Disclaimer: Bibbity Bobbity Boo, I don’t own Harry Potter, and neither do you!

A/N: So basically, I’m going to stop promising updates since it means absolutely nothing when it comes to shaming me to update sooner. I have part of chapter eighteen written, and that’s all I’ll say. I really only enjoyed one part of this chapter, and I’m sure you can guess which part. However, all the exposition and less fun interactions are important, and setting things up, etc. I promise more Riddle/Hermione action soon.

Chapter Seventeen: Unraveled

Tuesday, November 10, 1996

“We need more brooms,” Katie said, casting a critical eye around the Quidditch pitch.

Oliver Wood, who had just spent the last fifteen minutes dragging all the school brooms out for inspection with her, grimaced.

“How many students d’you think own their own?”

“Maybe we should be asking how many of the students who died owned their own,” Katie replied quietly. She expected Oliver to look shocked or horrified, most likely both, at her implied suggestion, but he instead looked thoughtful.

“But would their families give them away? Or would they want to keep them to remember them by?”

“That’s another thing Oliver, what about the families? Not just the wizard families, but the Muggle families hiding here as well?”

“Professor Lupin’s plan is flawed, I agree.”

“Where are they even going to go on broomsticks?” Katie persisted.

“Presumably safe spots will be set up,” Oliver offered weakly, a crease appearing between his brows.

“Safe like Hogwarts and Hogsmeade are supposed to be safe?” Katie demanded.

“Katie, why are you interrogating me?” Oliver exploded. “I didn’t make the plan, I’m just trying to help by following orders. I shouldn’t even have asked you to help me,” Oliver said, clenching his jaw while looking in the distance, “you should be in class.”

There was silence for a moment while Katie fiddled with the twigs on the end of a Silver Arrow.

“Sorry Oliver,” she finally said softly. “I didn’t mean to snap at you. I just…saw all the girls I went to class with die, the girls I went to meals with, slept with, talked to…I don’t have much faith in The Order’s plans at the moment.”

Oliver nodded, and fiddled with the seat of another broom. They were fiddlers, Katie thought wryly, unable to communicate properly without fondling brooms.

“We should be able to cast charms to make these seat at least three,” Oliver said abruptly. “And I have at least five brooms from Puddlemere United that I can donate. Are you still sleeping in the Sixth year boys’ dorm without Hermione there? We can talk to Lupin about where the brooms can fly to and Hagrid has thestrals for the Muggles, so all of our concerns can be answered. Not to mention I’m certain there will be portkeys,” He paused for breath after spewing that rapid fire analysis of their situation, and pulled out his wand, thoughtfully tapping it against the broom seat.

“I’m sorry, what?” Katie blurted.

Oliver looked up. “Oh, I suggested trust in Professor Lupin, and-“

“No no no,” Katie hastily interrupted, “what is this about me sleeping in the boys’ dorm?”

“Ah,” Oliver said, looking sideways at nothing. “I was just…curious.” He fidgeted slightly. “Concerned, if you will.”

“Concerned about what?” Katie asked, exasperated. What the hell was he trying to say?

“I mean, four sixth years wouldn’t be very helpful if you were attacked, even if one of them is Harry Potter.”

Katie was shocked into silence by this ludicrous viewpoint. It was, after all, Harry Potter. He had bested Lord Voldemort how many times?! As she continued to stare and not speak, Oliver squirmed more than plowed on.

“I mean, you’d be much safer, for instance, nearer a professor.”

“Like Snape?!” Katie demanded, horrified. “He’d probably kill me himself!”

“No I meant…” Oliver looked supremely uncomfortable, and muttered “Bollocks” under his breath before plowing onwards. “Like me, you moron!” Oliver half yelled, while his eyes snapped back to her.

Katie turned red. Oliver turned red. Both cursed the sun for exposing their redness.

“Professor Wood,” Katie delicately emphasized, “I’m quite sure that would get you fired.”

“I’m quite sure Lupin has more important things to worry about,” Oliver said, his eyebrows raised. “And I think you are taking this the wrong way, Katie, I’d be perfectly well behaved.”

Katie looked horrified. “You better not be!” she fairly yelled.

“Dueling,” said Professor Snape in his commanding pseudo whisper, “is the exact art of precisely defending yourself against an armed and dangerous opponent.”

He stalked back and forth, his robes billowing dramatically, as the entirety of the Hogwarts students left listened to him raptly.

“It is not merely silly wand-waving and the intoning of a few spells,” he said ominously, staring at some first years so darkly they almost cried. “I can teach you to hex your way to fame, jinx to glory, and even counter-curse death,” he said impressively.

More than a few students had eyes threatening to bug clear out of their heads. Snape stepped forward to deliver his masterful punch line, eyeing the crowd with disdain.

“That is,” he sneered, “if you aren’t as big of a group of dunderheads that I normally have to tea—“

“Speak up a bit there, Snape!” a belligerent voice cut in. “It doesn’t have quite the same effect when the ones in the back can’t hear you. Also, you really need to get some new material mate, don’t just play Mad Libs with your potions speech.”

Snape turned, prodigious nostrils flared and eyes flashing death. “Mr. Potter,” he hissed, for it was indeed The Boy Wonder, reclining on the back two legs of a wooden chair, hands behind his head, who had interrupted. “I do not recall asking for your juvenile and thoroughly arrogant and incorrect opinion.”

Snape stalked across the table erected for the two of them to teach their dueling lessons from, where Harry was dangerously close to falling off of the edge.

“How like your father you are, Potter,” Snape said softly and cuttingly, “so cocky with your admirers, showing no respect to your betters, always—“

“Blah blah blah, second verse, same as the first, Professor Bat Complex,” Harry bratted while rolling his eyes. “You left out the part about me being a celebrity though, that’s my favorite insult. You’re really slipping. Too many ‘Crucios’ cast by the Dark Lord Overcompensator getting to you?”

Snape furiously whipped out his wand, which was not at all a prime example of two insecure males battling with phallic symbols.

“You. Me. Duel. Now,” he hissed.

Harry hissed back.

“That means ‘you have a face like a donkey’ in Parseltongue,” he confided with a smile.

Snape roared, waving his wand wildly and not even giving Harry a chance to stand. Harry lazily cast ‘Protego’ and sent Snape flying onto his ass.
“And that, kids,” Harry said loudly, “is how you catch your weak-minded opponents off guard by using emotional manipulation to enrage them!”

He received wild applause, until Snape sprang up and continued their duel from Harry’s spot in his lurching chair.

“Potter’s gotten a bit out of control, hasn’t he?” Millicent Bulstrode said mildly to Blaise from their position on the peripheral of the crowd.

“Gotten? A bit?” Blaise said icily. He was still angry in regards to his earlier conversation about Hermione with Potter.

“Oh, don’t be such a whiner,” Crabbe said through a mouthful of chocolate mousse, “you’re starting to sound like Professor Snape.”

“Since when do you talk?” Blaise demanded angrily, and somewhat incredulously.

“Now you sound like Potter,” Millicent said, and Crabbe nodded.

Blaise seethed in outrage. Did no one understand his pain?

“Ohhhh Blaise!” A fifth year Ravenclaw trilled, coming over to them, her skirt noticeably shorter than it should have been, “I just wanted to say I’m so sorry about Grang-“

“Will you bugger off!” Blaise roared, causing the people around them to jump, and unknowingly echoing another, older, conversation to do with Hermione.

“Charming Blaise, really charming,” Byron Smith drawled from next to him.

“Go Harry!” a loud contingent of Gryffindors cheered, amidst the sweating and grunting and other things that could be easily misinterpreted from this description coming from Snape and Harry.

“Should we cheer for Professor Snape?” Millicent asked idly of all the Slytherins around her.

“I suppose,” Edith Lodgeman shrugged.

A few of them let out a half-hearted cheer when Snape caused tentacles to sprout from Potter’s face.

“Red card, red card!” Dean Thomas yelled incoherently. Seamus Finnigan rolled his eyes next to Dean.

“Seriously Blaise,” Millicent said, “you need to deal with this Granger sulk of yours.” Ernie MacMillan, who was a full head shorter than Millicent, nodded from his spot next to her—the only non Slytherin around due to his Slytherin by dating association status. “You’re becoming as unbearable as Potter.”

“I would say as unbearable as Malfoy,” Ernie interjected loyally.

Before Blaise could furiously defend his thoroughly un Malfoy/Potter like behavior, thankyouverymuch, he was interrupted by Snape shrieking “Sod it!” while throwing his wand aside, and charging toward a startled Potter, shoving his already unstable and tilted chair backward and knocking Harry ass over teakettle off the table.

In the brief silence, a loud ‘BAM’ could be heard when Harry fell the three feet to the floor and hit the ground, followed by a primal scream of victory from Snape. After a few moments recollecting himself, Snape swung around to face the open mouthed crowd, smacking himself in the eye with his own oily hair.

“And that,” said Snape, returning to his former silky but deadly tones, “is how you catch your opponent off guard because he is a complete dunderhead.”

He took another moment to relish his victory, before Harry’s wildly out of place hair attached to his head popped into view, and, baring his teeth, bit Snape’s calf venomously.

Listening to Snape’s howls of pain and fury, the crowd of students was far more disturbed not by the fact that their boy hero had gone feral, but rather that someone was willingly touching Snape with their mouth.

Tuesday, September 15, 1943

Hermione would be taking more studious notes if Binns, live version, had not been giving the exact same lecture he had just given fifty years in the future. She was taking decent notes to keep up appearances, however, it was not as if any of her fellow Gryffindors would notice. Brigette was struggling to understand through her limited English, and Marion was sitting in the front row, middle seat, back straight and lips in a prim line as she took copious notes. Something about Marion’s face when she made that expression struck Hermione as familiar, but she just couldn’t—

“Oi, Granger!” Wyatt Corsington hissed none too quietly from her left diagonal.

Luckily, Binns was impervious to noise as usual. Three quarters of the class slept on, undisturbed. Whoever’s bright idea it had been to have History of Magic first thing in the morning…Hermione looked back at Wyatt and cocked an eyebrow.

“Did you hear about Estelle Black?”

“Can’t say I care to,” Hermione sniffed.

“She disappeared. Estelle and Audrey Malfoy.”

Hermione gaped in shock a moment, before the bell signaling the end of class snapped her out of it. As the rest of the students gathered up their belongings and left, Hermione made her way over to Wyatt.

“What do you mean, disappeared?” Hermione asked incredulously.

“Well…” Wyatt started, than paused. “Do you have a minute?”

“We’ve quite a few, before Potions,” Hermione reminded him impatiently.

“Right, right, but I didn’t know if you were going to meet Riddle or something.”

They made their way into the hallway, where a group of Wyatt’s friends were waiting, and Marion Hinsley was dawdling. Odd, Hermione thought briefly before shoving it away as unimportant.

“Oi, Wyatt!” Henry Johns called. “You coming?”

Way flapped a hand at them impatiently. “Go on now, I need to talk to Hermione.”

The Gryffindor boys shrugged before moving on, Marion moving as well, although suspiciously reluctantly, Hermione observed.

“Well,” Wyatt began, as soon as the other group rounded the corner out of sight, “Last night they were out of their beds late, wandering the corridor, and they run into Marion and Igneus Malfoy patrolling. Audrey isn’t patrolling that night, and Estelle isn’t even a prefect, so of course Marion and Igneus have to give them detention.” Wyatt paused until the silent Grey Lady floated past them and out of earshot. “So Marion and Igneus go on their merry way, and no one sees Estelle or Audrey since. No sign of them anywhere.”

So that’s why Marion had been hovering, Hermione thought. She wanted to heart what Wyatt was going to say.

“Do you think Rid…who do you think it was?” Hermione asked, her voice lowered.

“Well everyone’s saying it must be Grindewald, but that’s impossible,” Wyatt scoffed. “No one can penetrate Hogwart’s defenses.”

No one except The Artist Formerly Known as Riddle, aka Voldemort, Hermione thought sourly. He can penetrate Hogwart’s defenses just fine. There was a mystery, though—why would Riddle do something to two Slytherin’s who were probably his followers? But were they his followers, Hermione? That blasted inner judgmental voice piped up. Or did you just assume they were, because of their names? Does that make you any better than them? Are you founding the Gryffindor Snob Squad? What about your dear friend Igneus, isn’t he a Malfoy? Isn’t Blaise a Slytherin? This triggered a thought which shut up the hateful internal voice temporarily.

“Oh no,” Hermione exclaimed aloud to Wyatt, “poor Igneus!”

“What is Wyatt doing chatting up Granger, doesn’t he know she’s with Riddle?” Henry Jones asked Leonard Richmond.

Marion Hinsley rolled her eyes from her position a few feet up in the corridor. Wasn’t it patently obvious that Riddle and Granger couldn’t stand each other? It was, quite frankly, Granger’s best personality trait. Granger was so clearly suspicious of Riddle, so clearly harboring a strong dislike of him, and Riddle so clearly had no more interest for Granger than a bug in a Petri dish he was studying.

“She’s a bit ugly for Wyatt, isn’t she?” Leonard asked disparagingly.

Marion was torn between silent indignation at the superficiality and an obnoxious urge to nod and agree.

“She may not be the prettiest, but I’d taker her any day over some of those other girls,” Henry disagreed. “At least she doesn’t take anything from other people when she shouldn’t.”
“Quite brainy too,” Leonard said admiringly.

Again Marion was simultaneously infuriated and vindicated. Was she also not the prettiest, but brainy and unwilling to take anything from other people? Where was her flock of delusional admirers? Where, most importantly, was Granger last night when two of her biggest thorns in her side had gone missing? According to Evelyn, she certainly wasn’t in bed. And in Marion’s opinion, whatever had happened to those girls had been perpetuated by a wizard. Or, more likely, a witch.

Two Hours Earlier

“Thank you for awakening so early for this very important meeting,” Professor Merrythought, the last teacher of Defense Against the Dark Arts before a certain curse was placed, said.

“I know you are wondering what is so essential to get you out of bed before the sun,” Professor Dumbledore said, with only a hint of the customary eye twinkle, “but I think we should wait until everyone arrives before we begin. I see Mr. Malfoy has yet to join us.”

Tom Riddle looked around at the prefects around him, at Head Girl June Whitmore of Hufflepuff, and seeing something amiss, raised his hand.

“Yes, Mr. Riddle?” Professor Dumbledore inquired politely.

No twinkle anymore. Couldn’t get that past me, you bullying, wardrobe combusting ogre, Tom thought nastily. His face, of course, remained pleasantly inquisitive.

“I was just wishing to point out that Miss Malfoy is also not here,” he said helpfully.

Inexplicably, the Professors flinched.

“Yes, well…” Dumbledore trailed off uncomfortably.

Marion Hinsley began to feel a little ill. Igneus wasn’t here. Audrey wasn’t here. Audrey and Igneus had argued last night. The Professors looked upset. Granger had been out of bed last night. The Prefects had been summoned out of bed with no explanation at the crack of dawn. Things were adding up, in an unpleasant manner. Suddenly Igneus rushed in, disheveled.

“So sorry, Professors!” he cried dramatically, as was his wont. “I’m afraid the hordes of females clamoring for a scrap of my attention detained me. But not to worry, after many tears, and hugs, and promises of epic love poems and flowers, I was able to escape their grasping clutches and-“

“Mr. Malfoy, please sit down and be quiet!” Professor Merrythought said a little shrilly.

A little hysterically, Riddle thought, his eyes narrowing.

Everyone else looked varying degrees of shocked, none more so than Igneus, who had been in the middle of flinging his arms out dramatically to emphasize his point. Abashed, he sat next to Riddle, who had Belinda on his other side. The silence was pin drop worthy. The Professors loved Igneus. It was a tossup who they loved more, the likable Igneus or the perfect Tom.

“I’m…sorry for being abrupt, Igneus dear,” Professor Merrythought said, her voice faltering, but offering no further explanation.

“Who was on patrol last night?” Professor Dumbledore broke in.

A show of hands ensued. Professor Dumbledore checked off Igneus’s name, Marion’s, Dorcas Meadowes—he did a double take and paused.

“Miss Meadowes? It says here that you switched nights with Miss Harper.”

“I did, but Quidditch practice was out early, so she didn’t end up having to switch with me and patrol after all,” Dorcas explained as Belinda nodded. “Is that okay?”

“Oh of course, we just need to know who was in the corridors last night, if anyone saw—“ Dumbledore checked himself.

“Where’s Audrey?” Igneus questioned suddenly.

“I asked that myself Igneus,” Tom murmured with a sanctimonious nod that made Marion want to slap him.

“Is she late?” Igneus continued. “This and last night…I might have to owl mother and father.”

“What about Audrey last night, Igneus?” Professor Dumbledore asked eagerly, ignoring Riddle yet again.

Igneus looked flabbergasted at Dumbledore’s excitement, so Marion jumped in.

“We had to give her detention last night, Professor,” she informed him. “Audrey and Estelle Black both. They were in the corridors after hours.”

Professors Dumbledore and Merrythought exchanged glances.

“What time was that exactly, Miss Hinsley?” Professor Merrythought demanded.

“And which corridor?” Dumbledore added.

“Around one o’clock, corridor six, I believe,” Marion said, glad to be of help, but also having her worst thoughts confirmed more and more.

“Did anyone else see either Miss Malfoy or Miss Black after that time?” Dumbledore demanded. Everyone shook their heads.

“Are you sure?” Professor Merrythought pressed. “This is of the utmost importance.”

Still no one spoke.

“No one will get in any trouble,” Dumbledore stressed, “if they—“

“Look here, Professor, what is this all about?” Igneus broke in, starting to sound worried. “Did something happen to my sister?”

Tom Riddle studied Dumbledore, his eyes narrowing still further. Belinda remained silent.

“We have no…evidence,” Professor Merrythought hedged,” of any sort of foul play-“

“Foul play!” Igneus exploded. “Something happened to my sister! Something happened and you aren’t telling me! I demand that you tell me immediately,” he commanded, and if Hermione had been there she would have recognized Draco Malfoy in Igneus at last. Not that a bit of Malfoy entitlement was amiss here, however.

“I’m afraid,” Dumbledore began gently, “I’m afraid, Mr. Malfoy, that Miss Black and your sister Audrey have disappeared.”

End A/N: Please to be reviewing, K thnx. As always, feel free to check my lj for updates, although I have locked most of it, I keep fic updates unlocked.