"But I wanted to know how far I would have to push you, Minister. How many more people will die before you give me what I want, hmm? Lavender now but who later? Your wife? That bastard boy you call your son?"

Neville shuddered as Zabini leaned closer.

"Do you even know that he's Malfoy's son? Did she ever tell you? Offspring of a Death Eeater! I was there. I know that man was as desperate as I was…and she fancied him! I bet she'd leave you in a blink if she knew her precious Death Eater official was still alive…you got lucky, didn't you, Minister?"

Neville closed his eyes against the flood of emotion at the truths that Zabini was speaking to him. Perhaps death would be a blessing…

After her admissions about Marcus Flint, Pansy had fallen silent. There had been no words exchanged between the two women for some time. Hermione felt herself shudder and she wasn't sure if it was the breeze or her hidden fears causing the icy grip around her heart.

She finally dared to speak knowing that she had to move forward, that she had a purpose now and that was to save her son.

"What happens now? Will…will Zabini be there?" she asked in a whisper. "My son? Draco?"

Pansy was unmoving.

"I don't know," she whispered.

The name made Hermione's blood run cold.

"W-what?"

"I told you, this is Fenrir's lair."

"But, I-"

Pansy gave Hermione a look of seriousness.

"I brought you here because Fenrir doesn't take sides," she said her voice uncertain. "He will do what's best for him and to hell with everyone else. Don't you know? He served Voldemort because he wanted to be on the winning side but as soon as saw the tides change he suddenly joined forces with Zabini. Zabini! The same man he had been hunting while under Voldemort's service. Fenrir doesn't know what loyalty is."

Hermione was silent as Pansy continued with obvious hesitation.

"He worked for me back when the old Ministry still existed. He did as I asked so long as I…"

She shook her head but it did nothing to make the disgusting memories fade. For a moment she stood holding her breath and then she released it in a rush.

"Fenrir never did anything without benefit to himself."

Her voice was thick with revulsion and it caused Hermione to shudder as she thought of all those men in the alienage and the things she had heard that they were capable of. She thought of Lavender.

Her heart constricted as she took a breath.

"You think he'll help us?"

Pansy smiled sadly.

"I wouldn't call it help," she replied. "But if we offer him something he wants more than what Blaise has offered him…"

She pushed at the door it opened with great effort and a moaning creak.

"If he wants me, I am willing," Hermione stated suddenly.

The words fell from her lips in the dusty silence and she was horrified at hearing them. So many years ago she had offered herself in a similar way to Draco Malfoy to save a child. She would do it again if it meant saving her own son. She would have to.

Has nothing changed?

Pansy moved forward without replying and she looked around the empty room.

"The cellar," she said decidedly.

The women moved towards the door along the back wall.

Draco stared at Greyback.

"What's Longbottom got to do…?"

Then, he knew, his realization stopping his words.

He believed all those things Hermione had whispered to him; he believed now that Neville had been in danger and that Blaise's fixation had become an obsession.

Greyback was smiling.

"Now you understand?"

"No, I don't, actually. Neville is the Minister for Magic; they wouldn't have given him the post if he were crap, would they?"

Greyback cocked his hairy head.

"I suppose it doesn't matter, at least not to me. What does matter is that our former Commander of the Alliance would like his post back – by force, if necessary."

Draco swallowed hard.

"So it was Blaise this whole time?"

Greyback shrugged.

"Eh, well, he had his whore of a wife to help him. Though I reckon by she's served her purpose. He's offered her to me."

There was a heavy silence and Draco tore his eyes away from the man wolf for a long while, shocked at the situation he had found himself in and the smile that had formed on Greyback's crusted lips.

"What do you get out of this?" Draco asked, choking back his bile. His words of revulsion were veiled by contempt.

"I get to survive, Malfoy. I get to prosper and continue living if I so choose despite who I am and the things I've done. When this new Ministry eradicates all the remaining Death Eaters, I'll get to live because I served Zabini. And that's all that matters in the end."

He leaned in so that Draco gagged once more on the stench of rot that seemed to cling to him. Before the wolf could continue there a sound issued from the shadows around them. And then the voice.

"How long do you intend to live and breathe, Fenrir? Especially when Blaise tires of you and what you can offer him?"

The voice was cool but it held the unmistakable tone of someone in charge. Draco nearly wept because he knew that voice – he knew-

Pansy.

A wave of shock washed over Draco for he had never expected to her voice again.

Fenrir whirled in surprised just in time to see Pansy Parkinson step into the weak light, her face pale even in the dusty shadows. The wolf man lifted his wand in glee.

"How long, dear girl? For as long as I can."

Pansy felt the sharpness of his gaze as he regarded her for a few moments, lifting one lip in a mocking smile.

"Fancy a duel, Commander Parkinson?" he mocked, lifting his wand. "Tsk, tsk, tsk…where is your wand? My, how the mighty have fallen."

He advanced towards the dark-haired woman menacingly, as if more wolf than man but if he had wished Pansy to cower he would have been disappointed for she stood tall and unmoving.

Greyback aimed his wand just as a flash lit up the far side of the room.

"Expelliarmus!"

Hermione charged behind Pansy, swiftly following the red light that had issued from the tip of her outstretched wand.

Greyback, taken by surprise, stumbled backwards and the disarming spell him head on, sending his wand flying into a pile of dusty wooden boxes stacked up against the most distant wall of the cellar. He was on his hands and knees in a split second, crawling like a hairy crab towards where his wand had fallen.

Hermione advanced on him, casting well-placed curses so the cellar was filled with blinding flashes of light. Greyback struggled for his wand just as Hermione cast a binding charm. The half-wolf struggled violently against his bindings, letting out all manner of expletives and spitting towards Hermione in his rage.

"Stupefy!"

The thrashing stopped in an instant and the silence that followed was so startling it seemed to make Hermione's ears ache. Breathing heavily she dashed across the room to where Pansy was kneeling by Draco's side.

"Draco," she half-moaned, breathless from shock at seeing him in such a state.

His face was covered with purplish bruises and his face was a mask of pain. Draco did not have a chance to reply.

"Help me," Pansy interrupted, rousing Hermione from her paralysis.

She waved her trembling wand and Draco was loosed from his magical bonds and reached out to both women. Hermione could hardly find her breath.

"Where is Leo?"

Her unwavering gaze of pleading locked with Draco's.

Pansy stood, looking towards the fallen werewolf and no one noticed the hint of pain that crossed her face.

"Blaise…Blaise has him. He's using us- using the people…the ones closest to Neville to get him to give up the Ministry position."

Draco was weak; he could hardly speak. Hermione felt the overwhelming need to cradle him for a moment and then whisk him away to somewhere safe where she wouldn't have to worry about him any more.

She simply didn't have the time. Leo…

"Where is Zabini?"

"There…there could be…many places. If…if he is hiding where he used to-"

Pansy spoke from behind them, pulling Hermione's shoulder forward urgently.

"Wake Fenrir; he will know."

Hermione stood, turning to face the other woman.

"Are you mental?" she hissed.

"He will know," Pansy said again. "Blaise trusts him; Merlin knows how this happened and whatever this unholy union is, Fenrir will know."

Hermione hesitated for a moment and Pansy reached out.

"I'll do it," she said nodding towards the only wand in the room, still gripped in Hermione's fingers.

Moments later, she was kneeling by Greyback's fallen body and claiming his wand as her own.

"Enervate," she whispered and almost instantaneously Fenrir was blinking.

"Wha-"

"Where is Blaise?"

"You bitch," hissed the wolf, struggling with the strength he had left. Draco pinned him down to further bind him.

"Where is he?"

There was only a strange, solemn smile on Greyback's cracked lips.

"I'll murder you, I swear!"

There was no fear in Pansy's voice; there was no hesitation and nothing was left to doubt. She held the tip of her wand against his dirty, scruffy neck. There was a flare of indignation in the depths of Greyback's blue eyes. But the sound that gurgled up from his tightened throat was laughter.

"You wouldn't dare because you need me."

The wand in Pansy's hand trembled with her rage.

"Tell me!"

"Just like you've always needed me, eh, Poppet? Needed me to help you get Draco. Needed me in bed-"

Pansy let out a howl of outrage and the sound of wand against flesh was a loud crack in the silence of the room. Greyback's strange laughter did not cease.

"I swear to God and on everything you've ever believed in that I'll kill you!" Pansy shrieked in anger.

The wolf watched her for a moment and then shook his head.

"He wants you to come," he rasped. "All of you; it is only a matter of time. He is hiding near to where his old alienage once stood, on the west side of the city. That's where he has your Minister and that bratty child."

The silence that followed his pronouncement was profound as the trio gazed at each other breathlessly for a few seconds. Pansy backed away from Greyback, her eyes widening.

"I know where!"

"We have to hurry!" Hermione said in reply already moving towards the door that led up to the street.

"I wager you've gotten what you came for, yes? Let me go, Poppet."

Pansy stared at Greyback, resentment and horror welling up from within a heart she had forgotten she possessed. She shook with anger and despair and her wand would not lower.

"You ruined so many of us," she muttered from behind clenched teeth. "We spent our days pretending everything was fine because that's what they wanted us to do! But we were just as bad off as…"

She shook her head and Greyback smirked.

"You never did anything you didn't want to."

"I never wanted-"

"You were the fool girl who went after Malfoy – a man who never wanted you! You were too blind to see your own self-destruction and now you blame it on me, yeah?"

Pansy fell silent though her violet eyes flashed with hatred.

"You came to me and I simply took advantage, my dear. None of your failings were ever my fault. I simply offered you something that you thought you wanted in return for all the favors you chose to grant me."

"You're a self-serving, selfish, manipulative-"

"And you were more than willing to do ask I wanted."

White-faced, Pansy turned to her companions.

"Go."

The word was full of regret - a single, raspy plea, as if she were drowning with no hope of salvation.

"Pans-"

But she would not let even Draco interrupt.

"Go! Hurry, Draco, you know where. Hermione will help you. I promised her I would help her find her son and I won't go back on that promise."

Her eyes were almost black in the dim light but they spoke more than her words did. There was no room for argument.

Hermione locked eyes with Pansy and the woman standing between her and the werewolf gave an imperceptible nod.

Go.

Hermione swallowed her indecision and then grabbed Draco's hand. With heavy hearts they rushed up the stairs leaving Pansy behind with Greyback.

She stood listening to their footsteps fade away and then looked down to face her living nightmare. A knowing smile lingered on his cracked, dirty lips.

"Even now you could murder me…but you won't, will you?"

The challenge hung between the woman and fallen man.

"Back then I had a hold on you and now-"

Pansy lifted the wand and her face was steely with determination.

"You'll never have a hold on anyone again, you sick bastard."

Neither Hermione nor Draco saw the faint flash of green but at the same time a scream seemed to come from the distance. It stopped them in their tracks. Nothing on the street moved for a few moments as Hermione and Draco stared at one another.

"Where is she?" Draco dared to ask, looking back towards the Tabernacle.

"We can't stay here. There's Leo to think about…Neville…"

The wind picked up in the abandoned alleyway but the seconds offered only the dredges of despair. Hermione turned to look also, once…twice…and then a third time only to find the street just as empty as it had been moments before.

Pansy was not coming and the moment was almost painful.

"We can't just leave her-"

Draco reached out to clasp his pale, shaking fingers around Hermione's small hands.

"She's strong. If…"

Neither spoke what they suspected.

"We have to go; you know where Blaise is, don't you? I'll help you."

Lowering his head in defeat he nodded and they stood in the middle of the street swathed in silence.

Hermione held her breath as she squeezed her eyes shut tightly, praying that Pansy join them. A second went by and then another and with those moments all hope that Pansy had survived.

Could she be dead?

"Are you ready?" she asked in a tiny voice.

"Let's go."

Suddenly, as if from nowhere, there was a voice.

"And where do you think you're going?"

Blaise stood across the street, wand pointed at them and a mocking smile on his mouth.