Prologue

The king is the most important, but not the most powerful, piece in a game of chess. If you do not protect your king, you will lose the game.

Hermione could feel her breathing become heavy and labored as her magic slowly mixed with the air around her, creating an audible hum that danced across her skin. She resolutely kept her eyes closed, forcing herself to maintain her focus even though she could start to feel her strength leaving her.

Thankful that she had looked over her books numerous times, she started to slowly recite the chant in Latin, her mouth careful to form each of the words clearly and succinctly; there was no room for error, the slightest slip of the tongue could spell disaster.

While repeating the chant, Hermione slowly manipulated her magic, pushing it around the pentagram until all of it was focused directly in front of her, solely placed within the spirit arm. The whispers behind the Veil continued to increase, but now once voice was starting to ring out clearer than the rest. She was soon able to recognize it as a male voice, his tone low and rough as his words became more distinct; not just words, she realized with a start, but pleas, pleas to finally be free.

Hermione continued the chant, the realization that this might actually work helping to counter the exhaustion that was slowly taking over her body. She made sure to keep the pace of her words slow and steady, despite the adrenaline of excitement and anticipation that had started to course through her veins.

The Veil started to flutter even more, almost as if a strong wind had started to whip through the room, making it dance. She could hear the loud ruffling of the fabric rubbing together as it echoed through the room, only broken by the sharp cracks as the fabric was stretched taunt first one way and then another. Hermione was struggling to get the words out now, her tongue feeling sluggish in her mouth as she tried to keep her focus on her magic. She was forced to lock her knees to stay standing, the fatigue weighing on her enough to almost force her bow down.

The voices behind the veil continued to grow more frenzied, sounding almost angry with their indistinguishable grunts and moans. Tiny beads of perspiration were forming on her brow and she knew she was almost at the end of her strength when suddenly there was silence. Unable to restrain her curiosity, Hermione's eyes popped open only to discover a huddled form lying on the floor in front of her.

She had done it.