New Chapter Progress: [ 50% ]

Progress Notes: I will be on vacation for 20 days starting tomorrow, and where I'm going, there is zero internet service. Please stick around! I've sent chapter 12 (the corrected and ready-to-go version) to my beta. She hasn't responded yet, but hopefully she'll post it soon.

Keep reading! I'll be back soon!

Filing through paperwork was dreadfully boring, but it was a job Ginny was being forced to do. The director of the Auror department, Kingsley Shacklebolt, had ordered that she rest. In her opinion, she had been ordered to do child's work.

"How are you coming along, Weasley?" asked a snickering voice. Gritting her teeth, Ginny tore the piece of paper she held; disregarding the fact that it had been a priceless antique. Elbert Miller, the new auror just appointed to the field ranks, stood behind her. He had become so advanced in the training facility, that he had exceeded beyond Ginny's marks on grading at the final exams, which was quite an accomplishment.  Ginny had scored almost the highest in decades. The problem with Miller, according to Ginny, was that he did everything by the book, following each and every rule perfectly—earning him his perfect scores. Ginny had refused to follow the rules precisely and had succeeded by using pure instinct. Her instructors had been impressed by her natural intuition that she used on field missions. However, because of her refusal to abide by all rules and regulations, she had not gotten perfect scores, though she deserved them. Elbert Miller, however, had beaten her. And he was very proud of it.

"Careful with that paper, there," Miller said cheerfully, gently taking the shreds of the antique and casting them on the floor. "Paper cuts are quite dangerous this time of year."

Ginny dug her nails into the palm of her hand, glaring at the young man. He was weedy and tall, with straw-blonde hair and a long, straight nose that emerged from his face like a beak. His skin was always pale and across his cheeks was a splattering of freckles, as if painted there by an amateur artist. His eyes were hidden behind thick glasses that reminded Ginny nothing of Harry. Elbert's glasses gave him an obnoxious appearance, while Harry was rather humble.

"Thank you, Elbert," Ginny emphasized using his first name that he was constantly teased for. "But I'm quite fine on my own. Making a speedy recovery, as it is." She gestured towards her arm, which the healer had forced her to put into a sling. Miller grinned widely, showing his pointy array of teeth.

"Ah yes, the mysterious injury of Ginevra Weasley. I heard about that." He winked knowingly. "When did you acquire such a horrible wound, Miss Weasley? Was it when you decided you needed a break, perhaps? A small vacation?"

Ginny's blood began to boil. The fool thought she had faked her injury so she would not have to work! "Oh?" Ginny inquired sweetly. Her tone was one that usually warned most Weasley brothers to walk away quickly. "And did you hear about the mysterious disappearance of the annoying clerk? She didn't last long; in fact, she came to bring me a message and never came back."

Miller chuckled in a boasting manner. "You don't frighten me, Weasley. Remember, I scored—"

"Higher than me on the testing, I know," Ginny interrupted in a monotone, for she had heard the phrase so often. "Don't you have someone else you could bother? Or have you lost your babysitter?"

Somewhere in the distance, a chime range, signaling the beginning of the lunch break. Miller glanced at his watch as if he really had no idea what time it was.

"Ah, look at that! I really must be going, although I do enjoy our chats together. I've an appointment at the great hall—" The great hall was the name of the large room in which all the aurors ate. It shot pangs into Ginny's heart of thinking that the place where she ate was so similar to that of Hogwarts' Great Hall. "—with a certain pretty clerk. If I'm not mistaken, it's the same beautiful, disappearing woman you mentioned earlier. Good day to you, Miss Weasley." Miller gave a low, and mocking bow before sidestepping out of the small paperwork room.

Ginny glared after him furiously, staring down at the many piles of paper before her. Only then did she realize what the paper that she had torn had been and its importance. It had been a treaty signing between the British Ministry of Magic and the African Ministry, dated 1876.

With a strangled scream, she kicked the papers away, cursing Elbert Miller as loudly and as thoroughly as she could. Her insults rang all the way to the Great Hall, where Elbert's fellow aurors chuckled loudly and the pretty clerk sitting across from the frozen figure of Miller stood up and left quickly, too afraid to face the wrath of Ginny Weasley.

~*~

Draco Malfoy stared openly at the common room before him. He had visited it only once, at the very beginning of this invasion of the school, right before the imprisoned students had been forced into the room. It had been, admittedly, a stunning common room compared to the dreary green and silver room that the Slytherins occupied. The Gryffindor common room usually reflected its inhabitant's courage and stubbornness, adorned with sparkling gold and scarlet tapestries, a fire roaring in the hearth, inviting chairs sitting in the sunlight. However, the common room was reflecting the current emotions of those in the room, and it was hardly cheerful.

Everything in the room seemed grey. Those few chairs that had retained their deep, crimson color seemed out of place and falsely comforting. The windows were barred. The usual fire was a few burning embers. A stain of blood trailed from the entrance to the common room to the fireplace where, undoubtedly, Harry Potter had been brought.

The Gryffindors in the room froze at Draco's appearance as the portrait door swung shut behind him. He gripped his wand tightly.

"I demand to see Potter. Immediately," he said coldly. The Gryffindors simply stared at him. The younger students were pale and frightened, gaping up at him with uncontrollable horror. The older students glared angrily, yet warily, at the Death Eater, knowing that he had a wand and they did not.

"Did you not hear me?" Draco snapped, staring around at all of them with his grey eyes. "I demand to see—"

"What would you care?" came a voice. Draco could not find its source. "You tried to kill him, didn't you?"

Draco peered around the room, but the various Gryffindors would not reveal the speaker. They watched Draco take a step forward, entering their small haven. This was the only room where guards were not constantly by them, watching them. They were slightly free in this room, if they could ignore the windows and the locked doors. But Draco had ruined that.

"I am on orders," Draco said to the room, still looking for the perpetrator. "Orders to inspect his health. Harry Potter still has vital information that belongs to us and that is needed in search for—"

"For a mangy old bat with ugly red eyes. He's dead, you know,"

This time, Draco discovered the speaker. And the shock alone would have sent many people to St. Mungo's.

Neville Longbottom, perhaps the most easily frightened boy in the world, was glaring defiantly at Draco Malfoy. It had been a long time since Draco had seen Longbottom; and the fact that the cowardly Gryffindor was now staring at him indifferently, prepared to defend Potter to the extent of a painful punishment, made Draco stop and think for a moment.

"I will ask one more time," Draco said slowly, as if speaking to toddlers. "Where is Harry Potter?"

The Gryffindors were starting to appear much more menacing, now. A few of them had crooked smiles spread across their faces, sitting up straighter in their chairs and on the floor, as if preparing to fight. Draco drew his wand.

"You are not welcome here," Longbottom said loudly. "I advise you to leave. Ever since Harry's accident, we haven't been feeling too supportive of Death Eaters. Especially you."

Draco raised his wand. "You wouldn't dare," he sneered, pushing down his fear. "I could kill any one of you right now."

Longbottom, surprisingly, laughed. "You could. But then you would have to kill the next one, and the one after. The thing you fail to realize is that there are too many of us just to simply eliminate. When you destroy one, someone new replaces them."

Draco gaped openly at Neville.

"I advise you to leave," Longbottom repeated. "You are not welcome here."

Suddenly, nearly all of the Gryffindors stood up. Their eyes were locked on Draco's face. A few seventh-years balled their hands into fists. Draco cautiously took a step back.

"You could all be killed for this," Draco said, taking another step backwards, approaching the portrait hole. "Threatening one of us is forbidden." However much his words held importance, they were not convincing. His voice was trembling.

"When you destroy one of us, Malfoy," Longbottom smiled widely. "Someone new replaces them."

Draco had heard enough. Turning on his heel as quickly as he could, he threw open the portrait and ran. He ran past the guard with the hangover, past the piercing stare of the Fat Lady, past the rude knight, and away from those gleaming smiles from the Gryffindors.

He would be punished for running. He would be punished for not discovering Potter's condition. For all he knew, Potter could be dead. But Draco did know one thing.

Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry had woken again, and its strongest House was suddenly more furious than it had ever been before.

~*~

Days later, Harry's arm was feeling much better. He was no longer confined to his mattress of pillows and blankets. Nor was he forced to drink sleeping potion from Hermione. He and Ron often played chess in Godric's kitchen, which they had come to call "Godric's Hollow". Although it gave sharp pangs to Harry's stomach occasionally—thinking of his parent's house and how he, Ron, and Hermione had visited it the summer of his seventh year—the name stuck and was appropriate.

After being stuck in Godric's Hollow for an entire week, Harry assured Hermione that he was strong enough to go back to his world of imprisonment. Even the Fat Lady had refused the Death Eaters entry into the Gryffindor common room until Harry had fully recovered. When he finally had, Hermione and Ron prepared to take him up to the common room.

It was in the dead of night. Hermione explained that the only people who knew of the room's existence beside the house elves were themselves and Neville. Their loyal friend had agreed to make sure the Death Eaters would not discover the hiding spot, which could be used for later purposes. They did not want any other Gryffindors knowing about Godric's Hollow for fear that they would be tortured for the information.

"Ready?" Hermione asked nervously, checking Harry's bandage carefully. "It's a bit of a climb, but it's worth it, I suppose. I just don't want you passing out on the stairs. Oh, that would be horrible—"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry reassured her for the umpteenth time. "Honestly, I am. Can we go now?"

There was a clang from the small oak door and firelight danced in their eyes. Ron stood hunched over in the doorway.

"Are you lot coming? Blimey, Hermione, it's not that dangerous to climb a few stairs." Ron waved his torch again.

"Oh, shut it, Ron," Hermione sniffed embarrassedly. She hefted her bag onto her shoulder and gestured for Harry to go in front of her. Harry ducked his head under the archway, following Ron. Hermione came behind him, closing the door to their hollow with a final clang that echoed in Harry's ears.

"Could someone hear that?" he enquired in the darkness. The only light was coming from Ron's torch, which he held aloft a few steps ahead.          

Behind him, Hermione responded. "The only thing that heard that were the mice. I told you, we're in an extremely thick wall. No one knows we're here except Neville and Dobby."

Slowly and carefully, they began to climb. It was a bit difficult, for the staircase was narrow and wound around itself in circles, making Harry dizzy. The darkness was suffocating and behind him, Harry could hear Hermione whimpering occasionally. Harry suddenly remembered Hermione's recent fear of darkness, due to the time when she and Harry had been trapped underneath the Chamber of Secrets after the huge rockslide that had occurred because of Voldemort's defeat. She had cried almost the whole time, horribly frightened, until Harry had acted like an idiot to cheer her up. He hoped she wouldn't start crying on the staircase.

The flames played with the shadows on the walls, creating dancing figures that would appear familiar, but then vanish with a flash of sparks. The faint panting of their breathing echoed more loudly than their heavy footsteps as they climbed the stairs. After what seemed like decades of painful walking, Ron drew short. In front of him stood a small, oak door, much like the door down in Godric's Hollow. The only difference was that this door was painted completely black, looking as if it were covered in soot.

"Here we are," Ron gasped, leaning over and putting his hands on his knees. "Hermione, are you alright?"

"I'm okay," came Hermione's voice.

"I'm fine, Ron, thanks for asking," Harry said sarcastically. Snorting, Ron handed Harry the torch and squinted in the darkness.

"There," he muttered. He pushed something and there was a click, and the door swung outward. "Alright, Harry, watch your head. And mind you don't step on the logs."

Harry frowned. Logs? He followed Ron out the door, bending over, and looked down. There seemed to be a pile of logs there, crumbled and dry, with faint sparks glowing between them. Harry saw Ron step out from the small, closed space and stand straight and stretched. Harry quickly trailed behind him and stood up, looking back in confusion.

Hermione was just stepping out of the door. The door that was hidden with soot and ashes and black paint and was fixed on the side of one of the walls of the Gryffindor common room fireplace.

"You're joking," Harry said, squinting at the hearth. "How come we never noticed it before?"

Hermione stepped out of the fireplace and brushed the soot off her skirt. She turned to the door and closed it shut and tapped it with her finger, whispering something. The door seemed to melt for a moment, and then only stones stood in its place.

"How did you do that?" Harry demanded as she stood up once more. Hermione smiled.

"Dobby taught me. It's a simple little spell that you can do without your wand. Only a Gryffindor can open and close it, of course. It's hidden by ancient magic." She looked up across the room and beamed. "Neville!"

Harry spun around and saw Neville in his pinstriped pajamas. He smiled weakly at all of them, but then turned to Harry.

"How are you feeling?" he enquired anxiously. "I helped carry you upstairs and you looked absolutely horrible. Are you feeling better?"

Harry grinned and clapped Neville on the back with his left arm, just to be sure. "I'm much better, which, I hear, is also thanks to you. Stood up to Malfoy, did you?"

Neville practically glowed. "He was trying to find you, Harry. I just stopped him, that's all."

"Well, thanks anyway, Neville," Harry smiled. "Couldn't have done it without you."

The next day, Harry was granted access to one of the girl's dormitories. The third-year dormitories, in fact. The young girls had swooned with delight when he asked if he could come upstairs. Somehow, they had made it so that the stairs would not turn into a huge slide, sending him crashing to the floor. He climbed the steps cautiously, however, and entered the room warily, as if expecting something to come flying out of nowhere and hit him on the head.

"Could you excuse us for a moment, girls?" he asked the third-years. They let out a squeal and shut the door, giggling down the stairs. Taking a deep breath, Harry turned to the only person left in the room.

"Hello, Sarah," he said quietly, sitting beside her. The young girl turned her head and looked over at him and smiled.

"Sorry about them," she rasped, gesturing towards her dorm mates. "They've loved you since they were four years old."

Harry's cheeks burned, "Oh. Right." Sarah laughed. Her blue eyes sparkled with happiness. Her features were marred by the scabs from the Dragon Pox—scabs that had turned an ugly shade of green. Sarah noticed Harry's stare and bit her lip.

"I look terrible, don't I?" she asked miserably. Harry jumped.

"What? Oh, no, no. You look fine. I promise." He nervously wrung his hands and Sarah gave another giggle.

"Ginny told me you were a little goofy," Sarah said, her eyes filling into Harry's. "She said that's why she liked you so much."

Harry's breath was caught in his throat. "You knew Ginny?" he whispered.

Sarah frowned. "I know Ginny," she said firmly. "She's still alive, isn't she?"

"Of course," Harry muttered, suddenly embarrassed.

"Then why talk about her in past tense? You'll see her again. I know you will." Harry allowed a small smile. Sarah returned it. "Could you say hello to her for me?" she asked.

It took Harry a moment to realize what Sarah meant. He suddenly looked up at the fifteen year-old, panicked. She had a knowing smile on her purple lips. Sweat trickled down her brow and Harry apprehended how weak and fragile she was.

"But you're not…you can't…" Harry said desperately. Sarah smiled again, sadly.

"You will tell her I said hello, won't you? She'll be so mad if she thinks I didn't say hello. She really likes you, you know."

"Sarah," Harry said slowly. "We can cure you. I'm sure we can. I'll just sneak into the Hospital Wing again and—"

"It's too late, Harry." Sarah licked her lips. "Besides, I don't want you to have to go through that again. How's your arm, by the way?"

Harry shook his head, confused at how quickly this conversation was proceeding, "It's fine, and I'm all better. But that's not the point—"

Harry suddenly stopped and thought of Luna Lovegood. Or rather, something Luna had said. After the second war, Harry had been grieving for every death that had been caused. Every student killed in battle. He had sat beside those slowly dying, telling them not to give up, to keep fighting. But Luna had stopped him. She told him he was foolish to argue when the sick thought Death approached. Denials only told Death here was someone who would be missed, Death's favorite kind of victim.

Harry looked up at Sarah's amused and weak face. She nodded to him, as if she knew that he understood.

"You'll tell her I said hello?" she asked, although she already knew the answer.

Harry nodded, "I'll tell her."

Sarah settled back down into her pillows and smiled peacefully, "Good. I would hate for her to be mad at me. She used to talk to me, you see. I didn't have many friends a few years ago and Ginny talked to me. She mostly talked about you. About how much she liked you." Sarah grinned at Harry's blush. "It was sweet, really. And when you started dating, she was so happy that you had finally gotten your head out of the clouds and noticed her. That's what she said anyway."

Harry gave a short laugh and stared at his feet. It was silent for a moment before Harry said, "Sarah, I want you to know…"

Sarah looked expectantly at him. He cleared his throat and sat a little straighter.

"I want you to know that your friends will be safe. We're escaping. I have a plan that will save everyone in the school."

Sarah stared at him for a long minute, then said: "I trust you, Harry."

For almost the rest of the rainy afternoon, Harry sat in Sarah's room and talked to her. She spoke of her mother and father, and of her little brother that was seven years old now. She talked about how she would miss watching Quidditch, playing chess, eating Chocolate Frogs. She spoke of how she had fancied Harry in her second year and how she used to sometimes follow him through the hallways, just to catch a glimpse of him. She talked about her conversations with Ginny, her obsession with the band The Weird Sisters, and how she loved, absolutely loved, watching Muggle television.

At dusk, Sarah shifted slightly and looked up at Harry. "You know, I've never talked this much in my entire life," she said quietly. "And it's nice. Especially…" She swallowed hard. "Especially now. Thank you, Harry."

Harry ran his hand through his hair. "Sarah, you know how you said you used to…well, take a fancy to me?"

Sarah blushed and nodded.

Smiling, Harry gently bent over and kissed Sarah on the cheek, gently brushing her golden hair away from her sweating face. It was slightly embarrassing, to be honest. He had only kissed Cho (which hadn't turned out so well) and Ginny. But he had to do this for Sarah. He felt as if he had to do something for her. He could tell that she was dying, perhaps right this very minute. However, even though death was practically on her doorstep, Sarah's entire face lit up when he lightly pecked her on the cheek.

Her mouth broke into a beaming smile. "Now I can say I kissed Harry Potter," she whispered. Her eyes began to flutter. Harry gently took her hand in his. He felt guilty. If only he could have found some way, some miraculous cure for her. It was his fault she was dying and not in her mother's arms, being fed Pepper-Up potion and watching her favorite muggle shows. But she was so brave. She seemed to not care about dying. She had accepted it, and maybe it was time for Harry to accept it too.

"If you see my parents," Harry whispered, fighting tears. "Will you tell them I love them?"

Sarah smiled and squeezed Harry's hand. "I will. But they already know."

~*~

The next day, Sarah's body was taken away from the Gryffindor common room for the last time. Her friends were sobbing in a corner as Crabbe and Goyle carried her limp form down the stairs. It seemed like an intrusion upon something sacred to see two Death Eater thugs in their room of mourning. The two were slightly courteous, however. They kept silent and said nothing as Hermione gently placed a blue ribbon into Sarah's hair, a small tear leaking down her cheek. Ron held her close while Harry stood alone, watching his new friend leave without saying good-bye.

He had hardly known her. Sarah had been one of many small faces cheering for him when they had won the Quidditch Cup. She had been just a blur in the crowd when eating breakfast in the Great Hall. Yet for some reason, every single Gryffindor left in the room was crying or sniffling, watching one of their own pass away. They had heard of two Hufflepuff's dying from injuries and a Ravenclaw from Dragon Pox as well. But for it to happen in their own House made it even more devastating.

The Death Eaters, miraculously, somewhat buried Sarah. They dug a small hole and covered her quickly, leaving her in the middle of Hogwarts grounds. The entire school had watched from their windows.

That night, Harry, Ron, and Hermione sat in their usual seats around the fire. Harry stared into the flames, carefully shredding a piece of paper to specs on the floor.

"Hermione," Harry said, breaking the silence. His friend jumped, hastily blowing her nose.

"Um, yes Harry?" she sniffed.

"You know how I asked you if you would make polyjuice potion? So that Ron could look like me?" Hermione nodded. "Well, I think you should start making it. In Godric's Hollow."

"Oh, but Harry," Hermione whispered, "I don't have any of the ingredients—"

"I'll take care of the ingredients," Harry interrupted, still staring at the fire. He fingered the paper shreds. "But can you make the potion?"

"Of course," Hermione nodded again, looking inquiringly at Harry. "I still remember the procedure."

"Good." Harry nodded, sitting back in his chair. Ron looked nervously at his best friend.

"Er, Harry, just curious…why exactly?"

Harry's eyes snapped away from the fire and met Ron's. For a moment, his own vivid green eyes seemed filled with the fire, burning with fury. His mouth curved into a wide grin.

"Because, Ron," Harry said as if it were obvious. He threw the pieces of paper into the fire. The flames roared hungrily, crackling and spitting sparks onto the carpet.

"We're escaping."

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

A/N: Thanks to my beta, Bronte, for being incredibly patient with my mistakes and how long it takes me to finish this. J Please review! I live for reviews!!! I'm sorry this has taken me so long, but I've had company at the house for almost a month and it's extremely hard to entertain and write at the same time. Happy reading!

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0. Prologue1. Living with the Enemy2. The Truth Hurts3: Brewing Plots4: Festival of Horror5: Mixed Emotions6: Painful Healing7: Death's Favourite Victim8. Reforming the D.A.9. Airshafts10. Visitors11. Close Shaves

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