I'm back again with another chapter! Finally, yes, yes, I know. I just wanted to thank everyone who's liked, favorited or reviewed my story! It really warms my heart to see that you guys are liking it so far, and it helps me out a lot as a writer to hear your feedback. (Speaking of, would you guys like me to answer the reviews in the notes before every chapter? Or should I keep it to answering each one individually? I can do both, honestly, I was just wondering what your thoughts are on the matter since I've seen other authors answer reviews in the chapter itself. Which I think is super fun).

That being said, I've been getting some comments and pm's asking about things that might happen in the story. And I just want to remind everyone that yes, everything's already been planned and no, I'm not gonna tell you anything that I haven't already told you or that isn't canon. So please understand if I don't give you the answer you want, but I promise all of your questions will be answered in the story!

I've also recently posted this baby on AO3! So… if you guys use this site, you can also read it there (it's the same username and the story is under the same name so it shouldn't be hard to find)!

Anyways...that's enough of me rambling, on with the chapter!

Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter

When Hermione opened her eyes, she was met with the familiar sight of her office. It was a small space that barely had enough room for her desk, a chair, and her bookshelf (filled to the brim with all sorts of books, just the way she liked it). Boxes lay astray throughout the room, most of them still containing belongings she hadn't had time to unpack. Amplifying the mess were the countless folders, scrolls, and pictures littering the floors and desk, along with the empty mugs that had once contained coffee and the energy drinks her Muggle friends used to drink. The place was a wreck, completely unlike her.

However, given recent circumstances, she was starting to understand how much the space fit her. And she hated it.

It had been little more than a week since her godson's birth and she'd agreed to work on the case, but she couldn't help but feel like she'd been involved for ages. The moment she'd left the hospital she'd driven head-first into her work, completely ignoring any other responsibilities as she set her mind on solving the case as soon as possible. All in hopes that the threat, whatever it was, could be dealt with quickly enough that she wouldn't have to think about it ever again. And, most importantly, never have to think about Bellatrix until her death was finally announced in the press for the entire world to rejoice. It was becoming increasingly apparent, however, that her wishes were nothing more than fruitless fantasies.

Dark Mark sightings in the countryside only increased as the days passed - with some even reaching muggle villages, which had been a pain to hide from the gossip-hungry populous. As did the mysterious reports from Azkaban regarding its prisoners in the max-security cells. While Bellatrix remained as the only prisoner who'd mysteriously begun healing, she was not the only one with unnatural symptoms and behavior. Some inmates going from demented beasts to docile and well-behaved, others simply laying idle regardless of what the guards did to them as if their souls had been taken by dementors. And, most troublesome of all, some simply turning up dead. All with no wounds or traces of magic found in their bodies, leaving healers no choice but to categorize their deaths as heart attacks.

Because nothing could come easy to her. That, she'd known since she was a child.

With a deep sigh, she reluctantly lifted her head from her desk and moved her neck from side to side, wincing at the loud popping sound her joints produced as a result. Her eyes briefly glanced over to the small mirror propped on a nearby shelf, one she had yet to use since her arrival. There really was no reason to; she'd long ceased to care about anything that didn't directly affect the case, her appearance included. Yet, out of curiosity and perhaps hope, her arm reached out to grab the mirror. Her hair was a mess, even more than usual. Tangled, filled with frizz, and with strands sticking out in random directions. And nothing good could be said about her face, much less her unkept robes. There was a slight, and incredibly silly, sentiment of self-consciousness she hadn't felt since she was fourteen, but she made sure to not allow it to bother her. After all, it wasn't as though her looks could hurt her work.

"Miss Granger, are you certain that is… appropriate for today's meeting?" Were the first words to come out of Kingsley's mouth the moment she'd bumped into him on the way to his office. By then, she'd already grown used to the odd looks from other, more put-together workers. But she'd never expected it from someone as professional and, well, seemingly apathetic about such superficial subjects.

"I've known him for years, and he's seen me look many times worse than this," she grumbled in reply, her lips not leaving the brim of her coffee cup even as she spoke. He nodded at the people passing by as they walked, her doing the same whenever they saw someone she was acquainted with. It didn't look as if they were engaged in conversation with their subtle and easy-to-miss mouth movements to everyone else. Exactly how they wanted it.

"Perhaps. Though he won't be the only one there, you know. I doubt a person such as herself will take being summoned by someone not wearing the latest of fashions very lightly," there was a hint of disdain and mockery in her voice that Hermione deeply agreed with. It was silly to care about such things, but one never knew with the type of people they were interviewing. "No offense, of course. I'm just looking out for the mission."

"I don't argue they're that superficial, but I know they're smart enough to not let such factors interfere in their goals. They've been trying to gain our trust for years now, I'm certain they won't mind helping us in return. Regardless of how much they dislike me, and my hair. Besides, even if they can't fathom the idea of cooperating with me, you'll still be there; and they're not exactly in a position to deny a request from the Minister."

It took her a couple of seconds of complete silence to realize she was walking alone. He'd stopped in his tracks, not too long ago judging by the lack of distance between them, but the action was enough to let her know something was the matter.

"You are coming, right?"

"I can't," his hand rose swiftly the instant Hermione's mouth opened in defiance, stopping her from speaking out for the time being. "There's an emergency meeting with the Muggle Prime Minister. There's been an increase in wizards and other magical creatures moving into muggle territory, and it's gotten increasingly harder to control."

"Let's reschedule, then! I'll meet with the Prime Minister with you, then we can question them. If this has anything to do with the case then it isn't something I should be missing!" She had to focus on controlling her volume - a task that was proving itself to be much harder in her exhaustion-fueled anger. Even after everything she'd gone through and all the work she'd put on the case, and he was still keeping things from her. "This questioning could give us all the answers we need. Answers I don't think they'll be happy to provide to one of the people they despise the most. Minister, with all due respect, we cannot risk losing our leads like this."

"If this was in any way related to the case, you would've been the first to know about it. It isn't. It's just-" he sighed, all of the sudden looking decades older than he was. "It's been going on for a while. The meeting was bound to happen, even if I am not exactly excited about the timing." He closed the distance between them and stretched out his hand, which she shook firmly. "I trust you. I wouldn't send someone alone if I didn't think they were capable."

"Kingsley, please. You're making a mistake."

"The Minister of Magic cannot spend all his time on a single case, Miss Granger, despite how important it might be. The Malfoys are waiting for you in my office. I've given the necessary orders so you won't be disturbed," Hermione took a step closer the moment he turned to leave, hoping to persuade him, but he was having none of it. "Don't be late, that's an order."

It wasn't much later that Hermione found herself in front of the Minister's office, still grumbling under her breath even as the guards courteously opened the doors for her. Inside the large, sparsely decorated office (save for some of Kingsley's photographs and gifts from diplomats) sat the only two people in the room. A man and a woman, both blonde and carrying an almost regal demeanor that shone through their noticeable annoyance. The man stood to greet Hermione but stopped in his tracks when he noticed that she wasn't being accompanied by anyone else.

"The Minister had pressing matters to attend to," Hermione stated plainly, noting Draco's obvious discomfort. The man turned to his mother, still elegantly poised in her chair with her back facing Hermione and with no intention to face her.

"And you're to conduct our interview? Do you have the proper authorization?" Not even Narcissa's voice had changed in the years that had passed since the two witches had last seen each other. Despite being in her fifties, she didn't look a day over thirty and carried the same beauty that anyone could've mistaken for a veela's. Her long, blonde hair settled in a neat and elaborate bun that Hermione could only assume had taken hours to create. She, much like her son, was dressed in the latest's fashions, with dark blue robes that reached her ankle but left her tall heels visible. Even at their lowest point, the Malfoys managed to hold on to their sophisticated and intimidating image.

"Yes, and yes. Everything has been taken care of, Mrs. Malfoy. Draco, please, take a seat," Hermione moved around the pair to sit on Kingsley's surprisingly comfortable chair as Draco hesitantly returned to his own seat. There was no escaping the older woman's disapproving and condescending face as her eyes scanned the girl before her, and Hermione had to briefly remind herself that she was the one in control and thus shouldn't let Narcissa's stuck-up attitude bother her. It didn't do much to stop her urge to wrap her robes over her simple muggle clothes, and she found herself lamenting that she hadn't at least tried to run a comb through her hair.

"Narcissa and Draco Malfoy," Hermione started while waving her wand at a nearby pen to make it start writing her words on its own, "the law states that I remind you that our interview, however private it may be, will be documented and recorded for those authorized to read the transcripts. I am also required to say that you are entitled to an interpreter of the species of your choice if needed. I must also remind you that this is still an official meeting, meaning anything that you say or do can and will be used against you in court, again, if needed. Whether that one regards your well-being and future, or that of Mister Lucius Malfoy, who currently resides in Azkaban prison for his involvement in the Second Wizarding War, as well as his support for Voldemort-" Draco winced and his mother's eye's narrowed, but she continued without commenting on this, "-and his escape from said prison in the year 1997. Do the two of you understand and consent to your presence and participation today?"

Both gave identical nods.

"Very well, then. We may begin." Before her lay a small file, inside of which laid a small picture of Lucius Malfoy's most recent mugshot, along with a brief description of his crimes along with his conduct in prison since his incarceration. Hermione's fingers delicately traced over the words, especially those pertaining to the last few weeks in which the first few changes had been reported. "Mrs. Malfoy, I understand you lived with your husband, along with your fellow Death Eaters, in the years predating the Battle of Hogwarts. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"And, according to both of your testimonies after the war, this was done involuntarily at the request of Voldemort himself. Is that correct?"

"Yes."

"Why your manor, out of all places? Was there anything of interest Voldemort wanted? Or was your family's relationship with him good enough that he knew you could be trusted with hosting multiple Death Eaters including himself, your sister, your brothers-in-law, and your husband?"

"Yes, and no."

"Mrs. Malfoy, you'll have to be a bit more eloquent. What do you mean by that?"

"He wanted to use my husband's affiliation with the Ministry to his advantage; he knew Lucius would not be suspected after publicly denouncing him, and thus our home would not be too heavily monitored. Not to mention, our blood wards and location made it a good target for his operations. So, yes, there was something he sought. And I cannot say that my husband's previous relationship with Death Eaters didn't play a part, but it wasn't sorely based on his involvement in the war. It was forced upon us by You-Know-Who, and it certainly wasn't something we would've volunteered for otherwise."

Hermione could tell how uncomfortable her questions made Draco, who had been silent for every one of her inquiries and was frantically tapping his leather shoe against the floor. Narcissa, on the other hand, was much more composed. Though her nostrils would occasionally flare in anger whenever she mentioned Voldemort. "Not even knowing your sister, whom you hadn't seen in more than a decade, would be living with you?"

"We were. It still wouldn't have changed anything."

"Is that so? Interesting. I've been told of how close you were, both before and during the war. I find it hard to believe that you and your family wouldn't have jumped to her aid-"

Narcissa slammed her fist on the armrest, and Draco's foot-tapping ceased as his body tensed up. He looked like he was about to speak, but his mother beat him to it.

"My sister was dangerous! I knew better than to allow her around my family, even before she went to Azkaban. Our relationship has nothing to do with this!"

"Your sister is still alive, is she not? Shouldn't the proper verb be 'is' rather than 'was?' Unless, of course, there is something you know that I don't." Narcissa clenched her fist, with a look that resembled her sister's crazed expressions, if more demure and less insane. However, unlike her sister, her reactions couldn't produce the same horror in Hermione - quite the opposite, actually. Hermione reveled in the fact that her words could have such an effect on Narcissa. It told much more than her words ever could. If Narcissa was this affected by the mere mention of her sister, then it could rule her out as a possible conspirator. Though she didn't know if Narcissa's anger came from the fact that she was forced to talk about a person she had turned her back to all those years ago, or from having her grammar corrected by a Muggle-born much younger than her. "I understand that the Minister allows correspondence between your home and Azkaban. Any chance one of those owls may have reached the wrong hands? Or that a letter may have arrived at your doorstep?"

At that point, Draco had finally had enough. "What are you implying?"

"Draco, that's enough," Narcissa took a deep breath, steadying herself. "No. Unless one of your guards has been giving my letters to Bellatrix, then he should be the only one with access to them. He and the countless people you have analyzing every single word I write in case there's some hidden message or plan to bring back the monster that ruined our lives." Draco averted his eyes from his mother as her volume grew. To Hermione, it seemed that he wasn't entirely used to seeing his mother in that way. "However, even if she did somehow manage to get her hands on them, and that's an if. Then it doesn't matter. Because there's nothing in there that concerns her, or anyone else, for that matter."

Draco beat her before Hermione could reply. "Why are you asking this? I thought we were here to talk about my father."

"We are," they weren't, but that wasn't something Hermione wanted to let them know. "I'm simply trying to get a full report. An assessment, of sorts, which will be used the next time you make an appeal for Lucius to be released early. We can't exactly have a Death Eater-" both Malfoys piped up to correct her, "right, sorry. Ex-Death Eater going home to a family that still sympathizes with the movement. Now, Mrs. Malfoy, regarding the letters…"

"This is ridiculous!" Hermione was sure that, had Narcissa not been wearing make-up, she would've seen her cheeks turning red with anger. Despite knowing their wands had been taken before entering the office, Hermione gripped her's harder, just in case. "I watched my family as my family disintegrated, as my mother died, as my son was traumatized, as my husband was almost killed, and as my sister was groomed and turned into a monster by Voldemort," the name sounded like pure venom when coming from her mouth. It was the most contempt she'd ever heard for the name in her life, and she had met with enough victims to know that was no easy feat. "Do you know why I lied to him that day? Despite being surrounded by Death Eaters and knowing full well what would happen to me if others found out Potter was still alive? Because I knew death was preferable to living in a world where his cruelty was law. No one in this world wanted him dead more than I did."

Hermione was dying to point out that it certainly didn't seem like she had any problem with his violence when it was targeted at Muggle Borns and other magical creatures, but she held her tongue. It wouldn't help her to stray away from the subject now that she had her talking. "It's better to be safe. Now, what was that you said about your sister being groomed?"

"Why does that matter?" That was Narcissa, again.

"Just trying to understand the full extent of Voldemort's actions towards your family. It will make your case stronger. You said your sister was groomed?" The quill was moving faster than ever now; it was following Hermione's ideas and theories rapidly forming in her head. Narcissa took notice of this, and Hermione could feel a small tugging sensation in her mind, likely from one of them using their Legilimency against her. Fortunately, all high-ranking Ministry officials were trained occlumens.

"My father was Voldemort's old classmate, so he would come to our home often when we were younger. That's when he made Bellatrix his protegé, of sorts," her eyes clothes and she gave a deep sigh. Looking as if fifty years of pain and exhaustion had finally caught up to her. "She wasn't in the best shape, mentally speaking, before meeting him. But it only got worse once she did. To the point, Andromeda and I had to seek help from McGonagall, but even she couldn't get to her."

"Why McGonagall? Wasn't Professor Slughorn the head of Slytherin back then? Someone as prominent as Bellatrix, I'm certain he would have loved to have her in his club." Even Draco seemed surprised that his mother had mentioned McGonagall at all, considering his family's distaste for the woman and Gryffindor as a whole.

"She was Bellatrix's favorite professor, though I'll never fully understand why. It didn't work, anyhow. She was too devoted to him to change, even as a child. Then she graduated, married, went to Azkaban for Voldemort, lost what was left of her sanity, escaped, and then lost her freedom in some desperate attempt to salvage what little was left of him."

"And what of the other Death Eaters? Those in the inner circle, I mean. Did they have the same relationship?"

"I don't know. I know my husband was aware of the Dark Lord when we were students, but he didn't join until after our graduation. And even then, that was only because of political gain, not because he was obsessed with him, as Bellatrix was. I think the Lestranges joined the same year they graduated Hogwarts, but none were as close as Bellatrix." There was a pause, in which Narcissa seemed to contemplate something. It didn't last long. "They were loyal to him, in their own way. But it all paled against my sister's devotion. And Voldemort knew that well. He trusted her above all else, no matter how many times she failed and displeased him. Even his heirs."

The pen stopped mid-sentence.

"Heirs?" Hermione questioned with wide eyes and a growing pit in her stomach. Draco had a similar reaction, looking at his mother as if she were insane. That was something she never in a million years would have expected to discover. The mere idea of Voldemort and Bellatrix, two of the most horrible people the world had ever seen, not only being intimate but having children together… if she had anything in her stomach other than coffee, she was sure she would have thrown it up by now.

"Yes. Heirs. They were more of a precaution than anything, a way to preserve his bloodline and the cause alive were anything to happen to them." By then, Hermione had taken the pen into her own hands and begun writing the notes herself. In a way that reminded Draco of her attitude in class; over-enthusiastic, curious, and invested. "The last one was born a couple of weeks before the Potter's were murdered. So they should be around your age. They came by the Manor a couple of times for instructions during the second war, and even then they were already masters of the dark arts. Of course, they couldn't fight in the final battle, though I don't know what became of them after their father's death."

"Why not? Shouldn't he have wanted their help?"

"Their goal, in the end, was to preserve the Dark Lord's cause. For Voldemort, that included making sure he remained alive. And, were anything to happen to him, to ensure that he could be brought back. It's likely what they've been focusing on since then if they're still interested in the war."

Hermione was only seconds away from bursting into the muggle Minister's office and kidnapping Kingsley so he could hear everything for himself. It made perfect sense. If the Dark Lord had devised a plan before his death, one that involved Bellatrix and the children they'd created for that very purpose, it could only mean that said children were the ones aiding their mother in prison. Narcissa, unknowingly, had just given her more information than she'd managed to gather since taking on the case. With clear suspects in sign, all they would have to do was locate them - perhaps run some studies to ensure none of the Azkaban guards shared DNA with Bellatrix, arrest them, and she would be home free without ever having to come close to Bellatrix again. It was perfect. Perhaps too perfect.

"Mrs. Malfoy, I'm going to need any information you have on these people. Their names, addresses, wand types, anything!"

"Of course," replied Narcissa with unnatural serenity. Hermione handed her some parchment and a pen (which she eyed disapprovingly, muttering something along the lines of "muggle-loving Ministry"). It didn't take long; either there weren't many people to speak about, or her information was more limited than she'd imagined.

When she was done, Narcissa motioned for Hermione to come closer and slightly extended her hand with the note forwards. "This will be a great help," she commented as their hands got closer, to which Narcissa replied with a simple "I'm certain" before she roughly grabbed onto Hermione's wrist and twisted it as hard as possible. Using Hermione's surprise to her advantage, she pulled the girl towards herself before she could use her wand to defend herself. Their gazes met; Narcissa's striking blue eyes glowed with ambition and victory, and her mouth arched up in a slight smirk before she whispered the words "legilimens".

It was over in a second. A horribly invasive, disorienting, violative instant in which Hermione could only stand by helplessly as Narcissa went through her memories. It left the two of them on the floor, panting and trying to recollect themselves from the ordeal. Hermione was first to stand, rising quickly and pointing her wand at Narcissa while her son helped her to her feet. She didn't seem to care, though. She'd already gotten what she wanted.

"What are they doing to my husband?" She asked, half-shouting and half-gasping for breath.

"That-was-private," growled Hermione, who almost had steam coming out of her nose. Angry at Narcissa for tricking her, and at herself for allowing Narcissa to best her in the first place. She hadn't known the youngest Black sister to be such a skilled legilimens. "Using legilimency against a Ministry Officer is a punishable offense. I should be throwing you in Azkaban right now!"

"And I should be running to the press to tell them what I saw in that lying head of yours, Granger. How dare you keep something like that hidden? Do you want the world to be completely unprepared if he returns?"

That made Hermione think. They'd been hiding their findings from everyone else to avoid widespread panic. And though the world at large was more vigilant than the first time, when most didn't even consider Voldemort's return a possibility, they were by no means prepared for another war. And with anti-muggle sentiment returning along with the recent land conflicts, she knew a third conflict would be disastrous.

"I'll ask again," continued Narcissa, "what are they doing to my husband? I saw you discussing his health. Why haven't we been informed or anything? I have a right to know if someone is-"

"We couldn't disclose information to-"

"I'm his wife!" It was the first time Hermione had ever seen the older witch with tears in her eyes. "If there's anyone using my husband to bring him back, I deserve to know! You lured us here to squeeze information from us without us knowing what it was about. You want information? Ask for it. We'll do it all. Hell, I'll let you and your cronies search my home for the thousandth time. Just...just tell me my husband is well."

"He's...fine, for now," as fine as someone who'd been years in Azkaban could be. "He's more fatigued and depressed than usual, though she hasn't gone through the same changes Bellatrix has," Draco seemed calmer after hearing that, but Narcissa's desperation didn't change. "If there's any information - real information, not the lies you were spewing, we need it. Anyone who you think might be doing this. But this conversation cannot leave this room."

"I know the Carrow's last known hiding place, and where some of Greyback's pack likes to hunt. My mother is living in my family's property in Italy, which you will need my sister's blood to enter. Everyone else is either in Azkaban or hates the Dark Lord almost as much as I do. I'll send you an owl. Keep that in mind when you question Bellatrix," Hermione wanted to tell her that she had no intention of visiting her sister, but Narcissa had stormed out before she could get a word out. Ignoring his son calling out to her, though his words lacked any real intention. It was clear he was doing it more out of routine, rather than because he wanted to keep her there.

"You couldn't just have told us why you wanted us here?" Draco asked, catching Hermione off-guard. She hadn't expected that he would want to talk to her. He still looked slightly confused about what exactly his mom had seen in Hermione's memories, though he was piercing the clues together.

"We couldn't risk you knowing about this," some could argue that they still couldn't and that she should be running after Narcissa to obliviate her. After seeing Narcissa's uncontrolled hatred towards Voldemort, and everything she'd lost because of him, though, she was certain that the Malfoy family wasn't the enemy. Not anymore.

Draco nodded in understanding. "I figured, most people still don't trust us. I can't blame them," he seemed lost in thought, and Hermione went back to close the file before her under the assumption that he was done talking. "Mother was hopeful. She was certain that this would be the last summoning before our appeal request was approved."

"If it helps, the way things are going, if it comes out that it's a guard or some other person that can only get to the Death Eaters inside the prison, we could release your father, under supervision of course."

She was only able to catch a brief glimpse of Draco's grin before he turned his face away from her. "Let's not get ahead of ourselves."

"You don't seem as...invested...as your mother when it comes to your father's appeal."

"I love my father," that wasn't the question, but Hermione didn't comment on this. "I want him back. It's just… there have been changes that he doesn't know about. And I'm not sure how he'll take them."

Hermione nodded knowingly. "How's Hogwarts?"

"Better than I imagined, though that isn't saying much. I never truly saw myself as a Professor, but Defence Against the Dark Arts is interesting enough. And the students aren't entirely dim," said Draco. Hermione got the notion that he was happier with his job than he admitted. "Astoria hates it, though. Even after all these years, I think she's still afraid that the post's curse will return and something will happen to me. That, and she doesn't like me spending so much time away from home. Especially with the baby coming, and all."

"Astoria is pregnant?"

"Don't tell anyone. We only just found out ourselves, as a matter of fact I don't know why I'm telling you of all people," Draco spoke that last part to himself, but Hermione heard it nonetheless. There was no explaining why the man she had seen as an enemy for most of her childhood was telling him such intimate details. And, frankly, she didn't care much about him to understand his line of reasoning either. "It's part of the reason we want father's sentence to be shortened, actually."

"Your secret's safe with me. Congratulations, Malfoy...er...Draco," replied Hermione awkwardly, feeling as if she was speaking in a foreign language.

Draco merely chucked. "Please, Granger, let's stick to the last name basis." There was a pregnant silence in the room as the two looked away from each other. Neither knew how to follow the conversation and not wanting to. Eventually, Hermione mercifully began gathering the papers and files on the desk.

"Right, well, I should go speak to the Minister," said Hermione.

"And I have essays to grade," Draco extended his left hand and waited for Hermione to shake it. "Can't say it's been a pleasure."

"Neither can I," she quipped as she eyed his hand, debating on whether to accept his polite gesture. The choice was taken away from her when his hand suddenly recoiled, and he brought it close to his chest with a pained yawp. His right hand went to wrap around his wrist in a futile attempt to ease the pain; which was only increasing by the second. Hermione sprung to action, shouting at the guards posted outside to get a Healer as she rushed to Draco's side as he sank to his knees.

"Don't-touch-fuck!" He grunted as Hermione lowered his sleeve to observe the damage. It was his scar. The remains of the dark mark that, for all Death Eaters, had faded into nothing more than faint, pink lines. Unmoving and dead. At least, until that very moment. In which both watched in horror as the lines twisted and turned around Draco's arm, making it look like he had worms underneath his skin. The human skull at the top of the dark mark contorted grotesquely and the snake slithered out of its mouth, coming to wrap around the top of the skull instead. "Make it stop!"

"I-I can't! Finite incantatem, vulnera sanentur! HEALER!" Her efforts proved fruitless as the transformation came to its agonizing end. On the upper side of Draco's forearm, where the human skull used to be, laid the skull of a bird in blood-red scars. Decorated with a large snake wrapped around it and coming down to rest right below his wrist.

"Granger- I-I didn't know-" said Draco, still panting and sweaty with tears threatening to fall down his cheeks. She hadn't seen him like this since the Battle of Hogwarts, porting the same desperate and honest look his mother had when talking about Voldemort. She believed him.

"I know," she replied, running her hands over the raised skin of his scars despite his pained hissing. "But I have an idea of who might." Draco did, too. Though he'd been too afraid to say it out loud. She was just as much. But there was a sense of understanding between the two - an unspoken yet overwhelming feeling of dread that engulfed their minds and paralyzed their bodies. For they had seen the same bird skull before, too many times to count. Worn around the delicate neck of the person they feared the most.

Hermione stayed kneeled on the ground as the healers aided Draco, ignoring any questions regarding her health. She remained unmoving even as they left the scene, even as Kingsley returned to his office demanding to know what had happened. The only thing moving being her limbs, which trembled despite her body's attempts to keep them still. And her mouth, which muttered the same words over and over again.

"I'm going to Azkaban," informed she informed. "I'm going to Azkaban, and I'm going to end this. Once and for all."