Omnia Poterat Ad Extremus Adiit

Hermione

Three cardinal rules; keep your head down, don't talk to anyone and above all, Don't Get In The Way, of anyone, whether they look like a tramp or just off the catwalk. In these times, and at this time of night, anyone could be a Seeker.

And one self-imposed rule, one that she found so much harder than the rest but, if anything, would be more likely to kill her than the rest of them put together.

Don't talk about Harry. Don't keep anything to do with Harry, look at anything to do with Harry, even think about Harry. Not with all the Seekers about.

Hermione shuddered. Almost anyone would, thinking about the Seekers - witches and wizards gifted at Occlumency, they would pick a random person off the streets, no questions asked, and go through their memories. Searching for traces of rebellion.

Far too many people had simply... disappeared, after a Seeker had come. And to think the word and what it had meant had given her so much pleasure at one time. Just the thought of Harry diving after the Snitch, his emerald eyes set... Hermione swore at herself for breaking her rule, biting her lip till a thin rivulet of blood trickled down her chin, crimson against pale skin. And then swore at that, too.

Her nut-brown eyes, the spirit and dry wit that had once danced within them long since dead, darted from side to side. Two streets on the left, then take the right hand turning at the weathered gargoyle... the directions for where she was permitted to go - she would have spat the word, would it not have attracted far too much attention - were drilled into her well enough to remember in a thunderstorm, in a jungle, being attacked by dragon. Well, maybe that was going a bit too far. But at least Draco had taught her which streets to avoid, which parts of town to skirt round.

Yes, Draco. Draco Malfoy, that is - though how many others are there? she though, glad to get onto a safe topic. You never knew what the Dreadlords would think of next, which, for all she knew and all Draco would tell her, might very well include mindreading. The dark-haired figure gave a shuddering gulp as she half walked, half trotted along.

...third street on the right, past the alleyway, twenty paces on and down past the side of what had once been Gringotts Bank...

She stop, peer down the grate to where she could hear a muffled rustle and a whisper hurriedly silenced. Taking a quick look around, nervous eyes darting from shadow to shadow in search of watchful eyes, she whispered through its iron grill. A password.

"We remember those who are gone." -but not Harry, not directly. She could do nothing for him now.

"And if you're not ready to catch this, Ron, or whoever it is, I don't care." So saying, a quick jerk removed the cover, and an even quicker shove sent the pack she had been carrying careering down the chute. Her position of safety, as delicately balanced as it was, was not something she was willing to compromise. Shoving the piece of grid iron back into place, she made a turn as if to go, then halted, feet shuffling scuffed and worn shoes against cobbled alleyway.

"I don't know if I can come this often any more." She spoke quietly, barely above a whisper but to her agonising mind the words echoed with a condemning shout from wall to brick-covered wall. She stared down the chute, eyes meeting faded green ones under a covering of vivid red hair.

"Draco's... getting suspicious. I'd swear to it. Look... I'll still come when I can." Brown eyes pleaded with green ones for a moment, begging them to understand until, coming to a mutual understanding, both pairs turned away and were lost in the darkness. Muttering quietly to herself, the Muggle-born witch stepped from the shadows of the alley towards the place she now called home, one phrase turning itself over and over within her mind. All must come to an end, all this must come to an...

She barely stopped herself from squealing as the hands fell on her shoulders, nails digging in to soft flesh beneath long robes. Dragging herself round, eyes wide with fear and breath coming in panicked gasps, she found herself staring up into three sets of cold eyes. One of them was holding up a license card, enchanted to show the features, name and rank of the man.

Darven Coulson. Seeker.

"If you'll this way, ma'am, we have some questions to ask you..."