Red Tide Rising

It was two weeks after the disastrous Defense exam; Bellatrix Lestrange was being held at a revamped Azkaban prison, and Death Eater attacks had intensified. Ron had tried to remain nonchalant about the whole event, but the truth was it freaked the hell out of him. And it wasn't just him; Neville hopped about with an enormous smile, clearly ecstatic that Lestrange was back in prison, while Harry moped about with a snarl for anyone willing to speak to him.

Which Ron didn't mind, because it meant Ginny refused to smile at Harry, let alone push him into a broom closet and end his innocence. He growled a bit at the idea of broom closets; Hermione still wouldn't come clean about the purpose of her trip, five months ago already, to a closet with Malfoy. Not that it mattered, really (Ron knew what was what, better than most, after all), but she should be able to tell him if she was seeing Malfoy, or any other lad. He wasn't her big brother, after all. He wasn't going to do anything rash.

Well, probably not.

Bellatrix and Wormtails' arrival at Hogwarts had been trouble, though. The Ministry had questioned the students for hours- Gryffindor had gotten to them first, though, and had told them what not to tell. Like Harry overhearing about an ally, or that he'd been trying to kill Bellatrix with an Unforgivable when Gryffindor had shown up. She was protecting them, he knew- had hidden the book that had recorded their engagements and claimed that it had nothing pertinent to their investigation. She also watched them like a hawk, even worse than before when she simply hadn't trusted a single person she hadn't known for a dozen years.

He had left the castle to get away from Mrs Norris. Even Filch seemed to be on her side, though he was more than willing to spy on the students at any chance. Ron had nearly killed the damn cat when he'd seen it follow him from the Library towards Professor Trelawney's office. Instead, he'd run out to the lake without a cloak and was freezing himself to spite authority. Leaning against a tree, his arms crossed about his chest, he refused to give in to temptation and slink back to the school.

"Well, aren't you Byronic?" a voice said behind him. The hairs on his neck prickled, and his breath left him. Turning his head and being very cool about it, he tried for charming

.

"It isn't that cold, Blaise," he replied, trying to keep his voice even and not-so-loud. It always happened that she made him feel like an undergrown giant, like Hagrid, even though she was quite tall herself, and far clumsier than any living person could be.

"Cold enough for you to die of pneumonia, just like a good Romantic hero," she laughed, leaping over a root to stand before him and losing her balance. He smoothly caught her elbow and kept her afloat.

"I don't believe Madame Pomfrey would allow that," he replied. She smiled; he loved it. Everything about her could be reserved, quiet and shy, but her smiles and laughs were never less than full-blown bright, bold and brassy. And crooked. "I see your suited up properly," he pointed to her cloak and robes. "Mind if I slip under there with you?"

"I don't share well, Ron," she said, the self-assured smile on her face. Suddenly, her eyes went wide and she blushed scarlet- worse than he ever did. "Oh! Oh!" she cried in a small voice. "Bad King!" she laughed.

Ron shrugged his shoulders with a grin on his face. "Don't call me that," he asked.

"Yes, as if it's a great burden, I'm sure."

"Well, I'm not feeling very 'King'-like at the moment. Why are you out here?"

"Ah- right then. Walk with me?" Blaise asked, cocking her head towards the castle. "Slowly?"

Ron began walking, and Blaise began to talk. "I know that Bellatrix mentioned allies," she started.

"How?"

"Well, word gets around." She was staring at the ground, probably half so she wouldn't trip and half so she wouldn't have to look at him. "Look, I know you and Harry and Hermione are friends with Draco-"

"Who's been spreading that lie?"

"Well, aren't you?"

Ron had to stop speaking for a moment to think about that. Damn it, we probably are friends, he thought. No- no. We're accomplices. Nothing more. "Hermione and Harry may have a different opinion, but I've never liked Malfoy, and I probably never will," he stated calmly. "I nearly trust him, though I'm not sure why."

"Uh, okay. I hope you figure that one out," she said with a small, perplexed sigh. "The thing is, I know Draco. I know things about him-"

"Like what?" Ron demanded loudly.

"Well, if you'd stop interrupting..." Blaise warned. Ron groaned internally- why couldn't he behave like a proper wizard for one minute while around her? Because he spent too much time around girls already used to his idiocy. He began to apologize when Blaise brushed him off. "It's an important subject, I understand your haste." Haste. Well, shit, I wasn't aware I felt haste. "As I was saying, I know things about Draco that you should know- well, things I should have told you months ago, but didn't."

"What do you know? And why didn't you tell me months ago?"

"Well, we've all been very busy, you doubly so with whichever girl you'd been seeing." Ron wanted to kick himself. "But I really didn't tell you because I was hoping I wouldn't have to. Hoping it would all blow over, or the war would be over by now, or something." They continued walking, slowly, and it took awhile for Blaise to speak again. "Wishful thinking, I suppose. Especially now."

"Yeah. So what do you know?"

"Well, I was hoping I wouldn't have to say any of this. For some reason, it doesn't feel like my business, but more Hermione, Harry and yours." She paused, glancing up at Ron with her dark eyes. Eyes that, like everyone else's, did not look at all peaceful. "Draco's a Death Eater-"

"I know that. Harry told us," Ron said, interrupting again.

"How'd Harry find out, then?"

"Draco told him."

"Did he? Well, that's interesting."

Ron was beginning to relax- obviously Blaise's information wasn't likely to harm the uneasy alliance Draco and his friends had formed.

"Did you also know he's been in contact not only with Bellatrix and his father, but through them, with Voldemort himself?"

Now it was Ron's turn to trip.

*

"Oh, hello, Malfoy," Weasley said pleasantly. "Fancy you and I being in here, all alone."

The Press Room was empty for the two boys; everyone else had left for dinner. Draco's head had been bent over a copy but he looked up when Weasley addressed him. "You could have left with everyone else, Weasley."

"Could have, yes, but we need to talk."

"Talk?" Draco asked, looking suspiciously at Weasley. "You do realize I'm male, don't you?"

"I'd hardly go that far," the freckly bastard said, a red eyebrow raised. Draco just beat down the urge to punch him. Don't see that going well, he thought, knowing that Weasley outweighed him by some ridiculous amount. "No, Malfoy, what I want to talk about has nothing to do with your masculinity. It's got to do with your correspondences."

A cold chill crept down Draco's back. "What about my correspondence?" Someone had told Weasley- who the hell would do that? Not Pansy or Rufus or Tobias. Certainly not Crabbe or Goyle or Millicent, Tracey or Daphne, who either didn't know or would have slit their wrists before talking to a Weasley. Which left... Blaise- Merlin's Balls!

"Apparently, you've been writing to Bellatrix and your father." Bitch! Blaise had been after him since Morag broke up with him over the Mark.

"So I shouldn't speak to my father or my aunt?" Draco asked, though he knew the answer: quite obviously, no.

"No!" Weasley said in an outraged voice. "Malfoy, are you completely insane! No, you shouldn't be writing to them. Harry and Hermione, and even I, trusted you. This is completely out of order!"

If Hermione trusted him, why the hell wouldn't she let him near her? Why did she keep pushing him out? It wasn't as if he didn't have other, better, options!- he was a Malfoy! She was only a Granger, and a Gryffindor Granger at that!

"Maybe I was trying to gather information on the Dark Forces. Did you consider that?" Draco suggested.

"Then why didn't you share with us? We need to gather and discuss all the information we can gather- if that was your intention, you should have told us what you knew." Draco glanced over at Weasley; he looked furious. Shite. He trusted me- what the hell is that?

"So what are you going to do, Weasley?"

Weasley paused, dragging his hand through his hair and sitting opposite Draco. "It's not what I'm going to do, Malfoy- it's what we're going to do."

"What are you babbling about? Us? We don't work together, Weasley," Draco nearly shouted. "I thought it was fairly well implied in my switch to the Light fight that I wouldn't deal with you. I deal with Hermione, Gryffindor, and Dumbledore. I'll deal with Snape, McGonagall, Potter- even Hagrid. But I don't ever deal with you!"

"Yeah, it was a good plan while it lasted. But you didn't come clean to any of them when you had the chance, and now I've found out," Weasley claimed. "I can scream it from the fucking Astronomy Tower now that I know."

"Only because of that bitch, Blaise!" Draco shouted, and almost dodged the fist that snapped into his jaw. Once he'd righted himself, with quite a lot of cursing, he looked towards Weasley. And he managed to smile through the blood and swollen lip. "Oh, that's rich, Weasley. You and Blaise!- you couldn't manage if you took lessons for the rest of your life." Weasley's face turned a deep red. "What a laugh; the Ice Queen with the Pauper!" He avoided the punch that time.

"What the fuck is wrong with you, Malfoy?" Weasley demanded.

"Other than a bleeding bloody lip, not a lot," Draco grinned, quite happy to have unnerved Weasley; the ass had been learning restraint. He stood and began pacing.

"How are we going to fix this, Malfoy? You could have gone to any of those people to tell them you were communicating with your aunt and father, but you didn't. Why not?"

Defiantly, Draco just glared at Weasley- until he realized he was actually expected to answer the question, at which point he wasn't sure what to do. "So I didn't tell anyone anything, so what? There wasn't anything important in the letters."

"Nothing important, Malfoy? Maybe not to you, but there are people within our ranks who can detect where a letter comes from by the smell of the parchment. We can look at it differently because we aren't used to receiving communication from your father," Weasley raved. "Malfoy, what you see as nothing could have potentially deadly impacts to us."

Hermione ignored the snoring. The boys were tired, finished their work and just waiting for her to finish hers. She knew this, but did they have to snore? In fairness, it was only Harry and Neville who snored loudly, but they were all to blame in her mind.

They were in the Press Room, dungeon seven, finishing the last edition of the Hornblower's first season. Tonight, this edition would be mailed out, and tomorrow the Press Room would be cleared out for next fall. It made Hermione a bit sad, but she pushed that aside, thinking of the progress one short year had made.

The Hornblower had grown from a weekly, ten page newspaper to a twice a week thirty page monster. Columns, articles and briefed papers written by Hogwarts students were read by the entire British community and sometimes were published in more prestigious journals and magazines. SPEW had grown from nine members to forty-seven, and the Ministry was taking them seriously.

Looking at the final article to be placed, Hermione sighed. It was a rehash of that day's events: the Ambush Tournament results and the Dueling Club Finals. It was a surprise, but Neville's Squad had tied with her, Harry, Ron and Draco. Then, Ron had gone on to win the school Dueling Championship; he claimed he won because of tactics, Hermione felt it had more to do with dozens of girls screaming 'King! King!'. Whatever the reason was, Ron was nackered after Dueling for nearly two hours straight. While Hermione had only fought four opponents before Draco beat her, Ron fought eight, before finally beating Myra Stool, a Slytherin seventh-year, in the final round.

Placing the article and gluing it magically in place, she carried the entire issue to the Press. Once there, it began to magically copy, and Hermione folded the copies with a Charm, and bundled them by tens. After two minutes, one thousand copies, the largest run ever, had been printed and sent to the Owlery through Floo, where Draco would send them to the subscribers. Another hundred copies would be distributed in the morning to students and staff.

As she was tidying up, Draco Flooed back to the Press Room. "Odd night," he said. "Bitterly cold for June, and it's very quiet. I think a mist is beginning to form."

Hermione glanced at her watch. "It's nearly three! I can't believe it's so late," she said. "Help me wake the boys up?" She asked, and began towards Ron. Just before she shook him though, he sprang awake.

"Attack!" Ron cried. "They're attacking us right now!"

"Ron?" Draco asked. "Ron, it was just a dream. It's late, and-"

At that moment, Harry woke, gasping, crying out, and clutching his scar. "Voldemort- attacking..." he gasped, his body doubled over from pain.

"Sweet Merlin's Balls," Draco whispered.

Neville, awake since Ron had woken, rushed to the hearth. Throwing a handful of Floo Powder into the fire, and crouching down, he shouted "Dumbledore's Rooms!" Hermione crouched with him, as did Harry, Ron and Draco. It was a crowded fit, the fireplaces in the dungeons being rather small.

"Headmaster Dumbledore?" they began shouting at the top of their lungs. "Professor Dumbledore, please!" Hermione continued, until the Headmaster darted into his sitting room, a garish robe on and his wand drawn.

"Children? What is it?" he demanded. "What- no! Not now, Mr. Weasley?"

"Yes, sir, now. Harry felt it too," Ron said, and Harry nodded his head vigorously.

"Come through, then, come through," Dumbledore commanded. Quickly, the five of them rammed their way through to Dumbledore's sitting room. "Mr. Potter, Mr. Weasley, remain at this fire. Inform Professors Gryffindor, O'Neill, McGonagall, Flitwick, and Sinistra to come to my office immediately. You three," he continued, pointing at Hermione, Draco and Neville, "come with me. Potter, Weasley, don't dawdle."

Following Dumbledore's quick pace down the stairs, they entered his offices. "Hermione, use that fireplace to inform Snape, Trelawney, and Hagrid. Warn Hagrid to stay in his hut, and I'll come to him as soon as possible," Dumbledore said, pointing at one of several fireplaces Hermione had just noticed. "Draco, Neville...." Dumbledore's voice faded as Hermione through powder into the fire and leaned in.

A few minutes later, all the Professors were assembled, save Hagrid. Gryffindor was quickly pleating her hair, and chided Hermione immediately for not doing the same. "Get ready, girl, bip bip," she said, a nervous, predatory smile on her face. "We have some Death Eaters to hurt today."

As Hermione braided her hair and checked that her shoelaces were tight, that her robes were draping properly and that she wasn't missing any buttons, Dumbledore decided what would be done.

"Mr. Weasley tells me we have a half hour before the assault begins. Briar, I expect that we can use students to defend the castle, while we go into the Forest?"

"Yes," Gryffindor replied. "In fact, the older students can definitively work with us in the forest. Every student in this school, regardless of age or experience, can help in the defense of Hogwarts. I suggest we allow Mr. Longbottom to take control of the internal defenses, while Weasley's Squad comes with us on our prelim search of the grounds. Longbottom can set up a command base here in the school and coordinate operations for the defense of the school from there."

Neville's squeak was drowned out by Snape's snort of derision. "Longbottom? Headmaster, Gryffindor really should remain in the school. Defending the students is her job, after all. I fear she is neglecting that commitment for the chance at combat."

"Sod off, Snape," Gryffindor bellowed. "Neville is completely competent at structural and tactical defense. I actually did my job this year, and taught my students how to defend themselves."

Snape sneered, and looked about to press the issue when McGonagall interrupted. "Do you have any idea how many attackers there are, Albus?" Dumbledore shook his head. "Then I agree with Briar; we'll need her in the Forest. And I agree, Neville is completely competent."

"Agreed, then," Dumbledore said with a sigh. "Mr. Longbottom, you'll be in charge of the school and the students while no teacher is here. Madam Pomfrey, Madam Pince, and Mister Filch will work with you, but your decisions are final," he stated, giving a stiff eye to the three adults in question. "The rest of us will now advance to the Forest, please, if there are no objections?"

No one voiced any objection, although Hermione was sure they had plenty. She knew she did. No matter how many dangerous situations she had been in throughout her Hogwarts years, this was certainly the most daunting. Or it would be until it was over, should she survive.

In the Entrance Hall, Dumbledore gave final instructions to the students, warning them not to draw attention, and most importantly, "Do whatever you must!"

Gulping the last breath of air she felt she'd ever get, Hermione watched Dumbledore's form melt into the night. "There, but for the Grace of God..." she whispered, slipping out of the school and into the wild world-night.