Desperate Measures

She walked briskly from the cottage to the Death Eater's hideout, having just enough time to come back and integrate herself with the men before her absence became suspicious and the Aurors attacked them. Hermione let the front door shut with a click instead of its usual bang, and went to sit in the parlour where she had been sitting playing cards.

Taking up her former position, Hermione looked at Second-In-Command who dealt her some cards for a new game as if she had been there all along. The others ignored her too, preferring to concentrate on the game. The cards looked like the ordinary Muggle ones that her parents got out to play now and then, but Hermione knew they had been charmed with an anti-cheating jinx.

Looking up from her cards nervously, she eyed the five Death Eaters at the table; they were all engrossed in their cards, their eyes darting as they tried to work out a winning strategy - the prize - a small pile of galleons on the table.

She hadn't bothered to learn their names - they wouldn't have given her their real ones anyway. What was the point in asking them now? She was going to be out of the place by the end of the night. Dryly imagining the scene: just as she was about to be killed or maimed, "Oh yes, what is your name?" That didn't work. She had only looked at them as she talked to them, no names needed. It was just too soon in their acquaintance to be messing around with the intimacy of names, and no one trusted easily in this house - they didn't call her anything either.

It was these random little thoughts that saw her through the proceeding card games. She was waiting for the window glass to smash, to see the faces of her comrades, the Aurors. Within minutes, they would have the place razed to the ground; while she sat around, pretending to be stunned or dead, while Harry had snuck to the basement to get Ron.

Thinking of her friends made the nerves worse. It gave Hermione a reason to be emotionally attached to all this, and emotion was the last thing that she needed. If she wanted to live, she had to keep her head - and her side of the deal with The Order. She was an unofficial member, and worked with them from time to time. She was one of them, but always on the sidelines, living the dangers inherent in such a position.

Second-In-Command touching her elbow woke Hermione out of her daze. He looked her straight in the eyes. If this man wasn't a Death Eater, she was certain that his face would have registered concern.

"Is your Grandmother alright?" he asked.

Hermione shuddered slightly at the question. She quickly composed herself. "Yes, sorry, I was just dreaming. Off with the pixies, as they say. My Grandmother is fine. She just had a bit of a scare that's all. So did I; I thought she might have broken something."

"As long as she's OK, and you're not too shaken. Didn't she want you to stay with her?"

"No, she told me to get back. She knows that this job means a lot to me. She can manage by herself, but it's just the bath that becomes a problem now and again.

Hermione supposed that the small talk was better than the silence, which caused an unbelievable tension that she thought that only she could feel. If they knew their fate, Hermione thought. One wrong move, believing they were doing their duty for their 'cause' throwing an unforgivable at an Auror, then the Auror would be fully entitled to fight back in the same way. Lives would most definitely be lost.

She inwardly cursed herself. This wasn't a game anymore. It never really was in the first place. It wasn't just an adventure or a chance to prove herself...to whom? The Order? Harry? Ron? Her parents? Herself? Hermione knew her own self-worth, and she was aware now that she was doing something incredibly dangerous. Success in this plan had been too easy so far. It was a complete and utter fluke that she had managed to get Death Eaters, of all people to trust her just because she looked like a tart.

Before this exercise, she had condemned the notion that Death Eaters might actually be people. It was just a nine-to-five job, with free accommodations and a uniform thrown in. And in return, when their cause won - power, money, and prestige. Everything one was socialised into believing was achievable. They had taken this chance, when offered on a plate, and did the necessary tasks. These were men, (and a few women Death Eaters, who didn't live with them and whom she had never met as 'Emma') whom didn't live solely to kill, maim, and torture. People are multifaceted, and most do not live to perform evil deeds, just to survive. But then, that is most people. There had to be people who escaped the net. Voldemort obviously thought that he was justified.

Damned sociology. Hermione began to regret all her extra studying in her earlier life. It made her sympathise with her enemies, the monsters. Some of them might end their lives here tonight; her 'death' might even upset some of them.

***

"Tonks! What do you think you're playing at?" Alastor Moody's voice, restrained to a soft but harsh whisper to reprimand the wayward Auror. Tonks gave her mentor a withering glare and got her wand out, ready. They had Apparated to an alleyway not far from the Death Eater's house. They were walking up the road, and Tonks had temporarily put her wand in her robes while she stopped to tie her shoelace.

"Don't be so paranoid, Alastor. We're not there yet," Dumbledore said, trying to appease his friend.

"That isn't the point, and you know it. Do you even know which room we need to attack?"

"Miss Granger said that most of them would be in the parlour - it would be the room that's well-lit," said Dumbledore.

"What about the odd stray Death Eater? We could come across him unexpectedly! Did you think about that Albus? You haven't got the sense you were born with!" Moody growled.

To say that the group of Aurors was nervous was an understatement. Many were bickering quietly amongst themselves over the tiniest thing. With the downfall of Cornelius Fudge, The Order had found it easier to be more open about their activities and had recruited more Aurors to the group. On this particular mission, there was a group of twenty-five trained Aurors. Hermione had told them that there were about fifteen to twenty Death Eaters in the house at any particular time. She wasn't completely sure of number because they came and went. The Order had sent extra Aurors, so some could accompany Harry to where the Death Eaters held Ron, but the whole group would remain well covered. After the losses from the last war, and the recent war casualties, it was sensible not to take chances.

The house in front of them was the one that Hermione had described. Off the main road, and hidden mostly by bushes, to a Muggle, the house looked like it was a derelict bungalow. The real house, which only wizards could see, was two storeys high, with a basement below that looked newer than the rest of the house, as Harry had seen in his dream. It looked quite inconspicuous, for the benefit of any passing wizard. Lights could be seen though the bushes crowding the driveway. Upon closer inspection, the Death Eaters had carelessly parked a decrepit and ancient minibus, which they sometimes used for mass journeys, on the grass. The turf was torn-up and muddy; hinting the rest of the place was in the same condition. Moody crept up to the house and pointed at the cracks in the walls out to an impassive looking Dumbledore, who just shrugged at the shoddy workmanship of the building.

Gathering outside, the Aurors and members of The Order looked around for signs of life. One window downstairs looked occupied. With his cloak, Moody moved cautiously and slowly up to it, and looked in. They had found the parlour. His searching gaze was quick, but he didn't want to risk being seen. He saw they were playing cards, and looked engrossed in the game. An attack was not expected. Their wands were not out, but not probably, far away either.

It was time for one last whispered team talk and then, action.

***

Harry walked with Remus Lupin on the way to the house. They were both silent. Lupin had a frightening air about him; his calm now gone, he was hyping himself up for battle. Harry didn't dare talk to him, and Remus didn't dare talk to Harry, who was getting increasingly nervous. It would be up to the others to free Hermione and hopefully kill some Death Eaters while they were at it. Harry's mission was to find Ron and get him out. Could he do it? Would all the Death Eaters be keeping watch in Ron's cell, waiting for Harry to come? Would they out number him, if they decided to stay and not join the battle with the Aurors, guessing that it was a diversionary tactic?

Death Eaters were not stupid. Harry knew this. They had their own minds, and didn't have to wait for orders from Voldemort, if the situation warranted quick thinking. Keep to the plan at all times. Unless a detour is needed in which case, take it, Harry thought. There was no time to be nervous. He would go onto autopilot once they were in there and fighting, but for now, there was that sense of foreboding that had never bothered him when he was younger. Knowing now that he wasn't invincible, Harry as a twenty-year-old would not have gone after the Philosopher's Stone, nor into the Chamber of Secrets or anything like that. He certainly would not have gone to the Department of Mysteries, where his quick thinking killed his Godfather. Harry often wondered if the man, who was walking next to him, blamed him for Sirius's death. Remus had lost more than his friend that night, and Harry's feeling responsibility had made relations uneasy between them for a while. Any conversation would have felt forced, so both men remained silent. They weren't going to lose Ron too; both men felt determined that another close friend would not be lost.

Feeling united in their wish to save a young man's life, they walked on, drawing strength from the other, or faking bravado for the other's sake.

***

Ron lay on his side on the stone step. Pain still pulsed and ran through his body. He had to be bleeding internally, after what he had experienced an hour previously. They hadn't killed him, which really surprised Ron. The Death Eaters were still convinced that Ron was concealing something and were going to question him again in the morning. Lucius Malfoy had told him that before leaving the room in his usual haughty manner.

There was no end but death. Harry was not coming. The whole Order had forgotten about him; they were not coming to rescue him. Maybe they had died trying to blast the place in, or his jailers had caught them. There were so many maybes; Harry wasn't coming to get him. Had Hermione tried? He loved Hermione, but he had to admit that if she tried, they would crush her within minutes - there was only the one of her, and although she was a good, talented witch, it would be easier to use physical force on her, like they had done him. Did the Ministry of Magic even know about his disappearance? Hell, did anyone know that he was abducted and had not left of his own accord?

Surely they knew he was gone.

It was not a pleasant topic to think about on his last night alive.

***

Hermione surreptitiously tried to consult her watch, and not look nervous. They mustn't notice her looking anxious. She thought about going to bed, but the past few nights, she hadn't turned in until about eleven o'clock, at the earliest. She thought that they might notice that she was going to bed earlier. Paranoia was starting to set in that they were onto her, and that they had established a pattern of her movements. Anything that strayed away from it, and they would pluck her out as a traitor. 'Emma' went to bed at eleven. She thought about what she had been doing for the past two nights, scurrying between the kitchen and the parlour making cups of tea, and snacks for the men who felt peckish. She would then settle down with a back issue of Witch Weekly and be content to watch the men play cards, or listen to Second In Command when he felt like a little merry tinker and plunked on the out of tune piano in the corner. He played Muggle songs from World War II that Hermione recognised. She had smiled when he told her that he could only play in C major and so had transposed everything he knew to that key. That didn't matter though. The music gave a homely and pleasant feeling to the room. Truth be told, it reminded Hermione of her grandfather who played the accordion, and would play in the evenings when there was nothing on the television.

Tonight, the keys sounded like they were being pressed harder. Maybe Second-In-Command was playing like he was stressed. Hermione could also hear the pedal pumping, usually, she couldn't. Did he sense something?

It was a waiting game. Wait for the signal, act surprised, and play dead. Dead like Ron might be. All this, just for Ron.

How far do you go for a friend - is this too far? Hermione mused. She would die for him, as he would die for her. He would angrily storm to her prison, and her captors would tear him limb from limb for his trouble. Hermione had to take it more methodically. If Ron were still living, he would surely make it out of this alive. They all would.

Hopefully.

***

Harry squared his shoulders and stood up to his full height to address the house in front of him. Ron just had to be alive and he had to save him. He separated himself from the rest of the group and started to test the metal bars that let light into the basement, but secured the window.

***

The Aurors left the front door uncharmed and free to walk through as the members of The Order filed past. Hermione had previously told them about the squeaky floorboards, and so they had tested weightlessness charms; the charm worked well, and everyone progressed silently. Moody led the group until they split to try each door to look for stray Death Eaters. They found none downstairs. Almost floating, they inspected the rooms, finally pausing outside of the parlour. Counting to three, when he had everyone's attention, Alastor Moody lifted his wand high and blasted the door to splinters.

***

There was surprise and chaos. Death Eaters fumbled for their wands, and when they didn't find them immediately, table legs were ripped off in an attempt to bludgeon the enemy. Everyone threw stunning spells and hexes; it was hard to tell what was hitting whom. Hermione felt several spells rush by her. She stuck close to Second In Command who had his wand with him and was throwing stunning charms, slicing curses. It didn't seem to matter who was being hit. His eyes narrowed at the sight of Moody, and threw the first killing curse.

Hermione tried to duck a poorly aimed curse, but felt everything stop, as she was stunned. The plan hadn't worked - did they know she had only been stunned and not killed? No one was paying attention to her.

More killing curses flew, and several Death Eater bodies slumped to the floor, lifeless. If the war hadn't been personal before - it was now. Comrades on both sides were stunned or dead.

Dumbledore, powerful in his fury, was merciless. He could duel with the best and faced two Death Eaters throwing killing curses. They ended up in a stunned and immobile heap with a simple swish of his cloak and uttered spell. Dumbledore looked desperately around, trying to find Hermione, who lay crumpled on the floor. If he could have paused to watch her sooner, he might have helped. She looked at peace. He thought she was dead. He realised that he was wrong as she started to come back to consciousness. And suddenly, the action started again as a crushing charm knocked his hat off. He turned to address his attacker....

Hermione was now awake; she was supposed to play dead but had forgotten and stirred. No one was paying attention to her though. She opened her eyes to see piles of bodies, some obviously dead from Avada Kedavra and others stunned. There was a crazy aura of magic in the air above them, she noticed colour after colour, mixed up lights playing together on the ceiling. Then everything went black.

Moody let nothing stand in his way. He stunned and bound the Death Eaters before they could reach their wands or get close to him with torn off pieces of furniture. The Death Eaters in the parlour were definitely outnumbered, and it wasn't long before they lay contained on the floor, for the time being. Just as he relaxed slightly, there was a clunk as a table leg hit the back of Moody's head, and his magical eyeball plopped to the floor; his body following.

The room was swarming again with Death Eaters, who had just come from Ron's cell. They had left him alone after hearing cries and bangs upstairs. Aurors and members of The Order gathered all their strength to fight again. The first little altercation had been too easy. They faced the people close to Voldemort this time; the top dogs, who were very skilled.

"Stupefy!" Lucius Malfoy shouted as he made his way through the door. He was flushed and sweat showed on his forehead after the run from Ron's cell. Physically over exerted, he tried to brush past Tonks's arm. She turned to him and used full body bind. She then went into action, stupefying the reserve troops, who the door seemed to vomit out.

The Death Eaters were still outnumbered. Both sides threw Killing curses about, and it was becoming harder now to avoid and dodge everything. Second In Command looked around for Hermione. She was lying still on the floor. He was too far away to see her chest move up and down shallowly or feel air leaving her body. Emma looked dead. She hadn't been able to take care of herself, after all and had got caught in the crossfire. There was nothing he could do for her. He felt no regret or sense of blame, as there might have been in another's mind. This was why their elite group only took the best witches and wizards in the world. They had to look out for themselves.

His assessment didn't last long, as a reflected Avada Kedavra hit him in the back. He died instantly with a look of surprise on his face.

Dumbledore was throwing spell after spell at the Death Eaters, but they kept on coming. Was this ever going to end? His friend Alastor Moody was still unconscious with his magical eyeball lying beside him. At least on the floor, he was out of harm's way, and with any luck, one of the Death Eaters would trip and crack his head.

Hermione lay in her spot near the table. It was now two feet lower because someone had ripped off half its legs in the initial confusion of the attack. Everything was calming down. The Aurors now picked off the Death Eaters, who had managed to stay alive until the end, and placed the unconscious masses in body binds. They would take dead bodies and survivors both to the Ministry. Someone picked Hermione up, nodded to Dumbledore, and took her away.

The unhurt Aurors and the able members of The Order of the Phoenix helped their injured comrades stagger out of the house - they levitated the others out by stretcher. Hermione was out and safe, and they had captured known Death Eaters. The Aurors and members of The Order then walked to a point where they could Apparate, or portkey back with the injured. Some chose to walk quietly away from the scene, letting their minds wander over the events.

***

Harry squashed his face to the floor, and turned to look through the bars that were obstructing direct access to the basement. He didn't know whether he could see Ron or not. There was a dirty, knobbly lump near a chair that could have been Ron, but no red hair appeared to shout at him. After his eyes adjusted to the dark a little, he noticed a shoe attached to the lump he thought might have been Ron. Looking closer, it was a slipper, and it looked battered like the rest of the bundle. Where was the flash of Weasley hair? Had they decapitated Ron?

There had to be a better way, than the unbudging window, into the basement. He couldn't go through the house unless he wanted to find himself in the middle of the skirmish where he could see flashes of curses out of the window. Why wasn't Ron moving? Harry moved around the corner. He tried to remember the pattern of taps on the knot in the wall that would open a staircase that might lead to the basement, which Hermione had told Dumbledore about. Hermione had relayed that she had recognised the taps in a sort of rhythm, but was unclear on the exact rhythm. Harry thought this incredibly unlikely, as these monsters were not human and wouldn't understand rhythm even if a tap dancer came into their meetings and performed. He tried a combination of taps with patterns in mind and even a little Morse code (everyone knew SOS - right?).

It was futile. Harry ran round to the basement to look at Ron. He knew time was of the essence and that the Death Eaters could come back at any minute to check if someone had come to rescue Ron. The body in there looked a lot like Ron; even if it was battered, and he still couldn't see whether Ron had his head attached. Harry had to keep on trying, if only to recover the body, but better to get him out alive.

Keep trying, he willed himself. Keep tapping. Keep looking for the solution. But, I don't have enough information to solve it, he thought desperately. It's Hermione who is good at these things. Just keep at it! The voice in his head urged.

Harry found himself idly tapping to 'Baa Baa Black Sheep' in between working out a proper combination for working the knot. To his surprise, the knot disappeared and a black hole started to emerge, which became obvious he was to either slide or walk down some stairs or something. Eventually, it led to some stone steps, lined by torches that lit up as he moved towards the first step. Warily, Harry stepped down and grabbed a lighted torch from the wall for extra light. He wanted his wand ready in case this was a set-up. The steps were steep, and needed a good balance. Harry could feel adrenaline pumping through him, and he wondered whether it would make him so eager to get to Ron that he'd, slip and break his neck.

The thought that Ron might not be alive was getting more vivid. He thought he had seen Ron, but he couldn't be sure if he was alive. Not being able to see Ron's hair was frightening, and he hoped it was because his hair was covered in blood or a blanket... anything.

He finally got to the bottom of the stairs and ran over to another door. He blasted it down without trying to work out if there was a spell or not. With that out of the way, he rushed in and skidded down to the floor by the bundle. He shook it gently - it was definitely a human. His eyes searched the body all over - it felt like Ron, but he needed to see his face just for that reassurance. Murmuring 'Ron - please be alive,' Harry thought he would break down into tears. It was Ron all right. He was wearing the robes that he wore casually around the house. Harry wondered briefly if Ron had been cold while in this prison. He stepped around the body - it was definitely Ron, and he still was intact. Blood and dirt caked his hair, and his face was battered and bruised. Ron's robes looked torn in places and singe marks dotted the cloth. Aggressive, red burns stood out on his pale, freckly skin. They looked recent, as the wounds were weeping and starting to blister. Harry nearly turned his head away in disgust. This couldn't possibly be Ron, but it was. His long nose stood out, and although scorched and covered in blood, they were Ron's clothes.

Should he move him? Harry remembered something, from years ago in a healing lesson, that you shouldn't move a patient in case his back was broken or he had internal injuries. Was Ron even alive? He hadn't seen his chest move, and he wasn't snoring. Harry moved his face down to Ron's and felt a light breath touch his cheek. Harry felt like dancing - Ron was alive!

Harry looked over Ron's injuries and tried to think of the best way to move him. Finally, he put Ron in a full body bind, and levitated him. Ropes flew out from his wand and tied around Ron's waist. Harry then tied the rope around his ankles and transfigured himself into his phoenix animagus form. Harry then had to transfigure back. He didn't want to be seen. Applying a camouflage charm, he returned to his animagus form and flew Ron out of the dungeon, up the stairs and to freedom.

Harry briefly looked back - no one was running after them yelling - he'd done it! He could only hope and pray to a God who had not listened to him before that the casualties were minimal and that Hermione was alive.