Well, this was cosy. Sitting on a frozen patch of grass in what was quite literally a cage, or even an enclosure, given its size. She sat as far away as possible to the adjoining cage, because even though she didn't speak a word of German, their gestures left little to the imagination.

Hermione had other things on her mind anyway. Back in the colonel's tent, she had glimpsed maps which seemed to indicate this base was somewhere in the north-easternmost part of Italy, very close to the borders of both Austria and Slovenia in fact. Add to that the fact that the letter he'd obviously been typing out gave the date of 25th October 1943 and she knew exactly which Hallow she had been sent to retrieve, and of course Death would want her to get the Elder Wand out of circulation first.

However, she had to act fast, because although she knew the wandmaker Gregorovitch should currently be in possession of the wand at the moment, she also knew that Grindelwald was due to steal it anytime soon in the year to come, and she didn't fancy meeting him. He was, after all, the dark wizard who made Britain quake before Voldemort arrived and made it buckle. She wasn't sure she could stand up to him. What had Death been thinking sending her to this time in the past? What was the point?

Hermione got back on her feet, needing to walk to shake off the cold that had crept up on her from sitting on the bare earth, and thought it all out, ignoring the calls and jeers from the other prisoners.

"You will not need to steal the cloak from your… friend," Death had said. And granted, she might not need to steal the cloak from Harry, but from his grandfather given the date. She'd been fooled. It was still stealing from the Potters. Less personal, but not much better in her books. However, she didn't have much of a choice, and she had already concluded that having the cloak or not would not have changed their years spent at Hogwarts or the outcome of the war. It had not saved Harry's parents and it had not saved them. They might even get into less trouble over the years without it.

The wand however, was another matter. Dumbledore had defeated Grindelwald while he had the Elder Wand and come into its possession after that victory. How was she to know if Dumbledore possessing that wand or not would change the outcome of the future in a significant way. She'd read Dumbledore's unofficial biography and she'd like to think it wouldn't, because he was already a very powerful wizard in his own right, but she was taking a big chance here.

And how had Dumbledore avoided the Elder Wand's curse? Was it only because he had never revealed what the wand really was? Or was it because he refused to use it to gain power over others? Those were the only two reason she could find that set Dumbledore apart from its previous owners.

"I went to the zoo once. You remind me of the caged lion I saw there," came a voice from the front of the cage.

It was the Captain again. She hadn't figured him out to be the taunting type, but she couldn't figure out why he had bothered to come all the way down here either. Or was it part of a good cop, bad cop scenario? She didn't approach and glowered at him from where he'd startled her in the far side of her prison, so he let himself in and approached her instead. She bent her knees, ready to run, not that it did her much good last time, but the Captain held his hands up and frowned when he saw her handcuffs.

"Why is she still restrained?" he asked the soldier standing guard.

He shrugged and tossed the Captain a pair of keys who unlocked the handcuffs before tossing them back at the guard. Hermione rubbed her sore wrists. Those handcuffs actually deserved to be called manacles. They had been cold and heavy, leaving her skin bruised and raw. She felt something heavy drop on her shoulders and looked up in surprise to see he had given her his coat. Alright, he was definitely playing the good cop. She wondered if the colonel would be playing the bad cop after this, not liking the idea of what he might do, but surely, it couldn't be worse than the cruciatus curse… she wasn't knowledgeable in muggle interrogation techniques during the second world war but doubted she'd enjoy first hand experience.

The Captain tilted his head as he looked down at her.

"I don't understand why you won't simply talk to us. If you're a spy, or even if you're working for Hydra, as long as you tell us, you'll be considered a prisoner of war and you'll be protected by the Geneva Convention. Surely, you must know that?"

Hermione nodded. She hadn't been educated in the muggle world but she had done her fair share of reading so as not to be totally ignorant of the rest of the world.

"Good," he said with an encouraging smile. "The problem is that you are, at the moment…" he seemed to think about it, searching for how to best phrase his meaning. "...a non-entity, which means you have no protection at all."

Hermione took a step back. Was he playing good cop and bad cop at the same time? That had sounded alarmingly like a threat. What happened to prisoners who refused to talk during the war. Did the Allies actually torture people? They were the 'good guys' but it was also true that the victors wrote History the way they wanted it to be written. The wizarding world certainly didn't write anywhere that there heroes had used unforgivables to win the war when she knew perfectly well she and Harry had. A shiver ran down her spine at the memories of that war. Not so long ago, not yet happened.

"Hey," the man said, voice low and soothing while he took a slow step forward as if she was a indeed a wild animal in the zoo, then patted her shoulder awkwardly. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The shivers subsided and her eyes caught on her wand, sticking out of the Captain's trouser pocket. So close. Now with her hands untied, thanks to him, she could get it back. If only she could distract him… Leaning forward in a surprise hug, she took advantage of his confusion to slide her wand from his pocket to her sleeve, and pulled back to wrap herself more snugly into his coat, giving him a small smile that she couldn't help from being mischievous. He could make of it what he wanted but she could at least convey her thanks for keeping her warm.

What she had not expected was to see the very manly man turn beet red from a mere hug. He mumbled some excuse and all but ran out of the cage. She hoped the Germans never learned a simple hug was enough to defeat the American soldiers or they were all screwed.

Harry was a bit like that too, now that she thought about it. Maybe it was a thing powerful men couldn't deal with. She shrugged and sat back down on her patch of frozen grass. All she needed now was the cover of darkness and for the camp to fall asleep.

She didn't worry about falling asleep herself, it was so bloody cold. She was fairly sure she must have icicles forming down her nose and she was grateful the Captain had given her his coat, especially since it was so big, she could practically fold it all around her. It seemed the colonel's bad cop technique was simply to let her stew in the cold for a night. It might have even worked if she had not planned to escape right about now.

The prisoners all seemed to be asleep and her guard had wandered off for a pee or a warm drink. She'd decided to apparate to the only place she could visualize clearly enough to be sure of apparating to without splinching herself or landing in a tree, and she did mean in a tree, not on top of one, although she supposed she might die either way. No, the only way was to apparate to the gates just outside the camp. She could visualize them perfectly and…

CRACK

She reappeared just where she had imagined while the whole camp went into a frenzied panic in their attempt to find the source of the noise in the far end of the camp. Even the sentinels atop the towers on either side of the gate had turned to look the other way, so she started running back the way she'd come. What a bloody waste of time.

She had walked several miles down the road when it started to snow heavily.

"Really? Really? If you wanted me dead, I don't think you could have ill-prepared me more."

She had given up on Death even listening to her and her rants against him had grown exponentially as a result. As far as she was concerned, he was responsible for all her misery, including but not limited to, the blisters on her feet.

She thought she was probably far enough away now to do some magic and transfigured the Captain's coat into a long white coat that covered her almost entirely and cut off the bitter cold wind. She felt like a frozen Cinderella when she had the idea of transfiguring a sledge. Not a bulging pumpkin sledge, but she could do with a small one to get as far away from the military camp as possible before they thought of sending someone after her. She used a moldy log peaking out of the ditch to transfigure into a light sledge before searching the woods for some pinecones to transfigure into huskies. Now she could prove that, yes, sometimes you actually did need to turn a hedgehog into a pincushion. Six fluffy huskies later, she was making good time and all in white so they'd be harder to spot. From the Colonel's maps,she now had a vague idea of the direction to follow and the distance to cover, so it was with a renewed sense of purpose that she hurried her white wolf-dogs forward.

She was so hungry a few hours later that she went out of her way to approach a small farmhouse in the wee hours of the morning, just as the sun was rising, unsure of how she would be received. She wasn't even sure on which side of the battlefield line she was now. She came to a stop in the courtyard and made a round of her sledge and dogs to strengthen her spellwork so it would hold a while longer. The wooden door of the farmhouse squealed open, an old woman covered in several a layers of clothes peeking out of it, probably to check what all the fuss was about.

Hermione conceded she might have botched the transfiguration of her wolf-dogs, because their barking was slightly off. One of them even sounded suspiciously like a duck, and their fur might be a bit too fluffy and white, but she had been in a hurry. Still was in fact. It's not like she expected to be graded for her spellwork, but if she had been, it would still have deserved an E.

However, it seemed increasingly unlikely that the old woman would trust her, not in time of war anyway, so Hermione bowed her head, both as a way to greet her and to say she meant no harm. The old woman returned it hesitantly and Hermione smiled at the small victory, then mimed she was hungry. Her host nodded, held up one finger, then ran back in the house while Hermione waited there, casting the warming charm on herself again as it was either getting colder or the last one had ran out again. Hunger didn't excuse taking advantage of muggles though and she couldn't very well take the poor woman's food without anything in return. She might not even have enough for herself to start with. Her stomach made its discontentment known again, just as it had kept a continuous concerto of growls for the last half hour, so she dug into her pockets and came back out with her jewelry she had taken off at work at the Ministry, what seemed like a lifetime ago. It wasn't much: a silver and gold bracelet her parents had given her on her fifteenth birthday, a couple of rings that held no special meaning and a necklace with a pendant which opened up to give the time. A 'joke' gift from Harry last christmas because of their use of a time-turner together in their third year and because she now worked on experimenting with time turners at the Ministry. Knowing Harry, she suspected the necklace and pendant were made of gold too but she hadn't wanted to ask.

The old woman came back and approached hesitantly, keeping at a distance even as she offered her a small bundle of cloth. Hermione opened it to find a freshly baked piece of bread, a couple of apples and some dried meat. Salivating with envy, she gulped and smiled at the woman fidgeting in her snowy courtyard, then extended her own hand to offer her one of her rings, insisting when she tried to refuse it by waving her hands frantically. Hermione persisted until the old woman took it with a trembling hand from her palm. Satisfied, Hermione climbed atop her sledge and sped off with a last wave goodbye.

She ate while her wolf-dogs continued their relentless race towards the border where the three countries met, where she knew she'd find Gregorovitch's workshop. Fortunately, she didn't have to worry about water since a simple aguamenti took care of that. It was a shame there wasn't such a spell for food, Gamp's Law be damned. She was, however, relieved not to have seen any evidence of a pursuit, but they probably had other fish to fry, this being World War 2 and all. Merlin, she couldn't believe she was in the middle of World War 2! This was madness! She was dead, she met Death, then she wasn't dead but was sledding across Europe during in frigging World War 2, running from the Allies of all people and about to rob, or maybe even duel, the most famous wandmaker of this time. Madness! Complete and utter madness.

A tingle of magical wards raised the hairs on her neck as she approached a village and Hermione regretfully cast a Finite on her sledge and huskies, but she didn't want to draw more attention to herself that she probably already had. It was late afternoon and there were quite a lot of people, obviously wizards and witches judging by their garb, walking about the streets despite the snow. She pulled her hood down, because she had no intention of having Voldemort come after her during the Second Wizarding War in his search for the powerful wand.

Gregorovitch's wand shop was easy to find and she'd read his workshop was just overhead, and his personal lodgings overhead that. Seeing as the two first floors were brightly lit, a warm glow pooling on the snow outside its windows, she was pretty sure Gregorovitch himself was up there. She would just have to wait until the man slept, slip in and steal the Hallow. Easy. She sat on a bench from which she would not be too obviously spying the shop and conjured some bluebell flames to keep her warm, watching the passersby with curiosity while they did the same. She wondered why she was garnering so much attention with her simple white clothes when the people she observed from under her hood were allowed the most outlandish robes which even Dumbledore would have been hesitant to wear. Wizarding fashion had never made sense to her and she'd even been glad that the Unspeakables had a strict dress code so she didn't have to struggle on picking the right clothes without making a wizarding faux-pas.

"I can smell it," came the familiar whisper of Death.

She jumped slightly and looked to her right at the grim reaper, casually sitting on the bench like he was enjoying his day off at the park.

"Don't you have any 'collecting' to do?" she asked snappishly, because sure, he didn't bother coming when she had questions or needed help, but he barged in unannounced when she just had to bide her time.

"I am," Death answered. "Time is not an issue for me."

"Yes, I'd noticed," she muttered. "Why 1943 of all times to send me to?"

"I have restrictions, mortal. Besides, I could not send you to your own time for this mission. You would not have had any knowledge of my Hallows' whereabouts then nor in the later future, but you did possess an extensive knowledge of them at this precise time, do you not?"

Hermione nodded, but she wondered what kind of restrictions Death could have that stopped him from sending her to her present. She asked him as much, not hoping for an answer and wasn't disappointed.

"You ask too many questions," he replied and disappeared without a sound, just melting into the shadows. As far as she knew, he was still there. Under the bench maybe? She had a ridiculous urge to look under the bench to find the grim reaper tucked under there with his scythe, trying to keep his bony white toes in the shadows. She snickered at the image her mind had conjured, frightening a couple who'd been looking at the wands on display in Grigorovitch's shop and watched with some amusement as they scuttled off like she was Death herself.

Hermione waited patiently, first for the shop to close, then for the warm light coming through the window of the workshop to wink out before it was finally turn for the smaller light coming from the small round window on the very last story to shut off abruptly. She waited for another hour, ignoring the impatient huffs and bony fingers tapping she swore she could hear next to her before she finally jumped into action. Adrenaline pumped through her system. Paradoxically enough, she hadn't felt this alive in a very long time. Not that she missed the war, never that, but she certainly did miss the adventures she used to have with the boys at Hogwarts.

Now, however, she had to do something she absolutely hated doing: levitation. It was a tricky business to do to someone else and it was near impossible to do it on oneself, not to mention stupid and useless if you had access to a broom or better yet, a ladder. But there was nothing around here she could transfigure into a ladder, except if she dragged one of the park benches across the street, which would unfortunately be a bit conspicuous when she needed stealth more than anything else. She went about it slowly and managed to reach the little window sill on the side of the house that should let her in the wandmaker's bedroom. Logically, but she kept in mind this was a wizard's home and thus, prepared herself to enter through the kitchen or toilets.

One disillusionment, concealment and notice-me-not charms later, Hermione slipped into the quiet bedroom after having spent more time than she'd liked unravelling the man's wards without raising the alarm. He was good with his magic, just not paranoiac enough despite the war raging on outside. Now, where would he keep a powerful, mythical wand? Where would she keep it for that matter? Hermione sighed as she approached the bed with the snoring man, because, if she wanted to be honest with herself, she'd keep it under her pillow, and there was the proof she'd been right: the unmistakable bone-coloured handle barely peeking out, but she'd recognize it anywhere and not only because it was mythical or one of a kind, almost a work of art. No, for her, it would always be Dumbledore's wand before anything else.

She approached the bed slowly, wary of creaking floorboards and ready to stupefy Gregorovitch if need be, but he seemed to be sleeping like the dead. No pun intended. Seeing how hard and late he had been working, it wasn't all that surprising. Hermione pulled experimentally on the handle and slid it easily forward before it suddenly snagged on something. Or so she thought before she saw the man's dark eyes trying to burn a hole through her, knowing there was someone but unable to see who.

"Stupefy," she cried out.

She'd had that spell on the ready ever since she intruded the bedroom and was glad for it when the man's body went perfectly still, lying exactly as it had been moments ago. She stilled her heart, hand over her heart and pulled out the wand the rest of the way, out of his frozen grip.

"Finite Incantatem," came a whisper at her back, seconds before she felt the tip of a wand dig into her back.

Her first layer of spells, the concealment charms, came down, but fortunately not her transfigured clothes or she'd look quite ridiculous.

"Turn around," the voice ordered and she could hear it belonged to someone who was used to being obeyed and listened to.

She did, clutching one wand in each hand and bit back a gasp at the sight of Gellert Grindelwald. He was just as she had seen in that photograph at Bathilda Bagshot's home and in Dumbledore's biography: handsome, with a mischievous air about him, like he knew a great joke but would never share it with anyone. But his presence here, tonight, other than being terrifying, could only mean Death was playing games with her. This could not be a coincidence. It just couldn't.

"What have we here?" he mused, not really speaking to her but more to himself and he reached a hand over to push back her hood.

He hid his surprise well but not well enough.

"Not… who I was expecting," he said slowly, observing her as if he wanted to memorize every freckle on her face. Good luck with that.

Hermione kicked him right in the balls like the muggleborn that she was proud to be, thankful she had transfigured herself a pair of trousers instead of a witch's cumbersome robes. Grindelwald toppled over with a groan then curled into a fetal position as he held his privates. He had probably not expected a physical attack, certainly not from a witch and most assuredly not there. But she didn't regret fighting dirty: this was Grindelwald, a bloody dark wizard. Still, she couldn't stand the whimpering she was the cause of, nor did she want to give him a chance to retaliate because he'd deal back the pain a hundredfold, no doubt about it. Twin stunners hit his chest from both wands at once. She looked at her wands in surprise. She had never done that before, using a wand in each hand simultaneously. Was it only possible because it was the Elder Wand? Had anyone else thought to try it before? She wanted to test this further but Death wouldn't be too happy about it. She I had just used his wand without a meaning to, when she didn't absolutely need it and she didn't want to make matters worse. However, watching the stunned Grindelwald sprawled on the floor, the wands still pointed at him… this man was a dark wizard. She could rid the world of him right here, right now. He hadn't done his darkest deeds yet, it would be for the greater good. The tension growed, the wands trembled but with a huff, she lowered them again. She wasn't a cold blooded killer, never had been, and she was only kidding herself if she thought she could take a life in such a way. She readjusted her hood, looked down at him with contempt and walked out of the window. She was better than him.

The town was a blur behind her as she rushed to the limits of the wards where she had left her moldy log and pinecones. She made quick work of transfiguring them into her white sleigh and huskies, double checking that one of them wasn't quacking this the around, and in no time, she was off again. She had a lot of distance to cover before she was a safe enough distance to Paris that she could apparate to the capital, having visited it once before with her parents, and from there to the cliffs of Dover and back to her homeland where the two next Hallows were. In fact, if she used the Elder Wand, she could probably cover more distance and be home even sooner. She was sure Death wouldn't mind.