The End

Chapter 15: Leave the Lights On

"When do you think they're going to feed us?" Michael asked.

"You're hungry too?" Ron replied.

"Yeah, just a little," Michael sighed.

"That's another point," Ron said.

"What's the score?" Michael asked.

"You lost count?" Ron said.

"Didn't you?" Michael replied.

"Yes," Ron admitted, then winced.

"Ha!" Michael exclaimed. "Fifty six to a hundred and eighty three your lead."

"I thought you said you lost count!" Ron demanded.

"Fifty seven," Michael said smartly.

"Aren't you bored of this yet?" Ron asked.

"I was bored of this three hours ago," Michael replied.

"Me too," Ron sighed.

They both paused for a moment, waiting for the other to take a point, but neither did.

"How were you so good at that?" Michael asked finally.

"I'm not sure," Ron admitted. "It probably has something to do with Fred and George. You wouldn't know since you've never met them, but you've got to keep sharp with that lot around. Do you have any other games?"

"Not at the moment," Michael replied. "You?"

"Nothing," Ron sighed.

They lapsed into silence, each alone with his own thoughts. Michael focused his attention around the room, looking for any potential means of escape, but his findings weren't promising. Ron, on the other hand, set about trying to find a more comfortable position, but no matter what he tried, leaning against a bookshelf, sitting up, even lying down, nothing seemed to help. The fact of the matter was, there was no relaxing with his stiff arm tied awkwardly behind his back, and all his moving around was only making it worse. He finally settled for trying to move his shoulder, hoping that somehow it would loosen his tense muscles.

After observing him for a moment, Michael asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Ron moaned through clenched teeth.

Michael didn't believe him for a second, a fact he made obvious by giving Ron a skeptical look.

Ron decided to change the subject and said, "There's going to be hell to pay when we get out of here."

"No kidding," Michael said with a smirk.

"Although most of it will probably be directed at me," Ron added.

"Oh, I don't know about that, Sydney can be a real spitfire when the situation calls for it," Michael replied.

"It's not your fault we're stuck in here," Ron pointed out.

"It's not yours either," Michael said.

"Oh, it isn't!" Ron laughed. "How do you figure? You weren't the one who let that Death Eater get away!"

Suddenly, someone turned the doorknob from outside, but seemed to decide not to enter just yet. When Ron and Michael paused their conversation in confusion they could hear voices in the hallway. The two prisoners started talking very quickly and quietly to get out their thoughts before their doom arrived.

"You couldn't help it."

"Oh couldn't I?"

"I saw you when you got back, you did all you could."

"It obviously wasn't enough."

"I could have helped you."

"Hand to hand isn't much good against magic."

"Then I could have shot him."

"I told you I could handle him."

"It's against procedure to do anything without backup if you can help it. I shouldn't have let you go alone."

"You didn't know anything was wrong with me at the time."

"I should've stayed nearby and jumped in when you needed help."

"I told you to go..."

But Ron was prevented from reiterating exactly what he'd told Michael to do when a Death Eater burst through the door. Michael immediately adopted the deceptively calm demeanor of a coiled snake, but Ron took one look at the intruder and had to fight down an angry fit of laughter. It was Peter Pettigrew.

Michael noticed this and whispered, "You two have some kind of history?"

"Yeah, just a little," Ron scowled.

Pettigrew came up and sat a bowl down next to each of them. Michael gave a slight shrug, hoping to discover that the bonds confining their arms behind their backs had loosened, but they hadn't, so he leaned over in an attempt to find the best way to eat the mess he'd been given. Ron, however, had spent the last few hours sitting on the cold, hard floor, becoming increasingly annoyed with the pain in his arm, and now that he had a release for his anger he wasn't about it give it up without a fight.

"How about freeing our arms?"

Pettigrew, however, had been watching Michael's degraded attempts to pick up the bowl with his teeth with some amusement and seemed keen to let the spectacle continue.

"No, I think not."

"Oh, come on," Ron groaned. "You're the one with the wand, and our legs are still bound. We're not going anywhere."

Pettigrew seemed to waver in his resolve slightly, so Ron let loose with the final cincher. He nodded in the direction of Michael, who had just come very close to upsetting his bowl, and said, "We can't eat like this, and we're no good to you if we starve to death."

Ron's logic was impeccable, or, at least, good enough, but Pettigrew wisely decided not to say anything to confirm it. He only sighed and removed their bonds with a flick of his wand.

"Thanks, mate," Ron said with a grimace as he pulled his right arm so it was cradled into his chest.

"Nice work," Michael whispered. "But did you have anything to do with letting our legs go too?"

"No, that was all him," Ron replied as he began spooning the mush into his mouth with his left hand. "He always was a bit incompetent. Five galleons say he can't figure out how to get them back on."

"That bad?" Michael asked.

"Worse," Ron replied.

"What's his story?" Michael inquired.

"It's not very pleasant," Ron said, taking a steadying bit of mush, although it seemed to have the opposite effect. "He used to hang with Harry's Dad's crowd. He gave up the location of the Potters to Voldemort, faked his own death and framed Sirius to escape the Ministry, conducted Voldemort's return, killed Lupin, and-"

"Stop talking about me!" Pettigrew exclaimed suddenly.

Ron and Michael forced their faces to look politely taken aback.

"Sorry?" Michael asked carefully.

But Ron wasn't one to resist a jab where he could get one, especially when Pettigrew was involved. "Since when are you the most interesting person on the planet?"

"You are captured and I am your guard. It is only natural that you would attempt to contrive a way to escape," Pettigrew said loftily, obviously trying to regain some dignity after his previous blunders. "Besides, I heard my name."

"Well, you might want to put your old rat years on, then, because then you'd be able to listen in on us properly," Ron shot back.

"A bit paranoid, perhaps?" Michael suggested, sensing an advantage. "Afraid that what we're talking about will turn out to be some ingenious plan to escape?"

"Of course not," Pettigrew said sharply. "Now be quiet or I will be forced to punish you..."

This ultimatum was met with a significant amount of eye rolling on the part of the prisoners, but they held their silence anyway, at least until Pettigrew seemed to relax a little.

Michael leaned over to Ron and asked, "What did you mean about the rat ears?"

"Oh, that," Ron said with an uncomfortable laugh, nearly choking on a mouthful of glop. "He used to be my pet rat."

"What?" Michael stammered.

"He can turn into a rat," Ron explained. "That's how he hid from the Ministry."

"Oh," Michael said. "What?"

"Never mind," Ron shrugged. "It's complicated."

Michael could tell he wasn't going to get much more out of Ron on the subject, so he remained quiet as they hungrily cleaned their bowls until Ron sat up suddenly and said, "Oh, Harry!"

"What?" Michael asked, a sudden panic coming over him.

"Remember the hell we're going to have to pay when Hermione and Sydney catch up with us?" Ron whispered, and Michel nodded carefully. "Well he's got to deal with them both, right now."

"Oh," Michael winced. "Poor man."

"No kidding," Ron replied. "If I had to pick between there and here I think I'd stay here."

"Well, maybe not here," Michael said thoughtfully.

"Good point," Ron agreed, "but I'd pick most places over wherever Harry is."

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

"This is a good place to get lost?" Harry asked skeptically as he looked up at the large Muggle club that Sydney had found in London. Even though they were standing across the street from the building, they could still hear the loud music echoing through the cool evening air.

"I couldn't come up with a better place if I tried," Sydney replied. "Not only is it utter chaos in there, but anyone who would be following us wouldn't have an identification card, so they would have a hard time following us inside."

"Sydney, we don't have identification either," Harry pointed out.

"Do you, for that matter?" Hermione added.

"Course I do," Sydney replied. "Did you really think I hadn't planned ahead for that?"

She pulled open her purse and rifled through it until she located a small plastic card, which she handed to Hermione.

"Kate Jones," Hermione read. "That's an interesting way to spell Sydney Bristow."

"One of my more ambiguous aliases," Sydney shrugged. "She a citizen of forty seven different countries. Can you make copies for yourselves? You'll have to say you're both at least eighteen."

It was the work of a moment to create the false cards, although Hermione insisted on watching the pictures for a full minute to make sure they didn't move. Much to the Wizards' dismay, Sydney confiscated their wands and hid them in her bag, promising to give them back if anything went wrong and citing the fact that they didn't have a good place to conceal them in Muggle clothes.

Neither Harry nor Hermione had ever been in a club before, so they stepped inside with some trepidation. Luckily, their false ids passed without question. Harry and Hermione hadn't had much of an idea of what to expect inside, but whatever image they'd conjured in their heads, it wasn't the one they were met with.

The interior was dimly lit, with flashing colored lights providing most of the illumination. The music was almost deafening. People were crowded together on a large dance floor, jumping and dancing wildly in a pulsing mob. Sydney pulled them to a group of tables off to the side, where it was thankfully a little quieter.

After a few minutes of awkward silence, Harry offered to go and get them some drinks, although Sydney had to pull him back first and thrust some Muggle money into his hand. Harry knew very little about Muggle drinking laws except that they existed, so he decided not to risk it, although it took a conscious effort to order soda instead of butterbeer or pumpkin juice. When he took a stool to wait for the drinks to arrive, the hairs on the back of his neck prickled, and he couldn't shake the feeling that someone was watching him.

It wasn't an uncommon sensation, especially considering his present fame. However, he wasn't known at all in the Muggle world, making this premonition cause for some concern, so he risked a glance around to try and find the source of his discomfort. The area was nearly deserted; most people inhabited the dance floor instead. A couple of men were bent low over a table in the corner, discussing something. Hermione and Sydney were in a similar position towards the other side of the space, and a middle aged woman was sitting a few chairs over from him at the bar.

She seemed to notice his gaze, because she turned toward him and said, "Wotcher," as a greeting before turning back to her drink. Harry gave her a slight smile combined with a nod and a shrug in reply. He was quite sure he'd never seen her before, but there was something so familiar about her statement, it took him a moment to place it.

Just then the bartender came back with his drinks, and when Harry passed by the woman on the way back to his table, he said, "Tonks?"

He'd spoken very quietly, perfectly prepared for the encounter to go either way, but fortune prevailed and the Metamorphmagus straightened up at the sound of her name.

Harry slipped into the seat next to her. "I thought you were dead. They said you were killed in Hogwarts."

"I'll wager they never identified my body," Tonks replied.

"Apparently not, but no one could find you afterward," Harry explained. "Why didn't you tell anyone you were alive?"

"Just because you didn't know I was back doesn't mean the Ministry didn't," Tonks said, "or the Order, for that matter."

"Guess not," Harry shrugged. "How long have you been following us?"

"A few hours," Tonks replied. "I finally managed to track you down when you came into Diagon Alley. What are you doing in London?"

"We're here on Ministry business," Harry sighed. "But I suppose you already knew that. Did they send someone to follow us?"

"No," Tonks replied.

"Then why are you here?" Harry asked.

"Because the Order isn't as dead as you seem to think," Tonks replied.

"Well, it's got to be in pretty rough shape, what with four of its prominent members dead and all," Harry pointed out.

"We know what you're trying to do and we'd like to help," Tonks informed him.

"Come on," Harry said, nodding to the table where Hermione and Sydney were sitting and feeling as though a huge amount of responsibility had just been lifted from his shoulders. "Hermione will be happy to see you again."

Hermione and Sydney straightened up out of their conversation as Harry approached.

"Made a new friend, did you?" Sydney asked coolly as Harry distributed the drinks and found a chair for Tonks. She obviously didn't approve of Harry introducing himself to random bar mates when they were trying to hide.

"Our getting lost skills need work," Harry said as he said down.

"Well we haven't been here long," Sydney said. She sounded friendly enough, but she started rummaging under the table for something, presumably a gun or a wand.

"Hermione Granger, Sydney Bristow, meet Nymphadora Tonks," Harry said.

"What?" Hermione stammered, staring at the visitor. Tonks screwed up her face in concentration and a moment later a pig snout replaced her nose.

"Tonks!" Hermione exclaimed, jumping up to hug her.

"How did she do that?" Sydney asked.

"She can change her appearance at will. Hermione and I didn't recognize her at first because that's not how she usually looks," Harry explained.

"Oh," Sydney said. "That's a neat trick."

"No kidding," Harry sighed, feeling the familiar jealousy of Tonks' abilities welling up within him. "Although you seem to do just fine without it, Sydney. Michael says you're a chameleon."

"I don't know about that," Sydney shrugged.

By this time, Hermione had released Tonks from her hug, who was taking the opportunity to catch her breath.

"You'll be sticking around, then, won't you?" Hermione demanded. "We could use the help."

"Actually, I can't," Tonks replied reluctantly. "The Ministry doesn't know I'm here, see, and they're convinced that you lot can handle the Death Eaters while we Aurors keep tabs on all the other aspiring dark lords. I was just here to deliver a message to Harry." Harry nodded, proving he had already gotten it. "I'll be off then, but don't worry, I'll be checking on you from time to time."

With that she got up and left.

Looking glum, Hermione turned to her drink and took a cautious sip, wrinkling her nose at the effect of the bubbles

Harry supposed that he probably ought to say something to cheer her up, but the music kept disrupting his thoughts and he couldn't think of the right words. Hoping to give himself time to think, he took a drink of his soda but soon discovered that he would have been better off leaving it alone. Since soda was one of the many things that his Aunt and Uncle so enjoyed lavishing on Dudley but denying Harry, he'd never tried it before and was completely unprepared for the way that the bubbles tickled the back of this throat. He narrowly managed to swallow before he started coughing.

Before Harry could had recovered from his encounter with carbonation a man approached the table and asked Hermione to come dance with him. She shrugged him off with a cool politeness unbefitting of a person who hadn't had to do the same thing a million times before. Harry and Sydney both looked at her, amazed.

"Where did you learn that?" Harry demanded, forcing himself not to resume coughing.

"Remember when Fleur was involved in the Order and I worked with her a bit?" Hermione prompted.

"I think Ron probably remembers a little better than I do," Harry laughed. "He didn't know what to do with himself."

"Well, she taught me a few things about dealing with men," Hermione continued.

"Who better to learn from than the master," Harry shrugged.

"That guy had a point, though," Sydney reminded them. "We're supposed to be blending in, but as long as we aren't dancing we're not accomplishing that."

Harry and Hermione looked as though they had just been sentenced to torture.

"You want us to dance," Harry stammered.

"Yes," Sydney, looking at them as though she thought this should have been obvious.

"With each other," Hermione pressed.

"You can dance with whoever you want, but I imagine it will be a little easier if you stick together," Sydney said with a shrug.

Hermione chanced a timid glance towards the dance floor, an unwise move as she could barely even make her next statement. "But dancing in the Wizarding world is completely... we don't know how to... we'd stick out like..." She finally had to stop before she hyperventilated.

"That doesn't matter," Sydney maintained. "It's easy, just jump and flail around like the rest of them."

"But we..." Harry tried desperately.

"Just get out there," Sydney muttered, getting up and pointing at a distant corner of the club. "We'll meet over there in half an hour, change our appearance, go out for a little while longer, then leave out the back. Do you think you can handle that?"

"Sure," Harry sighed.

Sydney didn't allow either one the chance to argue any further. Instead, she strode confidently over to the dance floor, flirted her way into the company of the first man she saw, and was lost into the crowd.

"Well," Harry said, trying to muster up some courage, but all the same not really knowing what to do. "Hermione, may I have this dance?"

The dance floor was even more riotous on the inside than out and within the first few steps then had been stepped on and elbowed more times than they could count and Harry had nearly lost his glasses, but they continued to push their way through. Finally, they forced themselves to start dancing like everyone else, smiling impishly at their own embarrassment and infinitely glad that no one they knew was around. However, this didn't last very long, for a nearby dancer lost his balance and went careening into Harry, knocking him, Ron, and Hermione to the ground. The invisibility cloak fluttered up over their heads, revealing them to their assailant, although, apparently, he didn't need to see them to find them.

This was followed by a brief disagreement concerning what to do next. Harry leapt to his feet, wand raised and pointed at Fenrir Greyback, while Hermione scrambled back under the cloak and pulled Ron under with her.

Bravely, Harry maintained his ground even after the snarling Greyback developed a very hungry look in his eye. However, before either of them got the opportunity to mount an attack, Greyback was suddenly tackled to the ground. Peter Pettigrew was holding him to the floor and looking as though he was quite certain that he had lost his mind.

A moment later, Lupin came running into the fray from the opposite direction, yelling, "Harry! Hide!"

Before Harry had decided whether this statement ought to be ignored entirely or warranted an indignant rebuttal, Ron and Hermione had shuffled forward and thrown the cloak over him as well. After that he was forcibly prevented from rejoining the battle.

It didn't take long at all for Greyback to toss Pettigrew aside and regain his feet, but by that time Lupin was already upon him. A cutting spell grazed Greyback's shoulder, but since the werewolf's wand was nowhere in sight, Lupin seemed reluctant to press such an unfair advantage.

Slowly, Greyback reached up and ran his hand over his wound, then gazed that the blood covering his fingers with mild interest. "So, Remus, this is how you repay me."

"I am not in your debt," Lupin spat, tightening his grip on his wand.

"You owe me your life," Greyback growled. "I made you who you are."

"You made me an outcast," Lupin replied. "I'm not about to thank you for it."

"After all these years you have yet to realize that I made you stronger," Greyback continued, licking his lips. "I thought maybe you knew when you joined us two years ago, but you have proven that you are just as weak as any other wizard."

"I guess it's true what they say, then," Lupin shrugged. "You can never trust a werewolf."

Greyback rushed forward and slashed his fingernails across Lupin's neck and chest. Blood spurted everywhere, but he didn't have time to do any more damage, because suddenly, Greyback howled in pain and dropped to the floor. While Greyback was distracted with Lupin, Pettigrew had crept forward along the floor. When he was close enough, he had used his silver hand to crush the bone in Greyback's leg. However, there was a flaw in this plan: Pettigrew didn't quite manage to retreat before Greyback started raking his claw-like nails against his face and arms. Pettigrew yelped and tried to roll away, but it was no use, Greyback grabbed his arm and wouldn't let go. Turning into a rat only made matters worse: Greyback caught him up by the tail and left a long scratch down his spine.

Without warning, Greyback dropped Pettigrew in favor of grasping at his neck. Pettigrew scrambled away and transformed, then sat on his knees and watched Greyback slowly choke to death. When it was clear that the werewolf would trouble them no more, Lupin released the spell that had been strangling him.

"Did he bite you?" Lupin asked weakly, glancing at Pettigrew and holding a torn piece of his robe to his own neck.

"I think these are all scratches," Pettigrew replied, examining his bloodied arm.

"That's good," Lupin replied.

"So," Peter said, looking up with a timid smile, "we can work together after all, Moony."

Lupin seemed to consider him for a moment then reached down to pull Pettigrew to his feet, saying, "I suppose so, Wormtail."

For a moment, it looked as though they might put aside all the years of wrongs that had passed between them, then Pettigrew attacked.

Caught off guard by the sudden onslaught, Lupin was knocked backwards into a nearby banister before he could even raise his wand. He sent a curse back, but Pettigrew raised his silver hand to intercept it and the spell was deflected away. Every piece of magic Lupin performed met a similar fate as Pettigrew slowly came toward him. Finally, with a terrible smirk, Pettigrew placed a hand on Lupin's chest and tipped him backwards over the banister.

"Harry, you've got to get up before you get trampled."

"What?" Harry asked, peering upwards into Hermione's face.

"We're in the middle of a crowd, or haven't you noticed," Hermione said. "If you stay down there much longer someone's going to step on you."

"Oh, right," Harry replied as everything came back into focus.

"Are you alright?" Hermione continued as Harry got to his feet. "Did you hit your head or something?"

"No, why?" Harry said.

"Well, I couldn't get your attention for a few seconds, there," Hermione explained. "You looked dazed."

"I probably couldn't hear you," Harry improvised. "It's really loud in here."

"Alright, if you're sure," Hermione replied with a shrug.

After that, everything seemed to go well enough, they might have felt stupid as they tried to dance, but they knew at least that someone would have an exceedingly difficult time of following them. However, this only lasted until the song ended and was replaced by one with a much slower tempo. All around them people started to form up into couples, but it seemed that in this regard Muggles danced differently than wizards as well. Ordinarily, Harry and Hermione might have taken a stance very similar to that used in a waltz, but Muggles seemed to prefer a sort of moving hug, a very tight moving hug.

With uncomfortable glances at each other, Harry and Hermione copied their neighbors, but they couldn't bring themselves to get closer than arms length, and Harry was very careful to keep his hands closer to Hermione's lower ribcage than her hips. He hoped that somewhere in that mob of people, Sydney was feeling sorry for them. Finally, after they noticed the strange looks they were getting, Harry and Hermione caught each other's eyes and by mutual consent pulled each other closer so they were more or less touching. The development, however, was short lived. They hadn't been that way for more than thirty seconds when Hermione started maneuvering the two of them towards the edge of the crowd. Unsure of what to do, Harry allowed her to drag him along as she wanted.

He leaned over and asked, "Are you alright?"

"Fine," Hermione replied, but there was something about the way that she didn't remove her face from his shoulder as she spoke that made him suspect she wasn't being entirely truthful.

"Hermione," Harry pressed. He realized that if they kept on in their current direction, they would reach a wall very close to the door to the woman's restroom.

"I just wish Ron was here," Hermione said. Harry didn't want to jump to conclusions, but his shoulder felt a bit wetter than usual.

Harry bit back a sigh. He'd suspected that was the case, and he unfortunately wasn't entirely sure what to do. He might be her best friend, but in this case he was a sorry substitute for Ron. With nothing else for it, he said, "Listen, we're going to get him back, I promise, but right now we need to make Sydney's plan work, then we can get out of here and start finding him."

This, however, had the opposite effect from what Harry had intended. Hermione seemed to break down even more and pulled him tighter so she could hide her face in his shoulder and neck.

To Harry, this seemed like a very good time to give up before things got any worse, so he decided to bank on his guess and said, "Do you want me to take you to the restroom?"

She nodded, so Harry took over and guided her slowly to the edge of the dance floor then to the bathrooms, and Hermione slipped inside. For a lack of anything better to do, Harry found an empty patch of wall near the door and leaned up against it. He gazed into the crowd, his eyes unfocused, until he noticed the angry looks he was receiving from the women who had witnessed the exchange and the sympathetic ones from the men. After that, Harry took to examining the ground. It, at least, didn't seem to be accusing him of anything.

About when the floor stopped being so interesting, Harry started to get worried about how long it would take Hermione to recover. He wasn't doing a very good job of hiding as long as he was standing there, but he felt obligated to stay. He chanced a glance into the crowd and as luck would have it, he saw Sydney flash by and dove in after her. Ordinarily, such an attempt might have been hopelessly futile, but luck once again prevailed and he found her a little ways into the crowd. He pulled her away from her partner, who he noticed wasn't the same man she started with.

When they reached the wall Sydney grabbed Harry by the shoulders and demanded, "What's wrong? Where's Hermione?"

Harry cowered slightly under Sydney's penetrating stare. "She's in the bathroom, we were dancing and she started crying. I didn't really know what to do..." Harry explained desperately

Sydney relaxed her hold on him and said, "It's okay, I'll go talk to her."

"Alright, thanks," Harry said. "But go easy on her; she's having a rough time of it."

"You got it," Sydney replied, pulling the wands out of her purse carefully and allowing Harry to select his own, which he stuffed up his sleeve. "Go change your clothes and hair, try to look like the rest of the people here."

"Look what?" Harry asked.

"Like that guy," Sydney explained, pointing to a tattooed, chained, and dyed passerby.

Harry still wasn't at all sure of how he was going to carry out this new demand, but he set off for the men's room before he incurred any more of Sydney's wrath. Meanwhile, Sydney made her way to find Hermione.

There were several women in the bathroom, most of them crowded around the mirrors fixing their makeup. Hermione, however, was not among them.

"Hermione?" Sydney called. There was a shuddering gasp followed by a slight knocking on one of the doors.

Sydney located the correct stall and knocked back, saying, "It's me, open up."

Hermione did as she was bidden, albeit reluctantly. She'd expected Sydney to drag her out, but instead she crowded in with her.

"Hi," Hermione said, dabbing at her eyes with a wad of toilet paper. "I'm sorry, I should have been able to hold it together, I mean, Michael's out there too. I messed it all up, you had this great plan and I screwed it up."

"Stop it!" Sydney whispered vehemently. "Don't do this to yourself, Hermione, it's not your fault, and we can still make this work."

"I broke down all over Harry," Hermione muttered. "How embarrassing."

"I know you feel embarrassed," Sydney replied, "But I could tell Harry didn't really mind that. He's worried about you, that's all."

"You didn't-" Hermione started.

"This is my job," Sydney said. "I have to compartmentalize everything, and I hate it. I don't want you to ever have to do that, not if you can help it."

"Okay," Hermione said weakly, staring at the ceiling and attempting to blink away her tears.

"Now come on," Sydney said, giving Hermione a pat of the shoulder. "We won't find them if we stay in here. We have to look different when we leave. Can you give me spiky green hair, a leather tank top, a short skirt, fishnet tights, boots, and as many earrings, necklaces, and bracelets as I can wear?"

Hermione nodded and set about changing Sydney's hair then conjuring the necessary items, and, what's more, the intellectual pursuit seemed to do her more good than any verbal reassurances. When Hermione got done with herself she was dressed completely in black, including straight black hair, and Sydney pulled out eyeliner and black lipstick to darken her eyes and lips. In fact, Hermione looked strikingly like a female version of Professor Snape, easier on the eyes, perhaps, since she lacked his hooked nose and sallow skin, but still not the type most people would want to spend a considerable about of time alone with in a dark dungeon.

"You ready?" Sydney asked as Hermione vanished their old clothes and passed her wand to the Muggle for safekeeping.

"Let's go," Hermione replied.

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

If Harry had known a good spell to tame his wild hair he would have started using it on a regular basis years ago. As it was, all he could really do was conjure himself a hat, which, he concluded as he inspected himself in the mirror, wasn't such a bad option. Otherwise, he felt completely ludicrous in tight plaid pants and a denim jacket covered in metal studs with a ratty black shirt underneath, but when he stepped outside a nearly unrecognizable Sydney took one look at him and said he looked perfect before confiscating his wand and dragging the two Wizards back onto the dance floor.

Neither one of them had exactly been looking forward to that moment, but as it worked out, it seemed that their new attire had instilled some strange confidence in them as well, and they were soon jumping and flailing like everyone else. In fact, it was almost too soon when Sydney nodded in the direction of the back exit.

They walked for several miles, although the actual distance traveled was up for debate as Sydney kept insisting that they double back around city blocks and go through random shops. Finally, Hermione could stand walking in high heels no longer and they found a Chinese restaurant where they ate a late dinner and changed back into their normal clothes, though Harry kept his hat. Sydney seemed to be an expert with chopsticks, but Harry and Hermione had never even considered eating with a pair of sticks before. After watching her noodles slip off of her chopsticks and on to her lap for the third time, Hermione gave up and conjured herself a fork. Harry wasn't having much more luck and wasn't in any sort of mood to put his transfiguration skills to the test, but he was getting too much pleasure from skewering his pieces of chicken to ask Hermione to make him a fork too.

When they left the restaurant they spent a little more time window shopping at Sydney's insistence, then the Muggle hailed a taxi, which drove them to a rental car lot.

Sydney paid for the car in cash under an alias the Wizards had never heard of before and were likely never to see again. As they approached the car, Sydney headed automatically for the left side, a fact Harry and Hermione only called her on after casting cautious glances at each other.

"Um, Sydney?" Hermione said carefully.

"Yep?" Sydney replied, fiddling with the stubborn lock.

"We drive on the left," Hermione pointed out.

"I know," Sydney said.

"Well, that means that the steering wheel is on the right," Hermione reminded her

Sydney straightened up suddenly with the realization of her mistake and without a word moved to the other side of the car.

"Are you sure you can do this?" Harry asked gently as they got inside, even though the answer was really only a technicality. Either Sydney drove them or they'd be hitchhiking.

"Yes, I'm sure," Sydney sighed. "I just got distracted for a minute."

"Alright," Harry replied, although he wasn't much reassured. Staying on the correct side of the road would take conscious effort on Sydney's part every time they turned, so they couldn't afford for her to become distracted again.

"So, we're going straight to Wiltshire, then?" Hermione asked, trying to change the subject.

"Yep," Sydney replied curtly.

Both Wizards brightened visibly at this.

"Wiltshire," Harry said. "Excellent place."

Harry beat Hermione to the front seat, effectively volunteering to act as navigator. Hermione slipped in back, and although she surely had qualms about the arrangement, she didn't give them any voice. Harry located a suitable map in the glove compartment and, with some effort and the help of a point me charm, found a route that would take them to Wiltshire and began to instruct Sydney in its execution. Hermione kept a wary eye on the Muggle's driving, drawing a sharp breath and tensing involuntarily whenever she judged that they ran a special risk of ending up on the wrong side of the road, something Sydney found exceedingly disconcerting.

As it happened, Hermione's reservations were not unfounded, at least where Harry was concerned. No sooner had they reached the freeway than Harry nodded off to sleep, still suffering the effects Apparating with Sydney. Hermione immediately snatched up the map and double checked their location against Harry's route, although that was really just a precaution as it had been Sydney, not Harry, who correctly determined the past three turns, despite the Wizard's obvious advantage.

"Is he alright?" Sydney asked as she matched speed with the other cars.

"He says he is and I'm inclined to believe him," Hermione replied with a shrug that was lost in the darkness.

"I've just never seen him this tired before," Sydney said.

"He just has to recover," Hermione explained. "Depending on the situation, Apparating can take a lot out of a Wizard. Harry's the only person I've ever heard of who has Apparated with a Muggle."

"I suppose the opportunity to try doesn't come very often," Sydney said jokingly.

"No, not really," Hermione replied.

"Did this happen the other time?" Sydney asked. "Harry getting really tired like this, I mean."

"Yes, although he got better faster. Wait," Hermione stopped herself and mentally replayed their conversation, looking for where she had said that Harry had Apparated with someone else once before and coming up empty. "How do you know about that?"

"When Harry first suggested Apparating with me, you said that it was too dangerous, that he didn't know what would happen, and that the last time it had been with an unconscious wizard," Sydney replied.

"Oh," Hermione muttered.

"Who was it?" Sydney asked.

"Ron," Hermione replied.

"Ron!" Sydney demanded, turning to face Hermione in her surprise.

"Sydney, the road," Hermione said, straightening up nervously.

"Sorry," Sydney replied, returning her attention to driving. "But really? It was Ron? What happened?"

"I, um, I actually don't know the specifics," Hermione mumbled. "I wasn't there, and they don't like to talk about it much."

"I'd take a generality," Sydney pressed.

"Alright," Hermione said slowly. "Ron was hurt and almost killed by Voldemort in the battle in Hogwarts. Somehow, Harry pulled him all the way to Hogsmeade and then Apparated with him to Saint Mungo's. He saved Ron's life."

"This wouldn't have anything to do with whatever's wrong with Ron's arm, would it? Whatever caused him all that pain the night we came up with the plan to track down Lucius Malfoy at a Quidditch match?" Sydney asked. She couldn't help adding, "And whatever gave him all that trouble during our raid?"

"It would," Hermione sighed, then added, "left at the fork," in such a tone that she clearly indicated her desire for the conversation to cease.

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

After nearly drifting off the sleep for the third time, Michael forced himself to his feet and started pacing around to keep himself awake. Pettigrew had long since left with the remnants of their meal and the all too familiar gnawing of hunger had returned shortly afterward. On the plus side, as Ron predicted, Pettigrew hadn't been able to replace their bounds, giving the captives free range of the library and another opportunity for a good laugh at Wormtail's expense, although they did manage to contain themselves until after he'd left. After that, they'd pulled themselves to their deadened feet and tried valiantly to restore circulation to their appendages. Once the particularly painful round of pins and needles had subsided, Ron had pulled out the most comfortable looking book he could find and used it as a pillow for a long awaited nap, leaving Michael to keep watch.

A quick glance at the window told the tale of a cloudless night with a bright full moon providing the room's only illumination, but Michael wouldn't have believed it even if Ron hadn't warned him of the possibility of the window being enchanted: unless he was sorely mistaken, the full moon was at least a week away. Of course, without their watches and only a limited amount of contact with the outside world, the passage of time was difficult to judge and there was no accounting for the time they'd spent unconscious. However, Michael suspected that he would be significantly hungrier if they'd only been fed once in seven days. There was also no telling whether it was actually day or night, but with nothing to occupy his attention, Michael could feel himself slowly falling asleep on his feet.

With a reluctant sigh, Michael knelt down to shake Ron awake, taking care to take hold of the Wizard by his good shoulder.

"'smatter?" Ron asked groggily, sitting up and pawing at his eyes.

"Can you keep watch awhile?" Michael asked.

"Sure," Ron replied around a huge yawn.

"Just wake me up if you hear anything," Michael said as he curled up on a patch of floor. Within minutes he was asleep.

"Michael!" Ron said urgently into his ear.

The Muggle was about to ask him what was going on but when he opened his eyes and was nearly blinded by the surrounding sunlight, the more pertinent question was banished and replaced with, "Have I really been asleep that long?"

"No, only about half an hour," Ron replied and Michael groaned. "That happened all of a sudden a few minutes ago," The wizard continued. "But listen, I think there's someone..."

At that moment, the door opened and Lucius Malfoy stepped over the threshold, a self satisfied sneer covering his pointed face.

Ron had seen Malfoy more times than he cared to remember, but there was something different about him now. He couldn't make any true physical difference, perhaps the overconfident swagger or the way he held his head a little higher, but the cause of the discrepancy was clear. Gone was the Malfoy whom Harry had described groveling at Voldemort's feet. This Malfoy was an emperor, a god, even. At least he considered himself to be, which was hardly any better.

Malfoy took a minute to study the library, as though he'd simply come by in search of a book, then said without preamble, "I daresay I don't know why Potter still brings you along on his little endeavors, Mr. Weasley. You do seem to cause nothing but trouble."

Ron nearly managed a response to this, but the thought was captured and garbled by the part of his mind that happened to agree with his assailant. All that made it to his mouth was a faint noise, something like a hiccup.

"I think Ron's caused a bit more damage than you might expect," Michael said crisply, picking up the slack.

"Is that so," Malfoy replied, turning his attention to the Muggle, "and you are?"

"Dimitri Dorin," Michael improvised.

"Charmed," Malfoy sneered. "Well, Mr. Dorin, I don't suppose you'd care to share the nature of some of the brilliant hindrances you've caused us?"

That was a tricky request to skirt around, so Michael chose to mask his discomfort in cool silence. Ron wasn't quite so quick to master his own emotions, but as he was presently occupied with staring at the ground anyway, his blunder wasn't quite so obvious.

"Oh, I assure you the question is merely academic," Malfoy said with an oily laugh. "We've already found all your pathetic traps, I'm simply curious to know which ones were of your concoction and which ones were left by your friends."

Michael once again managed to maintain his composure, but Ron squirmed slightly at the mention of their companions.

Noticing this, Malfoy said, "Yes, they wouldn't tell me either..."

Ron finally forced his gaze from the floor and looked up at Malfoy.

"Concerned, are you?" Malfoy asked. "I suppose you would be, after all, it is your fault that you were all captured and I'm still alive."

Malfoy met Ron's gaze and after a moment Ron found himself unable to resist looking away.

"Then again, I suppose that's not entirely true," Malfoy smirked. "How could you fight the supreme power of the pure bloods?"

He took a moment to stare at the captives expectantly, as though he'd just made some great joke and was waiting for them to burst out laughing. When they didn't he continued, "You should know that the Purebloods are an unstoppable force. You are mere insects by comparison. Nothing you can ever do will even slow us down."

"You're wrong," Michael said quietly.

"What's that?" Malfoy asked menacingly.

"You're wrong," Michael repeated, more strongly this time. "All empires fall."

"And where did you get that idea?" Malfoy pressed.

"History," Michael replied. "Even the Romans, possibly the greatest civilization in history couldn't escape it. Then there's regimes based on fear. Hitler and Stalin both didn't fare too well."

A faint but visible lack of comprehension covered Malfoy's face at the sound of these two names and Ron quickly said, "Not to mention Grindewald-"

"-and Voldemort," Michael added, catching himself.

Malfoy looked for a moment like he wasn't sure how to respond, then he said, "That may be true, but I am neither Grindewald nor Voldemort and I command a far greater force."

He turned to Ron and said," You should also know that you are only making things worse for yourselves, because the only thing I hate more than a Muggle lover..."

He turned to Michael. "...is a Muggle."

"I have been accused of many things in my life, sir," Michael said coolly, "but never of being a muggle."

"I'm sure," Malfoy sneered, and with that he turned and left.