Harry Potter and the Unlikely Gryffindor

Before the sun rose, 12 Grimmauld Place was full of scared girls. After Sirius had died, the sticking charms on the portraits had come undone, allowing the house to be fully cleansed. Ginny was thankful. The last thing these girls needed were portraits screaming obscenities at them.

Fred and George came through the floo last, carrying two first years who were still too weak to walk.

“It may not look like much,” they started. “but this should be safe for a while.” They started up the stairs, Ginny following them with the other girls in tow. Each room could hold about four girls, and the twins grouped them together and started looking for bedding.

Most of what was in the house was unused for a long time, and had dust and mold covering them. But they managed to find what they needed, and set pads down on the floor when there was no bed. It was not much, but it was enough for the moment. After Fred and George got everyone settled, they started looking for food. The storage closet was bare. They would have to go shopping.

“Maybe Remus is around? Or one of the other members of the Order?” Ginny suggested, taking out old cans and bottles, trying to find something that had not soured. The Order had not used this place on a constant basis since Dumbledore was killed. With Snape on the other side, there was no guarantee that he would not stumble on this place by accident.

“Doubt it,” Fred blew the dust off of a sauce bottle. “The full moon's tomorrow and there isn't anyone around to make the Wolfsbane potion. Lupin would probably be far away from here, and the others don't use this place much anymore.”

Ginny's shoulders slumped. There had to be someway to get the things they needed.

“Wait,” her head popped up, her face brightening. “Mum and dad put that money that Hera gave them back in Gringotts, didn't they?”

Both the twins’ faces brightened. “Your a genius,” they ruffled Ginny's hair. Both Apparated at the same time, leaving Ginny with a cow lick the size of Harry's.

XXX

Hagrid sighed as he walked the halls of Durmstrang. The school was emptier than Hogwarts during the summer, but that was not why he was sad. He remembered when he first met Hera. She was about as energetic as any of the first years, but she had that feeling about her that you almost didn't know what she would do next. She was happy, and excited.

But right now, she was dragging her feet as they followed Moody into the main hall. Severus was being led with Tonks' wand at his back. Hagrid had noticed that Hera no longer tried to look at the Potions Master. In fact, she wasn't looking at anyone right now. Her, Harry, Hermione and Ron were one gloomy group as they entered the grand hall, each taking a seat at the tables as a few of the other members searched the kitchens for something edible.

Unlike Hogwarts, the tables at Durmstrang were carved out of solid granite, dark gray with streaks of black and ivory running through them. To the students, it was all quite oppressive. The High master's chair was carved out of onyx with gold accents adorning the back and arms. The upholstery was woven from black and gold thread and was stuffed so that it came up like a bubble. Everything else was just as oppressively ornate. It felt like the air was pressing down on them, threatening to crush them all.

Severus was led in last, and sat at a table far away from those the students were sitting at. He looked up, and was met with Hera's back. Hermione and Ron were sitting opposite the Malfoy and Harry, and were eying him angrily.

He ignored the two as he always had, and instead focused his eyes on the back of Hera's head. For some strange reason, her opinion of him mattered. A lot. He sighed, looking down at the table, resigning himself to his dim future, when Hera suddenly bolted up from her seat and ran full tilt out of the hall.

Snape's head snapped up as the others tried to give chase. She had never let on that any of this was affecting her, but then all he had seen since he had woken up, was her back.

Harry ran as fast as he could, but he could not hope to catch Hera, who had the advantage of surprise. She turned a corner, and was gone. The hall branched off into several different passages, each leading to parts unknown. Harry, Ron and Hermione stopped, panting for breath. Hera had never acted like this before. Even only knowing her for the sum of five months, they had gotten to know the Malfoy. Or at least they thought.

Something was bothering her. Enough to make her seek separation from those who could protect her. Harry could understand. It was hard to show weakness in front of people that thought you stronger than they were.

“Blast! She stole her wand back!” Moody limped up to where the three were stopped.

“Well what did you expect, Alistair,” Tonks had caught up to them as well.

“She might try to get back to You-Know-Who,” it was obvious that Moody was angry.

“Or find a quiet, dark spot to cry in,” Hermione blew a strand of hair out of her face. “Leave her alone. She'll come back when she is ready. You saw how devastated she was when Moody told her about what Snape had said,” she walked right up to Moody as she said this, doing all but shaking her finger in his face. “That was awfully poor tact on your part,”

Moody stuck his bottom lip out, grunting his dissent. He merely walked around her, looking down one passage, his eye scanning the area. “What would you have suggested, Miss Granger? Not say anything and let her be dragged down with that Death Eater,” he looked back at Hermione as he walked to another passage.

The four of them watched when Ron sniffed. “Why does it smell like wet dog,” he asked, sniffing around. He had his nose in his armpit when they heard the scream.

Moody jerked his wand out of his coat, charging down one passage with Tonks, Harry, Ron, and Hermione following. But by the time they came to the spot Hera had fled to, all that was left was blood running down the right wall, forming a small puddle at the floor.

“Greyback,” Moody snorted, shoving his wand back into his coat. “Bloody Werewolf. Why the bloody hell did she run from us,”

“Maybe she knew he was coming,” Ron suggested, flinching under Hermione's glare. “an' maybe she didn't want anyone to get hurt,” he finished quickly, his voice squeaking like it always did when he was nervous.

Moody only grunted, starting back toward the hall. He didn't say much as he entered, and completely ignored Snape. Conversely, Snape watched every movement the other's made. Moody stuck his head into the kitchens, calling to the other members. All at once they spilled out, running out to check the rest of the castle.

Moody didn't miss Snape's observation of them, and purposefully walked toward the Death Eater. “If you must know,” he nearly stuck his nose into Severus' face.

“That bastard of a werewolf, Greyback took her. Now maybe you can tell me if and how she knew he was coming,”

Snape sighed. “Possibly through the mark. I could never sense the others well enough to distinguish their identities,” though he had hoped that she would shed her connection, he knew that it was nearly impossible unless Voldemort himself were dead. Severus pursed his lips, blowing softly through his nose. If only he had been there...

Hera grunted as her shoulder hit the cold floor. She rolled on her back, holding her left arm where Greyback had sunk his claws in before he apparated. She wondered how often he washed those gruesome looking nails of his. But her thoughts were brought to a halt when she saw two pale feet step into her field of vision. She didn't remember much after the ceremony, but she remembered that pasty white skin and knew it meant trouble.

She lifted her eyes to his face, watching his cold gaze sweep over her as though confirming to himself that she was unharmed. Well, mostly. She literally shook as his eyes met hers, red as the blood she remembered from childhood. She felt his presence in her mind, like he was pushing on her skull. She reflexively tried to resist, but that was pushed as side as he gleaned everything that had happened.

After what seemed like an eternity, her mind began to clear, and she found that his face was scant centimeters away from hers. She dared not speak. Her jaw was clenched so tight her head hurt. He was smiling, his face split in two as his forked tongue darted out to taste her fear, and confusion. Voldemort reached down to caress her wounded arm, smiling as Hera whimpered in pain. The cuts were deep, and still bled, making the dark obsidian of the floor glisten in the candlelight.

But just then she was grabbed by her uninjured shoulder and heaved up onto her feet by Greyback. He held her there with his bloody nails at her throat. The threat was needless, she would not be able to raise a hand against her master if she had the will to. Voldemort knew this, and he took the opportunity to examine the clothing she had been placed in.

She shivered, her heart thundering in her chest. Fenrir nearly growled as he felt her fear permeating the air. She was an intoxicating creature, and under any other circumstances, would have claimed her. But she would be his master's plaything, and was there fore, off limits. “Lucius,” Voldemort's voice broke the silence, making Hera jump, “take her to her room, and make sure her wounds are properly cared for.”

Hera nearly thanked him, but she remembered herself and instead shifted her gaze to her uncle. He walked stiffly to her, and took her by her right shoulder, squeezing hard enough to bruise. As soon as she was out of earshot of Voldemort, she turned to face the elder Malfoy. She never thought she would feel sorry for him, but she supposed that even he had loved his son.

“I'm sorry,” she started, nearly making him stop in mid stride. Hera didn't know exactly why she was apologizing, but she felt that she needed to clear the air if she would survive. “I never meant for anything to happen to Draco,” this time he stopped, his grip tightening on her arm until he released it. His hand falling to his side. Lucius' head lowered slightly, and his brows knitted together, as though he were trying to stop himself from feeling anything but nothing. His hand rose again, but instead of clasping her arm, it settled on her left shoulder. He squeezed his hand once, gently in reply, and led her quietly the rest of the way to her room.

Hera turned and watched her uncle leave as her mother led her to a basin. There she helped her daughter strip out of the shirt and bodice, cleaning the wound with the liquid, and wrapping it in Unicorn hair. Lucinda never spoke, never even met her daughter's gaze the whole time. When she was done, she went to the wardrobe, and pulled out a dark sapphire satin nightgown, and handed it to Hera. She nodded, and finished removing her clothing, and slipped into the gown.

After that, she was left alone. Hera sighed, setting her wand on the nightstand. After all her friends had done, she was right back where she should never have been. Sitting on the edge of the fluffy bed, Hera hung her head in her hands. She was not sure if the warning in her dream was true or not, but she did know that she did not want to be stuck here for the rest of her life. However long or short it proved to be.

XXX

Rufus Scrimgeour sat at his desk, which was piled high with angry letters and howlers. And this was just today's mail.

There had recently been a mass of attempted suicides at Hogwarts, though only a few of the girls actually succeeded. Now they were gone, and the Aurors were already chasing down several Death Eaters, and had not time to pursue he run away students. At least that was what they had reported.

Truth be told, Rufus suspected that they may have had something to do with the disappearance. He shook his gray mane, getting up from his desk. He could not help what had been passed. Ever since the debacle with Umbridge, the head of the Wizengamot had been stripped of his ability to veto any measure he did not agree with. And of course the rest of the Wizengamot was populated by mostly pureblood families, most of which were suspected Voldemort sympathizers, though no one would say so out loud. He was not proud of this decree. In all honesty, it made him feel dirty every time he read it.

And even though the Auror in him wanted to find the missing girls and continue with the drawing, the wizard and uncle in him wished that the girls would never be found. And that was what had him in knots as he paced is office, watching as more and more howlers piled on his desk. He wanted to keep the girls protected, but then if the Wizengamot got wind of anything unusual, they would seek his sacking and appoint someone more in line with their views. That thought by itself was nauseating.

Rufus sighed, his shoulders slumping. As much as he hated it, he had to make a show of support for the decree. So he got out his quill, and started on the letter, bile rising in his throat as he scratched the words on the parchment. When he was finished, he had the distinct urge to vomit. He squelched this and tied the letter to the leg of his personal owl, and sent it out the window.

He fell into his chair, as one of the Howlers exploded into a screaming fit.