to attempt both assaults at the same time."
"But they could kill him!"
Boris quickly shook his head. "Potter is only in danger if they take him out of the Manor. They won't harm him yet." He seemed very sure of this. "Minions know never to harm their prize. Only Voldemort gets to do that."
Hermione stared at him beadily. "How do you know this? What, is there some sort of Evil Minion handbook or something?"
Boris suddenly looked terribly uncomfortable. Draco cleared his throat. "He's right."
"Dodders and Carmen would have got through to Scrimgeour by now. Why not wait for backup to come before we try anything?"
"That would risk them moving Potter as soon as they realize the Manor is under attack. There's a working fireplace in my father's study they might use."
"We're equipped to do this," Boris assured her. "And now we have more manpower than just me and Toolip."
Draco didn't get too excited just yet. "Oh yes? What do you have?"
"Cross-bows, a few swords, daggers, razor rope, blasting stones, two Bottomless-Pits-In-A-Jar and poisons, but one or two might have gone off by now"
Boris politely ignored Hermione, who was looking at the servant rather incredulously.
Draco catalogued these items in his head. "What else?"
"There's also half a barrel of Quiesco Dust."
The corner of Draco's mouth lifted. "Now that, my dear Boris, is a plan."
**
"Is half a barrel enough to knock out an entire hall of people?" Hermione asked.
Walking in pitch black darkness was tricky. They were not going to risk using even a muted Lumos after being discovered by Dominic. She was feeling her way along the corridor by touching the walls on either side.
They were heading back to the second drawing room in the opposite wing. Draco was carrying a tightly sealed sack of Sleeping Powder over his shoulder. He also had one of the two Bottomless Pits in his pocket. Boris had the other one.
"Probably not, but it' ll make them drowsy enough to disarm easily. How are you with a Whirlwind Charm? If we can keep the dust circulating it might buy us more time."
Hermione raised an eyebrow. "How do you think I am with a Whirlwind Charm?"
That answered his question. "Good. Slow down, we're coming to the second floor landing. My father's study is just below us."
They listened, and true enough, they were able to make out muffled voices.
"What about the guards watching Harry?"
"Don't worry about Potter. Boris and Toolip will manage."
She wished she could be as confident as him. Hermione tip-toed out onto the landing, eager to listen to what was happening below. She hoped to God Harry was fine.
"Granger, come back here!"
The voices were louder now. Hermione could make out two different voices, both male. And then she heard Harry, loud and defiant. He was most definitely unharmed for the time being. She breathed a sigh of relief.
The steps had to be somewhere in front of her. She remembered the staircase very well from her first visit to Malfoy Manor. Draco had nearly kissed at on the last step, outside his father's study. One could hardly forget that particular encounter.
"Where are you?" she heard Draco ask, in a harsh whisper.
"On the stairs," she whispered back.
He really should hurry up. Still firmly holding the banister, she put her foot out.
"Granger, wait!"
But the next step wasn't there. It was supposed to be there! Her foot met nothing but air and her forward momentum meant that she was tipping forward into empty, black space. Her wand was within reach, but her first instinct was to reach out for something to grab a hold of and stop her fall.
She had the good sense not to scream. If she was stupid enough to fall to her death, at least let it be done in silence so as not to give away Draco's position.
But the fall never came and somehow, part of her knew he'd get to her in time. He would have had to leap across the landing to reach her, which was exactly what he did.
One hand caught her left wrist. Her right hand scrambled up his left arm, searching for purchase. Beneath her fingers she could feel his muscles turn rigid from the strain. It was his bad arm, she realized - the one that dislocated easily.
Her hand was sweaty. She was slipping.
"Hermione," he said, very quietly. And the supreme calmness in his voice penetrated her thick fog of panic. This was the new, improved Draco, she reminded herself, the action-adventure model that didn't second guess himself in dire