A/N: I am loving writing these updates. The story has got to such a fun part and I'm super excited to write the next chapters. I hope you like it. Let me know what you think C:

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~oOo*oOo~

Draco stood at the bow of the ship, resting his elbows on the railing and leaning forward as he looked to the sky.

If only there was a message he could get to her, if only he could let her know he hadn't left of his own volition. Surely she would see that, she had to understand the complications of his royal duty. He didn't want to be there. The mission gave him a sick sense of dread; he realized intuitively that the chances of success were quite slim.

He wasn't the only one out on the deck that evening.

No, the decks seemed to be rather popular.

He was not used to so many accompanying him—anymore it was just him with one other person.

But now, solitude was difficult to come by.

"It's a suicide mission, isn't it?" Zabini queried, catching Rowle in the intensity of his gaze. "No sense denying it, we deserve to know."

"It presents with impossibility—yes," Rowle eventually conceded, unable to be bothered from retrieving his arm around Greengrass' back. "It's hard to say as I only just crested the third chamber, but I wager the odds are heavily stacked against us."

"Why is that?" Theo asked.

Rowle sat sulkily in the corner, unbelievably lucky to have his intended sitting near him all the while. "The one chamber sears you with boils, the other drowns you, I'm not sure what the third does, or how many there are after that."

"How did you avoid succumbing to the curses?" Daphne wanted to know.

"The first one, we were unprepared," Thorfinn said. "We didn't know what the etchings above the doors meant, and we merely tread cautiously. I would have been burned if it hadn't been for the amulet, but only contracted mild blistering. Some of my men cast a shield, but it would be best to summon a Freezing Charm next time."

"Summon a Freezing Charm...alright, that's easy enough," Blaise said. "Go on."

"On the second one, we paid attention to the etchings. It depicted a drowning man. To access this chamber, you need to know how to cast a Bubble Charm."

"I can't cast one," Daphne told them sadly. "I've never tried, but I'm not sure I could learn how quick enough."

"I can do a passable one," Draco said. "Or at least I've done so before."

"Maybe we need to get some gillyweed, just to be on the safe side. It wouldn't hurt to stop by the market in Aruba." Theo lifted his brows expectantly, gauging their leader's reaction.

"I don't think the King would appreciate it if we stopped," Thorfinn told them uneasily.

"Bugger that." Blaise waved his hand dismissively. "Sent us on a death mission, didn't even give us time to say goodbye to our loved ones. Stopping in Aruba is a way to take back some of that power. We could stay a few days and get a chance to live before we possibly die."

Draco pressed his lips in a grim line. What was the best course of action? If only he could get a message to Hermione, if only he knew how to cast a Patronus. It was probably best they didn't stop and headed straight for the mission. He was determined to get back to her, and he would not accept failure.

"What about the third chamber?" Daphne tipped her head to look at Rowle, the consternation clear on her face.

"That one I couldn't decipher. I turned around at that point."

Blaise looked up curiously. "What did the etchings look like?"

"A tree, maybe? In the middle of the ocean. I can't be sure."

"We should stop in Aruba," Theo said definitively. "We need the gillyweed, and Blaise does have a point."

"You lot wouldn't leave if we stopped there," Thorfinn accused. "You'd likely live as exiles on the island far from the King's reach."

"Would that be so bad?" Blaise asked, slanting his eyes to meet the Viking's. The shocked looks he received caused him to put his hands up in defense. "I'm only saying what we are all thinking," he pressed. "We are getting royally shafted here, and at the very least we should stop and enjoy ourselves for a bit."

"Everyone...isn't thinking that," Thorfinn hedged carefully.

Draco, ever the Slytherin, jumped at the opportunity. "But aren't we? How are we being treated any differently than slaves? We have marching orders that lead us straight to our deaths, most likely."

Was it possible he could convince them to turn around, or at least stop. If they stopped, Draco was sure he could get back to Hermione and retrieve her safely. The time for exploring had passed, and it was imperative they made their escape before being stuck forever. Everyone was angry here, it wasn't just him, and he could use that to his advantage.

"I don't know," Thorfinn mused aloud. "We have been delegated a mission, one that's our duty. The King doesn't think we will all succumb to fatality, he thinks there is a chance we can succeed and that's why we all have amulets."

Draco wanted to toss his amulet over the edge of the ship and let it sink to the depths below. He was disgusted by the notion of binding the magic of Muggle-borns now.

Blaise sighed. "Fine, just a night or two, then. Just let us have a little fun before we become war casualties. No one need know we stayed over longer. We can make up the difference by using magic to cause the winds to blow in our favor." He looked around the group. "We deserve this, and we need time to come up with a better plan. I don't want any of us to die."

Thorfinn clenched his jaw, but Draco saw the moment in which he relented. "Fine, but only if we all make a Wizard's Vow to complete the mission. I need to trust that you all will not leave at the first sign of escape. We need to get this done or else none of us will see our families again. And," he glanced at Daphne, "we do need the gillyweed."

Draco was not exactly pleased with Thorfinn's answer. He did not wish to bind himself to such a cause. But what choice did he have? They needed a better plan, and if there would be no escaping, they did need to make the mission a success.

Maybe there was someone in Aruba he could pay to teach him how to cast a Patronus Charm.

~oOo*oOo~

"What the fuck are you doing out here, gardening?"

Harry fought to keep the snarl from his voice. "As it happens - no - I'm warding."

Sirius had the uncanny ability to completely grate on his nerves, it was unrivaled by anyone else by far.

"You're digging in the dirt," Sirius pointed out, glancing at Tracey and Minnie for support. "That's what it looks like."

With a sigh, Harry rose from the ground, dusting the soil off of his trousers. "Never mind what I'm doing." He grabbed his wand and cast a quick Scourgify. "Don't you have something to report to me?"

"I doubt he has anything to report," Tracey scorned cruelly. "Probably out gallivanting through Aruba again, causing a damned ruckus."

The wizard in question twisted his lips in a wry smirk. "Aw, Pet, are you sorry you didn't come along, is that it? Our fearless leader keeping you cooped up again?"

"Sirius, really," Minnie chided, before looking to Harry pleadingly. "The man is impossible, and this is who you send with me to meet Circe, of all people."

Harry glanced sideways at Tracey. "Do you see how I'm treated around here? Perhaps I'm a house-elf and not the leader-of-the-resistance that I thought I was."

Tracey chuckled. "You're too lax with them I've always thought."

Harry shook his head, equal parts irritated and confused. "But really, do you have a report or not?"

"We have one," Sirius said simply.

"No luck?" Tracey leaned against the ledge, absently glancing at the river below that trickled down to the beach. Steam hovered low above the river's surface.

"Oh, she was there." Minnie told them, sitting herself down delicately besides Tracey.

Harry's interest was piqued. Somehow, he hadn't been expecting that answer. "Oh?"

"Yes, and she had quite the cryptic message for you, mate. Something about crossing lines and listening to the Divinator. It all sounded very mad to me."

"Please tell me what he means before I turn my wand on him?" Harry pleaded, turning to face Minnie.

Minnie rolled her eyes. "Well, before we were almost killed by the witch's pet Lethifold-"

Tracey gasped, and Harry narrowed his eyes at the absurdity of it all.

"Circe did come out to speak with us," the brunette witch said hesitantly. "We asked her about the elixir, but she told us that wasn't what we really needed."

Harry's shoulders drooped. "So no elixir? How am I supposed to keep Riddle bound and alive without it? What does the witch think I need if not that?" He ran a hand through his unruly hair, perplexed by the news.

"Maybe you understand what she means." Minnie placed her hands on her lap. "Something about so many strands and them needing to cross? That you should heed the Divinator's words—that's what she told us."

"What the bloody hell does that mean?" Harry could feel his patience starting to thin. Could nothing go right this night.

"I was hoping you would know," Minnie told him sullenly.

"And I told this witch from the start that Circe was batshit crazy. I'm always right, if any of you would take the time to notice." Sirius crossed his arms smugly.

"Who is the Divinator I'm supposed to listen to?"

Tracey let out an indelicate snort, then pulled herself from the ledge. "Hello!" She placed a finger on her chin in mock contemplation. "Hmm, who could that possibly be?" She waved her hand dramatically in front of her. "Don't suppose there's a chance she's speaking about me, do you think?"

Harry narrowed his eyes in thought, appraising Tracey in such a way that it made her uncomfortable. "Maybe. Though what have you said that I need to listen to? Your visions are usually jumbled, and you have a hard time making sense of them."

Tracey visibly deflated.

"But maybe."

"If you ask me, it was all a colossal waste of time," Sirius said.

"I didn't ask you."

"So are you going to tell me what you were doing?"

Tracey sighed. "He's been studying Residual Magic, trying to find the places on this island where magic lingers the strongest."

Minnie frowned. "Whatever for?"

"I'm not sure exactly," Harry admitted. "I'm researching ancient forms of travel, but it seems a lot trickier to navigate."

Tracey pulled away from the ledge, and stepped under the gazebo to retrieve the tome Harry had been stressing over. "As far as we can tell, it was a group effort to cut portals into other places." She flipped open the book to a particularly worn spot and brought it to Sirius and Minnie. "An Order of witches and wizards were trained in the art of portal-making, and the knowledge was passed down."

"There isn't a lot here in the way of just how the cutting was managed." Harry clenched his jaw, staring at one spot in the air as if he had a personal vendetta against it. "But I have a hankering if I could perform that sort of magic, this would be the perfect spot."

As if on cue, the air in question seemed to glitter rapidly before vanishing back to nothing.

Harry jumped up, his former enthusiasm returning in abundance. "There!" He stepped to where the odd occurrence had happened. "Did you see that?" He shot his friends a crazed look. "That glimmer just in the air. I've never seen it move before, but you have to feel the heaviness, the lingering of the magic. It's almost oppressive."

"I think I saw something," Sirius said carefully. "But I can't be sure."

Minnie looked skeptical. "Perhaps a trick of the light?"

"I don't know." Tracey shook her head. "It hasn't done that before, and we all saw something."

"Exactly." Harry nodded, his eyes glued to the spot.

The winds picked up for a minute, causing him to sway in his step. It was the highest point on the island, and often the weather could be more furious in this section. He glanced out past the rivers and past the houses that dotted along the water, further out to the vastness of the ocean that surrounded them.

"Are you sure this should be our focus?" Sirius asked dubiously. "We have our men scattered around the Atlantic right now. Has Reg and his crew even made it back?"

Harry gestured flippantly to the map that lay open on the table. "See for yourself. They're on their way back, and Ron and them have already docked in Britain. They should be making an Azkaban sweep tonight or tomorrow night. Everything is fine."

"Riddle is up to something," Tracey said, stepping quietly over to Harry and placing a hand softly on his shoulder, trying to bring his focus back to the present. "He has people moving all around. He's interested in something in South New World."

"The Relic." The mysterious artifact had also eluded Harry ever since Justin had mentioned that the Purebloods were searching for something. He knew instinctively that it was crucial that he found whatever it was before King Riddle did.

"We have enough on our plates," Minnie intoned wisely. "Perhaps we can further our magical education another time. Right now, we need to stay one step ahead of Riddle."

She was right, they all were. Harry had been focusing far too much of attention on theory when he didn't really have the luxury to do so.

Reluctantly, he pulled his eyes away from the curious shift in the air.

But then the glimmer returned, and this time it was impossible to ignore.

Color streaked across the air, morphing and pulling in all directions. All eyes were suddenly on the spot that hovered directly above the ground as a kaleidoscope of colors began to morph and change right in front of them. The curl of light was expanding - stretching - and Harry took a hasty step back towards his friends who were all on their feet, wands suddenly at the ready.

"What the bloody hell?" Sirius stared with disbelieving eyes at the magical ball of energy that had seemed to abrupt out of nowhere.

What had happened? Had Harry unintentionally opened something? Was he the cause for the sudden disruption of magic, for the churning turmoil he was beginning to worry would spread too much and engulf the entire area? It wasn't so large now, just big enough for a man to crawl in, but it was still moving, and it wouldn't stop.

Harry could do nothing but watch with wide eyes, weary about what would happen and completely paralyzed in shock.

~oOo*oOo~

Hermione was encased in impossible softness.

It was a softness she had never felt.

In all her years, she never would have guessed she could feel so warm, so comfortable.

Her senses immediately stood on high alert. All she saw was blackness as she tried to remember what had happened last.

The last few days had been a whirlwind and a complete assault to her senses. She had left her island, the only place that had ever really felt something like a home. She had come to Draco's house, to his ice-cold manor, and that had not felt like home. She'd been fearful and insecure ever since arriving, unsure of how to behave and what to do. Was she there now?

There was a pang in her heart that felt unbearably painful, and she was hard-pressed to ignore it.

She had never felt so comfortable on her thin cot in the manor. Even the makeshift one they had built on the island had been more comfortable than the slave quarters. So then why was she at ease now? Inexplicably, a sense of dread sparked through her body and she was instantly wary.

Life at the manor had been hell, except for the brief interlude she'd enjoyed with Draco before he'd…before he'd...

...Before he'd left her!

All too suddenly, she recalled exactly the reason why her heart felt as if it had been ripped from her chest.

She had been abandoned, without so much as a note, in a terrible place where everyone seemed to intend to do her harm! How could he have done that to her? After all his promises of protecting her, how could he leave her to the snakes?

A memory of power, such Dark and raw power, shrilling through her in a terrible frenzy, caused a jolt to ricochet down her spine. She'd called upon such power, hadn't she? Not only had she called it, but she'd bent it to her will, placing herself as the master over it. How had she summoned such a force?

Another memory wormed its way to the surface, one that caused her fists to clench around the mysterious softness she was encased in.

Pain.

Such blood-curdling, nausea-inducing, intense pain, she trembled at the recollection of it. All of a sudden, her thoughts came running back to her in a rage. She had been Crucio'd—for all to see! No one had come to help her - no one had stopped it - she'd been all alone in the nightmare that was the Cruciatus, in her punishment that had been witnessed by every notable Pureblood in Wiltshire.

Her eyes popped open, angry and full of fury.

What she saw made her pause briefly—an ornately decorated ceiling painted with the most beautiful of images. It made no sense whatsoever that she should be seeing such a sight! How was she staring up at something so wonderful? She sat up, sluggish and confused, absently noticing the lavish room she was in, painted in golden hues with occasional specks of sapphire blues.

She was on the largest bed she'd ever seen. Really, she may as well be on an ocean by herself, it was that large. She whipped the plush coverlet off of herself, surprised when she saw she was barefoot and wearing the softest material she could ever imagine. She absently noticed her hair was falling in a array of neatly brushed curls over her shoulders, not even a pin or a hat in place.

Her eyes narrowed in suspicion.

Jolted into action, she crawled across the luxurious bed in her curiously frilly nightgown for what seemed like ages until she reached the edge and stepped carefully down. She was wobbly for a minute, and she had the distinct impression that she had been asleep for a while. There was a heaviness in her legs that couldn't be ignored, but there was none of the pain that she would have expected after being under the Cruciatus. Had someone given her a potion? None of it made the least bit of sense.

By a fancy table stood deluxe chairs with startling blue cushions, over which she immediately noticed a dressing gown had been draped. Below that was a pair of slippers, seemingly waiting for her.

She swallowed convulsively, her initial wariness flaring to life once more.

Unable to see another option, she went to the table and put the robe on over her nightgown as she stepped into the slippers. There was only one door in the room, one way out. Should she stay for a minute, take more time to gather her thoughts?

It was clear she had, at some point, passed out. The wave of magic she had called was too much to bear and had knocked her off of her feet. But instead of finding herself in a cell in Azkaban, as she would expect, she found herself in comparable luxury. What in Merlin's name was she missing from this equation?

Steeling herself, she reached for the golden door handle and turned it, mildly surprised to find it unlocked. She opened it quickly and stepped out into a rather large room. There were other doors lining the wall she had come from, more rooms like hers, she guessed. In the middle of the big room was a spectacular fountain, shooting water out in a beautiful pattern. Around the fountain were more tables and chairs, sofas and divans, causing her to believe she was in a sitting room of sorts.

At the end of the room stood glass doors that were two stories tall, leading out to what looked to be a garden not dissimilar to the Malfoys but, impossibly, ten times more exquisite. She wondered briefly if she could escape through there. Would the doors be locked?

"There you are."

Panic set in at the sound of the rich and melodious voice. It was disturbingly familiar.

Hermione drew her eyes across the room to where...the King! - sat as comfortably as you please with a dreadfully dark expression on his face. He was wearing silver and black robes, and an intricate golden crown that formed perfectly to his head.

Sweet Morgana, she thought in terror. What the bloody hell am I supposed to do?

"Um," she faltered. "Hello," her voice came out tremulous as she ventured the insincere greeting.

"Don't be rude," he told her, his voice heavy-laden with authority. "Come and take a seat."

Dear gods. He wanted her to have a seat...next to him? Whatever for? A lump formed in her throat as she attempted to swallow down her trepidation, taking tentative steps towards him. It was hard to keep her steps steady as he watched her, but she couldn't look away from the intensity of his gaze! He was practically drinking her in, staring at her as if he couldn't believe his eyes. Her fists clenched by her side, digging little half-moon dents into her flesh.

She soon reached the sofa he was sprawled on, and took the furthest seat she could manage, turning heavily towards him.

"Excellency," she remembered, catching herself.

She waited for him to speak, hoping she could determine how she should act based on his actions. She still wished desperately to make a break for the door, now more than ever, but a wizard such as King Riddle would surely have it warded. Just thinking about his magic made her acutely aware of its presence lying thickly in the air in an almost oppressive sort of way. Her magic had the innate instinct to furl out and brush against it. She had to mentally force her magic to stay calm and obey her.

"What is your name, girl?"

"Hermione," she forced out, wanting urgently to look away from his face. Somehow she knew she shouldn't, that it might anger him.

"Hermione." He seemed to be tasting the name on his tongue. "So you are Hermione, now?"

She furrowed her brows in confusion. What the bloody hell did that mean? "Er...yes?"

"You've caused quite the debacle at the Malfoy residence, little slave."

She tried to read him, but his face was now inscrutable. She had no idea how she was supposed to respond. "Sorry, Your Highness, I did not mean to offend Lady Greengrass."

Maybe he hadn't noticed her use of magic, maybe she could play it off as someone else who had caused the disruption? She could pretend she knew nothing about it! But then...he must already know. Why else would he bring her here? It couldn't be routine to question a slave in such a fashion.

"I'm sure she is no Lady."

Her eyes widened to saucers at the brash statement.

He chuckled darkly. "But you did put on quite a show for the party guests, didn't you? You certainly brought the entertainment."

She carefully forced her face blank, innocent. "I don't know what you mean, Excellency."

"I refer to the magic," he wasted no time telling her. "It was rather impressive, and uniquely powerful, so much so that you couldn't contain it."

"I...how could I use magic? I'm a mere Muggle. Surely if I were born with magic it would have been sifted out at an early age, Excellency." She mentally berated herself for rambling. Such an action screamed guilt!

He quirked his lips in apparent annoyance. "Yes, you would think so, wouldn't you? But you managed to evade the Snatchers for so long, to evade me."

Hermione gulped at the dark infection of his tone.

"I...it wasn't me...I promise!"

He ignored the blatant lie. "Tell me, did the Malfoy heir know of your power, all the time the two of you spent together?"

"No!"

The King grinned wickedly, causing her heart to hammer erratically against her chest.

"He knew."

Oh, Merlin, what had she done? Was she now bringing Draco into this, getting him in trouble right along with her?

"He didn't know, Your Highness." She dropped all pretenses of self preservation. "I kept it from him just like I kept it secret all my life."

"I wonder why you are so loyal to him," the King spat cruelly, causing her to recoil back. "He left you quickly enough. Tell me, did he even say goodbye? I know he told his parents and his Intended he was leaving. Were you the last to know, little Mudblood?"

The hurt that stabbed at her heart made her want to sink into the marble floors. Could it be true? Tears sprung to her vulnerable eyes, and a wicked gleam passed over the King's dark ones.

"It's always the same, isn't it? After all this time, you still fall victim to the same traps."

Once more, Hermione was at a loss for what he was speaking about. It was almost as if he were talking to her like he knew her. None of this made any sense.

"Will I be going to Azkaban?"

The King let out an unkingly snort. "Azkaban? What a silly thought. I'm going to require your help, after all."

"My help," she choked out, shock written across her face.

"What a pity you don't remember." Hermione tried to make sense of the haunted look that crossed his eyes. "Though it makes sense when you consider the ordeal you've been through. I would almost apologize, I know you would forgive me like you always do." For a brief moment his features softened, and there was something vulnerable, something timeless, she couldn't really understand. Then his eyes hardened once more. "But I'm not sorry, and I'll do it again, better next time. Your friends have stolen an idea from me, and they've bitten off more than they can chew, I assure you."

"My friends?"

Did she have friends? Was the King mad? He might as well be talking gibberish.

He got up from his seat, and Hermione paid attention, wanting to know what door he was going to go through and where the exit was, but then he did something that caused her to shrink back into the cushions. Changing his mind, he turned around and walked briskly towards her, before kneeling down so he was at eye level, and reaching his hand out to caress her cheek.

Hermione's magic flared hotly then, reaching out to push against his angrily, and his eyes widened when their magic touched.

"It may have all gone differently," he told her seriously. "It might have been you I chose. You were always more powerful, but you didn't have the will. Your stubbornness was always focused on others and on stopping me. I couldn't have that. I would have liked to know how you did it, though." There was a greedy sheen to his eyes, a curiosity that made her uncomfortable. "I shan't be making the same mistake again where you are concerned. I no longer underestimate you."

Merlin, but how the man liked to talk!

She was unsure why, but his words caused her rage to flood through her, riled up and palpable, her fear ebbing away to practically nothing. "Rest assured that if you go after my friends, I will always be there to stop you!"

The words didn't come from her, they came from that foreign place that scared her, the place she tried to avoid at all costs. That place was a dark abyss and if she went there she would surely be lost!

Anger splintered across his face as he straightened quickly, looking down at her as if he might crush her.

The prior meekness returned and a litany of apologies sputtered from her throat, confused and frightened.

"Poor little bird," he spat cruelly. "Trapped in a helpless shell, unable to escape your fate—your story is a tragic one." For a minute the cruelness on his face warred with something close to regret. "You will help me release her—it will be the last act you do—and then we will say our goodbyes forever. I cannot suffer weakness to live."

Hermione gaped at him, perplexed,her head positively swimming with questions.

"I've warded you to this room and the gardens," he told her flippantly. "I'm a bit more generous than I was last time. You know what they say about absence and all."

He turned away from her and walked towards a door east of her room, as if he hadn't been telling her the most strangest of things for the past thirty minutes. He walked briskly out without a backwards glance, and then it hit her—she was to be his prisoner! He wanted her to help him with some mysterious task, and then she would be killed! She couldn't let herself be victimized. AGAIN! The foreign voices screamed. Hermione pulled at her hair, willing them to just shut up. She flew off of the sofa and to the rooms that lined the hall, trying every door and finding them locked.

She needed to escape like she needed air to breathe!

He really was keeping her here. Draco was working for him! He had time to say goodbye to his family, possibly even Astoria, but not to her! The logical side that screamed for her to calm down and see reason was dimmed to nothing by the wild frenzy that flared hotly through her body.

Something far more primitive than she was refused to be trapped. She had to escape, had to get away from here, and from Britain altogether!

The magic was bubbling, bristling furiously across her skin and raging.

Her eyes drew to the glass doors leading to the garden. Did the pompous wizard think he could keep her caged? He said he would no longer underestimate her, well, he had. She would not remain to be used and then unceremoniously tossed aside—her mind rebelled against it.

Walking to the west end of the sitting room, she threw open the glass doors and stepped into the evening air that was dimly lit with magical lanterns, realizing she must have slept a full twenty-four hours, and that the strange king had indeed doctored her. That was to his detriment. She was whole, and she was fit, and she was scorned. Despite being wandless, like always, her magic clung to her hungrily, awaiting her every demand.

The gardens were vast and he was keeping her in a rather lovely prison—perhaps he had been right about that-but she wasn't staying. She would find a way out. She knew instinctively that she would. There was no point in running to the edges, she would likely be singed by his powerful wards. That would not be her escape. Her eyes scanned the garden shrewdly, searching and searching, determined to find what she needed.

They're all over Britain, she mused. Surely I can find one at the palace. Hopefully the King would not be aware of such magic. Bugger, even she was not aware of it! But she knew it existed and this was life or death.

You're going about this the wrong way, a voice in her head informed her. Close your eyes, and sense the spot where the magic is strongest.

She could think about the ramifications of why she was listening to voices later, right now it was clear she needed to follow the bizarre guide in her head. She closed her eyes and focused, letting her magic unfurl around her, spreading around the garden and testing.

Her eyes popped open when she discovered it.

She ran like her life depended on it - it did! - to the spot where she sensed the connection. When she got there, to the little knoll only slightly lifted from the ground, she didn't stop to think what her next step was, but instead let her magic wash through her in a powerful wave.

The Fae instantly appeared before her, slightly jarring the air around her as she stepped to solid ground.

"One here, too?" It asked with barely suppressed restraint.

Hermione couldn't bother to be fearful of the formidable creature, but instead drew upon a courage deep inside of her. She cast a glance back at the palace before mustering the authority needed to address the Fae. "I wish to access the portal now."

"But it's unmade." It was hard to read the subtleties in Fae expressions, but she registered confusion.

"Then step aside, and let me make it," said a voice not her own, but that had somehow come out of her throat.

The Fae sparkled angrily, fury mixed with fear etched on her perfect face, before something like defeat crossed over her face and she vanished in an indignant huff.

Hermione stepped onto the knoll, willing her magic to empty into the vacant area as well as into the invisible shift in the air that immediately drank it up hungrily. The glimmer returned, this time ripping a hole through the actual scenery. She didn't understand what she was doing, but her magic seemed to understand, flooding into the hole and expanding it, widening it, and then activating it.

Instantly, Hermione was caught up in a phantasmagoria of colors that she screwed her eyes shut against. But they swept through her tightly closed eyelids and into her mind, not to be ignored. Distantly, it reminded her of the time she had opened up Draco's chakras, but this was intensified drastically. Hot, white light encased her, cocooned her, and moved her.

She was all of a sudden traveling, spinning through time and space through a tight tunnel bound by color and light. Her senses were reeling as she tried to make sense of the foreign dimension, but her brain would not compute, and so she kept tumbling, free falling helplessly.

No, returned the voice. Don't let it sweep you up, use it and wield it, make it take you to where you want to go, to where you need to be.

Where I need to be, she thought. If only she knew where that was!

The tunnel was spinning around her faster and faster, and she could barely get a hold of her senses, feeling as though her body was on the verge of being ripped apart. With a valiant effort, she reined in the tumult of colors and prodded with her magic. Take me where I need to be, she intoned. It cut and curved and jostled her, but she felt her senses returning. Then the light was changing and she could begin to see it take her back to somewhere familiar, to gravity and to earth.

Yes, she rejoiced. Here.

If she had thought her and Draco's island had felt like home, there was something about the place she was approaching that was even more so, that felt right. The scents were right and the scenery was right and the energies were right.

Tensing her muscles, she moved towards the stop, finding it blocked, and then forcibly wrenching a hole in it, ripping it until it was large enough to crawl out of. She breathed heaps of air as she clawed her way from the tunnel, dragging herself out and resisting its grasp to pull her back in. There was a strength inside her that seemed to know inherently what to do, that grounded her, and then she was tumbling onto solid ground.

Her pants turned to gasps and she felt as if she hadn't breathed in minutes, her chest rose and fell irregularly. Looking around in a daze, she was surprised to find it was daylight, perhaps in the process of shifting to evening, but she couldn't be sure.

She smelled the ocean, heard the sound of water rushing beneath her, and far below...sensed the presence of magic-wielders like herself.

Now what, she wondered as she turned to find the source of the magical presences, but the internal voices had left her. She was on her own once more.

Four sets of eyes stood gaping at her, and Hermione wraked her brain frenetically in an effort to discern if they were friend or foe.

They dressed funny, the two women wearing trousers. Every one of them had wands in their hands, trained right at her. The one that stood closest had a spectrum of emotions play across his face, from awe and shock to disbelief and budding distrust.

Hermione let out a groan of pain, and that seemed to shatter the frozen scene in front of her.

"Who are you?" The black-haired wizard with the unruly hair shouted at her, wand leveled dangerously at her chest. "Speak now, witch, I won't hesitate to hex you."

Hermione put her hands up in surrender. "Please, I mean you no harm," she breathed, still in the throes of catching her breath.

"She's a Pureblood," said the other wizard, pointing at her nightgown. "She is dressed like an elitist." He looked at her with alarm in his eyes and Hermione's heart sank. "She can't be trusted," he said with a snarl.

The brunette witch stepped closer to the wizard who had accused her, pressing herself against his chest in and appraising Hermione with a look of wariness.

The wizard with the electrifying green eyes didn't take his gaze off of her for a second, looking as if he expected her to transform into a dragon at any moment.

But the other witch, the blonde one, stepped around her friends and edged closer to where Hermione was trying to pull herself to her knees in an effort to regain her dignity.

"Don't go near her, Tracey," came the command of the first wizard. "Sirius is right—we can't trust her."

"No," the witch, Tracey, shook her head confidently, a forlorn look etched on her pretty face. "We can trust her." She looked at Hermione with curious eyes rife with turmoil. "She's the one...the one from my dreams."

~oOo*oOo~