Harry Potter - Series Fan Fiction ❯ unbreakableBOND ❯ Backlash ( Chapter 17 )

A/N: I don't own Harry Potter.

OI!!!: Hey, if you're confused, sorry, I'm just generally not good at writing, lol.

IMPORTANT!!!!!!!!!!!: PLEASE READ THE END NOTE, I HAVE SOMETHING VERY IMPORTANT TO TELL YOU ALL!

unbreakableBOND

Chapter 16: Backlash

“Harry.” Someone was trying to shake him awake, the place where their hand was touching his bare skin burning like hot coals. He flung them off and sat up.

“What is it?” He asked groggily, reaching for his glasses. He slid them on and saw his Godfather Remus come into focus.

“Dumbledore wants to see you, he's finally gotten a hold of Lucius,” Remus said softly, as if if he spoke any louder Harry would shatter into a million pieces. Harry scowled at the concerned look on his Godfathers face and threw the covers back violently. He didn't even apologise when they hit Remus in the face, instead he just growled that he'd be out in a minute.

Harry set his feet on the cool ground, his back aching a bit as he stood up and stretched, eyes closed. He turned slowly towards the bed and opened them quickly and shut them just as fast.

What did he expect to see? He sighed, closing his eyes and wishing for Draco wouldn't make him appear, no matter how many times he did it.

He shook his head slightly and walked into the a jointed bathroom to wash his face and brush his teeth. Although, the process was slightly stalled when he caught a glance of himself in the mirror.

“What the fuck!?” he swore at his reflection.

“Harry!?” Remus. Ugh, why did he yell so loudly? “Are you all right in there!?”

“I'm bloody fantastic!” Harry yelled at the door. “Except for the fact that I look like a mother fucking bloody whale.” He poked at his stomach and glared maliciously.

He could heat Remus sigh on the other side of the door. “You're not fat Harry; you're just bloated from the stress.”

“And Dumbledore dyes his hair white!” Harry called back, then turned the tap on to drown Remus's lame reassurances of Harry's body out. Whatever, he'd gained weight and he knew it.

When Harry appeared in the living room after a few minutes Remus gave him a look that had Harry fuming once more. “Let's go,” he growled, stomping towards the door, ignoring the werewolf's call to take it easy.

Harry reached the entrance to Dumbledore's office long before Remus did, a bit more than slightly out of breath and a little sore.

“Why didn't you wait?” Remus glared when he caught up. “Look, you're out of breath. You know you can't-“

“Sorry, next time someone important to me is abducted I'll be sure to walk so you can keep up.” Remus only narrowed his eyes at the remark and spoke the password. They ascended in silence, with only Harry's heavy breathing echoing in their ears, and soon the voices of the people in the office above floating down to them.

“Ah, Harry, you're here,” Dumbledore said as the two appeared. “Remus,” he greeted.

“Hello Professor,” Remus answered, moving into the room. He sat across from Lucius, who hadn't moved in the time the two had entered.

“And how are you today, Harry?” Dumbledore asked.

“As well as can be expected,” Harry answered bitingly and moved to sit in between his Godfather and Father-in-law. He was about to sit when he heard a small gasp escape from Lucius. He turned slightly and looked down to find the man staring at him or rather, at his stomach.

“What?” Harry barked at him as he sat down, he was tired, fat, and out of breath, was that any reason to stare?

“You're pregnant,” he answered.

“Obviously.” Harry rolled his eyes.

“You did not mention that in your letter,” Lucius said to Dumbledore.

“I did not think that pertinent to the situation at hand,” the old wizard answered, eyes holding a rare twinkle to them.

“You must only be about two months along,” Lucius said, his attention turning back to Harry's bumped belly. “Then that means...”

“Yes, just before Draco was abducted,” Harry filled in.

“Right,” Lucius said softly, before snapping his attention back to the present and slipping his mask back into place. “As I have already assured you, I know nothing of the situation, and neither does anyone I know, as far as I am aware.”

So Voldemort really doesn't know. It's best that way, then. Harry thought with relief. The last thing he needed was Voldemort attacking when he was at his weakest, two months pregnant and away from his newly Bonded.

“What do you know, then?” Lucius' voice broke through Harry's wandering thoughts.

“To be honest, Lucius, nothing, really,” Dumbledore answered gravely.

“What do you mean nothing?” Lucius hissed, his eyes narrowing dangerously at the old man, then he turned to Harry. “Can you not feel his presence?”

“Can't you?” Harry snapped back.

“I am not Bonded to him!” Lucius barked. “You mean to tell me that your Bond is so weak you cannot even feel his general presence!? And on a traditional Bond!? It's a wonder you're not dead or he for that matter!”

“Shut up!” Harry yelled standing and leaning over the elder Malfoy. “Draco is not dead!”

“And how, pray tell, would you know?” He said it slowly, his cold elegant drawl enunciating every word into a sharp dagger that stabbed at Harry's heart and twisted.

“That's enough, Malfoy,” Remus interjected.

“No,” Harry said slowly, the spark of anger dying from his eye to be replaced with penitent acceptance. “He's right, after all.” It was spoken barely above a whisper and Harry stared at the floor in guilt.

“Harry,” Remus said. “That's not true.”

“No, no, it's my fault, I know.” Harry's anger began to return. “It's my fault we can't find him and it's my fault that our Bond is so weak.” He turned sharply to the blond man. “And it'll be me who gets him back, unharmed.”

“You'll forgive me if I don't quite believe you,” Lucius answered callously.

Harry glared and said over Remus' spluttering, “It was nice to see you, Father.” With that he turned swiftly and left the room, ignoring the calls for him to come back.

When Harry reached the portrait of Helga Hufflepuff he promptly changed the password, and once inside he closed off the Floo. That being done he promptly threw himself down on his bed (more from physical exhaustion than emotional) and began to sob. His tears came fast and his breath in short pants.

How had this happened?

He was fairly certain it was he fault Draco was gone, that it was a plot against him or even if it wasn't it was still his fault Draco had ran out of the Great Hall.

What was wrong with him? Why the fuck couldn't he just get his shit together and own up to his feelings? Maybe if he had, he wouldn't be laying here, crying his eyes out and feeling sorry for himself. Then again, at two months pregnant (the Muggle equivalent of three), one was bound to feel a bit emotional, and when the father of your child is nowhere to be found it's a tad harder.

But whose fault was that? His own. He could blame no one else (except the abductors).

That being established, Harry forced his tears to slow and stop. He lay three for a few moments, willing away sleep and trying to gain enough energy to move. Once he was able to force himself up he went to the loo and splashed some cold water on his face, and then went to find his Invisibility Cloak.

He had to have a chat with someone.

+++

“Harry?” Hermione looked in surprise at her friend. “Did you come up here on your own?”

“Yes,” Harry answered, the word coming out jagged and broken from his exertion. Why hadn't he Flooed!? He sat down in his favourite chair across from her, in front of the fire.

“Harry, you know you shouldn't be-”

“Hermione,” Harry interjected, not really wanting to hear his friends concerned blathering at the moment. “I came up here for your help, that is, to see if you'd even help me.”

Hermione closed and opened her mouth, then said, “Harry, why wouldn't I help you? I'm your friend.”

“Right,” Harry answered. “It's about Draco.”

“Have you found anything out?” Hermione asked quickly.

“No, that's why I came up here, I need to find something out and I will do anything it takes to do that.”

“Harry,” Hermione looked a bit apprehensive. She wanted Draco back as much as the next person (for her friend, of course), but she wasn't sure she could aid him and was a quickly Darkening plan.

“It's nothing Dark, Hermione,” he reassured. “I just need a Seer, a good one. I need them to tell me where Draco is.”

Hermione's nostrils flared. “Harry, I hardly think that false trust and lies are going to get you anywhere, and besides letting someone in on this situation outside of those who all ready know is highly irresponsible. What if-”

“I should have known better,” Harry grumbled, and raised himself out of the chair, a bit shakily. “I should have known better than to think you'd help.” He stumbled a bit on the first few steps toward the portrait hole, almost falling into a table.

“Harry!” Hermione rushed to help her friend.

“I'm fine!” Harry barked, straightening himself and throwing her arm off him. “If you won't help me with something I really need, then I don't need your help at all! What happened to being my friend?”

“Harry!” Hermione called, following him to the portrait hole. “Harry, of course I'm your friend, how could you say such a thing! Just because I won't-“

“Just leave me alone, Hermione, I'll find one myself!” Harry threw open the portrait hole to find Ron just about to enter.

“Harry?” Ron looked just as surprised as Hermione had. “Did you come up here by yourself?”

“Yes, I did,” Harry ground out. “I'm pregnant, not crippled.”

Ron caught sight of Hermione's tear filled face then, and asked “Why is she crying?” His tone was hard and accusing, clearly stating that the real question was `What did you do to make her cry?'

“Because she's a liar.” With that he pushed past Ron and threw is Invisibility Cloak back on. He ignored Ron's indignant squawks and Hermione's cries for him to come back.

He had just made it out of ear shot from them when he was forced to sit down on the stairs, unable to move even in the staircase did.

In truth, Ron and Hermione were right to be concerned about his coming up there by himself, but it wasn't because of the pregnancy, though that didn't help.

Everyday Harry got a little weaker, his breathing a little heavier, he slept a little longer, and moved a little slower. His reflexes lost a little edge, his mind processed and responded a little slower and worst of all, he lost a little hope.

Everyone knew it was from being away from Draco for so long, but no one said anything about it, in fact no one mentioned Draco at all. As far as the rest of the school was concerned Draco had contracted a rather rare and highly contagious illness and was at home recovering.

It was as if Draco Malfoy had never existed, only an extra chair in each class, an extra set of Quidditch robes, and gap at the Slytherin table.

Harry pulled himself up off the stair, and wiped the sweat that had started to bead on his brow. He couldn't dwell on this now, not now. No, right now he had some research to do.

+++

“Mr. Malfoy?” Some called though the door with a slight accent, making it sound more like “Meester Marfoi.”

Draco sighed. It took him a moment to realise it wasn't Fai, an underling of Roy's that normally took care of Draco's needs, but his twin brother Dai. Draco rarely saw anyone else, besides Dai, Fai, and the maids, and only the latter when he ventured out into the castle, which was quite rare.

“Mr. Malfoy?” Dai called once more, this time rapping on the door softly.

“Yes?” Draco called faintly, literally dragging himself from the bed and making his way towards the door. He was only half there when Dai opened the door, and gasped in shock.

“Mr. Malfoy!” Dai cried, rushing to aid the weakened man. “You shouldn't be walking your own!”

“I'm fine,” Draco replied feebly, trying to wave the un-aging boy off. It hadn't taken Draco long to realise that everyone in the castle was a vampire, except for the head maid, a old woman that kept Lord Keita in line.

“You are lie,” Dai returned, and Draco neglected to correct his grammar. The boy was at least two heads shorter than Draco, but had the strength of someone 20x his size. He picked Draco up as if he were nothing more than a goose down pillow and set him on the bed. “It's getting worse,” Dai said to him.

“Oh?” Draco asked. “I hadn't noticed, I normally can't walk three feet without getting out of breath.”

Dai didn't even acknowledge the sarcastic remark and continued his task of setting Draco back into bed. “Lord Keita has called a doctor to come and see you. I hope you are going to be cooperative.”

“Sorry, Dai, but as I've told you; I'm the U.S., I don't negotiate with terrorists.”

“We are not terrorists.” Draco and Dai turned to find Roy striding into the room. “Terrorists do not keep their captives in suites and call them doctors.”

“Then what are you?” Draco asked with narrowed eyes.

“We prefer philanthropists.” To this Draco openly snorted. Roy sent a chilling glance over him and continued speaking. “The doctor is here, and I and Lord Keita expect you to be on your best behaviour.”

“Whatever,” Draco mumbled. “Is he a blood sucker as well?”

“Oh, only occasionally.” A musical voice (with an American accent) floated into the room only to be followed by a man with golden hair and eyes, and Lord Keita. “But never on humans.” He grinned, flashing his fangs just enough to be slightly intimidating.

“I don't like people who do things half ass,” Draco told him with a glare.

“You've got yourself a feisty one, Keita! He reminds of my own boy, the youngest one, Ed, don't you think? Only, I have to say, this one is much better looking.” The doctor peered at Draco in a different light that made Draco stiffen.

“You've got no chance, old timer,” Draco answered. “Aren't you here for a reason?”

“Now, Draco,” Lord Keita's accented English drifted from his mouth. “Don't be rude to Dr. C.”

“It's quite alright, I understand you've been away from your newly Bonded for about two months now?” Dr. C sat on the bed and began doing doctor-y things like check his pulse and temperature.

“I've been forcefully ripped away from my newly Bonded for two months and three days,” Draco amended. Dr. C only nodded and continued running diagnostics on him.

“Keita, may I speak to you in the hall?” Dr. C asked, standing up and moving into the hall so quickly Draco barely saw him.

“What is problem?” Keita asked quietly in the hall.

“That boys Bonded is pregnant, the strain of being away from each other is too much right now. I suspect the other is doing better, as they are carrying the child and have part of Draco with them,” Dr. C told Lord Keita, then frowned slightly. “He hasn't got much time, Keita, I only know bit of what you're planning but I'm telling you now, hurry it up or that boy, his Bonded and possibly their child are going to die.”

“Would you rather it be you?” Lord Keita asked, eyebrow raised in a manner that stated he already knew the answer.

“One life does not equal another,” Dr. C said softly. “And our life is not so easily extinguished. Take care, Keita, I pray you know what to do.” With that Dr. C left.

Lord Keita entered the room and spoke so quickly to Roy that Draco could not make out a single thing, and before he knew it Lord Keita was gone.

“I don't want you getting out of bed anymore,” Roy told him sternly. “The only reason should be for using the facilities, do you understand?”

“No, I don't, and I will get out of this' bed whenever I so should please, thank you very much.”

Suddenly Roy's face was very close to Draco's and there was a hissing noise. Draco was so enraptured by Roys face that he didn't even realise Roy was speaking to him. Draco's eyes traced every line of Roy's face, twice, before he was able to look back coldly into the man's eyes.

“Did you hear me?” Roy hissed once more. “You will do as I say!”

“I thought you weren't terrorists?” Draco asked coolly.

“I can damn sure become one if you want one so bad.” Roy straightened, said something about not leaving the room and left himself.

As soon as the door was shut Draco let out a huge breath, his shoulders falling along with his head. “That man,” he whispered to himself. “He looks like...just like...” and the as the pieces began to fall into place, Draco knew he may have a sliver of a chance to get out of there. He smiled silently to himself.

And that's when he noticed Dai, standing there and staring at him wide eyed.

+++

“I don't think he knows,” Dai said, his hands running over a large sheet of parchment set before him. “And I think we should keep it that way, at least until a prime opportunity presents itself.”

“Of course, but the only thing is, what if he does know and just doesn't care? What if he's doing it for revenge?” Draco said, trying to look over Dai's shoulder at the paper. “In which case if it's vengeance he seeks, he'll stop at nothing.”

“Ryo isn't like that,” Dai explained. “I've never got that read from him, but they all know how to block their thoughts around me pretty well anyway, and even so; if he seeks vengeance he wouldn't be so brutal. He's no Madame Defarge.”

“Well that's reassuring,” Draco harrumphed and threw himself back on his pillows. “This sucks,” he said to no one in particular.

“As does life,” Dai returned anyway. “Here, look, I've found it.” Draco crawled to the edge of the bed and peered at the paper.

“Bring it closer, will you? I can't see it from here!” Dai rolled his eyes and pushed the paper under Draco's nose.

“See here?” Dai pointed to a spot on the paper. “That's where it used to be. They said years ago that it's all just flooded but I don't think that's true, it was used quite before a war, people would pass from house to house using it, and this house was built specifically for that reason. It connects about 1,090 km.”

“Really?” Draco looked a little surprised. “And these people walked there?”

“So they say.”

“Wow, I guess its true then,” Draco said to himself, staring at the map before him.

“What is?” Dai asked.

“`We prefer self-government with danger to servitude in tranquillity.' ” It was something Draco had heard once, after his father made him study Muggle culture see he was able to see exactly why they were superior to them. If he were being honest, after reading that quote by a Muggle African leader it only served to make him see that the Muggles were the superior ones.

“Well, these people weren't exactly in tranquillity,” Dai pointed out.

“I know, but you know what I'm saying.”

“Of course. Anyway, I believe if we can get you up to reasonable strength we'll have to make it all the way up. The walls of the tunnel are heavily warded so once we get to the end we can Apparate.”

“Or,” Draco said. “We could go up.”

“Up?” Dai inquired.

Draco pointed to the sky. “Dig up.”

“There's no way, the walls are made of the hardest steel. This place wasn't built by Muggles. No, we go straight, on broom perhaps, if you can fly.”

“I can fly!” Draco said indignantly, crossing his arms.

“You may be too weak, I'll probably have to carry you and run the whole way. Yes, that's it. We will run,” Dai seemed lost in map.

“Oh, how special,” Draco snorted and then sobered. “Why are you helping me?”

Die turned to him and answered earnestly. “I don't believe in what Lord Keita is doing anymore. Saving our own kind at the expense of others. Really, it's true, he does want to wipe us out, but he has no notion of how. Lord Keita has seen what he's done to the others, and he doesn't want us to be next; there are people who know how to exterminate us. If he should ever find out then it wouldn't be good, and Lord Keita wants to be prepared for that.”

“But, why help me?”

Dai smiled. “You're more instrumental in this war than you know.”

“Oh.” He paused then looked Die straight in the eye. “Thank you, thank you for doing this.”

“It's no problem; this is the most fun I've had in 200 years! Now, get ready, we're off to Canada!”

+++

“Come in boy, come in, you're just in time,” an old raspy voice wheezed out from behind a curtain. “If you don't hurry, you won't make it in time,” the voice called again.

Harry warily set the curtain aside and steeped into the dimly light, and slightly dingy tent. Inside sat a large woman with a scarf over her head and heavy black eyeliner. She had bracelets on her arms that jangled and jingled even when she didn't move. Harry couldn't help but think she was the perfect stereotype of a Muggle psychic.

“Go on back,” the woman told him and Harry looked surprised. The woman laughed and said, “I'm not the Seer, I just ward off the unnecessary costumers. She's waiting for you, go on back.” Harry looked at where the woman was pointing and saw a little tent flap. He moved forward slowly and pulled back the flap with apprehension.

“Hello, Harry,” a soft feminine voice with a slight Italian accent greeted, “Please come in, do not be afraid.”

Harry stepped fully into the room and found himself bathed in a golden light. The entire place had been enchanted to glow it seemed and everything around him was bright and fresh. And there in the middle of the room was an Indian girl, sitting on a pillow her eyes shining with knowing amusement at Harry's astonishment.

“Nothing like what you thought it would be.” It wasn't a question, for she knew it was the correct answer. “Please, have a seat, I am-”

“Madame Taliba,” Harry finished moving to sit on the floor with her.

“Just Taliba, please.” She smiled. “Oh no, not like that!” She cried. “Here.” She waved her hands and the pillow rose of the floor to meet Harry's bottom and then brought him down to the floor. “You're pregnant; you shouldn't be doing such things.”

“Right,” Harry said looking down awkwardly at his stomach. Somehow it didn't really seem like he was pregnant without Draco to share it, like he was committing some heinous crime. But he was glad for it, throughout this whole ordeal he was able to look down at his stomach and know a part of Draco was with him, and even though his child wasn't born yet he loved it more than anything.

“He doesn't know of it, but his captors do.”

“What?” Harry snapped his head up.

“Draco, he doesn't know you're pregnant. But his captors do. I hate to be the bearer of bad news, Harry, but the outlook isn't good.” Her face turned serious, but her eyes still held a twinkle to them, that reminded Harry somewhat of Dumbledore. “Draco is not doing as well as you are, because you are carrying a physical part of Draco with you. Draco...he doesn't have much time left.”

“Where is he? How can I get to him? Just long does he have? Who took him?” Harry bombarded the girl with questions leaning forward ever so slightly, eyes holding a frenzied panic.

“Please, you must stay calm, it's better for you and your child.” Harry sat back, but didn't calm any. “He is far away from here, in the land of the freedom by force, in the heartland of oppression, and the cities are paved with gold. You can get to him the same why you got here, but you must hurry, the future is constantly changing.”

Taliba lifted her hand and Harry's pillow rose once more, almost throwing him off in the process.

“Wait! I don't understand! Where is the `land of the freedom by force?' Please don't do this to me!” Harry felt himself drifting away from Taliba, that small smile back on her face and he helplessly reached out to her.

“Do not be a monk for three days, Harry.” She grinned impishly then. “That's a Japanese proverb.”

“What? Wait, please!”

“Remember, the butterfly's wings can start the hurricane.”

Suddenly everything went white and Harry felt a pull behind his eyes.

Harry sat up quickly and found himself in his bed, covered in sweat and his breathing heavy.

Had it all been a dream? Had he not gone down to Hogsmeade and got a portkey from some shady guy in a back alley to Italy? Had he never even left his bed? No, it couldn't be, Harry could still clearly smell the incense from the tent and hear the fat woman's laugh. It couldn't have been a dream. And even if it was...

It was all he had.

+++

“HERMIONE! HERMIONE!” Harry's cry rang through the Gryffindor common room like a siren, and he saw a slumbering fourth year jump on the couch. “HERMIONE!”

“Harry!” Hermione yelled in the whisper voice. “What are you doing!? It's half past one!” She continued in her whisper yell voice. She hurried down the stairs to where he was standing and cast a silencing spell. “What are you doing here?”

“Please, Hermione, please, I need your help.”

“Please, Harry, don't tell me this is about a Seer again,” she sighed.

“No, no. Please, Hermione, where is the `land of freedom by force' and `the heartland of oppression?'”

“What? Harry, what are you talking about?” Hermione stared at him with mild confusion.

“I don't know! I don't know! That damned Seer, she's legit, I know she is Hermione, she knew I was coming, she knew that Draco was gone, she told me he's in the `land of freedom by force' and in `the heartland of oppression!' That he's far away from here! Hermione, I beg of you, please help me, he doesn't have much time!” By this point Harry was clutching her robe, and shaking her with all the ferocity a man of his desperation would have.

“Harry, please, you scaring me,” Hermione said a bit shrilly. He immediately let go but seemed to inwardly crumple. “Now, tell me exactly what she said.”

“That he was in the land of freedom by force, in the heartland of oppression.”

“Well, that's not very helpful, that could be anywhere!” Hermione looked properly angered and her resentment of divination deepened.

“Wait, she said it was very far from here.”

“So? India, China, Cuba, North Korea, Brazil, Harry that could mean anywhere!”

“And...And the cities are paved with gold!”

“What? El Dorado?”

“Hermione! El Dorado doesn't exist!” Harry shouted, losing his patience. How could she joke at a time like this!?

“Wait...wait...cities paved with gold...land of freedom by force...heartland of....Oh my God!”

“What? What is it?”

“He's got to be in America!”

“What? But America's huge! Where in America!?” Harry was beginning to feel defeated and that this was all just some ruse. But Hermione was just getting started up.

“The heartland of oppression! The south! America used to have a lot of slaves from Africa in the south before it was outlawed, and even then and still today a lot of discrimination was held towards the blacks. Now we just have to find out where.” Hermione conjured a map of the southern U.S. and set it on a nearby table and sat down, Harry following behind her.

“Here is the heartland she was probably referring to these states, Alabama, Georgia, and South Carolina, the three major players in the Civil War.”

“But Hermione, those states are huge! How are we supposed to find him!?”

“I've been researching it,” she conjured a stack of notes. “You should be able to feel him per se if you're closer to him. It's perfectly natural given the circumstances that you aren't able to feel where he is, his being so far away and no doubt heavily warded. The place he is in is probably under Fidelius.”

“Hermione, all this is just saying it's going to be harder to near impossible to find him!” Harry threw his head down on the table in defeat.

“Harry! What is this? Are you giving up on me? I think not, you know the Japanese have a saying `Don't be a monk for three days.'”

Harry lifted his head so fast it cracked. “What did you just say?”

“What? `Don't be a monk for three days?'” She looked at him like he'd grown a new head.

“She said that same thing to me! Madame Taliba! Just before I left she said `Don't be a monk for three days' and told me it was a Japanese proverb.”

“Did she,” Hermione's eyes narrowed with knowing, and suddenly she felt that itching of a theory in the back of her head. She didn't know why or what for, but she knew it could be a very, very real possibility. “I'll be right back Harry, I'm going to change.”

“Hermione,” Harry began. “I...I appreciate your help, I really do but-“

“Harry James Potter, I am going with you and that is that! So you just stay there and be quiet.”

“Hermione!” But she was already up the stairs and then back a few moments later with a little purse and something wrapped in brown paper. “What's that?”

“Don't worry about it.” She headed for the portrait hole and stopped when Harry laid his hand on her shoulder.

“Thank you for doing this, really,” he told her.

She smiled and kissed him on the cheek, “What are friends for?”

“And I'm sorry...about earlier, I just...I'm desperate.”

“I know, now come on, we have to get moving!”

They made their way silently under Harry's Invisibility cloak down five flights of stairs until Hermione turned left unexpectedly.

“What are you doing?” Harry whispered. “Why are we going to the professors rooms?”

“I just need to check something,” Hermione whispered back, unravelling the brown package. Harry felt cool metal hit his arms and strained to see what it was Hermione was holding.

They stopped in front of a door and Hermione knocked three times. Harry's eyes went wide when the door was opened by Sir Yamiko. Suddenly Hermione threw off the cloak and pointed the sword at Sir Yamiko's neck.

“Hello Professor,” she said pleasantly. “I assume you know what kind of sword this is?”

“I do,” Sir Yamiko answered, unmoving, least Hermione stab him. “May I ask what it is you need so badly as to threaten my life?” Even in this situation his smirk was ever present.

“Take us to Draco.”

A/N: I just would like to inform you all that at the moment I'm battling a very bad case of depression. At the moment I am so depressed that I don't feel like doing anything and I just sleep all the time. Which is why I'm telling you about it, so please bear with me while I try and work through this difficult time. By the way, just so you guys know I AM AMERICAN. `Freedom by force' was referring to the wars and the killings of the Native Americans `Heartland of oppression' was referring to the south because of the black and Native Americans.

*If you're wondering how to pronounce any of the vampire's names here's a pronunciation guide.

Yamiko- Yah-me-ko

Keita-Kay-tuh

Dai-Die