Two to Lead

Chapter 29: Falling Down

"And it's all...it's all...falling down around us,

And we've lost our way, and they're starting to surround us.

We can't break through...all the thunder and the lightning.

But if we're falling down, we're gonna fall down fighting. "

-Falling Down, One Horse Town

*******

Fox was momentarily surprised when Snape's door opened to reveal a first year Hufflepuff girl with long blonde braids. The girl's face was pink and tear-stained.

"You're excused, Miss Reilly," the Professor's voice announced from within his office. The girl's face crumpled and she pushed past Fox to run down the hall sobbing.

"I see why you're so popular and well-liked," she commented, plopping down in one of the chairs.

Snape sat back and glared at her. "What do you want?"

"Nice tone of voice to take with me when you're the one who stabbed me in the back."

"If you've come for an apology, you're going to leave disappointed. I was merely following orders."

"So was Goebbels."

He rolled his eyes. "Once more, what do you want?"

"The Cardinal's gotten back to me. How would you feel about working for a shadowy criminal organization?"

Snape sat up at that. "The Cardinal agreed to my proposal?"

"You could say that," Fox hedged.

"Ah. So I take it there are contingencies?"

"Aren't there always?"

"In my experience, yes, and they're generally abhorrent. What are they?"

Fox stared him down. "You haven't answered the question yet, Professor."

"I'd feel fine about it. What does that have to do..." he trailed off. "I have to agree before I know what the contingencies are, don't I?" he asked flatly. "How Death Eater-esque."

Fox shrugged. "Those are the rules, and they're the same for everybody. We can't have people flirting with the idea of a life of crime, learning about our organization and then turning tail and running away once they find out what it means, now can we?"

"How binding is this?"

"Put it this way: my team's first assignment was to clean up the remains of somebody who tried to desert. We were trying to avoid detection, so we couldn't use magic. We eventually accomplished it with a squeegee and some paper towels."

"So...fairly binding, then."

"We're an international criminal syndicate, not the Red Cross. Although there are more similarities than you might think."

"And I basically have to agree to do as The Cardinal pleases no matter what, no questions asked, etcetera, etcetera, on pain of being poured into a vial and tossed into the ocean?"

"More like a barrel, really. We used up a lot of paper towels."

Something flickered behind Snape's eyes briefly. Fox got the feeling that it wasn't the death threat that put him off. "No deal. My apologies to The Cardinal."

Fox felt almost proud of him. "You have to understand, Professor. If the Death Eaters and their supporters have anything The Cardinal wants, he doesn't need you to get it."

"No, I don't imagine he does," Snape murmured. "Why the offer, then?"

"Dumbledore knows you work for him against the Death Eaters. The Death Eaters believe you work for them insofar as it suits your interests, which is an arrangement they seem happy with. Just because The Cardinal doesn't have as much interest in this war as you'd like him to doesn't mean that he doesn't have any interest at all."

"So The Cardinal would like to have someone close to both Dumbledore and the Death Eaters whose primary loyalty is to him alone. I can imagine how useful it would be to him. Unfortunately, my loyalty isn't for sale at the moment."

"Yeah, that's pretty much what I told him you'd say."

"Then why bother asking in the first place?" Snape asked frigidly.

"He didn't. You put forward an offer. He put forward a counteroffer. You refused it. No big deal. I'll let him know about your decision." Fox stood.

"But if I did accept the offer," Snape said quickly, also standing up, "he would uphold his end of the deal? He would do what I originally asked?"

"Sure. More than you probably thought he would. If you wanted international support, The Cardinal would get it for you. Three owls or less. Not that it matters, because you're turning him down."

"This is what you meant, isn't it?" he asked, his voice faint and horrified. "When you said I'd live either way. You didn't mean no matter who won the war, you meant..."

His speech was cut off by a shrill sound emitting from one of the sensors on Fox's belt. She didn't need to look down to see which one. It was Harry's Port-a-call.

You better have accidentally activated it while whacking off, Harry, or so help me...

"Go up to Dumbledore's office. Harry's in trouble," Fox said, feeling rage grow and blossom as she apparated upstairs to her team's hallway and more or less kicked in Amina's door. "I've got a Code...Holy Merlin!!"

Fox halted as she saw Amina and Gautham wrapped up in the same sheet, both fighting against each other like the two-headed monster on Sesame Street to get to the wailing Port-a-call alarms going off on their belts, which were on opposite sides of the room.

They froze simultaneously, their eyes wide, looking tousled and guilty.

"You had one job to do," Fox asked in a low, menacing voice. "One job!" she yelled suddenly, making them both jump as she held up her index finger to clarify. "He had better be in his room in the Gryffindor fucking dormitories or I will kill you both."

"Give me the sheet, will you?" Amina hissed.

"What am I supposed to use?" Gautham hissed back. Grabbing a pillow, Amina thrust it at him. Gautham released the sheet and covered his privates, looking cowed and uncertain.

Though she'd seen them both naked more times than she could count, their sudden shyness seemed oddly fitting. After all, Fox had never seen them naked in coitus interruptus before.

Dashing over to the panel display that took up one entire wall of her room, Amina waved her wand around, interpreting the changing colors and blinking talismans. "He didn't set off the perimeter sensors because he never left school grounds. His last record of movement was..." Waving her wand at a collection shiny gold disks halfway up the wall, Amina backed up a step to allow the appearance of a three-dimensional hologram of Hogwarts with a bright red dot marking Harry Potter's location. "...at 19.30, towards the second floor girl's bathroom."

"That was two hours ago," Gautham said, shifting his weight back and forth.

The three of them watched as the red dot re-enacted Harry's most recent movements, proceeding into the girl's bathroom. The dot sat still for a few minutes, then fell downward from the second floor, disappearing at the bottom of the hologram.

For a full second, nobody moved. "Replay," Amina said to the hologram. Harry's dot appeared again, progressed into the bathroom, and made the same fall.

"He didn't set off the wards. He went under them," Gautham whispered. "We are so fucked." His voice took on a panicky edge. "We are so tremendously fucked!"

Amina looked at Fox. "It wasn't on any of the blueprints they gave me," she said nervously. "Wherever he went, so far as I know it doesn't exist."

"Fucked!" Gautham shouted, throwing his pillow against the far wall. Suddenly realizing that the pillow had served a purpose, he snatched it back up and repositioned it. "Did I mention we're completely fucked?" he asked them loudly. Then his entire demeanor changed and he was suddenly tech nerd Gautham again.

"Wait! No, we're not. I just have to track the Port-a-call signal, do a ground and atmospheric survey of the surrounding area for humans, non-humans, and magical and magnetic fields, work up a quick schematic, run a Spinnauer diagnostic, triangulate the oppositive-offensive formulas, twiddle with a few variables, and we're ready to go."

"Yeah. So how long is that going to take?" Fox asked.

"After I get dressed, about thirty seconds."

"Well, get cracking then," Amina said, throwing his jeans at him.

The two women turned back to the wall of information as Gautham got dressed.

"So...Gautham, eh?" Fox asked, shooting her teammate a glance.

"I guess it was inevitable," Amina said distractedly, waving her wand around and fiddling with the wards, beefing them up to highest security. "He's a skinny, nerdy, desperate, needy little thing, but we figured we might as well just dispel the tension."

Ignoring them, Gautham plodded out of the room, fully dressed.

"Yeah, I'm sure he fought against that idea tooth and nail."

Amina smirked. "I thought he was going to faint. But it inspired him to shave his back, so I can't chalk it up as all bad." Satisfied that everything else was stable, she began getting dressed in the hurried fashion of firefighters and criminals.

"Isn't he cheating on his jailbait girlfriend, though?"

"No. She broke up with him for a seventh-year."

"Ouch. Passed over for a teenager."

"Well, she said Gautham kept pressuring her for sex, and she wasn't ready. I guess she's better off with somebody who hasn't been a geek long enough to willingly trade a vital organ for some action."

Fox tutted. "And I thought he loved her."

"He probably did, in his own weird, mercenary way."

Gautham came back into the room with an armful of magical talismans and sensors. "Got it. Let's go up to Dumbledore's office. I'll show you everything there."

"Where is he?" Fox asked tensely as they raced up the stairs.

"Tiny village southeast of here," Gautham panted. "The name doesn't ring a bell, but he's been there before."

Fox glanced at him. "You can tell that?"

"I can tell you everything, including the fact that he's getting his ass kicked right now."

They arrived in the Headmaster's office to find a grim Snape and an even grimmer Dumbledore. "Report, please," Dumbledore said briskly.

Amina and Gautham launched into a lengthy explanation, talking over top of one another in a way designed to provide the maximum amount of information in the shortest amount of time. Finally they finished, taking simultaneous deep breaths as Dumbledore sat back, blinking at the dozen slowly revolving holograms in front of him.

"So where is he right now?"

"Little Hangleton," Gautham responded, waving his wand to move one of the holograms into a position of prominence. "These are the wards we're facing - tough but nothing we can't handle." Another hologram came forward. "This is a live-feed readout of the position of all human and non-human entities within the space. Potter's in the ballroom, but he isn't alone. That's where the majority of their force is headed right now. Based upon movement and a rather short-lived skirmish that took place a little while ago, I can tell you that there are three other noncombatants," he said, waving his wand in a complicated way. Three dots in the hologram of the house flashed. Gautham waved his wand again and words appeared next to the dots, reading 'Ronald Bilius Weasley,' 'Hermione Jane Granger,' and 'Ginevra Molly Weasley.'

"Oh, fabulous," Fox said, throwing her hands up. "He has the Weasley girl, too?"

"One problem at a time," Dumbledore murmured, though he appeared as pleased about this as Fox was. "Can you get the wards down without alerting them? Can you buy us enough time to get a team of Aurors together?"

"It'll take us less than five minutes to get past the wards," Amina said. "They're all standard. Powerful, but uncreative. After that, I imagine Fox will be in the mood to blow up the front doors..." she looked over at Fox, who nodded, smiling slightly.

"It'll draw the defensive force there," Amina continued. "The Aurors can come in through the back door, the garden terrace, and the windows I've marked as easy entrance points."

"Oh, shit," Gautham said suddenly. "We've got a problem."

"What?!" the entire room asked in unison.

"There are some pretty wild negative power elements hanging out in there," Gautham said, shaking his head. Everybody stared at him in silence. "You know, bad mojo," he explained. The silence continued. "Evil, okay!" he shouted, waving his arms. "Not just the Reptilio himself, but some previously unknown serious fucking evil. It's going to take us a lot longer than I thought to put up an anti-apparation ward."

There was a beat of silence. "And that's it?" Amina asked, underwhelmed.

Gautham looked close to pouting. "Well, some of them are going to get away."

"I believe capturing Voldemort's followers is a secondary goal to rescuing the students," Dumbledore explained.

"Oh," Gautham said, pushing his glasses up his nose. "So it's not such a big deal, then."

"It might be," Amina sighed. "Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger are in the basement, Harry's in the ballroom, and Ginny Weasley's on the second floor. Even after we get in..."

"...we're going to need a team of at least twenty," Gautham said, stroking his goatee.

"More than that," Amina scoffed. "They're going to have to split up..."

Dumbledore held up a hand. "The teams will join you in five minutes. I'll instruct them to split up between the entry points you've indicated. You three take down the wards and find Harry. The Aurors will find the others and take as many prisoners as possible."

Fox nodded, gathering Amina and Gautham in close. Touching their right hands to the Port-a-call alarms on their belts, they reached their left hands to the shoulder of the person next to them, forming a triangle.

"Exasum porto," Amina said, and a moment later, they were standing at the bottom of a hill, looking up at a huge, well-lit manor house.

*******

After her meeting with Harry and Ginny, Vivian returned to her rooms to floo to Number Twelve. Remus was on the top floor feeding Buckbeak.

"Ready to go catch a vampire?" she asked him.

"What, like right now?"

She nodded. "Tonight. I'm ready if you are."

"I assume this means you've come up with a plan, then?" he asked, picking up the empty pail as Buckbeak scarfed down the last dead ferret.

"Yes."

When she didn't explain further, he scratched his head. "Er, what is it, exactly?"

"It's like this: you and I go there, and we capture him."

"Well," he said thoughtfully as they started downstairs, "it's simple, I'll give you that."

"I'll apparate first so you have a location. If the situation looks dicey or he has any friends around, we can always call for backup."

"Okay," he said doubtfully. "Can I ask where we're going?"

"To his parents' old lake house."

"It took you two weeks to establish that David was hiding at his parents' lake house?"

"Well, I'd forgotten about it, honestly. They sold it off years ago, but that's where he proposed to me, and I'll bet you a hundred galleons that's where he is right now."

"Just what the world needs. A sentimental vampire," Remus said sarcastically.

Vivian smiled thinly, feeling a sudden wave of disorientation. She'd been getting them quite a bit recently, making her wonder if she was coming down with something.

It only lasted a few seconds. Luckily Remus didn't notice anything, or he'd use it as an excuse not to go tonight. And it was imperative that they go tonight.

She waited in the entryway while Remus cleaned the pail, then they both went out into the small square in front of Number Twelve.

Taking a deep breath, Vivian half-smiled at him. "I'll call you when I get there."

Remus nodded and Vivian apparated to the alley across from the Leaky Cauldron. David was already there, as was her doppelganger.

"You've delivered the children?" he asked.

Vivian nodded. "Remus is waiting for me."

"You're the only one who can call him. Do it and then give the device to Magda."

Digging it out of her pocket, Vivian held it up, saying Remus' name.

"Are you there?" he answered a moment later.

"I'm here. Count me down," she said, handing the device to Magda. Remus' voice fizzled out, as it was intended to do once the device was placed in the hands of a non-Order member. His apparation would still bring him to the device itself, not the person making the call. Quickly, Magda apparated away.

Vivian found her gaze drawn to the Leaky Cauldron, a faint memory breaking through of her parents bringing her here to buy her school supplies for Hogwarts. They were happy memories, oddly out of place.

David placed a hand to her cheek, directing her eyes back to him, and the memories flew out of her head, his eyes swallowing up everything else in the world.

"You've been a very good girl, Vivian," he said, smiling slightly.

His eyes never left hers as he picked up her left wrist and sunk his fangs in. She inhaled sharply. His arm went around her to keep her from losing her balance. Vivian rested her head on his shoulder.

It's so horror movie to go for the neck, plus it's harder to hide...he'd said the last time.

And all of the confusing thoughts she'd had since she'd left him drifted away. The tiny voice that whispered that something was terribly wrong faded into nothingness.

*******

Ginny rolled over and blinked. Then she made a high-pitched, panicky squeak and scrambled into a sitting position, her eyes scanning the candlelit room. She was alone.

Drawing a shaky breath, she rubbed her eyes and wondered where the hell she was. The knob was a portkey and they'd ended up in a wine cellar, and then...

And then...nothing. Closing her eyes, Ginny tried to keep from flying apart in a hundred different directions at once. Apparation cracks - she remembered those. Death Eaters? One of them must have stunned her and then brought her up here. Ginny stuck her hands in her pockets. She still had the diary, but her wand was gone.

Where were Ron and Hermione and Harry? Her first instinct was to go into a wild panic, but she couldn't. She had to figure out how to get out of here. Relieved to have something to keep her mind from dwelling on the large chunk of time that she suspected had gone missing, Ginny stood up, looking around for some means of escape.

Because she'd feel stupid if she didn't, she tried to door first. It was locked.

Her next option was the window. Glancing out, Ginny judged the drop and winced. She was on the second floor, and it looked like a long way down. Well, it wasn't any higher than their treehouse, and Fred and George used to jump out of that all the time.

Reaching up, Ginny unlatched the window and tried to pull it up. It didn't budge and she quickly saw why: it was painted shut. Cursing silently, she looked around for something to break it with. The candleholders were pewter and only a few inches tall, but Ginny figured it was worth a try. Grabbing one, she stood beside the window and swung as hard as she could.

The candleholder pinged off the window harmlessly and rolled across the floor. Ginny stood still for a moment, wondering if there was a guard outside her door, and if he'd heard that. When there was no reaction from the hallway, she turned back to the window.

In one of the films they'd watched in Muggle Studies, a man had punched out a window. All she had to do was wrap her robes around her hand and...

Speaking of taking off her robes, she was probably here for exactly one purpose, and the very idea of it made Ginny hurry as she took them off and quickly wound them around her fist. Taking a deep breath, she drew back and punched as hard as she could.

It worked. The window broke, shards of glass flying out to land on the grass below, a few remaining along the edges of the frame. Unfortunately, it was also very loud.

Knocking out the remaining shards, Ginny quickly threw one leg over the sill.

The door opened.

Shit. She scrambled to get the rest of her body out, but heavy footsteps sounded and Ginny was yanked back into the room. Strong arms wrapped around her waist and Ginny struggled for all she was worth, kicking, biting and flailing her arms around.

Her heel make solid contact with her captor's knee and he grunted, unceremoniously dumping her on the floor.

A hissing sort of chuckle sounded, and Ginny's fighting instincts were suddenly forgotten. No, no, please, please, no.

"She's got quite a temper, hasn't she?" a high, cold voice asked. Lying on her stomach with her hair hanging over her face, Ginny couldn't see anything, but she didn't have to look to know who was speaking. She didn't particularly want to look, either. "Reparo," he said, and Ginny heard the shards of glass from the window fall back into place.

"Stand watch, Rookwood." Ginny heard the door slam shut and felt the sudden crazy desire to have Rookwood back in the room. Anything to not be alone in a bedroom with a dark wizard bent on impregnating her.

"Stand, Ginevra. You have nothing to fear from me." She instinctively recoiled at the sound of her full name, which was only ever used by her mum at the top of her lungs when Ginny was about to catch it, big time. Then she felt a surge of hysterical laughter well up. Sure. Nothing to fear. Right.

Staving off the laughter, Ginny fell back on an age-old trick she used whenever she was trying to act a lot braver than she really was: 'What Would Harry Do?'

Standing up slowly, she faced him - pale and shaking and unable to stop the small noise that escaped from her throat when she finally beheld the nightmarish visage of You-Know-Who - but at least it got her that far.

He was the most hideous thing she'd ever seen. He was the sort of monster she'd imagined living in her closet as a child while shivering under the covers, too afraid to call out for her parents, because if she did, then he'd come out of the closet and get her.

Well, he pretty much had her now, she realized with a jolt of terror.

"Sit, Ginevra," he said pleasantly, gesturing to the bed. Her eyes followed the gesture, and she made another unconscious sound at the sight of his hands - just as Harry had described them - like large, pale spiders: long and freakishly graceful and unnatural.

"I...I don't..." she stammered, her voice tiny and strangled. The 'What Would Harry Do?' game ended. Harry was on even footing with You-Know-Who. She wasn't. So she shut up and sat down.

His red eyes glittered as he held out one white hand. Her cloak - having fallen to the floor in the scuffle - leapt up into it, and You-Know-Who held it out to her.

Figuring the more clothes the better, Ginny took it, dropping her eyes as she buttoned it, her hand reaching automatically for the diary when she was finished. Bracing herself, Ginny looked back up and gasped. Voldemort was gone. In his place stood Tom.

Suddenly, she remembered the fighting, people falling over, Tom in front of her, his voice in her head. Don't worry, Little Ginny. It'll all be over in a minute. He smiled at her and she couldn't help but smile back. Tom was her friend. Tom took care of her. Ron's too busy with Harry to help you find your way around the castle and make new friends, but I can help you. I can be your friend. You don't need anyone else but me.

"Draco Malfoy was never very nice to you, was he?" he asked, his face curling into the crooked smile she remembered so well. "But you have him to thank for bringing me back to you. I wasn't sure I could convince him to do it. He's difficult to convince. I had to jump through quite a few hoops to make him think that it was his idea, that I had nothing to do with it. But we're back together now, and that's what matters, right?"

Reluctantly, Ginny nodded, emotion welling up in her chest at the sight of him, the sound of his voice. How had she ever survived without him? "I missed you, Tom."

He smiled again, brushing his thumb across her cheek. "I missed you, too."

He leaned forward, and then it all seemed so frustratingly blurry after that, the way it always was when she was with Tom. Everything just happened too quickly and they were always things she didn't understand. Before she realized it, he was leaving.

Ginny sighed. "You always leave me."

"I never leave you, not really," he said, smiling and ruffling her hair like she was still a little girl, making her giggle. "I'm a friend you can carry in your pocket, remember? Now sit down." Obediently, Ginny did. "Don't worry. I'll be seeing you again soon."

"When?"

His smile grew wider, almost frightening. "Soon. Let me see the diary, Ginny."

She didn't like the idea of someone else touching it, but because it was him, she couldn't really say no, could she? Reluctantly, she handed it over.

"Nostalgia, Ginevra?" Voldemort asked, sounding amused as he ran his long, pale fingers over the cover of the diary. "Is that why you carry this with you?"

Ginny put a hand to her head as it spun dizzily, finally focusing with difficulty on the diary in Lord Voldemort's hand. How had he gotten it? She tried to think, but her head seemed to be full of cotton, slow and sluggish. The diary had been in her pocket a moment ago. And something about what he said seemed wrong.

She couldn't seem to find the words to formulate a reply, but he didn't seem to want one.

"At sixteen, I knew I was charming," Voldemort continued, "but I didn't realize then that I had the ability to inspire the sort of single-minded devotion that I do now." He tossed the diary onto the bed beside her. "Take good care of it," he said, a hideous imitation of a smile crawling across his face. "Only the very foolish forget the lessons of the past." Ginny gulped and watched him, unable to make a sound as he swept out of the room.

For several minutes, Ginny just sat there staring at the door blankly, trying to figure out what on earth was going on, and why Voldemort had just popped in to give her advice.

Fisting her hands in her lap, Ginny paused and looked down. The cuts on her fingers had been healed. It seemed like an oddly humanitarian thing to do, for Death Eaters. But no, she remembered they were still stinging a bit when she'd broken the window.

Rubbing her thumb across the unbroken skin, Ginny wondered if You-Know-Who had done it without her noticing. "Why bother?" she whispered, flexing her fingers.

She jumped as the doorknob turned again, searching the room for a place to hide or something to throw at him or anything that could possibly stop this from happening. She found nothing. Drawing herself up as much as she could, she vowed to face You-Know-Who with a lot more dignity than she had the first time.

The door opened and a silver-blonde head appeared. Ginny nearly fainted with relief. Never in her life had she been so happy to see Draco Malfoy.

*******

Draco never made it to Dumbledore's office. Halfway there, his right hand twitched in a way that he knew could not be ignored. Running faster, he silently cursed Filch, who for once wasn't around to catch a student running in the hallway when he was desperately trying to get caught. The pull came harder, and Draco had no choice.

Instead of Shirag Castle, Draco found himself in a dim corridor facing the Dark Lord and his father. Bowing as expected, Draco schooled his features.

"You called, milord?" he asked, startled by how much he sounded like Lucius.

"Young Malfoy," the Dark Lord said, his ugly face stretching into an imitation of a smile. "I thought you might enjoy witnessing my final destruction of your rival, Harry Potter."

"He is here, milord?"

"Yes. Crabbe and Goyle are seeing to him at the moment. Thera will take her turn next. Won't you, my dear?"

Draco was surprised to see her step out of the shadows. He hadn't seen her.

"I look forward to it, milord," she said, her face blank.

"Allow me a few moments to check on my captives below," the Dark Lord said, breezing through a door at the end of the hallway.

Thera's face shifted into something else, but Draco couldn't figure out what it was before his father touched him on the shoulder, drawing back quickly at the undesired physical contact with his son.

"The spell is finished," he said shortly. "The Dark Lord has taken care of the Weasley girl."

Draco nodded, forcing himself to ignore the heavy rock that dropped into his stomach at the statement. "Things are looking up, then," he said lamely.

"For once," his father said, studying him. "The Dark Lord won't let you touch Potter; you hate him too much and he doesn't want things to get out of control." Shoving a Death Eater mask at him, his father turned away.

Once he was out of sight, Draco turned to Thera. "Where is she?"

"Upstairs," she said in a dead voice. "It's done, though. What does it matter?"

Refusing to think about that, Draco shook his head. "We need to get them out."

"Harry has an alarm-type thing in his pocket," she said, rubbing her face. "I can trigger it if I can get close to him, and I should be able to swing that with minimum of feminine wile effort."

"What does it do?" Draco asked, curious despite himself.

"It brings them all to wherever he is," she said. "Draco..."

He glared at her. "Say it and I'll twist your neck into a pretzel, Thera."

Looking insultingly unthreatened, Thera glared back at him. "It's over. He's finished it and we're screwed. There's no point wasting your time..."

"Activate the bloody thing. Do it as soon as you can."

"Draco, I don't think you're quite understanding this. It's over. C'est fini. Ganz vorbei. Se acabó. Zakonchenniy. Owarimashita."

"Er, what was that last part?"

"O-ver. Is this managing to penetrate that big, thick denial helmet of yours?"

"No," he said staunchly as he brushed by her. He wouldn't believe it, not until he'd seen Red, not without irrefutable fucking evidence.

"Draco," she said. The odd tone in her voice made him turn his head to look at her. She was pale and drawn, resolute. "They don't have any reason to lie to us. Just...if I were you, I'd prepare myself for whatever I might find up there."

Surprised at the odd tone in her voice, Draco turned full around. "What's up with you?"

"Rookwood's guarding her," Thera said, ignoring the question. "He'll tell them you've been up there. You're going to have to do something about that."

"I will," he said, putting her out of his mind as he climbed the stairs.

Rookwood was standing guard in front of a door at the end of the hallway. "I'm here to see the prisoner," Draco informed him.

Rookwood wasn't impressed. "Nobody's allowed to see the prisoner."

"The Dark Lord sent me up here," Draco said impatiently. "He wanted me to see to her comfort. Now, if you have a problem with that request..."

"He said nobody was to be allowed to see the prisoner," Rookwood repeated.

"I'm not nobody," Draco said icily, staring down his nose at the man.

"Fine, then," Rookwood said, shrugging. Turning, he unlocked the door and opened it for him. "But I'll be coming in to supervise, if you don't mind," he added.

"Fine," Draco said, gritting his teeth as he walked through the doorway. He'd have to kill the guard, but he would rather not have done it in front of Red.

She was standing uncertainly in the middle of the floor, still in her Hogwarts uniform. She looked disheveled and apprehensive, but otherwise, she seemed...fine, actually. She stepped forward when she saw him, but faltered when Rookwood entered the room.

Draco shoved his hands into his pockets, his fingers wrapping around his wand. "Turn around," he ordered her.

Red started, her eyes flitting between him and Rookwood. "What?"

"Turn around," he said very slowly.

Looking at him strangely, she complied. Draco withdrew his wand, turning it on his fellow Death Eater. "Avada Kevadra." Rookwood died looking surprised.

Draco found his second murder a lot easier than the first.

Red spun around, her eyes wild. "Draco?" she asked urgently. She looked down at the obviously dead body of Rookwood, then back up at him.

Then she launched herself at him, strangling him with her arms and wrapping her legs around his waist. Draco stumbled with the force of her attack and his back immediately protested, but he remained standing through pure force of will.

After everything else, it seemed like the least he could do was not drop her.

"I thought it was you," she whispered harshly into his shoulder. "I thought it was you."

"What do you mean?" he asked, his arms returning the embrace so that he could balance.

"I thought you were dead. I thought he'd killed you." She unwrapped her legs from his waist, drawing back from him a little. "I'm sorry. Did I hurt your back?"

"It's fine," he said with false heartiness as his back rebelled at this overuse and promptly rendered his feet numb. "And as you can see, I'm relatively alive."

She shuddered. "Why did you kill him?"

"Because he'd have told them I'd been up here and I'm no good at memory charms."

"But won't they wonder who killed him?"

"No. Dumbledore's coming. Aurors, too, I'd imagine. Potter has some thingy-whatsit in his pocket that sends out an alarm so they can find him. Thera's going to activate it."

Red looked at him, puzzled. "But why hasn't Harry activated it?"

"Probably because he's tied up. The Death Eaters are understandably wary."

"I was so glad to see you walk in here," she said, smiling with warmth and heat and general explanations for tackling him earlier. "It's been a weird night."

Draco pulled her into another hug so that he wouldn't have to look at her when he asked her what happened. "Was the Dark Lord here?"

"Yes. Not long before you came. He's really awful, isn't he?"

Draco frowned. She sounded surprisingly unfazed by the visit. "And?"

"I was trying to escape. I broke the window and I was about to crawl out of it, but Rookwood caught me. You-Know-Who repaired it and then he talked about the diary and said only fools repeat their mistakes or something, and then he left."

Draco's initial response was overwhelming relief. She was acting fine because she really was fine. Nothing had happened. The spell wasn't complete and he could still get her out of here. The relief stopped abruptly as he reevaluated. Memory charm.

Red sighed and tightened her arms around him, but he couldn't return the gesture. It had really happened. The spell was complete. He'd promised her it wouldn't happen, and it had. She was the only person who had ever trusted him, and he'd failed her.

And she was draped all over him about it. It seemed wrong, somehow.

"I have to go," he said abruptly, disentangling himself, still not looking at her, something gnawing at him. Something that felt a lot like guilt.

"Draco," she said softly. Gnaw, gnaw, gnaw.

"What?" he said more harshly than he intended to.

"If they're all coming, Dumbledore and the Ministry...just be careful, okay?"

GNAW, GNAW, GNAW. "Stay here until they come for you," he said brusquely, grabbing the back of Rookwood's robes so that he could drag him back into the hallway.

Opening the door, he propped the body up against the wall next to it, closing the man's eyes so that it looked as if he were merely sleeping. And then Draco did the stupidest thing he'd ever done in his life. He looked back at her.

There was a theme to his life. He wanted to be the best student in his class, and he had almost made it. He wanted to be the best Seeker at Hogwarts, and he had almost made it. He wanted to save Red, and he had almost done it. Almost, but not quite.

At that moment, he just wanted to put her out of his head and enjoy a spot of Potter-torturing, and he almost managed it. Again, almost but not quite.

Instead, he froze.

Red stood in front of the window, lit by candlelight - candlelight always flattered her, highlighting her hair and splashing golden across her pale face - with her hands clenched in front of her and an anxious crease marring her forehead.

In a split second, things made sense to him that hadn't made sense before. The idea of gazing at her for hours - compared to everything else they were facing right now and everything that was running through his head - seemed rather pleasant. Red saying that she didn't have any reason for loving him, she just did - it made sense. Draco managed to stand up, his eyes never leaving her. It seemed strange that now that she'd been taken away from him, now that he didn't have leg to stand on with her, he suddenly understood.

There wasn't a reason. Or if there was, it wasn't any of the ones he'd previously given her. Or maybe there were just a thousand tiny reasons that were forgotten as soon as they happened. Maybe that's how it worked, that little things kept building up - a look, a turn of phrase, her throwing herself at him like he was the greatest hero in the world - and it wasn't one thing or one reason or anything like that. It was enough small things that they became everything. He had wanted her to want something better for herself. Until now, he hadn't realized that he'd wanted her to want him. And until now, he hadn't realized that those two desires were not the same thing.

Not at all. And that's why there was no way in hell that he was going to...

"I love you," he said, startling himself. Red's clenched hands fell to her sides and they stared at each other for a moment. She started toward him, her face clearing of worry, and before he could do any more damage, Draco slammed the door shut, stumbling away from it. He righted himself and walked quickly down the stairs, welcoming the suffocating anonymity of the Death Eater mask he donned before entering the ballroom.

He couldn't believe he'd just done what he'd done. It was pointless, and even if by some miracle they found out that the spell hadn't been completed, he still hadn't the first clue what he was supposed to do with her. She seemed to have some sort of handbook or something on the subject of love that told her how to act it out, but he didn't. He'd fuck it up. Hell, he probably already had.

Of course, he wasn't the only one to blame. Draco had no idea what sort of cockamamie series of events had led to the capture of the Trio and Red, but he'd bet his inheritance that it hinged on some sort of Gryffindor idiocy. Specifically, Potter idiocy.

He'd given the kid one job: keep Red away from the Death Eaters. Should he really be even remotely surprised that Potter hadn't managed to do it?

When the time was right, Harry Potter would feel his wrath. For now, Draco would have to settle for watching Harry Potter feel Thera's wrath.

Ah, well. She was better at it anyway.

*******

Vivian was no less than a foot away from Remus when he apparated. Stepping back quickly, he reached out a hand to steady himself.

"Merlin, why didn't you step back?"

"I did," she said defensively. "It's not my fault you were off."

He opened his mouth to argue, then shut it as she strode off toward the cottage looming in front of them. "Do you want to split up?" he asked her, his eyes darting around the yard.

"There's no need," she said breezily. "He's not here."

Before he could stop her, Vivian had opened the back door and walked inside.

"What the hell are you doing, just walking in here like this?"

"I told you. He's not here," she said curtly.

"How do you know?"

Turning, she practically pinned him to the wall with her eyes. He'd never seen such an angry, superior look on Vivian's face before. "I just do," she said, turning back around.

Reaching the end of the hallway, she pointed at a door on her left. "Go in there. I'll cover you."

"Cover me? I thought you said he wasn't here."

"Yes, I did. That doesn't mean other things aren't here."

Remus studied her, but she was standing some distance away, and it was hard to read her expression in the darkness. "Okay," he said finally. "I'll go in first."

Walking up to the door silently, he used his most acute sense: smell. His head spun with the stench. Something had died in there and then lay rotting for quite a while. But there were also...Remus sniffed again...there were people in the room.

"Go in. I'll cover you," she said from the other side of the hallway, gesturing to the door.

Placing his hand on the knob, Remus took a deep breath and then flung the door open to reveal half a dozen Aurors, all with their wands pointed at him.

Expecting Death Eaters, Remus was just shocked enough for them to disarm him. The next thing he knew, he was on the floor and they were slapping manacles on him.

"What the hell is this?" he wheezed past the knee pressed into his kidney.

"Remus John Lupin," a voice announced from somewhere in the vicinity of his ankles. Remus turned his head, getting only a brief glance of hulking bodybuilder before one of the Aurors wrenched it back around.

"Balder Astragand," Remus sneered.

"Correct," the man answered. "You are hereby arrested by the Ministry of Magic for refusing to surrender yourself to the Ministry as a dark creature before the legal deadline to do so, defying Ministry dictate, and murdering two Muggles in violation of the Dark Creature Control Act of 1782..."

"I didn't murder anybody!" Remus protested, nearly struggling away from his captors before they managed to subdue him again.

"You murdered the two Muggle inhabitants of this house," Balder informed him. "The murders occurred during the last full moon, strands of hair identified as belonging to you were found at the crime scene, and magical readings of the area were traced back to a wand belonging to you."

Remus found himself flummoxed. "But I've never even been here before."

He was wrestled into a standing position, forced to face the man. "You've never been here before, but your hair and wand have?" he asked mockingly.

Remus glared at him. "Vivian," he barked. "Tell them. You only told me about this place tonight. And we both came here to apprehend a dangerous vampire."

Vivian stepped out of the shadows, the light falling across her tragic face. "I'm sorry, Remus. I just...I can't cover up for you any more."

Remus' jaw dropped at her statement. His eyes focused on her, and for the first time that night, picked out the details. He hadn't noticed it in the darkness, but she wasn't wearing the same color blouse under her cloak that Vivian had worn at Number Twelve. He couldn't pick out her smell with so many people around, but he didn't need it to know.

This wasn't Vivian.

Which begged the question, where was Vivian? What had happened to her when she left Number Twelve? Only Order members could use the communications devices, and he'd apparated directly to it, but this woman was obviously not an Order member.

Pseudo-Vivian smirked at him.

"No!" he yelled, werewolf strength allowing him to free himself briefly from their grasp. "She's not Vivian Wellbourne," he said desperately. "Bring her in with me and you'll see. That woman is not Vivian Wellbourne."

Shrugging, Balder pointed his wand at her and said, "Finite incatatum." Nothing happened. "Well, she's not under any spells," he concluded.

"If she's polyjuiced, that won't work," Remus said, struggling against the Aurors even as they overpowered him in his distracted state. "Bring her along and I'll come quietly. Otherwise, you run the risk of me taking a few of you down with me."

The Aurors chuckled, tightening their grip on his arms. Remus fought back a wave of wolfish, nearly uncontrollable rage.

"I don't think you'll be doing that," Balder said, amused. "Would you mind coming down to the station with us, dear?"

"I can't, sweetheart," unVivian said mournfully. The endearment was like a punch in the stomach. It's not her, it's not her, it's not her, he repeated in his head. "Exams are next week and I'm swamped." Smiling, she kissed Balder on the cheek and turned away. "I need to get back to Hogwarts," she called over her shoulder.

They'd polyjuiced Vivian and sent her after the highest intelligence officer in Britain. Through his horror, Remus felt the need to give the dark side points for moxie.

Of course, now would be a brilliant time for him to drum up some moxie of his own. He had to bring her with him. Unless he kept her in Ministry custody until she changed back into whoever she really was, neither he nor Vivian stood a chance.

He needed to trip her up.

"If that's really Vivian Wellbourne, then she'd know my birthday," Remus cried.

The woman spun around, the withering glare on her face so akin to the real Vivian's that he had to look away. "This is ridiculous. Balder..."

A hard sort of look came over Balder Astragand's aggravatingly perfect features. "Restrain her," he said softly.

UnVivian gaped at him as two of the Aurors followed his orders. "What?"

"I'm sorry, dear, but he seems rather certain of this. You two dated for years, and you've been spending time with him recently to set up this little sting operation, so I'm certain you know his birthday. His file has been sitting on my desk for months. I know the answer, so he can't lie."

Remus smelled the fear before she showed it. He found himself smiling at her.

"How can I be expected to remember something like that?" she asked desperately.

Balder Astragand closed his eyes briefly, probably feeling the same punch in the stomach he'd felt a few minutes ago. Remus found himself unable to drum up any sympathy. "Because it was three weeks ago," Balder said emotionlessly. "Bring her in with us. We need to find out who she really is and what the hell is going on here."

"And what happened to the real Vivian," Remus added.

"Yes," Balder said heavily. "That, too."

With uncharacteristic Ministry speed, Remus was processed and placed in an interrogation room. Manacled to a chair that was magically attached to the floor and left to his own devices for a few minutes, he let his chin drop down to his chest as confused and worried thoughts whirled around his head.

What had happened to Vivian? Where was she? Did the Death Eaters have her? Had they overpowered her when she reached her destination and taken her communications device? She'd talked to him, and it had to have been her, but seconds later when he'd apparated, it had been to someone who wasn't Vivian, but was polyjuiced to look like her and was in possession of her communications link.

The door opened, and he raised his head. Balder Astragand strode in, looking purposeful.

"Do you know this woman?" he asked, tossing a picture on the table as he sat down.

Remus looked down at the dark-haired, sharp-featured woman in the picture. "No."

"Well, that's who just turned you in. Her real name is Magdalena Brinks."

"I've never seen that woman before in my life," Remus said slowly.

Balder smiled humorlessly. "Neither have I. What I wonder is: why was she impersonating Vivian?"

"To get information from you, I imagine. Have you found the real Vivian yet?"

The smile fled. "No, and believe me, we're looking. When was the last time you saw her that you can be certain it was her?"

"Right before I apparated to the backyard," Remus said, the desire to help find Vivian warring against his dislike for Balder Astragand and his need to protect the Order.

"Are you sure of that?"

"Let's just say that she was somewhere only Vivian could have gone." Polyjuice could get them to Balder, but it couldn't get them into Number Twelve, or Hogwarts.

The other man glowered at him, but let it go. "Was Vivian with you the last time you were in the lake house?"

Remus sighed. "I've already told you that I've never been there before."

"And I've already told you that we have proof that you have, in fact, been there before. I'm asking if Vivian was with you."

"Obviously not," Remus said through gritted teeth, "as I've never been there before."

"Magical readings were found that matched her wand."

Remus looked up. This was new. "How old were they?"

"The same as the magical readings we found from your wand. A little over week old. You were there, and she was there with you. Yours showed up as a lumos spell in the bedroom where the bodies were located. Hers showed up as defensive, concentrated at the back of the house." Balder looked up, pinning him with a glare. "There was another magical signature there, too. It produced several wards, a binding spell and an Imperius curse."

He felt his jaw go slack. "David Lynes. Her vampire ex-husband."

"Yes. Your accomplice in Vivian Wellbourne's disappearance, I presume?"

Remus ignored him. "She was under Imperius?" he whispered. Then he shook his head. "No, that doesn't make any sense. It would be almost impossible to maintain an Imperius curse at Hogwarts, so it would've been pointless to..." he trailed off, a memory of Vivian's words echoing in his head. He can mesmerize...He said it only works on me...Remus swore loudly.

The other man was standing, leaning over him, his face angry. "What was she ordered to do?" he asked in a low, barely controlled voice. "What were your plans for her?"

And icy hand gripped Remus' heart. Mesmerism was a difficult skill to achieve, exclusive only to vampires, a tiny enough threat that the wards at Hogwarts probably didn't protect against it, assuming something like that could be interrupted by wards anyway. David hadn't used the Imperius curse to control her. He'd used it to make her docile enough so that he could mesmerize her and send her back to Hogwarts, to Harry.

"Where's Harry Potter?" Remus asked, breathing with difficulty.

"Answer the question!" Balder shouted into his face.

"He's controlling her, you fucking moron!" Remus shouted back. "David Lynes works for Voldemort and he's controlling her, and he sent her after Harry!"

"You mean your Master sent her after him?" Balder sneered.

Remus dropped his head back and yelled at the ceiling. "For the last time, I don't work for sodding Voldemort! You have to contact Dumbledore and have him find Harry before it's too late!"

"I'm sure Dumbledore would be thrilled to find Harry," the other man bit out, backing up. "Why don't you make it easier on yourself and tell us where You-Know-Who is keeping him?"

Every ounce of strength left Remus' body. Were it not for the whole cuffed to a chair set-up, he would have slumped over onto the floor. "Harry's missing?"

Balder Astragand crossed his arms, his overlarge biceps straining against his robes. "We received word from Dumbledore not five minutes ago. Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley and Ginny Weasley are missing from Hogwarts."

*******

Returning from her fourth bathroom break, Tonks sent her superior officer an apologetic smile. He glowered back. A portly, balding man with the unfortunate name Carl Marks, her commander had not been pleased to relegate one of his Aurors to desk duty in the middle of a war, even if that Auror was her. He had responded to her - thankfully waning - bout of morning sickness by assigning her to night desk duty.

Bill had gone into hysterics, but Tonks didn't mind the new hours. As a rule, desk duty was boring as all get-out, but it was at least slightly less boring on the night shift.

"Three new arrests came in while you were in there," he grumbled, not looking up from his report. "Deal with them, would you?"

"Haven't got anything else to do, have I?" she said breezily, bumping her hip into the side of her desk as she tried to get around it, drawing a sigh from Marks. Her belly hadn't gotten overly large yet, but what she had certainly hadn't helped her coordination.

Picking up the arrest sheets, Tonks made a face. She wanted to be in on the arrests, not doing the paperwork for them. She flipped through them, putting them in order of importance. Misdemeanor, misdemeanor...felony?

Frowning, Tonks checked out the charges, then looked at the name. Then she shook her head and looked at the name again. Shooting out of her seat, she upset a jar full of quills and sent a stack of parchment to the floor.

"Sorry, Commander," she said hurriedly as she ignored the mess, bustling past his desk once more. "Gotta go again. Babies, you know. Can't go a minute without a pee."

"Dammit, Tonks," he called after her. "You just went. Those things need to be filed."

"I'll just be a mo'," she called over her shoulder as she trotted into the loo. Checking to make sure she was alone, Tonks dug a handful of coins out of her pocket. In too much of a hurry to figure out which one was the communications device, she just held them all up to her mouth. "Albus Dumbledore."

A long moment passed before he answered. "Tonks?"

The sound was coming from one near her thumb. Squinting, Tonks picked out the proper knut, dumping the rest back into her pocket. "Professor, something urgent's come up."

"I'm already aware that Harry's missing, Tonks, but thank you for calling in."

Tonks' mouth dropped open. "Harry's missing?"

"You didn't know? Three teams of Aurors are already on their way."

Well, the office had seemed a bit empty when she got back from the loo, but...Tonks shook her head. "Professor, Remus is at the Ministry. He's been arrested."

There was a brief pause before Dumbledore answered. "I'm on my way."

*******

Though dusty, the ballroom had obviously once been quite grand. The footsteps of Harry and his captors echoed across the chamber, still decorated with fake plants, electric candelabras, and a chandelier in the center of the ceiling the size of a Volkswagen. One wall sported several ceiling-height windows adorned with heavy drapes.

The Heir's Throne, following close behind them, was placed against the far wall between the two center windows. Looking outside, Harry wondered how much time had passed. The sky was pitch black over the village of Little Hangleton and the rolling hills beyond.

"I know young Crabbe and Goyle have been chomping at the bit to have a go at you, Harry," Voldemort's voice sounded, though Harry couldn't tell where he was standing. "The wards at Hogwarts have been ruining their social plans, I believe. I'll let them spend some time with you first. Think of it as a warm-up."

He issued orders that Harry couldn't quite make out. A minute later, the two drooling goons appeared in front of him, pounding their fists into their hands and grinning.

"He said as long as we don't kill you or rip any limbs off, we can do whatever we want," Goyle said, looking positively giddy.

"But we can rip off whatever we want after he kills you," Crabbe clarified.

The situation was a familiar one from his childhood, only these two were a lot bigger than Dudley, and they weren't just going to punch him a few times and then run off before a teacher caught them. The idea of being beaten to a bloody pulp did not sit well with Harry. If Fox said he had the power to make people do things, he might as well try it out on these two. Weak minds are easily controlled...

"You don't really want to do this," he said in a calm voice, trying to reach into their brains and direct their behavior, wondering if Guardian power worked like The Force.

Apparently not. "Yeah, we do," Crabbe said, punching him in the stomach.

Harry let out an undignified 'oof' that drew laughter from Crabbe, Goyle, and the two Death Eaters holding him.

"What, you don't think you can take me in a fair fight?" he gasped. "Untie me and we'll see who's laughing."

Considering they both outweighed him by about fifty pounds, this wasn't much of a threat, but Harry didn't think it warranted another round of laughter. It made him angry, and when Goyle stepped forward to punch him in the face, Harry ducked. Goyle punched one of the Death Eaters instead.

The Death Eater yelled and let go of Harry, who quickly backpedaled, throwing his weight against the other one. The man was caught by surprise, and he and Harry crashed to the floor in a heap of limbs. Harry rolled over onto his stomach, trying to get his feet underneath him so he could stand up.

Instead, he was picked up by the back of his robes like a kitten. The Death Eater Goyle had punched had regained his senses. "Stand up," he growled at the other one. The two of them took a firm grip on Harry's arms. "Your job is to beat up Potter," the Death Eater informed Goyle. "Hit me again and I'll throw you to the dark creatures."

"Sorry, Dad," Goyle said, looking horrified. "He moved."

"Gregory," the Death Eater who was apparently Mr. Goyle said patiently, "what's the rule when Dad's wearing the mask?"

Goyle hung his head. "I'm supposed to pretend not to know you, Dad."

The other Death Eater chuckled. "And they say your kid's the smart one."

"Stuff it," Mr. Goyle growled.

"I've been pretending really hard not to know you, Dad," Crabbe said proudly. "I've been doing a good job of it, too, haven't I?"

"Just punch the kid," the Death Eater who was apparently Mr. Crabbe sighed.

Crabbe took the opportunity, catching Harry by surprise. His fist smashed into Harry's jaw and knocked his glasses off. Stars danced in front of his eyes and Harry fought to stay conscious as he saw Goyle's blurry form step forward to take his turn.

He didn't see the punch coming, he just felt pain explode on the left side of his body and wondered for a frantic moment if Goyle had stabbed him. Harry must have lost his footing, because the older Crabbe and Goyle were suddenly holding him up by his arms. Harry tried to breathe and immediately regretted it. The stabbing sensation returned and it finally sunk in that Goyle must have broken some ribs.

Closing his eyes and gritting his teeth, Harry took several shallow breaths, trying to send some strength back into his legs so he could stand up. As soon as he did, Crabbe clocked him just in front of his right ear. For one brief, blessed moment, everything went black. Then the pain in his side returned and his face throbbed and he realized that he was lying on his side on the wooden floor of the ballroom.

"Can't we ennervate him?" Crabbe was asking. "I wasn't finished."

"He isn't dead, is he?" Goyle asked worriedly. They turned onto his back. Harry kept his eyes closed, knowing that if he opened them, someone was going to punch him again.

"No, he's breathing," Mr. Crabbe said. "You just knocked him out."

Crabbe chuckled. "I hit him really hard." He had, too. Much harder than even a teenager of Crabbe's size should have been able to. Fucking spell.

"You might have knocked him out, but I broke his ribs," Goyle pointed out.

"You should probably stop. The Dark Lord'll want him awake when he kills him," Mr. Goyle said. He placed the toe of his shoe against Harry's chest and jostled him. Harry let his head loll from side to side. "Anyway, he's out for now. Stand guard while we go find Lucius to see what he wants us to do with him."

"D'you think the Dark Lord's finished up there yet?" Mr. Crabbe asked as their footsteps echoed hollowly across the ballroom. Harry suddenly remembered Ginny and felt a sudden need to get up and fight his way up there to stop...that. Unfortunately, he didn't think he could get up right now, at least not of his own volition. And even if he could, Harry couldn't imagine how he'd manage to find his way up to the master bedroom past however many Death Eaters with no glasses and his hands tied behind his back. But he had to try. He was Harry Potter, dammit, and he wasn't going to lie here pretending to be unconscious while Voldemort got it on with his best friend's sister.

"He said he'd bring Thera in when he was done, so I guess not," Mr. Goyle answered.

Harry bit back a groan. He'd forgotten about Thera. It was awkward enough to have to face somebody who screwed you over and then dumped you. It was even worse to have her brought in specifically to torture you.

"Oh, yeah, Thera's coming," Mr. Crabbe said with obvious relish. "This is going to be fun. Remember the look on that Muggle's face when she..."

Harry didn't get to hear what she'd done, because the two men's voices faded. Not that he particularly wanted to know, anyway. He waited for a few moments, wanting them to be gone by the time he attempted his escape.

"Gertrude and I talked about pork loin yesterday," Goyle said.

"Yeah? What about it?"

"Well, if you marinated it in orange juice before you rubbed it with jerk seasoning, and maybe added some ginger and fresh cranberries to the sauce..."

"I dunno," Crabbe said doubtfully. "That might make it too tart."

"You could always add some honey. It'd thicken it up a bit, too."

"Oooh, and you could use it as a glaze if you wanted to."

Harry squinted through his eyelashes at them. He'd never heard the two of them sound quite so intelligent before. He waited until they were wrapped up in their discussion before making his move. Drawing his knees up, Harry quickly rolled over and stood up. His side twinged and his head swam, the blurry images of the room weaving back and forth. He picked up his foot to try to run and promptly fell back to the floor.

"Oh. Hey, he's awake," Crabbe said, coming to stand over him. Harry glared at the towering blob as he tried once more to get to his feet.

"We better not let him escape," Goyle said nervously. "They'll be really angry."

Reaching down, they hauled him into a standing position again, holding his arms in two vice-like grips. Harry immediately sagged, trying to get his bearings. As if nothing had happened, Crabbe and Goyle continued their discussion, moving onto the proper cooking method for tender pork chops.

"The ones at Hogwarts suck," Crabbe said mournfully.

Goyle grunted. "Like dragonhide."

Harry was almost grateful when the doors at the far side of the room opened, admitting a line of dark robed figures. Crabbe and Goyle stood at attention.

The Death Eaters formed a semi-circle with Harry in the center. Crabbe and Goyle turned him so that he was facing the throne. A figure that was obviously Voldemort strode in, followed by a petite form that could only be Thera. Unlike the other Death Eaters, she didn't appear to be wearing a mask.

As if to prove that they were committed to doing their job properly, both Crabbe and Goyle reached around simultaneously to punch him in the stomach. Harry doubled over, blood pounding in his head, fighting for breath.

"Milord," a bored voice sounded. Harry groaned inwardly. It was Thera, all right. "I enjoy a schoolyard beating as much as the next girl, but if I might be so bold, I believe everyone here would enjoy something a little bit more...refined."

"I brought you here for a reason, my dear," Voldemort said, sounding amused. "I couldn't allow the famous Harry Potter to leave this planet without experiencing the full range of your talents."

A murmuring arose among the Death Eaters as Thera curtsied - curtsied? - to Voldemort. "You are, as always, most gracious, Milord," she gushed.

"The Dark Lord will provide," Voldemort said blandly. "It is always a pleasure to watch your imagination and skill in action, my dear. If you would."

There was an almost anticipatory silence as Thera stepped forward. Harry could only gape at her. Even if he were capable of speech, he had no idea what he would have said. A few feet in front of him, she bent down and picked something up off of the floor.

His glasses, he realized, as she slipped him into his face. "I'd hate for you not to see this," she said softly. As the room came into focus, Harry tried to catch her eye, but she had turned away, taking out her wand dramatically and inclining her head to Voldemort, who nodded back, sitting in his throne, his red eyes alight.

Thera tapped her wand against her chin thoughtfully. "So this is Harry Potter, is it? I don't suppose you know me. Thera Castelar, Slytherin. I think you might have brushed by me once in the Charms hallway." There was a rumble of muffled laughter as she said this. "Terribly honored to finally make your acquaintance."

She surveyed him slowly and lasciviously, from head to toe. "You're actually quite a specimen, aren't you, Harry? Must be all that time on your broom." She slinked toward him, her eyes fixed obviously on his crotch. "Shall we take those trousers off and see if you're a real Englishman?"

There was a bit more laughter. Thera waved a hand at Crabbe and Goyle. "Stand him up properly, boys. Let us all have a nice look," she ordered. They shoved Harry fully upright, wrenching a wince from him. Harry focused his eyes on the ceiling as she stepped forward and ripped open his robes. He wasn't sure where she was going with this, but he knew he didn't like it.

A sudden sense of unreality overtook him. The girl standing before him was a mix between the real Thera and some sort of demented variety show host. She still hadn't made eye contact with him, and he was both angry and glad for it. He was angry because if she had a plan here, she didn't seem to feel the need to let him in on it. He was glad because he wasn't sure what he would see if she looked at him: Voldemort or Thera.

Considering the way she was ogling him, he really hoped it was Thera.

She ran her hands down his torso. The Death Eaters laughed some more and Harry kept his eyes on the ceiling, trying to ignore it all. But when her hands reached around to grab his ass, Harry glared down at her. Was ass-grabbing really necessary?

At long last, her eyes met his. For a split second, the curtain rose and he saw a strange sort of pleading there. But before he could analyze it, the curtain dropped again and her hand reached up to the back of his head, twisting into his hair.

She yanked his head down and kissed him. Her tongue swept his mouth and Harry heard the Death Eaters hooting and catcalling as a humiliated blush spread up his neck. Her hand left the top of his head, sliding down his body in the direction of his crotch, and Harry drew his head back away from her, breaking the kiss.

She smiled at him slightly as her hand slid into his front pocket to activate the Port-a-call. Harry felt his mouth drop open as she stepped away, Death Eater Thera once more.

"Much as I'd love to get to know you better before my Master sends you on to your reward, there is business to be conducted, Harry. Sorry to break it to you, but you're going to die a virgin." Harry scowled at her and she sent him a sunny grin. Laughter and a few 'awwwwws' arose from the peanut gallery as Thera raised her wand.

"I'd step away from him if I were you," she said to Crabbe and Goyle, who let go of his arms, leaving him standing unsteadily on his own, his eyes focused only on her.

The grin and the pleading look where gone. Her eyes were utterly empty as they looked back at him, sending a chill down his spine. Voldemort was in control now.

"Crucio."

*******

Balder Astragand studied the werewolf in front of him as he processed the news of Harry Potter's disappearance. To his credit, the man seemed - seemed - genuinely upset about it. Of course, he'd taught the boy, so perhaps he felt some attachment to him.

Another knock sounded at the door and Balder braced himself, wondering what else could go wrong besides the disappearances of Harry Potter, three other Hogwarts students and his girlfriend who may or may not have been polyjuiced the entire time he was dating her. His question was quickly answered as Albus Dumbledore entered.

"Professor," he greeted the man, smiling thinly. "I assume you're authorized to be here?"

"Of course," the Headmaster answered innocently. "Harry Potter and his friends have been located. A team of Aurors is on their way right now to rescue them."

"And there wasn't an Auror available to come up here and apprise me of this news?" Balder asked, raising an eyebrow.

"I daresay there were, but I was coming here anyway, so I offered to relay the message."

"Harry's safe?" the werewolf asked Dumbledore in a hoarse voice.

"He will be soon," Dumbledore assured him. "The best people are on the job." An odd look went between the Headmaster and the werewolf that aroused Balder's suspicions.

"Is this man part of your organization?" he asked the Headmaster.

Dumbledore's eyes twinkled. "So he's a man now, is he? Not a fearsome beast?"

Balder's patience was disappearing quickly. "Professor..."

"In any case, the only person who remains unaccounted for is Vivian Wellbourne," the Headmaster interrupted. "Am I correct?"

"Yes, Professor," Balder said through gritted teeth, trying very hard to keep the conversation civil. "And prior to your...arrival...I was questioning Mr. Lupin about her disappearance."

"That would be rather pointless, I'm afraid. He doesn't know anything."

Balder was starting to get a headache from his teeth grinding together. "Thank you for your insight, Professor, but that has yet to be established..."

"However," Dumbledore interrupted again, "he may also be the only person capable of finding her."

"How?" the werewolf asked, sitting up.

"Yes, Professor. How?" Balder contributed. This one ought to be good.

"I'll be happy to tell you once you release him and drop all charges against him."

Balder stared at the Headmaster for one blank moment before laughing.

"Of course, it's entirely up to you," the Headmaster said as if there had been no reaction at all to his statement. "If you want her found alive - and it's my understanding that one of the Ministry's main concerns is keeping its citizens alive - then I would think you'd at least be willing to consider freeing an innocent werewolf to ensure her safe return."

Balder felt his jaw drop. It seemed unlike Dumbledore to propose something so...cold-blooded. "Are you serious?"

Dumbledore nodded solemnly.

"You're telling me that unless I sign his walking papers, you're just going to leave her out there to die?"

The Headmaster heaved a sigh. "Believe me, I don't relish it..."

"Relish it?!" Balder yelled, rounding on the Headmaster, appalled. He'd thought Dumbledore a loose cannon and a troublemaker, but this was just beyond the pale.

"If you're laboring under the assumption that I'm willing to trade one innocent life for another innocent life," Dumbledore said, "then you would be wrong."

Balder felt his mouth moving, but honestly couldn't form a statement.

"I will have both or neither. And if I have neither, then the blame lies entirely on you, doesn't it?" Balder stopped trying to speak and simply stood there, goggling at the Headmaster. Out of the corner of his eye, he thought he saw the werewolf smirking.

Shaking his head to clear it, Balder fixed his eyes on Dumbledore. "No," he said flatly. "I refuse to..."

"Set an innocent man free? Save the life of an innocent woman, someone you care about?" Dumbledore interrupted again. "Either way, I will not tell you where she is until you drop the charges against Mr. Lupin."

Leaning forward, Balder rested his hands on the chair in front of him. His fingers curled around it, tightening until he vaguely wondered whether he could rip the top of it off and throw it across the room. Ninety percent of him was convinced that they were toying with him, but the other ten percent was too cautious to gamble on it.

Balder considered himself a decisive man. He did not flutter about complicating situations and second-guessing himself. He trusted his instincts and his own moral compass to lead him in the right direction, and he rarely regretted his decisions.

He had a sneaking suspicion he was going to regret this one.

"Fine," he said, feeling as if the word were torn out of him.

"You accept the conditions?"

"I said 'fine,' didn't I?"

"Yes, you did. Draw up the paperwork, and then we'll..."

"It'll take at least an hour to draw up the paperwork," Balder interrupted sharply. "Does she have that long?"

Dumbledore turned painfully clear blue eyes on him. "No, probably not."

In answer to his earlier question, Balder managed to snap the top off of the chair, but instead of throwing it across the room, he simply placed in on the table. Turning around, he opened the door and yelled for Jameson, his assistant. As if popping out of thin air, Jameson appeared suddenly, his black hair slicked back and his robes pressed to perfection as always.

"Drop the charges against the werewolf," Balder ordered.

"Yes, sir," Jameson replied without missing a beat, hustling off to see it done.

Shutting the door, Balder leaned against it, waving his wand idly to free the werewolf from his manacles. "That's the best I can do for now."

Dumbledore nodded, turning to the werewolf and holding his right hand out, palm-up. Reaching into his pocket, Remus Lupin pulled out a small bronze knut and placed it in Dumbledore's empty palm. Balder felt the sudden need to laugh at himself. It was a communications device, like the one he'd seen Vivian using during the Diagon Alley attack. He hadn't even thought to search the werewolf for one, largely because it hadn't occurred to him that the werewolf might be working for Dumbledore. The Headmaster squeezed his hand shut, then put the knut down on the table.

"He was the last one to communicate with her. She was in the alley across from The Leaky Cauldron," he said shortly.

Balder perked up. "How long ago?"

"A few hours."

"And you really think she's still there?" Balder asked doubtfully.

"There's no reason for her not to be there. David Lynes is waiting for information he has yet to receive. I'll apparate to the alley, you go to The Leaky Cauldron."

"No," Balder said firmly. "You're not going into that alley unescorted."

"I can handle myself perfectly well, I assure you," Dumbledore said just as firmly. "Believe me when I say that this will go far more smoothly if I handle it alone."

Having already let Dumbledore walk in and do as he pleased about everything else, there didn't seem to be any point in stopping now.

"As you wish," he said wearily.

"I'm coming too," the werewolf piped up.

Dumbledore sent him a quelling look. "You can't go anywhere until you're officially released."

"We're wasting time," Balder reminded everyone. The werewolf made a face, Dumbledore nodded to him, and Balder sighed and apparated to The Leaky Cauldron.

*******

After propping his unconscious ex-wife against some rubbish bins, David Lynes took to pacing. Minutes passed. And then some more minutes passed. His pacing became jerkier, angrier as even more minutes passed, hours maybe. Magda should have been back by now. Something must have gone wrong. He should never have left something this important in the hands of a brainless tart.

Vivian made a snuffling sound and turned her head. She'd wake up soon. He should have drained her more, but what could he do? She had do be in decent shape for the next part of the plan and if he employed any more mesmerism, her brains were going to come oozing out of her ears.

The sound of an apparation crack from the mouth of the alley made David spin around, his senses heightened.

"Magda?" he snapped. "That better be you, and you better have a damn good excuse..." He trailed off when he realized who it was. For one brief, regressive moment, David Lynes could only stand there like a schoolboy, feeling chastised and oddly guilty in the presence of his former headmaster.

"David," Dumbledore said gravely, his eyes harder than he'd ever seen them as they dropped briefly to Vivian and then came back to rest on him. "I expected better of you."

"Stuff it, old man," David ground out, throwing off his Hogwarts days with a bitter shrug. "Your days are numbered."

In the limited light, it was hard to tell, but David could have sworn the headmaster looked sad. "I think not, my boy. But I fear that yours are."

"Unless, that is, you choose to surrender," the old man continued, his voice cheerful.

"Sorry, not in the mood right now," David said, smirking and awakening Vivian, who blinked and began pushing herself up the wall. Ordering her to rush at Dumbledore, he got the satisfaction of seeing her try to do it, and the surprised look on Dumbledore's face right before he apparated away.

*******

Glumly, Balder nursed his Troll Juice, his eyes fixated on the door of The Leaky Cauldron. When he sat down, he'd mentally given Dumbledore five minutes to see his plan through before Balder stepped in with his wand blazing. After three, the door of the pub opened to reveal Dumbledore propping up a weakened, possibly unconscious Vivian.

Reaching the door before it even registered in his brain that he'd done so, Balder scooped her up, stepping outside. Lifting her head with effort, she smiled at him vacantly.

"Imperius and mesmerism, quite powerful," Dumbledore said. "She needs to go to St. Mungo's, and I need to return to Hogwarts."

"Did you get him? Did you capture the vampire?" Balder asked.

"He is gone," The Headmaster said simply.

"Gone?!" Balder practically shouted. Quickly, he lowered his voice. "What do you mean 'gone?' Dead? Escaped? How many more times are you going to jerk me around tonight, Professor?"

Dumbledore sighed heavily, looking suddenly a lot less spry and a lot more tired. "I know you believe we're enemies in this, Balder, but we are not. In fact, we share the same enemy. He wants nothing more than for us to waste our time and resources fighting each other, as opposed to fighting him. Please understand that we have no way to defend ourselves against him unless we can put aside petty squabbles and trust each other."

Balder eyed him coldly. "Between the two of us, I'm the only one who's told the truth so far. If you want to talk about trust, maybe you should look to yourself first."

The Headmaster nodded resignedly. "I shall. Perhaps I should have all along. And I apologize." Turning on his heel, Dumbledore crossed the street to the alley, ostensibly to apparate back to Hogwarts. More confused than angry, Balder apparated himself and his possibly non-girlfriend to St. Mungo's.

*******

Thera watched Harry crumple to the ground, writhing in pain as he tried futilely to escape it, his screams echoing through the ballroom. Deep in her brain, far from the Dark Lord's deep sense of satisfaction, she realized that months, maybe even years from now, she was still going to remember this, the sounds and images carved into her memory.

Torturing the Boy Who Lived. Any Death Eater here would happily part with a limb to be where she was right now. She could see them at the edge of her vision, pointing, patting each other on the back, nearly orgasmic with glee.

She wasn't.

Well, most of her wasn't. There was still that part that reveled in the power of the curse, the power of the situation, the utter and complete control over a weakened foe, the familiarity of the dark magic, the unequivocal knowledge that she was doing what she was made to do. That part was enjoying the hell out of this, and she handed it over to the Dark Lord so the rest of her could step farther back like it did every time, withdrawing deeper into the portion of her head that was all hers. It made the screams louder and the images clearer, all of it unforgettable. Unable to purge them from her mind, she would go puke them up in a toilet later, so there'd only be a residue left.

Thera Castelar, mental bulimic.

The curse was lifted briefly, to allow him to catch his breath. He was wheezing a lot, slumped over on his right side. He looked like utter shit; Crabbe and Goyle had given him one hell of a working over. His hair was probably giving Draco fits, an ugly purple bruise marred one side of his face, and he seemed to be sporting a few broken ribs.

Harry had rolled onto his stomach and was struggling to his knees, though Thera couldn't imagine why he'd bother when the next curse would send him to the floor again. That was pretty much the definition of Harry though. He never knew when to quit.

She felt a surge of annoyance at him. All he had to do was lie there and take it and wait for the Order to arrive. Why was he making it harder on himself?

"Wasted energy, don't you think, Harry?" the mocking voice came out of her mouth as Thera gazed out at the inner circle of the Dark Lord's organization. They were nodding and clapping.

"Scalp him!" somebody yelled.

"Break his legs!" another suggested.

"Grab his balls again!" shouted a voice that Thera recognized immediately as Draco's.

But the Dark Lord was feeling uncreative. He didn't want Harry Potter bleeding and limbless. Not for a while yet.

"Crucio," she said again.

As expected, Harry did indeed fall to the floor, this time curling up on himself, trying to fight off the curse. In Thera's experience, the second one was always the worst. You knew what was coming and you knew what it was going to feel like, but you hadn't quite gotten to the point where your mind could separate itself. When the curse ended, Harry had a lot more difficulty trying to stand this time, and she wondered how long it would take the cavalry to arrive.

Of course, the sooner they got here, the sooner she was the Dark Lord's official henchgirl, just like Daddy always wanted her to be. Imagining him in Harry's place made this a lot more pleasant, and the next curse she sent was the worst one she'd ever dealt out. She could feel it vibrating up her arm.

Think you can mind-fuck me from beyond the grave, do you, Dad?

The curse ended, and the Dark Lord left her head abruptly. "Impossible," he murmured.

Slightly dazed, Thera looked at him, then at Harry, who made no move to stand up, instead simply laying on his side, coughing and wheezing, his glasses askew. Thera felt the sudden odd desire to straighten them.

Harry didn't look at her, and Thera was glad. She could have easily activated the Port-a-call without him realizing it. Her pickpocketing skills hadn't suffered that much in the past few months. But she'd done it so that he'd know, lest he try anything heroically stupid thinking that there wasn't any hope. But at the same time, Thera felt that nothing good could come from Harry knowing she'd had a hand in his escape.

Harry did not have a head for subtlety, and the finer workings of her position were - she feared - lost on him, the past five minutes notwithstanding. Yes, she would do what she could to help him out if the situation called for it, but her hands were tied, and unless he viewed her as an enemy, he was going to get his fool Gryffindor ass killed.

"Impossible!" the Dark Lord shouted, his red eyes blazing. Every Death Eater in the room jumped, including Thera.

The sound of an explosion rocked the room. The floor shook and the chandelier in the center of the room swung dangerously as chunks of plaster fell from the ceiling, narrowly missing Death Eaters. Shouts erupted from the outer hallway. From the corner of her eye, Thera saw Harry struggle to his knees, ignored by Crabbe and Goyle, whose eyes - like everyone else's - were glued on the doors to the outer hallway.

The Dark Lord's voice echoed across the room, ordering his Death Eaters to rout the invaders. "Get the throne!" he shouted at Wormtail, then "Get Potter!" at two others, who quickly stepped forward and grabbed Harry's arms. Turning, the Dark Lord sent Crabbe, Goyle and Draco back to Hogwarts, then strode away as smoke began leaking through the large oak doors at the ballroom's entrance.

Wondering what she was supposed to be doing right now, Thera simply stood and watched as the Death Eaters tried to brace the doors. Harry was dragged past her, sagging in the grip of the Death Eaters holding him. His face was the color of old parchment, making his green eyes stand out starkly in comparison. They were looking directly at her, though his glasses were still askew.

The desire came again, to stand him up, brush him off, straighten out his glasses and make him into Harry again. He wasn't beaten - Harry didn't do beaten - but he definitely wasn't in good shape.

"Nice meeting you, Harry," she said pleasantly, allowing no hint of subtext to enter her voice. "I'm sorry our acquaintance was so brief."

"We'll be seeing each other again soon," he said firmly as the two Death Eaters dragged him off.

"You'd better hope not," Thera whispered to herself, her attention drawn to the large oak doors as they were blasted open. The Order had breached the ballroom.

There wasn't a great deal of bravery in Thera's family history. Castelars were not really 'grab a sword and run off to battle' sort of people. Hiring assassins and cursing people from behind had always been more their cup of tea. Going up against fully-trained witches and wizards with only a wand and a smart-ass attitude did not strike Thera as a terribly smart idea. So she turned around and hauled ass out of the ballroom.

Frantically, she searched out the Dark Lord. He was getting ready to apparate away. The call came a moment later, scratching across the palm of her left hand. Relieved, Thera squeezed her hand into a fist, finding herself in the entryway of Shirag Castle.

"But what of Potter, milord?" Wormtail was asking tentatively.

"I don't know how they found him, but they did. I can't risk bringing him here and exposing our headquarters," the Dark Lord said tightly, nodding to her. "If Dumbledore and his friends don't have him by now, they will shortly."

"Yes, how did they find us?" Lucius murmured. "Was it a locator charm of some sort, or was our location betrayed by one of our own?"

How about both? Thera contributed silently.

"Either way we should not have been found so easily," the Dark Lord responded. "Locator charms are difficult to sustain over long distances and only the inner circle knew of the location and our plans for Potter." He let his angry gaze settle on each of them in turn. "This reeks of a traitor in our midst."

Thera had to take a step back and marvel at the absurdity of the moment. Each man was actively thinking, and Thera felt a sudden urge to knock all of their heads together like the Three Stooges. She'd had a harder time fooling Harry.

Wormtail was shaking his head. "He always gets away. How on earth does he always get away?" Thera and Lucius both glared at him. Wormtail had a notorious talent for saying the one thing guaranteed to make the Dark Lord torture somebody.

"Yes, Wormtail, one does wonder how a teenage boy continually manages to slip through my grasp," the red-eyed one commented unemotionally.

The three of them waited silently for the axe to fall. Luckily, it fell on the idiot himself.

"Crucio," the Dark Lord muttered. Wormtail dropped to the floor, writhing and shrieking while she and Lucius breathed a simultaneous sigh of relief.

Breaking off the curse after a few moments, the Dark Lord stared down at the gasping man. "And you had better ensure that it doesn't happen again or perhaps I'll decide that you're the traitor." Having said his piece, Voldemort stalked away, allowing Thera and Lucius the opportunity to surreptitiously kick Wormtail in the ribs before following him.

*******

"Don't move," Amina said as an ear-piercing shriek issued from a sensor on her belt. "We're almost on top of the wards." As a unit the three took a cautious step backwards.

Leaving Amina and Gautham to do what they did best - namely, bicker - Fox stifled her impatience, focusing on uprooting a dandelion with the tip of her sword. Amina knelt down to work on the wards while Gautham looked over her shoulder, criticizing everything she did.

"You're going to use a backdoor counterspell on a perfectly simple exagio ward?" he scoffed, throwing his head back and laughing. "We'll be here until morning."

"Would you rather have your spine ripped out?" Amina shot back. "Because that's what's going to happen if you don't shut up and let me do my job."

"Exagio wards don't rip out your spine," Gautham said, puzzled.

"Who said I was talking about wards?" Amina muttered.

Realizing that they were never going to get inside unless she distracted Gautham, Fox called out, "Hey, loverboy. Come here. I have a bone to pick with you."

Grudgingly, Gautham abandoned the backseat ward disarming and shuffled over to her. "What is it?"

"What do you mean, 'what is it?' You want to get on Amina, but not me. I have feelings, you know."

Gautham blinked. "You do?"

"Of course I do!" Fox cried, putting her hands on her hips. "I may be a powerful magical being, but I can still hurt inside."

"So-o-o," Gautham said, half-uncertainly and half-coyly, "are you saying you'd be up for some...you know...attention...from the Gauth man?"

Fox turned a shudder into a shrug. "I'm open-minded about hobbies and body hair."

He gave her a sultry look she'd seen fail hundreds of times. "You know, even if I've never tried them on a real woman, I'm familiar with every position in the Kama Sutra."

Fox had a sudden flash of what Baba must go through on a daily basis, but was thankfully interrupted by Amina calling to them.

"We're in! Let's go!"

Fox put invisibility spells on the three of them as they crept up the hill to the manor house. Stopping in front of the large and formidable front doors, Amina and Gautham stood back, waiting until the leaders of the other teams gave Gautham the go-ahead.

"The Aurors are in position," Gautham whispered a few moments later.

"Just blow the damn things apart, Fox. I know you've been dying to destroy something for months," Amina said with a wry smile.

Fox drew her hands back, then shot them forward as if she were pitching two simultaneous fastballs. The front doors exploded with a fantastic 'boom,' killing the three guards standing inside them and sprinkling wood particles all over her team.

"Merlin, that's always worth it," Gautham choked out, waving his hand in front of his face, trying to deflect the larger splinters.

Once the smoke cleared, Fox jumped over the remaining planks at the bottom, her sword out, her senses humming with battle awareness.

Striding up the left hand hallway, Fox paused before the closed doors the led to the ballroom. Instead of blasting them open as she had the front doors, she instead fell back so that she could run forward, driving against the doors with her shoulder.

"Always with the Braveheart crap," Amina sighed. "Just get us in there, would you?"

Taking the invisibility spell off of them to make it more sporting, Fox ran back for another try at the doors. This time, she got through.

Looking over the ballroom, watching Harry being dragged into a hallway at the other end of the room, and Harry's psycho girlfriend fleeing as fast as her little feet could take her, Fox put her sword away. A few Death Eaters had the wits to escape while they still could. A select, stupid few faced her now, and Fox was a bit disappointed at the fact that she was in a hurry. It could've been a damn good time. With a wave of her hand, she stunned them all. Time was more important than carnage, and she had to get to Harry.

Sprinting across the ballroom, Fox barreled through the door at the end of the ballroom that Harry had passed through moments earlier. Leaping down the stairs, she took a corner at full speed and then - for the second time in one night - came to an abrupt halt.

Harry was acting largely as deadweight against two Death Eaters in full regalia who were attempting to drag him down the hallway. Seeing her, they dropped Harry and took cover behind a statue, shooting curses at her. Knowing that it wouldn't take them very long to realize that the curses didn't have any effect on her, and to start attacking Harry, Fox apparated to him and hauled him up off of the floor.

Quickly taking out the two attackers, Fox apparated them both back to Dumbledore's office. Harry didn't look good, but he was alive, her only job was to keep him alive.

Harry gazed around bemusedly, processing his new location. Finally he looked up at her, and immediately cringed. Fox had no idea what her expression looked like, but if it reflected half of the anger she felt at the moment, he should be cowering behind the chair.

"It was a trap," he said in a small voice.

"I see," she said evenly. "And you fell for it."

Harry hung his head, rubbing one hand absentmindedly across his scar. "Professor Wellbourne took us all into the Chamber of Secrets. She tricked us into using a portkey."

Professor Wellbourne did not work for Voldemort; Fox would have sensed it immediately. But that didn't mean the professor didn't work for someone else besides Dumbledore, someone with an interest in the situation, someone in an eroticized schoolgirl outfit who giggled too much. Fox took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

"That woman is a pain in the ass," she muttered.

"Who? Professor Wellbourne?"

Fox scowled. "Her, too."