Disclaimer: JK owns, not I.

For those who may be curious, the title translates to "A Life Done Before". Um, there's not all that much to say about it, so I shall cease rambling and let you get to the story.

If you are reading this, then I am gone.

I will try to answer all questions within this story; although there are some that cannot be answered, and others that cannot be asked. But it is a story that must be told. It is a story of war, of tyranny, and rebellion; a story of love and dedication. Most of all, it is a history of what happened, from one who was right in the centre of it all.

I ask that you do not judge me until you have reached the end. Do not judge me on a period of turbulence such as this. I did what I had to do; what any person with half a conscience would do. I am not necessarily proud of what I have done, but it is done, and too late to change. I will try to show you how hard it was for me, so you will see that I am not completely heartless.

To my beloved children, Ajax and Leda; try to remember me as the mother I was to you, and not the person you read about in these pages. Since becoming a mother, I've changed; I've become a better person. War causes people to change for the worse, my darlings. I only hope that you will never have to experience it.

I hope that I'm now with my husband once more, and we can be together forever, as we were meant to be.

My husband… the biggest shock to both myself and my friends. This shall explain it; all is recorded here, for the sake of posterity. Let me tell you my story.

My name is Hermione Malfoy, and I am a Muggleborn.

I haven't always been a Malfoy. At Hogwarts, I went by my real name of 'Hermione Granger.' You will probably recognise the name: for years I was celebrated as Harry Potter's Best Friend, one of the Golden Trio; Head Girl, Order member, beacon of hope alongside Harry against the force of the Death Eaters.

For some reason, it's always amused me that this perception has lingered even after the 'death' of Hermione Granger. I've read countless books, articles and theories that list me as a martyr, the first in this second war against the Dark Lord. Being placed alongside Harry's parents has been a great honour, and at the same time a great worry for me. For when the truth came out, I thought I would taint all those who truly died for their beliefs. I felt a coward, at the time; and there are an equal number of theories that describe me as such. Now, I can proudly say that I did the right thing.

What did I do, though? What was it that was so drastic, so vast and important that I would reinvent myself this way? What would make me become the person I am as I write this, what would drive me to marry a Malfoy and hide away from the world?

I will try to explain, and I hope you will try to understand. Harry swore to me that he would keep this secret – even Ron Weasley, my other best friend, is convinced I died early on in the war. It was better that way: for there were countless people who had grieved for Hermione Granger. She even had a memorial, at the commemorative church established in Godric's Hollow. To let these people know that I had deceived them was the worst thing I could think of.

And so I have lived out the rest of my life – I am eighty-seven as I write this, and my darling children are becoming grandparents themselves – under this false name, only ever called 'Hermione' again by the two who knew the truth: Harry, and my beloved Draco.

So now I apologise to you, who might read this. I truly did not intend to do what I did, to keep the farce up for this long; but circumstances demanded it, situations arose; and the one thing Hermione Granger is famed for is the intellect and sense to take care of situations. Perhaps these last few situations, those recorded here, were taken care of in somewhat unconventional means, but if we still live in a world free from the influence of the Dark Lord, if we still live in a peaceful and prosperous world, then I can safely say that they were taken care of.

I won't bore you with knowledge of my early life. I know this has been extensively recorded, and there are more important areas of my life that need to be written down. I will not die a traitor; I will not die a martyr. I will simply die with the truth told, and that will be enough for me.

When did it all begin? I suppose it started after leaving Hogwarts before seventh year, chasing after horcruxes with Harry and Ron. We didn't find any that year, but we found something more important. We found out the truth about war, about death and what it was like to be caught on a battlefield. We found out what it was like to have to kill someone.

We joined the Order, and it is there, two years later, that this story opens.

"Harry!"

Hermione flew into the kitchen, her face pale and the morning Prophet clutched in her hand. "Harry, more news."

Harry was standing in front of the fire, his green eyes reflecting the erratic dance of the flames. Hermione stopped short of him, and watched the eerie picture for a moment. What they were doing, it was just a dance; and Voldemort was completely out of their reach.

"How many?" Harry hadn't slept in days, she noted. There were bags under his eyes, and his voice was tired and dull. He didn't sound surprised to hear the news.

"Four," she said ruefully. There was a slight twitch of Harry's face, as if he was controlling a scream of anger, and then Harry sat down. She was getting good at interpreting what he wanted without asking him – they all had to be – and she wordlessly handed him the paper.

The Dark Mark was gloriously emblazoned across the front, a picture of a once idyllic fishing village utterly destroyed by the horrific green mark looming in the sky over it. Above it was the headline, FOUR MORE VILLAGES ATTACKED BY YOU-KNOW-WHO! According to the Prophet, over ten thousand had been massacred in the attack; Muggles and wizards alike.

Underneath the picture was a sub-headline that made them both wince.

WHAT WILL POTTER DO ABOUT IT?

"Harry," started Hermione weakly – she hadn't read that far through the article – but Harry cut her off as he launched the Prophet neatly into the fire.

"Nothing," he said, talking to the newspaper. "I can't do anything about it." Usually he would have shouted that, but events were taking their toll. "I can't predict these, Hermione. I can't save them."

"It's not your fault, Harry."

"Tell that to them." He glared at the smouldering paper, and then rested his head in his hands. Ron entered the room quietly, guessing what had happened.

"It's alright, mate," he said comfortingly, settling down next to Harry. "We'll figure out a way."

"There is no way." Harry sounded utterly depressed, and Hermione exchanged a worried look with Ron. "There is no way, there is no point. There aren't even any horcruxes to find. The only way we'll be able to kill Voldemort-" Ron winced, he still wasn't used to hearing the name "-is if he destroys all his horcruxes, and then hands me a wand and says 'Have fun.' I can't do anything."

"We need a spy," grumbled Ron. "At least Snape was useful, until he got killed." Nobody quite knew how; Severus Snape had just turned up one morning, hung in his potions lab. Hermione suspected he'd finally gotten careless, although it wasn't like a wizard to use hanging as a punishment. Voldemort would, though.

"Do we know of any Death Eaters that could be persuaded to help out?" asked Harry, although reluctantly. This was a conversation they had nearly every day. They all knew Ron's answer, before he opened his mouth.

"None at all."

Hermione joined the two at the table, deep in thought, and not even the sound and scent of Mrs. Weasley's cooking could stir them from their reveries.

'Ron's right,' she thought, only moving so that Mrs Weasley could set her plate down. 'We need an insider.' She finally shook herself back to reality, giving Mrs Weasley a wan smile.

"Thanks," she said, elbowing Ron and tucking into her food. 'We need a spy. And- I think I know how to do it.'

Hermione locked herself away in the Order's library, surrounded by mountains of books and parchment. Nobody dared ask what she was looking for – nobody ever did. She would tell them when she was ready to. It was weeks before she was ready, but she finally cornered Harry, scrolls of parchment clutched in her hands and tucked under her arms.

"Harry," she said, a glimmer of excitement in her eye. "I know how we can get a spy in Voldemort's ranks." Harry raised his head, interest showing in his eyes.

"How?" He pulled her into an empty room, casting silencing spells around it as he shut the door. Even in the Order's headquarters, they had to be careful.

"By sending in one of ours to become a Death Eater."

"Hermione, we've talked about this before. I'm not going to put anyone in danger like that. We need everyone we can get, and we need them all alive."

"Let me do it."

"Are you crazy!" Harry gave Hermione an incredulous glare, but the look on her face said she was deadly serious. "Hermione, you are one of the two people in this Order in almost as much danger as I am. It'd be like sending a lamb to the slaughter."

"Except this lamb can do it." Hermione began to pace, ticking things off on her fingers as she spoke. "I'm intelligent, and I crave knowledge. I'm close to you, so I can be useful. And I'm a Muggleborn." She stopped, and put her hands on her hips. "If I play this right, Voldemort will see me as a power-hungry knowledge-seeking Mudblood who wants to prove herself to the Wizarding world. And he'll see me as a way to get to you, so if I can convince him I'm genuine, I know he'll keep me around."

"Hermione…" Harry was at a loss. She'd certainly thought it through, but how could she do this? "How can you convince Voldemort that you hate me?"

"There are ways." She started unscrolling parchment. "There are ways to bypass all truth serums; there are ways to fight off the Imperius. There are even ways to pretend being under the Imperius and keep full control, if you go far enough back into Dark Magic."

"That's what you've been researching?" Harry looked lost in this whirl of information. "What about torture, though? Cruciatus?"

"Occlumency," replied Hermione grimly. "And experience."

"What!"

"If I'm going to do this, people will have to put me under the Cruciatus. Once I learn what it's like, I can fight it, I can convince Voldemort." Hermione wasn't pleading. She was even more convincing this way, though.

"I- I can't, Hermione." Harry turned to go. "I just can't."

"So are you going to sit back and let him win?" It was a dangerous challenge, and it might push Harry too far, but Hermione knew it had to be done. "This way, I can help, Harry. If I can work up a reputation as a Death Eater, then you and I, we could manipulate Voldemort himself! We could know his every move before he made it, and counter it before it's too late! And we could do it in ways that makes him think it's bad luck, and not a spy, that's stopping him!"

"You'd have to torture people, Hermione. You'd have to have the Dark Mark, and go out on attacks. You'd be putting your life on the line, and you'd have to kill other people."

"I know."

Silence reigned as Harry thought over this. Hermione, for once knowing when silence was best, stood back and folded her hands neatly, trying not to interrupt Harry's thoughts. Eventually, he turned to her, running a hand through his hair in exasperation and desperation.

"Alright," he whispered; she could barely hear it, but she knew what he'd said. "Alright," he repeated a bit louder. "We'll do it. But-" he cut her off as she moved to hug him, "-only you, me, and Ron can know."

"The rest of the Order will think I betrayed them, when this goes public."

"I know." Harry cast his eyes downward. "But it's the only way to make it realistic. I'm not even sure about telling Ron, but I'll need him to help me prepare you."

"You'll help me?"

"Yes." Even though Harry spoke sadly, his eyes were alive for the first time in weeks, dancing with excitement at the prospect of something happening. "We'll help you. Come on, let's go find him."

Hermione followed Harry from the room, the smile on her face not betraying the dread she felt inside. 'Fool the Dark Lord? I only hope I can!'

"Crucio!"

It was the seventh time she'd been put under the Cruciatus in an hour, Harry holding the wand above her with a cold, emotionless look on his face. At his side, Ron's wand twitched, and she felt the impact of the Imperius against her Occlumency shields. Her whole body was writhing in agony, twitching underneath the spell, and she let out an ear-piercing scream.

"Who do you work for?" demanded Harry, his voice scarier than Voldemort's ever could be. Hermione twisted under the spell, and gasped out an answer.

"I- I would work for- for you, Lord Voldemort!" she whispered, her sentence broken by screams and groans. Ron looked up at Harry, who released Hermione from the Cruciatus.

"No more," Ron said firmly. "We've put her through this every day for the past two weeks. Cruciatus, twenty times a day! If she can't survive it after that, she never will."

Ron hadn't taken too kindly to the initial idea, but now he could see the benefit of it. Hermione's intelligence was something both sides craved – and her intellect turned to spying could be what turned the war in their favour.

"No more," agreed Harry breathlessly. "Hermione, are you ready?"

"I'll lay my plans tonight," she whispered, still sprawled out on the floor, gasping for breath. "I don't know when I'll be granted an audience, but I'll start looking tonight."

"Good luck," Harry whispered back, and he turned and left the room quickly. Ron grimaced, helping Hermione up.

"This is harder for him than it is for you," he said sadly. "Be careful, Hermione. We can't afford to lose you."

"I'll be careful." Hermione waited until Ron had left, and then she went to her desk and took out some parchment and a quill.

Pansy,

I need your help...

"It's done," Hermione whispered to Harry and Ron as she arrived at the kitchen table. She instantly began to demolish her food, thanking Mrs Weasley profusely, and thinking that if something went wrong, she'd never taste this food again. The realisation of how much danger she'd put herself in made her pale, and she heard someone comment on how peaky she was looking.

"What now?" asked Ron quietly as Tonks tried to engage him in a conversation about Quidditch. Hermione shrugged.

"Now we wait," she answered. Ron nodded, answering Tonks enthusiastically and trying to pretend that everything was normal. Hermione unfolded a book, and Harry picked at his food half-heartedly. To anyone on the outside, everything was normal.

Hermione was quite surprised when, that evening, an owl tapped at her bedroom window. She opened the window, and the owl dropped a letter at her feet. It had elaborate writing scrawled across the front – Miss H. Granger.

She opened it up nervously, and instantly her heart leapt.

Hermione,

Well, well. I never thought I'd see the day you'd want to become a Death Eater… although with friends like Potter and Weasley, I can't blame you. Visit me at the time below, and we shall discuss finer details…

It was the letter she'd been waiting for. She Floo'd a message to Harry, and within seconds he was in her room, reading the letter for himself.

"You were right," was his only comment. "They do want you."

"Everything is going well so far."

"You're not to have any contact with us about it until you've got established there. Do it as if it was real, not all a ploy. And for god's sake, don't get yourself killed, Hermione. Don't do anything stupid. We need you."

"Harry, I won't let you down. I promise."

First chapter! The second will follow shortly, though I make no dates :p If you enjoyed, or even if you didn't, please leave a comment! Good or bad, all are appreciated.