Switzerland was colder than England, despite being farther south. The surrounding mountains trapped the breeze, only letting heavy, cold gusts of wind pour into the valley. The stars were plainly visible tonight. The few clouds scattered about the night sky only added to the effect.

A large town could be seen in the distance. Its cabin-like architecture climbed the foothills, sometimes burrowing into the rock of the mountains themselves.

A lone figure lay prone in the grass. His chin rested on his crossed arms in front of him, his back tense. He wore a heavy set of black robes; a hood covered his pale head. His scarlet red eyes surveyed the beautiful landscape. Waiting. Watching.

Across from him was a sight to behold. A monumental feat of engineering.

The mines of Gringotts.

Magical spotlights illuminated the hollowed-out face of what was once a great mountain. Now, it was the home of hundreds of goblins. Each as dedicated to their craft as the last.

This was the home of nearly every precious metal coveted by the goblins. The first mountain, Ojurnetuk, was a near-endless supply of gold. Regenerating at a rate nearly equal to the goblin's mining speed.

The second mountain, directly to the East of Ojurnetuk, was Kami. At least, that was how it was pronounced. It was graced with a vein of silver that ran so deep, they had yet to determine its size.

In between and surrounding the veins of precious ore, were various other materials. Tin, copper, zinc, and iron, among others. It was the only place in the world that carried magically malleable substances.

Magically malleable wasn't a complex concept. It meant that, quite simply, these metals could be permanently modified by magic. Forming a sort of alloy.

The goblins had mastered it centuries ago. They'd held a monopoly over the materials for generations.

Voldemort didn't seek to change that. No, he sought to make new allies.

Gringotts acted on a global scale. The wizarding world shared a universal currency. If the goblins were involved in a mutually beneficial agreement, Voldemort had a toe into the global economy.

So, Voldemort waited. The wizarding presence was light, but he could see witches and wizards with ICW badges loitering around the railway station.

Yes. Those filthy muggle attractions had been built here. To this sacred and ancient magical land. He knew the goblins weren't fond of it, but they'd become far too dependent on it to simply give up their main form of exportation.

Voldemort was eyeing the mines for more than personal reasons, however.

He needed a stake in the continent. With Grindelwald's return, it was even more important. Now, he'd not only carry a strategically valuable location, but he'd be able to prevent funding to opposing parties.

There was nothing but positives in the cards.

In front of the tracks by nearly a mile was a fence of sorts. It was guarded and maintained by squibs. A decision created by the Swiss government, which for some reason carried jurisdiction over the mines. Their progressive government wished to employ the squib community in more things than janitorial work. Well, they got their wish, but it was a lackluster security detail if anything.

The fence used to be embedded with hundreds of enchantments and curses. They all worked towards preventing and keeping track of anyone from getting in or out. However, since the squib legislation was put in place, all of those enchantments had to be taken down. This wasn't public knowledge, of course, but Voldemort was no fool.

A whistle sounded out through the magically concealed valley. Voldemort could see the train's dastardly lamp before it made its appearance through billowing steam out of the tunnel. He could hear the screeching of brakes from his perch. Sparks flew as the main driving wheels locked, forcing the train to slide against the tracks. They were coated in a thin layer of water thanks to a passing storm from earlier in the night, so the locomotive had trouble slowing down.

Needless to say, the train wasn't exactly a natural muggle contraption. ICW wizards jumped ahead of the train and held out their wands, forcing it to come to an unnatural halt.

Voldemort heard them shout orders to each other. With the help of the goblins, dozens of heavy crates were loaded onto the train. It took forever, even with magic, thanks to the volume of currency they were moving. One mine supplied the entire world. It was a ridiculously foolish concept, but there was no other option. There were no metals that carried the same properties as these. The goblins had scoured every inch of the planet.

Finally, after nearly an hour, the train was loaded. They fastened tarps overtop of the wagons and hopped aboard. Their wands at the ready.

Voldemort chuckled to himself. It was a weak guard force, but there was no point in stopping that train. It was what drove the economy forward. Besides, even if someone were to rob it, they wouldn't get very far. The goblins weren't forgiving of thieves.

The train blew its whistle again and began the valley-wide loop of track that let it circle back around, leading to France, Germany, and beyond.

Voldemort was not impatient. His heart rate continued at its slow pace. His eyelids never closed. He watched the train make its loop, and as the last wagon vanished into the tunnel, he got to his feet. He walked down from his rocky outcrop and snuck in and around the dense forest that led to the cleared-out field ahead of the mines.

The squibs used typical muggle monitoring techniques, so long as they didn't require any electricity. Lenses that magnified the light of magical fires were used as spotlights, constantly looming over the no-man's-land that stretched out before him.

He waited again, having analyzed the pattern to which the guards checked the fields. The two towers he had to avoid were both scanning the open plains. Just as they were about to intersect, Voldemort held his breath. He counted to five in his head and watched as the spotlights cross paths before separating. Creating an enormous void of security.

He ran. The anti-apparition wards forced him to do so. His breath was quiet and rapid. His cloak billowed behind him but he didn't care. The spotlights were coming closer again, he could be discovered, but as he'd predicted, there was no real danger.

He reached the fence and climbed over it with ease, landing on the other side without a scratch.

He took a few calming breaths before sneaking across the railyard, and onto the platform. Goblins were scattered throughout the courtyard sprawled ahead of him.

Voldemort had a full audience.

The goblins noticed the shrouded figure and drew various forms of weaponry. Some were heavily armored, but most wore work clothing. Overalls and dirty shirts, for the most part.

"I mean you no harm," Voldemort said, pulling his hood back and revealing himself, "And I, unlike many before me, can say that honestly,"

The goblins didn't back down. Some seemed to recognize him, others didn't seem to care. A wizard was a wizard, and their workday was over.

"Identify yourself, wizard," said one of the goblins coated in armor.

Voldemort smiled, his skin stretching uncomfortably by the motion. "My name is Lord Voldemort, and I've come with a mutually beneficial agreement,"

The goblin formed his own cruel smile. "Mutually beneficial, eh?" he scoffed and sheathed his sword. "What has a half-life fool got to offer us?"

The goblins surrounding him nodded in agreement. Baring their teeth at Voldemort and holding their weapons with a firmer grip.

"Many things," Voldemort replied. "The sword of Godric Gryffindor?"

That caught the goblin's attention. "In return? What impossibility do you wish us to grant you?"

Voldemort smirked. "Nothing impossible, I promise you that, no…" he flourished his wand and conjured a chair. The goblins all had a similar reaction to the gratuitous display of magic.

Disgust.

"Sorry, does that bother you?" Voldemort asked with mock sympathy. "I can't imagine why…"

"You're doing a poor job at setting yourself up for success," the armored goblin grunted.

"Let me oversee the operation and distribution of these mines and you can have access to any goblin-made artifact my people have stolen from you," Voldemort explained.

The goblins laughed. Almost all of them. Their heads were thrown back and tears streamed out of their beady eyes. Voldemort was expecting this, and said, "As well as full involvement in the British Ministry, voting rights in the ICW, and… if you hold up your end of the bargain for the next four years… wands,"

The crowd went silent. The armored goblin stared at Voldemort incredulously. Any humor found in the previous statements was entirely lost. "So, you want to turn us into wizards?" he asked.

Voldemort laughed, now. "No, quite the opposite. I am suggesting a truly mutually beneficial agreement. You keep control over your mines, the economy, and everything in between, only now you have reclaimed your heritage thanks to the retrieval of your precious stolen artifacts, and you have a say in the world," he paused and watched as all the goblins shifted on their feet. "What I'm getting at… is that your voice will matter,"

The lead goblin held Voldemort's gaze, unflinching. "And what of this 'overseeing' business? How much power do you have?"

Voldemort shrugged, fingering his wand idly. "That depends on the strength of the opposition. I will redirect funding if needs be, but if things continue to progress the way they are now, I can't see myself ever needing to interfere,"

The armored goblin nodded, taking in the information. "What's the timeline looking like? When can we get our hands on our treasures?"

Voldemort thought for a moment. "You can have Britain's by the end of the month… The rest will take longer,"

"Why? How long?"

"Why? Because one does not conquer Europe in the span of a day. How long? I can't disclose that information because I am not a seer. I cannot tell you how long it will take," Voldemort didn't think he'd need to spell this out.

The lead goblin smirked. "You don't know? Those aren't solid grounds for a deal,"

"I know your magic is weak. I know your people are growing restless," Voldemort smiled cruelly, "You need my help,"

The armored goblin laughed again. Then, he whipped his sword out of its sheath and swung it up toward Voldemort's face.

It didn't hit its mark, however. Voldemort's pale hand stopped the blade, holding it tight within his palm. Blood oozed out from between the creases of his skin, down onto the blade, but he didn't loosen his grip.

"You're wrong. We don't need you," the goblin whispered, the awe at Voldemort's reflexes lay well hidden, but still visible behind a façade of indifference. "But we could still use you, as you will use us,"

He pulled his sword out from under Voldemort's hand and, for the second time that night, put it away. He drew a small knife from a sort of pocket on his breastplate, and slit a cut in his own hand.

"On the terms disclosed tonight, you have a deal, Lord Voldemort," the goblin took Voldemort's hand forcefully and shook it, their blood mixing as they did so.

It was then that Voldemort played his hand. Thinking fast, he took his wand and drew a droplet of their combined blood from in between the handshake. He angled his wrist by a fraction and flicked.

Metallic strings appeared around the droplet of blood. Weaving together to create a beautiful ornament.

A blood pact.

"What is this?" the goblin asked, stepping back in outrage.

Voldemort panted from the effort of the spell. "This… my friends… is a secure investment,"

He could see on the goblins' faces that they understood what he'd done.

The deal could not be broken.

"I'm pleased to know that I can no longer be betrayed. I'm sure you feel much safer about your commitment now that I cannot do the same, yes?" Voldemort chuckled to himself and tied the blood pact around his neck. "It was a pleasure doing business with you."

Regretfully Uncaring

Chapter 41: The Disease Known as Ignorance

Sirius found himself alone with Molly Weasley for the first time since the funeral. It was evident that neither of them had slept in quite some time. The bags under their eyes were so well apparent that if Sirius hadn't known any better, he'd have assumed they'd been applied artificially. His long hair was pulled back in a bun, and his eyes were glued to the bottle in his hands, which he passed to himself repeatedly. One hand to the other, the bottle sliding across the wood. He hated everything about Grimmauld Place. Especially this table.

"Have you heard from Tonks yet?" Molly asked, breaking what Sirius thought was an unspoken agreement to silence.

He sat up and held her gaze. "No. I told you; I sent her on a mission,"

In truth, Sirius was growing more concerned over Tonks day by day. At first, he'd assumed her disappearance was due to being incredibly engrossed in her search for Dudley. He'd made the mental leap to assume that the boy hadn't been at the hospital, and she'd gone looking for him.

The only trouble was, it had been a week since Ginny's body had been recovered. Six days since the burial.

Six days was a long time. Even by Tonks' standards.

"Sirius, it's been a week," Molly rested her forehead on her palm and rubbed her temples with her pinky and her thumb.

"I know," he grumbled, tapping his pointer finger against his bottle.

Molly just didn't understand. These things, especially in enemy territory, took forever. If Sirius had lost his mind and gone looking for a member of the Order after six days in the first war, he might as well have placed a big red X on the backs of whoever he was worrying about.

He told her as such.

She didn't take it well.

Molly slammed her hand on the tabletop and said, through gritted teeth, "My brothers were missing for four days, weren't they?"

Sirius shook his head. "We knew when and where they died. It took us two days to get there, and two days to get back," he said, nonchalantly.

Molly shook her head in disbelief. Rage – building behind her eyes.

Bill walked into the kitchen then, alongside Fleur and Percy. They seemed hesitant to even be there. Sirius set his shoulders in apprehension.

But it was Molly's turn to blow up. "Don't sit there and drink… and- and disappear in your room to do Merlin knows what! My daughter is out there!" Sirius threw his hands up into the air, his irritation boiling over into hysterical anger, but Molly continued. "Your SON is out there! They need our help you can't just… sit here and GIVE UP!"

"Molly for the love of God YOUR DAUGHTER IS DEAD!" Sirius roared, tears streaming down his face. "You're delusional! You sit here and… convince yourself of this… fantasy!"

"IT IS NOT A FANTASY!" she shrieked, rising from her seat and pointing an accusatory finger at Sirius. "You don't understand, Sirius. I can feel her heart beating, I know she's alive," she wept, her breathing coming out in shallow gasps. Her sons and Fleur watched the argument with shock plastered across their faces. "With Charlie… with him, I knew! I felt it! I felt him die!"

Bill took a step forward, but Sirius didn't pay attention to him. "Then you're too numbed by grief and playing make-believe to feel her too. We saw the body. We did muggle tests and everything. She's dead,"

"She might not be," Bill interrupted sternly, holding out a hand to keep Sirius and Molly apart, even though they were at opposite ends of the table from one another.

"Not you too," Sirius cried exasperatedly.

"Grindelwald believes she is alive," Percy supplied from his corner. Fleur had moved into the room after Bill. "And, if his word is to be taken in any way seriously, he is the last person who saw her before she disappeared,"

To say Sirius and Molly's attention was held in a vice grip by the three people before them would be an understatement. Sirius was completely taken aback by this information. He had questions, but he couldn't figure out a way to word them. He just waited patiently in silence.

Bill seemed to understand and explained. "Grindelwald was in our house, just sort of… hanging out with Ron," he chuckled wryly to himself, "He told us that he spoke to Ginny and 'her husband', on the eleventh of August,"

"Her birthday," said Molly automatically as she collapsed back into her chair.

Bill nodded. "He said Ginny's fate is uncertain. That Fate and Time haven't made up their minds… or something. This applies to her and her husband, by the way,"

"Who is her husband," Sirius asked after the second time it was brought up.

"We don't know," said Percy. "From the context of the conversation, and the way he talked about them, we think Ginny's husband is one of the two she'll eventually marry,"

"So, she isn't married right now?" Molly asked, a hint of trepidation in her voice that almost made Sirius smile.

"No, mum, don't worry," Bill smiled faintly and continued the explanation as though he was reading off a queue card, "He said that the body we buried isn't hers. It is a copy of her made from a strand of her hair and the corpse of Peter Pettigrew, created by Barty Crouch Jr."

The sound from the room dissipated to Sirius. His focus was taken up entirely by thoughts and memories of the man he now knew to be dead.

If Grindelwald could be trusted, that is.

Of all the emotions he'd ever imagined feeling, sadness, and regret were not on the list. It felt like a piece of his heart had been scraped off, leaving him feeling emptier than before.

Peter, the man he'd sworn revenge on for so long, was dead. At the hands of not him, nor Remus, but a complete stranger.

He thought back to the night in the Shrieking Shack before everything went to the dogs. When Harry stopped him from killing Peter.

Now, looking back properly for the first time, Sirius was even more grateful towards Harry than ever before.

He'd have hated being the man who ended Peter's life.

"Sirius?" Fleur's beautiful voice stirred him from his subconscious.

"Yes?" he asked, before shaking himself. "Continue. Sorry,"

Bill eyed him warily for a moment. "You-Know-Who doesn't know about the body swap, so he probably thinks she's dead too," he paused and rubbed at the stubble on his chin. "He said that her body and mind are out of reach for him, but closing in on others. That she is playing a dangerous game. He said Death is growing impatient, and that the world relies entirely on what she chooses."

There was a short silence before Molly asked. "Is that all?"

Percy nodded. "That's everything."

"When did this happen?" she asked.

Bill shrunk back slightly. "The day of the funeral,"

Molly stared at them, straight-faced. "Is this why… is this why one minute I was by her grave, and the next I was in bed?"

The boys nodded.

"Why did you not tell me the moment you found out?" her voice was deadly calm.

Percy sighed. "Because you were attacked by You-Know-Who. He came to the grave with flowers, you and dad fought him for a minute or so, I don't know. It all happened so fast,"

Disbelief was all that was written on Molly's face.

"Then Grindelwald fought You-Know-Who," Percy continued. "It was… bloody spectacular if I'm honest. Terrifying, but spectacular. We brought you and dad to safety and then… it was all over. Grindelwald faded away and the fire was a bit of a problem but with the four of us… we put it out,"

"Yeah, it was already partially contained thanks to some of the low-level wards," Bill interjected.

"Do we believe him?" Molly asked, turning away from her sons and instead focusing on Sirius. "Do we believe Grindelwald?"

Sirius cleared his throat and let himself think about it. For the first time in a week, he let his brain work the way it was supposed to.

If Ginny was alive, that was a monumental win for their side. Morale was their biggest weakness, and the number of deaths and injuries had only grown since Voldemort's return.

Besides, if Ginny was alive...

Harry might be too.

But this wasn't the first war. This wasn't Remus, Peter, or whoever. This was different. He couldn't act on rash impulses made on little evidence.

"Get Dumbledore," he said quietly. "He'll know what to do,"

Hermione threw up a shield, blocking Dean's oncoming spell. As anticipated, the shield absorbed the spell, and Hermione let it fade. She bent over with her hands on her knees and tried to catch her breath.

"You alright?" Dean asked, casually strolling over. He offered her his hand and she took it, hoisting herself upright and squinting up at the sun.

"Yeah I'm fine," she said, patting herself down. She checked her watch and frowned. It was well past midday. "Wanna grab lunch?"

Dean shrugged. "Only if you want to,"

Hermione had expected this sort of response. So, she made her way to the ring of cabins behind Alyssa's house. Dean was frustratingly indecisive. He'd always leave it up to her, Colin, or the instructor or whoever. It was like he was afraid to speak his mind.

It made him relatively boring, actually. After two months with him as the only person her age she could hang around comfortably, she was getting irritated.

Then Malfoy had shown up, and she was expected to make him feel at home.

A completely ludicrous notion, propelled by Snape, she was sure of it. It wasn't that Hermione didn't believe in second chances. It was more so the fact that Malfoy wasn't safe to have here. His father was a devoted Death Eater. He was ungrateful and rude, and on top of all of that, he was a blood purist.

She and Dean arrived at the main cabin, which contained a sort of mess hall with tables, food, and drink. Someone called Dean's name and he broke away from her, heading toward his new friends.

Hermione wasn't particularly bothered by this. Now she could eat alone.

She took a tray and made her way around the food tables, picking and choosing what she'd actually eat, and finally grabbing a glass of water. Then, she had to find a place to sit. She rarely ate lunch this late, and the room was entirely deserted. Dean and his friends had left without getting any food, and she was completely alone.

Except for one person in the far corner of the hall. He wore a brown cloak with its hood drawn over his head. He held his utensils delicately and ate unbearably slowly. It was a man wasting time.

Which meant it was definitely Malfoy.

Hermione shook her head in disgust and sat at the farthest table away from him. She took the premade sandwich out of its paper bag and nibbled off the crust, before actually eating the sandwich.

Why had Malfoy stayed? If he was let out of the library to eat, he could just waltz on out of here.

Against her will, her eyes kept jumping to where he sat, slicing into his chicken breast. She took in his appearance properly and saw that he was reading a book. It was floating above the table, off to his right, and angled toward him. Though she couldn't see his face, she assumed he was reading it.

She huffed and focused back on her sandwich. It wasn't fair that his confinement was spent in the library. She hadn't been able to borrow a book in ages. She'd read through the stuff she'd already taken, and she wanted something new. Working practically was fine, but it was getting boring, and her progress was slow. She knew that she was magically powerful, but what kept her progress steady was the constant stream of theory she embedded into her mind before ever practicing a spell. She wasn't Harry, she wasn't Ron. Now, she was expected to perform at the same level as usual, in a manner she was neither familiar nor comfortable with.

The silence was deafening as she finished her sandwich and started pushing peas around on her plate with her fork. Malfoy was still eating.

The sound of a page turn sent a shiver of annoyance down her spine. He was just sitting there, taking advantage of the library… probably taking it for granted, really. Reading and eating as slowly as he could just to waste time.

Fuck him and his stupid second chance bullshit. She'd had enough.

"What are you even reading," she snapped, her voice echoing across the hall.

Malfoy's head slowly left the page and turned towards her. "Sorry?" he shouted back.

Hermione sniffed and stood up, bringing her apple with her. The sound of her shoes on the wood floor echoed through the hall. Each board creaked a little as she stepped.

She was standing across from Malfoy now. His face revealed thanks to the light shining past his hood.

"I asked to know what you were reading," Hermione said, pointing at the book.

Malfoy frowned and nodded to the book. "You can read, can't you?"

Hermione hated his face. "Yes, I can, but I want you to tell me what it says,"

Malfoy's eyebrows shot up but he didn't say anything. Instead, he pulled the book out of the air and read the cover. "To Kill a Mockingbird," he flipped it back over. "It's about this girl and her dad,"

"That's what you got out of it?" Hermione asked in disbelief.

Malfoy closed the book and set it down. "No, Granger, I understood the point. I got the racial message. I'm not an idiot,"

Hermione would have walked away, but now she was curious. "And how did that make you feel?"

Malfoy scoffed and stood up, taking the book with him. "I just can't believe they treated those people so harshly over something they couldn't control and had no real effect on them," he said with an overdone pout. "Just vile,"

He walked away and out of the mess hall. Hermione followed after him.

"You're just ridiculous. Do you know that? You're invited in here… you get to stay in the best building on the campus," Hermione was out of breath as she rushed after Malfoy. He had surprisingly long legs. "I just don't understand why you're even allowed in!"

Malfoy stopped and turned on the spot to face her. She tried not to look so tired from the short bout of speed walking and crossed her arms.

"I'm allowed in because I made a choice," he said disgruntledly. "I chose to leave my mother and my father. I left all of that behind so I could just be me,"

Hermione rolled her eyes and resisted the urge to laugh at him.

"See that's just it!" he said, pointing at her. "None of you respect my choice. Now I'm trapped here and Snape is getting me to read these bloody books and it's taking forever and Scamander isn't telling me anything and…" he trailed off and sighed. "It's the exact same thing everyone has always done. They put a box around me, push their opinions and ideologies on me, and then expect me to change. Well, I won't,"

Hermione brushed off everything he said. It was nothing more than an ungrateful child whining about something that he didn't understand.

"We're fighting for a better world," Hermione said.

Malfoy laughed in her face. "Right, but that's what they tell you, isn't it? No one actually knows what they're doing. No one knows who this… raven person is. It's all just guesswork. Oh, and following orders from a leader no one can identify..." he tucked the book under his other arm. "... That is what I call shitty leadership practices. I won't blindly follow orders. I'm not like you,"

Hermione took those words as personally as she felt she should have. She wasn't brainless. She wasn't even following orders. She was doing what was right. For herself and for the rest of Wizarding society. Malfoy didn't understand, likely wouldn't understand. She wouldn't bother explaining it to him.

"You can leave at any time, you know," she said, squinting as a cloud finally unobscured the sun. "No one is stopping you,"

Malfoy contemplated her words for a while and nodded.

They stood there, facing each other but averting eye contact. Eventually, Malfoy said, "Why are you fighting? For a better world, I mean,"

Hermione was intelligent, she knew that, but she was rarely stumped by someone's stupidity. It was obvious why she had accepted the invitation to join The New World. She shouldn't have to spell it out for him.

"Because there are millions of people in our society who don't have a voice," she said, backing away from Malfoy. "I'm sick of being one of them."

Tonks was cold. She wasn't bound to anything. She was free to walk around, jump, scream, and cry. Anything.

The only problem was that it was completely dark. She'd been fed and watered, true, but other than those times, (Twice a day) there was no light.

It was incredibly boring.

She wanted to know if anything was going on at home. Had they gone looking for her? If so, did they know where she was? Had Greyback sent bait?

It was all rather stressful, and she couldn't decide between wanting to be rescued, or being left to die.

Then there was the other part of this whole thing.

She was pregnant. With a boy, apparently. She and Remus had been unbelievably careful. Even going so far as to use muggle contraception.

Charms had never been her forte, unfortunately. Which was probably the root of the issue.

She didn't know what to do. She'd be here for another eight and a half months with nothing to do and, well, not much to eat. At least the hair around her body wouldn't grow. She could maintain most of her hygiene with her metamorphmagus abilities.

The uncomfortable sound of metal grinding against stone met her ears, and she shrunk back against the wall she knew lay opposite the door.

She'd already had supper, there was no reason for them to come knocking again.

The bolt on the door was finally open, letting it swing inward. Illuminated by the light of the corridor, the room instantly came into view. Tonks shut her eyes to block the light and tried to get them to adjust quickly.

"It's me," said Chiara, her voice familiar to Tonks now.

"Like that's a great comfort," Tonks replied sarcastically.

Chiara sighed and walked into the room, she carried a candle with her. She deposited it on the floor and walked back to the exit. "Dursley will speak with you now," she whispered, before walking out of sight.

For a brief moment, Tonks realized she could escape. She rushed to her feet, took a step toward the door, then a new silhouette made its presence known. Dudley stood there, tall, lean, and sporting a grimace. He wore a pair of torn trousers and a heavy vest. Packed with empty vials and various pots and pans.

"We can't let you out, so don't bother," he said wistfully, stepping into the room and shutting the door behind him. "Are you alright?" he asked. It was a strange question for a strange situation. Tonks didn't like it.

So, she didn't answer.

Dudley removed his hat and patted it. Clearly something he did while anxious. "I wanted to apologize,"

"For what?"

He put his cap back on and scratched at his neck. "For the way I treated you in the hospital. After my family died,"

Tonks sighed and rested her head back against the stone wall. "You're alright, kid. I don't hold that against you,"

"Right, well, I do," he said with a touch of anger. "I shouldn't have. I took your kindness for granted,"

Tonks smirked and closed her eyes, listening as Dudley sat down around the candle.

"He doesn't know I'm here," he said, breaking the silence. "Greyback, I mean,"

Tonks didn't need the clarification, but she nodded anyway.

"I want to explain what he's doing to you,"

"And why would you do that?" Tonks asked without any genuine curiosity behind her bored tone.

Dudley shrugged. "Because I feel like I can at least give you some information? I wouldn't want to be left in the dark," he chuckled wryly. "Literally or metaphorically."

"Those are some big words, mate. You sure you know what they mean?" Tonks laughed at her own joke and ran her finger between the bricks on the wall behind her. "Go ahead. Explain,"

Dudley swallowed and nodded. A gleam of sweat had formed on his brow. "This candle is enchanted," he began, which immediately caught Tonks' attention. "It's… going to speed up the incubation process of your child,"

"What the fuck!" Tonks screeched, sitting forward. She felt lightheaded. The stress of it all kicked in like a vengeance. She thought she'd had more time. Collecting her thoughts into a single question, she said, "How long?"

Dudley shook his head. He didn't know. "All I know is that it should take half the time,"

"So, four and a half months?" she voiced her thoughts, then quickly adjusted her math. She was already two to three weeks pregnant. Which meant it was more like three and three quarters, or four months.

Dudley nodded distractedly like he didn't really know what Tonks was talking about. Sex education must have really dropped the ball in the muggle world.

"He's… building something," he said, his voice low now. Barely above a whisper. Tonks had to slow her breathing to hear him.

"Wait," she said, interrupting him. "How can he speed my pregnancy up?"

Dudley seemed to be growing overwhelmed. "I- I don't know! I'm not a wizard! I just… All I know is that Werewolves have a unique relationship with death… and time is a part of that. It's why Greyback relies on rituals, and it's why they're so powerful,"

"You know about rituals?" Tonks asked, bewildered.

Dudley pinched the bridge of his nose. "I hear things! I don't know the difference between a spell and a ritual! All I know is that it's magic, and I don't understand it, but I have it now… in some capacity,"

Tonks nodded, taking it all in. "Right… continue,"

Dudley took a deep breath. "He's building a new ritual. I don't know how, I just know he needs the three werewolf kids,"

"Do you not count?" Tonks asked.

Dudley shook his head. "In Greyback's way of thinking… you're of age by the time you turn eight,"

Tonks felt sick at that piece of information. She had to keep her mind away from the implications to focus on what Dudley was trying to say.

"Anyway… he'll use your daughter, Chiara's – even though he hasn't told her that, and some other woman… Salamander, or something," Dudley continued.

"Scamander," Tonks provided, making the connection to Charlie's wife.

Dudley nodded, confirming the name. "Three kids… but the rest I don't know. He's going to create a mental link… between all werewolves,"

"So, they'll have his voice in their head?" she asked. "That can't be too bad, can it? You can always block it out,"

Dudley shook his head. "No… it's deeper than that. It's not just a mental link. It's a connection. He can take control of… every werewolf, his being the center of it,"

"I don't understand,"

Dudley sighed and dipped his finger in one of the vials on his vest. He reached the beige wall and started to draw using a fine black powder.

He drew eight circles surrounding a ninth in the middle. "Greyback is this one," he said, pointing to the middle circle. "Everyone else has this… idea of freedom. They think for themselves, they live and breathe… whatever," he drew lines from the surrounding circles to the center one. "But then, when he wants, he can take control of all of them, like the flick of a switch. Everyone is obeying him. You hurt one of them, you hurt all of them. They share the same thoughts, same motions, and same ideals… you're one person. Doesn't matter how strong. They'll lose everything they ever were,"

Tonks put her head in her hands and tried not to panic. "What you're telling me… is that Greyback will build a hivemind?"

"That's exactly it, thank you. Sorry, I couldn't remember the word," Dudley said excitedly. His excitement immediately turned to dread, however. "Do you understand now why this is a problem?"

"Do I understand?" Tonks asked rhetorically. "Do I understand? Of Course, I bloody well understand. My boyfriend is a werewolf! Your cousin is a werewolf! Fucking hell, YOU are a werewolf."

"That's why I'm telling you," he said quietly. "Because maybe… you'll have a chance at stopping it,"

Tonks laughed humourlessly. Leaning back and shaking her head, tears forming in her eyes. "I can't get out. You won't let me, and even if you did, I wouldn't make it far. You don't have a boat, you can't apparate. I haven't got my wand… and how on earth am I going to get rescued?"

A sound boomed from beyond the cell. Dudley looked over his shoulder fearfully and back to Tonks. "You said your boyfriend is a werewolf, right? It's Mr. Lupin, right?"

Tonks nodded; her eyes stared unseeingly at the candle in the middle of the room. Remus was all alone. He wouldn't know when or why his consciousness was ripped from him. It would just happen, and he'd be gone.

"You must be his voice of reason then? Right?" Dudley asked, desperately as he got to his feet and backed toward the door.

Tonks cried then, full sobs. Her shoulders shook violently as the thought of what was coming crashed into her. Remus had no voice. Even if it had changed, he wouldn't know. It was blocked. Gone because his mother was too old-fashioned to simply love her own son.

Dudley looked as though he wished to help in some way, but he didn't know how, and fear was overriding any other ambition. He opened the door, and backed into the hallway, dragging the bolt shut on her cell, and leaving her in near-total darkness. Illuminated only by a small candle that was slowly ruining her life.

Again, Daphne Greengrass stood alone. Surrounding her were nothing more than shattered thoughts. A wind was blowing from seemingly all directions. It was faint, however. The only reason she could feel it at all was that she hadn't shaved her leg hair in some time. Typically, the minute the girls weren't expected to show any skin, she stopped bothering. Call it laziness or practicality, she didn't really care.

A distant chime, like that of a church bell, echoed from far away in the distance. It was strange being here, night after night. Every time she walked past one of these strange stars, she'd hear her voice, or that of someone else from her memory, speaking to her.

Now, she was just trying to figure out where to go next.

Every night it got easier to stay in The Shattered Sky. Eventually, she'd get pushed out, but she could stay for a few minutes now.

While working out how to get to where she is now, it was clear. The world faded behind her dream self. All she had to do was fight the compulsion to follow, stand her ground, and then she'd end up here.

But now there was nothing obvious for her to go to. She'd instead stroll about the hollows of her mind, trying to find anything blatant for her to grab onto.

So now she waited.

She could feel the dream trying to push her out. It felt like apparition, in a way. It became difficult to breathe, and then she'd feel compressed, and then she was awake like nothing happened.

There she lay in her bed in the fifth-year Slytherin dormitory.

Sunlight streamed through the murky depths of the Black Lake through her window. She slid out of bed and stretched. Everyone had already got up and left for breakfast. Not like she was particularly bothered. Pansy was a pain, Millicent was arguably worse, and Tracey had so little personality she might as well have been written off as a stone brick.

Plus, this meant she had the bathroom to herself.

She took her time in the shower, almost lulling herself back to sleep as she massaged her scalp. There was a one-way window out to the lake from inside the shower. It made her feel a bit uncomfortable in her first year, but now she appreciated the odd fish that had no clue she was standing there, watching.

Setting her toothbrush to follow her around as she got dressed and fixed her eyebrows. Every day she cursed the fact that she barely had any, to begin with. They were so blonde she had to darken them slightly.

She turned her head from side to side to check if she'd messed anything up before smiling at her reflection, satisfied.

It was Saturday, so there were no classes. She took out a roll of parchment and sat at a small writing desk that accompanied each of their beds. She scratched the edge of her chin against her quill feather and tried to think of what to write.

It had been a week, after all.

Dear Father,

Sorry for not having written lately, I know how you get. No, I haven't died or failed an exam. I'm just a bit preoccupied with an odd bit of magic. I have nightmares you see. Only, they aren't like my usual ones. I'm sort of awake while I'm dreaming if that makes any sense at all.

I'm not too bothered by it, I'll be honest. it just worries me a bit. What if I've gone mad?

Astoria is doing well in her studies, from what I can tell. She's got plenty of friends and attention to go around, don't go worrying about her.

The new curriculum is strange, I know you told me last week to keep you updated, but it hasn't been too noticeable yet. They're talking freely about blood purity in muggle studies and History of Magic though, which is interesting.

Professor Umbridge is a bit strict, but she seems like she'd make a good teacher I suppose. Professor Lupin is still fantastic, don't get me wrong, but I can see why the Ministry had considered replacing him. Umbridge is much more by the books, shall we say. I'm intrigued as to what she'll have us working on next week. I have a feeling she'll be taking charge.

We don't see much of Dumbledore anymore. He seems to be holed up in his office. That, or he's outside the school most of the time. I can't tell, and I don't really care. There's a reason his popularity in the public eye has faded. He's just not the man he once was, I find.

As for me personally, I'm doing alright. I miss you, as always. I wonder why you've never considered being a professor. You'd be great at it. You are known for your patience after all. As I said in the first week, I think I miss Professor Snape the most out of anyone. The new professor is alright. She graduated recently, actually. It's unnerving being taught by someone only a few years older than me, but I don't really mind.

I suppose there isn't much else left to say. Do write back. I love hearing about you and what's taking up your mind. You were quiet over the summer, and I missed you.

Thanks for the care package last Sunday!

With love,

Daphne.

Daphne rolled the letter up into a scroll and tied it with a string. She strolled casually out of her dormitory and down into the common room. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting there, desperately trying to catch up on a transfiguration assignment from the week prior.

"What have you got there?" Goyle grunted, looking up from his textbook.

She turned, walking sideways but facing the boys. "Did you know that books are read from left to right in English? Also, you might want to have it the right way up,"

Goyle's shrunken face scowled and he quickly buried himself behind his still upside-down book.

Daphne exited the common room and climbed through the maze of dungeons and up into the main halls. The walk to the owlery always took a while, but she didn't mind the fresh air.

The cold September wind had set in, and you'd be a fool not to have a scarf on you at the very least.

She made her way toward the clock tower and into the courtyard. The Weasley twins could be seen conspiring with Lee Jordan in one corner, while Professor Umbridge sat on the opposite side, behind the fountain.

Daphne changed her trajectory and went to accompany the Professor.

"Hello?" Umbridge greeted none too kindly.

"Good morning," Daphne replied respectfully. "How are you?"

Umbridge straightened up and turned to Daphne. "Miss Greengrass, I presume?"

Daphne nodded.

"Ah, I'm well acquainted with your father. You were always a talking point in our conversations," she smiled pleasantly and put her clipboard down to envelop herself in the conversation fully.

Daphne laughed. "Yes, I and my sister are both quite close with our father. My mother died when we were young, see,"

Umbridge hummed mournfully. "Yes, your mother was a fine woman. We may have disagreed on some matters, but a fine woman nonetheless. It was terrible what happened to her,"

Daphne's jaw automatically clenched. She nodded vigorously to try and hide her reflex but it didn't seem to work.

"Is something wrong dear?" Umbridge asked worriedly, leaning forward to get a better look at Daphne.

"No. No, not really," Daphne cleared her throat. "I just wanted to know if you…" she trailed off and fidgeted with the lining on her robes.

"If I…?" Umbridge leaned in further.

"If you knew how many people in this school don't side with the Ministry," Daphne blurted out, trying to avoid what had been on her mind. There was no need to probe a Ministry official on the matters of her mother's murder.

Umbridge sat back and peered across the courtyard. Towards the Weasley twins. "Yes… I've had my suspicions for a while. Now that I've been here for… nearly a week… well, I must say I'm shocked by their numbers,"

"Oh?"

"Yes," Umbridge hummed to herself. "You see, it's difficult to notice them on the surface. They keep a good cover. It's when you mention something, or a certain material is covered in class… their eyes twitch, they frown… something gives them away. I've seen far too many in these walls to feel in any way that this could be Ministry-approved."

Daphne swallowed and nodded. Thinking of Ron and whatever detention he'd received. Every night he'd disappear into her office and come out more agitated than before. His hand was bandaged, and his temper was getting the better of him. Most of his class time was taken up with useless doodles and fidgeting. His brain was working, just not on his schoolwork.

"What do you think of that?" Umbridge asked, interrupting Daphne's train of thought. She hadn't been paying attention to what Umbridge had been saying.

"What? Sorry, I lose focus easily," Daphne chided herself awkwardly.

Umbridge's smile faltered slightly but otherwise remained static. "Only that I believe it would be a good idea to incorporate a sort of… group to ensure the Ministry's program remains respected and upheld,"

"Who would make up this group?"

"Students of course," Umbridge explained, laughing as though Daphne had made some hilarious remark. "I was wondering if you'd like to be a part of it. My… inquisitorial squad, shall we call it?"

Daphne nodded immediately. She wasn't about to pass aside a leadership role from someone as well connected as Dolores Umbridge.

It was only logical.

"Wonderful!" Umbridge clapped and wrote Daphne's name on a blank sheet of parchment. "If you'd like, I'll let you recruit around the school. Remember… they hide it well, but you have to notice the cues. Rebellion is everywhere when new rules are involved. Time will pass and people will grow accustomed to things. That's all there is to it," she patted Daphne on the shoulder, as if she needed any reassurance, and stood from the bench. "Run along then… I'll be in contact."

Daphne smiled and nodded, silently thanking Umbridge with a handshake, and setting out for her original destination: the owlery.

Her father had told her to stay on Umbridge's good side. A voice in her head, a strange dream, and a cute boy were not reasons not enough for her to blindly follow a seed of apprehension in the pit of her stomach.

A/N: Because Daphne is sort of a mainstay in this story, and I know some of you are interested in the Ron/Daphne stuff, I will be spending time fleshing her out.

Friendly reminder that this is not a Dramione story. I'd say I don't need to clarify this anymore, but my PMs say differently.

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