I well, I don't know how to say this, but I do hope you believe me when I say I was working as a spy for the Order of the Phoenix.'

The flat was away from the bustle of London, a sort of vintage aura about it. Ron and Millicent had both adviced her not to go, saying that twelve years in Azkaban- confirmed insanity ; but she had figured one hour wasn't much. She could handle it.

Black had cut his hair neater, and was wearing muggle clothes. The windows were wide and sunlight was streaming inside. Perhaps he wanted it to be as much as a contrast from the grey of Azkaban.

Dumbledore's vigilante group last time? '

He nodded, an acidic expression on his wasted face.

'What's the point in me believing you? Your own friends didn't, ' He flinched slightly, but it was gone in a blink of an eye, his tone now accusing.

'Then why did you testify for me?'

' I told the truth.'

'Right. It's pretty clear by now you don't care much for the niceties, so I'll come to the point why I called you.'

He rolled up the sleeve of his left arm and said, "I can help you."

You, not us. Her, not them. She wondered what he'd seen in his life to make him feel this way. Perhaps, she would be better off not knowing.

Malfoy, Ron, Parkinson, Bulstrode and Davis, all of them had gone home for Christmas, leaving the Slytherin common room blissfully calm. Ron had invited her, of course, but Hermione had had enough. She didn't want their sympathy. Sympathy had got her nothing.

The dorms were deathly quiet in the morning, the only other occupant of the room being Daphne. She woke up early anyway, to find the girl awake and reading a letter, her hand in her hair.

Hermione cleared her throat.

'Expecting a "good morning", hmm?' Asked Daphne nonchalantly, her eyes not leaving the paper.

'Were you, really?'

'Not from you, Granger. Fame seems to suit you.'

'I dare say it does.'

Daphne folded the letter, putting it in her bag before turning to look at Hermione finally.

'You're lucky both the prefects don't know about Malfoy.' she said darkly.

'Like I give a fuck. He deserved it. At any rate, I highly doubt he's gonna be the one complaining.'

'They don't like being interfered with, Granger.'

'Nor do I. '

' I swear, this trait of yours will be the death of you.'

She shrugged. ' Admit it, Greengrass. You're not his biggest fan.'

'Yeah well,' she said, now reading another letter with a slightly worried expression, as her hair braided itself. 'You were always a stubborn one.'

'Slytherin might just bag this one, yeah? ' asked Hermione, as she looked on at the silver green streaks zooming through the air. Adrian Pucey smirked.

'No doubts, what with me Chasing and all, ' he said, from his seat on the stands. 'But you've never cared about Quidditch.'

'Small talk,' she shrugged. 'We both know why you've called me here. Though I have no idea why we're at the pitch.'

He clenched and unclenched his fingers, looking on as the practice ended, giving Flint a stiff nod. 'I suppose I should have sent Laura. She'd have known how to explain this to you. But its fine. You know what it's about. We do not parade our issues in public-'

'Yeah, we show an united forefront, I know all that bullshit. Spare it; I know. He deserved it and more.'

'It's isn't exactly helping your reputation either. Or ours.'

'Please don't tell me this is about politics.'

Adrian raised an eyebrow. 'This is about me being a prefect.' Obviously, its about politics. Every damn thing is about politics here when you're involved.

'Last time I remember, Parkinson hexing me got the same response. We both know its because his name is Malfoy. Why do you need to pretend like you're good?'

'Because I am.'

'You are a Slytherin. Whatever we do, its only increasing the dirt. Don't you have other detentions to hand?'

He shook his head, as if he was biting back a laugh. 'Spit it out,' she snapped.

'None of that happening. Just don't do this again,'

'I'll try,' she lied, and Adrian shook his head again.

'I can see right though you, girl. And by Merlin, I can't blame you for it.'

The Christmas holidays ended. Malfoy didn't dare to call her a mudblood or make any other snide remark, and when she duelled him in Moody's class and he lost, she realized it didn't feel the same. The euphoria of victory had been replaced with some weird sort of pity. There it was; she didn't see him worthy of her time anymore. She supposed he had power over him now, and this was where she was supposed to feel smug. Perhaps she had been satisfied then, but now there was no victory in this, no clear cut competition. She could defeat him without lifting a brow. Pathetic, was what she thought.

Still, she didn't like the way he and Nott whispered darkly in corners.

Hermione Granger,

I can help you.

Sirius Black.

Sirius Black,

I am very grateful and all, but I would prefer it if you might focus on your health for a while. We still have time before the situation becomes dire, and I hope you'll use it to get better before starting this project. Azkaban is not a humane prison, and surviving it is a spirit I admire.

Hopefully the offer will still stand then.

Regards,

Hermione Granger.

'There,' said Hermione in false cheer, looking around the four different newspapers spread across her in a circle, underneath the fading February sunlight. 'Which me do you like the best?'

Ginny Weasley sniggered. 'Fred and George say fame's made you unpredictable.'

'And you?'

'Let's see the options, shall we? Ah, attention seeking liar, tragic heroine, Slytherin's little dark witch, defender of the light, quite a contrast. Of course, Witch Weekly thinks your hair is exotic,'

'I suppose it is,' said Luna solemnly, that Hermione didn't think it would be appropriate to laugh.

'What does my darling brother say?' asked Ginny, mirth shining in her eyes, and it would have seemed like last year had never happened. Maybe here, with the winter light and the usual sounds of laughter and chatter flowing, it was easy to forget, to not remember the scars. But that didn't mean they were gone.

'He says its going to my head,'

'You're not that arrogant,' cut in Luna. 'Selfish, maybe, but you've never really struck me as the fame seeking type. I suppose the Farishtas are troubling you,'

'Hermione Granger? Selfish?' asked Ginny, disbelief in her voice. 'She'd sacrifice herself if it meant Mrs. Norris could go to bed with a full belly,'

'I don't think so, Ginny,' she said quite seriously. 'People don't like being made fun of,'

'I'm right here,' reminded Hermione. Ginny shrugged. 'Luna calling you selfish is probably the kindest thing the whole of Hogwarts has spoken.'

'So,' she said dramatically, picking up a copy of the newspaper. 'The Daily Prophet thinks I've been bribed, and am a totally corrupt Dark Witch who practises Crucios in my spare time,'

'Well, Sirius Black was guilty. Its all Fudge's doing, most theologians call it the Slashkiller conspiracy...'

Ginny and Hermione exchanged a look.

'Good one, Granger! Patil, next, with...Bulstrode!'

'Not half bad,' teased Ron, as she sat down beside him. 'I admit Terry Boot's sort of unpredictable, but that blindfold one was swift,'

'I suppose whatever I do is nothing in front of your brilliant Knockback jinxes?'

'You catch the point,'

They watched together as the final duels ended, and Moody announced essays on the usage of defensive jinxes against offensive hexes.

'Granger,' he called, just as the two of them were across the corridor. 'I need to have a talk with you,'

'Sure sir,' she replied. Ron gave her a questioning glance. 'Probably something to do with the exams. Barely a week away,' she shrugged.

Hermione entered the now empty classroom, to find Moody repairing a broken table leg. His electric blue eye rotated around, as he gestured for her to take a seat. Moody, was, in her opinion a good teacher, at least better than Lupin. Lupin was kind, understanding, the kind of person who wouldn't mind talking to you for two hours if only to explain his point. Moody was ruthless, and fast, the kind of person who didn't care. She admired that because that was how people ended out to be. The Lupins of the world had never lasted.

It was only when the door swung shut on its own, that she had the inkling of what was to happen.

Hemione rolled under the desk in the blink of an eye, as the curse hit the chair instead. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat, and she quickly shot a stunner. What the fuck was happening?

She ducked again, shooting another stunner, before rolling behind an empty bench. From here, she let herself stop, as she watched. Moody was...certainly not Moody. His nose was unharmed, his hair turning the colour of straw.

Polyjuice, came a voice in her head, and it was like everything was clicking together, the clarity of the Dark Mark on Sirius's left arm, the eerie green light, the ache of her scar. Why Moody seemed to be almost, a normal DADA teacher.

How in hell could Dumbledore-

She had to duck again. 'Obscuro! Impedimenta! Stupefy! Arresto Momentum! Incarcerous!'

At least one of them should work, God...

'None of those are going to help, my girl...' His voice was like ice in her heart, the knife twisting deep and deep, because how could she win this, how could she live? Because she knew the meaning of the mark on his arm, the snarl in his words. Was she even breathing in this sheer tangle of panic?

Fight, Hermione, Fight.

'Reducto!' The table in front of her crumbled to dust. 'Reducto!' Another of the benches blasted. 'Impervious!' she cast, if only to protect her eyes from the stinging dust. 'Stupefy!' This one missed. She bit her tongue, now getting up on her feet, as she finally caught sight of the man. His face was gaunt, mad, as his lips bared into a grin. There was a slightly hazy air around him, like a protective shield. The classroom, was a mess of broken benches and the burning dust, and she wasn't sure if fear was the only thing building in her chest. This was their last class, the whole school would be in the their Common Rooms by now, and with spring just beginning, no one would even half realise.

'Incarcerous!'

'Expelliarmius! Locomotor Wibbly! Obscuro!' The last one hit. Hermione quickly seized her chance, and watched with grim satisfaction as her Stunner reached its mark. She was just about to make sure everything was secure before Hermione could go call someone that a firm hand gripped her arm, nearly twisting it.

'Not bad for a mudblood,' came his voice, deceptively casual. 'Not bad at all. But blood will show, it always does...'

Tight, binding ropes were now snaking over her wrists and ankles, rubbing uncomfortable hard. The flash of silver hit her eye, as realisation sank.

He wanted her blood...

A flick of her wand barely loosened the bindings. That this felt all too familiar wasn't helping at all.

'Reducto!' She screamed, her voice getting hoarse, as another of the table was reduced to crumbles. The bindings weren't disappearing.

'Honestly,' said the man, now eyeing her with curiosity. 'Being loud has nothing to do with the power. Now I'd advice you to stay quiet while I do this bit. I'm not exactly known for precision,'

Fuck. This wasn't happening, this wasn't, because Hermione could not stand this vulnerability.

'An honour, my girl, to give this, an honour you do not deserve. But the Dark Lord has chosen me, and I shall serve...how symbolic, almost ironic in nature, us both, disappointing fathers, but only victory at the end of this hardship; only sweet, sweet, revenge... Blood of the enemy!'

Hermione looked around frantically, heart beating madly. Her wand might be in her arm, but the cords were holding so tight, she could barely move a finger; what to do, what to do; It seemed like the pound of her heartbeat was obnoxiously loud. The glint of the blade was visible in the corner of her vision, and the world seemed to be spinning, but Hermione knew only that she had to move somehow.

So she let herself drop from where she was on the table to the hard stone floor, the impact sending a harsh jolt though her bones. She didn't breathe, as she focused only on the grip of her wand, only the calm of it, as the man's knife fell as well, cutting into her palm. Hermione ignored the slick feeling of warm blood coating her hands, making her grip slippery. She threw herself to the side, flipping the knife so that the handle was now in her arm. A breath. Knives she knew. Knives she could use.

Hermione rolled underneath another table, now trying to saw through but not before her whole vision was clouded by dust. She shut her eyes, focusing on the steel in her hands, trying to ignore his voice.

'I must say I thought of this as a bare two minute job. The Dark Lord knows, of course, that you're quite the witch, even for a mudblood. But really you're giving me quite the game here, my girl. ...'

She wished he would stop calling her that. The knife was moving agonizingly slow, but she didn't dare open her eyes, yet, another hard jab, a little more pressure, as finally, the cords surrounding her ankles tore free. Another quick slice had her arms free. Now she could play.

Hermione ignored the blood that was making her wand slippery to hold and started to shoot curses. All she needed to do was get to the door. Hermione's back was now positioned against the wall, and the room was still filled with the shimmery dust, making her eyes burn slightly, but Hermione didn't flinch, letting the hard stone of the wall be her support.

'Alohomora!' She whispered, in what she hoped was the direction of the door, but there was no reassuring click, no response at all. This time, she didn't hear the spells hit, only saw the jets of red light. Dropping to her knees to try to avoid the curses, Hermione's head was spinning. What to do?

She now let her hand snake to the right, trying to feel, because the mist only seemed to be getting denser, and it was getting harder to anticipate the curses. Sooner or later, her luck was going to run out. The Death Eater would catch up to her, and even though she had no idea of what he could possibly use her blood for, it didn't mean her imagination wasn't helping. Another breath, as she nearly tripped over a stray bench. Blue light illuminated the room again, as her Reductor took effect. Hermione's fingertips grazed over the latch of the door and it seemed as if the tangle of panic had cleared, now she knew.

She let herself smile the tiniest of smiles, as the door was blasted off its hinges.

Notes:

Had this weird situation where I knew what I wanted to write but simply couldn't get my fingers on the keyboard, so this is slightly shorter. And the conversation with Sirius and Hermione was intentionally cut short. But don't worry, they've only been introduced now, Sirius's gonna have more roles to play, especially in this universe, where he's been betrayed even worse.
As always, any feedback is appreciated.