Galatea

Chapter Eight

Pressure

You will come to a place

Where the only thing you feel

Are loaded guns in your face

And you'll have to deal with pressure

--Billy Joel

Blaise walked through the dungeon passageway, his fingers trailing on the rough stone wall beside him. He was looking for a book; Delia had left it downstairs, she'd said, and she needed it for some obscure Otherworldly research project. Once a Ravenclaw, always a Ravenclaw, Blaise reflected. It didn't matter how long she'd lived in Malfoy Manor or worn a Dark Mark; Delia would always be more interested in the acquisition of knowledge than the acquisition of power. It made her terribly easy to understand, but frightfully difficult to manipulate.

Absently pushing his dark curls out of his eyes, Blaise pulled open the door to the little-used dungeon room. He took two steps in before looking up, and then he froze.

The Dark Lord stood in the center of a ring of torchlight, his body a tall, thin column of darkness, his power a thick, swirling black against the glow of the flames. Lucius Malfoy stood a respectful distance away, and on the floor at Voldemort's feet knelt...Gregory Goyle.

Blaise's gasp was audible. Goyle was supposed to be dead.

"Close your mouth," Lucius snapped. "It is rude to gape, and it is inexcusable to walk into a high security area without the Dark Lord's express permission."

Blaise raised his astonished eyes to Lucius'sface. "I...I'm sorry." He forced himself into subservient mode, lowered his head, and went down on one knee. "Forgive me, my lord. I didn't know you were here. Delia Silvermoon thought she'd left a book in this room, and sent me to get it for her."

The silence was interminable. At last, Voldemort said, "Very well. Leave now."

Blaise let out the breath he'd been holding. He could barely choke out the words, "Thank you."

He backed out of the room and shut the door softly behind him. Then, he took off at a run.

* * * * *

The solarium door flew open and crashed against the wall. Blaise stood in the doorframe. He seethed with cold, calculated fury. "Eliot," he said, his voice unnaturally calm, even conversational, "do you know where I just was?"

Eliot didn't move from his cozy armchair. "You went to the dungeons for Delia, didn't you?"

"Yes." Blaise moved with the coiled tension of a cobra ready to strike. "And who do you think I saw there, Eliot, talking with Lucius Malfoy and the Dark Lord himself?"

"I'm sure I don't know," Eliot answered. His tone was off-hand, although his eyes looked slightly pained.

"Gregory Goyle."

The room went silent. "I can understand your surprise," Blaise continued. "After all, didn't you tell Draco and me that Goyle was dead? That you'd killed him yourself?"

Eliot's eyes darted nervously around the room, but he saw no friendly faces, no one to help him. "I thought I did. I mean, he seemed dead. I thought -"

"Liar!" Blaise shouted. His wand seemed to leap into his hand. "Traitor!"

The faction scattered, its members pressed up against the walls of the room, not wanting to get hit with a wayward hex during what was sure to be a nasty fight but, at the same time, not wanting to miss a moment of it.

Eliot jumped to his feet, his own wand in hand. "Going to curse me, Zabini?"

"No," Blaise said. "I'm going to kill you."

Eliot fired first, playing right into Blaise's hands. The answering hex ricocheted off the first. Death Eaters leapt out of the way. One hex shot through the glass ceiling. Shards rained down on the Persian rug. The other left a smoldering hole in a priceless Malfoy tapestry. The two combatants didn't even flinch.

They shouted incantations just as fast as their mouths could form the words. Blaise immediately went on the offensive, firing countless benign hexes. He saved his energy and waited for Eliot to fatigue from throwing up block after block. Finally, when Blaise sensed his opponent was tiring, he moved in. Blaise increased the severity of his curses. Eliot's shielding spells weakened. Sweat poured down Eliot's red face, and Blaise's damp curls stuck to his forehead.

Blaise cast a blistering barrage of one-word hexes, focusing all of Eliot's energy on defensive spells. He finished with a string of three Crucios that came so fast, the third one left the wand before the first even reached Eliot's spell shield. When the shield collapsed under the relentless assault, Eliot tried to duck the Blaise's disarming spell. He misjudged. The spell hit him in the chest, slamming him into the wall and ripping his wand away. Blaise caught it from the air.

Eliot looked up at his opponent. "Please -" he whispered.

"Petrificus Totalus." Blaise was breathing heavily, his chest heaving as he gasped for air.

Eliot crashed face-first to the floor.

Blaise snapped Eliot's wand in two. Even though Eliot couldn't move, Blaise knew he'd heard the crack of breaking wood, and knew exactly what it meant. Blaise picked up a long, pointed shard of glass from the floor, and walked over to the motionless body. He leaned down and whispered in Eliot's ear, "Never go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line." As he stood, he plunged the blade into Eliot's back. A hot jet of blood soaked the carpet.

Blaise wiped his bloody hand on his trousers as he stood and faced the rest of the faction. "Goyle's told the Dark Lord everything. He knows about Ginny Weasley, and he knows Draco betrayed him."

"He knows about us," said Neil, not a question.

"If he doesn't, he'll figure it out soon."

"What now?" Delia said. She couldn't look away from the body on the floor. The crimson blood spilling from the wound held her in thrall. Its coppery smell was pulling on something inside of her...her silver power was welling up, threatening to explode. She gritted her teeth and clamped down on the magic. She couldn't lose control. None of them could afford it.

"We have to leave," Blaise declared. "All of us. Draco said that if anything went wrong, we should evacuate."

"And what about Draco?" Delia demanded. "He said he'd only be gone a day; it's been much longer than that. We can't leave without sending him a message. What if he comes back here? He'll be killed. And where will we go? The Ministry?"

Blaise shook his head and knifed his fingers through his curls. "Not since the Auror Division has been disbanded. If we go to the Ministry, Lucius Malfoy will have us killed."

"Then where?" Neil asked.

Blaise thought wildly. How did Draco always manage to look so calm, even in a crisis? He was nearly out of his mind with panic. Just as he was about to say he had no idea, the answer came to him. "Hogwarts."

A general cry went up from the crowd. Blaise held up his hands for silence. "If we're against the Dark Lord, then Dumbledore will think of us as allies, at least for now. I don't want to end up in a yew tree or as food for Dementors. If any of you have a better idea, I'm listening."

The protests silenced as it sunk in just how desperate their situation was.

"Delia," Blaise said quietly, "useyour Otherworldly power to find Weasley. Where you find her, you'll find Draco. Tell him, for Merlin's sake, not to come back here. We're all going to seek asylum at Hogwarts. Join us as soon as you can. Don't get caught."

"I understand," Delia said. She ran from the room.

Blaise looked around the rest of the room. He took a deep breath. "If we don't hang together, I guarantee we'll hang separately. Either we all go, or we all stay, but if we go, no one stays behind." Blaise saw fear in their eyes, but also unwavering resolution; they were determined to survive, and they'd do whatever was necessary, even if it meant throwing themselves on Dumbledore's mercy. "All right," he said. "Meet back here in ten minutes, and we'll use Floo to go to Hogsmeade."

"What about the body?" Grace asked.

Blaise gave Eliot a contemptuous look. "Leave it. It'll be a parting gift for Lucius and the Dark Lord."

* * * * *

Dumbledore was sitting at his desk, immersed in an ancient runic tome, when his office door flew open and Hermione strode in. Her eyes were narrowed with anger, her face was set in a frown of determination, and even her hair seemed furious; it flew around her face in a brown halo of static.

"Hermione," Dumbledore said, "what's the matter?"

"Don't you 'Hermione' me," she said in a shrill voice.

"All right," Dumbledore said patiently, wondering what he'd done to upset her. For the life of him, he couldn't think of anything to get her so worked up. "Professor Weasley, then. Why don't you sit down and tell me what seems to be the problem?"

She folded her arms and glared across the desk. "I know."

He didn't have to ask what she knew; her tone was explanation enough. "How?"

"Ron caught Harry in a lie. It all followed from that. Did you think I wouldn't figure it out? Did you honestly think I wouldn't realize what's been going on?"

"Hermione -" Dumbledore began, but she interrupted.

"I thought I could trust you! I thought you respected me."

"I do," he said. "Of course I trust you, and I respect you as one of the most intelligent witches of your generation. Keeping Ginny's identity secret had nothing to do with -"

"Ginny was screaming, and her nose was bleeding, and it was silver. I remember, and so does Ron. Those memories were mine!" Hermione cried. "They were mine, and you had no right to erase them. No right!" She slammed a fist down on his book to emphasize her point.

"The memory charm," he said, suddenly looking very old, "was necessary to keep you and the Weasleys safe. Do you have any idea what might have happened to Ginny's parents and brothers if Voldemort had learned her identity?"

"And you think Ron and I would've told him?" she demanded incredulously.

"I don't think you would've told him intentionally," Dumbledore said. "However, if either of you had let slip even the smallest bit of information, the Death Eaters would've assumed that you knew more than you did. You could've been tortured, even killed, for something you didn't know, all because you'd seen something you shouldn't have."

"Memory charms can be broken," Hermione said. "It didn't protect us any more than -"

"Please listen, Hermione," Dumbledore interrupted. "Try to understand. You and Ron caught a glimpse of something that you weren't supposed to see. Had you retained that memory, you might have let something slip inadvertently, and if the information fell into the wrong hands, Voldemort wouldn't have hesitated to use it to his advantage. If we'd had time, I would've loved to have sat down and discussed options, but there was too much going on that night to hesitate for even a moment. I sent Sirius Black on a secret mission of vital importance, the Dark Lord was about to murder Alastor Moody, and the Pendragon wound up in a coma. You, Ron, Harry, and Ginny were students whose well-being was entrusted to me, and I had to do the most expedient thing to ensure your safety. The memory charm was the best solution, given the situation."

For what was very likely the first time in her life, Hermione was at a loss for words. She sank into a chair, understanding stealing the strength of her anger. "I had no idea," was all she could say.

Dumbledore leaned back in his chair and sighed. "Now you do." After a beat, he asked, "Why isn't Ron here with you?"

"Because," she replied, "he's angry with Harry for keeping this secret about Ginny, not with you for erasing our memories. He told me I shouldn't come see you, and I held out as long as I could, but...."

"I understand," he said. "I would feel the same way, if I were in your position. But do you now understand why I did it?"

Hermione pressed her lips together and bent her head in acquiescence. She didn't like being made to agree, and she was still furious, but she did understand.

Dumbledore was just opening his mouth to speak again when he was cut off by an urgent, staccato knock at the door. "Enter," he called.

The door swung open. It was Dana Silvermoon. Her naturally pale skin was a nearly translucent white. There were dark circles under her glassy gray eyes. She looked exhausted, ill, and furious.

"Hello, Dana," Dumbledore said, wondering if he was destined to spend the entire afternoon placating former students. "How nice to see you. Would you like to sit down? Have you had tea yet?"

Dana ignored his questions. "There are people outside who are asking for you."

Dumbledore stood and smoothed his green velvet robes. "Outside? Why haven't they been invited in?"

"The Aurors guarding the doors thought it would be best to have your permission first."

"Are they Giants?" Hermione asked, eyes wide.

Dana's eyes flicked to Hermione's face, but her silvery gaze slid away from Hermione's straightforward brown one. "Death Eaters."

Dumbledore's eyes widened behind his half-moon glasses. Surely he hadn't heard correctly. "I beg your pardon? Death Eaters are waiting outside, asking to speak with me? Have they attacked anyone? Made any threats?"

"No."

Dumbledore was at a loss. "Then what could they possibly want?"

Dana turned away and headed out the door. "I didn't have the patience to ask."

* * * * *

The heavy double doors creaked open and a tall man with long, silvery hair stepped out. Relieved beyond words, Blaise let out the breath he'd been holding. He'd been sure the Aurors at the door would turn them away, but not Dumbledore. Never Dumbledore.

The Headmaster scanned the sizeable crowd milling around the castle lawns. "Who is in charge?" he demanded.

Blaise stepped forward and met the old man's eyes. There was nothing kind or understanding there. They were hard and implacable. For the first time, Blaise's confidence that they'd be welcome faltered. "I am, sir."

"Blaise Zabini," Dumbledore said. "A Death Eater. I can't say I'm surprised. You always followed where Draco Malfoy led, didn't you?"

"Someone could do worse in life than follow Draco Malfoy," Blaise said. Although his words were somewhat antagonistic, his tone was even, neutral.

"Someone could also do much better," Dumbledore said. His blue eyes were pale chips of ice in his ancient, lined face. "What are you doing here?"

"You cut right to the heart of it, don't you?" Blaise observed. "No small talk, no social niceties."

"I consider your very presence a threat to the safety of the students in my care," Dumbledore replied without missing a beat. "Come to the point before my paternal instinct overcomes my curiosity."

"So subtle," Blaise said sarcastically. Good god, why the hell was he verbally sparring with this man when they needed his help? But Blaise couldn't help himself.

Dumbledore lost patience. "What do you want, Blaise? Why did the Dark Lord send you, and with such a sizeable contingent?"

Blaise took a deep breath, and sent a quick prayer to every god in the pantheon that this endeavor would be successful, because he didn't have any other ideas. "We're seeking asylum at Hogwarts."

Dumbledore's eyebrow arched in a most inquiring, almost perplexed expression. "I'm sure you'll understand if I ask for an explanation."

"We're a group that Draco Malfoy formed within the existing Death Eater hierarchy to undermine the Dark Lord, and eventually overthrow him. Half an hour ago, He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named found out. Malfoy Manor is no longer a safe place for us; our lives are in danger, and if you don't give us asylum, we'll all be killed."

Dumbledore spent a long moment considering the young man before him. He had long believed that everyone was redeemable, but for the first time in years he found that belief sorely tested. His eyes swept over the young Death Eaters, many of whom had held great promise as students. They looked back at him, dozens of eyes trained on him, pleading with him to take them in, to have mercy. "How do I know you're not spying for Voldemort? How can I trust that if I give you protection, you won't betray us to him?"

"Look at you!" Blaise said. "You and the Aurors and the students, all holed up in this castle, waiting. This is where you'll make your last stand, and it's coming soon. You know it is; you've felt the gathering power for weeks. When it does, you'll need as many wands as possible on your side. We'll help you; we'll do anything you want. Just let us in. For Merlin's sake, let us in."

"Is that what this is about?" Dumbledore said. "Voldemort believes that because we're cornered here, we're going to be an easy defeat? You tell him that we'll never give up. We'll never give him the Pendragon. We'll never -"

"I daresay," Blaise interrupted, "that you'll never give him the Pendragon, seeing as how you don't even have her."

Dumbledore's eyes narrowed. "I beg your pardon?"

"You heard me. You don't have the Pendragon."

"And how," Dumbledore asked, "can you be sure?"

Blaise folded his arms across his chest and met the Headmaster's narrowed gaze. "Because," he said with a smirk, "we do."

Dumbledore had no verbal reply, but his power snapped around him like static electricity. He was furious.

Blaise continued, "She's with Draco. We've kept her safe from the Dark Lord, and if you let us stay, Ginny will be here too, very soon."

"And if I don't?" Dumbledore asked.

"If you don't," Blaise said slowly, considering the question, "then she'll be brought to wherever we do manage to hide, but I can't see Draco letting her out of his sight. He has a responsibility to keep her alive, after all."

Dumbledore shut his eyes briefly. "He's the other one." He opened them again and fixed Blaise with a glacial stare. Blaise thought the Headmaster must be able to see inside his head, to read his most secret thoughts. "You're saying that, if I don't let you stay, then you'll keep the Pendragon prisoner, keep her from protecting the people she was born to protect?"

"No," Blaise corrected. "I'm saying that if you let us in, Ginny will be along soon. Consider it a sign of good faith."

Dumbledore looked unconvinced. "How do I know you're telling the truth? A secret Death Eater faction aligned against the Dark Lord?"

"It's true," said a voice from behind him, and Dana Silvermoon stepped out into the snow. "Draco Malfoy really does have a faction, and Blaise is really second in command of it. He's not lying."

Blaise couldn't hold back a look of surprise. He never thought he'd see the day when Dana Silvermoon would stand up for a fellow Slytherin, much less one with a Dark Mark.

"How do you know?" Dumbledore asked.

"I have a source," she said, her voice flat. "An unimpeachable source. They've been undermining the Dark Lord for years."

"We Slytherins have a saying," Blaise said, seizing the opportunity to press home his case. "The enemy of my enemy is my friend. We'll stand with you when the time comes. The Dark Lord is meddling with things he doesn't understand and can't control; everyone here agrees that he needs to be stopped. Let us help you."

Dumbledore's eyes searched Blaise's, and at long last, he stepped aside. "You are welcome here," he said, intoning the ancient words of hospitality out of formality rather than any sincere feeling.

"Thank you," Blaise murmured. The faction filed inside. He hung back, and stopped Dana with a hand on her arm. Her skin was freezing; he could feel it even through her sleeve.

"Let go of me," she snapped.

"Why did you do it?" Blaise asked.

"Not for you," Dana said.

"I didn't flatter myself that you did," he said, unable to hold back a quick smile. "For Delia, then?"

"Hogwarts is the safest place for her," said Dana, "and the only way to ensure that she's allowed in is to see that the rest of you are too."

Blaise nodded. "Draco was right about you."

Dana jerked away, and for a moment, looked like she was going to hit him. She drew breath between her teeth in a long, snake-like hiss. Although she didn't speak, her glassy eyes demanded that he explain himself, and quickly.

"He wanted to recruit you, you know, a long time ago. He thought you'd be a great addition to our faction. But then, after the unfortunate business with Seamus, he knew you'd never agree to wear a Dark Mark. He knew, though, that we could still use you in other ways. Come on, Dana," Blaise said, seeing that she still didn't understand, "do you really believe he didn't know that you and Delia were meeting secretly?"

"You're telling me that Delia was coming out to meet me, then telling him!"

"No," Blaise said. "Everyone knows she's terrible at hiding things from you; she never would've been able to keep that a secret. Draco didn't know when you two were meeting, just that you were meeting. He didn't see any reason to put a stop to it. He could've very easily driven a wedge between you two, but he didn't. He knew that having an Auror who was destined for the elite thirteen tied to a member of his faction with a bond as strong as twin love could only help him. And," Blaise gestured to the entrance hall and the Death Eaters who milled about, "now it has."

Dana's hand flexed, as though she was about to grab her wand.

Blaise shook his head. "People smarter than you have been out-maneuvered by Draco Malfoy. Don't be upset that you and Delia fell for it. You should go to the hospital wing, Silvermoon. You look like hell."

He brushed past her and went to join his faction. He didn't believe she would hurt him, could hurt him - the ultimate insult.

Blaise didn't know how right he'd been. She did feel like hell, just like hell must feel. Hot, red hate boiled inside of her, firing her silver power. She wanted to use it, wanted to kill him, to kill all of them for making Delia what she'd become, a Death Eater, a pawn for Draco, a pawn for the goddess Badb. Dana ground her teeth together, her expression so wild and fearsome that several Aurors backed away, and a few even drew their wands. She cast her empty eyes over them.

"Maybe you should go to the hospital wing," Agent Saturn ventured tentatively.

Dana enunciated her reply, let every letter roll off her tongue. "Fuck. Off."

Without another word, she turned on her heel and stalked away. She didn't know where she was going, but she had to be alone. Someplace where no one would look at her, infuriate her, stoke the fire of her hatred until it exploded in a full-on conflagration.

* * * * *

Draco sloshed along the shore, up to his calves in the icy lake. The water soaked his trousers and burned his legs and feet with stabbing pain, but he clenched his teeth and focused on hauling the boat in. Its bottom scraped on the sandy shore, and he dragged the boat further up the beach so it wouldn't float away. He probably shouldn't have bothered, but he'd always been proud of his thoroughness. The next person with business on Avalon wouldn't be happy to find the boat had been lost because its last user hadn't been careful about putting it away.

He heard a pop, the distinct sound of someone Apparating, and quickly pulled his wand. No one should've known where they were; no one should have been able to find them. Draco turned around, and saw Delia Silvermoon standing inches away.

She looked surprised. "Where's Ginny?"

Draco put his wand away. "She's over there," he inclined his head, pointing Ginny's direction, "getting our brooms."

"But..." Delia was confused. "But I used my Otherworldly power to find her. I mean, I thought it was taking me to her, but it took me to you."

She raised her eyes to his. They were large and glassy. Her breath came in quick pants, like she'd recently run a great distance, and her skin was gilded with a fine sheen of sweat, even though the February air was frigid. She looked decidedly unwell. Draco told her, "You should see a Mediwizard. You could use some Pepperup potion, or even a few days of bed rest."

A guarded expression slammed over Delia's face. "I'm fine."

She obviously wasn't, but Draco didn't say so. Instead, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Just then, Ginny strode out of the copse of trees, a broom in each hand. Draco couldn't help but notice the startling difference between her and Delia. Ginny's cheeks were flushed with good health. Her ponytailed hair glinted thick and shiny in the fading sunset light. Her eyes were alert and snapped with awareness, and she stood tall, her shoulders straight. Delia's hair was lank and stringy, as though it needed a good washing. Her cheeks were sunken, her skin nearly the same white as the snow under their feet, her shoulders hunched, and her eyes were dazed, focused into the middle distance, as though they were looking at something Draco couldn't see. Draco's resolution hardened. "When we get back to the manor, Delia, I'm going to call someone out to take a look at you. You need medical treatment."

"You can't go back to the manor," Delia said, refocusing her eyes on his face. "Blaise sent me here to tell you."

"I can't? Why on earth not? I live there."

"He knows," Delia said, her voice low. "The others have gone to ask for asylum at Hogwarts. He knows, Draco, and if you go back there you'll be killed."

Draco stood, rooted to the spot. It couldn't be true. His mind seized; he couldn't force it to form a coherent thought. Monosyllabic words were the only ones he could muster. "How?"

"Goyle came back. Eliot didn't kill him."

"Eliot?"

"Dead."

"Blaise?"

"Yes."

Well, that was something, anyway. He'd always known Blaise was a good deal more loyal than the average Slytherin. At least he'd had vicarious revenge. It would be some small comfort when Voldemort caught him and strung him up, carved runes in his cheeks...

Ginny's voice broke into Draco's panicked thoughts. She'd turned to Delia and asked, in calm, even tones, "When you said 'He knows,' what, exactly, did you mean?"

The cold light of hate flared in Delia's dead eyes. Draco wondered why he'd never noticed before, seen the depths of her loathing. Delia said, "He knows that Draco betrayed him and ran away with the Pendragon."

Ginny adjusted the sword on her back, shifted its weight. "Does he know who I am?"

Delia's bloodless lips curved into a cruel smile. "Didn't I mention that part?"

Ginny took a step back, as though she'd been struck. Her wide, dark eyes flew to Draco's. "We have to get to my family, right now."

He started to protest. "But -"

"Now!" Ginny shouted.

Draco's hand snaked out and closed around her wrist, keeping her from disappearing. "How do you know you're not walking straight into a trap? If we go to your parents' house and he catches us there -"

"I don't recall inviting you," Ginny said, jerking her arm out of his grasp. "Go wherever you want, as long as it's not with me. I've had quite enough of Death Eaters for one lifetime, and every second I waste talking to you he's getting closer to my family."

All blood drained from Draco's face. "You're leaving us? But...but you can't! If he catches us, we're dead."

"Go to Hogwarts without me if you're so afraid of him."

Draco moved so quickly, Ginny didn't have time to react. All at once, he drew his silver knife from his boot and grabbed Delia's hand. The next second, the blade had cut shallow red lines across Delia's palm and his own. Their blood mingled on the snow, drops of dark red. A raw scream tore from Delia's throat.

"There," Draco said over her. "We've spilled our blood on the ground at your feet. It's a bond, the most ancient of magics."

"No," Ginny said. "I'm not going to do this."

"You don't have a choice," Draco snapped. "The runes are carved on the roots of the tree of life in the center of the Otherworld. You know it as well as I do. You're bound to us. Wherever you go, we go, and you have to keep us safe from Voldemort. We're placing ourselves under your protection. It's been sealed in blood. You can't leave us."

Ginny looked from him, pale and determined, to Delia, who had stopped screaming and was now sucking her cut, the blood smeared on her lips. Ginny shuddered. "Is Delia strong enough to Apparate? She looks like she's about to die."

"Bitch!" Delia cried, launching herself at Ginny. Draco caught her before she could strike and squeezed her arms to her sides, pinning her in place.

"Not now," he whispered in Delia's ear. "Get a hold of yourself. We'll get you to a doctor just as soon as we can."

"I don't need a doctor!" Delia shouted, flailing against him. "I need to -"

Her words were cut off in a flash of silver light, and then the world went dark.

* * * * *

Delia stood in the center of a square. Her black robe and shoes blended into the smooth, polished stone beneath her feet. A black and white checkerboard spread as far as she could see. She saw Dana standing two squares to her left and one back, also dressed head-to-toe in black. Delia shouted to her twin, but Dana appeared not to hear. Her shoulders hunched over, as though she was trying to disappear completely into herself, and her eyes stared straight ahead. Even when Delia waved her arms and jumped up and down, Dana didn't look her way.

A woman, six and a half feet tall, with long, garnet hair and hate burning in her red eyes, slid onto the square beside Delia. "What's going on?" Delia demanded. "Who are you? Where am I?"

The goddess smirked. "I am Badb. Welcome to the seventh square."

* * * * *

They landed in a cave. Draco stumbled, but kept his footing. Delia dropped to her knees and sucked in deep gulps of air. Ginny's balance was perfect. She didn't even trip.

"Where are we?" Draco demanded.

Ginny looked around. "I used to play here, when I was little." In her panic, she'd landed in her favorite childhood spot, a cave tunneled into the side of a hill, rather than in her parents' front yard, as she'd planned. She adjusted her sword again. "I told you I had to get here. There was no way you'd be able to Apparate this far on your own, and she's in no condition to Apparate at all, so..."

"So...what?" Draco asked.

"So," Ginny said, "I did it for you."

She dropped to one knee beside Delia and rested a hand on Delia's shoulder. "Are you all right?" Ginny asked. She might not like it, but she was now responsible for their welfare, at least until Voldemort was eliminated. "Are you strong enough to walk?"

Delia's breath shuddered. Had it happened so quickly, the living chessboard and the beautiful, terrible goddess? All in the time it took to Apparate? Delia forced herself to calm down. She nodded to Ginny.

Ginny leaned close and murmured in Delia's ear, softly enough that Draco wouldn't hear, "Do you have your power under control?"

Delia's body jerked,a spasm of surprise and recognition.

"I know," Ginny said. "I know it's hard, and that it hurts, but you have to keep fighting it."

Delia slowly raised her gaze to Ginny's face, and what Ginny saw there made her blood run cold. Delia's irises, once a dark, steel gray, had become silver, so light they almost disappeared against the whites of her eyes. There were just her pupils, tight, bottomless holes of black, glaring out. "You want me to fight what I am?" Delia asked in a hoarse whisper.

"I want you to fight what you're becoming," Ginny whispered back. "I need to know that you're not going to attack us as soon our backs are turned." If she did, Ginny wouldn't be able to defend herself. The blood magic held her to that. "Are you in control right now, or is Badb?"

Delia shuddered, and pressed the silver power down. It threatened to well up again, and Ginny's grip tightened on Delia's shoulder as she added her own strength to Delia's, used her own silver power to help, to give the dark magic an extra push. She knew that Delia wouldn't be able to hold it in next time, that this was their last reprieve from the havoc that Badb's pawns would wreak.

Ginny stood. "The Burrow is out here, on the other side of the hill. Let's go." She took off at a run. Draco helped Delia up, and then they followed.

Just as they cleared the mouth of the cave, Delia stumbled. Ginny turned. "It's right up here. Come on."

"Wait," Delia said. She crouched down to have a more careful look at what had made her trip, and then jumped up, hand over her mouth.

"What?" Ginny asked. "What is it?"

"Legs," Delia gasped.

That was all Draco needed to hear. He turned away and fought down nausea. The sight of blood had always made him sick to his stomach.

Ginny ran over, and couldn't hold in a strangled shriek. A pair of legs, still encased in trousers, lay on the ground, half-buried in the snow. Someone had, quite literally, been blown apart. She recognized the metal disk on the belt buckle as a St. Mungo's emergency Portkey. "It's an Auror." Realization crystallized. "Oh, god. We're too late."

She whirled around and ran. Draco and Delia followed.

The Burrow was a smoking ruin, half caved in. Black smoke billowed from the windows, and a Dark Mark, ghoulish green, floated above. The snake wound out of the skull's mouth and twined about the Burrow's chimney, as though it would devour the house and everyone inside. Ginny pushed through a hole in the wall. She coughed as the smoke choked her lungs, and used a flash of silver power. By the time Draco and Delia caught up, the air inside was breathable and Ginny was running through the kitchen, the living room, the den. She cried out for her family, "Mum! Dad! Bill! George!" her voice growing more panicked at each name. The house had been ransacked. Furniture was broken and overturned; the floor was littered with shattered dishes and torn parchment, broken glass and ashes.

Draco caught her by the arm. "I'll look down here. You check upstairs."

Ginny raced up as fast as her legs would go. The cave-in had happened in the rear of the house; the stairway was safe, but the twins' old room, and her parents', had been blown to bits. She looked out the hole where the back wall used to be, and down onto her mother's kitchen garden, now charred beyond recognition. Ginny choked on her nausea. This had to be a nightmare.

She raced back down the stairs, and saw Draco and Delia blasting rubble out of the way with their wands. "What is it?" Ginny asked.

"We found one of your brothers. He was probably buried in the cave-in," Delia told her.

Ginny's heart seized. "Which one?"

"I haven't the faintest idea," Draco said, grabbing a dirty, pale hand and pulling. "They all look the same to me." A limp body followed the hand.

Ginny gasped when she saw the thin face, the long hair tangled with dirt and debris. "It's Bill." She dropped to her knees and opened up her sight. "Thank god," she whispered. "He's alive."

Ginny put her hands to her brother's temples and let her power flow into him. Nothing more serious than a blow to the head; she sent a prayer of gratitude to Mórrígan as she nudged her oldest brother back into consciousness.

"Gin?" he gasped as his eyes cracked open.

"Shh," Ginny whispered. "Don't try to talk just yet. Relax for a moment."

"No!" Bill said, pushing himself up. "Mum and Dad, and the others!" He unfolded his body and stood, then tensed when his eyes fell on Draco. "Gin, get out of the house."

"Bill -"

"Now!" Bill shouted, shoving her behind him and drawing his wand. "He's a Death Eater! His father was here!"

"Wait!" Ginny said, grabbing Bill's wand arm so he couldn't fire any hexes. "He's with me."

Her oldest brother looked down at her, eyes wide with shock. "He's...what?"

"Draco's with me. He's all right. Please, where are the others?"

Bill looked around, taking in the ransacked room, the smoky, darkened house. "Gone."

"All of them?" Once again, Ginny thought she might be sick.

"I don't know," Bill said. "The wall fell on me. I don't remember anything else." He cast another suspicious glance at Draco. "You're sure he's all right?"

Ginny gave Draco an apprehensive look. He was standing nonchalantly, trying to look relaxed and keep an eye on Delia at the same time, but it didn't escape her that Draco's hand casually hovered near his wand pocket, just in case Bill decided to try something. "Yes," Ginny said. "Anyway we don't have a choice."

"Look what I found," Delia called from the den. She carried in a sheet of parchment. "It was stuck to the wall with this." She held a knife twined with silver snakes, identical to the one Draco carried.

"I need to see the parchment," Ginny said. "Right now, Delia."

It was a tone Bill never heard his sister use; one he had never heard anyone use, in fact, except for Dumbledore. A tone that demanded complete, immediate obedience. Without argument, Delia handed the page over. Ginny took the knife too; it didn't seem wise to let Delia near any sharp objects. She unfolded the note so quickly, she almost tore it in two. As her eyes scanned the letter, she let out a low cry.

"What is it?" Draco asked, looking over her shoulder.

She'd never thought she'd have to see that handwriting again, her name rendered in such plain, spare strokes, as it had been a thousand times before, when she'd poured her soul out, and let the dark powers pour in. It had risen from the diary, an illicit, velvet whisper - Ginny - and now, here it was again, calling to her from the page, his writing. "It's Tom," Ginny said. "He was here."

Bill stared at her. "What does the letter say?"

"It says," Ginny had to stop and clear her throat, force herself to speak calmly. "It says that he has my family, and I have three hours to turn myself in."

"If you don't?" Draco asked.

Ginny looked up and held his gaze. "Then he's going to kill them,and then one family of halfblood or Muggleborn wizards every ten minutes I don't show up."

Draco's mouth fell open. "He's mad. Doesn't he realize that he'll never hold political power by -"

"He's not you, Malfoy," Ginny interrupted. "He doesn't want worldly power, he wants Otherworldly power, and he can only get it through me." She stared straight ahead, unseeing, her mind turned inward. Dear goddess, she didn't have a choice. There was only one thing she could do. Ginny stiffened her resolve; she couldn't falter on this. But, oh, it would be hard. Her one small comfort about the impending conflict was that she would personally see that Tom didn't make it out alive.

"Gin," Bill began, "I don't understand."

"There's no time to explain," Ginny said quickly. "We have to go."

"Where?" Draco asked.

"Hogwarts. Where's mum's red jar, Bill?"

Bill slowly pointed to the corner of the room. A small earthen jar lay shattered, its red, powdery contents spilled on the floor. Ginny crouched down and scooped up as much as she could.

Draco bent down beside her. "What about your family?" he murmured.

Her eyes were anguished; already, grief had taken hold. "Don't make this any harder than it already is."

"But if you don't go, they're as good as dead."

"They're as good as dead anyway. I have a responsibility," Ginny said through clenched teeth. "Tom has given me a choice: I trust him, save my family, and hundreds of people die, or I realize that he's a liar, save hundreds of people, and my family dies. I have -" her voice broke "- a responsibility."

"Stop calling him Tom," Draco said. He rested his hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "It gives him a humanity that he doesn't have."

"It's his name," Ginny said coldly, shrugging him off. "When you call things by their proper names, everything becomes much clearer."

"Gin," Bill said from across the room. "I know it's probably classified Auror information, but what's going on? Why is You-Know-Who after you? Three hours isn't a lot of time to figure out a rescue. We need to hurry."

"We're going to Hogwarts, Bill," Ginny said. "I have to talk to Dumbledore. I'll explain everything later." She didn't have the heart to tell him that they weren't going to save their family; there was just no way to do it. For all Ginny knew, they might already be dead.

Ginny caught Draco's eye, and he understood her request. He aimed his wand, and flames rose in the fireplace. Ginny tossed her handful of red powder inside and said, "Mike Fletcher."

A moment later, Mike's head appeared in the fire. "Gin!" he said, his face creasing into a relieved smile, as though he could hardly believe his eyes. "You're all right! You have no idea how happy I am to see you. Potter and I are -"

"Not now," Ginny interrupted. "You and Harry have to leave."

"Leave?" Mike said. "I don't understand."

Ginny spoke slowly and clearly, enunciating every syllable, pressing her meaning home. "Get out of the flat, right now. Don't even stop to pack. Go to Hogwarts. We'll meet you at the castle's front door."

Mike shook his head. "There's no way they could've found out Potter is here, Gin, I promise. We've been careful. We're both perfectly safe."

"They don't know Harry is there," Ginny said. "Mike, they'll be after you, because you're my best friend. My family has been taken, and there's a Dark Mark over the Burrow. Get out now."

Mike's head disappeared. Ginny stood and turned. Draco, Bill, and Delia all looked to her. "Hogwarts?" Draco said.

Ginny shook her head. "We have to go to my flat first."

"You don't have a fireplace," Bill said. "How are we going to floo to Hogwarts from there?"

"We'll Apparate," Ginny said. Her voice had taken on a stony, emotionless sound. With all her might, she was forcing back the roaring desire to save her family. This is what it meant to be the Pendragon. She had to consider everyone else; if she joined with Voldemort, Mórrígan would be defeated and the world would crash into destruction. She couldn't go to him - not in three hours, not ever - and she couldn't save her family if she didn't know where he was keeping them, or whether they were even still alive. There were simply too many other lives hanging in the balance to risk on such a gamble. Ginny would give her own life to save her family without a second thought. Unfortunately, it wasn't that easy. This was about the whole of the wizarding world, the past, the present, and the future. This was why the Great Dragon had returned. Ginny had made her choice on the island, claimed this destiny as her own. Now, it was time to see it through.

Bill was talking. "The wards are airtight. We can't Apparate to Hogwarts."

Ginny arched an eyebrow. "Watch me."

"Why are we going to your flat?" Delia asked.

Ginny said, "I need my wand."

* * * * *

Harry and Mike were out of breath. They'd used the floo network to carry them to the Three Broomsticks, and had run the entire way to the castle as though every demon in hell were behind them. Just as they reached the heavy double doors of Hogwarts, a loud pop echoed behind them. In tandem, they whirled around, wands drawn, and then they both gasped.

A rather motley crew had Apparated directly onto Hogwarts grounds, something previously considered impossible. Bill Weasley was streaked with dirt; chips of plaster and brick tangled in his long hair. He looked around, dazed, as though he needed badly to sit down. Delia Silvermoon was trembling, delicate tremors shivering through her body. Her sunken, silver eyes fixed hungrily on Draco Malfoy, who looked back at her with wary concern. Behind them all stood Ginny. She clutched a parchment in a white-knuckled fist, and her wand was strapped to her thigh in an Auror Division issue combat holster.

She raised her dark eyes to Harry's. A cry ripped from her throat as she pushed past Draco and threw herself into Harry's arms. He pulled her close; had it really been less than two weeks? It felt like a year since that magical night at his flat. Ginny framed his face with her hands, fingers spread against his cheeks. "You're all right," she said as though she could hardly believe it was true. "I'm so glad you're all right."

"Are you all right?" Harry asked. "You told Mike there was a Dark Mark at the -"

He cut off as Ginny pulled away and turned to Mike, throwing her arms around his neck. "Thank the goddess you're safe," she said, her words muffled by his shirt.

He hugged her back. "I'm fine, Gin. We're both fine. Is your family okay?"

Ginny pulled away. "Only Bill. The others...Tom got the others."

Harry felt a cold shiver at hearing Voldemort's real name. "How are we going to get them back?"

She slanted him a glance. I don't think we're going to.

"What?" he cried out loud.

Draco's head snapped up at Harry's outburst, hostility and resentment written on his face. It was gone just as soon as it appeared. He said, "Come on. We can't waste time talking out here, Potter."

"You!" Harry cried, launching himself at Draco.

Ginny threw herself between them and closed her hands around Harry's wrists. "We don't have time!" she exclaimed. "We're working against the clock. If you want to hit him later, I'll hold him for you, but we don't have time."

"But -"

"No!" Ginny said. She laid her palm flat against Harry's chest and glared up at him. You lied to me. You knew about him the whole time! You put the goddess's will ahead of your own. You might have ruined everything, for what? Loyalty to Dumbledore; your own stupid pride; a schoolboy grudge! Harry staggered back as she flooded their link with her anger and disappointment.

Ginny's he's a -

"I'm aware, Harry!" Ginny snapped out loud. "I said not now. I know everything he is, and to be perfectly honest, it's none of your goddamned business. We, the three of us, have too much to do."

Bill and Mike had pushed the castle doors open. With one last glare at Harry, Ginny slipped inside. One by one, the rest of the group followed her.

"Where is everyone?" Harry asked. The castle looked deserted.

"Since it's early evening," Draco said, "I imagine they're eating dinner, just the as you did at this time every day for the seven years you lived here."

"Shut up, Malfoy," Mike and Harry snapped together. A strange look passed between them.

Draco didn't bother to answer. He was fiddling with his sleeves. He'd slid the silver cufflinks out of their moorings, and now he was rolling up the cuffs with quick, efficient flicks of his long fingers. Harry was appalled. Only Draco Malfoy would have the audacity to walk into the Great Hall of Hogwarts Castle and stand in front of Albus Dumbledore, dark mark on full display. What could anyone do to him, after all? He was here under the protection of the Great Dragon.

Ginny also saw what he was doing, and made a face. "Now who's the childish one?"

Draco smirked. "If I am, it's all because of you."

"Roll your sleeves back down," Ginny ordered.

"Why should I have to hide who I am?"

"You're going to rub it in his face."

Draco's smirk deepened into a smile. "That's right, I am. And you're going to do the same." So quickly Harry that hardly saw him move, Draco's arm snaked out and released the clasp of Ginny's black robe. It hung open over her close-fitting black trousers and shirt; her tattoo was just visible above her belt. When Ginny blinked in surprise, Draco said, "Every person in that room should know that you're Agent Jezebel. You've earned the right to be recognized for what you've done."

Bill blinked. "You're what? Agent Jezebel? Ginny?"

Ginny held her brother's gaze for a long moment before nodding in confirmation. She walked over and stood in front of him, looked up to meet his blue eyes, their father's eyes. Ginny swallowed the lump in her throat at the thought of her father. Dear goddess, please let her see him again. She loved him so much, and her mother, and her four missing brothers. Ginny leaned in close and murmured, "I need you to do me a favor."

"What?" he asked, still wide-eyed, still unable to assimilate the notion that his baby sister was the most dangerous Auror at the Ministry.

Ginny shrugged the sling off of her shoulders and held the sword to her brother. "I need you to hold this for me, just for a few minutes."

"Why?"

"It's ancient magic," Ginny explained. "No weapons in the Great Hall. Just please hold it?"

Bill looked at the sword in her hands, the clear blade that flashed silver in the candlelight, the dragons that wound around the base. He inhaled sharply. "Ginny," he said, his voice low, so the others wouldn't hear, "they might not know what this sword is, but I do, and I want to know right now where you got it."

Ginny should have known better than to think that Bill wouldn't recognize it. He was a curse breaker, an artifact finder, a treasure hunter. Of course he would know the most famous sword in history on sight. "It's mine," she murmured back, equally softly.

"It can't be!" Bill said. "This sword belongs to the Pendragon; she's the only one who can use it. You need to tell me where you found it; you need to put it back! You can't muck around with the Otherworld!"

"It's mine," Ginny repeated.

Bill looked into her eyes. He shivered at what he saw in their dark depths - great power and even greater vulnerability, extreme youth and divine timelessness. He bowed his head, but hadn't even bent his knee an inch before Ginny caught his elbow. "Don't you dare," she hissed. "Not ever. You're my brother, Bill. You...you took me on picnics! You taught me to read! Never feel like you have to kneel. I had to put up with it from the Avalon priestesses; I won't have it from you."

Bill froze. He didn't know what to do.

"I'm the same person I was ten minutes ago," Ginny said, "and I need you to hold my sword. Whatever you do, don't let Delia touch it, and keep her away from Mike." Bill nodded, and the weapon was thrust unceremoniously into his waiting hands.

Ginny turned around and looked at Harry and Draco, who were busy glaring at each other. She said, "I'm ready." As she walked over to join them, the doors to the Great Hall crashed open.

Silence washed over the room like a wave. Everyone - teachers, students, Aurors, and Death Eaters - stared as Ginny strode in, Harry and Draco on either side of her. Their black cloaks billowed behind them as they walked, and their shoes against the flagstones were the only sounds. The younger students, ones who hadn't gone to school with the three, gaped openly. The one with the scar on his forehead couldn't be anyone but the Boy Who Lived, and the woman had a silver sword on her hip: it was Agent Jezebel! The other man, tall and pale, had an angry red brand on his left forearm, showing just below his shirt cuff. A Death Eater, right there in the Great Hall!

At the Slytherin table, Blaise stood the moment he saw his leader. Without pausing in his walk, Draco motioned for Blaise to be still. When they reached the front of the room, Ron, too, jumped to his feet, wand in hand. He raised it to Draco, but before he could fire, Harry caught Ron's eye and gave the barest shake of his head. Hermione caught his sleeve and slowly pulled him back in his chair, her eyes fixed suspiciously on Draco. Ron's livid stare would've melted steel.

Ginny was oblivious to all of this. She approached the high table and stood across from Dumbledore, meeting his inquiring expression with a glare that would freeze running water. Dumbledore's eyes narrowed when he saw Draco's dark mark, but his voice was cordial when he said to Ginny, "I'm glad to see you've made it back to us unscathed."

Ginny slammed the parchment down on the table in front of him. The sound reverberated through the hall. "Look at that," she said with quiet, determined anger.

Dumbledore scanned the parchment. When he got to the threat against the community's half-bloods, his eyes widened and he looked back up to Ginny.

"Tom left this for me at my parents' house," she said. "It's half caved in. There's a dark mark overhead, and they're all gone. Everyone is gone, except Ron and Bill."

"We'll work out a plan to get them back," Dumbledore said, pushing back his chair and standing. "We have three hours."

"No," Ginny said. "Sit back down."

Draco looked hugely amused by this. Harry seemed more horrified. Dumbledore, after a pause, sat.

Ginny was still talking in that harsh whisper, to keep her words from carrying to the rest of the hall. "For all I know, they're already dead."

Dumbledore's forehead creased in a slight frown. "Can't you use your powers to tell you if they're still alive?"

"I'm not a goddess!" Ginny snapped, louder than she'd meant to. The words echoed and bounced off the hall's stone walls. The students all leaned forward, interest doubled in what Agent Jezebel was saying to their headmaster. Ginny said, once again quiet, "My powers don't work that way."

Dumbledore appeared slightly hurt. "There's no harm in asking. I didn't know."

"That's because you never bothered to find out," Ginny said. "If I go to Tom, Mórrígan's war is effectively over, and everyone with Muggle blood will still be targets. I couldn't save my family, but I have to save the others."

"There are too many people," Dumbledore said, leaning forward across the table. "How are you going to rescue them all?"

Ginny took a deep breath. "We have to bring them here."

"How?"

She released an exasperated breath. "I'm not stupid, nor am I blind. You and the Order members compiled a list of halfboods and Muggle borns years ago, just for this sort of occasion. Now, we have to use it."

The headmaster's eyes widened at the thought of such a monumental undertaking done in such a small window of time. "I think we need to examine other options, Ginny."

"I'm sorry, Albus," Ginny purred with exquisitely barbed politeness, a tone straight from the mouth of Draco Malfoy, "I didn't realize you had any say in this."

Dumbledore looked taken aback at her use of his given name. She had not done it out of friendship, but because he had called her Ginny, and she had wanted to tell him, in no uncertain terms, that such familiarity between them was both undesirable and unacceptable.

Professor McGonagall couldn't remain silent a moment more. Aghast at Ginny's rudeness, she reprimanded, "Miss Weasley!"

Ginny didn't even look at her.

Dumbledore turned to McGonagall. "Minerva, give Miss Weasley whatever she asks for. The full resources of Hogwarts are hers to command."

Ginny nodded, satisfied with that answer. It was exactly what she wanted to hear. Without waiting another moment, she rested her hand on the head table and swung herself onto it. The students buzzed with surprise. Agent Jezebel was standing on the table? Had she gone mad?

Ginny took a deep breath. She opened her mouth to speak, but nothing came out. She couldn't look past the hundreds of eyes fixed on her, cataloguing her every move. Her body seized with the panic she always felt when she was the center of attention, and she firmly reminded herself that now was not the time. Grow up, Ginny. Mórrígan wouldn't be afraid. She straightened her back, cleared her throat, and tried again. "I need your attention."

She had it.

"You probably recognize by my tattoo that I'm Agent Jezebel. My real name is Ginny Weasley. I'm Professor Weasley's sister-in-law. Half an hour ago, I went to my parents' house to find them gone, the building destroyed, and a dark mark overhead."

Ron jumped to his feet with a cry. Harry turned his back to the room and leaned across the table. "She has it under control. Sit down. Trust her."

A ripple of fear spread through the room. None of these students were old enough to remember the first reign of terror, but Dumbledore had insisted they study it in History of Magic. He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was back in power, and had attacked the family of the most powerful Auror in the Ministry.

"He left me a note," Ginny continued, "saying that, in three hours, he was going to start killing halfblood families. Even the families of Muggleborns aren't safe."

The room erupted. Students cried out, shouted, screamed, jumped to their feet. It became pandemonium, a seething cauldron of panic.

"Silence!"Ginny shouted.

The room froze. Draco and Harry couldn't help but admire her innate ability to control a crowd.

"Didn't you just hear me say that I'm Agent Jezebel?" Ginny asked with a slight smile. "I always have a plan." She was trading in on her reputation as an Auror, using it to make them put their faith in her. It seemed to be working. In a crisis, people functioned best if there was someone in charge to tell them that a plan was already in motion, that it was no-fail, sure to work. These students were no different.

"We're going to evacuate them," she went on. "Who's willing to help?"

The Aurors and Gryffindors didn't need any extra prompting. They all jumped to their feet, beating the Hufflepuffs by the narrowest of margins. The Ravenclaws followed next, and when, after an eloquent glance between Draco and Blaise, the Death Eater faction rose, about half of the Slytherin table followed. Ginny didn't comment on the students who remained in their seats, but she sent them an arch look that told them she knew exactly why they hadn't stood. Several shifted uncomfortably.

"Here's what we're going to do," Ginny said. "The elves need to light every fireplace in this castle. We'll have to travel by floo, since you can't Apparate on Hogwarts grounds, and students can't Apparate at all. Sixth and seventh years, you'll need to help the teachers, Aurors, and..." she paused to think of a diplomatic term for Draco's faction, "the Headmaster's guests. I want everyone to travel in groups of no less than three. Go through the fireplace, collect the people you're supposed to collect, and then come back to the school as fast as you can. Don't stay in any one place for too long, and if you run into Death Eaters, for goddess's sake, don't try anything heroic. These people are playing for keeps. Let the adults handle it."

Many students were not looking as enthusiastic as they had been before her speech, but stubborn resolve showed on their faces.

"Third, fourth, and fifth years," Ginny continued, "will be in charge of expanding charms, so that we have room enough to put all these people. Every nook, cranny, and cupboard has to be expanded so their insides are bigger than their outsides. First and second years, you'll be in charge of helping people into the Great Hall. Keep them out from underfoot, especially the Muggles." People without magical powers would have no way to defend themselves, should a Death Eater wind up in the castle somehow. "I want every student to listen carefully to Professor McGonagall. She will keep you coordinated and organized." There was no one better suited for the job.

"Miss Weasley," Dumbledore said quietly, standing once again, "many of these houses are owned by Muggles. They're not hooked to the floo network."

Ginny tilted her head to one side, her brow lightly furrowed, as though she were thinking hard. "Done."

"Done?" Dumbledore echoed. "What's done?"

"They're hooked to the floo network. It's taken care of."

"What about the ones that don't have fireplaces?" Dumbledore pressed.

Ginny frowned. "Who doesn't have a fireplace? How else can they talk to each other?"

"Muggles use telephones," Dumbledore reminded her.

Shit. He was right. Ginny turned back to the crowd. "Okay. Some families don't have fireplaces. We'll use the Three Broomsticks as a Disapparation point, to go to their houses and evacuate them." She glanced at the Headmaster. "I assume the Order has been making Portkeys?"

"Yes," said Dumbledore. "We have several dozen enchanted with Hogwarts as the destination."

"We'll need them," she ordered, and once again addressed the crowd. "So, people who can Apparate will go to homes that don't have fireplaces and give the families who live there Portkeys. These Portkeys are set to return to the castle, so they're perfect for Muggles. Does anyone have any questions?" No one said anything. "Anyone who wants to back out is free to do so, and no one will think less of you." Still the students stood silently. Ginny was pleased. She added, "I know that many of you noticed Mr. Malfoy's Dark Mark," she rested her hand briefly on the top of Draco's head, "but you have my word that you don't need to be afraid of him. Today, he's one of us."

Many students still looked unsure, but the word of Agent Jezebel went a long way to making them feel more secure.

Just then, a huge black dog barreled into the hall. Harry's eyes widened. It was his godfather.

Sirius skidded to a halt at the odd scene - everyone in the room on their feet, and Ginny Weasley standing on the high table - but he took a moment to growl at Draco Malfoy. Draco flicked his cool eyes over the dog and drawled, "Well, if it isn't Sirius Black."

Pandemonium again. An escaped mass murderer!

Ginny yelled as loud as she possibly could. "Quiet!"

Once again, the room froze.

"Malfoy," she said softly, so no one but Harry would overhear, "that was low. We'll see how you like it when I publicly announce something I learned from your head." She said to the students, "You also have my word that Sirius Black is no more a Death Eater than Harry Potter is." Ginny looked to the dog. "It's all right, Sirius. You can transform. What's happened?"

Sirius looked past her to Dumbledore, who nodded. Ginny couldn't help but feel annoyed, but clenched her teeth and didn't say anything. A flash of light, and there was a man standing where the dog had been. "Voldemort is on the move," he gasped out. "He was spotted in Surrey, headed towards Little Winging."

Ginny and Harry twigged at the same time. "The Dursleys!"

Harry went on, "But I'm a Pureblood. My parents were a witch and wizard. The Dursleys shouldn't be on his list."

"I doubt Tom asked for a copy of your family tree," Ginny pointed out. "They're Muggles and the only blood family you have, which makes them a target."

"We still have two hours!" Draco exclaimed. "He's started early. He said in his note -"

"He must have found out that we were here," Ginny interrupted. "If he learned that I'd gone to Hogwarts, he would know that I have no intention of turning myself in."

Harry looked at Draco with undisguised suspicion. "How could Voldemort have known we were here? Who told him?"

"No one mortal," Ginny said. "We have to hurry if we're going to get to the Dursleysbefore he does."

"What about our parents?" Ron demanded.

Ginny's gaze flicked to him. "This isn't about them."

"You're acting like you don't even care!" he shouted.

"Shut up, Ron!" Ginny snapped back. "I care just as much as you do, but there's nothing I can do for them. We can't save them, but we can save the rest."

"You're not even going to try?" Harry demanded.

Ginny looked from him to Ron and Hermione. Guilt welled up in her throat. "All right," she said quietly, relieved beyond words that Harry had given her an excuse to send people for her parents. "All right, I'll try."

She crouched down on the table, putting herself at eye level with Draco. "If Tom has my family, where would he take them?"

"How the merry fuck would I know that?" Draco demanded, looking at her as though she were mad.

"You were his second in command, Malfoy. Give me an educated guess."

Draco thought. "The dungeons underneath the manor. That's the only place I can think of."

Ginny nodded, processing. "Do you know your way around the dungeons?"

"They're in my house, aren't they?" was his reply.

Once again, she stood and faced the crowd. "I'm putting together a separate team to head a rescue attempt for my family. Draco will go, because he knows his way around the Death Eaters' dungeons. Ron, you can go too, with Professor Figg, and..." Ginny scanned the room. She should send a field agent, someone highly trained in hand-to-hand combat. Since Ginny had quit, Harry was the best in the division, but if Draco was going, Harry would never consent - not because of their mutual dislike, but because it would leave Ginny unprotected. If she couldn't send him, Dana was the second best choice. She didn't know how safe it would be, sending Dana, Ron, and Draco off together, but hopefully Professor Figg would keep them in line. "Agent Nimue, you'll join them." With one last look around the room, she jumped down from the table.

Her feet landed on grass. She couldn't hold in a cry of surprise, a few frantic heartbeats of fear, before she realized that she was in the Otherworld. There were no other people in sight. The sun filtered through the green canopy of leaves, falling to the ground in emerald streaks of shadow and light. Ginny heard the murmur of a brook nearby, and braced herself for what she knew awaited her there.

She cleared the trees to her left, and her eyes fixed immediately on the Mórrígan, the death crone, who knelt on the opposite riverbank, industriously washing a robe, a large pile of them already spread on the grass beside her. "I'm here," Ginny said.

Mórrígan looked up. Her red eyes burned with the fire of death, and Ginny could smell her stench of decay even from across the water. Mórrígan held up the garment she was washing. It was a black robe, made to fit someone unnaturally long and thin. Its front was slick with dark, red blood. Ginny's features hardened in determination, and she nodded.

Mórrígan had grabbed another garment, and dunked it beneath the river. She held it up for Ginny's inspection, and smiled. Water sluiced down the sodden fabric, mingling with the blood that soaked the front.

Ginny gasped as her chest seized with pure, primal fear. She wanted to run, but her feet were frozen to the spot.

The blood on the robe was silver.

* * * * *

Stay tuned for chapter nine, "The DeathdayParty." I promise it's not to be missed.

Thank you so much to everyone who reviewed chapter seven. I'm truly fortunate to have such a wonderful group of readers. Your feedback surpassed my wildest dreams, and gave me a well-needed boost when I'd just moved to a new city and was fighting homesickness. Each and every one of you is appreciated.

Email me anytime at [email protected]. I adore hearing from you, and I always write back. Also, if you haven't yet, check out the HP Pendragon yahoo group! Cookies and fanart and muses - oh my! Plus, they get to read the chapter before it goes live on any of the websites. We'd love to see you there.