Merry Christmas yo

MINISTRY OF MAGIC COMPROMISED BY HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED

It is with a heavy burden that The Quibbler can now reveal, that after seven and a half years of silence, the notorious dark wizard known as He Who Must Not Be Named has been located.

Positioned highly within the British Ministry of Magic itself, He Who Must Not Be Named has avoided detection and exerted significant political influence through posing himself as none other than the reportedly 'charming' head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, Benjamin Harvey Jenkins.

Prior to the suspicious sudden death of the former Minister for Magic Kingsley Shacklebolt, The Quibbler has received an exclusive statement from within the Ministry itself that Shacklebolt had in fact been missing for eight full days prior to the discovery of his body. In conjunction with the fact that Shacklebolt's successor, Hermione Granger, has been publicly linked with Benjamin Jenkins for months and now recently engaged, The Quibbler must warn that this association is far from a coincidence—

"Pah," Voldemort sounded dismissively when Hermione paused reading the article aloud.

Hermione glanced up from the magazine. "You do realise how bad this is, don't you?" she said, and Voldemort responded by leaning lazily back into his chair, resting his hands behind his head. "They've published four statements, and your school photo to boot."

"It doesn't matter," he drawled, the epitome of calm. "Even if all ten subscribers to the Quibbler read this, we already have the Ministry. Potter gains nothing from this. If he wanted to talk and gain something from it, he would've done this months ago."

"But if it spreads?" Hermione pressed. "If this takes off and the people believe it, we could have a riot on our hands."

"Oh, Hermione. That's why I have you," he said silkily, leaning forward towards her onto the dining table. "Even if this does gain traction, you, the Minister for Magic and Harry Potter's muggleborn best friend, can attest to all the good I've done at the Ministry this past year. How I've seen the light—" he raised his wine glass to his lips and grinned at her from behind the rim, "and how I've changed my wicked ways." Voldemort paused to take a large mouthful. "Besides, what are they going to do? Kill me?"

As he laughed, Hermione glanced back down at the article, massaging her temples.

"Now what does slightly concern me, is the lack of noise Potter himself is making," Voldemort went on. "If he's gone to the effort of having this published, then he must still be in the country, and he still has contacts flitting about. It shouldn't be this difficult to track down a single, hopeless wizard. He doesn't even have you helping him."

"They'll be in a safe house," Hermione mumbled, still frowning at the article. "If they're smart, they would've had Professor McGonagall put up a Fidelius charm."

"'If they're smart'," Voldemort parroted with a snort. "I think I can safely say that we both know the answer to that one. Who would their keeper be?"

Hermione put the magazine down and bit into her lip thoughtfully. "If all of the Order are together—and from the set up they had at Bill and Fleur's, I suspect they still are—then, they'd have many secret keepers. The problem then is, they're all probably staying safely within the confines of the charm. Without one of them leaving..."

"And you're certain Potter has this," Voldemort waved his hand, "blanket, or whatever it is?"

"It's a cloak and you know it," she said shortly. "And yes. He'd never part with the cloak."

Voldemort nodded. "Then, while the others attempt to track them, we find their communicator. The mail systems are being tracked, so they must have someone moving for them who's relaying information to the Quibbler."

"It's definitely Luna," Hermione said surely. "But I doubt they'd let her leave the protection of the charm herself. She's too distinctive. She's probably been the one to have written, but someone else has relayed it for her. Maybe... maybe Rolf?" she suggested. "Or someone else they think you wouldn't expect. Hagrid? Neville, even? I don't know."

Voldemort gave her a long, thoughtful look. "If you were there with them, who would you send?"

She sighed. "Someone... someone not too distinctive, but someone who could defend themselves. Someone who would stand a chance at making it if they were caught. And I wouldn't send them alone. I would send them out in pairs at the very least."

He stared expectantly.

"Oh, I don't know, maybe... Professor McGonagall? They'd never let Harry leave, but it would have to be someone physically capable. Maybe... maybe... Ron? Or Neville? Maybe even Charlie?"

Voldemort blinked.

"Charlie is Ron's older brother," she explained, and he quickly pulled a face of distaste.

"Didn't Dolohov kill him?"

Hermione straightened, her lips thinning.

"Or was that a different brother?"

When she spoke, she did her best to keep her voice level. "I would appreciate it if you didn't speak of Bill that way."

"Bill," he repeated, as if the name had been escaping him. And then, he laughed and said, "how many children does one family need before one starts to consider birth control, good grief."

It took a great deal of effort to ignore that and the faint glimmers of regret over what had happened to Bill and Fleur, but somehow Hermione managed.

"But now, it doesn't matter who it was, because they've already got the article published," she went on. "The chance to find their communicator would've been before it was out. All we can do now is wait for them to move again."

Voldemort's shoe tapped on the dining room tile impatiently, swift and hollow, and when he spoke, he almost sounded pained. "I don't have time to wait."

She gave him the most hopeful smile she could muster while the guilt gnawed at her. "Well, how do you know? Maybe your symptoms will stabilise. Maybe they won't get any worse, and you'll live a long, happy life with just a few nosebleeds along the way."

His looked as if he didn't think that was likely.

"Don't worry." Hermione reached across the table to clasp at his hand and was soothed when he didn't pull it away. "If there's one thing we can trust, it's Harry's recklessness, especially when it comes to you. He won't stay hidden away forever," she said. "He wouldn't be able to if he tried.

"I don't trust him," Ginny said, eyes narrowed.

Ron followed her gaze. "Me neither."

From where they stood in the kitchen, they had a clear view of the end of the dining room. There, sitting at the table, leaning across in conversation with Neville, was Draco. Astoria was leaning on his arm, and by the way Neville was sitting, it seemed that whatever conversation they were having must've been private.

"I wonder what he's said to Neville to butter him up like that," Ron grumbled, his eyes just as thin as Ginny's. "He never liked Malfoy much more than we did."

"I think he's just being nice," Ginny suggested. "No one else wants much to do with them."

Ron grunted, and they both stood shoulder to shoulder as they watched Malfoy and Neville.

"Hey," said Ginny after a sizable pause. "Why is Neville still here?" she asked, focusing on Ron now. From as close up as she was, the dark bags under his eyes looked deep enough to be bruises, but she pretended not to notice. "Isn't he supposed to be out on watch?"

"It's George and Seamus at the moment," Ron answered tiredly, looking away from Malfoy long enough to glance at the clock on the wall. "They should be back by twelve."

"Oh, all right," Ginny said, though her brows turned in with a slight look of confusion. "But then it's Neville and McGonagall after that?"

"Nah, Percy and Lucy are next. Then it's Neville and McGonagall."

"But I thought Rolf and Luna were meant to go after Percy and Lucy."

"Luna's not feeling very well, so they've swapped."

"Huh." Ginny folded her arms across her chest and again glanced at her brother. She'd been so busy with James and Lily over the last few days and he'd been holed up scheming with Harry, and so, she hadn't had a chance to speak with Ron—not properly—in quite some time. Seeing the opportunity, she took the chance to say, "For what it's worth, I don't agree with Harry. I don't think it makes much sense to keep you here and send Luna and Rolf, or George, or even Neville, for that matter. None of them know the Ministry like you do."

Ron snorted. "He's right, though," he admitted quietly after a moment. "I don't think I could be trusted, getting that close to her. Or him, and I... I just... I almost... there's a part of me that actually wants Malfoy to betray us. To take me to You-Know-Who."

"Ron..."

"I know." He shook his head. "It's stupid and even if I saw him, I'd never be able to kill him before he killed me," he said. "But what I would give for just the chance to see the look in his eye when he realises that he's about to die. What I would give to see the moment when he realises that it was me... not Harry, not Dumbledore, but me..."

Ginny leaned her head on his shoulder and wrapped her arm around his waist. "It's only natural to want that."

She heard Ron sigh. "I've wanted a lot of things in my life, but... I don't think I've ever wanted anything more than I want him dead, and to suffer while he goes, and it... bloody hell, that probably makes me as bad as him though, doesn't it?" he asked, looking down at his hands as he relaxed his fists. "Wanting to kill someone like that?"

"If it does, then that would make everyone in this house a monster," she offered with a sad laugh, before she said, more seriously, "after all he's taken... it's only natural to want justice."

Ron nodded, and without saying anything, he turned in her arms to return her hug and she squeezed him tightly.

Discussing murder wasn't what Ginny had imagined when she wished for the chance to speak with Ron, and while she wouldn't have described it as a nice moment—not at all—the moment felt like it was an important one.

It felt... like they might have a chance at getting through this. Things wouldn't be the same, not without Bill and their parents and even Phlegm, not ever, but they still had each other and that in itself meant that there was a chance they would make it through.

Ginny only hoped that it was enough.

In the week following the publication of the article about him in the Quibbler, Voldemort found himself enjoying his time at the Ministry more than ever. The staffers who normally irritated him suddenly didn't seem to want to meet his eye. The elevators he went to get into suddenly would empty at his appearance. Hallways would quiet as he passed through them, the line at the Ministry café had started dissolving before him, and the amount of paperwork appearing on his desk had close to halved.

Perhaps he should send Ms. Lovegood a gift basket.

The only downside he'd encountered since its publication, however, was that he was very quickly getting bored. With less work to be getting on with, and nothing left to be done about drawing Potter out of his hiding, Voldemort had more time on his hands than ever to look into his condition and work on expanding his roots within the Ministry. And yet, with half of the staff too frightened to so much as glance in his direction, it'd become, even to his standards, a little bit difficult.

In the meanwhile, there was only so much he wanted to speak about with Travers. Penrose was a bore, Finch and the Aurors he did get along with spent more time than not outside of the Ministry and he wasn't quite yet bored enough to join them, and on top of all that, with Granger's promotion, he had an office all to himself.

And while Voldemort enjoyed reading, there were only so many pages he could comb through before the familiar stabbing beneath his eye and the throbbing of his temples would set in. While their occurrences were still somewhat evenly spaced, he was sure that it was progressively taking less exertion to bring them on. Hell, the day before, he'd barely gotten through three chapters before a crimson droplet from his nose had obscured his reading.

And so, on that Wednesday, with little in the way to distract him and no one around to keep him company, it had only taken the single sight of his empty 'in' tray to drive Voldemort to make the journey up to Granger's office on level one.

His movements, as they'd been all week, were uninterrupted, and he whistled the entire way up. He found her door almost closed, but not latched, and so, Voldemort pushed the door open with his knuckle and entered her space without knocking.

Granger was precisely where he expected her, hunched over her desk scribbling rapidly onto one of the many documents on her pile, her face entirely hidden by her hair. She didn't look up at his entrance, but evidently, she didn't have to because mere seconds after the door clicked shut, she said, "no."

The beginnings of a smile tugged at his lips. "I haven't even said anything."

She continued writing. "You don't need to say anything," she muttered. "I'm busy. Whatever you want, the answer is no."

He took his time in lowering himself into the seat opposite her and leaned forward to rest his elbows on her desk. "Who's to say I want something?"

"You always want something."

"That's not tr—"

"Don't bother," she interrupted, still not looking up from her pile of parchments. "When have you ever come to see me without wanting something?"

He raised his eyebrows affrontedly, but she didn't look up to see it. "I do it all the time."

At that, Hermione looked up from her work only long enough to glare at him. "Sex counts as wanting something."

Despite his best efforts, he found himself grinning. "You say that as if you don't enjoy my attentions."

"Right now, I can't say that I do," she said, resuming her writing.

Voldemort's laugh trailed off and he sniffed as he pulled one of her many documents out from beneath her elbow to nose through it. "Rude," he said.

Hermione didn't take the bait, and instead continued to work in silence.

Beginning to accept that he wouldn't be finding much relief from his boredom with her either, Voldemort leaned back into the chair he'd claimed and watched her closely while she worked, her lips moving habitually as she tested the flow of her words before she wrote them down.

They were slightly crooked. Her lips, that was. They moved asymmetrically, skewing slightly to the right of her face and it was an obvious imperfection that strangely didn't bother him. No, although they were bordering on thin and they were dry more often than not, he actually quite liked her lips.

He liked the way she rubbed at them when deep in thought. He liked the way they thinned when she snapped at him. He liked the way she licked at them absentmindedly.

They were small and yet they were distracting, and he wanted to bite them. Drive his teeth into them, mark her, make her bleed—

A sudden movement in his peripheral vision caught his eye, tearing his attention from her lips. There, at the top of her chest of drawers, was a pile of ministry-branded folders stacked precariously high. At the top, was a stray sheet of parchment swaying at the edge, as if it'd been nudged by a soft breeze of passing air.

Voldemort curiously watched the parchment until it stilled, and his attention slowly drifted from the stack of folders to the rest of the office.

The generous space had changed drastically in the time Granger had occupied it. A substantial improvement over Shacklebolt's arrangement, he gave her that.

The Minister's office was less cluttered now with her in it. The curtains had been brightened and the assortment of trinkets and souvenirs kept by Shacklebolt had been cleared out, replaced by order and parchments, knowledge and trophies.

Continuing to scan around the office, Voldemort was pleased in seeing the pictures of Potter and Weasley that she'd kept at her past desk were nowhere in sight. All that remained was one on her bookshelf of the muggles he knew to be her parents.

He scowled at them but didn't comment.

Beside their frame was a row of books that didn't quite fill the space, and with nothing to hold them up, the few on the end had toppled over.

Voldemort glanced further over the arrangement of the books and his scowl progressively deepened. He opened his mouth, fully intending on asking her what on earth Deryn Alrich's 'Guide to Astrological Interpretations' was doing in her 'Charms' section, but just as he was about to speak, he was cut off by the slight sound of the floor creaking.

Leaning his chin on his fist, he once more eyed the sheet of parchment on her chest of drawers.

It was moving again.

Voldemort thrummed his fingertips on the armrest of his chair.

"Hermione?" he asked gently.

"Hmm?"

"Would you mind fetching me a cup of tea?"

Without moving her head, her eyes flicked up to him. "Excuse me?"

"Tea," he said quickly, flashing his teeth in a smile. "Please?"

She cleared her throat. "As I said, I'm a little bit busy right now," she stated, brows drawing together. "Can it wait?"

"No, sorry. I'm parched."

"Can't you get it yourse—"

"No."

She sat up straight, affronted, and at last, she put her quill down. "Well, why not?"

Voldemort licked his lips. "It would taste so much better if you got it for me."

She blinked. "Are you being serious right now?"

"Please," he said, leaving a small pause before he leaned toward her and sighed. "To be honest with you, Hermione... I'm really not feeling very well," he said, gesturing to his face. "I think I have another nosebleed coming on, and the headache's really getting quite painful, you know, right up in behind my eye..."

As expected, his words had her look of irritation rapidly turning into one of guilt. "Are you all right? Do you need—"

"Just a cup of tea should do it." He gave her the most pathetically small smile he could muster. "The best tea bags are on level two."

Hermione's eyes remained narrowed for a long moment, and he could practically hear her thinking over all of the many ways by which she could say no. But then—

"Fine," she conceded, rising from her chair and loudly scraping its legs against the wooden flooring. "But I never again want to hear you say that I don't do anything for you."

He smiled warmly and as she passed him, he extended his hand to trail his fingertips against her thigh.

She slapped his hand away and he laughed while he turned in his chair to watch her leave.

"Oh, and Hermione?" he called once her hand reached for the door handle. "Could you close the door behind you?"

Hermione's lips thinned in suspicion. "What? Why?"

"What if you have a visitor while you're gone? I don't want to have to deal with that."

She watched him in silence, keeping her eyes narrowed. "You're being really strange."

He smiled as innocently as he could and gave her a single-shouldered shrug.

Eventually, after the softest of sighs, Hermione ducked out of the office, swiftly shutting the door behind her, and the moment he was alone, his smile fell.

He promptly rose from his chair and drew his wand, closing in on where he'd seen the sheet of parchment move. He listened closely as he went, intentionally stepping as lightly as he could to minimise the sound from his shoes.

He rapidly scanned the office, paying close attention for even the slightest of movements in his peripheral vision, and—

Nothing.

The office was still.

One by one, the muscles in his back slowly began to relax.

And then, just as he was about to let it go and sit back down, suddenly and seemingly of its own accord, the door handle began to twist.

"Petrificus totalus!"

There was a bang of the spell colliding with its target, followed by a distinctive series of thumps.

Voldemort stepped closed to the door, stopping only once his foot hit something invisible, yet solid. He pointed his wand.

"Finite."

He watched as the disillusionment charm was lifted, revealing the sprawled yet distinctive form of—

Voldemort's grin was slow.

It seemed his day wasn't shaping up to be quite so uneventful after all.

"Mr. Weasley."

Though the rest of his body was frozen, the horror in Percy's eyes was clear as day.

"Well," Voldemort drawled slowly. "Isn't this unexpected?"

Hermione stood in the communal tearoom of level two, grumbling under her breath as she watched the Yorkshire tea bag dunk itself up and down into the water of the mug.

Ridiculous.

Witches and wizards around the country feared to speak the name of a man who couldn't be arsed to make his own tea.

Ridiculous.

Once the tea had turned what she would call a sufficiently dark shade of black, she swished her wand to discard of the tea bag. With another wave of her wand, she cooled the tea until it was just at the point of drinkable.

Then, she took hold of the mug and took a small, well-earned sip for herself.

Voldemort had said he wanted a cup of tea. He never explicitly stated that he wanted a whole cup of tea.

She turned towards the tearoom exit and immediately stopped in her tracks, very nearly spilling the tea all over herself as she saved herself from walking straight into Voldemort's chest.

He was staring down at her. "Is that my tea you're drinking?"

Hermione stepped back—just far enough to get a good look at him—and gawked.

"Are you kidding me?!" she scathed. "After all that—that rubbish about not feeling well, and you up and follow me down here anyway?! I-I have work to do! There are people depending on me and you're wasting my time for the fun of it?! Are you kidding—"

"Shh," he shushed her with a finger to her lips. "I have a surprise for you. Leave that," he whispered excitedly, gesturing to the mug of tea. "Come with me."

She wrenched his hand off of her and had to forcibly restrain herself from throwing the tea at him.

He left the tearoom in a hurry and Hermione remained motionless for a short moment and let herself fume. Then, she levitated the cup of tea back over to the sink and hurried off after him.

She found him waiting for her by the lifts, and just as she arrived, one sprung open. The lift wasn't empty—in contrast, it was rather full—but as soon as those inside of it saw who it was that was waiting, they lowered their heads and ushered out of the lift without a word.

Neither Voldemort or Hermione commented on it, and she closely followed him in.

The trip up was a quick one, and upon reaching her office, Voldemort stopped in the hallway by the door, his mouth twitching in what looked to be excitement.

"Promise me that when I open the door, you won't yell," he said quietly.

Hermione's stomach immediately dropped. "Tom..."

"Just promise."

She didn't budge. "What did you do?"

"I've outdone myself this time," he whispered excitedly, grinning now. "Really."

"Just tell me."

"Let me show you," he said before he took hold of her hand and brought it up to place a kiss on the back of her knuckles. "Please, just let me show you."

Her jaw locked for a moment, and then, "open the door."

He grinned and let her go before doing as instructed, holding her office door open for her to follow him in.

One step inside and Hermione immediately halted in the doorway. There, in the centre of the room, strapped down to the chair she normally kept opposite her desk for meetings, was Percy.

Hermione very slowly lifted her attention from Percy to meet Voldemort's eyes.

He was bouncing on his toes and he was grinning. "I told you."

Without another word, Hermione stepped inside and flicked her wand to close the door. Then, she took the chance to get a good look at Percy. He was staring at her with wide eyes, but his body was motionless.

"Is... is he...?"

"He's fine," Voldemort answered quickly. "I only bound him."

She swallowed loudly and glanced at Voldemort. "How did you find him?"

"I didn't," he said excitedly. "He found us. He was in here the whole time under a disillusionment charm."

"Wha—what was he doing here?!"

Voldemort shrugged. "I haven't gotten it out of him yet. I was too excited. I wanted to show you first."

At the smile he was giving her, youthfully proud and sheepish all rolled into one, Hermione was hit with an odd, out of place wave of affection.

Sure, it may not have been flowers, or a candle-lit dinner, but he'd found one of the Order, a Weasley, and he hadn't acted. He hadn't harmed Percy, hadn't even questioned him, and instead, he'd waited for her. He'd trusted her, after all they'd been through.

Maybe they could work through their differences after all.

"Thank you," she said, unable to keep her heart out of her voice.

Voldemort grinned once more and straightened his shoulders, twisting his neck to stretch his muscles. "I hope you don't have plans for this afternoon." He rubbed his hands together. "With Mr. Weasley's assistance and a bit of luck, we'll be having dinner with Potter."

At that, Hermione pressed her lips together. "Could I... would you mind if... could I have a go first?"

A single of his eyebrows lifted.

"At questioning him?" she clarified. "I can get him to talk. I know it."

Voldemort's expression didn't waver.

"He's far more likely to talk to me than he is you," she pointed out. "Surely you know that."

"Not if I force it out of him," Voldemort replied brightly.

"Please?" she asked, stepping forward to give him the roundest eyes she could muster. "It'll only take a little bit."

Voldemort took in a long, loud breath, as if he were being put at a great inconvenience. "Fine. You may start," he eventually conceded, "but if he isn't singing in fifteen minutes, I'm taking over."

She stiffly nodded. "Deal."

Voldemort stepped back to lean against the office door and gave her a gesture as if to say, 'by all means'. Hermione focused on Percy, doing her best to pretend Voldemort wasn't there and stepped closer, drawing her wand.

"Finite."

When the body-bind lifted, Percy's limbs immediately began to quiver against his restraints.

"Hello, Percy," Hermione started softly, bending slightly before him to reduce their height difference before she gave him a soft smile. "It's been a while."

Percy's chest was rising and falling rapidly, and his eyes were darting back and forth between her and Voldemort. But he didn't speak.

She gave him what she hoped was a reassuring look. "I only want to talk to you." Hermione was sure to keep her voice gentle. "We're not going to hurt you. Can you speak?"

The muscles in Percy's face twitched.

"Percy... I need you to tell me where Harry and the others are."

Percy's limbs continued to quiver, yet he remained silent. Hermione sighed softly.

"Percy," she repeated gently, using a tone she'd normally reserve for children. "I need something that Harry has. I only wish to talk, to borrow what I need. I would never hurt Harry."

Percy's eyes flicked behind her and back again.

"I don't think he believes you," Voldemort said from behind her, his words melting into a low laugh.

Hermione exhaled loudly through her nose and ignored him. "Don't focus on him, focus on me." She reached out to place her hand on top of Percy's, and his muscles tightened under her touch. "Where are they?"

The breath that left Percy then was shaky, ripped at the edges, and Hermione knew it wouldn't take much. She mightn't even need to use her wand. He would crack.

Percy had left his family for less once before.

"You don't need to fear us, Percy," Hermione pressed. "I only want what's best, not just for me, but for all of us. Surely you of all people understand that sometimes in politics we must do things we might not want to, and we must ally with those we might not wish to. Surely you understand, that peace often comes with a price."

Somewhere as she'd spoken, Percy's features had softened. Only slightly, but it was enough. He'd tell her. She knew it.

"Please, Percy," she followed up gently. "Please tell me where they are."

"I..." He shook his head and when he spoke, his voice was rough. "I won't."

Hermione's shoulders fell, and from behind her, Voldemort snorted in amusement. "Are you ready to give up?"

Hermione closed her eyes for a short moment and continued to ignore him. "I could force it out of you if I wanted to, and I'm sure you know that. But I don't want to. I never want to hurt any of you, least of all Harry. I only need to speak with him, and if you tell me where he is... if you let me speak with him, then you're free to go. I promise you, it's that simple. Please, help me. Tell me where they are."

Percy glanced down, his eyes locked onto his shoes, and he stiffly shook his head.

"Can I please have a go now? We won't make it out before dark at this rate," Voldemort drawled with a laugh.

"Percy," Hermione said, her tone bordering on impatient. "Do you understand that if you don't talk to me, Tom is going to take over? I don't want to harm you—any of you. You were once my family and I..." she glanced away, taking the moment to push herself back on track, to keep her emotions in check. "Tom doesn't share my sentiments. He will do whatever he has to until you give us what we want. And I... if you don't talk to me, then I'll let him."

There was a long pause before Percy finally looked up at her.

"They were your family." His whisper was coarse, and for a moment Hermione didn't catch on. "You were their daughter."

"Percy—"

"They took you in. They gave you a home, they loved you, we loved you, and you turned your back on us and you sentenced them to death—"

"Okay," Hermione cut him off, turning to Voldemort. "Do it."

Voldemort grinned and wasted no time in springing to action. As Hermione stepped aside, he stepped forwards and pulled the other chair out such that it was situated directly in front of Percy and slowly took a seat, slouching his shoulders slightly to put him at eye-level with Percy. Then, he crossed his legs and laced his fingers together, placing them down to rest on his thigh as he gave Percy a tight smile.

Percy's quivering seemed to intensify.

"My father was a muggle," Voldemort stated softly after a long moment of silence. "Did you know that, Weasley? Did Potter see fit to share that with you, too?"

Percy's jaw remained firmly shut, but it didn't deter Voldemort. Rather, he glanced away thoughtfully, as if he hadn't expected a response, before he went on. "I didn't know my father. The only words exchanged between us were those of the killing curse. But before he died, he did something. Would you care to have a guess at what that might've been? No?"

Voldemort waited patiently, and when Percy didn't answer, he smiled.

"He came at me with a knife," Voldemort answered himself, bringing his hand up in front of him to reach out as if clasping at something in the air. As his fingers closed, a handle materialised in his grip, extending into a short, yet thick blade. "It was hunting knife. One not unlike this one."

Percy followed the movement of the conjured blade as Voldemort tilted it, twisting it in the light, his own eyes watching the way the light reflected from the metal.

"Knives are... primitive. Muggle," said Voldemort almost offhandedly, before he glanced up at Percy and made a slight sound of amusement. "Now that I think about it—" he pointed the blade of the knife towards Percy, "—your father enjoyed things that are muggle, did he not?"

The tendons in Percy's neck became visible and Voldemort laughed softly.

"Do you share his interests? Would you like to take a closer look?" Voldemort shuffled forward in his chair, his knees almost brushing Percy's, while Percy reared back as far from the knife as the chair would allow.

"My father was an avid hunter, you see. Did it for sport. While I myself don't share such a passion for killing deer, I know enough to know that this particular model would typically be used for skinning one's kills or ending the misery of those that would survive the initial gunshot wound."

Percy's eyes were wide, and they didn't leave the tip of the blade.

"And you know, Mr. Weasley," Voldemort said, his tone bordering on sad, "even I have to concede that the muggles can have this one. Despite its primitiveness, you cannot deny, that this is a tool that suits its purpose." Voldemort's eyes snapped from the knife to Percy. "Would you like me to demonstrate?"

At last, Percy looked up from the knife. "N-no."

"No?" Voldemort repeated, lowering the knife, but only slightly. "Oh, well then, Mr. Weasley, you will tell me where the Order are."

Percy's breathing was rapid, now. "I..." He swallowed. "No. No, I—"

Without giving Percy a moment to reconsider, Voldemort drew the knife down upon Percy's thigh in a single movement, driving the blade down to the hilt in his leg.

Percy scream was instantaneous.

Hermione winced as she turned her head and tried not to hear it, trying to remind herself of how important it was that Percy gave them what they needed.

We need the cloak, we need the cloak, we need the cloak...

Slow and calm, as if Percy's howls of pain were nothing out of the ordinary, Voldemort leaned in and said, voice low, "if you ever wish to see your wife and siblings again, then you will tell me where to find Harry Potter."

Voldemort waited patiently while Percy's screams became whimpers, before he eventually breathed through his teeth, "I—I will... I'll die first."

"Oh, Percy," Voldemort drawled, "you poor, misguided boy."

Voldemort took hold of the knife's handle and roughly twisted it, driving Percy's screams louder.

…we need the cloak, we need the cloak, we need the cloak...

"Where are they?"

Percy's screams grew into low, pleading wheezes.

Voldemort ignored them.

"Do you feel that? Steel scraping on bone?" Voldemort leaned in closer, a twisted smile taking hold of his features as he continued to rotate the knife. "Come on now, Percy, don't make me move to the other leg."

"No," Percy slurred. "No, no, please, no, no..."

"You don't have long, Percy," Voldemort taunted as he watched Percy's blood pooling around the hilt of the knife. "I've tried to avoid your artery, but like I said, I'm no hunter. One small mistake on my behalf, and… three minutes of unrestricted bleeding is all it would take until you join your dear parents."

Hermione was clenching her eyes closed now and Percy continued to sob, his pleas unaddressed until Voldemort said, somewhat abruptly, "come here."

Hermione dared to peek over at them and found Voldemort's head turned slightly in her direction, and so, she swallowed and shuffled closer.

"Please, please, no, no, no..."

"He's distracted," said Voldemort to her the moment she reached his side. "Take it from him now."

Catching on quickly, Hermione bent over to drop her head to Percy's eye level and tried not to look at his leg. "Percy," she said firmly, taking his cheeks between her hands. "Percy. Look at me."

"No, no, no, please, no..."

"Percy, look at me. You're okay, you'll be okay, just look at me. The pain will all go away as soon as you look at me."

His eyes opened only barely, and Hermione just managed to catch the slightest glimpse of brown. But though it wasn't much, it was enough.

"Legilimens."

Hermione forced herself in past his tears, through his pain and deeper still, just brushing the outskirts of Percy's thoughts.

And then she shoved herself forward.

Percy's mind was structured, his memories and thought processes all hard lines and rigid edges, and Hermione thought it was faintly reminiscent of what she'd seen in Voldemort's. Yet, though well-organised, each of his distinct thoughts seemed connected, branching out and brushing on the next with thin, wispy strands. She pulled at them, searching from thought to thought for what she needed, for Harry, for Ron, for anyone familiar...

By its clarity, Hermione knew that the memory she caught onto was a young one—recent—and so, she pushed herself toward it.

In the memory, Percy was sitting in a well-lit square space, and he wasn't alone. While Hermione didn't recognise the room, it was clearly a dining space. The table in the centre was long and rickety, and the people seated around the table were shoulder to shoulder as they shared their meal.

Behind the table, along the back wall on a shelf spanning the entire length of it, were plants. The room was full of plants; flowering ones, climbing ones, succulents, vines trickling down from the shelving. The room was completely full of life and it was strikingly reminiscent of the greenhouses at Hogwarts.

But it was only then, when Hermione focused on who was in the room, that she felt an odd combination of triumph, but also sadness.

They were all together.

Harry was at the head of the table, speaking quietly to Ginny, who was bouncing a red-haired baby. Next to her was Charlie, and next to him were George and Angelina with little Fred in between them. Beside them was Teddy, and there, down toward the end of the table was Ron flanked by Neville. Next to him, was a familiar woman whose name Hermione couldn't quite remember and beside her, with a deep scowl on his face, was a head of strikingly blond hair—

The instant she realised what it was she was seeing, Hermione reared back and pulled herself back out of Percy's mind and back to herself with a gasp, returning back into her office.

"Tom?"

Voldemort wasn't looking at her. Instead, he was watching with amusement the way Percy's head lulled back against the chair, his tears streaming down his cheeks.

Hermione gripped his shoulder. "Tom."

"Did you get it?" he asked, his attention on her at last.

"Never mind that," she said sharply. "When was the last time you saw Draco?"

Voldemort's features instantly fell. "What?"

"He's... he's with them. I saw it. He's with the Order."

For a moment, Voldemort didn't move. The only thing that told her that he'd heard what she'd said was the tightening of the muscles in his jaw.

Slowly, Voldemort turned his head to look back toward Percy, and then suddenly, he struck, lurching forward to roughly grip Percy's jaw, forcing his eye contact.

Voldemort was far more efficient in searching Percy's thoughts than she must've been. His eyes were slightly glazed for what couldn't have been more than thirty seconds, and when Percy reared back afterward, whimpers incoherent, Voldemort immediately stood and pushed the chair back loudly, directing his wand squarely at Percy's chest.

It was the familiar look of rage on his features, his sheer lack of hesitation that warned Hermione of what he was about to do.

"Av—"

"Tom!" Hermione rushed to step between them, and she grabbed at Voldemort's wand.

He pulled back roughly and growled, "let-go-of-me."

But she didn't. She clung onto the wood as tightly as she could, and said, "Tom, stop! If you kill him, we'll have a body to dispose of in the centre of the Ministry of Magic!"

His nostrils flared and his mouth twitched in barely suppressed anger, but at least he stopped trying to shove her off.

"Then what do you suggest?" he eventually seethed from between clenched teeth.

Once she was sure he wouldn't simply try to kill him again, Hermione slowly let go of his hand. Then, she looked toward Percy and raised her own wand in his direction.

"Imperio."

Harry's shoes tapped anxiously on the floorboards.

Three hours.

It'd been three hours since Percy had been due back, and there was still no sign of him. When Lucy had apparated back to Neville's alone, they'd held onto a glimmer of hope that Percy had simply lost his way or gotten caught in an elevator and would only be a few minutes behind.

But then the hours had dragged on, and Harry could feel the glares of the others, the resentment, and the accusation, and they were all right; it was his fault.

Like Molly and Arthur, and Bill and Fleur, and Flitwick, if Percy didn't return, it would be his fault and his fault alone.

It had been his idea to go back to the Ministry, and his idea to tail Hermione. They'd all expressed their doubt, their disagreement with the plan, their scepticism that it would work, and yet...

And yet...

Harry gripped his head in his hands.

Percy would come back. He had to. He couldn't lose another Weasley, he just couldn't. He would come back. He was sure of it.

He was sure of it, he was sure of it, he was sure of—

"Will you stop that?!" Ginny snapped.

Harry looked up to see her glaring at him from the other side of the living room, and so, he murmured, "sorry," and promptly stilled his feet.

And just as he did, a loud crack drew all of their heads up simultaneously.

Outside, through the window, down toward the end of the path, was the tall familiar form of—

"Percy!"

Ginny and Lucy were the first ones up, barrelling out of the house and through the snow toward Percy. While Harry and the others who'd been anxiously awaiting his return followed closely behind, the two women ran ahead, Lucy wasting no time in throwing her arms around Percy the instant she reached him. Without consideration for letting them have a moment, Ginny threw her arms around them both, embracing them in an awkward sort of three-way hug.

"Oh! Perce!" Lucy cried.

"We thought you'd been caught!" squeaked Ginny. "What on earth took you so long?!"

"I got stuck," he said before he paused to return Lucy's kisses, and the sound of his voice alone was enough to tell them that he was exhausted. "In Hermione's office."

"You went into her office?!" Harry asked, aghast.

"I told him we should've stayed together," said Lucy, who looked like she was caught somewhere between wanting to kiss Percy some more and wanting to whack him. "But he didn't listen and then I lost him in the Atrium, and I didn't even think to look in her office."

"How did you get stuck?" asked Ron.

Percy rubbed the back of his head sheepishly. "I... I just wanted to see it, now that Kingsley's gone. But then Hermione came in," Percy explained, "and I couldn't have left without her noticing that I was there. And then... a little bit later, he came in, too."

"Voldemort?" Harry asked, paling.

Stiffly, Percy nodded.

"And he didn't spot you?"

"Somehow... no."

The group exchanged a series of glances.

"Well, go on then, what'd he want?" insisted Ron.

Percy shrugged. "Nothing. It seemed... it seemed like it was just social, actually. Hermione kept working while he was there. They spoke a bit, but for the most part, they were just working in silence together."

Ginny and Harry frowned at each other.

"And... and so... what? You were just stuck there? For hours?" Ron pressed.

"Yeah," Percy said simply. "Well, you know Hermione. He asked her to go for a break a few times, but she refused until she'd finished the report she was working on. So, I tried my best not to move too much and made myself comfortable in the corner."

There was a loud moment of silence.

"Fucking hell, Percy," said Ron accusingly. "You just about gave us all a heart attack."

"I'm sorry."

"What did we all say when you all started these watches? Don't separate from your partner!"

"I know, I'm sorry." Percy looked at Lucy sadly. "I'm so sorry."

Lucy wrapped her arms around him again and Ginny was the one to gesture toward the house.

"Come on then, you lot," she said. "We can talk more inside. It's freezing out here."

All nodding in agreement, all of the Order filed back into Neville's small house and as they all dispersed throughout the ground floor, Harry hung back in the living room doorway to meet Ginny and Ron.

They waited until they were out of earshot of any of the others before they spoke. "Maybe... maybe we should just take a break," Ginny suggested quietly. "From the watches. Just for a while."

"Yeah," Harry quickly agreed while Ron nodded. "S'probably for the best."

"I'm sure there'll be some sort of public event coming up. There has to be," Ginny went on. "Maybe we should just wait for something like that. Try to catch Hermione alone somewhere less risky than in the Ministry."

Harry nodded.

"We could try to bait her," Ron chimed in, repeating the same suggestion he'd given days ago. "Send her an invitation somewhere, or send her a letter addressed from an abused house elf, or... I dunno... we could try sending another portkey."

Harry shook his head. "I don't think Hermione would let a portkey take her again. We caught her off guard once, but..."

Silently, they all agreed.

"Well, at least we know one thing," Ginny said after a long pause.

"What's that?" asked Ron.

"Hermione can't have changed too much, not if she's still refusing to take a break from her work. She must still be—"

The sound of glass shattering followed by a high-pitched yelp drowned out the rest of Ginny's words. With reflexes honed to the sound of chaos, Harry was the fastest, not hesitating to dart from the living room back into the dining room where the sounds had come from.

The sight awaiting him there was an entirely unexpected one. Draco was at the far side of the room on the other side of the dining table using it to put distance between himself and the other man in the room. And there, prowling towards Draco with his wand drawn, rounding the other side of the table, was Percy.

"He's fucking lost it!" Draco squawked the moment he saw Harry, circling opposite Percy and pointing madly at him. "Help me!"

"Perc—"

As if he hadn't seen nor heard Harry, Percy lunged across the table and sent a slicing hex at Draco.

Draco yelped, ducking behind the table and narrowly avoiding the spell which blew open one of Neville's terracotta pots and sprayed dirt onto the table. "Fucking hell! Help me!"

"Percy!" Harry charged toward Percy and drew his own wand, fully intending on disarming him, but before he could, Percy's wand turned on him.

If it hadn't been for his years of Auror training, Harry would never have managed to deflect the slicing hex Percy sent toward him. The curse ricocheted back toward the far wall, smashing another of the large pots and spraying a fresh burst of dirt through the room.

After his curse at Harry, Percy immediately resumed circling after Draco. But just as he was about to cast, Ron, Ginny, George and Charlie all barrelled into the room behind Harry, swarming Percy before he had a chance to follow through.

George took hold of one of his arms while Charlie wrestled with the other. Ron did his best to hold Percy's body back, and while they had him somewhat pinned, Ginny took the opportunity to rush forward and snatch his wand from his grip, the act seeming suspiciously like the group of them were well-rehearsed in performing such a thing.

Percy thrashed against them, his growls and movements animalistic.

"Get him to the chair!" Ginny instructed, pulling one out from the table.

The Weasleys wrangled with Percy and managed to get him down into the chair, and from the doorway behind Harry, McGonagall was the one to promptly cast, "incarcerous!"

Percy bucked against his restraints, pushing up against him with his whole body weight.

"What the bloody hell's wrong with him?!" Draco demanded only once Percy was restrained from safely on the other side of the table.

Those of the Order exchanged questioning glances while George stepped forward towards his brother.

"Percy!" George's palm collided with Percy's cheek hard enough that the slap echoed. "Snap out of it!"

Percy continued to thrash against the chair, saliva dripping from his chin as he growled rabidly.

"Percy! Percy, calm down!" tried Ginny.

"What do we do?" asked Ron.

"Do we stun him?" suggested Charlie.

"Do we have any calming draughts?" Angelina asked.

"What if we just get Malfoy out, clearly he's the problem—"

"Stop."

At his stony instruction, all attention landed upon Harry.

A heavy pit was forming in his stomach, because he'd seen this before. He'd seen this in his fourth year of school, in the goblin who'd let them into Gringotts all those years ago, in the many he'd apprehended over the years as an Auror.

He knew what was wrong, and it… it meant…

"He's under the Imperius curse," he stated.

At that, all of the Order spoke at once,

"Well, what do we—"

"Imperius curse?!"

"How do we get rid of—"

"Stop!" Harry yelled, and at once they all turned back to him. Harry spread his hands and tried to speak as calmly as he could. "If Voldemort has sent Percy back here for Draco, then that means he knows that he's with us, and he knows where we are." Harry spoke as firmly as he could, not allowing panic to take hold. "We don't have time to argue. We need to move, now."

"W-where to?" asked Ginny.

"We could go to Angelina's dad's?" George offered, and Angelina nodded, quickly adding "eighteen Orwell Road, Norwich."

Harry nodded. "It's as good an idea as any," he said before he spun toward Charlie. "Just stun Percy and take him with you. Professor McGonagall?! Can you take the charm down so everyone can apparate out?"

She didn't hesitate to nod before she got to work.

Harry took the opportunity to meet Ginny's eyes. "It'll be okay," he said. "You'll take James and Lily with you?"

She nodded and didn't question him, and for her outward appearance of calm, he was grateful.

"It's done," McGonagall interrupted a moment later.

Harry ripped his eyes from Ginny and looked over those in the room.

"All of you go now—don't wait for me—and could someone take Draco and another take Astoria? Ron and I will head upstairs to get Neville, Seamus and Hagrid. We'll be right behind you."

They collectively nodded while George stunned Percy, and after a lingering glance at Ginny, Harry and Ron darted off toward the stairs.

But they barely made it out of the room. Harry had only just about gotten his foot on the first step when he heard, "Harry!"

Quickly doubling back, he and Ron found all of the others still exactly where they'd left them only seconds earlier.

"What's wrong?" asked Harry.

"It's... it's not working," said Angelina.

Ron blanched. "What do you mean it's not working—"

"We can't," said McGonagall after trying to turn on the spot herself. "It's... it feels as if there's still an anti-apparition charm in place."

"But you took it down," Harry said to McGonagall. "You did, didn't you?"

McGonagall didn't hesitate in nodding. "Yes."

"You're sure?"

"Positive."

All of the Order's eyes were locked Harry, watching closely as he slowly nodded in understanding.

"Go upstairs," Harry instructed quickly. "If it's clear, climb out onto the roof and work your way down. Disillusion yourselves and wait until it's safe to head out past their charms."

"But what if... what if they're here?" Draco asked in a small voice. "Th-the other Death Eaters, or him, what if... what if we see them?"

"Don't let them see you," Harry said, and though he knew it wasn't very helpful advice, it was all he had. "Do your best to avoid detection, and if you can't, send a patronus. You... you do know how to cast a patronus, right?"

"Oh, yes, sure, that's no problem without my wand, not at all— ah fuck!" Draco yelped and suddenly bent over, clutching at his arm through his sleeve, and Astoria was by his side at once.

"...Malfoy?" asked Harry.

"Ahh," Draco grimaced in pain, gripping his arm so tightly that his knuckles whitened. "He... ah, fuck, fuck, fuck… he's calling."

Harry met Astoria's eyes. "Take him up with the others. Make sure he doesn't answer the call. And Astoria?"

"Hm?"

"Keep him quiet," Harry ordered, tucking his hand inside his jacket to pull out a thin, oak wand. He offered her the handle. "Do what you have to."

She didn't hesitate to take it. "Thank you," she said before she started to help Draco out toward the stairs.

Ginny stepped toward Harry, Lily in her arms. "Harry—"

"Go," he urged, reaching up to brush his hand down her cheek before he placed it on the top of Lily's head. "Look after them."

With her jaw locked, Ginny nodded. "I love you."

"And I love you," Harry said, pressing a kiss to her forehead before she, too, followed after Draco and Astoria. Lastly, Harry turned to Ron. "Ron—"

"I'm staying with you," said Ron quickly, leaving no room to argue. It reminded Harry strongly of the end of their sixth year at Hogwarts. "You can't expect me to leave you now, mate."

Stiffly, Harry nodded.

"Remember the plan," he said simply. "If I can't do it... or if I manage to distract him enough and you get an opening—"

"Kill the bastard," Ron finished, jaw locked.

After one last final nod, Harry turned away from Ron to the front door of the house. He reached out for the handle, and in one, swift movement, Harry ripped the door open, and—

Stationary, as if she'd just knocked and had been waiting patiently for an answer, Hermione stood at the door.

"Hello, Harry."

Have any of you played the game chase? It's like hide-and-seek, except you do it when it's dark and you're on teams... it's a goodun!

(Also thanks a million to my good friend ML for bouncing ideas with me when I got stuck! You're wonderful! ?)