How Can I Keep From Singing?

How Can I Keep From Singing?

My life flows on,

In endless song,

Above Earth's lamentation...

Outside Hermione's window, rain patted softly against the ground and stone. It was afternoon, but a dark onset of summer showers forced Hermione to light candles earlier than she would have liked. They were in short supply now, and it was custom to sleep or entertain oneself without light if it was dark during the day, but Hermione could not put off this work. And, she could not cast a Lumos charm, lest cause herself unwanted attention.

Hermione's quill rose as she paused to reread the letter she was writing. This was a challenge, as it was written in code. She would have used shadow ink (ink that can only be read by the shadow of the person reading it), but she figured that would be difficult for Harry, as it was so dark outside.

Yes, the recipient was Harry. It hadn't been long since she'd written him - a month, perhaps. It was dangerous to write too often in these climates, so the number of messages had to look inconspicuous. Now, Harry was in London, meeting with Professor McGonagall in a Knockturn Alley café. It had taken months to arrange the meeting - McGonagall had barely escaped the attack on Hogwarts five years ago, and had been working out of Britain ever since - she was too well known to be smuggled into the country very easily. The two also had to meet in public, for meeting in a headquarters was too dangerous - they couldn't risk an attack while McGonagall was there.

Hermione wastwenty-six. When she was eighteen, a seventh year at Hogwarts, an event that started Voldemort's war against magical Britain occurred on the eve before her graduation ceremony; five simultaneous explosions, in Diagon Alley, the executive Ministry offices, the Forbidden Forest, the Daily Prophet headquarters, and Hogsmeade. The explosions put a dent in the wizarding population - 1,500 people were killed, mostly in Diagon Alley, the Ministry Offices, and Hogsmeade. The Forbidden Forest caught fire, leaving many creatures to be displaced. Some tried to attack the school before the Ministry managed to relocate them.

After three years of denying Voldemort's existence, Cornelius Fudge was forced to resign from office and quietly disappeared - probably escaped Britain while he could. And, with the resignation of Fudge, the Ministry was in disarray, and the very worst person possible was appointed to office.

Lucius Malfoy.

It was never known how Lucius got himself appointed (threats, Death Eaters in the ministry were among the probable causes), but it perhaps destroyed any hope for the continued freedom of magical Britain. Within weeks of his appointment, Malfoy had tried to throw Albus Dumbledore out as headmaster of Hogwarts, but, seeing what was happening, Dumbledore sealed off the school and stayed with it until the very end, as did most of the staff. Hermione, Harry, Ron, and the rest of their graduating class were thrown into a world under seize, quickly pushed into a group that would become an underground movement and the only hope Britain and probably the world had of being free from Voldemort. If Malfoy hadn't come to power, perhaps neither would have Voldemort. But the appointment secured the fall of Hogwarts, and, in the end, the government of Britain.

Hogwarts became a safe haven in the three years after Hermione had graduated. Ministry officials, wizarding families, and other came to live there or in Hogsmeade, that was protected by Hogwarts. Voldemort knew that it would take time to build an offensive big enough to take down Hogwarts and the grounds - with the fall of most of the Ministry into his power, most Aurors had gone to protect Hogwarts as their last stronghold, and Albus Dumbledore was ever powerful, even in his growing age. But, time was spent, Death Eaters were trained, and Hogwarts was ambushed. The school's base was destroyed, and Voldemort made sure the school would start to crumble, and cave in, without anyone noticing until it was too late. His plan worked - the school was evacuated, and just as this was happening, the Death Eaters attacked. Students, teachers, and Hogsmeade citizens alike were killed or injured. Britain was sealed off from the rest of the world and muggles were put on Voldemort's leadership as Britain's ruler. The last holdout had collapsed.

Albus Dumbledore disappeared after the fall of Hogwarts. He had helped several teachers and students escape, and then was never seen again. It was a strong belief that Voldemort held him, but this remained unproved. Every day for Hermione was another search for him.

Most muggles in Britain now lived controlled lives under Dark Wizards. Those with connections to wizards could live with them (Hermione's family lived as refugees in camps hidden throughout Britain), but most Dark wizards kept muggles as slaves or sent them to labor camps. Muggle towns, cities, and buildings were taken over by the wizarding population. If you weren't a dark wizard, you weren't alive. So, that's how Hermione lived - her existence wasn't known to anyone but her colleagues. She changed her public name to Hillary Reynolds, and avoided being in situations where she might be recognized. She rarely worked in public at all - mostly behind the scenes.

The now underground movement, called the PLSA (Protection of Light Sorcery Agency), was what she lived for. It was her only chance of seeing Britain retaken by light wizards, and perhaps a chance of saving the world from Dark magic. She had no idea what was going on in the outside world - there were no communications that anyone but Voldemort was aware of - even top government officials didn't know, as Voldemort worried about spies. That could change with this conversation between Harry and McGonagall, though. McGonagall had been working on the outside for five years, and was well aware of what was going on in the world. Hermione had arranged for Harry to take the disguise of a top Death Eater they had taken prisoner by using the Polyjuice Potion, and McGonagall would take the potion and become his wife, whom was now in a deep sleep in her mansion, and would awake to find her husband completely unaware of who he was or what was going on. Obliviate was their way of taking down Death Eaters - they did not stoop to the levels of dark curses.

As Hermione dipped her quill into the violet ink again, there was a knock on the wall behind her. She turned sharply, but saw in the candlelight that it was only Ron, smiling gently at her.

"What are you doing?" he asked, "I've been sleeping forever. I'm bored."

Hermione had married Ron two years after her graduation from Hogwarts. Their mischievous and often tumultuous adolescence together had probably sparked the romance between them. Both had entered the agency together, both had protected Hogwarts in its falling hour, and both had experienced the peculiarity of being Harry Potter's best friends - pulled into the limelight by Harry's famousness, push to the side for the same reason, and often put in dangerous situations - as dangerous things seemed to attract to Harry. And, both had annoyed each other as children - avoiding the feeling they knew were there.

They lived together, both hidden from the dark world outside them. They both worked with the agency, completing assignments with Harry, as they had done in school, except no rules mattered any more. Morality was all that was left of rules - the laws of the Dark Lord didn't exist to them.

"I'm writing Harry. I need his information as soon as we can get it." Hermione went back to her writing, and by Ron's footsteps, she knew he was coming towards her.

"Can I read?" he asked, leaning over her shoulder. Knowing this was just an excuse to get closer to her, she didn't bother replying. She just kept writing. Ron's arms slowly slid over her sides, and his head rested on her shoulder so his face was next to hers. She lifted herself up a little so he could slide onto the chair, and she rested on his lap, continuing to write. Ron's eyes followed the quill.

"Do we have a plan for getting McGonagall out of there?" Ron asked mildly.

"All I know is that Justin's behind it. Ask him if you want - he probably won't tell you."

"Would Harry tell me?"

"Probably, but it's doubtful he knows, either. I think you'll have to live with a little ignorance, Ron."

"As if anyone's ever said that to you."

"That's because I know everything," Hermione replied matter-of-factly, grinning as she dipped the quill in ink again.

"I know," Ron replied, leaning his head onto hers so his brilliant red hair brushed against her cheek. She leaned into his hair as she finished the letter and put the quill down.

"I should blow out the candle," she whispered.

"Go ahead. Your glow is enough for me."

Smiling, Hermione leaned forward across the desk and dowsed the flame.

I hear the real,

Though far off hymn,

That hails a new creation...

"Harry!" someone called, walking with swift footsteps. Harry quickly turned from what he was reading - a letter from Hermione asking for information. He saw that the person heading towards him was Susan Bones.

"What's happened?" he asked. It was obvious something had happened - Susan had was smiling more brightly than he'd seen in quite a while.

"We've done it," Susan grinned, "We have someone in Glowson."

Harry's eyes widened a little. Glowson, the school for wizard children to learn the Dark Arts, had never been infiltrated before. They'd managed to get into the armed forces and even the government, but never Glowson.

"Who?" Harry asked automatically.

"Gilderoy Lockhart," Susan mumbled quickly. Everyone was aware of Harry's loathing for Lockhart that had existed since he was twelve years old, when Lockhart had tried to erase his memory.

"How - what -"

"He'd been in St. Mungo's for five years when the first attacks took place," Susan explained, taking a seat in front of him. This room wasn't Harry's office, just a simple study room. Harry used a cubicle as an office, but this room was a secluded place where anyone could find him and he could read Hermione's letter in privacy. It was painted completely white, with a white floor and ceiling, a dark wood desk in the middle with a chair in front of it and behind it, and several candles in candleholders on the desk. The reason the walls were so white was because the bright hue reflected the light of the candles, so fewer needed to be lit. Their supply of wax, wick, and candles relied on Voldemort in the end - and he gave them out in short rations. The richest and highest classes got hundreds of candles a month, while the poorer and lower classes received five or six - and most of the agency workers who were able to live and work in the outside world were in lower classes. "Just to recover basic things about magic and wizardry. He was quite good, considering his condition and his former self. When St. Mungo's was shut down, we took him and trained him ourselves. He's not the wizard he once was, Harry. He's a completely different person now."

"But he was a famous wizard," Harry pointed out, "How is he going to become unnoticeable?"

"We changed his appearance," Susan replied simply.

Susan had opened her mouth to speak again when Angelina Johnson ran into the room. She looked horrified, and obviously carried bad news.

"Harry - it's urgent - the group returning Professor McGonagall - ambushed-"

"WHAT?" cried Harry, jumping from his seat. Susan, too, stood, and the two of them followed Angelina out of the room.

"Ang, what happened? How is this possible?"

"I'm not sure, Harry. All I know is that the group taking McGonagall across the border was stopped by Death Eaters and Dementors - several may have been killed, and I know we're not sure on McGonagall's condition-"

"But-"

Angelina had led Harry and Susan into a control room. It was a very large, circular room, also painted white, with a circular table holding a huge, white-flamed candle in the middle. A team of Aurors came up to Harry immediately, all looking extremely worried.

"Penelope," Harry muttered to one of them, "What's happened?"

Penelope Clearwater took in a deep breath, and began:

"Shortly after she left Knockturn Alley, Professor McGonagall, still in disguise, was met by a team of ours at Kings Cross. Our team quickly replenished her supply of Polyjuice Potion, and then, acting as her servants, led her into a horseless carriage, which they would take them to a safe point of ours, from which McGonagall could take an underground tunnel to the border, and her own agency outside the country would help her from there. But, while she was in the carriage, it was attacked. These people," Penelope took a piece of parchment out of her robe and handed it to Harry, "are the ones we know are dead. McGonagall and the others are unclear - it is doubtful McGonagall is dead yet."

Harry collapsed into a chair by the table and ran his fingers through his hair.

"What does this mean?" he asked.

"It means they know about the meeting," Penelope replied seriously, "They want the information we got as much as we do. They're going to target those involved."

"Oh God," Harry jumped up again. "I have to speak to Ron and Hermione, now."

Above the tumult,

And the strife,

I hear its music ringing...

"Ron."

"Shhh."

"Ron, it's light outside."

"I'm tired," he replied in a muffled voice from the inside of his pillow. Hermione rolled her eyes, and fingered his hair playfully.

"It's been dark for so long, Ron. It's nice to the see the sun."

Ron grunted.

"You weren't so tired before."

Apparently, Ron had suddenly fallen into so deep a slumber that he couldn't hear her. Hermione's eyes went to the bedroom window - or rather a wall enchanted to act as if it had a window on it, and the window to give an accurate portrayal of what it would be life if they were above ground, instead of twenty feet below. Hermione sighed, turning over towards Ron, who remained motionless.

"I'm going to make breakfast, Ron."

Ron nodded to signal he'd be interested. Hermione gently rose from the soft mattress that was set on the floor (it would have been more difficult to have a bed, as they moved frequently), and slipped into their small, untidy kitchen. Sunlight poured in, and Hermione began searching through cabinets and cupboards for what she needed to make muffins. Her magic, which she decided would be safe to use for a few simple cooking spells, was put to work bringing out dishes, heating the oven, mixing, and many other chores. As she used her wand to stir blueberries into the batter, she set the table and poured drinks. Ron eventually walked into the room.

"Smells good," he commented. Ron usually did the cooking, but Hermione knew he wasn't in the mood this morning.

"Did you get my letter sent?" Hermione asked as he sat down to the table and she brought a tray full of blueberry muffins and butter.

"Yep. I sent Bernice - she should get there fast, and hopefully without interception. She's a great actress, that bird, and could probably fool a dark wizard if she was caught."

"True," Hermione mumbled as she absentmindedly spread a load of butter on her muffin, thinking of the bird's rather perilous journey.

"Hermione, I think that's quite enough butter."

"Oops."

"Here, I'll help get it off."

"Of course you will..."

It sounds an echo,

In my soul...

"Honey, where's my jacket?"

"I'm not sure. Why do you need it?"

"I think we may need to go some place soon."

Hermione poked her head out from the study. "Why do you say that?"

Ron shrugged, looking through a dusty old trunk, "I just have a feeling. Especially with this meeting in Knockturn Alley."

"Yes," Hermione reasoned, coming across the hall to meet him in the living room where many storage containers were kept, a book held up to her nose, "I suppose it may mean a relocation soon."

"And I was just beginning to like it here." Ron sighed, looking around at the walls that were painted a rather ugly shade of maroon. "Why that color?"

"It does look attractive on you," Hermione replied slyly.

"Oh really," Ron replied, raising an eyebrow and crossing his arms, "Well, I never recall being asked on a date while wearing one of my mother's Christmas sweaters."

Hermione shrugged, and closed the book she'd been reading. She reasoned that Harry had probably just received her letter, and was reading it now. She curiously thought of what Harry would say about-

Hermione froze. She heard Ron do the same. The ground above them was shaking. She could hear something above them, digging towards them...

"We have to get out!" Ron yelled. He ran to the kitchen, where he grabbed their owl's cage, woke the horned owl within, and pulled him out. He opened a cupboard to the side in the wall, and threw the owl into it. Hermione, carrying Crookshanks in her arms, followed suit, and they closed the cupboard. This cupboard was actually a secret chute they'd created to get the animals out in case of an emergency. They knew it would be bad if enemies found their pets, as there was a Dark spell that could be used to look inside the minds of animals and try to see what they knew about their masters.

Hermione and Ron, leaving all possessions behind, then ran to a room that contained only a portkey that would take them right to a PLSA office far away. It was a broken alarm clock, and the two of them, together, grabbed the bells on top of the clock.

Nothing happened.

"What the hell..." Ron whispered.

"It's can't be... not al-"

Crashes sounded from the room next door. Hermione slammed into the door and sealed it. The invaders would have to break it down. Hermione than straightened up and, shaking, backed into Ron. He took her hand, and the two collapsed onto the floor, wands out, waiting.

How can I keep from singing?

What though the tempest

Loudly roars...

"We can't get a signal," Angelina told Harry.

"What?" he asked, "What do you mean?"

"Nobody's responding," Angelina explained. They were trying to contact Ron and Hermione using a fire, and as a precaution, it was custom for the person trying to get in contact to light and dowse a fire in the receiver's hearth. The receiver would then relight the fire to signal they were able to communicate. This was to avoid an enemy tracking their locations or members.

"Should I try again?" she asked.

This was risky. If a dark wizard had taken over a household, he or she would usually think it was just a mistake if a magical fireplace lit and dowsed itself shortly after. But it would be suspicious if it happened twice...

"No." Harry sighed, "I'm going to go there myself. I'll go make a portkey, can you get together a group together to come with me?"

Angelina nodded, and left the room. Harry willingly himself to believe what he knew wasn't true, hurried to find something to make a portkey out of.

*

Hermione hit the rough stone floor hard, and instinctively rubbed the place where she'd hit her head as she sat up. The doorway from which she had been thrown was now just a stonewall, and she found herself sitting in a cold, damp cell, completely surrounded by stone. Shaking, Hermione rose to her feet, and looked around.

The place was dimly lit by low burning candles stubs. The ground felt like wet sand, which had scraped onto her face, hair, and robes from her fall. The room was about as big as a smaller classroom at Hogwarts. In the distance, she saw two blocks of stone jutting out of the wall, both shadowed, as the candles that lined the walls stopped there. Though, through what little she could see, Hermione knew someone else was there.

"Hello?" she asked nervously. She could only see the stranger's feet, covered in torn socks. There was only a rustling in response. Shaking, Hermione stepped forward into the darkness, her shoes tapping quietly on the wet sand. Unsure if she should talk again, she simply kept walking, squinting to see the person she'd be sharing a cell with.

"It's been a long time since I've seen you, Miss Granger."

Hermione gasped. She knew only once voice like that.

"This isn't the best of situations to meet again in, I'm afraid. But I would expect you'd be interested in where I've been for all these years."

"Oh God..." Hermione whispered, falling to her knees in front of the man. "Professor...sir..."

"Albus," Dumbledore reached out to Hermione. She took his hand and moved forward to him, her breath bated. As she came level with the stone block he was sitting on, she looked into his face.

His face was more aged than she'd ever seen before. He was thin; his fingers like bone, his gray hair tangled, twisted, and piled on the stone. It was obvious he'd been given little to eat, and been in terrible living conditions. His fingers felt waxy, as if he hadn't been able to wash in months.

"How..."

Dumbledore hushed her softly, and, with a grandfatherly touch, began to smooth down her long, brown curls. Feeling like a child with her grandfather, Hermione absently set her head on Dumbledore's lap, and stared into the darkness around them.

"What's going on outside?" Dumbledore asked her quietly, after several minutes of silence.

"Voldemort controls everything. What else is there?" Hermione answered skeptically. Dumbledore paused. This wasn't because Hermione had said Voldemort's name. She knew that - she'd stopped using 'You-Know-Who' after Hogwarts was attacked.

"There's no hope? No life? Nothing?"

Hermione looked up at him again.

"How long have you been here? Held by Voldemort, I mean."

Dumbledore looked up thoughtfully, and then replied, "Since shortly after he attacked Hogwarts."

"That was five years ago..."

"Yes, I suppose so..."

"You've been alive all this time," she whispered, "everyone thought you would be..."

"I'd understand why," Dumbledore replied, "I haven't been much above alive as it is."

"How are you so..."

"So what?"

"I don't know...happy?"

"I'm far from happy, Hermione," Dumbledore replied calmly, "Seeing you here makes my heart fall lower. But, just because the times are down doesn't mean we are granted the luxury of despair."

Thinking about this, Hermione returned her head to Dumbledore's lap, and Dumbledore continued to stroke her hair.

"Hope always seems to keep us from falling too far...even when we know those we love are in danger, we feel they will be all right..."

Hermione couldn't help it any longer. She started to cry.

I hear the truth,

It liveth!

"There's no one here," Harry mumbled. He knew it before the rest of his team began their search. He walked quickly to an empty room that contained only one thing - an alarm clock with a broken face and rusty bells. Without thinking, he picked up the clock, and his heart dropped as nothing happened.

"It's no use," he called. A minute later, Angelina came in, carrying in her arms a large, old, ginger cat, and a great horned owl flying was behind her, hooting indignantly. The owl found his own corner in the empty room, and quickly turned away from the two humans, both of whom were looking grave.

"Where did you find them?" Harry asked, his voice shaking slightly.

"The hidden chute," Angelina replied quietly, setting the cat down, "They must have been attacked." Her eyes went down to the clock Harry was holding.

"The portkey that should have taken them to Surrey," Harry explained quickly, "It was never used. It didn't work."

"What does that mean?"

"HARRY!" Neville Longbottom ran into the room, gasping for breath and looking horrified. He clutched something in his trembling hands, and held it out for Harry to see.

"What is this?" Harry asked, picking up the splintered pieces of wood.

"Their wands," Neville whispered, "Look, you can see the unicorn hair from Ron's, and this dark cherry wood is Hermione's..."

"Oh..."

"Harry, I'm sorry."

This was the worst thing to find. When a witch or wizard was captured by Death Eaters, their broken wand was left in their home. It was a confirmation that Ron and Hermione had been abducted.

Harry couldn't hold on to their broken wands. They fell to the ground with soft taps, and Harry fell back against the wall.

"What are we going to do?" Angelina asked gently, as Neville quietly swept up the broken wand pieces and put them in a bag, and the other members of their group - Parvati Patil, Edmund Bollahind, and Melissa Solzski, entered the room as well, all looking grim. Harry didn't feel like looking up at them. He just kept staring at the ceiling.

"We have to go back," he said firmly, "Tell what's happened. And find out how the hell the Death Eaters knew we were planning this."

What though the darkness

Round me close...

When Hermione woke, Dumbledore was gone. She was alone in the cell, her head resting on the place where Dumbledore had been sitting the night before. The candles had burned completely out, and she saw nothing but darkness surrounding her. It was disconcerting to have to feel her way through the darkness, so she could seat herself on the stone block. It was possible that Dumbledore was still there - just hidden in the consuming shadows, but she could feel it. She was alone.

However, a sudden light penetrated the cell, hurting Hermione's eyes. She looked away, leaning her face against the opposing wall, and waited for whoever was at the door to say something.

"Granger." The voice was cold and drawling, and so familiar it sent a prickling feeling up Hermione's spine. His shadow loomed against the wall, and Hermione could see the outline of a hood. Keeping steady, Hermione turned to face him.

"Where am I?" she asked calmly, in his same, cold tone. She sat straight up on the stone block, and kept herself from trembling from fear. It was silly to try to be intimidating towards a captor, but she was keeping up a strong, fighting appearance.

"It doesn't matter, mudblood," the cloaked man hissed, stepping forward in to the cell. When he shoes touched the wet sand, burning candles instantly returned, and the wall closed behind him. She could see very easily now whose face was hidden beneath the hood.

"Malfoy," she whispered vehemently. The man didn't seem to care that she knew his name. He kept walking towards her, and began to talk to her as though she hadn't spoken.

"I thought you might want to know what's happening to your muggle-loving husband, mudblood." Hermione didn't say anything. She averted her eyes from his face, looking instead to a nearby flame. She felt it was a weak thing to do, and Malfoy's cold laugh told her he thought the same.

"Don't want to think about it, mudblood? Too weak to hear about it? He's been thinking about you, mudblood-" Hermione's hands balled into fists. Her fear had quickly been replaced by a remarkable anger, "- He's cried your name quite a few times-"

Without thinking, or perhaps needing to think, Hermione threw herself at Malfoy. Her rather scrawny fists collided with Malfoy's forehead, knocking him to the ground. Without restraint, she continued to hit him as hard as she could. After recovering from the shock of being so openly attacked by a prisoner, Malfoy gained control and wrestled Hermione to the ground, before pulling out his own wand and muttering, "Petrificus Totalus."

Instantly, she felt her limbs seize up, and snap to her body. Feeling rather helpless, only being able to throw Malfoy loathing glares, Hermione fell silent. Malfoy stood up off the ground, and straightened up, rearranging his cloak to its proper position.

"You'll regret treating Lucius Malfoy with such disrespect, you filthy bitch." Malfoy took out his wand and removed the spell from Hermione. Involuntarily shaking (it was an after affect from the spell), Hermione lifted herself back on the stone block. Without warning, Malfoy suddenly launched himself at her, wrapping his hand tightly around her throat, holding her against the wall.

"Where is my son?" he spat in her face. "Believe me, life will be a lot better for you and that muggle-loving fool if you talk now."

"Go to hell," Hermione hissed defiantly. Her breath grew shorter as Malfoy's hand squeezed harder.

"If you love him, you will tell me where my son is," Malfoy threatened in a dangerous voice.

"You don't know what love is," Hermione choked out. She was losing consciousness...

"I loved my son, mudblood."

Hermione couldn't respond. She had passed out.

*

"Who is it?"

"Ron?"

"Hermione?"

"Oh God..."

"I'm sorry. Oh God Ron I'm so sorry..."

"What are you talking about?"

"Malfoy-"

"Shush, Hermione, he threatened me, too. God, I'm just glad you're alive."

"Dumbledore was in my cell..."

"What?"

"He's here, Ron. They have him."

"...he's been alive all this time?"

"Yes."

"Good Lord..."

"Are you okay?"

"I hope..."

"It'll be okay..."

"You're just like him..."

Songs in the night

It giveth!

Screaming. Endless, endless screaming. She'd been yelling forever. For as long as she could remember. So much pain was coursing through her, as if she had forgotten when it had started.

She had to hold on. She had to hold on.

Her blood boiling, her bones were on fire, her nerves were exploding. She couldn't see anything. Not the cloaked figure that was watching, not the wand pointed threateningly towards. She couldn't hear her own heart beating.

She had to hold on. She had to hold on to who she was. They were pushing her over to the edge of insanity. But she could hold on...

She had to.

It ended. She was still alive. She still knew who she was.

She knew Ron did too.

No storms can shake

My inmost calm,

While to that rock I'm clinging...

"I wish I had my wand. These pains are so much easier to heal with a Alane Charm."

"What are you doing?"

"I keep ginger, lionfish powder, and rose pollen in my robes. If I combine them the right way I can make a healing lotion."

"You're brilliant, Hermione."

"You look paler than usual."

"I forgot my last name."

"...Weasley."

"It's an ugly last name."

"Not at all. You have a wonderful family."

"I remember them. I just forgot the name."

"The name's not that important, anyway. If you remember your loved ones, that's what important..."

Since love is lord

Of Heav'n and Earth,

"I remembered I loved you."

How can I keep from singing?

"We know where Voldemort is," Harry whispered. He stood so abruptly his chair fell over, and several workers around him stared. Ignoring their looks, Harry ran through the large, cubicle-filled room, a stack of photos in his hands. Gasping, he threw himself into a large, messy office. A man sitting behind a desk looked up at him.

"What is it?" Remus Lupin asked kindly, setting down his quill.

"Lupin, I know where Voldemort is," Harry said in a rush. Lupin raised an eyebrow as Harry spread a number of moving photographs and maps onto his desk, and began explaining them.

"Look, he's here, in London, talking with Lucius Malfoy. And here he is again, having dinner at Glowson with Narcissa Malfoy. Look carefully - we know the Malfoy manor is in the countryside outside Bath. Glowson is just over that lake. If continues in his course, he'll be dining there tomorrow for Christmas."

"He's not exactly religious."

"That doesn't mean that Lucius Malfoy isn't," Harry reminded.

Lupin nodded. He knew Harry was right.

"But what can we do?"

"We can sneak a servant in there," Harry suggested quickly, "We already have a contact there. We can poison the food."

"So your suggesting assassination?" Lupin asked, looking into Harry's eyes. Harry shifted uncomfortable under his gaze.

"I don't see any alternative," he replied quietly.

"Right," Lupin sighed, "Well, if you can find a way to pull it off, you have my permission."

"Yes, sir," Harry nodded as he left the room.

*

"You're going?" Penelope cried, snapping the report Harry had written shut, "You? But, Harry-"

"I have a plan, Penelope," Harry said indignantly, "No one will know it's me until it's too late."

"I don't like it, Harry," Penelope replied uncomfortably, giving him a searching look that made him feel even more annoyed. "It's too risky."

"Penelope, I'm the most qualified to go," Harry pointed out, "I've been there before. I know the contact. I've been in more missions like this than half the staff combined-"

"Yes, and you're trying to kill one man who killed your parents, abducted and no doubt tortured your best friends, tried to kill you countless times, abducted and tortured you, and another man who delivered you to him, threatened you since you were twelve, and whose son you abducted and obliviated!" Penelope ranted, not realizing what she was saying until it was too late. She clapped her hand over her mouth, and shocked with herself.

"Harry, I'm..."

"I'm going, Penelope," Harry said firmly. And, finally, she didn't protest.

*

The servants were informed two days ahead of the coming of Lord Voldemort at the Malfoy manor. Most of the servants, or rather slaves, were muggles, and a precious few muggle-borns who were able to sneak some magic into cooking and cleaning. This made them somewhat unpopular with the with the muggle slaves, most of whom deeply mistrusted all who could use magic.

The attendance of Lord Voldemort in the Malfoy manor meant hell for the slaves. They would work their fingers to the bone cleaning the grand dining room, parlor, entrance hall, smoking lounge, and guest bedroom and bath to make Narcissa happy, and prepare a seven course meal to content Lucius.

So, they scrubbed the table until it sparkled in Narcissa's eyes, laid it with a rich, evergreen table cloth, and set two chairs of oak set in green velvet on opposing sides of the table for the masters of the house. They polished silver candlesticks, plates, and cutlery, and placed them delicately on the table, the muggle-borns putting cleanliness spells so they would not soil overnight. They set out glittering crystal goblets, and a crystal vase that would hold a wine chosen by Malfoy himself from one of the stores. And, finally, a bouquet of green and silver roses was set in a thin, silver vase upon the table between the two seats and the candlesticks.

That night, Malfoy returned late from the prison in Bath. The slaves were quick to invite him in to the second dining room, pour him a glass of gin, and fetch Narcissa from reading in her room. Narcissa removed Malfoy's cloak and hung it in a wardrobe, and then returned to the dining hall, where she was poured a glass of white wine.

"They've said nothing?"

"Nothing. The scum. They grovel like beasts, but their tongues may as well have been cut off."

"Are you sure they really know?"

"Dear, Potter was involved in Draco's capture. I'm sure of it. And anything he's involved in, his bloody friends are, as well. It's been the same since they were children."

Narcissa sipped her wine through pursed lips as a young muggle girl nervously refilled Malfoy's glass with liquor. Narcissa looked away, and Malfoy's steely eyes lingered on the girl as she hurried away, and then returned to her.

"I wish we could just kill them, to tell the truth," Malfoy sighed, sipping from his glass as well. "It'd be something to savor - killing a Weasley boy and his mudblood wife. But, I know the Dark Lord won't have it. Not at least until they're completely useless."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, eventually being put through so much pain causes one to lose memory. And, of course, if they lost their memory, they wouldn't tell us anything, anyway."

"Do you think they're just waiting for that to happen?" prompted Narcissa, "Sacrificing themselves for the sake of their idiocy?"

"Possibly. Or just trying to live it out, I suppose. Not like it would do much good either way."

"Do you think they will talk eventually?"

"They're becoming weaker," Malfoy, reasoned, "One of them might give in. Especially if I used their feelings for each other against them."

"How?"

"For instance, torturing one in front of the other to get the other to say something. It's worked in previous times. Petty feelings can be good tools."

"I suppose so."

"Now, darling, I'm going to bed," Malfoy stood, leaned forward, and kissed Narcissa very briefly. He then walked off towards the kitchens. Narcissa watched as another muggle took away his gin glass, and then offered to take her wine to her room.

*

Lord Voldemort arrived at exactly four o'clock the next afternoon. The Entrance Hall had been decked in wreaths and trees to celebrate the holiday, which he didn't seem to care for at all. Lucius Malfoy, on the other hand, was devotedly religious, as his own parents had been, and in the morning had spent several hours in private prayer.

Malfoy greeted Voldemort as his horseless carriage pulled up at the front gate, which had been repainted a deep coal black the week before. His things were taken in by muggles and muggle-borns, and he and Malfoy entered the parlor, where they were met by Narcissa, who served tea and cakes. In the kitchens, seven courses, consisting of appetizers, soup, salad, meat, fruit, cheeses, and desert were prepared, and there was anxious waiting for Malfoy to pick the wine of the evening. He did this, after excusing himself briefly from the parlor, around five. In the dusty, ancient wine cellar, he picked a dark, crisp red, and left it in the kitchens to be poured into the vase. A dark haired slave did this.

At six, Narcissa was excused, and the two men sat down to dinner. They drank water with their appetizers, and then, as the sun went down, Malfoy motioned for the wine to be served with their mushroom soup. The vase was brought out on a shining silver platter, and the candles in the silver candlesticks were lit, creating the only light I the room, as shortly after, the shades were drawn.

The green flame candles lit the whole room in a sort of silvery mint glow. The wine was poured into the crystal goblets by Malfoy himself, and the two drank in silence, savoring the divine flavor of the aged drink. Malfoy was pleased to see Voldemort lean back into his chair as he finished his soup, and dazedly look behind him to the far wall.

Except, the door to the kitchens lay open. There was a figure there, leaning against the counter, robed in black and staring at him with bright green eyes. He could see the man more easily now, as a fire must have started in the kitchens. And on his forehead there was - a scar.

Immediately, Voldemort tried to leap to his feet. But, he couldn't. He was paralyzed in the chair. He couldn't move an inch. Voldemort's red eyes met with Malfoy's gray ones that told him that he, too, couldn't move.

When tyrants tremble,

Sick with fear.

And hear their death knell ringing...

"Potter," Voldemort hissed, but his body continued to seize up. He could feel his heartbeat slowing down. He was growing colder and colder...

And it struck him. He'd been poisoned by Harry Potter. Something in the food... His heart began to clench. He couldn't move his eyes. His entire body felt like ice...

Lord Voldemort and Lucius Malfoy fell to the table, clattering the bowls and cutlery and sending the wine vase crashing to the floor.

They were dead.

*

When friends rejoice,

Both far and near...

Ginny Weasley jumped forward and kissed Harry the minute he entered. A huge, thunderous cheering erupted throughout the PLSA building. Before Harry could say anything, he was surrounded, being hugged, clapped on the shoulder, and handed glasses of various alcoholic beverages. Most were in tears.

"You did it, Harry-"

"He's dead! Gone! We've waited so long-"

"We'll be free again soon! The Death Eaters are nothing without You-Know-Who!"

Harry felt himself smiling. The knowledge that Voldemort was finally gone - forever...that he would be able to find Ron and Hermione... that the Death Eaters would collapse... that Britain would finally be safe again overwhelmed him. After he found Ron and Hermione, he decided, he'd finally take that break Penelope had been pestering him about for six months...

"Harry! It's all over! Reports of releases all over Britain! We've taken several camps!"

"They're just giving themselves up!"

"We're getting closer to the government offices!"

"We're coming back!"

How can I keep from singing?

In prison cell,

Or dungeon vile...

'My name is Hermione Granger. My name is Hermione Granger. My name is Hermione Granger.' Her thoughts repeated, over and over. She remembered her friends, Ron, her family, her pets, her homes, everything she could. She went through each year at Hogwarts in her mind - from the plot to steal the Philosopher's Stone to the tragic graduation ceremony. She forced herself to run through everything, to see her life flash before her eyes, to make sure she didn't lose it to the pain. She knew she was screaming, babbling, but inside, she wouldn't let go.

It had been four hours of this when the spell was released. She had noticed that Malfoy had not come to oversee her, as he usually did. The Death Eaters all seemed rather nervous and jumpy, and kept asking questions like 'Where are your co-conspirators?' instead of Malfoy's usual questions about his son. Hermione knew something must have happened that had put the Death Eaters in a very bad position indeed.

Hermione was tossed into the same cell again, as she was every day, and Ron landed in with her. It must have been two weeks of this. He, too, had noticed the Death Eater's odd behavior, and quickly came towards her as the door closed. She could see by his face that he knew something.

"Hermione," he whispered, as they sat together, leaning against the wall.

"Do you remember your last name?" she asked.

"Weasley," he said quietly, "And I have a mother named Molly, a father named Arthur, brothers named Bill, Charlie, Percy, Fred, George, and a sister named...a sister named..."

"Ginny," Hermione said quietly. "I don't remember my mother's name."

"Anne," Ron reminded her.

"Right."

"Hermione," Ron said seriously, "I heard them saying...You-Know-Who's been killed."

"What?"

"Harry killed him. Malfoy, too. This is the end of the Death Eaters. They're falling all over Britain. That's why they're all nervous. They know it's only a matter of time until they're caught, too. That's why they keep asking us if we know where other agency members are."

"So...that's means it's only matter of time until we're free?" Hermione thought hopefully.

"Or until they kill us before they're caught."

Hermione clutched her hand on to Ron's.

"How long do you think it will be?"

"Three days, either way."

"We'll be okay. Harry will come. And, even if he doesn't," Hermione swallowed, "We'll still be together..."

*

"They're in Bath!" Angelina called, running over to Harry, "Look, we tracked an apparition and portkey path from Hermione and Ron's location to a prison camp in Bath. Harry, it's right near the Malfoy manor! Malfoy himself was probably questioning them on-"

"Draco's disappearance," Harry finished immediately, taking the notes from her and looking quickly through them. He didn't need lists and statistics to know she was right. It all made sense. Without the slightest thought on his authority, he quickly instructed Angelina to assemble a team. They needed to get there as soon as possible.

"Hang on..."

Our thoughts to them

We are winging!

The long, dark corridors in the dingy place seemed to be deserted. The group, which consisted of Harry, Angelina, Padma Patil, Neville Longbottom, Justin Finch-Fletchy, and Roger Davies, quickly separated, checking rooms, halls, cells, and broom closets. The prison was shaped like a square, made of black stone, with an entire side made up of cells, one for torturing rooms, one for Death Eaters' rooms, and one made up of kitchens and dining areas. While the others checked the cells and torturing rooms, Angelina, Roger, and Harry made for the center of the building. They were surprised, instead of more stone corridors, to see light. It was a courtyard.

Angelina ran up ahead to see in it. Harry lingered back, his eyes on a dowsed torch. The place appeared to be deserted...scrubbed clean of any sign of life there. If they'd been killed...they would have left a sign...

"Oh God! Harry! Come on! NOW!"

When friends by shame

Are undefiled...

Hermione and Ron were both awoken, as many times before, by light streaming in from the outside corridor as two hooded Death Eaters came in and lifted them roughly to their feet. However, instead of being taken to separate rooms, they were both being dragged down several flights of rickety stairs. Hermione's glazed eyes stared from the wooden steps to the corridors below.

And it struck her where she was going. She met eyes with Ron, and took hands. This was it.

As they reached the final landing, the two were led into a bright, sun-filled courtyard. There was no grass or plant growth at all, only bright brown dust and dirt. About five hooded figures were waiting in the courtyard, all looking nervously over their shoulders every few seconds, as though waiting for something to sneak up behind them.

Dust caked onto Hermione's robes, as she and Ron were dragged to the center of the courtyard. Once there, they were dropped to their knees, and both Death Eaters drew out their wands. There was no way to fight it, and nowhere to go, anyway. Hermione took both Ron's hands, shaking, and started crying. Tears were flooding down Ron's cheeks, as well. She heard shouting nearby - the Death Eaters wanted it over with, she thought. She leaned her head onto Ron's shoulder.

"I love you."

How can I keep from singing?