Sirius was well aware of the fact that he must have looked close to the man that had emerged from Azkaban prison some years ago. That probably explained why the other members of the Order of the Phoenix were steering clear from him, not wishing to become the latest target of his spite. The only ones who were brave enough to approach had been Remus and Dumbledore, and even their efforts had grown muted as the days had passed.

Having been thrown into turmoil following Harry's disappearance, the group was once again meeting at Hogwarts to discuss the situation. Not that anything had changed, accounting for Sirius' gaunt expression. It was supposed to be a happy time of the year, when the children were getting ready to return to Hogwarts. Any positive feelings had been sapped from the world now that his godson was gone, with no sign thus far that he was going to return. Or that he was even alive.

Sirius clenched his fist as the anger took hold once again.

The room in which they conducted their meetings was dominated by a large table, which was a plus point when so many people were involved. The headmaster was at the far end, presiding over events. Sirius had reluctantly joined the table beside him, with Remus keeping a close eye on him in case he said anything out of turn. McGonagall sat opposite, her face ashen, though her emotions were much more in check compared to that of Hagrid, whose state deteriorated with each passing day.

He was very much like Sirius in that regard.

Snape continued the line of Hogwarts professors, a man who had wisely kept his mouth shut for the most part during their sessions. There was no telling what Sirius might have done if the potions master had made a smart quip or, heaven forbid, had openly celebrated Harry's kidnapping. Flitwick was joined by the two Weasleys, who were in turn accompanied by Shacklebolt and Tonks. Amelia Bones, the head of the DMLE, had repeatedly graced them with her presence, outlining the official response to the search for Harry's whereabouts.

Moody tended to lurk in the corner of the room, watching everyone with keen interest.

It was at points like this, when they were settling down for the discussion, when Sirius would question why so many of them were in one room. What good was it going to do? If a large part of their number was secreted in one tiny corner of Hogwarts, then that meant there weren't as many out in the world, hunting down the people responsible for him not being with Harry, responsible for destroying the end of their summer. And potentially the rest of their lives. What were they going to achieve through talking when they could act with cold vengeance.

It was a consideration he'd put to Remus on a number of occasions, with each attempt calmly being swatted away in favour of logic and reason.

"I'm afraid to say that Morlan Mercer is dead," Bones told them, leaving no room for pleasantries.

She was the sort of person who could cut through the nonsense, getting directly to the point. Her severe face made her an imposing figure, and one in which Sirius could almost rely on. Besides the fact that she was in charge of the Aurors, who had so far failed in their job to find and save Harry. But no one had succeeded in that regard, which would mean Sirius would have to hold a grudge against the entire world. He was all too happy to do that, given how cold his heart felt.

"It doesn't come as much of a surprise," Bones continued, sighing at the fate of one of her fellow Ministry officials. "Once it became apparent that the real Morlan wasn't the one working with Harry and Miss Granger, it was always a case of either Polyjuice or the Imperius being involved. Whichever way, he was found in his home. His usefulness had obviously come to an end."

Based on Hermione's account, Mercer had fled the room following Harry's apparition. At the time, she'd believed he'd been searching for help when it became apparent that Harry wasn't coming back as easily as he should have done. It transpired that he'd used the unfolding chaos to make a hasty exit, leaving no chance for them to interrogate him. It was a well rehearsed plot, Sirius had to give them that. And he couldn't help but think how lucky they'd been that the man - whoever he was - hadn't chosen to strike Hermione down before leaving.

"Was there any magical residue left at the scene?" Dumbledore asked. "Something to go on? If they performed the killing curse…"

"They didn't kill him through those means. They…slit his throat. Messy in the physical sense, but not the magical."

"They obviously knew we'd find him," Moody declared. "Otherwise they would have gone to the effort of hiding him. The way I see it, it's a form of boasting. They're celebrating that they've won."

Dumbledore raised his hand, casting a surreptitious glance towards Sirius. "That's quite enough, Alastor."

"What's wrong? We have to accept what's happened!"

"I refuse to believe that they've won."

"They've got the boy. Right from under our noses. That has to be seen as a victory, whichever way you look at it."

"Then we'll find a way to earn our own victory," Arthur said firmly. "That's the point of this group, isn't it?"

"I thought it had more to do with keeping the papers from hearing about this."

"That was the first stage of our efforts, as you well know, Alastor," Dumbledore said. "If the likes of the Prophet started reporting that Harry was missing, the world we reside in would dissolve into mayhem. We've already been over this. It's a minor miracle that no reporters have picked up on any clues, meaning that we can keep the story at bay."

"There's no telling what wider impacts the news would have," McGonagall informed them. "For a start, I'd imagine a lot of the families would prevent their children from returning to Hogwarts, out of fear of what might happen to them. Because…"

"Because, if Harry is susceptible, with all the protection he has around him, then anyone is," Remus finished for her.

"Precisely."

"It's the only thing we've got right during this sorry mess," Bones admitted. "We've kept the auror search for Mercer on a need-to-know basis and, if Cornelius is good at anything, it's keeping the media happy. How long he can continue to do that, I'm not too sure."

"We don't need another ticking clock," Sirius growled, raising his voice for the first time. "We've already got one hanging over Harry's head, if it hasn't already run out."

"Sirius," Remus sighed, having heard these grievances before.

"What? What's the point in ignoring what we're all thinking? Every second that takes by makes it even likelier that Harry's dead. There, it's out in the open now. The cat is out of the bag. Try avoiding that reality now."

"The entire point of our work is avoiding that reality," Dumbledore reminded him. "In that we won't rest until Harry is safe and sound."

"For once, I agree with Black."

They were all surprised to hear Snape speak up, not just Sirius. Perhaps he wore his shock a little too clearly, because the professor met his gaze with a raised eyebrow. Sirius wasn't about to thank the other man for his agreement, not after everything that had transpired between the two, but it was nice to have someone else in the room who was willing to face the facts with cold, emotionless reason.

"Approaching this situation with blind faith is foolish at best, and reckless at worst," the potions master drawled. "The boy's life hangs in the balance, if he hasn't already met his end. I cannot conjure up any reason as to why the Dark Lord would delay such an act."

Molly started to weep from her spot at the table, but Sirius didn't have time to give her a comforting look. The Order needed to be of stronger resolve if they were going to somehow succeed. Then again, he wasn't exactly doing much better. Whilst the Weasley matriarch's emotions were coming out in tears, his own came in the form of spiteful words and a slim patience.

"It's a poorly kept secret that you did plenty of dirty work for Voldemort," Sirius pointed out. "Can't we use that connection to find out either way? Have you not heard anything on the cursed grapevine?"

"If the Dark Lord has been assembling his masses to watch the spectacle unfold, then I am yet to receive my invite. If I was to put myself forward now, the timing would be…suspicious."

"It might be the only avenue we've got to explore," Moody bit out. "And one we can't waste."

"I don't wish to put Severus' life in peril," Dumbledore intoned.

"My boy's life is already in peril!" Sirius shouted. "Surely it's worth the risk, not that I'd expect him to put Harry's wellbeing above his own. He's spent years needlessly tormenting him for things he wasn't involved in. Such an abrupt change in character isn't going to happen overnight."

Snape's nostrils flared. "There's no need to talk about me as if I'm not sitting here. Headmaster, if there is a role for me to play, then that is my duty. I can make the first tentative approaches once this meeting has concluded."

"Do we really have time to be tentative?"

"Going in all guns blazing will only get Potter killed more quickly. I've learnt the art of delicacy, both in my role as a master potions brewer and as a Death Eater. It's not a concept that you'd understand, Black."

"I feel as if we're just digging up well established arguments," Remus piped up. "Arguments we've heard every day since Harry was taken. Are we doomed to forever be going around in a loop?"

Sirius relented, in that he leant further back in his chair. "It's a better fate than what Harry's been dealt with, I'm sure of it."

Dumbledore steepled his fingers together. "Severus, reach out to your contacts. Perhaps a crucial slice of information will slip through the cracks. They'll realise that you'd know about Harry's disappearance, which might ease their suspicions. We can only hope that they remember your past loyalties, as well as hoping that any action we take doesn't come too late."

xxxxxxxxxx

The absence of any company was growing to be a good thing. After all, if no one was there, then no one was going to kill him. At least at that moment in time. Harry wondered whether he had the strength to accept those small mercies, or whether such an acceptance of his reality would drive him insane. He was surely going loopy, because that was the only explanation as to why Malfoy was positioning a pitiful plate of food beside him, along with a jug of water.

Harry eyed the offerings warily, occasionally looking back at Slytherin counterpart as if that would make sense of the situation. Whilst it was nice to get any form of sustenance, he was all too aware of the fact that his hands were still bound in chains, which meant his range of movement was severely limited. Which also naturally meant that he couldn't start tucking into the meagre pile of food, no matter how much his stomach yearned for the grub.

"It's not poisoned, if that's what you're thinking," Malfoy hissed. "He wants you dead, yes, but he also wants to do it himself. And he wouldn't choose such an indirect and cowardly way to make it happen."

Harry had half expected Malfoy to leave the room once his role was complete, and yet the blonde boy hovered there all the same. If he had to guess, Harry might have assumed that Malfoy didn't actually want to go, as if the closed door represented a form of sanctuary for him as much as it represented a prison for Harry. Was he that scared of the friends he kept company with? Or was Harry reading far too much into each human interaction he could experience before his time ran out.

"Funnily enough, the one way I'd describe Voldemort is that he is a coward," he replied, fighting against the dryness of his throat, which had somehow been exacerbated by the new presence of the water.

"You know you're an idiot, right? You'd do well to keep your mouth shut, otherwise you'll end up getting yourself killed."

"And here I was, thinking that you'd be first in line to dance on my grave."

Malfoy smirked, as if he was picturing that very reality, but the expression was strangely hollow. "Too right."

"And I'm going to die regardless of what I say. I'm on borrowed time as it is. I may as well make the most of being able to talk, don't you think?"

"I don't care what you think."

"Yet you're still here."

"Only because I have to!" Malfoy spat. "As long as that peculiar woman thinks there's something off about you, then they want you alive. They're not going to let something as innocuous as starvation rob the Dark Lord of the glory of killing you. Which means someone has to have the job of making sure you're breathing, not just checking that you've somehow found a way to escape."

"And they gave you that responsibility?"

"It's not as if I asked for it, believe me. But I'm also not in a position to complain."

"Because you'll likely be killed for speaking out of turn. How does it feel to know you're basically in the same position as I am?"

Malfoy's nostrils flared dangerously. "I'm not."

"Technically, that's true. Seeing as you asked to be here."

The other boy looked as if he was going to bite out another retort, but he instead chose to stomp angrily towards Harry. For a brief moment, the prisoner thought he was going to get a beating. However Malfoy simply crouched down, lifting up the flagon of water and bringing it to Harry's lips. The forceful nature of his movements, and the slightly overwhelming rate at which he poured the much needed beverage, was a sign that he was just using the act to shut Harry up.

"Do you really think that? Do you really think I wanted to leave Hogwarts, despite how much of a hell you made it for me? Do you really think I could have disobeyed my father when he chose to come to the Dark Lord's aid."

From his expression, it was clear to see that Malfoy hadn't been wanting to divulge that much information, as if his mouth had operated without his brain's permission. There was practically a sheen of sweat forming on his brow, suggesting that he thought someone was going to walk in at any moment and punish him for speaking his mind for once. He tore the jug away, Harry spluttering slightly, and started tearing off small pieces of stale bread and feeding them to the Gryffindor.

It certainly painted Malfoy in a different light, and that was fairly uncomfortable for Harry. Though any discomfort may have been originating from his continued spot on the hard floor. It had been so easy when things were black and white. Malfoy was the villain, representing everything that was bad with the world. So to see evidence that it hadn't necessarily been his choice to become that character…well, it left Harry with an awkward taste in his mouth that had nothing to do with the food.

"The peculiar woman you mentioned…were you talking about Karstark?"

Harry chose to head down the kinder path, changing the topic before Malfoy chose to flee. And the new line of conversation would hopefully serve to scratch a specific itch in Harry's brain. He hadn't been able to stop thinking about the mysterious figure, who somehow held a certain level of influence over Voldemort. It was difficult not to be intrigued by her, seeing as she was the only reason he was still alive. Those eyes had been mesmerising. And a power seemed to swirl within her that was all too familiar, like it had almost been reaching out towards him.

"There are plenty of strange people in this place, but she's at the top of the list," Malfoy admitted.

"What do you know about her?"

The other boy shrugged. "She turned up one day beside the Dark Lord and no one was brave enough to question it. She has his favour, which means she's untouchable until she loses it."

"But you don't know where she came from? I've never heard of the Karstark family before…"

Malfoy silenced him with a shred of meat. "Will you stop asking so many questions? I don't know why I'm even responding. Maybe that shows I truly am desperate for company."

"It's just…"

"I said stop it. It's not just your own life that you're putting at risk by opening your mouth, Potter. You've always had a saviour complex, so don't quit now I'm involved."

Malfoy stood up, picked up the jug and plate, and made to leave. Harry was caught between asking for more information and listening to the captor's strange plea. There was also a part of him that wanted to ask Malfoy to stay, which showed that he was just as in need of company as Malfoy claimed. But that would have involved crossing a line that had been drawn in the sand a long time ago.

"You need to accept that you don't have a trick up your sleeve this time around," Malfoy explained as he stood by the door. "There isn't anything in your pocket that's going to help you."

The last look he gave Harry before leaving was a pointed one, but it was so fleeting that Harry couldn't make sense of it. The lack of proper nutrition was making it difficult to understand most things, let alone Malfoy's odd behaviour. In that regard, it was good that he was now alone, that he was now rid of confusing elements that wouldn't contribute to his survival. In another sense, the brief conversation had nourished him just as much as the food had done.

With nothing else to do, Harry mulled over Malfoy's parting words. It was hard to admit that he was right. With the chains limiting his powers, it wasn't as if he could even bank on pure magic saving him this time around. And there was no wand in his pocket that he could hope to shimmy out, using it to plot his escape. He was without resources and, ultimately, without help. Besides, now he thought about it, the uncomfortable object that happened to be digging into his leg.

A confused expression painting his face, Harry awkwardly twisted his hand, attempting to get a more concrete purchase around his pocket. There was something solid and flat there. Something he'd been carrying at the time of his botched apparition, a well timed birthday gift that was now making his heart sore. It was nothing more than a shard of glass, but had all the potential of representing his salvation.

xxxxxxxxxx

It was peculiar just how grey the world could become through sheer sadness. For Hermione Granger, returning to Hogwarts on her own, without her two boys beside her, meant that the world had been robbed of its magic. The Express no longer gleamed red. The castle no longer flickered with warmth. The corridors were cold and empty, irrespective of how many other pupils happened to be walking in the same direction as her.

Following Harry's disappearance, Hermione's parents had naturally campaigned to stop her from returning to the school. After so many close calls with that particular fate, she had, for once, almost been in favour of the idea. After all, what was the point of being there if she didn't have any friends, concerns she hadn't been forced to consider since her first year at Hogwarts. But, in the end, common sense had prevailed. Because Hermione knew that she was only going to be able to contribute to Harry's rescue if she remained close to the wizarding world.

Running away would have been like betraying him, when there was no proof yet that he was dead.

He had to be alive.

Despite that strong resolve, it wasn't just her surroundings that had been sapped of their life. Hermione retreated into herself, a shell of a person in many respects. Her hand was no longer seen being raised during their lessons. If she completed her work, it was done to the bare minimum, instead of going above and beyond to impress her tutors. And during any free time she garnered, it was spent in her dorm room, rather than the dorm room, where people's eyes always seemed to find her with their unwavering pity.

It was safe to say that the first days back at school had been as close to hell as she was likely to experience.

The problem was that she hated feeling sorry for herself. She knew that, in truth, she wasn't the victim. Harry was the one who was suffering. Harry was the one who'd been targeted, who'd been taken right in front of her. But she'd lost him. She was the one who'd gone through losing the boy she loved, only to then have the next closest person in her life also robbed from her. It was easy to give into sorrow and, the more time that passed, the more difficult it became to escape its clutches.

It was only because of the necessity of having food that she found herself in the Great Hall that morning. Hermione had banked on it being a quick trip, perhaps to snatch a piece of toast and then scurry away. Despite the early hour, there were still plenty of people there, all of them surely surveying her distressed state and hiding the comments they'd later say behind her back. But, when Ginny appeared opposite her at the Gryffindor table, it became apparent that she wasn't the only one who'd been planning, with the Weasley girl evidently having been waiting for this very moment.

"Hi," she tentatively began.

Instinctively, Hermione pushed herself up from the bench, suddenly losing the already small appetite she'd had. Having grown up in a family obsessed with quidditch, however, Ginny displayed startling reflexes, grabbing Hermione's arm before she could properly flee. Hermione cursed herself for being so obvious, for even risking venturing into the public space in the first place, for then looking straight at Ginny's powerfully imploring gaze.

"Please," the other girl said.

Knowing that she didn't have much choice, Hermione slowly and reluctantly sat back down. There was every chance that Ginny would have chased her through the hallways, which would have only served to increase the level of scrutiny she was under. She could manage one conversation. And, if the events had proved anything, it was that Hermione was in desperate need of more friends, lest she wanted to crash and burn out of Hogwarts.

The thought of replacing Harry and Matthew sent another crack arching through her heart.

"Thank you." Ginny sent her a cautious smile. "How are you doing?"

Hermione laughed sharply at that. "Fine."

"Yeah, that's on me. I shouldn't have asked such a stupid question. The answer's obvious. But…I've never really been in this position before, so I don't know what I'm supposed to say."

Hermione knew that she was meant to feel some form of sympathy for Ginny, that she was meant to appreciate the effort her fellow Gryffindor was going to in order to provide a source of comfort. But she simply didn't have the strength to provide such positive sentiments. It was one of the reasons why she'd kept herself so much, not wishing to subject anyone else to her sadness and frustrations. She decided silence was her best policy.

"Any news?" Ginny asked. "Have there been any updates about…you know?"

"No," Hermione sighed. "I have this feeling that they're keeping me out of the loop, as if I'm too fragile to hear any bad news they might have. I've been trying to get involved in the search but none of the professors will give me a straight answer. And every time I'm met with silence, I start to accept that…that…"

She couldn't finish the sentence. The tears began to swell, the one thing she'd been looking to avoid. The benefit of the fact that they were perched at the end of the table meant that it didn't take a lot of effort for Ginny to reach the other side, quickly enveloping Hermione in a tight side hug. There was no judgement in her actions, giving Hermione the chance at last to unleash the emotions that had been eating away at her.

"It's okay," Ginny whispered.

"No. No, it's not okay. Harry's in danger and…and there's nothing I can do."

"Maybe it's not up to you to come to his rescue. Not this time. You've been involved in far too many life threatening events since coming to Hogwarts, but that doesn't mean that's supposed to be the case. You're brilliant, Hermione, but you're still just a teenager. We have to put our faith in the adults, in the professionals, to do their job. They'll bring Harry home."

Hermione wiped at her face, not caring about what sort of mess it must have been in. "You don't know that for sure. You can't know that for sure. I…I wasn't able to save Matthew. And now I'm failing all over again. I'm letting Harry down just as much as I let Matthew down."

"I'm going to have to draw the line at that." Ginny's voice was surprisingly stern all of a sudden. "You have never once failed them. Frankly, you've kept them alive on countless occasions, if some of the stories I've heard are true. What happened to Matthew was tragic, but that wasn't your fault. We're dealing with evil people, Hermione. They think by capturing Harry they'll make us roll over. But that's nothing like what he taught us in those sessions. He told us to be brave. You'd be surprised at how the news is uniting some of the students."

Hermione risked lifting her head up. "Really?"

"Yeah. You just have to consider what the key message of Harry's lessons was last year. He wanted us to realise that…Voldemort is scared of us standing against him. When people found out Harry had been taken - I mean, it was hard to miss when he wasn't on the Express - some of them fell back on their instincts, worrying about what the future holds. But there's plenty of us willing to maintain the fight more than ever. Including the Slytherins. I've heard that Daphne Greengrass is trying to corral them. I think she might have been looking to speak to you, but…"

"...but I haven't exactly made myself available since we came back."

"Which is perfectly fine, by the way. You're going through a lot."

"I just can't stop thinking about how I was in the same room as the person responsible for Harry's disappearance. It's not even a question of me potentially having been able to stop it from happening. There was no way we could have known the guy wasn't who he said he was. But…he could have easily killed me. He could have set the plan in motion for Harry's captor, and then strike me down in the same room. But he chose to flee instead."

"Because he was scared of being captured, I bet. It's further proof that Harry was right, that those Death Eaters are more scared than us."

"Maybe."

"You can ensure that they made a mistake that day. You can figure out a way to get to Harry, and they'll rue the fact that they left you alone. They'll come to learn they shouldn't have messed with one of Hogwarts' own."

"It's nice to have your faith, at least, Ginny. Thank you. And thank you for making me talk. Even briefly."

"It's nothing, really. I owe you. You saved me from a basilisk once. It's about time that I returned the favour in some way."

xxxxxxxxxx

His wrists must have been red raw, but Harry didn't care as he grappled with his manacles. The angle was an awkward one, and he was forced to twist his body in all different ways to try and reach the two-way mirror. He was slightly worried that he was going to end up making too much noise in the process, prompting someone to investigate, but he was too hell bent on reaching the item to care as much as he should have done.

There weren't many victories that were sweeter when his fingers came up against the smooth edge of the glass, or when he could feel it sliding from his pocket. It was a small mercy that, when it finally fell free, it didn't land too far away to be out of his reach. As it sat there in its perfectly innocuous way, Harry could grin deliriously at it, perhaps a sign that he truly had gone insane thanks to his prolonged isolation.

His mind idly wandered to Malfoy, which was a subject matter he would have opted to avoid before his incarceration. Had the other boy known the mirror was there? Was that why he'd inadvertently brought it up before leaving? Had he actually been the one to put it there, with the mirror having previously been taken upon the first moments of Harry's capture? He wasn't too sure either way, trying to figure out why Malfoy would ever think to help him.

There was something more powerful a distraction, however, than the Slytherin's loyalties, and that was the prospect of hearing Sirius' voice once again. Harry scrambled to bring the mirror as close to his face as possible, activating it and whispering his godfather's name with a croaky voice. A beat passed with no response forthcoming, and then he tried his luck again, desperate for the outside world to hear him.

The door to his prison opened and Harry did well to both hide the mirror in time and subsequently look perfectly natural. The disappointment of being interrupted was overshadowed by his growing intrigue and dread, as Karstark stalked into the room. It was the first time she'd appeared since they'd been introduced, and Harry feared what her latest presence meant. Had she figured out a way to extract the horcrux? Was she about to condemn him to death?

"Harry Potter," she said quietly, crouching in front of him just as she'd done during their first meeting. "I've heard a lot about you. This has been a long time coming."

He didn't give into temptation. He didn't respond. He didn't want to make this easy for her, whatever she was playing at it. But he must have frowned or responded in some silent fashion, because her golden eyes gleamed just a little brighter. The corners of her mouth turned upwards, but he couldn't tell whether there was any warmth in the expression. It was more like the smile of a passive observer examining a zoo exhibit, interested in his mannerisms.

"Tell me something. I must know this. Matthew…what fate befell him? Where is he?"

Harry was sure he was frowning this time around. Of all the things to ask…why was Karstark so interested in his friend? And how didn't she know what had happened to him? He was certain that the Death Eaters had celebrated Matthew's death. If she was with them, then why hadn't she been involved in that same level of gloating?

"Matthew?" he rasped. "He…he was killed."

The impression of a smile faded from her face. "He's dead?"

"Your employers took care of that."

She moved backwards, steadying herself. "After all this time…"

"Did you know him?"

"It doesn't matter." Her wand appeared in her hand, pointing directly at him. "I've got a job to do. Let's get started, shall we?"