A/N: A short but important chapter today. Enjoy!


March 1, 2003 (Hermione)

The Ferryman marched directly down the center of the road, daring anybody to meet his eyeline. Any who happened to be wandering by shrunk into the shadows at the sight of him; windows were shut closed, blinds were pulled tight. Everybody knew that only trouble could come from a Ferryman becoming aware of your presence.

But this particular man was on a mission. He marched up to the front door of a large home and rapped three times on the knocker. The door opened shortly after, and a meek Muggle couple bowed their heads low at him, quivering in fear.

"W-what do you desire, sir?" the man asked.

"Information," said the Ferryman. "About the illegals in the area. What can you tell us about them?"

"N-nothing, sir," the Muggle stammered. "W-we don't know nothin' about no illegals."

"Do not lie," the Ferryman hissed. "I know there was a raid here recently. What did you see?"

"We didn't know they was here," the female blurted out. "Til your lot came in and started pulling 'em out one by one. We kept to ourselves and didn't say a word."

"How many children did you see?" the Ferryman demanded.

"Dunno; maybe two dozen?" the Muggle guessed. "Heard a lot of screamin' about a week ago. We kept our windows closed and minded our own business."

"Very wise," the Ferryman leered. "And which house were the illegals being kept in?"

The couple hesitated for a moment. Then, the man pointed shakily at a large house across the street: an abandoned two-story abode. "Ain't never seen anyone comin' or goin' from there before," said the man. "Thought it was abandoned all this time."

"I see," said the Ferryman. "You have done well to tell the truth today. Glory to the Dark Lord."

"Glory to the Dark Lord," the two Muggles recited dully, eyes still fixed upon the ground. The Ferryman swept around and returned to the street, aware of the many eyes still fearfully watching him from between blinds and behind curtains. He sneered up at them, striding purposefully across the street to the abandoned home and letting himself in through the front door. Only once safely inside, away from prying eyes, did Hermione feel comfortable enough to remove her glamour and return to her normal appearance.

Her suspicions had been confirmed: a raid had been conducted here a week prior. It must have been swift and efficient, if it was performed before the Creeveys had time to send a warning signal to the other enclaves. It likely meant the Ferrymen had been staking out the location for a while and decrypting the wards to force entry. The one silver lining is that the children had been alive when they were removed from the building – but that also meant trouble, as they could still be in danger at this very moment. She had to tread carefully, gather as much information as she could from the remains, and get out before raising any suspicion of her presence.

Hermione walked straight to the back cupboard where the secret entrance to the bunker was hidden. It was no surprise to find the hidden doorway blasted open, leaving a gaping hole of destruction in its place. A chill ran down her spine; it was similar enough in structure to her own enclave in London that it was like seeing her own home in ruins. She yearned to rush home and check on her brood, but she'd left them only hours ago, assured of their safety, and needed to finish what she'd come here for.

She quickly descended the stairs and arrived at the landing, where the room opened up into an enlarged set of rooms to house as many children as possible. It was dark and eerily silent down here. Lumos, Hermione thought, sending streams of light throughout the silent halls. She reached out with a Revealing Charm as well, but sensed no human presence in the space. The central gathering room still looked pristine and undisturbed, as though the occupants were planning to come right back from wherever they'd disappeared to. No sign of struggle, which only heightened Hermione's sense of danger and suspicion.

She moved to the southern wall, where she knew the central office would be hidden away in case of attack. Open, she commanded, and with a swipe of her wand the false door fell away, allowing her into the space. It too looked undisturbed; papers still littered the desk, and a thin layer of dust coated every surface. It seemed that the Ferrymen had not discovered the hidden room, which was good – it meant they would be unable to glean the identities and locations of the other enclaves.

Hermione scanned the shelves, seeing that the radio and recording equipment were still intact. She pulled the latter down and set it on the desk in front of her, hoping that it could tell her something about what happened here. She pressed rewind on the old-school Muggle device and listened as the tape spun backwards to the beginning. Then she pressed Play and listened.

After a few seconds of static, a voice came over the speaker. "Dennis Creevey, Manchester Enclave, daily log," it said in a clear voice. "February nineteeth. Left the enclave in search of food today. Saw several Ferrymen in the area, far more than usual. Colin swears there are more every time we poke our heads above ground. I think I managed to avoid detection, though I felt like someone was following me for the last few blocks. Probably nothing."

A few more seconds of static followed. Then: "Manchester Enclave, daily log, February twentieth. Heard footsteps in the house above us today. Instructed the students to stay in their rooms and prepare for an evacuation drill. We heard roughly three or four men walk around the house for fifteen minutes before leaving. We double-checked the wards and the hidden entrance before bed and found no evidence of tampering. Hopefully just a coincidence."

After yet another bout of static: "Manchester Enclave, daily log, February twenty-second. Didn't have time for a report yesterday. Up all night patrolling the entrance with Colin. More Ferrymen walking around the house. We didn't dare use the radio to call for help in case they can detect our signals. Tomorrow we plan on making a break for it if we don't hear anything upstairs. Will head south and try to connect with Otter in London for further orders. More to come tomorrow."

But there was nothing more to come after all. Hermione strained to listen as the static pressed on and on. That was the last recording. The raid must have happened the following day, on the twenty-third. Poor kids were one day away from escape, Hermione thought bitterly. Or, perhaps, they had botched the escape somehow and that was what led to the successful bust. Whatever the case, she knew there was little chance the Creeveys were still alive. Unlike Muggle-born children, Muggle-born adults were shown no mercy upon being captured.

Hermione clicked off the recording device, troubled thoughts swirling through her brain. Then, she heard a noise. A faint, pitiful noise that made the hairs on her neck stand on end: a voice, small and feeble, calling out through the darkness. "Help me...please…"

Hermione returned to the main room. The voice, that of a child, had come from farther inside the basement. She rushed forward, heart thumping madly, towards the voice. "Hello?" she called out. "Someone there?"

"Help! I'm stuck!" the voice cried out again. Hermione veered down the right hallway, certain now where she'd heard the voice. Had a child been left behind? Had they hidden from the raid and avoided detection, only to be trapped inside the sealed room? Hermione arrived at the door at the end of the hall and threw it open.

She got only a brief glimpse of the contents of the room: a large stack of crates, piled high at its center, a thin string connecting it to the door. Vague recognition registered somewhere in her mind. Then—

BOOM.

Hermione saw a flash of blinding white, and she was thrown backwards from the force of the explosion. She landed flat on her back, her world a cacophony of pain and deafening noise, as the entire building came crashing down around her. She was pressed flat against the ground as debris rained down upon her; it took all of her resolve to summon a thick shield to protect her face and torso from the rubble. Seconds stretched into what felt like hours as the roar of the building caving in built to a crescendo, then gradually waned. Then she was left lying there, badly injured, as the remains of the building creaked and groaned from the colossal destruction.

Hermione coughed, immediately tasting warm copper as she spat blood over herself. She blinked rapidly, but her vision had gone completely white from the blast directly in her face. The flames and shrapnel from the blast would have killed her instantly if she hadn't instinctively Transfigured them into pure light, but in the process, she had temporarily blinded herself.

Muggle explosives, Hermione realized with a groan. A brilliant move – they would have gone undetected by her Revealing Charm, and she never suspected the Ferrymen to be capable of such tactics. They must have known someone would come to investigate the sudden radio silence from the enclave and prepared this crude trap to trick her. They were getting smarter...she would have to stop underestimating them if she was going to survive.

Unable to see, Hermione activated her Sight, looking down to see the life force rapidly exiting her lower body as her legs, mangled and shattered by the rubble, bled profusely. With great effort she levitated the debris off of herself and erected a sturdy barrier to keep them off of her legs. Then, with painstaking effort, she drew Healing magic from the air and began the tedious work of putting her body back together. She was already dizzy from the loss of blood, and she knew she had no time to spare. She gathered as much of the spilled blood as she could and contained them within the sinews of skin that remained, repairing shattered bone and grafting new skin to cover the wounds. It was shoddy work, but she had to work fast.

Sure enough, faint pops of Apparition from above and around her signaled the arrival of the Ferrymen, who had no doubt been alerted to the explosion. She could hear the crunch of bootheels on broken glass and crushed concrete as they began their search. She did her best to control her breathing and focused on repairing her legs well enough that she could walk. They had no doubt established anti-Disapparation wards by now so she would have to physically leave the area to escape.

She could not see her assailants, but moments later, Light magic began to drift towards her. A Ferryman, no doubt with his wand lit to survey the wreckage, was approaching her. Hermione held her breath, hoping that she was concealed enough to evade notice. But it was not to be. The footsteps stopped as the Ferryman halted just above her. Had he seen her?

"Sonorus!" a voice said, and Hermione could suddenly see the Voice Amplifier Charm activate in the man's throat and lungs. "WE GOT HER!" the voice bellowed at deafening volume. "WE GOT GRANGER—"

Hermione desperately reached out with the Sight, latched onto the Voice Amplifier Charm, and pulled. The man's voice instantly became a desperate choke as she ripped the magic out of his body, no doubt tearing open his throat in the process. She heard the man stumble and fall to his knees, still choking and struggling for breath, before he went silent at last.

There was no more time to waste. Hermione summoned as much Wind magic as she could and used it to push herself upwards, out of the hole she'd been buried in. She also sent out waves of shadow to bathe the area in darkness; she still couldn't see or walk, and she wanted to level the playing field as much as possible. She knew it was working when she heard the panicked yells from the nearby Ferrymen.

"What is this?!" one of them yelled. "Lumos! LUMOS!"

Hermione saw the magic feebly flickering around the man's wand, briefly illuminating his location. She did not hesitate, throwing waves of fire in his direction. She heard the horrified screams as the fire reached its mark, consumed the target in white-hot heat that destroyed the Ferryman in seconds.

Hermione sensed spells being fired at her from the opposite direction; she saw the magic rushing towards her in sickening bolts of Dark power. She grabbed one out of the air and fired it back towards the caster; the other she deflected with a conjured shield, which she then sent careening towards the unseen enemy. She heard both men swear as they dived out of the way, and her attacks missed their marks.

She could hear more reinforcements arriving from all around and knew she couldn't fight all of them at once – not in her weakened state. She had to escape the wards as quickly as possible so she could Disapparate away. So she channeled her remaining strength as she continued to Levitate out of the rubble, coiling waves of magic around herself. Then, when she heard shouts of surprise as she rose high enough to be spotted, she unleashed.

Fear. Death. Pain. Despair. She channeled every negative emotion she could into the ripples of magic she sent radiating away from her. The Ferrymen hollered, terrified, as the magic rushed towards them. Hermione continued her rapid ascent, letting the Wind carry her upwards, figuring it was her quickest way out and away from danger.

"Somebody stop her!" a voice cried out. "The Dark Lord will be displeased if she escapes—"

Hermione did not slow down, did not dampen the power of the magic she was radiating. She could not tell how high she had risen into the air, could not see how many Ferrymen were cowering in her wake below. All she could do was focus every ounce of her strength and magical stamina into her one hope of escape. Finally, she felt a cold shiver as she passed through the invisible wards trapping her inside. Then, using the remainder of her energy, she spun in midair and Disapparated.


"Miss Mione!"

Hermione regained consciousness to the sound of screaming children. She blinked heavily; her vision was still compromised, but she could faintly make out the shapes of her brood swarming around her, looking terrified.

"I'm all right," Hermione muttered, carefully sitting up. She reached out and rested her hand on the shoulder of the nearest child. "Who's there?"

"It's J-Jenna," the girl mumbled fearfully.

"Jenna," said Hermione in recognition. "Can you gather everyone and bring them to the main meeting room? I need a moment."

Jenna stood and helped the older children usher everyone out of the office. With great effort, Hermione pulled herself up over her desk and sank back into her office chair. She was exhausted, physically and mentally, and her magical reserves were completely spent from the escape. But she was alive. And if she'd timed it perfectly, the Ferrymen would not have been able to track where she'd disappeared to. She didn't like to Apparate directly into the basement if she could avoid it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

A moment later, Jenna came running back to Hermione's side. "Are you injured, Miss Mione?" she asked softly.

"Yes," said Hermione honestly, "but not gravely. Give me a moment while my eye sight returns."

"You have dirt in your eyes, Miss Mione," said Jenna. A moment later, she felt a warm, damp washcloth on her face as Jenna attempted to clear the obstruction. Hermione took the cloth and lightly brushed clumps of dirt and soot from her eyes; instantly the world came back into perfect clarity, and she saw Jenna's horrified face staring up at her.

"I'm alright, dear," Hermione said, mustering a smile. "Just tired, that's all."

"Are we in danger?" Jenna asked.

"No," said Hermione sharply. "I walked into a trap; it was my own fault. But we're safe now. I promise."

"Did you find out what happened to Mister Creevey's group?" asked Jenna. Hermione felt a pang of regret as she realized the significance of what she'd found.

"Nothing good," Hermione muttered. "But they might still be alive. I'll have to find out for sure."

"You can't go!" Jenna protested. "It's not safe! And you're hurt!"

"I'm not leaving today, dear," Hermione reassured her. "I'll need a couple of days to recover. And I'll be more careful next time; I underestimated them, and it won't happen again."

Now that Hermione had regained most of her eye sight, she could see that she hadn't done too bad of a job repairing her legs. There were bits of muscle and bone visible through the patchwork of skin she'd created, but the bleeding had mostly stopped. She didn't need a couple of days to heal physically; she needed them to recover her magic. She usually refrained from such desperate, elemental conjurations as she'd used today, but she had had no other choice.

Her mind was still racing from the elaborate trap set by the Ferrymen to lure her in. They knew she'd come looking when she heard about the enclave's discovery. But what had they done with the children? Many times they were killed, but it was possible they were holding onto them now for leverage. They wanted to draw Hermione out into the open; that much was clear by now. Would they stoop as low as using children as bait to lure her into another vulnerable spot? She could not discount the possibility any longer. The Ferrymen were getting smarter, and she knew how warped their sense of morality could be.

Hermione wanted desperately to soak in a long shower and sleep for days, but she forced herself to reach for the radio on the desk and switch it on. "This is Otter, transmitting from the London Enclave," she said into the speaker. "Fell into a trap while investigating the Manchester Enclave. I'm all right. Surveillance efforts are increasing around enclaves. Use extreme caution to avoid detection while entering or exiting. More information to come, over."

She put the transmitter down, listening for any response. But none came. She hoped that the message had at least been received; that the other side was just preoccupied and couldn't respond at the moment. She couldn't let herself worry about something more sinister happening. How long until the other enclaves were discovered? It seemed to be a matter of when, not if. Time was rapidly running out.

But Hermione couldn't think about that right now. She had to find out what happened to the Manchester Enclave, to see if there was anything to be done for the children that might have survived the raid. There was only one place she knew of that had the answers she sought. It would be a tremendous risk to go there, and Hermione was terrified of what she must do. But there was no other choice.

There was no Chosen One coming to rescue them. Hermione had to set such foolish hopes aside. She was the children's last hope now.