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Last Chance	By : DragonOfVenus Category: Harry Potter > Slash - Male/Male > Harry/Voldemort Views: 26994 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 8
Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and other copy-righted entities. I do not, nor do I make any profit from this piece of writing.

Chapter List
- 4
- 5
- 6
Title: Last Chance

Author: Dragon_of_Venus

Pairings: Voldemort/Harry

Rating (Fic): NC-17

Rating (Chapter): PG-13

Word-Count (Fic): 35,000-40,000

Word-Count (Chapter): 5,281

Master List: Here.

Summary: AU after Half-Blood Prince. Voldemort is in control of the wizarding world. Harry is captured and placed under Voldemort's protection because of the horcrux.

Warnings (Fic): Discussions of rape, graphic attempted rape (not in the main pairing), suicide, character death, slurs, sexual harassment, abductions, history of violence within the main pairing, mentions of hate crimes and torture.

Warnings (Chapter): Discussion of rape, character death, offensive language

Contains: Consensual sex between adults, BDSM, masturbation, voyerism, Voldemort-wins AU.

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all related characters, settings, and ideas belong to J.K. Rowling, not to me. I receive no money for writing this or any other Harry Potter related piece.

~*~

"You stupid little bitch!"

Harry dodged one curse, and then Rodolphus wrenched his wife's wand out of her hand. Bellatrix spun and grasped desperately for her wand for a moment, but he held it well above her reach, and when she began to claw at his face he cast a spell Harry had never heard of before and didn't entirely catch, and all of the muscles in her hands seemed to relax at once. Rodolphus gave Harry a look that seemed almost sorry, and then he stared at his wife for a moment with a look that seemed at first to be distaste but quickly faded into resignation, then he walked out of the room without a word to either of them.

Bellatrix watched him go, but seemed to forget about him the moment he was out of Harry's room.

"You," she said, her arms swinging wildly as she turned. "You seduced him!"

Harry's face screwed up in distaste and he opened his mouth to object before realizing that, in some twisted sense of the word, maybe he hadseduced Voldemort. He certainly didn't think of it that way; "Invited" would be a touch more accurate ("Begged" some part of Harry's mind supplied. He pushed the thought away quickly.) but what was the difference, really?

"Well? Don’t you have anything to say for yourself, slut?"

Harry shrugged. "'Seduced' seems a bit grand a word for it. It wasn't nearly that hard. It was almost as though he'd wanted to do it for a while."

She glanced around the room furiously, searching for a way to hurt him even with her wand confiscated and her arms hanging uselessly at her sides, not responding to even the basic commands. She was beyond worrying about her master's punishment for harming the boy. When she realized that there was precious little she could do in her present state, she settled for walking closer to the boy and aiming a kick at him. He dodged it easily.

"You dared to soil Slytherin blood with your filthy half-blood—"

"My filthy half-blood was good enough to resurrect him," Harry said, scooting back on his bed so that in order to get close enough to hurt him, she'd have to sacrifice the use of her legs to crawl on her knees. Unless she bit him, he'd be safe. "Though maybe you didn't know that. You weren't there, were you? Oh, what was it that you were doing—"

"I'd spend a thousand years in Hell for the Dark Lord. Thirteen years in Azkaban was a very small sacrifice," Bellatrix said, not following Harry onto the bed. "You can't hurt me with that."

Harry laughed. "Of course you would. I don't see why anyone wouldn't, for all the thanks you all got when you got out. The praise, the money, the glory, the special places in his heart—Oh! Wait. That isn't quite how it's happened, is it? Thirteen years in Azkaban and when you finally return to him he has sex with the brat that caused his downfall before he looks twice at you."

Bellatrix froze.

"I can hurt you with that, can't I? And I bet I could get him to do it again before you could get him to do it a first time." Harry took a deep breath, and he realized that he found the look on her face—as though he'd slapped her—oddly encouraging. "He doesn't even appreciate you, let alone love you. Face it, you spent thirteen years wallowing in misery for him, and all it got you was a 'Good job,' and a dangerous assignment which you failed. Tell me, Bella: Did he remember all of those dementors while he was punishing you after the Department of Mysteries?"

Bellatrix's face was completely blank.

"While you were sitting in Azkaban, the people you'd written off as worthless were out doing things for your master, and that didn't escape your master's notice. Peter Pettigrew, of all people, went out and found him when you could think of nothing better to do than confess and go to Azkaban for him. Barty Crouch Jr. may have denounced the Dark Lord to the Wizengamot and left the three of you to rot in prison while he sat comfortably at home, but he was the one who Voldemort never would have made it back without. And guess which of you he called his most faithful servant at his resurrection."

Bellatrix looked like she had something very unpleasant-tasting in her mouth. She was quiet for several seconds, before she spoke. "You can thank your dear potions professor for my silence on this issue for now." She glared at him very pointedly. "But mark me, Potter, as soon as I get the chance, I will tell everyone. The Dark Lord will not be bothered by the rumors, and no one will blame him for indulging in a pretty half-blood whore in a moment of weakness, but what will your friends say? I've seen the marks myself and you've admitted it twice, Potter. I'll find a way to make them believe and I will ruin you... Not that you aren't already ruined." She laughed. "A lot of good the Savior of the Wizarding World is doing his people now. A fucking bartender got the mud-bloods out while you were going camping. And do you know how many thousands of them we killed before then? But don't worry. Maybe if you wait long enough, another bartender will come along and destroy the Dark Lord. You always have survived on luck and on the sacrifice of others."

Harry flinched slightly, but thought better of responding, hoping that instead she'd just leave. It wasn't as though Harry was particularly opposedto someone else coming along and solving all of his problems. Before Bella had time to make the choice to leave or stay on her own, though, a voice called up from the first floor:

"Aunt Bella? Uncle Rudy? Stan? Is anyone here?"

Bella took a deep breath, plastered on a very smile, and slipped out of Harry's room. She took about three steps before remembering that she did not have the use of her arms, then she turned to her left and slipped into the master bedroom, and returned the hallway a moment later, rubbing her arms absentmindedly with her husband at her heals. "Draco! What are you doing here?"

Admittedly curious about that very same thing, Harry followed her out of his room as quietly as he could. He remained on the second floor and peaked over the railing to find Draco standing in the living room, just a foot or so away from the still-green fireplace, in elegant and festive red and green robes. He hugged his aunt, and the look on his face once his head was over her shoulder was remarkably similar to the look on Dudley's face whenever he turned away after kissing Aunt Marge. He and Rodolphus both seemed to find the hug they shared rather unpleasant, and Harry was fairly certain that, though probably in different ways, they must both have been fairly well-rewarded for these displays of affection, or else they would never happen.

"Mother sent me to invite you all to Christmas."

"You could have sent an owl."

The words 'we were going to,' ghosted across Draco's lips, but he didn't quite speak them. "This seemed more welcoming."

Bella sighed. "That's very nice of you," she said, "But we have...."

Draco seemed very read for this excuse, and Harry was struck by the feeling that he was sent in person specifically so that he could give what Harry could only assume was a coached answer. "Don't worry about that. We have one too. We'll just lock them in a room together somewhere. If we're lucky, they'll fight to death." Harry really smiled for what seemed like the first time in ages. An entire day alone with Hermione? That was the best Christmas gift he could imagine!

Draco and Bella shared a laugh for a moment, and Draco went on, in the voice of a child half his age, "Please come, Aunt Bella. It would mean the world to mother. She's been saying lately that the two of you haven't spent much time together since Potter's capture."

Bella sighed. "Oh, very well then. Your mother knows I can't say no to her."

"Thank you, Aunt Bella! Mother will be thrilled. I'll see you on Christmas!"

"It's a date. And speaking of which, will your fiancée be there?"

Fiancée? Harry quickly talked himself out of being surprised. It had been years, and Draco was free. Harry's life had come to a screeching halt the day Albus Dumbledore died, but the rest of the world hadn't. Draco was a Death Eater, heir to a vast fortune, and not terribly hard on the eyes, if a bit skinny for Harry's taste. It was perfectly natural that his life would have gone on and gone in that direction. He wondered if it was Pansy. He supposed he'd find that out on Christmas Day.

"Only for dinner. She's spending the morning with her parents."

"Well, we'll miss her until dinner, then. Goodbye, Draco! We'll see you at Christmas!"

Harry ducked back into his room and shut the door as quietly as he could. If the Lestranges noticed him spying, they didn't think it was worth going back into Harry's room to say anything about it. When Harry finally settled into the bed after a very long day, listening to the sound of the rain on his window, he dozed off for the second night in a row with a smile on his face, and he slept well.

~*~

The days slipped by with such monotony that it was on pure chance that Harry turned on the radio in his room and heard "Happy Christmas!" to even know that the day was there. The Lestranges hadn't put up a tree or any decorations, and Harry had seen no hint of them even getting each other presents, so the only thing in sight that in any way called the idea of "Christmas" to mind was the very thin layer of snow on the ground outside. Harry didn't think it would last the day.

Still, it brightened his spirits immediately to know that it was Christmas, because unless plans had changed, that meant he was going to get to see Hermione. Harry showered and dressed quickly, and had no trouble blocking out the Lestranges' conversation as he ate his breakfast. He spent the morning trying to keep his excitement in check until Rodolphus finally walked into his room, said simply "Let's go," and then took made him floo Malfoy Manor.

The Malfoys did keep Christmas, and in such an extravagant way that going there from Lestrange Manor felt like stepping into a different world. Most of the house seemed to be lit exclusively by Christmas lanterns, and holly and mistletoe were handing in so many places that Harry was nearly afraid to walk for fear of having to kiss Draco. There was a huge tree in the room that Harry came out of the fireplace in, the tip of which touched the vaulted ceiling, and the area beneath the tree was covered with so many presents that even a young Dudley would have thought it was excessive. Paper-chains hung wherever it would be tasteful. The main rooms of the house, at least, were so warm and inviting looking that Harry almost forgot where he was and who he was there with several times in the one minute he had to look around while the Lestranges got their bearings. Still, he was only there for about five minutes before Lucius—almost politely, compared to the treatment Harry would have expected from Bellatrix or Rodolphus—ushered him into a bedroom on the second floor.

He had no objections to this. Hermione was in there.

Yet the moment he saw Hermione, she threw herself into his arms, not as a warm greeting but as a desperate plea for comfort. She was crying.

"Harry... Oh Harry..."

"Hermione...?"

She squeezed him tighter and he wrapped his arms around her.

"Have you heard yet?" she said into his shoulder.

Harry's heart dropped. There went his happy Christmas. He felt his robes getting wet from her tears.

"Heard what?"

"Ne—Wait." She took a deep breath, but didn't let go of him. "First thing's first, Harry: Did Voldemort rape you?"

Harry's heart dropped. "What?" he said.

Hermione tried to brush the tears from her eyes, but with very little success since she hadn't quite stopped crying. "Snape he didn't, but Bella said—"

"Don’t believe anything Bellatrix says!" Harry said. He spoke the words quickly and at a bit higher a volume than he really should have, but after a quiet moment when Lucius did not rush back into the room to threaten him, Harry decided he'd gotten away with it.

Voldemort. Rape. Sex. Did she know? Harry would fucking die if she knew... but she didn't know. She'd asked if Voldemort had raped him, not if he'd had sex with Voldemort. Harry didn't even have to lie when he answered her. "No," he said. "Voldemort didn't rape me."

"Really, Harry? You can tell me if—"

"He didn't, Hermione. I swear." Some very quiet voice inside of him told him he should tell her what really happened, but a much, much louder voice was insisting that he should do nothing that might reveal the truth to her. She'd be completely and rightfully disgusted with him, and since that horrible lapse of judgment would never happen again, there was no point in ruining his relationship with Hermione over it. "Now tell me what I haven't heard."

The relieved look that had come over Hermione's face when Harry assured her that he hadn't been raped vanished instantly. She collapsed into his chest again, holding him tightly. "Neville's dead."

"What?" Forget dropping, Harry was fairly sure that his heart actually stopped beating for several seconds. "How?"

Hermione reached in her pocket and produced a small roll of parchment. She handed it to Harry and went right back to crying on his shoulder. Keeping one arm around her, Harry read what turned out to be a note from Voldemort:

Hermione,

You were correct, but not finished. Next time make sure that you've simplified the equation. Still, we're moving on. Below is what your final product should have looked like. Have it converted into a basic spell by Friday. Set the parameters as you like and start easy. We'll make adjustments as needed later.

Harry's eyes skimmed over a very long line of equations that, in the muggle world, he'd have thought was something from a calculus book.

~The Dark Lord

P.S. The Longbottom boy is dead. Apparently he wasn't as careful as he should have been with his gardening. Stupid boy. It seemed like something you'd want to know.

Harry's head was spinning. He actually had to half-carry Hermione over to the bed and sit down. He stared at the note blankly for a minute straight, then reread it in case he'd missed some crucial part that would make it all logical or reveal that Voldemort was lying.

The Longbottom boy is dead.

Harry blinked.

The Longbottom boy is dead.

This was a nightmare. Yet he could feel Hermione's tears wetting his robes. Still, if some rain leaked in from the window, his imagination might be going along with it. He blinked harder in another attempt to wake himself up, but to no avail. He slipped the note to between his pointer and middle finger, reached over, and pinched the arm that was still wrapped around Hermione. He remained where he was in a Malfoy Manor guest bedroom. He heard laughter from one of the other rooms and felt sick to his stomach.

The Longbottom boy is dead.

Apparently he wasn't as careful as he should have been with his gardening. Stupid boy.

"What?" Harry said. He felt the word slip from between his lips and felt embarrassed for a moment.

Hermione pulled away from him and glared at him. "Didn't you read it?! It said that Neville is—"

"That he should have been more carefully with his gardening."

Hermione stopped speaking immediately.

Harry read the lines again at half his normal reading speed. Apparently he wasn't as careful as he should have been with his gardening. Stupid boy.It said what Harry thought it did. Voldemort had really told Hermione, and by proxy Harry, that Neville had died in a gardening accident, and he really seemed to expect them to believe it.

"If there was only one thing in this world that Neville was definitely not stupid about, it was Herbology. Hermione, something isn't right here."

"Let's not get ahead of ourselves, Harry," Hermione said, sniffling and drying her eyes. "Neville did keep a lot of very dangerous plants near him. It's entirely possible that he just... got in a bit over his head."

"Will you listen to yourself? Neville, get in over his head? He has the self-confidence of a flubber-worm even about things he's good at."

"Had," Hermione said. "If Voldemort says he's dead—"

"He's probably dead, yes. Voldemort has no reason to lie to us now. But I don't like what we're being told about the circumstances..." Harry sighed. "If only there was some way for me to get around this fucking vow and for us to sneak out and see for ourselves what happened."

There was another echo of the family in the other room laughing. Hermione chewed her lip for a moment.

"What if we don't go around the vow?"

Harry rolled his eyes. "Don't even think about it, Hermione. Rodolphus is not going to give me permission—"

"I was actually thinking about going over Rodolphus' head."

What she was suggesting was so absurd that Harry actually didn't understand it until Hermione nodded to a corner where a owl was perched quietly in an old, open cage. It was a golden color, as far as Harry could tell, but it was as covered in dark brown spots as Charlie Weasley was in freckles. Its wide, beautiful yellow eyes stared back at Harry apathetically for a moment, then it returned to cleaning its wings.

"That's Voldemort's owl. Or, it's the owl that he always sends me messages with, at least. I suppose he must have a number of them. He never leaves without my reply..." Hermione sniffled again and wiped away a tear that had escaped. "Maybe if I do really well on that spell and... just sort of a drop a little note in the reply to him that you and I were hoping to give Neville's grandmother our condolences in person, he'd..."

Harry nodded. He wasn't going to count on it, but in truth he had absolutely no other plans of his own. Maybe Voldemort would be feeling generous after slicing Harry up like potions ingredients and then fucking his brains out. A number of those cuts still hadn't completely healed. And if Hermione did really well on the spell, and Harry was certain she would do, he might consider it an easy way to reward her. Relaying on theVoldemort's good will did not seem like a good idea, but Harry had no idea to break the vow again. There was no doubt in his mind that if he didbreak the vow a second time, Voldemort wouldn't be nearly so lenient on him as to just lock him in a room for twenty-four hours and let that be the end of it. "It couldn't hurt to try, could it?"

"Is... Is he in a good mood today?"

"Could you get it done today?"

"I think so. Is he in a good mood?"

Harry took a deep breath and reached out to the horcrux. He did not make a habit of doing that, but he understood why Hermione had asked and he agreed that it was a fairly relevant question. At first, all he felt was a strange... emptiness. Not quite as though Voldemort wasn't there, but certainly as though he didn't want to be.

"No," Harry said. "He's... I suppose he's in a rather sour mood, but really he's not in much of any mood. I don't think he's ever liked holidays much. He's just hoping he'll be left alone."

"So today probably isn't a good day."

Harry shrugged. "Honestly, I think he's a bit more likely to be cruel when he's happy, as a rule... or maybe he's just more likely to be happy when he's being cruel. I'm not quite sure... but I don't think his dislike of this day will really change his answer. He might even like being able to busy himself with checking your work. Just be careful that you don't wish him a happy Christmas or anything, or he'll tell us no and use a cursed howler to do it."

Hermione nodded. "Alright. Get the spell right and don't wish him a happy Christmas. That won't be so hard." She forced a weak smile. "I intended to get the spell right anyway and I particularly want him to have a happy Christmas."

Harry managed a small laugh. Hermione turned and walked over to a desk in the corner, where there was already a large tome open. She sat down and began to read carefully. Harry was left to sit quietly on her bed and try to clear his spinning head. He found himself reaching again for his link to Voldemort. He wanted to share in Voldemort's emptiness for a little while. Harry loved Neville dearly, but he was not going to be found collapsed on Hermione's bed in tears on Christmas morning. There was something very rock-bottom about that, and Bellatrix would never let him live it down.

He found it was easier to connect with Voldemort now that the horcrux had been 'solidified.' That was the only noticeable side effect, aside from perhaps his sudden sexual tension with Voldemort. It was nice to think that that was a side effect of the solidification, anyway. Truthfully, Harry was pretty skeptical. It wasn't like he loved Voldemort now or anything. Far from it. Nothing would make him happier than for the man to drop dead right that moment, and it really did bother him that, prophesy or no, he was completely incapable of doing anything to help his side of the war achieve that end. He would love for someone else to come along and do it, but that hope was little comfort on a day like this. Neville was dead. Dumbledore was dead. Kingsley was dead. Remus? Harry didn't know, but his hopes weren't high.

He glanced over at Voldemort's owl and though, for the first time in years, about Hedwig. He'd let her go. It had been the only thing he could do. He couldn't take her with him on the camping trip from Hell in Albania.

Fucking Albania. Three years, and they'd come out with nothing to show for it. Harry had been ready to leave, too, when the muggle-born wizards and witches who'd captured them came into the picture. Honestly, they'd been easier to find than normal because Hermione had started to remove their protection wards, thinking that they could survive one night, and then everything crashed around. And now Harry was the thing that he'd been hunting for all of these years.

Harry Hunting.

Harry smirked despite himself. What he really should have done was bring Dudley along on the trip. At least one of the horcruxes would have been destroyed ages ago.

He wondered if Dudley was still alive. If Kingsley wasn't, he doubted it. Still, he could always hope that the Order members who'd taken the Dursleys under their protection had managed to get them out of the country. It was nice to think that his relatives were probably leading happy lives in South Africa or something now. It was nice to think that. Even in spite of everything they'd done to him.

Unlike Neville, who was lying cold in the ground. Because of a gardening accident. What did that even mean? Had he been eaten by some kind of horrible magical Venus Fly Trap? Had he been strangled by Devil's Snare? Had he been stabbed by some exotic thing that shot needles for protection? Voldemort did know how to be maddeningly vague.

Why had he even told Hermione in the note? 'It seemed like something you'd want to know.' He was torturing her. At the absolute best, he was using the opportunity to test her; He wanted to know that she'd still obey him even under incredible distress. It was that simple. Neville was dead, and if Voldemort didn't find it funny then he found it incredibly convenient.

Harry took a deep breath. No crying. He would not be caught crying on Christmas by the Lestranges. Anyway, if he cried, Hermione would want to come comfort him, and her attention needed to be on her assignment. Every few minutes she would give a clearly distressed moan, so Harry didn't think it was going well. If she was going to finish tonight, and have it done well, Harry couldn't take her attention away from the task at hand.

Harry could smell a delicious dinner cooking below when Hermione nervously announced herself done. She didn't take her eyes off her work once on her way to the owl, and for a moment when she paused before the owl Harry thought she was going to change her mind about sending it off.

"Hermione," Harry said, "It's... It's not the end of the world if we can't go today. You can always send it off tomorrow, or anytime before Friday, and just ask to go yourself. I wouldn't—"

"Do you think I want to go by myself?" Hermione said, turning to Harry and gripping her reply to Voldemort very tightly for a moment. The owl gave a small indignant hoot, his first noise of the night.

"It's better that you get to go yourself than that he tells us no."

"I'm going either way, Harry," Hermione said. She met Harry's eyes, and even though they were still bloodshot from crying, they were stern. "The only things in question right now are whether or not you're going with me and whether or not I’m going to be in trouble for going. If I wait until tomorrow your chances of being allowed to go with me are considerably lessened."

Harry nodded. "If you're sure."

"I am sure." She took a deep breath. "And I'm right. Or, at least, as right as I’m going to be. I've checked over every step at least a dozen times now. If I'm wrong right now, I'm going to be wrong tomorrow."

"Alright, then."

Hermione looked uncertain again for half a second, then she turned and quickly attached the letter to the owl's leg, opened her window, and sent the owl off into the rainy sky.

Then she sat down on her bed next to Harry and wrapped her arms around him.

"Hermione, I'm fine."

She held him tighter.

"Hermione..."

He was not going to cry on Christmas. He was not. It was fucking Christmas.

It was fucking Christmas and they were being held prisoner—albeit in a gilded cage if Harry had ever seen one. Hermione's room was a fully-furnished guest bedroom, and from the look of things, the Malfoy treated their guests very well—in Malfoy Manor, mourning the completely illogical death of one of their oldest friends. They didn't know where Ron was. Hermione didn't know where her parents were.

Neville Longbottom, Kingsley Shacklebolt, Albus Dumbledore, Sirius Black, Cedric Diggory, Neville's parents, Ron's uncles, Harry's parents...

Harry couldn't stop the tears. He laid on Hermione's bed and clung to her for dear life, crying. He cried for the deaths in his past, for the pain of the present, and for the hopelessness of the future, and got what seemed like ages he tried and failed to get all of the tears out of his system. He hadn't allowed himself to cry since Dumbledore's death, and he'd been sixteen then. He'd come close to crying the day that he'd let Hedwig go, but... Merlin, Hedwig. He cried for Hedwig, and then he cried even harder for how pathetic he felt. Hermione's thin arms around him never loosened their grip, though apparently Hermione had used up all of her own tears. This went on until an elf (and Harry was unspeakably relieved that it wasn't any of the Malfoys or Lestranges, though he hadn't really expected it to be) brought them two well-filled plates of food. Harry dried his eyes and the two of them enjoyed what turned out to actually be a rather tasty dinner. Harry could only assume that it was a fluke that no one had remembered to tell the elf to prepare something horrible for Harry and Hermione on the side, and they'd gotten the same dinner as everyone else. The elf even reappeared once to ask them if they wanted more.

They ate in near silence. Though they were both desperate for the other's company, they didn't particularly feel they needed to say anything to each other at that point. There was no conversation they could have that wouldn't either simply serve to get them both crying again, or be completely forced and shallow.

Voldemort's owl returned at the same moment that the owl arrived with hot plates of pie. Hermione abandoned her food immediately and rushed to the window. Harry had almost thanked the elf, but at the last moment remembered Dobby's reaction to such things and decided it was best not to say anything. Still, he made a point of smiling at her when she grabbed his plate.

It only seemed to make her uneasy.

Harry joined Hermione over by the window as she quickly let the dripping owl in and pulled the letter off it's leg. She stared it for a moment, and when she brought her finger to the seal on the envelope she realized her hand was shaking. "Oh, Harry you do it! I can't." She thrust the letter at him.

Harry nodded and took it. He wasn't entirely calm himself, but he managed to get the envelope open and he began to read:

Hermione,

Correct, but you again set the initial parameters to yourself. I believe I've warned you before about the dangers of that. No less, I suppose I told you to do what was easy for you. (Though I can't imagine why you thought you would be easy. You're a head shorter than anyone you're likely to cast the spell on will be.) Adjust it to work on Lucius. Because you got the last one done so quickly, let's make the deadline for this one this coming Thursday.

You may go, but Harry is to report back to Rodolphus absolutely no later than 9:00 tonight, and under absolutely no circumstances is Harry allowed in Longbottom's garden.

~The Dark Lord

"We can go!" Harry said. "Only I have to be back before nine... and there are some new instructions for you."

Hermione stared back at him blankly for a second before she seemed to recall what they were talking about. "Wonderful! Let's go now. Should we leave a note in case they come to check on us?"

"I'll just leave the letter from Voldemort here..." Harry said, placing it carefully on her bed. "If they miss it, they'd miss any note we might leave."
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Last Chance