Harry Potter and the Fifth Element

Chapter 84 - For Her

Hermione lurched into a nondescript room in an unknown location. Disoriented and unprepared, she tumbled to the floor, ripping the knees of her pantsuit, soiling her elegant robes, and sending the necklace-Portkey booby trap flying. A shuffling sound behind her indicated she had company.

Hermione flicked her wand from her holster, vowing to curse first and ask questions later.

She never had a chance to do either. "Stupefy!" The Stunner hit her squarely in the back, and she knew no more.

"Damn worthless Mudblood bint," a masked Death Eater swore. "Better to curse her proper and be done with it. Still, the Dark Lord must have his reasons."

After seizing Hermione's wand, the Death Eater viciously kicked her defenceless body - at the precise moment Viktor Krum arrived with a loud Apparition pop. Seeing the Death Eater, his supposed ally, abusing Hermione's sprawled and crumpled form sparked incandescent fury.

"Smyrtnozhadni laina!" he yelled, brandishing his wand menacingly. "The Dark Lord promised her to me, alive, vell, for the rest of my life...."

"Petrificus totalus!" The Death Eater dropped the enraged Bulgarian in his tracks. "Now listen, yeh stupid berk," he snarled with unconcealed contempt. "I only stunned the bitch, and that? That's nuffink ta what she deserves. She's a bleedin' menace, she is. Now are yeh gonna keep yer head and not cock things up?"

Viktor, prone on the floor, could not respond, but once the colour drained from his face - and the Death Eater relieved him of his wand - the spell was ended.

"Only ... Stunned...?" Viktor asked calmly, if disbelievingly.

"Yeah, and yer damn lucky," the Death Eater snarled. "The Dark Lord don' negotiate 'bout nuffink ... or so's I thought. Meybee he's a secret Quidditch fan."

Having regained his unflappable façade, Viktor ignored the man to gather Hermione's limp form tenderly in his arms. "Vell, let's go," he directed, in his command voice. "I have fulfilled my part of the bargain...."

Turning his back, Viktor started out of the room.

Viktor Krum might be more significant in the great scheme of things, but to a Death Eater, he was only a novice initiate. Even though unqualified to take his N.E.W.T.s, the other Death Eater out-ranked Krum - with two full years of faithful service under his mask.

"Bloody hell," he grumbled. "I ain't gonna let this newbie.... The Dark Lord wants that girl, bad. Yer not gonna screw that up." He pointed his wand at the Bulgarian's back. "Don't care who yeh are, yeh ain't gonna get that girl away from us.... Imperio!"

* * * *

Harry was done - finally done. That morning had been the last of his year-end proficiency tests, Defence, a soft option for him. His participation was a formality, to avoid appearance of favouritism. Shak had already told Harry that he would score whatever the Aurors gave him on his N.E.W.T.

Hogwarts finishing tests spanned a large range. Hagrid's was absurdly easy. Not much for grading anything, he asked every student to choose a creature to discuss for five minutes. Professor McGonagall's rigorous examination was the other extreme. It simulated the Transfiguration N.E.W.T., right down to the individual cubicles, which contained some two dozen objects (some caged) to be Transfigured into two dozen other objects (some also in cages).

Nor did every professor administer proficiency tests. Professor Flitwick substituted his individual projects. In Domestic Magic, Harry's skills had been measured through the Bake-Off.

All testing was now in Harry's rear view mirror. He had much to look forward to. The long-awaited international Quidditch All-Star match was tomorrow. Since trading insults with Viktor Krum at the Beauxbatons Ball, Harry's honour demanded that he turn in a strong performance.

Since he was going head-to-head with Krum, Harry needed to be fresh for the match - both for the team and for himself.

That presented a problem.

This evening, during the new moon, every other member of the team would be blissfully asleep. Harry would be with the Headmaster on a most inauspiciously timed Horcrux hunt. Granted, unlike Quidditch, finding and destroying Voldemort's Horcruxes was a life and death matter - his life or death. Still, Harry wondered if, to make his life easier, perhaps one or another of these events could have been put off.

Horcrux searching could last most of the night - particularly if they found something, and it had wards ... or anything, knowing Voldemort. Harry needed a lie in, for as long as possible and as close to the Headmaster's task as possible.

For that lie in to help much, Harry had to be tired. For that, Harry had a girlfriend - a very randy girlfriend who had deliberately deprived them both for a whole damn week - Ginny had decreed that she needed something to look forward to after finishing her O.W.L.s.

Harry estimated Ginny was just beginning her Defence O.W.L. She had promised that, when done, she would find him and - between goblin Cloaking magic, an Imperturbable Charm, and Professor Binns' old bed - shag him into next week. After that, he could sleep as long as he could. Food was no worry. She promised him dinner in bed.

That lay in the future. Presently, Harry sought a head start in becoming knackered with Dean, Seamus, and the usual crew in the Music Room. They assured him they knew just the music that could help.

With the last notes of "Enter Sandman" fading away, Harry asked Kevin Entwistle, "Those last three; they were by those Metallicans, right?"

"Nah," the long-haired Ravenclaw Muggle-born replied. "That first one, about not taking it anymore, was by Twisted Sister."

"All right, folks," Seamus interrupted, "get ready for 'Hallowed Be Thy Name' - on my count of four...."

He never reached four.

BANG!! With a loud report and a brilliant white flash, a spell flung the door open.

A very serious Professor Shacklebolt strode into the room. "Hold up there!" he commanded. Spotting his quarry, he lightened up. "Damn, that garbage is loud enough to raise the dead. Don't you know any reggae?"

"Wicked," Seamus smirked. "Change of plans. Like the man suggested, let's switch to 'Metal Health'."

"That doesn't sound like reggae," Harry cracked.

Shak's face hardened. He looked tempted to squeeze off another noisy spell. "Not you, Harry, outside...."

"Umm...." Harry hesitated.

"Now!" Shak ordered. "This is serious. The Headmaster wants you in his office, pronto."

"But I'm not due to...."

"Now means now, Potter," Shak growled.

With more experience in worrisome developments than he cared to remember, Harry wordlessly handed the enchanted ebony Epiphone Apparition guitar he had been playing to Dean. "What's happening?" he asked Shak in a concerned voice.

"Not here," Shak answered with finality. "Come with me."

Shak led Harry briskly down the corridor. "You're more like your father than you know," Shak tried making conversation. "According to Remus, before your mother put a halt to it, the Marauders frequented that room quite a bit...."

"Is that so?" Harry remarked evenly. Shak's mood relaxing attempts were an unmitigated failure; Harry could sense underlying tension oozing from every pore.

"According to Remus, James sang lead in a group the Marauders formed," Shak continued as they walked. "Merlin knows why they called it 'Black Oak Azkaban,' since the island has no trees...."

"Umm ... Shak?"

They were now passing the Potions dungeon. Shak stopped, turned and faced the boy.

Harry's anxiety had risen with each step they took. "Now, will you please tell me what's going on?" he asked.

Putting a finger to his lips, Shak drew his wand. "Muffliato." He revealed, with all the calm he could summon. "Granger's missing and unaccounted for."

"WHAT?!?" Harry's strangled voice could have belonged to Arnold, Ginny's Pygmy Puff.

Instantly, any chance of a non-stressful precursor to Harry's Horcrux hunt and tomorrow's big match vanished.

"Calm down," Shak ordered forcefully. "Don't assume foul play. She was with Viktor Krum. They imitated your trick over the summer and gave her minder the slip. We're having a meeting A-S-A-P in the Headmaster's office. Your attendance is not optional, but unfortunately you reek. Hold still. Scourgify!"

Hermione. The Headmaster ... and Horcruxes tonight. Just what Harry needed....

Harry's head still spun as Shak led him to Dumbledore's gargoyle guardian. Hermione? Evading her minder to spend private time with anybody - let alone Krum? That just seemed ... off. "Gobstoppers!" As the gargoyle stood aside, Shak motioned for Harry to ascend and turned away.

"Aren't you coming?" Harry asked incredulously. With Hermione missing, the former Auror and current DADA professor had to be up to his elbows in the investigation.

"Later," the professor answered tersely. Noting Harry's troubled expression, he added, "Tonks was her minder. She's pretty distraught. She's in my office, and I have to take her memory of the event. I'll be along later." Shak hurried off.

Troubled and uncertain, Harry slipped into the Headmaster's office through the oddly open door. The normal arrangement, dominated by Dumbledore's desk was gone. The Headmaster sat at the small table usually occupied by his silvery gadgets. A Quick-Quotes Quill stood perched over a basket full of parchment. The contraption resembled the communicator Dumbledore had provided at Privet Drive last summer - seemingly an eternity ago.

A semicircle of the Headmaster's distinctive chintz armchairs, some unoccupied, filled the rest of the office. A soft buzz of conversation died away as Harry entered.

Besides the Headmaster, Professor McGonagall was present from the Hogwarts staff. Two other students, Ron and Su Li, attended. Ron glowered menacingly at Harry, who wondered what they, especially the Ravenclaw, could possibly add. From the Ministry Harry recognized the mustachioed Alastor Gumboil, a Hit Wizard trusted by the Order.

Representing the Ministry in a different capacity was Ludo Bagman, Head of Magical Sports, present undoubtedly because of Krum's reported involvement.

The outer door shut of its own accord.

"We may as well begin," Dumbledore wheezed as the quill beside him sprung to life. "Others will arrive presently. What we know for certain is that Miss Granger is missing, but not alone. Thus foul play is but one possibility."

Professor McGonagall added, "I have searched Miss Granger's personal effects and found Mister Krum's letter inviting her to meet him in Hogsmeade. His romantic intent is readily apparent."

"I assumed as much when I permitted their meeting," the Headmaster commented, displeasure colouring his voice.

"I cannot speak to Miss Granger sharing those intentions," the Deputy Headmistress continued, likewise unhappy, "as I also discovered a certain historical document under Miss Granger's pillow ... a document I previously helped obtain...."

Harry instantly knew what Professor McGonagall meant, which further depressed his spirits.

"...Be that as it may," Mr. Bagman spoke for the first time. "We mustn't overdo this, certainly not yet, with tomorrow's very high profile match. Can't have this splashed on the front page of the Prophet. Surely, we've no reason to disrupt all our plans because one of the players chose to relieve some pre-match tension with a willing witch - particularly when they're both of age...."

Harry seethed. Bagman's description did not fit the Hermione he knew. But did he know her anymore?

"Umm ... I doubt Hermione would cross to the other side," Ron half-heartedly came defended their friend. "And she's definitely not the type to go off by herself like that...."

Dumbledore raised his hand to quiet the participants. "Ludo, perhaps events will vindicate you, but she is not any 'willing witch.' Miss Granger is also a prime Death Eater target - as she most certainly knows. Thus, it behoves us to ascertain her whereabouts as soon as possible. Rest assured I desire publicity no more than you."

He turned to the meeting's most silent participant.

"Now Miss Li, this year you have become one of Miss Granger's close friends. I was hoping you might have some insight - anything - into Miss Granger's intentions when she met Mister Krum today."

With all eyes on her, Su stammered, "I'm ... I'm really not sure. We were mostly friends in class - I mean, we studied together. She only started hanging out, I guess ... over the last few weeks.... Can I have some water, please?"

Dumbledore waved his hand, and a tall silver pitcher of iced water appeared. A frosted glass popped into existence next to it. After the pitcher poured itself, the glass floated to Su Li's outstretched hand.

Following a big sip, she continued, "She looked forward, I guess. She mentioned Viktor Krum only a couple of times. Had it been me, I wouldn't have talked about anything else.... Hermione, she's been down for weeks. She didn't even go to the ball."

"If she had, Krum could have told her in person," Harry grumbled. "I sure told him."

Su Li did not respond to his comment. "She did want to see what Krum wanted. I think she was trying to ... well, get over.... But she didn't seem that serious. She certainly didn't suggest that she wanted to go off ... and carry on. She's ... she's a very private person these days.... That's all I know."

It was obvious Su Li had no more useful information. Dumbledore spoke, "Thank you, Miss Li, for contributing. I do believe...."

The Headmaster's concentration was broken. "Ah, yes. Please enter." His office door swung open by itself. Professor Flitwick arrived, accompanied by Luna Lovegood and a Department of Magical Education invigilator. Luna had come directly from her ongoing Defence O.W.L.

"Now see here, Dumbledore," a red-faced Ludo Bagman protested. "The more people you involve, the less likely we can keep this - from everything I've heard, quite innocent dalliance - under wraps. I mean, Lovegood is a well-known ... I mean, the Quibbler, for Merlin's sake!"

"Oh, I quite agree, Ludo," the Headmaster disarmed him. "Miss Li, you are excused. And you...."

"Dorothy Gale. Pleased to meet you, sir."

"...Please wait outside. Ludo is correct, this is highly confidential. I shall soon have Miss Lovegood back to her O.W.L."

As the invigilator exited, Luna looked around, noting the various participants. "This is about Hermione, isn't it?" she insightfully asked the Headmaster.

"Yes," answered Dumbledore, not batting an eye at Luna's deduction.

"Then, Mister Bagman, you needn't worry, I would never do anything that cast Hermione in a bad light," Luna affirmed.

"I never mentioned any a 'bad light'," Bagman spluttered. "Really, this is Viktor Krum we're talking about, here. I suspect jealousy would be a worse problem...."

"She wouldn't do any such thing," Harry forcefully disagreed. "Not Hermione. Not now. I'm worried that she's in trouble whilst we're wasting our time yapping."

"Who can say?" Luna stared Harry down. "Something's been off about Hermione's aura for a while. It's been dark - not evil, just depressed. It may have preceded Harry dropping her...."

Now, that was in the open. Ron glared at Harry. Luna's expression was unreadable, and her anodyne voice lacked the sharp barb of reproach.

Luna had more to say. "I don't know who, besides Professors McGonagall and Flitwick, know this, but Hermione has been seeking comfort in the Mirror of Erised, although fully knowing the consequences."

Harry gawked. Ron's glare grew harder. Bagman looked thoughtful. Dumbledore's lack of reaction indicated that he already knew.

"The issue with the Mirror has been addressed, and the object secured," Professor McGonagall intervened peremptorily. "Again, I thank you for alerting us, but can you speak to Miss Granger's interest in Mister Krum?"

"Hermione's been out of sorts - withdrawn - since her relationship with Harry ended," Luna pronounced, not looking at Harry, at least initially. "She received post from Viktor Krum. She decided to try - to see whether she could want what he did, because ... well, she said she knew needed to get over you, Harry ... I'm sorry to say."

By the end, she was giving Harry a both-barrels stare with her abnormally large eyes. She seemed to look right through him.

Harry squirmed uncomfortably under Luna's gaze, which everyone else in the room soon followed. Although something unpleasant bubbled inside, Harry kept his peace.

"I don't know her plans," Luna continued, ending the uncomfortable pause. "I doubt she's the type just to go off and shag him ... or anyone...."

Wispy voice notwithstanding, Luna could be exceeding blunt at times.

"...But a couple years ago Viktor did ask her to marry him. I suppose it's possible he asked a second time. She may...."

Mr. Bagman's jaw dropped. After recovering, he interrupted, "What? But he's the world's best Quidditch player ... and he ... his lineage goes back centuries."

Harry exploded. "I wish that nobody gave a flying fuck about Krum's bloody lineage!"

"Potter, language!" sliced Professor McGonagall's icy voice. Her equally icy stare, however, focussed on Ludo Bagman.

"Now there, Mister Potter," added Dumbledore, in calming tones. "Please restrain yourself, or I shall have to ask you to leave." He repeated the same warning. "Mister Bagman, the same goes for you."

Harry reflexively looked to Ron for support, but he received only an evil eye, followed by a reproachful question. "You knew, didn't you?"

Harry replied softly, "Yes, she told me last summer when we started getting together. She turned him down.... I think that she stopped even corresponding...."

"Ah, yes, enter," Dumbledore interrupted as he magically sensed someone on the landing. The door swung open to reveal Kingsley Shacklebolt, looking thoughtful, and Nymphadora Tonks, her hair a forest of red spikes, indicative of upset or self-loathing - probably both.

"Miss Lovegood, have you anything else to add?" Professor McGonagall wrapped up. "Then we will get you back to your O.W.L."

"Knowing Hermione, I find it unlikely that she'd disappear for a tryst," Luna summed up, acting oblivious to the new visitors. "But she hasn't been right lately, so I can't say anything with confidence. Hermione needs some love in her life right now, and if Viktor Krum offered, perhaps she decided to take a chance."

Luna stood and practically wafted from the room without waiting to be excused. At the threshold she turned to wave toodles to a blushing Ron with her fingers.

The Headmaster was back to business before the door had even shut. "Miss Tonks, please enlighten us - to the extent possible."

Tonks provided a somewhat defensive description of events; beginning with meeting Hermione outside the Great Hall. At the Three Broomsticks, she selected a fairly distant table. Nursing a Butterbeer, she respected the couple's privacy whilst providing security for Hermione's "date" with Viktor Krum.

She mostly watched the door, viewing her assignment as protecting against external threats - not against one another.

"He gave her some kind of present, a necklace," Tonks recounted, "with a gold bauble. I didn't get a good look at it. It could have been a Snitch - it was about that size. They seemed to be getting on just fine, better than fine, actually. She asked him to put it on her, and stood up to face the other way. Krum went to her side of the table. He was in the way. I couldn't see. Whatever he said, I couldn't hear. He fastened the thing about her neck and then, in the blink of an eye, she disappeared."

"Just like that?" Dumbledore queried.

"Yup, we witches are funny that way," Tonks growled, her hair spikes growing longer. "I'm thinking a Portkey. Maybe the necklace; perhaps something else, I can't be sure ... tried to give them privacy. I didn't hear any Apparition pop, and I don't think she knows silent Apparition. Krum vanished a split second later, before I could do anything. I heard him Apparate. I jumped up, but hooked a bloody table leg, and that was that...."

Dumbledore looked thoughtful, saying nothing.

Ludo Bagman filled the silence. "I think that explains it precisely," he pronounced authoritatively. "He gave her jewelry, probably Quidditch related. She gave him herself. She likes her Quidditch stars, and she's hardly alone. It happens routinely...."

Chaos ensued.

Harry's wand was in his hand as he leapt up. "YOU FAT BLOODY HAS-BEEN! You...."

Tonks did the same, but lost her grip on her wand. It went spinning across Dumbledore's office floor guttering purple and green sparks.

Across the room, Bagman flew to his feet, also showing his wand. "YOU'VE NEVER PLAYED PROFESSIONAL...!"

"SHUT UP!" Harry roared, surprising even himself. "You're clueless! You don't know Hermione ... even if you tripped over her. Hermione isn't ROUTINE! She's not like anyone else...!"

Ron was just as livid as Harry. He clutched his chair's armrests in a death grip, gritting his teeth, and forcing himself to stay still.

Although not adding her voice to the cacophony, Professor McGonagall shot daggers at the flustered Ministry official.

"ENOUGH!!" Dumbledore silenced the burgeoning feud. With a swing of his good arm, the Headmaster conjured a invisible pressure wave that inexorably forced the two main disputants, still incensed, back into their seats.

Breathing heavily from the exertion, he chastised the miscreants. "Mister Potter, I repeat, you must control yourself."

Harry reluctantly held his tongue, as Dumbledore addressed the other side of the outburst. "And Mister Bagman, your position is quite clear. It may even have merit, but I ask you, as well, to refrain from further explication. It is essential that we have all the facts. Forcing Mister Potter ... underground, if you may ... would be in no one's interest...." Emphasising the point, he stared at the department head over his half-moon glasses.

The Headmaster's implicit reference to Harry's goblin connexions had the desired effect. Bagman paled, ceased struggling, and sank scowling into his chair. Having no alternative, Harry followed suit, still trembling with fury.

Sighing, the Headmaster turned to the other professors. "Kingsley, having now witnessed the event via Pensieve, what can you add to Tonks' description?"

"Nothing much," he reported. "Her description is the Pensieve version. Both were facing away when everything happened. Having seen it myself, I concur that the necklace was a Portkey. I can't say if Miss Granger knew when she touched it. Krum certainly knew."

"Very well," Dumbledore acknowledged, slowly nodding his head. "The fundamental conundrum remains. We must continue to synthesise all relevant facts. Mister Weasley, as one of Miss Granger's best friends, please offer your insights as to her intentions."

"Damn," Ron began, sounding as frustrated as he looked. "Honestly, we haven't spoken in several days - not since just after the Transfiguration test. She tried to compare notes, but we figured out that Mc ... umm, Professor McGonagall didn't give everybody the same questions."

"Correct, Mister Weasley," Professor McGonagall interrupted. "My examination precisely follows the procedures in the official N.E.W.T."

"Anyway, we pretty much had a fight," Ron admitted rather sheepishly. "She told me she was going to see Krum, and I sort of went off on her.... I was ... well, I said things about fraternising with the enemy, being disloyal to the school - you know, stupid crap. She didn't back down an inch, not her.... Defended him as different from the other Durmstrangers. Hell, she may really be interested in him ... sure isn't in me...."

"That may be important," Dumbledore commented. "Do you have any basis for that belief?"

Ron blushed shame-facedly. With all eyes on him, he took a deep breath. "Okay ... for her.... Yeah, right after the Beauxbatons Ball was ... you know, when we found out it was back on and all. Well, I asked Hermione to go with me...." He glared at Harry, who was staring at Ron in shock. "...I didn't wanna wait too long, this time. But she turned me down. I accused her of still fancying Harry ... yeah, Harry, you," Ron addressed Harry directly. "She didn't even bloody deny it. Anyway, whatever she's doing with Krum is to try to get over you...."

"Very well," the Headmaster once again intervened, before anything set Harry off again. "It seems I misjudged the import. Mister Weasley, do you have anything more?"

"No, I guess not," Ron replied.

"Then you may be excused."

"Actually, I'd like to stay, if I could," Ron requested. "I'll be good, I promise. I want to hear what Harry has to say for himself."

"I will leave that decision to Mister Potter," the Headmaster demurred. "Mister Potter?"

"Umm ... yeah ... Ron can stay," Harry answered, annoyed (as was Ron) at having to ratify Ron's presence. "I've nothing that I won't say in front of everyone. I'm not waiting until my girlfriend's left before admitting that I tried to cheat on her...."

Only his just-made promise to the Headmaster kept a furious Ron in check. He nearly threw back that Luna had not caught him shagging his best friend's sister! With effort, he merely hissed, "She knows. I told Luna...."

"And?"

"She said it was something I needed to get out of my system."

Dumbledore pinned Ron with a stern look for even these understated comments. "All right. Mister Potter, when did you last speak with Miss Granger?"

"This morning," Harry stated. "Before Shak's ... Professor Shacklebolt's Defence test, she wished me luck - saying that I hardly needed it. I did the same ... and I wished her luck with ... with Krum."

"So you knew about her 'date,' if you will," the Headmaster probed.

"Yeah, she told me, I guess, shortly after she decided to do it," Harry grumbled, but told the truth. "Ron's right, she said she went ahead to try getting over me."

"Was that today?"

"Umm ... no; back when she first told me."

"Did she elaborate anything that might reveal her intentions?" the Headmaster cut to the chase.

"Nothing, really. She looked ready to cry, so I stopped talking about it." Harry had to pause. "About Krum, I wasn't surprised, even the first time, that she was seeing him. I had words with Krum at the Beauxbatons Ball. He asked me if I knew where she was. I had this sense that he wanted to ask her out. It rubbed me the wrong way...."

"Why was that, Mister Potter?"

Harry massaged his forehead. He did not have a good answer to that question. "Not sure, really. I was out of sorts at the ball, especially near the end, after being on display for all the French all night." He opted not to reveal Fleur's underhand attempt to foist Hermione on him. "I don't ... I don't dislike Hermione. Far from it. In fact, I'm still really protective of her. That's why this whole thing sets me off. This isn't like Hermione. If she's in danger...."

"That is precisely what we seek to determine, Mister Potter," Dumbledore jumped in, to forestall another incendiary comment from Ludo Bagman. "Please tell us anything you can about Mister Krum's intentions, as you perceived them."

"He still wants to date her, I'm sure," Harry confirmed. "But something's off. Yeah, Krum once asked her to marry him, but she told me he was always a gentleman about it. That's why ... it makes no sense for them to pop off just like that to, well, to have ... umm ... well, you know. That's not like her. She certainly wasn't that way with me...."

"Well you were different, weren't you?" Tonks asked heatedly. Without waiting for an answer, she lit into Harry. "You were her first, and she loved you - probably still does, I think Ronald's spot on. She's stubborn that way. But you're right, too. I just can't believe this is a tryst. She didn't have the air of anticipation I associate with that sort of thing. It all seemed innocent enough...."

"But she could get away if she wanted," Harry commented. "I'm sure of it. She's really good with magic.... I know ... I ... did it myself once ... to see ... see Eliza.... Dammit, I can't have that happen again...."

Harry resorted to Occlumency to avoid losing his composure.

"In any event," the Headmaster sought to keep things moving. "Did Miss Granger say anything else about Mister Krum - recently, if not today?"

"Umm ... when she first mentioned getting a letter from Krum, I asked if she trusted him. She said she did. I told her I wouldn't screw up her life any more than I already had.... I sort of encouraged her to, you know, see him. Dammit, you don't think that berk would try anything ... she didn't want...?"

"Doubt it, but if he did, Krum would get far more than he bargained for," Tonks answered Harry's question with guilt-tinged relish. "I trained her in advanced sexual self-protection techniques. She could leave him permanently unable ever to ... umm ... function properly again."

Tonks brought her right hand down in a savage chopping motion.

"I certainly hope not...."

"Now there, Ludo," Dumbledore intervened again. "Anything else, Mister Potter?"

"Not that I can think of. I'd like to stay, too, though."

"Very well, on the strict condition that you remain calm." The Headmaster's stare was intense. "Perhaps some insight will come to you."

Harry dropped his Occlumency shields for Dumbledore's benefit and nodded his assent.

The Headmaster shifted his attention. "Now, Mister Bagman, please tell us what you know about Viktor Krum."

"He's probably the best Quidditch player in the world right now," Bagman replied. "It's an honour for England that he's returning to play against Hogwarts' finest. That took some negotiating, I can tell you. I don't want his reputation besmirched because he ... I didn't know the background ... The prior history. Although, I frankly don't know what a player of his calibre would see in her...."

"Excuse me, Mister Bagman," Professor McGonagall interrupted icily. "Perhaps he sees that Miss Granger is, in all likelihood, the cleverest witch of this century."

"I doubt that's it," Bagman dismissed her comment. "He's a Quidditch player. I was one myself; I know how we think.... And besides, he's from Durmstrang, remember? Her kind can't even go there."

The room's temperature dropped precipitously at the slur on Hermione's blood status. Ron bit his tongue. Harry toyed with Dumbledore's idea of putting a goblin bounty on the man's head.

Bagman charged on, but for once provided useful information. "I do know of a couple of recent incidents that were hushed up, about Krum and, well, groupies. I've seen the pictures. I must say, they looked a lot like her - Miss Granger - medium build, brown eyes and big hair. Also, he asked me for the World Cup snitch. I obtained it. He told me he wanted to make a gift of it. That kind of gift would turn any witch's head, and now I know whose. In retrospect, perhaps I shouldn't have allowed it."

"I've also played a fair bit," Harry calmly interrupted. "Were this anybody but Hermione, I would agree. But I know her better than anyone. She's not like anybody else. I doubt any present would turn her head - not that way."

Ron could no longer resist. "If she's not like anyone else," he blurted, "why'd you bloody dump her like that?"

Harry's eyes flashed, but he did not rise to the bait. Before anyone could chastise Ron, Harry had an idea. Ignoring the slight, he asked Ron, "Can you check the Burrow, and see where Hermione's hand points on the Weasley clock? If not on 'Mortal Peril,' then we could at least rule out the worst."

"There's a thought," Bagman readily agreed, but in the next breath shot the idea down. "Unfortunately, it's impossible. Arthur's in Brussels, meeting the Bulgarian minister. Tomorrow morning, he's escorting the Minister to the match. That's another reason to keep this quiet; we don't want an international incident. But to finish the thought, Arthur was taking Molly with him. So nobody's at the Burrow, and last time I looked, the Weasleys don't have elves to look after things."

"Brilliant idea, Harry," the Headmaster ignored Bagman. "I shall have someone at the Burrow within five minutes," Dumbledore declared. He nodded to Tonks, who leapt from her seat, eager to do something, anything, to redeem herself.

Ron looked troubled - beyond troubled, almost nauseous. "I don't think it'll work even if someone's about. I ... umm ... after my last fight with Hermione, I ... umm ... sort of, asked Mum to replace her hand with one for Luna. Maybe they haven't gotten around to it, though...."

Harry slumped in his chair, his face in his hands, saying nothing. He was out of ideas.

Tonks slumped by the door. Silence reigned.

Dumbledore eventually filled it. "Well, if everyone has had their say, I should report that I have also been concerned about Miss Granger's disposition. I see her approximately weekly for ... personal training. She has been distressed and unanimated. Her work has ... I suppose it has not progressed as I would expect for someone with her well-known talents. I only wish I had known some of these details. I would have made more diligent inquiry."

"So what do we do?" Harry asked, looking for guidance. "Hermione's still missing."

"At this point, having no clue to Miss Granger's whereabouts, I believe our only alternative is to intensify our search," Dumbledore recommended. "Ludo, if you wish this kept quiet, locating these two is our paramount goal. Will you interrogate everyone on the team and arrange to search all likely locations at once?"

"Will do," Ludo agreed hastily. "I'll start with Mister Troy, the captain, and Krum's best friend on the team. The resources of my department will be deployed immediately." He hopped up, looking quite relieved. "Good day, sir. May we meet tomorrow under better circumstances."

He did not escape scot-free. "Wait," Dumbledore directed, "Filius, please accompany Ludo to the visitors' quarters. Conduct a thorough examination of Mister Krum's possessions. Please report anything of the slightest value to our search to me immediately."

"Very well," Bagman acceded, his shoulders slumping slightly. "Come along then; we've jobs to do."

"Alastor and Kingsley," the Headmaster turned his attention elsewhere, "kindly mobilise some absolutely trustworthy Aurors and Hit Wizards. Start with lodging houses likely known to Quidditch players and also check less reputable sources for possible clues. Tonks, to the extent we have sources ... on the other side ... whose discretion we can rely upon, see if they know anything suggestive of foul play - and do check the Burrow, just to be sure." Those three rushed out of the office, intent upon their assigned tasks.

Only staff and students remained.

Dumbledore turned to Harry, who had progressed from steaming over the slights to Hermione to steaming over the meeting's inconclusive results. "Mister Potter, I did not wish to say it in Ludo's presence, but involving your goblin friends would be useful. Beyond a thorough search of Hogsmeade and its environs, a Gringotts review of both parties' recent financial histories may prove enlightening. Otherwise, I shall see you tonight, if not before."

Harry's sinking feeling was back. "That's all, sir?"

"I am afraid so," the Headmaster replied, looking pained. "Oh, whilst it is a long shot, please do check with Padfoot, Prongs, and the rest, just in case." He winked at Harry.

Harry nodded. Dumbledore had done him something of a favour not revealing his possession of the Marauders' Map to the rest of the staff.

Unhappy with himself for having nothing better to suggest, Harry felt worse as the meeting broke up than before it started. At least the Headmaster attempted no private chat. Discussion of his own conduct would only add to Harry's foreboding over the recent turn of events.

His escape attempt was no more successful than Ludo Bagman's.

The Deputy Headmistress halted Ron and Harry in Dumbledore's landing. Her face stony, she admonished, "I trust that neither of you will do anything rash. The situation is extremely delicate, and I will not allow damage to either Miss Granger's or Mister Krum's reputations without just cause. Am I clear?"

"Umm ... yes, ma'am," Ron responded.

Harry grunted something unintelligible.

"Mister Potter?"

"What?"

"Am I clear?"

"As Veritaserum, Professor."

"Very well."

The instant am opening presented itself, Ron bolted down the stairs, Harry in hot pursuit.

Neither stopped before passing Dumbledore's guardian gargoyle. "Ron, wait, dammit," Harry puffed, as the two entered the largely empty hallway.

"What do you want?" Ron barked testily, his red face nearly matching his hair. "The only thing I've to say to you is knock bloody Krum off his broom tomorrow - captain's orders."

Harry ignored the directive. "Dammit, why didn't you back me up? You know Hermione. You had to think Bagman was full of shite, too, but except that once...."

Ron made an unpleasant face, but at least kept talking. "Well, Harry, some of us can afford to piss off people like Bagman, but unfortunately I can't," he added brutally.

Harry's response started off sounding as if Ron had just kicked him in a most strategic location. "What?! This is Hermione we're talking about! She doesn't just run off to shag somebody, not even bloody Krum!"

A couple of Hufflepuff fifth-year girls cast questioning looks over their shoulders as they passed by.

"At least take it inside," Ron hissed. He pulled Harry into a vacant classroom. Its only occupant, a house-elf cleaning out desks for the summer, squeaked and popped away.

Ron and Harry had barely spoken for weeks. Harry half expected Ron to start screaming insults, or even to try cursing him again. A totally unexpected, subdued Ron failed to meet Harry's eyes.

"Yeah, about Hermione ... I know," Ron mumbled. "It's also my career at stake. You've probably forgotten, if you ever cared, but at that Slug Club meeting, Bagman said he'd help me get a professional Quidditch tryout. I expect he could just as easily prevent that ... if I got on his bad side...."

Harry could hardly believe his ears. "Ron ... what's more important? This is Hermione we're talking about."

"Don't Hermione me. You've no right.... Besides, I bloody well know that," Ron shot back, his ongoing issues with Harry rapidly overcoming shame at his own timidity. "But what effing good would it do? You heard the same crap in there that I did. Nobody has a clue.... Dammit."

Ron looked like he wanted to hit something.

"What if it's really Death Eaters?" Harry interrupted. "What then?"

Ron looked like he wanted to hit Harry.

Ron hit him with words instead. "Then I hope you can bloody well live with yourself," he sneered. "You probably know better than me what's likely to happen.... It's too goddamn late, anyway. If it's really Death Eaters, then whatever's gonna happen is happening right frigging now. You'd better pray it's not ... because if it is.... Hell! We'd need a miracle.... Harry?"

The air in that deserted Hogwarts classroom grew chilly - downright frosty. The lights flickered. Rounding on Harry, Ron saw him slumped at a desk. He was partially bent over, elbows on the desktop, both hands on his forehead, breathing hard.

Still, At least Harry did not seem dangerous; no glowing, ambient magic arced between his fingertips. Harry eyes bore a distant stare - Occlumency, Ron recognised - a strong dose. Ron's nostrils flared at a strange smell, sickeningly sweet, like burnt candy floss.

"Harry?"

"A miracle," Harry finally spoke, his deadly serious tone pinning Ron in place. "If I get it ... are you in?"

"In ... in for what?" Ron was surprised and somewhat scared, at Harry's inflection, his question, and his smouldering green eyes.

"Friendship," Harry replied, looking determined. "No different than Stonehenge, really."

The penny dropped. "Why not tell Dumbledore, or your goblin pals?" Ron resisted. "That would be loads safer - for everybody."

"Safe? Like hell," Harry retorted. "Death Eaters mean mortal danger, and not just the Burrow's blasted clock. Remember that new prophecy - the one we talked about from that Lilithu? It's in play. Dumbledore's the 'Watcher'; has to be. Tell him, and Hermione's as good as dead. Same with the goblins, I'm afraid."

"Because of that prophecy ... you think Dumbledore's being watched?" Ron asked, astonished.

"Yeah, that's about it, innit?" Harry answered, displeased at Ron for having forgotten something so important. "Beyond that ... shite!"

"What?"

Harry's answer seemed a non sequitur, "Voldemort's Horcruxes. Dumbledore and I are searching for one tonight. That's bothered me the moment I heard about Hermione. Seems too bloody convenient...."

Ron bit back the bile that rose at this latest reaffirmation of Harry's special status. "Why not just postpone the damn thing?"

"Can't," Harry revealed. "Tonight's low spring tide ... and Dumbledore says that's important ... must be near the ocean or something. But ... if the Watcher's being watched...."

"Bet the whole thing's a trap," Ron caught on. "Damn straight."

"But unless we go, whoever's watching Dumbledore will know we know ... and they'd kill Hermione. I have a very bad feeling about this."

"Bloody zugzwang," Ron growled.

"What?" Harry focused on Ron. Unlike Hermione, Ron rarely used unfamiliar words.

"Wizard Chess - usually how you end up," Ron explained. "I make you move, but every move stinks. Dunno why, but that's 'zugzwang'. If you're right, then we're all screwed." Angry and perplexed, Ron lapsed into silence.

"So, are you in? Trap or no?" Harry reiterated his original point. "She's told me she'd die believing I'd save her. If somehow we get that miracle.... The moment I know where to go, that's what I'm doing. You can come, or stay. Your call."

Ron looked thoughtful; then sighed. "Yeah, I'm in.... But for her, not you. If you hadn't shagged my baby sister, none of this crap would've happened."

* * * *

Harry's next several hours were fidgety and most uncomfortable. He felt he was waiting for something terrible and inevitable. That became a self-fulfilling prophecy.

Least fulfilled was Ginny Weasley - she of the "no shagging during O.W.L.s" ukase. It had made a virtue of necessity, given her accident.

Kelly's scandalous magazine discussed not just panty lines, but what lay beneath. An article about waxes caught her fancy; something Harry might like. She decided to give that a go....

But Ginny had no wax, and knew no spell to conjure some.

She recalled seeing blue sealing wax in the Domestic Magic classroom.

Bad, bad move.

Sealing wax was much thicker than the magazine's recommended paraffin. It required more heat, and hurt so much going on and coming off.

Pain wound up the least of her problems.

Magical sealing wax stained whatever it touched.

Ginny's homemade Brazilian wax job left her blue - blue morpho butterfly blue.

She felt ridiculous. Help from Madam Pomfrey was out of the question. Nor could she possibly tap her mum's deep knowledge of domestic spells. A library book provided a "household cleaning" solution, but it would take a week.

Thus, the true reason for Ginny's insistence on week-long celibacy: bright blue bald bits.

Now, that week was over, as was her problem. At precisely four in the afternoon - released from O.W.L. purgatory - she shot out of the Great Hall, randy as hell looking for Harry. Thanks largely to Harry's goblin concealments, she intended, in her own words, "to get shagged rotten."

Things hardly turned out as she hoped.

She tried everything imaginable, even offering herself in ways she found distasteful. Nothing could shake Harry's melancholy and get him into the mood. Something major - something bad - plainly preoccupied him.

What a time for Harry to make the physically unable to perform list! Although something was plainly wrong, Harry was tight-lipped. With great effort, she pried it out of him.

"I'm sorry, Harry, really," Ginny apologised mournfully. Lifting her head above the edge of Professor Binns' former bed, she sat up and let her wooziness clear. "I shouldn't have deprived you all week - you've been wanking. That has to be it...."

Harry grimaced, almost scowled. "No, not at all ... not even close."

"Then what?" Ginny pouted, her frustration boiling over. "I'm your girlfriend. You're supposed to tell me things.... I can't believe I'm suddenly so ugly that you don't want to shag anymore...." Tears glistened in her eyes.

Harry hated trying to comfort crying women. "No, Ginny, it's not like that. This has nothing to do with you, nothing at all. It's...."

"It's what, Harry? Please, can't tell me? Please?"

"It's ... complicated, and you won't like it."

"Doesn't matter," Ginny replied. "To be in love, we have to get over things like this. I want to help...." She moved closer; to cuddle him and perhaps try again to resuscitate his libido.

"Okay," Harry finally gave in. "It's ... it's Hermione. She's missing. Nobody knows where she is. They're keeping it quiet. She had a lunch date with Viktor Krum. They vanished and haven't come back. Some people think they went off ... to carry on...."

Ginny's heart nearly stopped when Harry mentioned Hermione. Was everything falling apart? As Harry continued, she quickly recovered. No, he was not still in love with her....

"Shouldn't you just be happy for Hermione? Her timing's hurtful, with Krum, and the match tomorrow...."

"No, I don't believe that," Harry interrupted, sounding hurt. "I know her. She's not that type...."

"But it's Krum," Ginny insisted. "You have to admit, he'd be quite a catch. And a couple of years ago, he did ask her...."

"NO!" Harry raised his voice, silencing her. "I wish I could think that, but I can't."

"Then what?" Ginny squawked, not appreciating Harry's tone. "Don't go all Ron on me, claiming Krum's evil or something...."

"Okay, I won't," Harry hissed, shifting to the opposite end of the bed. "But ... I don't know.... I've no proof; not the slightest clue where she might be, but ... it's just not like her."

Ginny changed her tack. "Harry, if you're so worried, talk to somebody who can do something. Let's go see Dumbledore...."

"Already did," Harry revealed, sounding even more downcast. "Met with him, and others, for a whole useless hour during your O.W.L. Nobody has any bloody idea ... except to keep it a secret...."

"Then, haven't you done all you could?" Ginny reassured whilst wriggling towards him. "Don't beat yourself up. She's her own person, Harry. She's not your responsibility, not anym...."

Harry jumped to his feet, an unfamiliar (to Ginny) burning in his green eyes. "She's still my friend, Ginny." Harry declared, his voice flat and dangerous. "As much as Ron.... Look, I'm just not peckish ... sorry. Accio clothes! I think I should try to sleep in my own bed. I'll be seeing Dumbledore again, you know...."

Ah yes - the Headmaster's mysterious mission - so top secret that Harry would not even disclose what it was, let alone take her along. "All right, Luv," she gave up miserably, utterly defeated. "Just, just ... don't do anything dangerous. I need you in one piece for the match, you know ... and afterwards.... I'll bring up dinner, like I promised. Don't you worry about that."

With sexual failure added to his accumulated baggage, Harry fled to his comparatively inviting four-poster before Ginny finished dressing. He craved a few hours sleep - a respite from the unpleasant feelings banging painfully about inside his skull.

That was not to be either. He had no Dreamless Sleep Potion.

Hermione - his mind could not escape that woman. Her sound, the sound of danger, haunted him. Unstoppable worries of Hermione in trouble and needing him to come for her drove sleep away. With slumber about to prevail, his unconscious generated premonitions of Death Eaters doing terrible, unspeakable things to her - shocking him awake.

He was almost nostalgic for his old connexion to Voldemort. At least he might have some idea what to do.

More than two tense, tossing hours passed behind Harry's darkened bed curtains. He needed sleep; dreaded sleep; and dreaded even more that, inevitably, he had to get up and face the real world - with everything as bad as before ... if not worse....

Youch!!

A painful sensation jolted him to full wakefulness.

The garnets - both of them - burned fiercely in their settings.

* * * *

Although not knowing where she was, Hermione concluded from fresher smelling air that she had been moved. No longer blindfolded, she still could not see. Whether from a Blinding Hex, or maybe Peruvian Instant Darkness Powder, made no difference. Without her wand, and with her hands securely tied behind her, she was helpless.

Since falling victim to Krum's disguised Portkey, Hermione had been repeatedly Stunned. It could have been worse; she had not been tortured. Her brief conscious moments had confirmed that, yes, she was being held by black-robed, silver-masked Death Eaters.

Stout magical ropes bound Hermione tightly to a chair. After a few minutes, the chair's intricately carved bumps and indentations were exquisitely uncomfortable, and a nasty bruise on her left hip did not help matters. The chair's very ostentation was suggestive. The Portkey's destination had been threadbare; her current location was probably the dungeon of some old pure-blooded manor house - maybe even Viktor Krum's castle.

Whilst the conjured ropes held her fast, they had some benefits. They absorbed most of the last Stunner directed at her. Otherwise, she would not be awake.

To Hermione, the greatest mystery was that she lived at all. Since that Death Eater hoax early in the Term, she assumed she was marked for death - very messy death. After Stonehenge, Tonks had confirmed from Auror sources that Voldemort's minions had standing orders to kill her as quickly and unceremoniously as possible.

Why was she still alive?

Was she bait - a lure for Harry? Or were more cards in play? Harry was supposed to hunt a Horcrux tonight. Was her abduction intended to prevent that? Were Death Eaters trying to beat Harry to the low tide and move the Horcrux to safe-keeping?

Her head throbbed with unanswered questions - most prominently would she live through this very dark night?

* * * *

Red eyes glinting, Lord Voldemort slid his long, pale fingers across the desk's fine, almost lustrous French walnut surface. From here Proprietors of Château Blackwalls ran this fief. He traced the roughness of a still warm curse scar. "Pity, such damage, but minor, all things considered.... Lucius, report!"

A masked Death Eater in the erstwhile Proprietor's office stepped forward almost jauntily. For once, he had almost entirely good news for his Master.

"We control the Château fully, and all the grounds that concern us. We achieved total surprise. Instead of fighting for their new Proprietor," Malfoy sneered the word, "almost all the staff fled through an escape tunnel that, we believe, leads to goblin territory. Their escape was...."

"Lucius," the Dark Lord snapped at his lieutenant, "does not a mass escape suggest that surprise was less than total? And the goblins ... won't they now oppose us?"

"My Lord, I cannot, of course, be certain, but we've captured Potter's second. He claims to be a sympathiser," Malfoy explained himself. "He appeared to be sabotaging the Château's wards for our benefit.... He showed one of my men a logbook. Potter ordered evacuation drills almost daily since that tunnel was completed almost a month ago. Their preparedness, that is to flee, does not bespeak failure of our effort."

"Very well, and the goblins?" the Dark Lord pressed.

"Potter's second states that the goblins will not enter Château grounds without express authorisation. That matches intelligence we've received from multiple sources. My understanding is that Potter is otherwise engaged this evening and unavailable to approve such an incursion."

"Your understanding is correct," Lord Voldemort confirmed with satisfaction. Nobody, save himself, knew all the pieces of tonight's puzzle.

"As a precaution, we rendered the tunnel impassible with liberal use of the Magmacious Curse, and for good measure collapsed its last hundred metres."

"Very well, what of Potter's supposed elven army?" the Dark Lord scoffed at the concept. "Not much in evidence, it appears."

"Rumours of Potter's manumitting house-elves and training them to fight wizards appear quite overstated," Malfoy reported. "We encountered no such thing. Even so, Ima Hogg and her team are carrying out your orders. Every elf's magic is being bonded as directed. Many Château elves misperceive Hogg as still working for Potter, facilitating our efforts. Indeed, I even hope to recapture a stray elf of my own...."

The Dark Lord waved Malfoy off. "Yaxley," he barked. "Are the necessary preparations underway?"

"Yes, My Lord," the high-ranking Death Eater answered. "Candace and Pettigrew are preparing the grounds and themselves, as directed."

The Dark Lord scowled. "Is Pettigrew being supervised?"

"Umm ... no, My Lord, he said knew the workings for the necessary spells from experience, better than any of our men."

"That may be true," Lord Voldemort replied slowly, "but Pettigrew is a bumbler. I'd best personally supervise him. Our somewhat irksome new recruit, how did he perform his assignment?"

"Krum, My Lord?"

Voldemort nodded.

"He obeyed orders immediately and well," Yaxley evaluated. "Whilst rather a prima donna, he is undoubtedly useful. His power exceeds most of your servants, and his instincts are good. He personally captured Potter's second - incapacitating him before he could disable all of the wards. Somewhat troubling, though, is Krum not inflicting lasting injury. His reluctance to use ... more forceful ... measures suggests distaste for ordinary Death Eater practices ... and how we keep potential waiverers in line."

"Then you must train him more vigourously," Voldemort chuckled. "Make that your personal project.... Now, bring in Potter's slippery second, I wish to evaluate him."

Within moments, an Apparition pop heralded the arrival of Jerry McAllister and his Death Eater captor. Patricia Byrd, a Beauxbatons mission veteran, shoved the lightly bound man forward. He half knelt, half fell at Lord Voldemort's feet. Despite his hands bound behind his back, he clumsily tried kissing his new master's robes. "My Lord...."

"You were captured whilst attempting to destroy the wards," Voldemort declared ominously. "Explain yourself."

"Ever since I created the wards' back door ... for Lucius and Bella, I have expected something ... something like this," McAllister answered. "When an unscheduled evacuation sounded, instead of fleeing with the rest, I immediately sought to disable wards that might stop your forces ... the Unplottablility function, Cave Inimicum, Anti-Apparition.... I wasn't finished when I was Stunned...."

"Yes," the Dark Lord smiled. "Wouldn't want the Château to vanish, now would we? Rise - Lucius and Bella have informed me of your efforts...."

With palpable relief, McAllister struggled to his feet.

"Yes ... let me see your Mudblooded bitch - Legilimens!"

"AAAEEEE!" McAllister screamed as Voldemort's powerful Legilimency tore at his mind. The Dark Lord was quick. In under a minute, he hurled McAllister's limp body backwards. "As I suspected," Voldemort sneered. "He is a liar. Lucius! Did you not know that his Mudblood was spirited from the country - to the wilds of British Columbia - after Stonehenge?"

Malfoy was dumbfounded. With all that had happened, he had never bothered to recheck that. "No My Lord, I had the integrity of McAllister's secret entrance, the one we used successfully tonight, checked on a weekly basis. It was always intact...."

"Silence, you fool!" Voldemort roared. "This development suggests that we may be compromised. I want guards posted and fliers overhead." The Dark Lord pointed menacingly at McAllister, who was groaning and trying to crawl. "I may yet order my faithful, competent servants to pay a visit to Comox, wherever that is. It may be that Potter's second is a double crosser. Lock him up, but do not kill him - not yet - he may still be useful...."

A disturbance outside the door distracted everyone. One of the raised voices was drearily familiar.

"Apparently our troublesome recruit remains troubled," the Dark Lord hissed. Then he commanded, "Let Krum in."

McAllister was shoved aside. An upset Viktor Krum entered, breathing heavily, his cheeks and ears ruddy. A rather stiff-necked Lucius Malfoy ushered him into Lord Voldemort's presence.

"My Lord," Krum clicked his boots, knelt, and woodenly kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes. Then he waited, tensely, for permission to rise.

Shaking his head, the Dark Lord muttered, "Krum, Krum, Krum.... What am I to do with you? Rise.... You served me well - bringing me Potter's former Mudblood. You fought well, I am told. But you cause trouble within the ranks.... State your case."

"Da, my Lord," Krum began. "I caught that man," he pointed at McAllister, "before he could destroy the vards."

"So I have heard," Lord Voldemort shrugged. "I have other things to do. What is your problem?"

"If my Master pleases, some others - who isn't important - have said that Her-my-o-nee is to be.... Vell, that vhat vill happen tonight vill destroy her mind ... that she vill be left ... a vegetable. I tell them, no, my Master promises, but they insist. I tell them, ve have arrangement, and they are liars. They taunt me about Her-my-o-nee, so I come to see you, my Lord, to prove they are liars...."

The Dark Lord paused before answering. Krum had kept the key part of their bargain and brought him the Mudblood. More generally, the world-famous Quidditch star promised to be highly useful; particularly in assisting Ludo Bagman.

But Krum had just demonstrated that, whatever fealty he professed to the cause, his first loyalty lay elsewhere. That was troubling; very troubling. Treason would never be tolerated.

"I promised you that Potter's former Mudblood is yours for the rest of your two lives," the Dark Lord carefully stated. "I keep my commitments and reward loyal followers richly. What I require of her tonight will neither kill her nor, as you put it, 'turn her into a vegetable.' In fact, she has not been harmed...."

Lord Voldemort paused for effect, and then ordered, "Bring Potter's Mudblood ex to me, now."

Instantly responsive to the Dark Lord's command, two Death Eaters - including one of Krum's unnamed tormentors - shot out the door at a dead run.

Within two minutes, the fireplace flared green, heralding their return with Hermione in tow. Roughly, but not brutally, they hustled the disoriented girl into Lord Voldemort's presence. Heavily bound by magical ropes, and still blinded, Hermione staggered into Lucius Malfoy, who haughtily pushed her away. For good measure, he deliberately tripped her with his snake-headed cane.

Hermione fell in a heap almost at Viktor's feet and lay still, perfectly conscious, but afraid of what awaited her at the hands of the unseen Dark wizards all about her.

Far back in the room, pinned against the Château's da Vinci by two Death Eaters, Jerry McAllister nearly went limp when Hermione appeared. The intrusion must have signalled Harry. He had deliberately distracted Voldemort's Legilimency in the hope - so far realised - that the Dark Lord would not search further. More than ever, Jerry realised that everything depended on Harry.

"Release her bindings," the Dark Lord hissed.

A Death Eater uttered, "Finite." The ropes restraining Hermione vanished.

"Don't vorry, Her-My-O-Nee," Krum tried reassuring her. He gently slipped an arm under her shoulder and lifted Hermione to her feet. "Vith me, you vill be safe."

"Safe?" Hermione screeched. "Are you stupid as well as phony? You brought me here!" Still sightless, she reared back and struck out blindly towards Krum's voice. Krum easily dodged her roundhouse right. Hermione spun around and nearly fell. To keep her standing, and to prevent further assault, Viktor caught her from behind and pinned her arms to her side, firmly but not painfully.

Dispensing with any request for the spell's caster to act, Lord Voldemort casually waved his wand. "Finite."

Vision abruptly restored, Hermione found herself face to face with Voldemort for the first time. Although Harry had described similar encounters, nothing had prepared her for the terrifying experience.

Hermione was utterly convinced she was going to die. Any word could be her last.

She would have screamed, but Hermione's voice betrayed her. "Y-y-you," emerged in a hoarse whisper. Averting her eyes to avoid Voldemort's notorious Legilimency; she resumed struggling against Krum's iron grip - sufficiently abusing his shins that the ordinarily stoic Bulgarian winced.

The Dark Lord noticed.

"Proof positive, my dear Viktor," the Dark Lord pronounced sarcastically. "I keep my promises. That Mudblood is alive, well, and evidently not at all pleased with her circumstances." The last remark prompted grim laughter from the onlooking Death Eaters.

Voldemort began strutting about, taunting his captive as a cat plays with a mouse. "But I, as your Master, am both bountiful and merciful. I promised you could have her, and you shall.... With my compliments...."

"Evanesco!"

Instantaneously, Hermione's clothes vanished; leaving her completely exposed before a roomful of leering Death Eaters.

Viktor was shocked enough to release her. Dropping into a crouch, futilely trying for modesty with her hands, Hermione screamed, "YOU INCONCEIVABLE BAS...!!"

Jamming his wand into Hermione's side, Viktor roared, "SCHLAFENZEE!"

The naked girl slumped bonelessly in Viktor's arms, sound asleep, her insult to the Dark Lord uncompleted.

"No. No. No." the Dark Lord chided the Bulgarian. "That was far too lenient for so spirited a Mudblood. You merely removed her will - you did not crush it. That will not do. Finite!" Voldemort ended Krum's Sleeping Charm. "You must break her...."

Terrified or no, Hermione had to protest. "He'll never...."

The Dark Lord's eyes gleamed as he cast, "Paraphilius!"

"Ummgh. Ummgh." A black rubber ball gag materialised in Hermione's mouth, reducing her speech to dull grunts.

"Petrificus Totalus!"

Hermione went stiff as a board. Had Viktor not supported her, she would have toppled over helplessly.

"Now - your turn. Finite." The ball gag vanished. Krum felt Hermione squirming again.

"Vot?"

The Dark Lord was implacable. "You heard me. Chastise her as severely as such Mudblood conduct warrants."

Mechanically, Krum obeyed. Within seconds Hermione was again incapacitated - but not before biting one of Krum's fingers that wandered too close to her mouth. She drew blood.

"You have an hour, Viktor, to enjoy my hospitality, before I require your Mudblood's services," the Master informed his recently recruited minion. "Further proving my benevolence, I am placing the Proprietor's bedroom at your disposal. Have your way with her. Use Quadrastraintus if she causes further problems. Now go! Lord Voldemort commands it!"

Noticing a Château elf, presumably suitably bonded, cowering in a corner, Lord Voldemort ordered, "You, elf, show him the way."

Viktor Krum did not need to be told twice. Rapidly, without appearing to panic, Krum hoisted Hermione's immobile form across his shoulders, vainly attempting to preserve her decency.

Krum scowled at the purpling bruise on her side.

Scrutinising the departing Bulgarian, Lord Voldemort again drew his wand. "And you shall have her - in every way...," the Dark Lord muttered, an evil smile crossing his lips as he aimed. "Imperio!"

The Unforgiveable hit Krum squarely in the back. He did not respond, as if he never felt it - typical of one ordered to do what he already desired.

"Byrd," Lord Voldemort commanded once Krum was beyond earshot. "Go to Hogg immediately. I want a trustworthy elf dispatched to the Proprietor's bedroom. For the next hour the elf is to observe everything, but do nothing. Then it is to provide me with a full report. I shall be outdoors, supervising preparations for this evening's festivities."

"Yes my Lord," Byrd instantly agreed.

"I repeat - under no circumstances is the elf to make its presence known to either of those two. I simply wish to know what transpires."

"Now, I have more important things to do."

* * * *

Her body might be paralysed, but Hermione's mind was anything but. It reeled from multiple shocks. She had survived Voldemort's malign presence....

Krum was a Death Eater, and had deliberately kidnapped her....

She was Voldemort's prize for Krum....

Krum was Imperiused....

Oh Merlin! She was about to be raped ... in the Proprietor's bedroom....

What the hell?

She was at Château Blackwalls....

Why...?

Proof positive, whatever Voldemort planned was directed against Harry.... Could she somehow contact him...?

Would he come after her...?

Would he even care...?

To avoid sinking into black depths of despair when she most needed all her wits, Hermione concentrated on her most immediate problem - Viktor Krum. Tonks had trained her, thoroughly and well, in wandless magic for incapacitating and even emasculating a would-be rapist. She had to pick the right moment, but once she dispatched Krum she would worry about everything else.

Bouncing rigidly on Krum's shoulder towards the Proprietor's Suite, Hermione revised Tonks' defensive magic. It was her only hope.

Stiff as a board, Hermione heard, but could not see, Krum firmly close the vast bedroom's door. "Imperturbatus!" he incanted. Something he kicked aside rattled across the floor.

Krum dipped. With a rustle he pulled back a sheet. The scene before Hermione's immobile eyes spun dizzyingly. Surprisingly gently, Krum laid her on the bed and instantly pulled the sheet over her. Staring at the ceiling, she saw unmistakable magical vandalism, starting with the four-poster, which had lost its canopy. The walls, the ceiling, the artwork - all defaced with ugly, black curse marks.

Hearing Krum's footsteps, Hermione braced herself.

"Her-My-O-Nee, I am more sorry than I can express," Krum spoke, and amazingly, his voice carried a ring of truth. "I vish to end.... Ahk - po diavolite.... Finite!"

The ball gag vanished.

"That disgusting thing...."

Still paralysed, Hermione shuddered internally when Krum's shadow fell over her. His wand was drawn. She readied her protective magic....

Krum merely made a circling motion about her head.

Without warning, he uttered two spells. "Finite! Petrificus ceteris!" He cast too quickly for Hermione react in between.

The result resembled something Shak once did to Harry. She could speak and move her head, but nothing else.

"Vere in here do you....?"

"I'm warning you, Krum," Hermione growled, her teeth tightly clenched. "You'd better kill me first, because if you try raping me...."

"...keep any clothes?"

"...I'll take.... Clothes?"

"Da. Clothes. If you haven't noticed, you need something to vear."

Hermione maintained her guard. "Like hell. Fat chance. You're planning to rape me. Don't think I'll give...."

"I vould never rape you, Her-My-O-Nee. Votever the Dark Lord might say. I vould sooner kill myself."

Hermione could hardly believe her ears. "What?! Have you learnt to throw off the Imperius?"

"Ne, Her-My-O-Nee ... I only vish I vere that capable. Is much simpler," Krum said, sounding disgusted at himself. "Is why I have not released you. I vos already under Imperius - the Dark Lord, I don't think he knows. Now vere are any clothes?"

Hermione allowed herself a hope that, at least, she did not face imminent sexual violation. "I left some in the closet to the right of the bed, if they're not ransacked."

"I go look."

Even if not a rapist, Viktor was still Imperiused, so Hermione maintained her defensive posture. "Imperiused to do what?" she demanded, not sure if any answer would be believable.

"I cannot let you escape," Viktor answered. "I vould help if I could, because I'm convinced my bargain vith the Dark Lord is horrible mistake."

Hermione's expression hardened with Viktor's reference to her deliberate kidnapping. Playing for time, she sought an opening. To escape, she had to surprise the Bulgarian. If she could just reach the Château's labyrinthine interior - she knew virtually foolproof hiding places. "You'd better have a damn good explanation," she warned.

"Da, but ... please, Her-My-O-Nee, first, clothes. I am uncomfortable ... this offends my sense of ... decency."

"Decency?" Hermione snorted. "Right, but, giving me to Death Eaters doesn't?"

Viktor flinched. "True enough." He raised his wand. An alarmed look passed over Hermione's face, prompting him to add. "Ne, nothing bad. I am only ending rest of the spell."

First, he guarded himself with a dual Protego against both magic and physical objects. The shield blocked any outgoing magic, preventing Hermione from being cursed. Uttering "Finite," he ended the partial Petrificus.

Viktor moved toward the closet looking for suitable clothing. "What was that for?" Hermione attempted conversation.

Viktor flashed a crooked smile. "I am Imperiused, not stupid. I am your greatest admirer, Her-My-O-Nee. You are brilliant. Should you know vandless magic along vith everything else, you attack ven my back is turned. I vould do, vere I you."

"You'd deserve it," Hermione grumbled, neither confirming nor denying knowledge of wandless magic.

"Regrettably, I know," Viktor grunted. "In other vays, I am most stupid...."

Since total nudity hindered any escape, Hermione did not bolt. She studied her surroundings as Viktor foraged in the thoroughly disordered closet. Death Eaters had looted anything of value, and destroyed much that they left behind. Jagged glass shards gaped from leaded windows, furniture was smashed, carpets slashed, and poor Godric's portrait used for target practice. The ruined windows probably remained locked, and were four storeys up. She had no wand. An Imperiused Viktor, whilst preferable a rapist, remained untrustworthy. A guard was probably right outside the door.

The Bulgarian emerged. Draped over his left arm were one of her school robes, a pair of loose fitting khaki pants, and a blue t-shirt of Star Wars armoured walkers mounting each other saying "Make Love, Not War." Viktor's right hand held, rather gingerly, two pairs of grey-green Auror-issue knickers, beige knee socks, and a pair of black patent leather shoes which, although not hers, might fit decently.

Hermione could have wept with relief seeing those particular undergarments, but her poker face would do an East End card shark proud. With them on, her honour would no longer be at Viktor Krum's mercy.

Not that he seemed very threatening. He seemed embarrassed by her Transfiguration of one set of knickers into a passable brassiere.

After dressing beneath the sheet, Hermione anxiously turned towards an equally nervous Krum, "Did Voldemort really mean that, due to your arrangement, whatever it is, he won't kill me. I can't believe it...."

Krum, still under his Protego, settled into the only chair sufficiently intact to support his weight. On the bed, Hermione warily faced him.

"Da," Krum began. "The Dark Lord is powerful. Somehow, he knows almost everything. Barely a month ago - vith your rift vith Potter still news - he personally surprised me in Braga, vere ve had played exhibition. I thought I vas dead. Instead, he Legilimenced me ... looked into my heart. He saw my dreams, my fears, my desires ... and that I still love you."

"Pfbbt," Hermione expressed her disbelief.

"That ... that is true. Everything in my letter, truth ... absolutely. You are so different...."

"Spare me, Viktor," Hermione interrupted. "Before, I might have been interested. Now I'm just repulsed. I'm sure you know why."

His shoulders slumped, although his Protego remained, glowing faintly blue-white. "Da, I am as much fool as Potter. Anyvay, the Dark Lord promised that anything and everything vas possible. He knew, somehow, about ... Prague ... when I vas vith ... you'd call them 'groupies.' It vas only because their looks ... they remind me of ... umm ... you. He knew that."

"Instead of killing me, he offered proposition - one he promised vould save your life ... the only vay, he said. If you stayed vith Potter, the Dark Lord swore you vould die as prime enemy before I ever saw you again. If you did nothing, same outcome, as an undesirable Mud... er ... Muggle-born. The only vay you vould live, he said vas vith me."

"I had vanted that for years ... believe that, if nothing else, and vith your death the only alternative.... It vas offer I could not refuse. I only had to bring you to him - for this one night - then you vere safe, and mine, forever."

If Krum hoped for Hermione's sympathy, he was grossly mistaken. She was incensed. "So you and Voldemort - made this little deal, hoping I'd never know? Don't I get my say? Maybe I'd rather die, on my own terms...."

She broke off her rant. Hermione's eyebrows shot up - she put two and two together ... and this time came up with five.

"So that's it," she hissed dangerously, her eyes glinting. "Why you went to the Beauxbatons ball ... to tidy things up with Harry. To have him connive in your little scheme.... You and he conspiring to decide my future, behind my back! Well ... I don't appreciate.... Oppugno!"

Krum already assumed she knew wandless magic. Hermione was giving nothing away. She hoped that, perhaps, Krum's shield was not as robust as it appeared.

She learnt otherwise. The conjured starlings bounced harmlessly off Viktor's Protego and dissipated, merely startling him.

"No! That's wrong," Krum protested. "I only vent to ball to find you. I vanted to ask you personally to come on, vell, today's date. I said nothing to him, only asking vere ver you.... I svear I vas not making arrangement. Potter is stupid."

"No, he's not," Hermione disagreed.

"Yes, he is. He gave you up. That vas stupid." Krum spoke softly, hanging his head.

Hermione had no response, nor any desire to discuss Harry with the traitorous Krum.

She chanced another subject. "So, I imagine that the guard outside our door wonders why I haven't been screaming."

Viktor's expression turned glassy-eyed. "I vish I could answer, but no. That information might help you escape."

She could see the Imperius in his eyes. Viktor was truthful about that. Nothing she did could enlist his help. His shield was too strong for her wandless magic, and he would not drop it. Any escape attempt must be postponed ... so Hermione tried learning what she could about later.

"Then, what does Voldemort have in store for me," she asked. "That won't help me escape." She pinned him with her patented glare. "You owe me that much."

"Is big secret," Krum answered. "Nobody at my Death Eater level knows. And I'm ... not exactly close vith the rest. They ... they're jealous of my special arrangement vith the Dark Lord. I did hear one rumour, rather odd ... probably wrong."

Hermione thought she might learn something useful - if only Death Eater scuttlebutt. "What?" she prodded.

"I overhear one telling another that ve're here because this is ancestral home of Bella Lestrange."

"Lestrange? But since Stonehenge, nobody's even.... Oh, Merlin...!"

Should what Krum just said be true, the Dark Lord had lied to him from the onset. To perform that spell correctly, she - the enemy - had to die at its conclusion. Hermione had read that in black and white.

* * * *

Harry yanked out both rings before the burning garnets did lasting damage to his navel. His thumbs confirmed the worst. Both alarms had tripped essentially simultaneously.

Death Eaters had invaded the Château, with both Lucius Malfoy and Bellatrix Lestrange in their midst.

Could this relate to Hermione's disappearance? Harry's logical mind could deduce no relationship between Hermione, or Krum, and anything at the Château. Hermione had visited only as his guest, during their now-ended relationship. Krum had never set foot there - and never would as long as Harry was Proprietor.

Harry's instinctive heart jumped to the opposite conclusion. Hermione had disappeared on the same day that Death Eaters invaded the Château. Nothing else mattered. The timing was too close for coincidence.

These events had to be connected ... somehow.

Tonight he was going to hunt Horcruxes with the Headmaster. That was probably connected, too.

Wait a minute.... Harry had a map of the Château - like the Marauder's map. McAllister had sent it.

Where in Hades was it when he needed it?

Harry tore into his trunk, tossing its contents about. A couple frantic minutes' rooting produced the map. He uttered the default pass-phrase (having not bothered to personalise it) provided by McAllister. "I solemnly swear I am Harry Potter, the Proprietor of Blackwalls."

The map unfolded. The Château's boundaries appeared ... and nothing else.

"Damn," Harry swore. He remembered that the map functioned only when physically within the Château's grounds, a privacy feature, according to McAllister. Disgusted, he tossed the useless map aside.

What else could he do? Sending McAllister an owl took too long. If the Death Eaters had taken over, an owl would be counterproductive, endangering his wily majordomo.

If his gut were right - Harry trusted his instincts - he could only approach Ron, not Dumbledore or the goblins, without risking Hermione's life.

So Lilithu's prophecy foretold. He had never encountered a more powerful seer. Harry and Hermione had debated its meaning, and had jointly reached that, their best conclusion.

He could not Floo. Dumbledore would know.

Flying a broom would take almost as long as an owl, and his appointment with Dumbledore was now fast approaching.

Even if his Patronus could travel that distance (doubtful), it was too noticeable.

He could not bear doing nothing - not with Hermione's life at stake.

Harry was about to pull his hair out.

"Damn, damn, damn, damn."

Suddenly, an idea. "House-elves!" he nearly shouted. Elves came when their - he loathed the term - masters demanded. "Dobby!" he called in a firm voice.

Then he waited.

And waited.

And waited.

Nothing.

Dobby did not appear. Increasingly frantic, Harry tried again, "Blonny!" That name hardly escaped his mouth when, ruefully, Harry recalled that this elf was dead.

Embarrassed and disgusted, Harry flopped on his bed. Try as he might, he could not remember any living Château elf's name save Dobby - not even last December's carriage driver.

"Zippy! Tippy! Willy!" He shouted random names with no success.

Breathing fast, Harry entertained increasingly desperate thoughts. Should he say to hell with everything and simply fly his Valkyrie to the Château? Should he say to hell with the Sisters' prophecy and tell Dumbledore?

Was Hermione - at this very moment - dying at the hands of Death Eaters? Why at the Château?

Harry had no clue what to do. Vigorously he shook his head, trying to rattle his brain back into decent thinking mode, when his eyes fell on....

...The uninhabited frame of Godric Gryffindor's replacement portrait.

Portraits! Likenesses in magical portraits can travel between them almost instantly, and at practically any distance. After McAllister's redecorating, the Château had at least three Gryffindor portraits.

Unless the Death Eaters destroyed them.

Dumbledore had showed him a spell last summer to summon a portrait's resident.

Dammit! Harry could not remember that, either.

Some sort of powder had been involved and should still be in his trunk. The Twins swore that they collected all his belongings from Privet Drive after Harry's Death Eater kidnapping - even what was under that loose floorboard. Surely, they would have collected the powder.

Again Harry lunged for his trunk. Rummaging was too slow. He inverted it and dumped its contents on the floor.

In the mess, he found only a silver tin of Floo powder.

Harry was almost despairing when something possessed him to open it. Inside was a note, in his own handwriting, containing precisely what he sought.

Finally, something went right.

"Aparecium portratus!" he loudly incanted.

Using his wand, Harry torched rather more Floo powder than recommended. He needed to get the Founder's immediate attention. Moments later, he heard a sneeze, and then another. A less than pleased Godric Gryffindor shuffled into view, a hanky to his nose.

"All right, all ready," the image complained. "I thought I told you, use just a pinch.... I rue the day Helga invented that awful concoction. My allergies haven't been the same since...."

"Umm ... sorry, sir," Harry tried sounding humble, "but it's an emergency, and you might have to tell Dumbledore, whether I want to or not, and I've ... we've ... other things to worry about." The Sister's prophecy meant he couldn't tell even Gryffindor about his fears for Hermione.

The Founder's reproachful look vanished. "Of course, I'll help," replied Gryffindor, "but you'll have to see the Headmaster. I can't get to Dumbledore."

Harry could not believe that. "You can't...?"

"Can't," the Founder repeated. "I don't hang in the Headmaster's office any longer, and he wards against anyone not in his office's portraits. Surely you understand Dumbledore doesn't wants meetings interrupted by Sir Cadogan's latest quest, or by some idiot chased by a stampeding Erumpment? I'm not there any longer, and I can't enter if I wanted to."

Harry reckoned he would see the Headmaster soon enough. He explained to Gryffindor why he believed the Château had been invaded by Death Eaters. He asked, and Godric agreed, to visit his likenesses in the Château and report anything he found.

The next ten minutes were amongst the longest of Harry's life. Every passing second gave Death Eaters more time to kill or torture his staff, for Merlin knows what purpose. He hoped McAllister's evacuation plans worked as well in practice as in theory. He would call in the goblins if necessary....

Looming over everything, pushed uncomfortably into the background for a moment, was Hermione's continuing disappearance - now several hours old.

To keep himself busy, Harry righted his trunk and half-heartedly began tidying up. He found the Endangerment Buttons that were Jazzy's Christmas present. With the Auror Partner Rings, he had never used them, and then forgotten their existence. Unsure if Jazzy had pre-Charmed them, he shoved one in his ear - it whined plaintively....

Finally, looking rather windblown, Godric Gryffindor reappeared. "Death Eaters, alright," he declared without preamble. "Quite a few, inside the Château and probably more outside...."

"And the staff?" Harry immediately asked.

"One captured, I gather - and another dead, I'm afraid, although more casualties are possible because artwork isn't everywhere, particularly in dungeons...."

"Who?" Harry demanded, even more rapidly.

"Your McAllister is captured," the Founder answered; looking like he wanted to change the subject. "The deceased, I don't know. She was in what looked like a classroom - stuck fast to the wall with quills piercing her vitals...."

"Oh, shite!" Harry yelped and sat heavily on the bed. "I hired a teacher, for the elves.... A Squib...."

Gryffindor interrupted. "Would it matter that I saw your former lover, Miss Granger, in the...?"

"WHAT?!?" came Harry's high pitched screech, which would have done Renata Tebaldi proud. "Oh, Merlin! You can't tell anybody - anyone, I warn you ... I beg you...."

The Sisters' prophecy predicted death - he was sure it meant Hermione, now - if this information became known.

A portrait was not, technically, a person. At last with proof that Hermione was in Death Eater clutches, Harry took no chances.

"You have my word...."

"What did you see? Was she alive? Was she being tortured?" Harry's questions tumbled after one another like circus clowns from a Swatchmobile. "Accio basilisk armour!"

A green suit of goblin-made vestments burst from the partly-filled trunk and nearly knocked Harry over.

"Take a deep breath, Mister Potter," Godric commanded the frantic young man. "She was only talking. Just one other person in the room.... He spoke heavily accented English ... Slavic I suppose...."

"Krum!" Harry exploded. "I'm going!" he decided on the spot - as if he gave himself any choice. "You, just stay here. Don't say a word...!"

Gryffindor could barely get a word in edgewise. "The wards.... They're unstable ... malfunctioning.... I was almost trapped...."

Harry pulled shut the bedclothes, cutting off the portrait. His brain raced whilst his body stumbled. He had his wands....

He spotted his goblin Sempiternal League dirk protruding from his chaotic trunk.... At least he knew where something was.

Brooms! The Valkyrie! He yanked his from under his bed. The best way to travel, but with Ron.... "Accio Hermione's broom!"

He overdid it. One instant, nothing; the next - POW! - her broom was hovering in front of him. Cautiously he touched it.

Thank Merlin! Maintenance mode. He propped Hermione's broom beside his.

The Cloak! Where was his Invisibility Cloak? Probably under his pillow.

Should get dressed first!

Harry hurriedly stripped to his underclothes. He began donning armour not worn since the Alitserat. It was stiff. With one-half of his trousers on, Harry leaned over to pull up the other leg. It caught on itself....

"Dammit!" Harry cursed. He pulled harder, balancing on one leg. Was there a spell...?

"Harry, what on earth is going on?!"

Hearing Ginny's plaintive voice, Harry spun around. His non-pivot foot collided with something solid - the gift computer from his relatives. Clumsily, Harry fell to his knees.

Looking up he saw his girlfriend, levitating a golden tray of food, courtesy of the elves.

Harry was half dressed - in scaly green armour. The floor was strewn with the contents of Harry's nearly emptied trunk. Two impressive brooms and an equally striking short sword leaned against Ron's bed. Harry's own bedclothes were closed.

Ginny was not stupid. The penny dropped almost immediately.

"Don't, Harry," she warned.

"Don't what?" Harry answered curtly. He resumed tugging on his pants leg.

"You're going haring after Hermione," Ginny declared, skipping even the pretext of a question. "Somehow you've learnt something...."

The Sisters' prophecy loomed. "I ... I can't answer that," Harry rebuffed her. Finally getting his trousers on, Harry started on the doublet.

"Don't do this, Harry," Ginny insisted. "Tell Dumbledore, dammit, you'll see him soon enough. Don't go gallivanting by yourself again. She's not your girlfriend anymore - I am. I want you to stay with me. Have some dinner...."

"Don't tell me what to do," Harry answered grimly, his voice a warning. His hands continued fumbling with the rather impliable fabric's inner fastenings. Deep inside him, Harry noticed an uncomfortable, bubbling heat.

"Harry, please," Ginny whined. "Look at you! You're obviously expecting a battle or something, but you insist on going by yourself. You could get killed!"

Ginny was right. Harry knew he had a death wish. He had said as much to Ron earlier. Now, he realised he did not care.

"Ginny, don't," Harry repeated with some force, suddenly feeling rather unwell. "You don't understand...."

"Then tell me, so I can understand!" Ginny reacted furiously. "Tell me why you'd rather risk your bloody life haring after her than staying here with me?"

Harry's insides felt like they were melting. With effort he controlled himself. He could not afford being sick now. "I ... I can't tell you about that.... It's ... it's secret. It has to be." Weary of arguing, he turned away. Whatever he was feeling, he had to heal himself. No time to lose.... His fingers felt huge and numb, but he kept trying to fasten his shirt.

Ginny did not offer to help. "A secret - from me - about her?" She continued reciting her litany of reasons why he should stop and stay.

Harry closed his eyes, hard, trying to shut her out. His head hummed like it was vibrating. He did succeed in shutting out his sense of smell, and did not notice the distinct odour of burnt candyfloss. "Please, Ginny, don't interfere ... not now. Don't...."

If Ginny noticed anything, she had more important things on her mind. "Don't interfere?" Ginny echoed scathingly. "I'm your girlfriend; it's my right. If you won't stay, take me with you. I can fight...."

After getting together with Ginny, Harry had consciously decided not to tell her about Horcruxes or prophecies - to keep her safe. Unlike Hermione, she never insisted on knowing everything, until now.

Now he was stuck.

Harry could not tell Ginny why she was wrong, and why Hermione's very life hung in the balance.

"...I'll get my armour. I've never worn it...."

His head was pounding. Harry croaked, "No Ginny ... don't...."

Ginny's temper flared. "Why Harry, why? I want to go! I know you'd take her; take me! You ... you have to let her go! She's not your responsibility anymore.... You're only responsible for me, now, so take me! She lives her own...."

Finally, she noticed something beyond Harry's stubbornness at work - it resembled smoke.

"That smells like ... crème brulée? Harry, talk to me! What's happening...?"

Throughout Ginny's rant, Harry willed himself not to react. The effort of forcing his magic inward finally made him dizzy.

His brain throbbed rhythmically.

His heart raced.

Harry felt like he was about to burst.

Sticky sweat poured off his body, fouling his armour. His headache was enough to split his skull. He mumbled, "Ron ... went for ... to save...."

Harry dropped to his knees. He did not know what, but something was sizzling - audibly and visibly.

It was Harry.

Seeing Harry on all fours, exuding visibly smoky vapour, Ginny went frantic. "Harry! What's wrong! You're steaming! That sickening sweet smell! You need to be in bed!"

Ignoring the billowing stench of carbonised sugar, Ginny lunged for Harry. "You're too sick to go anywhere! Let me help!"

She moved to grab him, but Harry's strangled scream stopped her in her tracks. A crackling arc of yellowish magic emerged from the sludge brown haze surrounding him. Upon contact, Ginny was flung bodily across the room. She flopped clumsily against Seamus' bed curtains and slid to the floor.

"Harry!" she gasped. "What did you just do...? Should I get Pomfrey? You're ill."

"No," Harry groaned, still on all fours. His head pounded. His insides churned as if they were boiling. It was just like....

"Aaaargh!"

He threw up. He convulsed. He sweated profusely - it reeked like the smoke.

Ginny screamed and tried again to reach him. The yellowish magic surrounding Harry swelled instinctively in her direction, pinning her firmly against the side of Seamus' bed.

Coincidentally, Harry's his head was clearing rapidly - wonderfully. Swaying slightly, he regained his feet. "Ginny, just go," he ordered.

"What? You can't...!"

Harry switched to command voice, leaving no room for argument. "I can, and I will. This doesn't involve you, so just ... go away. You don't understand. I'll do anything for her, even if she were just my friend...."

"Harry...? Bwaaaah!" Bawling, Ginny ran from the room.

He ignored her, not even watching her exit. Something about Ginny was off - very wrong indeed - but it would have to wait.

His focus - now crystal clear - was entirely elsewhere. Critically, he had Hermione to rescue.

But he was filthy. Beneath his Invisibility Cloak, his body odour would be a dead giveaway. "Scourgify! Scourgify! Scourgify!"

Suddenly freed of distractions, Harry relentlessly cleaned his armour and sealed it properly, activating its goblin charms. He rechecked his dual wand holster. When he grasped the pommel of the Sempiternal dirk, it glowed. Seemingly magnetised, its scabbard stuck fast to Harry's hip.

Needing to grab his Invisibility Cloak Harry pulled his bed curtains open. Gryffindor's image acknowledged him. "Off to battle, I see ... Gryffindors forward!"

Stirred by the Founder's words, Harry saluted his House's namesake. His gaze caught the pennant mounted just below the portrait. Its slogan seemed apt.

"As good a time as any," Harry told himself.

He summoned Neville's gift; he would wear it into battle.

Harry was still tying it about his head, over his armour, when an angry voice challenged him. "Potter, you arsehole, what did you do to her?"

An incensed Neville Longbottom strode into the room, wand out, fists clenched, spoiling for a fight.

"I told you, you'd hurt.... Shite!"

Neville was not prepared to duel an opponent wearing full Basilisk-skin armour, armed with a goblin blade, and sporting Neville's own gift - that "Death or Glory" bandana - wrapped around his head kamikaze style.

Neville's aggression dissipated at the striking sight. "What the hell, Harry? What's this about?"

"I can't tell you," Harry tried ignoring Neville. He was more concerned with storing his Cloak. "Look, I'll fight you later over Ginny if you want. Now, I'm busy."

"This ... this is about Hermione, isn't it?" Neville shut Harry up.

"Umm ... you know about that?"

"She's been gone all day, and Dumbledore mentioned it at dinner," Neville pointed out. "From the looks of you, it's a lot worse than he...."

"I can't say anything," Harry reiterated, brushing Neville off.

That reignited Neville's anger. "I'm surprised you even care. What did you say to Ginny?"

"Later. Just go away, dammit," Harry growled. "It's none of your business."

"The hell it isn't," Neville would not be deterred. "You've hurt both girls I've ever cared about...."

"Neville, just get out!"

"No! If you're going after Hermione, I want to come! You promised...."

"You can't! Not this time!"

Neville collected himself and showed his wand - ironically, a gift from Harry. "You're leaving with me or over me. Your bloody choice."

While Lilithu's prophecy applied to both Neville and Ginny, Harry had another option with Neville. "Then I have no choice...," Harry began ominously. "You owe me a promise, Nev.... And I'm calling it, now."

Neville expected some nasty spell - not that. "What?"

"At Christmas.... You made a future promise," Harry reminded Neville. "Well I'm invoking it now. Get out of my way."

Neville fumed with impotent rage. "What a miserable waste of a promise.... Making me sit on my arse with Hermione's in danger ... and don't bother denying it, you wouldn't be...."

"Not a waste," Harry silenced him. "I need you to do something else...."

Neville's initial protest resonated with Harry, who would have reacted similarly. Neville had proved his worth, and Harry had a job for him - something important.

Neville was disgusted - with the situation, with Harry, with himself for ever giving Harry the promise. "What?" he scoffed. "Keep your bloody bed warm."

"No! Listen, dammit. I'm supposed to meet Dumbledore at ten, sharp, to ... well to find something essential for us ever to have any chance of killing Voldemort. Something ... well he's immortal as long as it exists...."

Neville's eyes went big. "You mean, a Horcrux?"

Taken aback - really aback - Harry asked, "You know about those?"

"Not much, but one of my ancestors, maybe six hundred years ago, supposedly made one, but got caught. The Ministry beheaded him after the Horcrux - if it really was one - was destroyed," Neville revealed.

Harry had lots of questions, but time was a-wasting. "Well, Voldemort's made several, and believe me they're real."

"Okay, I'll...."

"Before you agree, I'm warning you, this could be a worse ambush than the Ministry. I think somebody's monitoring Dumbledore. I'm worried, if this Horcrux hunt doesn't go on as planned ... well, like you said, I'm dressed this way for a reason."

Neville sighed. "So it might not be a Horcrux at all?"

Harry shrugged, offering the unvarnished truth. "Can't say. Dumbledore is convinced he's found one. It has to be tonight because of the tides - low spring. Look, if you'd rather not...."

POP!!

Neville and Harry both trained their wands on the unexpected sound, but faced only two house-elves. One almost immediately popped away, leaving only....

"DOBBY!" Harry exclaimed.

"Dobby is being so sorry, oh great Harry Potter, sir," the elf wailed. "Death Eaters being in the Château. Staff's being gone. Bad wizards being binding elf magic ... a-making elves to be hunting Dobby, and stopping me from answering your call...."

Done apologising, Dobby grabbed the heaviest thing within reach - the Dursleys' unfortunate computer - to drop on his own head.

"No!" Harry ordered.

The gravity of the situation was not lost on Dobby's audience.

"I'll go with Dumbledore then," Neville declared, "even if you didn't have my promise. Ten sharp!"

Dobby's news made it exponentially more likely that Harry was sending Neville (and the Headmaster, but he could fend for himself) into a trap. "Neville, you needn't do this...."

"NO!" Neville shouted, probably startling even himself. "I mean, Gran says you're gonna get me killed someday," Neville gave Harry a grudging smile. "I'll do it for her. If this helps you rescue Hermione, then it might as well be tonight!"

Neville turned on his heel, leaving Harry and Dobby to their business. Harry was pleased to see Neville removing his own Basilisk-skin armour from his trunk.

"Muffliato!"

"Dobby, this is critically important. Did you see Hermione anywhere?"

The elf gawked, his eyes fearful. "Miz Myone? Nossir. Just Death Eaters is being there ... and Ima Hogg; she's being one of them."

"Did the staff escape?" Harry asked hopefully.

"Yes, Harry Potter, sir, they's being running to the goblins." Dobby gave a reassuring answer.

Dobby, noting Harry's garb, added. "Is goblins being fixing to fight Death Eaters with you?"

"Hell...." Harry could mobilise a goblin army, but with Death Eaters holding Hermione.... At the first sign of a goblin attack, her life would not be worth a bent Knut.

Harry made an instantaneous, instinctual decision. From the mess surrounding his trunk, he Summoned a quill and the first piece of parchment he saw (his special Apparition license). Harry scratched out a quick note. When finished, Harry deliberately poked his finger with the quill.

Smearing his Manmak with his own blood, Harry personally sealed the note with his bloody signet ring.

"Dobby, listen carefully. This is a life-and-death matter. I need you to deliver this note to Slamdor, you remember...."

"Yessir, he was being chief of your guard," Dobby anticipated.

"Well, he now commands the goblin rapid reaction strike force," Harry continued.

"Yessir, I's to be getting them there fast - A-sap," Dobby cut Harry short again, reaching for the note.

"No." Harry yanked it back. "Just the opposite. This is essential. Tell Slamdor to get ready, but not one goblin makes a move until I give a signal." Harry chopped the air for emphasis. "Bad things - really bad things - will happen to Hermione if the goblins don't wait for my signal. She could die. Got it?"

"Yessir, Harry Potter, sir." Dobby reached for the parchment.

Before handing it over, Harry had more instructions. "After that - when you're done with the goblins - I want you to go...." Harry looked around, but saw nothing. He incanted, "Accio château map!" The useless map swished from under his bed, blown there by Harry's earlier magical wave.

"You know the Château's boundaries, right?"

"Yessir, every inch does I," Dobby affirmed.

"Wait for me here," Harry pointed. "This is a secret entrance.... Whoa!"

Gryffindor was right. The Château's wards were malfunctioning. The grounds' interior blinked erratically on and off. Outlines of rooms - and more importantly, named dots - flickered irregularly over its surface.

Maybe Harry hallucinated, but for an instant, he thought "Hermione Granger" appeared on the Château's south side - the side nearest the secret entrance ... and the goblin tunnel ... and the Black burial grounds ... and the greenhouses....

"Have you got that?"

"Completely, Harry Potter, sir," Dobby's head bobbed wildly.

"Now go!"

Dobby popped off.

Harry decided that the Château's map might not be totally worthless. He unfastened his chest armour and slipped the map next to his doublet. He removed his Invisibility Cloak.

Forty-seven minutes until Dumbledore time. Harry wanted to be well gone before the Headmaster met Neville.

"Accio Ron's goblin armour!" Harry shrank the brooms, threw the Cloak over himself and went in search of the final piece of the puzzle.

Ginny was still making a scene in the common room. 'Sorry, Ginny,' Harry thought as he invisibly skulked by. 'I'm not your perfect færie-story.... They don't write 'em like that anymore....'

Her commotion helped Harry slip through the portrait hole unnoticed, except by the Fat Lady.

"Who goes there?"

Not sure it would work, Harry whispered, "Somnius." The Fat Lady keeled over in her frame.

He would have hell to pay, and Ginny ... it was like Shakespeare said about Denmark.... All that was for later. For now, Ginny was worse than irrelevant - a distraction. Harry had to go....

In a deserted spot, Harry activated the Marauders' Map. He located Ron in the Gryffindor Quidditch captain's office. His dot was very, very close to Luna's.

"Can't teach an old dog new tricks," Harry muttered as he made for the exit nearest the Pitch. To save time, he restored his Valkyrie to full size and mounted it as soon as he was outside.

The light through the clubhouse windows chilled Harry. He recalled the last time he and Ron had been in that building at this hour - an unpleasant experience for both.

He doubted Ron would appreciate the interruption. He had not appreciated Ron barging in on him and....

'It doesn't matter,' Harry forcefully reminded himself. 'Nothing matters. This is for her.'

Harry Alohomoraed the front door, stepped in, and, respecting the pair's privacy, directed a Communications Patronus at the captain's office door. "Expecto patronum publicus!" Harry heard his voice boom through the locked door, "I GOT WHAT I NEEDED, RON. LET'S RIDE THESE VALKYRIES! IT'S MIRACLE TIME!"

Mentioning Valkyries added incentive. Ron had always been jealous of the high performance brooms he and Hermione received from the Ministry.

Harry had not expected Luna to charm the door wide open - whilst she and Ron were still intimate. Some politicians might not call that sex, but Harry did.

"Blubby hull Lunna!" came Ron's muffled protest from underneath.

"You've found Hermione, then?" Luna asked from her perch, characteristically direct, but uncharacteristically intense.

"Umm ... I can't ... umm ... tell you anything about ... er ... that." Harry stammered, averting his eyes.

Fortunately for Harry's speech faculties, Luna Summoned her robes without further ado. "Too late, Harry, Ron's told me about your miracle."

"Ron ... the effing prophecy!" Harry wailed, his pain almost physical. "You've bloody well...."

"No, dammit," Ron yelled. He jumped off the captain's desk, still starkers. "Luna convinced me ... she interprets 'joined' in that prophecy quite differently."

"I'm an empath," Luna replied serenely as she walked out of Harry's sight. "We were just leaving Gryffindor tower when I felt ... well whatever you did. I knew you'd be coming...."

"You did!?" Ron squealed.

"That's why I stopped by Ravenclaw, for this," Luna unshrank a bundle she removed from her handbag.

"Basilisk armour! But what about mine?" Ron suddenly looked frantic, and naked - very naked - as he glanced between Luna and Harry,

"I have yours, Ron," Harry interjected. "Depulso!" He banished it in Ron's direction.

"You ... where's Hermione, then?"

"At the Château. Death Eaters have taken it over."

"Why?"

"Not sure. Probably because I own it."

"You're sure about this?"

"No time to explain everything. My Gryffindor portrait ... there's others at the Château. He brought back an eyewitness report," Harry briefly explained. "Now if you're in, let's go. Otherwise, I'm leaving by myself."

"Like I said before, for her, not you," Ron testily agreed. Luna assisted him with the goblin armour, which he had never worn.

"Damn, this doesn't fit nearly as well as yours," Ron complained to Harry. "But I reckon that's to be expected...."

"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry challenged.

"Well, you're tight with them," Ron justified himself. "So you get tailoring."

Ron stood up. His pants ended a half dozen centimetres above the ankles and were much too generous at the waist. The shirt was better, but still too broad across the chest and short at the wrists.

Luna redid Ron's goblin charms, but with no improvement.

"Well bollocks to all that," Ron gave up. "I'll just have to be careful. Harry, please don't get me killed if you can avoid it."

"I'm going too, you know," Luna added, almost casually.

"No, you're not!" two male voices rose simultaneously.

"You can't conceive what Hermione might experience at Death Eater hands," Luna fought back. "Neither of you've been nice to her lately. She needs someone she can trust...."

"She can...." Harry started and stopped. Harry was ashamed to admit it, but Luna's point was excellent.

"Luna, I don't want you getting hurt," Ron resisted.

"If Harry felt that way at Stonehenge, where would you be?" Luna scolded. "You two need my help."

Luna grabbed both of their wrists and, radiating calm reassurance, gave them the benefit of her empathy.

"Umm ... Ron, I think Luna's right," Harry caved as Luna released him. "No matter how lucky we are, Hermione's likely to be a wreck. Having Luna along would help."

A look, and more, passed between Ron and Luna. Ron understood this moment was a relationship-breaker for her.

Ron was not privy to whatever secrets Luna and Hermione kept. At least this once, he sensed when to stop pushing.

"Yes, Dear."

Luna left to change into her armour, which unlike Ron's fit perfectly. Harry stayed, trying to help Ron. Harry even tried Ron's goblin charms himself, but nothing worked. "It's probably for the best," Ron told Harry as he tugged on the short cuffs of his Basilisk-skin trousers. "Probably shouldn't say this, but assuming we survive, Luna really needs to talk to Hermione - about something - something she won't tell me...."

Ron gave Harry a doleful, raised-eyebrows look implying that not everything in his relationship with Luna was peaches and cream. "Can't come too bloody soon, either."

Within five minutes, three Basilisk-clad would-be rescuers, astride two high performance brooms, left the friendly confines of Hogwarts Castle behind, not knowing when, or if, they would return.

* * * *

Everything essential was in readiness. The Dark Lord needed to think.

His plan had been sound. Reality, however, had dropped a spanner in the works. Tolerating Krum's Mudblood-inspired lusts affronted Lord Voldemort's pure-blood philosophy, but neatly disentangled the web of problems and opportunities that presented themselves since Stonehenge. A long-ago reading mandated separating Potter from that Mudblood. Bella required an enemy's blood, a female enemy, but her resurrection could not outshine his. That damned unnecessary Horcrux merger had a price - requiring survival of someone he had intended to kill. The unnecessary merger also made possible a new Horcrux - one unknown to the Muggle Loving fool.

Hovering over everything was the prophecy - and its subject, Harry Potter.

Making the Mudblood his receptacle and then packing her off to Bulgaria, controlled by Krum and a Tartaran Flobberworm, solved all these problems. Potter would lose all his emotional anchors- the Mudblood to Krum, the blood traitor to mortal Quidditch injury, and Dumbledore to either the cave or Draco's team.

After that, Potter might discover that the Mudblood was a Horcrux, which would force him either to approve her death, or even better kill her himself. Alternatively, he might remain ignorant. In that event, Voldemort himself would so inform Potter, at a time of his choosing, just before killing his nemesis.

Everything depended on Krum. Krum's first loyalty being elsewhere was a black mark, but necessarily fatal. Wizards became Death Eaters for many reasons. Lucius' first loyalty was to family and financial interests; Snape's to Lily Evans; and Bagman was a compulsive gambler. Such issues were manageable provided the Dark Lord possessed countervailing force to maintain his mastery - be that the vulnerability of Malfoy's interests, Snape's hatred of all things Potter, or Bagman's need for money. Such fallibilities often proved useful in manipulating his followers.

Bagman and Snape had independently confirmed Krum's susceptibility to the Imperius Curse. But their knowledge - several years old - was evidently outdated. The elf's observations were damning. Far from ravishing the Mudblood in "every way," Krum almost immediately gave her clothing. They spent their allotted hour talking about unknown subjects - as Krum had Imperturbed the area.

The Dark Lord could guess.

They were probably plotting an escape. Seeing was believing. Krum had plainly learnt to throw off the Imperius curse. Voldemort's countervailing command over Krum's loyalties no longer existed.

So much for that plan.

He would make some other disposition of the Mudblood. If the Dark Lord had to break her himself - without Krum's insipid sentiment - so much the worse for her. Perhaps she would become the main attraction at a Death Eater revel. Maybe Bella could Longbottomise her with the Cruciatus. Then, exiling her.... An Armenian cloistered nunnery might do. Even her Muggle mother, rumoured to be in Australia, might be suitably persuaded to cache her conveniently on the opposite side of the Earth. The Mudblood's failure to age would not be evident for years.... far more time than Potter would have.

Those details could wait until after tonight's events.

Oh yes, one ripple effect - that double-crosser McAllister who worked for Potter. He was no longer needed for creation of tonight's Horcrux. Overseen by his own Tartaran Flobberworm, he could resume his duties, with Potter none the wiser.

77

C:\Documents and Settings\Owner\My Documents\HP & The Fifth Element.ch51 Padfoot's legacy.doc 9/6/2011