The End

Chapter 12: No Time Left to Start Again

Harry woke slowly, but soon came to wish he hadn't. His head was pounding and achy and it felt like his limbs were covered in lead. Precisely why he felt so hung over was a mystery; he certainly didn't remember getting drunk. He searched his mind for the reason for his condition and at last came up with the previous night's failed mission, Ron and Michael's capture, and his own escape by Apparating with Sydney. Harry buried his head in his pillow, feeling somehow worse than he had a minute ago. It took his dazed mind over a minute to become dimly aware of a loud conversation taking place in the hall outside, but it didn't take nearly as long to determine who the individuals were and why they were fighting.

"Where I'm from, when someone is injured to the point that they would endanger a mission they're taken out of the field!" one exclaimed.

"Well we're not where you're from," the other replied. "We've had to improvise and he's been invaluable, even after he got hurt. We couldn't just ask him to stay behind, could we?"

"Yes, invaluable," the first spat. "Because of him, he and Michael are captured."

Harry decided that he had better stop them before they said something they would regret later. Sydney had already slipped back into her normal accent and both had come close to directly mentioning the CIA. While their rooms might be somewhat removed from the rest of the castle, he wasn't willing to assume that there couldn't be anyone standing near the picture of Bertie Bott, listening to them.

He sat up and instantly regretted it as the blood rushed painfully from his head, then put on his glasses and made his way gingerly to the door. His legs seemed reluctant to do his bidding, so he staggered into the hallway and leaned against the nearest wall. The two women stopped arguing immediately upon seeing him.

"Harry!" Hermione cried, coming over to him. "You should be resting."

"It's the middle of the afternoon," Harry informed her, squinting at a nearby window.

"But you need time to recover from yesterday," Hermione said.

"You guys were yelling kind of loud," Harry said groggily, trying to change the subject.

Hermione, however, missed the hint and said, "Oh, we woke you up, sorry."

They had, now that Harry thought about it, but that wasn't what he was getting at. "It's not that," Harry explained. "We're trying to work in secret here. Anyone could walk by and hear something about the CIA or Sydney talking in an American accent and I don't need to remind you that not everyone at Hogwarts can be trusted."

"We were just trying to decide how to fix what happened," Hermione said glumly, fiddling with her wand.

"Very constructive," Harry sighed. "Look, we're going to bring down Malfoy and the rest of the Death Eaters and rescue Ron and Michael." Harry paused to watch both Hermione and Sydney light up. "But they know we're on to them now and we're down by two people. We won't be able to pull this off without Sydney's help, and she can't stay with us if her cover is blown."

The two women shrugged uncomfortably.

"No one is to blame for this except for the Death Eaters, but especially not Ron. We need to be able to work together, but if you must blame someone here, blame me; not rescuing them was my decision."

However much Hermione and Sydney may have wanted to argue with him, there was no denying his logic, and any further discussion would have only been for the sake of their own anger, a luxury they could not afford. Instead, they nodded sheepishly and dropped their glances to the floor.

"There's another thing we have to do," Harry said suddenly a few moments later, drawing the women out of their thoughts. "We have to leave Hogwarts, now."

Hermione and Sydney once again looked ready to argue, but reason set in first. Despite the protection and resources it offered, staying at Hogwarts would only be a liability in the long run, what with the hundreds of innocent students that would be at risk if the Death Eaters decided to take the fight to Hogwarts again.

"We shouldn't leave any evidence that we were ever here," Sydney informed them.

"That might not be so easy," Hermione said. "Getting rid of our stuff will be simple enough, but we haven't exactly been quiet about our presence here. Any student could have parents who are still loyal to the Death Eaters, they'd just have to make the connection. It's not like we can modify everyone's memories."

"Then we'll jut have to hope that they'll also realize that we're not here anymore before they go tell their parents," Harry said. When he noticed Hermione's skeptical look he added, "And we'll put the teachers on alert." Sydney joined Hermione, giving Harry a similar scowl, so he said, "I'm listening for any better ideas."

Both shrugged, but Hermione said, "If they decide to come looking for us at Hogwarts, Hogsmeade will be a close second. We don't seem to have many other good places to hide from other Wizards, but I'll try and think of somewhere."

"So, we pack, let McGonagall know what's going on, then leave and go wherever we're going," Harry confirmed.

"There's one other thing we need to consider," Sydney said carefully. "The two of you and Ron worked together against Voldemort?"

"Yes," Harry confirmed, sensing that Sydney was about to say something he didn't want to hear. She often started conversations like this by pointing out the obvious to back up her argument.

"Then it wouldn't be much of a leap for the Death Eaters to assume that you were involved after they caught Ron?"

"What are you getting at?" Hermione asked.

"Look," Sydney started. "I've been in this business a long time and if these guys are anything like the usual breed, they are not above going after those you know for information or leverage against you. I'm assuming you both have families that would be at risk."

"The Dursleys?" Harry laughed. "The Death Eaters can have them; it'd serve them right..."

"Harry!" Hermione snapped, cutting him off.

"All right, I'll send them an owl," Harry sighed.

Hermione sighed, knowing Harry was choosing the magical way of sending letters to spite his surrogate family, but she agreed to the compromise anyway. "I can call my parents once we get away from Hogwarts."

"You can borrow my cell phone," Sydney offered. "You too, Harry."

"Oh no," Harry cried suddenly.

"What?" Hermione yelped, an illogical panic rising within her.

"We have to tell the Weasleys," Harry said desperately.

"Is that all?" Hermione said happily, trying to force the adrenaline in her system back where it came from.

"You weren't there to see them when they thought Ginny was dead, or when Mr. Weasley was attacked by the snake," Harry pointed out.

"No, I wasn't, but I know they will listen to you," Hermione replied.

"They're like my family, but I have to keep giving them bad news. Some friend I am," Harry sighed. "If they don't hate me already, they will after this."

"I never got the impression that they disliked you when we were staying over this summer," Hermione pointed out.

"Sure, they acted polite, they had to," Harry said. "They blame me for what happened. Ron does too."

"They don't," Hermione exclaimed.

"They should!" Harry replied, equally as forcefully.

"Don't project your guilt, or whatever it is, onto them," Hermione replied. "Ginny should be getting out of Charms about now, will you go talk to her, or shall I?"

"We shouldn't tell her, it'd mess up her head," Harry said glumly. "She's got N.E.W.T.s to study for."

"I never thought I'd see the day when you care more about tests than I do," Hermione said. She sounded impressed. "Ginny's a lot tougher than you're giving her credit for."

"She saw enough of this when Voldemort was still around," Harry replied. "She doesn't deserve to be put through that again."

"So you'd rather lie to her?" Hermione demanded.

"No, I'd rather leave her out of it," Harry said.

"I believe I said the same thing about Dobby, and the help he gave us was invaluable," Hermione said.

"That's up for debate," Harry sighed.

"It was our plan, not his information, that was flawed," Hermione exclaimed. "She's going to find out eventually, Harry. Wouldn't it be better for her to hear it from us?"

"I guess," Harry admitted.

"Great, if we hurry we can meet her outside of the Charms classroom," Hermione said, making to leave.

"Wait," Harry said, pulling her back. "I think I should go alone."

"How do you figure?" Hermione asked.

"It'll be less intimidating if there's only one of us," Harry started.

"Under that line of thinking, shouldn't I be the one to go?" Hermione asked. "I am one of her best friends."

"Hermione," Harry stated flatly, giving her a significant look.

"Awful brave for someone who was afraid to go talk to her a few minutes ago," Hermione quipped. When Harry gave her a pleading look she finally conceded. "Alright, you go. I'll go talk to McGonagall then help pack."

"Don't forget to tell her about Ron and Michael," Harry reminded her.

"Don't forget to be gentle," Hermione returned. "And leave Pig with her."

"You've got it."

"You too."

***************

Harry stood near the portrait of the Fat Lady, nervously searching the few passing students for Ginny. He'd been caught by a group of fifth years on their way between classes, seeking advice on their Defense Against the Dark Arts O.W.L, and Harry hadn't managed to get away fast enough to find Ginny anywhere in the vicinity of the Charms classroom. Even though it was the usual practice for students to return to their dormitories after their classes, Ginny could have gone anywhere, the library, a professor's office, the Great Hall, the Quidditch pitch, anywhere. Harry had started looking for other Gryffindors he knew who might be able to tell him Ginny's whereabouts when she showed up, surrounded by a small group of friends who were all laughing hysterically at some joke. Harry managed to catch her eye and she promptly excused herself and came over.

"Hi!" she said happily. She looked as though she'd intended to say something more, but she had stopped herself and now looked a little uncomfortable.

It took him a moment to discover the nature of her dilemma, but her got there eventually, and said, "You can call me Harry now, I'm not your teacher anymore."

She brightened up immediately and replied, "Great. You have no idea how difficult it is to remember to call you Professor Potter in class."

"Probably about as hard as it is for me to remember to answer to it," Harry said with a shrug.

"So, Harry." She emphasized his name as though to reinforce the notion that she was once again allowed to use it. "What's up?"

This time it was Harry's turn to look uncomfortable. "Is there somewhere we can sit down and talk awhile?"

"The Gryffindor common room is right through that portrait," Ginny replied brightly. "It's usually pretty empty this time of day."

"Sounds good," Harry said.

Ginny turned to the Fat Lady and said, "Calamity!"

"Bit of an odd password," Harry pointed out as they climbed through the portrait hole.

"I know," Ginny replied. "She's been stuck on words like that since, you know..."

Harry did know, a bit better than he might have liked at the moment. As he jumped down from the hole and straightened up, the first thing he noticed was the myriad of faces staring up at him with looks ranging from utter terror to strangled relief. The one thing they all had in common was panic, and it seemed to paralyze each and every one of them in a way no full body bind curse could. A sudden flash of lightning lit up the dark and rainy sky and a thunder clap sounded a moment later. A few students jumped at the noise but the rest seemed beyond even that. Luckily, someone had the faculty of mind to set up barricades around the fireplace and portrait hole, the latter of which Harry nearly tripped over. However, neither position was being defended. As Harry looked at his peers, all thoughts of getting the Marauder's Map quickly then leaving were banished from his mind. He couldn't leave them like this.

Ginny was the first among the huddled mass to recover and step forward.

"What's happening?" she asked desperately, clearly trying to subdue her panic. "McGonagall announced that we should lock ourselves in our houses as quickly as possible, but that was over an hour ago, we haven't heard anything else since."

"Voldemort's attacking Hogwarts," Harry replied quietly as Neville, Seamus, and Dean came up to hear what Harry had to say. "He's somewhere in the castle. The Order, the Aurors, Ron, Hermione, and I are looking for him, but the Death Eaters are giving us trouble."

"Why would You-Know-Who come here?" Neville asked. "Is he looking for something?"

"Yes," Harry sighed. He hadn't wanted to divulge this particular bit of information to Ron and Hermione nearly two years ago and hadn't told anyone else since, so no one here knew about the prophecy, and there was insufficient time to explain it now. "We think he's looking for me."

"Why you?" Seamus asked predictably.

"That's complicated," Harry replied. "The point is that I can't stay here much longer without putting you all in danger." He raised his voice now and addressed the entire group.

"Listen up. You all deserve to know that Hogwarts is currently being attacked by some very bad wizards." He winced at his own dismal euphemism and observed similar sentiments in the older students. "Does anyone have any Floo Powder?"

Several people brightened up at the possibility, but they were denied this simple solution; strictly speaking, students weren't allowed their own Floo Powder, and they weren't lucky enough to have someone in their midst who had broken that rule.

"Alright," Harry sighed. "The Fat Lady should be able to stop anyone who shouldn't be in here, but we have to make sure this place can be well defended, just in case. It would be best if first, second, and third years go lock themselves in the dormitories, the girls' side if the boys can make it up there, since the staircase will slow down most of the Death Eaters. Should anything go wrong up there, third years, you'll be in charge of defending the younger students. Everyone else, it's your task to make sure they don't have to by stopping any intruders before they have a chance to get upstairs. Should it come down to it, Fred and George's fireworks make an excellent distraction. There's a stash of them in the seventh year boys' dormitory."

Harry had expected his peers to act on his suggestions right away. After all, they made sense and were for the greater good, but in general they seemed more petrified than when he first came in. Harry sighed, knowing only one way to bolster them.

"Come on you lot. We're Gryffindors, famed for our bravery. Each and every one of you was put into this house for a reason. The Sorting Hat saw courage in you, live up to it! Tonight we are all in danger, and tonight we may all be called upon in this battle. I know you're afraid, I know you don't want to fight, but if it comes down to it, you will have the choice to give up or to strike back. You can't give up. Together, you can face anything that comes through that portrait; all you need is to be ready for it."

Harry paused, unsure of what to say next. An uncomfortable silence ensued until someone asked, "What about the students in other houses?"

Harry couldn't resist a smile, that was much more like it, even though the answer was difficult.

"Unfortunately, without their passwords there's nothing I can do for them, but if I see anyone I'll remind them to check on their houses. Now then, first, second, and third years upstairs, everyone else down here. DA members should stay in charge here..." he noticed the several dirty looks he was getting and struggled with himself momentarily before relenting and added, "...or, if you're willing, you can come out and help."

Harry watched gratefully as his peers began organizing themselves according to his suggestions and could hardly suppress a wave of pride and gratitude as every member of the DA present who was in his house moved to join him at the foot of the portrait hole. He was happy that he'd managed to warn the Creevey brothers, Lavender, and Parvati to stay away while they were still in Hogsmeade, but couldn't help thinking that a few extra people would be very helpful in the ensuing battle.

"We're with you, Harry," Ginny said from next to him.

"Harry? Harry!"

Harry blinked and squinted at the sudden change in light. It took a moment for his befuddled sensed to realize what had just happened.

"You alright?" Ginny asked, her hand on his elbow and sending sparks up his arm. "You blanked out for a minute."

"Yeah, fine, thanks, sorry," Harry stammered, still trying to compose himself. "I guess I was daydreaming or something."

Or something...

"About anything in particular?" Ginny pressed.

"No," Harry replied stiffly, thoroughly undermining any of Ginny's impending questions.

"Oh," she sighed. "You wanted to tell me something?"

"Yeah," Harry said uncomfortably. "We should probably sit down."

Ginny moved to the sofa near the fireplace and Harry took the chair next to her.

"So, what's this about?" Ginny asked.

Harry searched the carpet a moment for inspiration and, finding none, tried the empty fireplace, the window, and the ceiling. It wasn't until he finally caught Ginny's eye in a final desperate gambit that he finally found the words to say.

"Have you figured out that Hermione, Ron, a few others, and I are trying to fight the remaining Death Eaters?" he started, realizing only after he'd finished just how lame his statement sounded.

"Sure," Ginny replied with a shrug. Harry's look of surprise must have been even more obvious than he thought it was, because she elaborated. "Five different replacement teachers in training showing up at the same time was kind of a red flag, especially since I knew you three were supposed to be working for the Ministry. Between Ron and Hermione I got a pretty good idea of what's been going on."

"Figures," Harry muttered none too quietly, but Ginny merely looked proud of herself.

"So why are you telling me all this now?" Ginny asked.

Harry had been dreading this question, and now suddenly found his prepared answer woefully inadequate.

"Last night we tried to go in and take them down," Harry began. He'd expected some sort of response from Ginny, but she simply sat there, waiting for him to continue. "It all went bad, they found out we were there. We barely made it out, but Ron didn't."

Harry paused again, unsure of where to go from there. Instead, he watched Ginny's reaction, and the change was sudden and dramatic, she pulled her knees protectively to her chest and hugged her legs, resembling nothing so much as her eleven year old self when she wanted nothing as much as to explain everything she knew about Tom Riddle's diary but was mortally afraid to do so. Harry desperately wanted to move next to her, take her up in his arms, and make her feel better, but he forced himself to keep his seat.

"Do you know what happened to him?" Ginny asked. "Don't lie."

"No, not really," Harry admitted.

"But he's more valuable to them alive than dead," Ginny suggested hopefully.

"We know," Harry replied. "We hope he's just being held prisoner."

"I want to help you find him," Ginny said.

"Ginny, you've got schoolwork, and the N.E.W.T.s to prepare for," Harry pointed out.

"Damn the N.E.W.T.s!" Ginny exploded. She jumped to her feet and started pacing angrily in front of the fireplace even though tears were coursing down her cheeks. "He's my brother and I'm not going to stand by while I could be doing something to help him. You know he'd do the same for me."

"True," Harry relented, casting a wary look around the room. There weren't many people in the Common Room, but most of them seemed to be listening in on their conversation now. "Alright, the trouble is, they know we're after them now, so we have to lie very low. We're leaving Hogwarts and it'll draw too much attention if you come too, but I promise we'll contact you before we do anything. And Pig can stay here with you, in case you need to write to us."

"Fair enough," Ginny sighed, sitting back down and burying her head in her hands.

"You alright?" Harry asked gently, unable to stand seeing her like this any longer and moving so he was next to her on the sofa.

"Fine," was the muffled response. "Could you just stay here a minute?"

"Sure," Harry replied before he really thought about the implications of the request, but before long he was quite unsure of what to do with himself. He'd forced himself to give up Ginny over a year ago, and he couldn't allow himself to privilege of going back to her while he still had battles to fight. Uncomfortably, Harry placed what he hoped was a reassuring hand upon her back, which he soon discovered may have been a bit too much so, as Ginny immediately leaned over so that her head was resting on his shoulder and chest.

"Where are you going to go?" Ginny asked a few minutes later.

"We're not sure," Harry admitted. "Hermione was trying to come up with a place they wouldn't expect us to go."

"You could go to the Burrow," Ginny suggested, sitting up. "Or, or..." She trailed off, looking downcast. Whether she'd stopped herself for her own benefit or for his, Harry was grateful for it, because there was no doubt that she had been about to suggest number 12 Grimmauld Place, which would make an ideal hiding place due to the charms placed upon it, but the place held far too many memories of battles long fought and people long dead. On top of all that, since Dumbledore, the mansion's only secret keeper, was now dead, it would be impossible for Sydney to take refuge there anyway.

A long and uncomfortable silence ensued and wasn't broken until Ginny said, "So my parents would love to have you as a guest."

"Thanks, Ginny," Harry started, fidgeting with his wand as he tried to come up with a sufficient excuse. "I really couldn't do that to them. We're leaving here so the Death Eaters won't attack Hogwarts. I can't put your parents in a similar amount of danger." That, of course, was neither the whole nor the primary reason, the Weasleys had been members of the Order, after all, and weren't likely to shy away from impending battle. However, Harry was counting himself very lucky that Ginny had yet to bite his head off, and suspected that a similar encounter with Mrs. Weasley would result in a much narrower escape.

"Suit yourself," Ginny said with a shrug as she sat up.

"Alright," Harry replied, giving her hand a squeeze and getting up to leave. "Take care of yourself."

***************

As was frequently the case, Sydney had managed to get herself lost inside Hogwarts. This came as a great source of annoyance to her since she was usually an excellent navigator, although, in her defense, her sense of direction wasn't accustomed to a place that occasionally reconfigured itself without warning.

She'd volunteered to fetch Hedwig from the owlery while Harry and Hermione were busy with other tasks, but she was beginning to regret her generosity, for she was coming to realize that even if she found the place, she didn't know the first thing about handling owls.

Sydney's destination was a tower on the west end of the castle, but she'd gotten turned around when she discovered that the staircases weren't arranged in the configuration she was used to. She'd tried an alternate route, but now she suspected that she was closer to the north wing, and all the hallways that lead in the correct direction were dead ends.

When the hallway ended in two forks that both lead the wrong way, one up a spiral staircase and the other to the east, Sydney turned around to double back, but before she even took a step someone behind her said, "Running away are you? Hah! You can't even stand to clamp eyes on one so fierce."

Sydney whirled around, intending to tell off whatever student had snuck up on her, but the hallway was clear. Then the same someone called, "Much better, I prefer a proper fight!"

Sydney had heard many tales of Peeves, but hadn't had the misfortune of meeting him since he tended to avoid taunting teachers. Suspecting that he might be the one speaking to her, she called, "Show yourself, Peeves."

"Peeves, that scurvy cad, is he here?" came the reply. "I'll fight the both of you with one hand tied behind my back, I will."

If Peeves wasn't the source of the disturbance, then it seemed a picture was the only remaining suspect, but she'd never seen one that was quite so boisterous. In fact, most of the portraits around her looked equally annoyed at the raucous their neighbor was causing. One even pointed Sydney in the direction of the offending picture.

The culprit worked out to be a short knight, dressed in full armor, who was unsteadily shaking a long sword at her while he continued to shout insults. He seemed liable to attack anything that moved too quickly and nearly decapitated his own horse when it foolishly came up behind him.

The knight's strange behavior rang several bells in Sydney's head, all of them relating to the Rambaldi poem:

If mysteries you wish to sight

Seek the one too quick to fight

This man certainly fit the description.

He kept up his challenge until Sydney was close enough for him to distinguish through his slated helmet. Suddenly, he fell silent and dropped to his knees.

At first Sydney thought that he'd exhausted himself and could no longer bear the weight of his own armor, then awestruck, he said, "The Chosen One!"

At first, Sydney thought he might have been referring to Harry. That was, after all, one of the titles he'd managed to pick up over the years. She had to reverse her guess when the knight, quite lucidly, said, "You've come for it then?"

This didn't compute at all if 'the Chosen One' was assumed to refer to Harry, so it seemed likely that the knight was referring to the chosen one of Rambaldi's prophecy. This individual was depicted in one of Rambaldi's notebooks, a drawing that looked remarkably like Sydney, but she'd proven that she wasn't this chosen one by directly contradicting part of the associated prophecy. This knight was apparently only basing his assessment on the picture, but Sydney was willing to let the delusion persist if it meant the knight would bring her closer to finding more of Rambaldi's works.

"Yes," Sydney replied, wishing he'd been more specific about what 'it' was.

"Then there is something you must see," the knight said, and he promptly ran off the edge of his picture.

Initially, Sydney wasn't sure what to do, but then she spotted him in the next picture over and promptly gave chase. She lost track of him several times, but always managed to find him again as he took to shouting such things as, "Hurry, the quest awaits!" or "Stand aside you ruffians!" at random intervals.

Finally, the knight stopped near a large door and said, "I can lead you no further. There are no pictures within."

"Isn't it locked?" Sydney asked. There was no keyhole, but that didn't mean it wasn't sealed shut somehow.

"It will open for the Chosen One," the knight replied.

"Right," Sydney sighed. That was going to be a problem, seeing as she wasn't really the Chosen One, but the knight was watching expectantly, so she reached out and grabbed the doorknob. Much to her simultaneous excitement and chagrin, the knob turned and the door slid open.

"This is where I leave you," the knight said, "but if you ever have need of me, simply shout, and I, Sir Cadogan, will be at your side immediately."

Sydney thanked the strange knight and turned her attention to the interior of the room.

In the middle sat a spindly metal structure surrounded by random objects like fans, tubes, and wheels. Sydney swore when she realized she was looking at a three dimensional puzzle. It had taken her weeks to stumble upon the answer to the riddle in the Rambaldi box, so a puzzle of this magnitude was likely to take months.

Ordinarily, she would have preferred to spend as much time as she could getting started on this puzzle, but not only was time of the essence, but she also had even less of a chance of finding the owlery now than before she met Sir Cadogan. Instead, she toured the room, committing it all to memory so she could work on the puzzle mentally when she got the chance.

With a sigh, she located the strange knight again and had to endure five minutes of him accusing her of abandoning the quest before she could convince him that she'd already been on a quest and that the other one would have to wait. In the end he reluctantly led her to the owlery.

***************

"How did she take it?" Hermione asked when Harry arrived back at the dormitories.

"Better than I expected," Harry admitted, surveying Hermione and Sydney's handiwork. He had to hand it to them. They'd managed to cram everything back into its original trunk or bag, including the mess in his, Ron, and Michael's room.

Hermione looked as though she wanted to say something, then reconsidered, but opened her mouth to speak again a moment later, a clear battle taking place between the part of her that wanted to give Harry and "I told you so" and the part that thought it would be a bad idea.

Harry decided to help out the side he favored by changing the subject.

"So, where're we going?"

"Back to the Muggle world," Sydney replied, coming up to join the conversation and handing Hedwig off to Harry. The owl looked distinctly ruffled and there were several long scratches on Sydney's arm

Harry wasn't sure what to say to that idea. He looked to Hermione, expecting to find evidence that Sydney had finally decided to experiment with some long lost sense of humor. However, Hermione was nodding in agreement as she took Sydney's arm and healed the scratches.

"Erm, where?" Harry stammered.

"Wiltshire specifically," Hermione said. "There we'll hopefully be close enough to Malfoy Manor to watch their movements, but far enough away that we won't be spotted and arouse more suspicion."

"And the part about living in the Muggle world?" Harry prompted.

"Malfoy Manor is the only magical establishment on record in that area of Wiltshire," Hermione replied smartly. "We wouldn't have a choice. Not to mention that we still don't know who in the magical world we can trust."

"There's actually the same problem in the Muggle world," Sydney pointed out, "but Muggles won't be looking for us."

"And the Death Eaters probably wouldn't think to look for us there," Hermione added.

"Unless they figure out that Michael is a Muggle," Harry sighed.

There was a sudden and dramatic change in mood.

"Are you implying that Michael would willingly give up information like that?" Sydney demanded.

"No, I..."

"Ron would do everything he could to make sure that stayed a secret!" Hermione added, just as forcefully.

"Hermione, you know I..."

"Michael's been trained to handle torture, he can take a hit," Sydney said.

"It's not the hits I'm worried about," Harry sighed. It was a moment before he realized that the two women had actually let him get an entire thought in edgewise.

Sydney still looked angry, but thankfully not particularly livid any more. Hermione, on the other hand, was looking a little sheepish and said quietly, "He's right, the Death Eaters have much more effective ways of getting information."

"Legilimens, for example," Harry said.

"Malfoy knows Legilimens?" Hermione asked.

Harry shrugged. "I wouldn't be surprised, Draco seemed to in our sixth year."

"I guess your right," Hermione replied, although the thought seemed to disturb her a bit more than Harry thought it ought to.

"Legilimens?" Sydney asked.

"Mind reading," Harry clarified.

"Oh," Sydney said, looking slightly aghast. "That could be a problem."

"Yeah," Hermione sighed. "So, to Muggle England?"

"Maybe it's a good thing that Ron isn't here," Harry pointed out.

Hermione smiled weakly as she pointed her wand at half of their bags and trunks, which rose a few inches off the ground and began floating down the hall under her direction.

***************

Michael was awake for a few moments before he managed the courage to open his eyes. He wasn't sure what woke him in the first place, but he suspected the pounding headache that was currently dulling all his other senses, no doubt the souvenir of being so brutally rendered unconscious. When he finally cracked open his eyes he discovered that his fears were not unfounded, the sudden light did nothing to soothe his headache. Michael made to cover his eyes with his hands until he could block out the pain, but the attempt was hindered by the fact that his wrists were bound behind his back. With a groan, Michael worked himself up into a sitting position, scowling as he realized that his ankles were bound together as well, and surveyed the room through squinting eyes. Ron was nearby, lying on his stomach off to Michael's left, apparently still unconscious, bound the same way as Michael. The only piece of good news was the fact that there was no guard in their room.

Light was streaming in through a large window. It took a moment for this particular point to strike Michael's befuddled brain as odd, a relatively large library such as this one made an unlikely prison, especially considering the exposed window, but all of this would make a rescue attempt easier, so he wasn't complaining. The triumph was short-lived, however, as Dobby's detailed maps of the establishment had shown only one library in the manor, and it was deep inside the building. Either they had been moved somewhere else, the mansion had undergone considerable redecorating, or there was some kind of charm on the window, and none of those options seemed to make a rescue plan any easier.

Michael turned his attention to Ron, who had yet to move, and made his way over to the wizard's unconscious form, then prodded him gently in the shoulder with his bound feet. In the fastest recovery Michael had ever seen, Ron woke up, cried out in pain, and rolled onto his knees in the space of about half a second. From there, Ron adopted a stance that told Michael in no uncertain terms that he would have been cradling his right arm if it was not tied behind his back. Michael realized too late that this was also the arm that was subject to the sudden pain that had landed them in captivity in the first place and the one which he had just poked with his foot.

Ron looked perfectly alright, aside from the fact that his arm seemed to be causing so much pain that he looked like he wanted nothing more than to pass out again, leaving Michael to wish that he'd just waited for the Wizard to wake up on his own.

"Sorry," Michael said lamely after allowing Ron a few minutes to recover.

"'S not your fault," Ron replied through clenched teeth.

Michael was fairly certain that Ron's current discomfort was, in fact, his fault, but replayed the sequence of events in his head just in case and came to the same conclusion. He was about to tell Ron this when the Wizard said dully, "I'm the one who should be apologizing, it's my fault we're here."

Michael was, once again, fairly certain that this was not the case and once again considered telling Ron so, but it seemed to him that Ron was determined to wallow in his own guilt for the time being and anything Michael said to try and bring him out of it would be a waste of time. He opted for a different approach.

"These feel like pretty weak ropes for people as powerful as wizards," Michael said, gesturing to the bonds around his legs. "I think I could get out of them if I tried."

"Don't be so sure," Ron said weakly. "They'll be unbreakable, and if you struggle they get tighter."

"Oh, thanks," Michael replied.

"Do you think the others made it out?" Ron asked warily.

"They'd probably be in here with us if they didn't," Michael pointed out.

"Oh," Ron sighed, gazing nervously around the room. "What do you think the Death Eaters will do with us?"

"I'm not sure," Michael replied honestly. "They'll probably ask for information, or they might just be..." Michael trailed off, unwilling to speak the other possibility aloud.

"They'll probably torture us," Ron inferred desperately. "I've never been hit with the Cruciatus curse, but Harry says it feels like every nerve in your body is set on fire. Then there's the Imperious curse, they can make you do whatever they want, but...but it can be fought. You have to force yourself not to do what they're telling you..."

Michael noticed Ron's increasingly terrified expression and changed tracks, "They might just be keeping us here to make sure we can't keep fighting against them."

"Alright, that doesn't sound so bad," Ron replied, but his voice was shaking.

"No, not really," Michael agreed quietly.

For a moment it looked as though any further attempts at conversation would be shot down into similar annoying silences, but Michael finally asked, "Do you want to play a game?"

"What?" Ron said, craning his neck to try and look out the window. "Is this really the time?"

"Sure," Michael said with a shrug. "We've got nothing else to do, and it's not everyday you're captured along with someone else and given the chance to actually talk to them. We might as well take advantage of it."

"I guess," Ron said, trying to settle into a more comfortable position but mostly failing. "How's it go?"

"We have to talk to each other entirely in questions," Michael explained. "Anyone who manages to get the other person to answer without a question, repeat what they just said, change the subject, or make an unintelligible noise gets a point."

"Right," Ron replied. "Why don't you start?"

"Alright," Michael said, and in the time it would have taken him to come up with a question, Ron jumped in and said, "Point for me."

Michael dropped his chin to his chest, the closest motion to a curse he could muster bound by the ropes and the rules of the game. Ron was completely right, of course, but Michael hadn't expected to be taken so completely by surprise right from the start. He gathered himself together and asked, "Do you have the time?"

"Don't you have a watch?" Ron replied.

"Does it look like I have a watch?" Michael said.

"Then why would you think I have mine?" Ron asked.

"What if they overlooked your watch when they took mine?" Michael pointed out.

"Does it look like I could see my watch better than you could see my watch?" Ron asked skeptically.

"Should it?" Michael said with a shrug.

"I already told you about these ropes," Ron said before he could catch himself.

"Not a question, one all," Michael said.

"How many sickles in a galleon?" Ron asked.

"What?" Michael asked.

"Is saying what allowed?" Ron replied.

"Did I saw it wasn't?" Michael countered.

"Did you?" Ron shrugged.

"Why should I know?" Michael asked.

"Weren't you the one who came up with these rules?" Ron pointed out.

"Not originally," Michael said, then realized that he'd been lead into a trap. "Rats, your point."

"Are we still playing?" Ron asked.

"Yes," Michael replied.

"Three to one, my lead," Ron said smartly.

"Why are you so good at this?" Michael asked.

"Why are you so bad at this?" Ron countered.

"Why should I be good at it?" Michael asked.

"Didn't you suggest this game?" Ron replied.

"Why haven't you answered my question?" Michael asked.

"Why haven't you answered mine?" Ron replied.

"Was that repetition?"

"Did I say exactly what you said?"

"Didn't you?"

"Is it just you or are all Muggles this simple to beat?"

"Easy," Michael warned him.

"Four to one," Ron replied happily.

"Best five hundred and one out of a thousand?"

"Are we really gonna be here that long?"

"Apparently, it'll take me that long to catch up."

"Five to one."

"Damn."

"Six to one."