A/N: Feeling back in the swing of things, so hopefully updates will start to be more frequent. Thank you especially for all the lovely reviews and tumblr messages you've been leaving even when it's been ages since I've published :)

Trigger warnings: blood supremacy

"Are all wizarding estates so close to Muggle villages?"

"Most, but I believe that's merely a product of coincidence. There are, after all, so many of them, and their populations continue to expand much more quickly than magical society." Narcissa took a moment to adjust the bag slung over her shoulder. "It would be incredibly difficult to find a truly isolated location. I imagine that, one day, measures will have to be taken to protect Hogwarts' grounds when the current wards will no longer be enough to deter persistent Muggles."

Always "us" versus "them," thought Hermione, but the logic of Narcissa's argument was sound so she said nothing as they trudged up the grassy hill. The village had proven to be very lucrative and Hermione neatly bit off the last bit of flesh from the pear in her hand. Its juice was crisp and sweet; she couldn't bring herself to mind as it dribbled down to her chin. She swiped it away with the back of her hand and then tossed the inedible remains of the fruit's core onto the damp ground and tried not to flinch at the sight of a predatory bird swooping down to investigate.

They continued in silence for a few more minutes, Hermione making note of each landmark they passed. The tree with the severed branch. The oddly shaped boulder. The sharp swerve of the dirt path. All signs that they were still heading back to the campsite. Their progress was frustratingly slow and made even slower by the terrible aches in Hermione's legs. Just walking sent shooting pains through her shinbones and the added strain of climbing had her holding her breath with every step.

Narcissa said nothing about it and followed whatever pace Hermione set. However, it seemed that even her patience had its limit.

"May I carry your bag?"

"I'm fine, thanks."

"Evidently, you are not."

Hermione said nothing and bit her lip as she navigated around a dip in the path.

"There's no need for you to suffer like this. At least let me try a numbing charm."

"I've already tried. It helped a little."

"Mine would help more."

Hermione scoffed and focused on keeping an even stride despite the twinges in her ligaments. "And why's that?"

"My magic is stronger than yours."

The way in which Narcissa said it, so matter-of-fact, as if it were the plainest thing in the world nearly made Hermione stumble. "I'm alright, really," she insisted with a frown. "I… I feel much better now that we've got Potterwatch, and more food, and—"

"That isn't what I meant, although I am glad to hear it."

"Then what do you mean?"

"Inherited magic has more power."

Hermione did stop. "You can't possibly believe that."

Narcissa merely looked at her, both of them now facing each other on the path. "You do not?"

Hermione huffed in utter disbelief, whirled around and started back up the incline with renewed vigour, torn muscles be damned. "Oh, this is rich! Is this how you get away with it, then? You allow yourself to acknowledge that we Mudbloods do have some inherent magic in us, but it's still not good enough, is it? Nothing we can do will ever make us good enough for you lot!"

"I did not mean that, and I think you know it. Of course you have the right to practice magic." Narcissa was struggling to keep up and Hermione was glad she couldn't see the woman. She might pull out all of her pretty, pale hair. "But you cannot deny that those with magical ancestry are more powerful—"

"Oh, yes I can deny it. There is absolutely no evidence to that claim." Hermione's legs throbbed and with each step she grew less certain her limbs would support her but she didn't dare stop. "Some of you purebloods are absolutely pathetic, do you know that? Can barely levitate a feather. I've spent the last seven years surrounded by—by incapable, idiotic morons with not a drop of Muggle blood in their veins who can hardly tell one end of a wand from the other. There are Mudbloods and half-bloods with more magical power in their fingernails than the lot of you inbred purebloods have combined! Harry, for example! Me! Even your precious Dark Lord! So no, I'm afraid the facts do not stand up to this one."

"Your Muggle 'science' cannot even explain the mere existence of magic," Narcissa's tone grew dangerously close to the same sizzling anger as Hermione's. "And yet you still believe it. Why is it so unacceptable that I am unable to exactly articulate why inherited magic is stronger?"

"Because," Hermione stopped and twisted around, forcing Narcissa to stop short. The anger, the rage roaring through her felt almost uncontrollable. "This isn't a laboratory! Opinions like this are why we're at war, why people like me are being rounded up and executed! If you're going to commit yourself to that, at least do it with some bloody conviction!" she snarled and whipped around, setting off again in the vague direction of the trees.

Hermione's legs were quivering now, each step more imprecise than the last, but it wasn't until she found herself back in their clearing that she finally stuttered to a halt. Narcissa came up beside her.

"I'm sorry that I offended you."

Hermione dropped her bag onto the ground and began yanking out the components of their tent. "Yes, well, I'll be sure to tell that to all the innocent Muggles and their magical children who are being murdered at the moment."

She heard Narcissa sigh as she tossed two more metal rods onto the growing pile at her feet. "You must understand, it is… difficult to adjust one's beliefs so drastically."

"You've had decades. Plenty of time," muttered Hermione.

Narcissa's lips parted to further defend herself, but she appeared to think better of it and closed them again. "Very well," was all she said and Hermione couldn't tell whether this was a concession or a stalemate. For a moment, it paralysed her, but she brushed it off and went back to reconstructing their little home.

It would do. For now.

Another three days passed before Hermione was able to unlock Potterwatch again. With every hour she grew more convinced that she'd missed the broadcast and nearly returned to her extensive list of potential passwords. Only when Narcissa wrenched the wireless out of her arms at four o'clock in the morning did she finally allow herself a break.

As it so happened, she was curled up in the cushions, some magically chilled rocks balancing on her still inflamed legs, and holding the radio to her chest when she gave it a tap and a whisper and a friendly voice erupted from the speaker.

"—very glad to have you with us this fine day. We've got a lovely program lined up for you—"

"Narcissa!" Hermione scrambled to sit upright, causing the rocks to tumble off her calves and roll away. She ignored them, twisting the volume dial as far as it would go as Narcissa rushed inside and they both froze, as though the wrong movement would break the little box.

"As always, we begin with the latest updates on those we have lost. Magical and Muggle alike, we mourn the loss of every life and hope that their sacrifice will not be in vain…"

Hermione listened to the names, held her breath until she felt dizzy. So many Muggles, so many surnames she recognised from Hogwarts, and even more names she didn't know at all but couldn't help but be convinced she'd brushed by them in Diagon Alley. Too many bodies.

Had she been listed among them at some point during the last weeks? Had listeners been warned that anyone resembling her was likely Polyjuiced or an Inferi?

I'm here! She wondered how much Legilimency it would take to project her thoughts back through the radio. I can hear you! Tell me what to do; I'm ready.

They seemed to go on for ages, recounting stories of unsung heroes and reiterating the importance of protecting the vulnerable. Ordinarily, Hermione would have said it was all a bit redundant and an impractical use of limited time and resources, but she couldn't bring herself to care. The voices—A Weasely twin, Lee Jordan, and was that Kingsley?—wrapped around her, both energised and soothed. She couldn't get enough.

"And now, we have a rather interesting and unique bit of information for you all. Royal, would you care to do the honours?"

"We have reason to believe that Death Eaters are planning an attack in Muggle London two days from now."

"Thank you, Royal. To the point as always. And where, pray tell, do we suppose this attack to take place?"

"A theatre in the Covent Garden district. There will be a large number of Muggle civilians present. We believe the Death Eaters will strike late in the evening, when pedestrian traffic is highest."

"So, if anyone fancies popping by—"

"They should do so with the utmost caution. I will not lie: we need more wizards to counter these attacks. But I cannot encourage untrained civilians to engage Death Eaters without acknowledging that this is incredibly dangerous. People will most certainly die, it's just a matter of how many."

"What advice would you give people considering becoming more active in the resistance, Royal?"

Hermione's eyes were locked with Narcissa's. She couldn't remember moving them from the wireless.

"You want to go."

"We have to," breathed Hermione.

Narcissa pressed her lips together. Hermione waited for the inevitable rebuttal, Kingsley's list of defensive and offensive spells becoming a pleasant background noise.

"What if we're captured again?"

Hermione shrugged. "You know what they'll do to us. It doesn't matter. It's take that risk or spend the rest of the war in this tent."

"That's an awfully big risk to take," whispered Narcissa.

"I don't think we have a choice. We might be able to find others." Harry. "We won't have to do this alone anymore."

Hermione tried to be patient as Narcissa mulled it over, but each second grew longer than the last and, after three heartbeats, the sight of Narcissa biting her lip in indecision made Hermione want to tug her hair out. Holding her breath, she struggled to contain the urge to shout "It's the obvious choice! It's the only choice!" and instead waited for Narcissa to reach that conclusion on her own.

It took eight more heartbeats before Hermione perceived a slight nod, then a bigger one and finally a whispered "yes."

Hermione released her breath with a smile, the relief morphing into excitement and threatening to leak out, escaping through the spaces between her ribs.

"Two days… that does not allow us much time."

"We have Polyjuice. We'll be fine."

Narcissa continued nodding, though a frown still creased between her eyebrows. "Yes, Polyjuice is the only way. We can discuss more detailed contingencies in the morning."

"Of course—I've done something like this before, don't worry—"

Hermione actually bit her lip this time to stem the excited babbling. The chatterbox Hermione of first year had returned, summoned by the incomprehensible reality that she could be with her friends once again in less than forty-eight hours. She hadn't realised how resigned she had become to never seeing them again, to dying before the war concluded. Charging headfirst into an ambush rather raised the chance of untimely death, she supposed, but it was the closest she had come to re-joining the organised resistance since she'd been snatched away from it.

It was no wonder, then, that Narcissa seemed so uncomfortable. Assuming they both got through the inevitable skirmish unscathed and managed to find members of the Order at all, there was no place for Narcissa among their ranks. She would not be welcome, at least not at first, and in fact would probably be met with open hostility if not rejected outright.

I could make them see reason, thought Hermione, the surge of adrenaline making her perhaps a little overly confident. I'll make them understand.

And then we'll all be together again. And everything will be alright.