The End

Chapter 23: For Good This Time

A group of five Death Eaters, four men and a woman, burst noisily through the front door, laughing loudly and careening drunkenly into each other.

"...and then," the woman slurred, "then I said, 'Alright, Muggle, I guess I'll have to let you go,' and I cursed him and stole back the potion he'd bought from me. I'll bet he's still trying to figure out what happened."

Their laughter spiked even louder, punctuated by shouts of "Stupid Muggles!" and "Serves 'im right!" Strangely, the woman's mirth didn't quite seem to reach her eyes.

They turned down a hallway and began tripping their way toward the kitchen.

One of the men burst out, "Did I ever tell you about the time I bested four Mudbloods in a duel?"

"Only about a hundred times, Rookwood," said another man, hooking an arm about his companion's neck in an effort to stay standing.

"I haven't heard it," the woman said with an inviting smile.

"Right, well," Rookwood started, but he was cut off by a third man, who said, "It wasn't a fair duel."

"Yeah, because it was four on one," Rookwood replied.

"Nah," said the fourth man with mock thoughtfulness, "it's because you switched out their wands with fakes."

"I did not!" Rookwood exclaimed.

"Oh, then you're referring to the four third years you met in Hogsmeade," said the second man.

"As I recall, they nearly overpowered you, once they decided that the situation allowed them to use magic, and that was before a group of teachers showed up to help," one of the men picked up.

Instead of attempting a retort, Rookwood instead hit the offender with a spell, or he would have if he wasn't so drunk. All he actually managed was a shower of sparks which hit the wall two feet away from his intended target. Soon all four men were engaged in a fierce battle, throwing punches and spells without caring who received them or what sort of damage it caused, but their battle soon dissolved in a competition to impress the woman, who had managed to stay clear of the fight. This continued until they reached the kitchen. The men kicked a cowering House Elf out of the way, then ransacked the place looking for the stash of Firewhiskey. They finally located it and five glasses then sat down around a table and poured themselves drinks.

Within half an hour two of the men had passed out across the table and the rest were barely conscious.

Suddenly, the woman stood up, teetering dangerously, one hand clutched over the stomach and the other on her mouth.

"Bathroom?" she asked desperately, trying not to vomit.

"'S down the hall," a man replied groggily, lifting a limp arm slightly to indicate a direction.

The woman rushed out of the kitchen but slowed down when she was about half way down the hall. It looked for a moment as though she wasn't going to reach her destination, then all signs of intoxication disappeared.

Quietly, Sydney checked her surroundings for Death Eaters, and, finding none, she took off down a perpendicular hallway. Dobby's map put her target, an apparent nexus of most of Malfoy Manor's defensive spells, in a small room on the second floor. Sydney climbed the first staircase she found and located the room with relative ease. It was locked, of course, something she'd been afraid of, but it didn't stand up to her skill at lock picking; within thirty seconds of finding the room she'd forced her way inside.

Contrary to what she'd hoped, the hard part of her task was far from over. No one had been sure what to expect in this room, after all, most Wizard dwellings had their systems coordinated purely through magic, so junction boxes were practically unheard of. Sydney certainly hadn't seen any electric lighting thus far. What she found in that room was far more detrimental to any worst case scenario they had conceived: the room was completely empty.

Sydney couldn't explain it. Dobby had sworn this room was important to the upkeep of the house wide systems. There was, of course, the possibility that her target was hidden, perhaps tipped off by her method of entry, or able to sense she was a Muggle. She desperately ran her hands over the blank walls, searching for any indication that what she sought was hidden behind them, but she found nothing. She knocked on the walls, tried to force her way through them, even made a valiant attempt at the ceiling, but nothing seemed to help.

Reluctantly, Sydney began searching through her pockets. They'd anticipated the possibility that she wouldn't be able to take down any of the systems and she'd compensated for it by packing a small amount of explosive material. They'd all hoped she wouldn't have to use it because they weren't sure what sort of effect such an explosion would have on the surrounding magic, but with nothing else for it, she pulled a glob of C-4 out of one pocket and a detonator out of another, attached them, set the timer to thirty seconds and rushed out of the room.

In her rush to get out of the blast radius, Sydney forgot to check if the way was clear and ran straight into a passing Death Eater.

"Oi, watch it," he grunted dismissively.

"Sorry," Sydney mumbled, trying to use her hair to obscure her face while still acting as naturally as she could, despite the fact that she could hardly breath for fear.

For a moment it seemed as though she would avoid arousing suspicion, she and the Death Eater had nearly passed each other when he suddenly grabbed her arm and yanked her back.

"I don't think I've seen you around here before," he said, studying her.

"I'm new," Sydney replied, bolstering her voice with whatever insolence she could manage.

"What's your name?" he pressed.

"Nicolette Pierce," Sydney improvised promptly. "Now will you please let go of me?"

"No, I don't think so," he replied, gripping Sydney's arm tighter instead.

"Listen," Sydney exclaimed. "Rookwood invited me, I've already been inducted into the Death Eaters."

"Rookwood is passed out in the kitchen, he's in no state to vouch for anyone," the Death Eater sneered. "How unfortunate fo-"

He didn't get the chance to finish his speech, because Sydney wrenched herself free of his grasp, took two steps and dove to the floor. A second later, the C-4 exploded. The lights flickered and the whole building gave a strange sort of shudder. Her first task completed, Sydney started to scramble to her feet, but the Death Eater grabber her by the back of her robes and pulled her down.

"Right," he said as he forced her on her back and readied a punch.

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

Hermione had been hiding in the bushes at the perimeter of Malfoy Manor for hours, shaking with nerves and cold. Members of the Order were scattered around, signs of their presence only visible to those who knew where to look for them. Hermione could just make out a disillusioned pair near the steps to the front door, putting the final touches on the complex system of wards they had constructed.

Everyone was waiting for a signal that they could enter the building, but they had no idea how long it would take, even Sydney hadn't been sure about what kind of time she would need to ingratiate herself with the Death Eaters then get away.

Just as Hermione began cursing herself for not insisting upon disguising herself and doing the task instead of Sydney, the lights inside the Manor dimmed and something changed. It was as though a buzzing in her ear, so constant that she'd learned to ignore it, had suddenly stopped. She suspected that the defenses guarding the building were either disabled or severely weakened, and judging by the sudden rustling in nearby trees and bushes, the others thought so to. Steeling herself up, Hermione sent a signal to Harry, then raced toward the building, heading to its left side instead of the front door.

She had her wand out, ready for any opposition, but met none and reached her target, a small air vent, without incident. After magically pulling off the cover she squirmed inside the vertical vent, waving her wand to lift herself upward until she reached a horizontal stretch. For one terrible moment she thought the space might be too small for her to maneuver forward, but she managed it. Her task was vital and could be achieved no other way, but magically expanding the tube would have been difficult and could alert the Death Eaters to her location. Hermione had assigned herself this task for one reason, she was smaller in stature that almost everyone in the Order. The only other two people who could have carried it out were Tonks, whose talents were needed elsewhere, and Ginny, but Hermione hadn't been sure if she would be able to explain the intricacies of this task in a letter and hadn't wanted to risk such instructions being intercepted.

The tube was utterly dark. Hermione lit her wand but didn't dare give it anywhere near the intensity she would have preferred. Her robes frequently caught on sharp edges but she couldn't unsnag them, so she had to carry on despite whatever rips she could hear occurring. Her hands and arms became increasingly dusty as she progressed and she could scarcely bear to think of the state she'd be in by the time she emerged. She'd have to perform a lot of cleaning spells on herself before she could expect to last longer than a second in a Death Eater's company without arousing suspicion.

Occasionally, Hermione would come to a patch of the tube that was lit slightly, but she considered these cause for concern rather than celebration, for it meant that the vent attached to some hallway or room nearby. She took note of these openings and compared them to her memorized version of Dobby's map even as she extinguished her wand and slunk by as quietly as she could. When passing by these she often heard hurried footsteps or snippets of conversation, all of which sounded agitated. She had yet to hear any sound of battle, but wasn't sure whether that was a good sign or not.

Just as Hermione was beginning to feel claustrophobic, the tunnel began to widen obligingly until she could crawl normally.

Hermione passed by a large opening on her left, something that would have been unremarkable, except that she heard voices echoing from within it: considerably louder voices than any she had heard that originated outside of the ventilation system. It couldn't have been anyone from the Order, not unless they had been forced to improvise on a grand scale. Her hand tightening around her wand, Hermione went to investigate.

"So you really think it's the Order," one asked, the voices becoming more distinct as she approached, but not enough for her to try and identify who they were.

"No one else would try and attack this place," the other replied. "I'm really tired of this sitting in the dark idea, though." It took everything Hermione had not to gasp at her own stupidity as she extinguished her wand.

"No kidding," the first voice muttered. "Maybe we should get out of here and see if we can help"

As far as Hermione could judge, she was as close to them as she could get without risking running into them. She paused for a moment, trying to determine their positions as well as she could, then lit her wand and lunged toward them in the same movement.

"Ow, hey!"

"What the..."

Both people were thoroughly blinded, but Hermione, who up until very recently had the benefit of some illumination, took less time to adjust and tackled one of the people in a huge hug.

"Ron!" she cried.

"Hermione," Ron choked, she was making it difficult for him to breathe.

They only remained that way for a few seconds before Hermione suddenly stiffened and broke free, brightening her wand again and pointing it at them.

"How do I know you're actually Ron and Michael?" she demanded.

The former captives looked at each other. It was a valid question which would have worked both ways if Malfoy Manor wasn't currently under attack by the Order. They knew the answer to it, but getting her to believe them would be difficult, they weren't exactly carrying identification.

"It's us," Ron tried, not really expecting it to work.

"You were captured," Hermione replied.

"We escaped," Michael explained.

Hermione stared.

"We're still working on it," Ron said with a shrug.

"You could be Death Eaters who've drunk Polyjuice potion, or you could be under the Imperius Curse," Hermione started.

"Well, you could sit here and watch us for an hour and see if we turn into someone else," Ron suggested, "but you don't look like you have time for that."

"Ask us something," Michael offered.

"That doesn't actually work very well," Hermione sighed.

"Hermione," Ron said, "I know you, either you're going to figure this out in the next few minutes or you're going to tie us up, but we've been tied up for hours, days maybe, and I really don't want to do that again. We're not even armed, so will you please try asking us something."

Hermione thought about it for a moment. It looked as though she was about to tie them up anyway, then she said, "Alright, Ron, how did we meet."

"We were on the train to Hogwarts to start our first year," Ron replied confidently. "You were helping Neville find Trevor and came in to Harry's and my compartment to ask if we'd seen him. I was about to try a bit of magic to turn Scabbers yellow and you stayed to watch. The spell was a dud. Then you embarrassed Harry by reciting all the books he was in and made us both nervous by saying you'd memorized all the spell books already."

"What was the incantation?" Hermione asked.

"What?" Ron said, taken aback.

"What was the incantation for the spell you used to try and turn Scabbers yellow?" Hermione replied.

"It...it was...um," Ron fumbled. It was as though his own mind was attempting to torture him by holding the answer just out of reach.

Hermione closed her eyes sadly for a moment then turned to Michael and asked, "Who came to your first briefing about Wizards to bring you back here?"

"Arthur Weasley," Michael answered.

"How did you and Sydney meet?"

"She'd just turned herself in to the CIA. I was the agent who debriefed her," Michael replied. "How do you know about that?"

"Sydney told me," Hermione explained.

"Sunshine, daisies, butter mellow, turn this stupid fat rat yellow!" Ron burst out suddenly.

To Michael, this seemed like a rather odd thing to say, but Hermione brightened considerably.

"Do we pass then?" Ron asked.

However, Hermione was still not quite satisfied, although she was rather reluctant to use the only method of determination still left to her. She would have preferred so much that there was some spell that could guarantee that they were telling the truth, she would have trusted it much more than her instincts alone.

Reluctantly, Hermione took Ron's arm and pushed his torn sleeve up to the elbow then located one of the scars the brains had left in their fifth year and traced it with a finger as far as she could. After that, she took hold of his shoulders and looked him in the eyes, studying him for almost thirty seconds. Even though she wasn't sure she had found what she was looking for, Hermione had no reason to believe she hadn't and she enveloped Ron in another massive hug, one which wasn't marred by fear or suspicion.

"You're a mess," Ron said when they broke apart, attempting to wipe off the dusty residue she'd added to his already dirty robes.

"You're all wet," Hermione replied.

"It's a long story," Michael said. "One that involves almost drowning."

"Malfoy decided to give us a little test," Ron explained. "Something about proving the superiority of the purebloods. It would've been handy to have you along, actually."

"Needed a Mudblood sacrifice, did you?" Hermione asked cynically.

"Nah, a historian," Ron replied.

"I suppose you figured it out, though," Hermione said.

"Not really, actually," Michael replied.

"We found a solution Malfoy didn't anticipate," Ron said. "But I assume you're here for a reason."

"Oh!" Hermione said with a start. "Yeah, I've got to keep going. If you follow me I'll show you how to get out, although you won't be able to leave the property, the wards are already in place."

"Hermione," Ron said, crawling after her. "If the Order's fighting the Death Eaters then we want to help."

"But you don't have your wand," Hermione reminded him. "Michael doesn't have his gun."

"You can summon them here," Ron said, not believing for a second that Hermione had forgotten she had that power.

"That could give away our position," Hermione explained as she began crawling back toward her previous route. "It's very important that we aren't found until my task is carried out."

"Well, great, we can help you," Michael said.

"You were held captive for three days," Hermione replied. "Do you really think you're in any shape to battle Death Eaters?"

"We're in perfect shape to fight them," Ron said, a fire in his eye, "and you would be too."

"Fine," Hermione muttered, "follow me."

She led them through the complex system of ducts until even Michael was dizzy.

"This is it," she said about five minutes later.

"How can you tell?" Ron asked. To him this looked just like any other patch of ventilation shaft.

"If you'd listen for a minute you'd be able to tell as well," Hermione replied dismissively.

Ron scowled but took her advice and discovered her to be right as usual: a soft humming noise was emanating from below them.

Hermione brought out her wand very close to the floor of the duct, searching for something. She must have found it, because a moment later she extinguished her wand and pulled a flap out of the floor. Several large cylinders stood in the room below.

"What're those?" Ron asked.

Hermione carefully replaced the flap and whispered, "Boilers, water heaters."

"What do they have to do with anything?" Ron said.

"If allowed to overheat, they will make a large amount of noise," Hermione explained. "This hallway is a dead end. My task is to draw as many Death Eaters here as I can and keep them here by whatever means necessary."

"You're a distraction?" Ron exclaimed.

"Sydney's a distraction," Hermione replied as she carefully tossed a few things down on top of the boilers. "I'm a diversion. Note the subtle difference."

"Yeah, they're spelled differently," Ron muttered.

"You were sent to do this alone?" Michael asked.

"I volunteered to do this alone," Hermione clarified. "You shouldn't think I don't have a plan, and you might notice that I'm not alone anymore."

"So you'll let us help?" Ron asked happily.

"Well, I can't send you away now, can I?" Hermione replied. "I'll summon your weapons when I set off the boilers."

"There's still one thing," Ron said. "Last time we tried attacking this place the idea was to avoid alerting them to our presence."

"That didn't work so well," Michael reminded him.

"Well it might have worked if there wasn't...if I hadn't...you know," Ron trailed off.

"Actually, nothing's changed," Hermione explained. "Everything we're doing is designed to make it look like natural occurrences, aided by the fact that if something goes wrong when magic's involved things tend to go bad very quickly."

"Don't I know it," Ron muttered.

When there were no further questions, Hermione pointed her wand at all the boilers in turn until they were all blowing steam and whistling in an amazingly dissonant chorus that seemed likely to wake the entire street. Hermione then summoned Ron's wand and Michael's gun, not forgetting the ammunition. However, before she returned the Muggle's weapon to its rightful owner, she cast a silencing charm on it, earning herself and incredulous look from Ron, who thought that the deafening roar of the boilers rendered such a precaution completely unnecessary.

As Hermione had predicted, two Death Eaters came over to investigate. Before they'd even gotten passed the head scratching phase, Ron and Hermione had stunned them and Hermione had cleverly created the illusion of a puncture in one of the boilers that looked as though it could have exploded and knocked the pair of Death Eaters unconscious.

They repeated this cycle several times as more Death Eaters came into view until the annoyed villains started showing up in large enough numbers that they couldn't incapacitate them all at once or even have any confidence that they'd complete the task before the next group arrived. When this occurred Hermione flicked her wand and the boilers stopped whistling immediately. There was a moment of blissful silence, then Hermione dropped several small pellets into the room below. Within five seconds the boiler room was pitch black. Then she closed and sealed the hole from the ventilation shaft into the boiler room.

"Let's go," Hermione whispered. "Keep quiet."

Both Ron and Michael wished she'd been a bit more forthcoming about the details of her plan, but followed her without argument.

Hermione magically lowered them down a short vertical stretch then led them along another horizontal patch until they reached an opening into the hallway large enough for them all to crawl through. Immediately upon freeing herself of the ventilation shaft, Hermione tossed more darkness pellets into the boiler room. When Ron joined her in the hallway they both started shooting stunning spells at random into the room. Michael, the last one out, was unwilling to risk killing anyone with a wayward shot, so he chose to keep an eye on the hallway behind the Wizards instead, in case any other Death Eaters came along.

After several minutes of this, all sounds within the boiler room ceased. Satisfied, Hermione summoned all of the Death Eater's wands and conjured a solid wall blocking the only remaining way out of the hallway.

"You know they won't stay stunned forever," Ron pointed out.

"Yes," Hermione replied.

"And that, wandless or not, they're bound to find a way out of there," Ron continued.

"Yes," Hermione repeated.

"Doesn't that worry you at all?" Ron pressed.

Hermione pulled a small device out of her pocket and pushed a button on it. "Sydney lent me something that would constantly measure motion in the room," she explained. "I modified it to make sure it would work in here. I tossed the sensors on top of the boilers. They're high enough that it won't be set off by any of the Death Eaters even if they stand up, but it will detect any movement in the walls, even if there's an explosion below where the sensor can see. It will still notice the vibrations in the walls if they're large enough."

"And if it does?" Michael asked.

"The boilers will explode," Hermione replied.

Ron stared. That couldn't mean what he thought it did because Hermione had said it so coolly, like she was back in Divination regarding one of Professor Trelawney's phony predictions.

"But won't that," Ron started.

"Kill them?" Hermione asked. "Yes."

"Isn't that a little extreme?" Ron asked.

"Do you really want to go on like this?" Hermione demanded, "fighting for your survival every day against a bunch of crazed maniacs. You spent three days as a hostage, you're uniquely qualified to know what they're like. Most of them have already escaped from Azkaban two or three times!"

"But does that really justify killing them?" Ron cried. "They won't even have any warning."

"Yes they will," Hermione replied. "I left a note somewhere in there warning them about what would happen if they try to escape."

"Oh," Ron said. That made him feel a little better, but he still wasn't quite comfortable with the idea.

"What'd you do with your shoes?" Hermione asked, studying Ron for the first time since she'd found him and Michael.

"What?" Ron asked, blankly. "Oh! I forgot, he had to take them off to swim."

"Alright, well, nice socks," Hermione replied.

Ron smiled at her and wiggled his big toe where it was poking through the cloth.

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

Sydney had a split second in which to decide how to defend herself. All her training screamed at her to dodge the punch then regain her footing. However, everything she'd learned since entering the Wizarding world maintained that as long as this Death Eater still had his wand, she didn't stand a chance.

She felt her nose break as the Death Eater hit her and tasted blood as it streamed down her face, but both pain and disgust were tempered because her focus was on her own hands as they impacted the location of his right pocket with as much force as she could muster. Her efforts paid off: Sydney felt something break under her hands and was fairly certain it wasn't the Death Eater's ribs.

When the Death Eater heard the crunch of his wand breaking he backed off Sydney, howling with rage. The Muggle hadn't been optimistic enough to anticipate this eventuality, but took full advantage of it. Sydney stood and threw her own punch at her adversary, but wasn't quite quick enough to land it before he'd regained his guard. Instead, he caught her hand and sent her flying past him, tripping her as she went. Sydney's momentum sent her all the way to the nearby wall. She regained her balance just before running headlong into it and instead planted her foot on the wall a few feet above the floor and propelled herself into a flying kick aimed directly at the Death Eater's left temple. However, a moment before impact, he moved his head out of the way and instead grabbed her foot and twisted it and her into a horizontal spin. Sydney landed on the floor, hearing a loud crack from somewhere in the vicinity of her right hand as she awkwardly caught her fall, but paid it no further attention, she was too busy trying to figure out how her assailant could anticipate all her attacks. Not since she'd begun training as a field agent had Sydney felt so thoroughly outclassed. It seemed that no matter what she threw at this Death Eater, he knew the best way to counter it and turn it to his own advantage. What's more, she couldn't fathom how a Death Eater had become so skilled at hand to hand combat, especially since one motto of their clan was the annihilation of all Muggles.

Growing desperate now, Sydney tried every move she knew in the quickest succession her perpetual defeats would allow, but nothing even stunned the Death Eater long enough for her to run and hide or go for her gun.

Sydney couldn't explain how it happened, but she suddenly found herself thrown to the ground on her stomach. As she tried to stand, the Death Eater stepped viciously on her left hand. There was no ignoring the crunch of breaking bones this time. Before she'd even had the chance to try and block out the pain he placed his knee and what felt like most of his weight on the middle of her back. She didn't know how such a simple thing could cause so much pain or why her back hadn't broken yet. To make matters worse, she'd landed with her right arm, broken wrist and all, underneath her body. Her hand felt strangely contorted and liable to break off.

Unable to help herself, Sydney let off a quiet moan of pain and tried to squirm away, but this only made the Death Eater laugh and press down on her spine even harder.

"Not so tough now," he gloated.

Suddenly, the weight on Sydney's back was released and the Death Eater crumpled in a heap next to her. At that point, Sydney was so relieved to be rid of the Death Eater that she didn't particularly care whether her rescuer was friend or foe, but that didn't stop her from being relieved when she rolled over and found Ginny kneeling next to her.

Sydney hadn't gotten much of a chance to meet Ginny while they were at Hogwarts, but her relief quickly melted into dismay as she studied the witch, not because of any injury she could observe, but because she hadn't realized just how young Ginny was. Sydney hadn't been very quiet about her disapproval with Harry, Ron, and Hermione for getting themselves involved in life threatening battles at such a young age. Still, Sydney couldn't be too unhappy with Ginny, after all, if she hadn't come along just then, there was no telling what might have happened.

Sydney sat up and made to dab at her bleeding nose with her sleeve, but only succeeded in drawing attention to her bruised and swelling wrist and fingers. Ginny, who'd been about to offer Sydney a hand to pull her to her feet immediately rethought her tactic and stepped behind Sydney to pull her up by the upper arms instead.

"Thanks," Sydney said groggily. Her broken nose had caused a marked decrease in her sense of balance, which, while easy to ignore in the heat of combat, was starting to effect her.

"Don't mention it," Ginny replied.

"Can you do anything about this?" Sydney asked, holding up her hands.

Ginny's face fell. "I suppose I could try," she started.

"Then do it!" Sydney demanded. "I can't help unless I can use my hands."

"The trouble is, I'm alright at mending skin," Ginny replied, "but bones are a different thing entirely. I know the spell, but I've never actually tried it."

"I can't help anyone like this," Sydney sighed. "Do what you can."

Ginny suddenly brightened and said, "Okay!" It took Sydney a second to realize that the witch's previous reluctance had merely been a convincing front which she had constructed to ensure that Sydney would be aware of the risks involved. Ginny was, in fact, eager to try out a new bit of magic.

Ginny gently took hold of Sydney's broken left hand and, after studying it, closed her eyes and flicked her wand. The bruising and swelling disappeared, taking the pain with them, but it was immediately obvious that something hadn't gone quite right. Sydney's once long and elegant fingers now looked shorter and mismatched and small bulges now erupted from random places, at least two on each finger and one in the center of her palm. Apparently, the bones had knitted together as they were supposed to, but somehow they hadn't aligned themselves properly first. Ginny looked positively horrified at her blunder.

Sydney flexed and curled her maimed hand experimentally. It didn't hurt, but it felt very strange. Several fingers bent at strange angles and she wasn't able to create a satisfactory fist: her poor substitute would cause more damage to herself than her opponent if she found herself in another hand to hand fight.

"I am so sorry!" Ginny cried adamantly, hindered by her hand, which she'd stuffed partially in her mouth, apparently trying to suffer a little on Sydney's behalf.

"Can you fix this?" Sydney asked, her thoughts straying to her next task. With her right hand still out of commission she would have to wield a gun in her left. That hadn't been a source of concern until she realized that it was unlikely that her misshapen fingers would be able to reach the trigger without contorting her hand in a way that would be detrimental to her aim.

Ginny's gaze dropped as she shook her head. She wouldn't have suggested a solution even if she knew of one that didn't involve re-braking all of Sydney's fractures, setting them by hand, then mending them again, not after that dismal display of her magical ability. She couldn't understand what had gone wrong; even without practice, she was usually capable of great feats of skill and tended to be among the first in her classes to master any new spell. Her inability to perform this one correctly was a matter of personal shame.

"What about my wrist?" Sydney pressed.

"I don't want to risk it," Ginny moaned desperately. "I could splint it though."

Sydney had half a mind to argue that mending the bones would be far more helpful to her under the circumstances even if the job wasn't done quite right, but she could see that Ginny was not to be swayed: all the enthusiasm for trying the new spell seemed to have gone out of her.

As it transpired, magical splints bore little resemblance to Muggle casts. Once the binding was applied the pain almost disappeared and she regained some mobility in her fingers, though they still felt numb and weak. Even so, Sydney knew that this hand as well would be of little use in a firefight and none in hand to hand combat.

Ginny glanced with some remorse in the direction she was supposed to travel for part of the mission, fiddling absently with the strap of the book bag she was wearing, then said, "Will you need help completing your task?"

It was a generous offer and one with many subtle implications, the foremost of which was that Ginny was willing to face whatever punishment or disappointment would ensue from not completing her own tasks to ensure that Sydney was not blamed for an inability to complete her own. Also inherent was a sense of responsibility that Sydney rarely observed in people Ginny's age. Conversely, this statement also spoke of Ginny's lack of familiarity with their overall strategy and her place in it, or else she would have known that at this point it was far more important that Ginny's tasks were carried out. In fact, Sydney had half a mind to accompany Ginny on her tasks instead. It was for this reason that Sydney had to refuse Ginny's offer.

A few seconds after they parted company a loud whistling reached their ears and both put on an extra burst of speed.

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

There was a series of strange sounds, like something very far away suddenly exploding.

"What's wrong, Michael?" Hermione asked, discerning the most likely source of the phenomenon and turning away from the wall she'd been magically strengthening to contain the trapped Death Eaters. She was right too, there were now several bullet holes barely visible in the far wall.

"Death Eater," Michael grunted. "He saw us."

"Did you get him?" Ron asked.

"He got away," Michael admitted.

"We can't let him tell the others that we're here," Hermione said.

"I'll go," Ron and Michael said simultaneously.

They took off, Michael leading the way. Fortunately, for some distance there was only one direction the Death Eater could have gone, especially if he wanted to report his discovery with any sort of speed. Their luck even held, just before they reached an intersection of two hallways a trail of blood appeared on the ground betraying the Death Eater's route.

"I must have winged him," Michael said. He sounded happy about it.

The clear trail and the knowledge that their prey must be becoming weaker after losing so much blood sped the pursuers forward. Before long they were close enough to catch glimpses of a robe disappearing around the next corner. When the hallways finally opened up into the grand staircase and entrance hall they thought they'd have no trouble getting a clear shot at the Death Eater, but the room was apparently empty.

"What?" Michael exclaimed, bending over to examine the blood trail.

Ron, however, was a bit faster in figuring out who they'd been pursuing and what happened to him and pulled out his wand.

"Accio Scabbers!"

It was generally unwise to summon sentient beings, but luckily, the spell worked as he'd hoped and a large screaming rat came flying toward Ron. Ron managed to catch the rat, then, with some effort, changed his grip so he was holding him by the scruff of the neck, so that the claws and teeth were no longer a threat.

"Is that...?" Michael breathed.

"Yeah," Ron muttered with disgust. "This is Pettigrew."

When Ron made no move, Michael pointed out, "We have to do something about him."

"Right," Ron said with a start.

He raised his wand, prompting Wormtail to start squirming and fighting with renewed vigor, but for the moment he didn't use it. It would have been so easy to end it all right then, he wouldn't even need his wand; he could break Pettigrew's neck with his bare hands. Ron nearly did it too: three times he changed his grip on the rat then changed it back without doing anything. No matter how he looked at it, no matter what Pettigrew had done, Ron couldn't justify killing him while he was completely defenseless.

"Listen carefully," Ron ordered, rotating the rat so that their noses were inches apart. "I am going to put you down, then you are going to transform and we will have a fair duel..."

"Ron," Michael interrupted, looking worried. Apparently he didn't consider murder below him when the situation called for it.

"I can handle him," Ron replied, then turned back to Pettigrew. "In exchange I'll make sure he doesn't kill you right now. Do we have an agreement?"

Pettigrew merely stared at him for a moment, then slowly nodded his head. Holding his wand ready, Ron dropped Wormtail, knowing it was a low blow but hoping a fall from such a lofty height might stun him. The rat's legs gave way and he landed on his stomach instead, but he regained his footing quickly and took off for the nearest cover. However, in his haste, he scurried in front of Michael, who, in a miraculous feat of good timing, stomped directly on Pettigrew's tail. The rat squealed in pain as he was forced to stop.

Michael cocked his gun and pointed it at Wormtail's head, but before he could finish the job, Ron yelled, "Stop! He has to answer for what he's done."

"He's about to," Michael replied, tightening his hand around the gun.

"I meant that he has to be able to speak in his own defense," Ron clarified.

"Would it change what you're going to do to him if he does?" Michael asked.

"I guess not," Ron admitted.

"Then why bother?" Michael continued. "You don't need to risk it with a duel. Besides, you remember what happened last time you tried to duel a Death Eater."

Michael didn't realize exactly how tactless his comment was until a second after he finished saying it when he found Ron looking at him like he was about to force him to let Pettigrew up just to prove he could handle himself in a duel.

Instead, Ron dropped his gaze sheepishly and said, 'I'd like to say something to him first."

"Go ahead," Michael replied.

"Peter Pettigrew," Ron started, "you betrayed Harry's parents to You-know-who and let Sirius Black go to Azkaban for your crimes. You used my family's trust. You nearly ended my friendship with Hermione. You helped Voldemort return to power. You killed Professor Lupin. You withheld food from Michael and me when we were starving. If you can think of a reason why we should spare your pathetic life that isn't the drivel I've already heard, then say it now."

Wormtail looked for a moment as though he might take Ron up on his offer, but then he changed his mind and remained resolutely on the ground, staring up at Ron as though daring him to kill the rat lying before him. It was immediately clear why Pettigrew chose this technique, Ron didn't want to kill this rat now any more than he did before, that had been the purpose for declaring a duel, after all.

"Do you want me to do this?" Michael asked, sensing Ron's reluctance.

"Just give me a minute," Ron replied shakily.

Ron was sorely tempted to stun Pettigrew, tie him up and send him to Azkaban, but even as he considered this he knew it was impossible. Pettigrew had shown a talent for escaping from inescapable places, including Azkaban. He couldn't count on the prison being able to contain him this time any more than it had last time. Pettigrew would only stop spreading misery when he was dead.

Michael seemed eager to finish the job and move on, and Ron couldn't explain why he didn't want to let him. It just seemed fitting that Pettigrew should die at the hands of someone he'd betrayed, and he was one of the few people still living who fit that description.

Ron took a deep breath and nodded to Michael, who released Pettigrew's tail, then Ron flicked his wand. He'd intended to sever Wormtail's jugular vein, but somehow that wasn't what happened. Instead a mass of ropes snaked out of his wand and tied themselves around the rat, but he wasn't a rat anymore. The trouble was he wasn't quite a man either.

As soon as Michael had released him Pettigrew had begun to resume his usual form, apparently hoping to traumatize Ron by forcing him to kill a man instead of a rat, but when Ron's ropes reached him he hadn't yet regained his full size, and the ropes didn't stretch.

"No!" Ron yelped, rushing forward to the choking and squirming mass.

The ropes were cutting deep into Pettigrew's skin and his face was already turning an unhealthy blue. Ron tried undoing the spell, but there were several incantations that led to the same result and each had a specific counter charm. Since he hadn't intended to use that spell he didn't know which one had been employed and in his desperation most of the remedies escaped him. He tried vanishing the ropes, but it was no use. Cutting and burning through them proved ineffective as well. As Pettigrew lost consciousness from lack of oxygen Ron tried to work even more quickly, but a few seconds later Michael came up behind him and pulled him away.

"Isn't this what you meant to happen?" Michael asked.

"No," Ron cried. "I mean, I was trying to kill him, but..."

He couldn't finish his statement, he couldn't believe what he had tried to do to Pettigrew. No matter what his crimes, Ron wasn't supposed to decide his fate.

"That's not what I was trying to do," Ron said.

"What's the difference?" Michael asked. "No matter what you do, he's going to die."

"How can you say that?" Ron demanded. "You think he deserves this?"

"Think of what you said to him before this happened," Michael pointed out. "This man is a traitor."

Ron tried to put his wand away but kept missing his pocket because his hand was shaking so badly. It seemed as though this moment marked a division in his life and that he would forever think of things as occurring either before or after he had killed a man.

They heard the footsteps of someone approaching and Michael whirled around, gun out. Ron, on the other hand, couldn't bring himself to face whatever new threat was upon them just yet.

As it turned out, their caution was unwarranted, for it was Hermione who rounded the corner.

"Death Eaters all sorted out then?" Michael asked, trying unsuccessfully to keep his tone light.

"Yeah," Hermione replied. "You?"

"Pettigrew's dead," Ron said, finally turning around. A second later he dry retched.

Hermione had already deduced that upon entering the room and seeing the body, but several new details became clear to her upon Ron's statement. "Oh, Ron," Hermione sighed, "You can't blame yourself for this, you did what you had to do."

"No I didn't," Ron moaned, looking around desperately without actually focusing on anything. "He didn't have to die, he was defenseless."

Suddenly, Ron dropped to his knees at Pettigrew's side and hefted his wand. He had finally come up with the spell needed to release the ropes and performed it, then healed the bruises. He was in the process of figuring out how best to start Pettigrew breathing again when Hermione pulled him away from the scene, crying, "Don't do this to yourself!"

"I might still be able to save him," Ron said, trying to get back to Pettigrew's body. "That wasn't how it was supposed to happen!"

"When have things ever worked out the way they're supposed to," Hermione replied. "It's over. You can't change what happened. You know what kind of man he was, he deserved what he got, even if the Ministry doesn't agree."

Ron quailed. Retribution from the Ministry hadn't occurred to him. "I murdered him! That's worth life in Azkaban!"

"This is a battle zone, they'll make an exception," Hermione pointed out, but Ron looked around skeptically, noting the distinct lack of anything resembling a battle zone in this room. Seeing this, Hermione added, "I've been thinking about it. The only way all the Death Eaters could have escaped from Azkaban is if Pettigrew helped them from the inside, what with his Animagus abilities and his silver hand. Either the Ministry's realized this as well or I'll make them. They might not agree with what you did, but they will thank you for it."

Ron didn't answer, but he looked relieved, so Hermione said, "I need to keep going, but if you want to stay behind you'll have to hide somewhere, the entire building should be sealed by now."

"We'll come," Ron volunteered, looking eager for the chance to occupy himself somehow.

"Alright," Hermione said, leading them up the stairs to the second floor. "We've got to hurry. There's going to be a signal soon. After you see it, close your eyes and cover your ears for thirty seconds."

"Why?" Ron asked.

"It's too hard to explain right now," Hermione replied evasively.

"What kind of signal?" Michael pressed.

"Well...actually..." Hermione stammered.

"You don't know?" Ron demanded.

"Well, the people working on it have to use whatever happens to be at hand," Hermione mumbled.

"Whose job is it, at least," Ron asked.

"Well, we needed people who could work on a similar timing even if they aren't in contact," Hermione explained. "So..."

"Fred and George," Ron finished.

"Fred and George," Hermione confirmed.

"Well at least it'll be obvious," Ron muttered.