'I see,' she said, her voice lower than a whisper as she twirled the familiar yew wand through her fingers. She did not bother to look up at the man and woman standing together in front of her.

'Is this your loyalty, Sirius? Do you defy - perhaps what they call a relapse of your old days?'

She could almost feel him fidgeting, his hands clenching and unclenching like some deep itch was running in him. The woman beside him inhaled sharply.

'My lord!' she cried, her once sleek hair a matted, mad mess. Out of the corner of her vision, she saw Bella shoot a grimace at Sirius. 'Surely not, my lord, my cousin, he has mended his ways-'

She held up a hand, and now finally looked up. Sirius Black's grey eyes were feverish, too bright in the dimly lit room- as lavishly adorned as it was, there was only the fire crackling in the hearth. She had always liked winters, always embraced the cold- winter was Christmas at Hogwarts away from the meagre scraps at the orphanage, the incessant crying of infants, numb fingers-

'Enough, Bella. Sirius will answer.'

'My lord,' croaked Sirius, dark, unruly hair falling in his eyes. 'I - I will not fail you again.'

'The mudblood girl trusts you, does she not?' She cocked her head to the side, looking straight into his. Almost, gentle, lovingly, and without much resistance, a broken string of memories were hanging in her eyes. Always so easy-

A dark haired boy of nine was looking at the familiar green ink on parchment with longing eyes, as an almost identical, but slightly taller boy was waving it out of the younger one's reach...the scene changed quickly enough, she could now feel the slightest sensation of something cold keeping her out- but she would not bow, no, she probed in deeper, letting them wash over her, searching, searching...

It always came back to the Granger girl, didn't it? A Halloween night, the stupid muggle woman standing in front of the crib with a heavy set lamp in her hands, how foolish, how unknowing...

Some prophecy she had yet to get in her grasp, nevertheless- as if a mudblood could defeat her.

She maintained the contact, and now an eleven year old Sirius was calling a sandy haired boy a mudblood, as an older girl spat something vindictive; she looked extraordinarily like Bella...now he was older, screaming at the younger boy who looked so much like him...the boy who had been presumed dead in his service but she did not want these- she wanted to finish the task she should have completed fourteen years ago. Gray sparked in her vision- the unforgiving grey of Azkaban, and now she was looking onto a courtroom- Cornelius Fudge was there, waving a paper and very much alive...but he too was dead now, silly, trusting man...finally- a swirl of enchantments as the dark interior of Grimmauld Place came into view; and at last the Granger girl as they cleared cabinets together-

Why do you do this, Sirius? I am nothing to you, no relation or worth. Then why?

The Granger girl looked so thin. Not frail, but too thin and there was something in her eyes as though they had pored over every answer for this scenario and even right now were working through it back again.

There was the barest of smiles on her lips. She stopped, the thread of memories unravelling. The spitting fire seemed bright in her vision as she regarded the pale man in front of her.

'Now, answer me.'

Sirius inclined his head as Bellatrix pursed her lips, eyes darting across the room. 'She...does, my Lord. She does trust me.'

'Then I am, of course, also right that Dumbledore has reinstated back the Order?'

'Yes, my Lord.'

'Excellent. You will not fail me this time as you did the last. No half threads. Lord Voldemort is merciful, but not all the time.'

'He will do it, my Lord!' said Bellatrix, chest heaving. 'He will, to your utmost satisfaction. It will not go like that night, will it, cousin?' She turned to face her cousin, eyes glittering. She could see that Bellatrix had grabbed his arm, nails sinking in the skin.

'Of course, my lord. There will be no room for errors.'

'There must be no room for errors,' she finished. Albus Dumbledore might be considered the most powerful wizard of all times but she had latched onto his weakness. She had made Hogwarts, the beloved school, the place she'd found home, she had made those stone walls and spiralling towers her stronghold. The future- it was hers.

The Granger girl was going to die, by her own hand. She was going to die the way so many before her had, simply because they had trusted.

The fire hissed, crackling bright in the dark room.

Hermione Granger woke up with a scream dying on her lips.

Her scar hurt. It felt like she was drowning in the pain- going under and under, hands clawing for the release that would never come. What were this dreams- were they just dreams? But dreams didn't feel so real- she could feel the cool grip of her wand, feel the cold mental barriers she glided through, could feel Lord Voldemort's high, cold voice from her own throat-

No one must know about it. No one. It was a weakness- a nightmare. She must keep it buried down. That was it- just a nightmare. She was a scared little girl who had had the misfortune to get her parents killed. Scared of it. She wasn't brave, after all, neither brave nor intelligent and not even determined or hardworking enough. Those were just that- dreams, nightmares- a weakness. She must let no one know.

Albus Dumbledore wishes to institute the Order of the Phoenix at Hogwarts but is denied by Wizengamot! Popular Leader Lucius Malfoy quotes that "a vigilante group" has no space at Hogwarts!

'As if we need those dunderheads over here,' said Malfoy casually. He was sitting opposite her, beside Crabbe and Goyle. Hermione flipped the page, ignoring him as he went on. She could almost feel Ron staring at her.

The Order of the Phoenix' members will be present as security for Hogwarts, claims Minister Dumbledore but this act was repealed by laws stating that the Ministry must not interfere with Hogwarts. That right, says Lucius Malfoy, belongs with the Board of Governors alone.

'Hogwarts is protected enough,' said Nott quietly. 'And they are an illegal group.'

'Not anymore,' said Zabini, stuffing some parchment in an envelope. 'Dumbledore's made it legal.'

'Of course,' snorted Malfoy. 'When is the Hogwarts delegation leaving to Durmstrang?'

'The end of this week,' supplied Pansy Parkinson. 'Merlin, I can' wait- we'll have Professor Selwyn as deputy, of course-'

'I thought it was Snape?' interjected Tracey Davis worriedly. Malfoy chortled. 'C'mon, Davis, use those brains.'

Hermione downed her pumpkin juice in one gulp and quickly shuffled to the Transfiguration classroom. Jacob Selwyn would be the Headmaster now. Hogwarts was never going to be the same. It was no more that safe abode, no more the home she had never had. It was enemy territory.

When she entered the class, Feydor Zenik was sitting at the desk, grading his papers.

'You're quite early, Miss-'

'Granger, Professor.'

'Very well,' he said, not looking up. There was something oddly familiar about him that she could not put her finger on, like she had once known him, long, long ago. Hermione piled up the book of concealment spells she had been reading on her desk, and started to read, waiting till the class filled in. The silence was almost comforting.

Barely three days after the Malfoy incident- he went back home without so much as a word against her or even to anyone. Draco Malfoy left home and no one told her anything. She was once again, called up to McGonagall's office.

'Have a biscuit, Ms. Granger,' she said. Hermione politely declined.

'Please, do understand.' said McGonagall.

'Yes Professor. I'll...stay low...I won't do anything at all.'

'Very well.'

McGonagall left for Durmstrang, in an excellent amount of spell work that had led to the suits of armour that were always present in the Hogwarts corridors coming to life in an amazing replica along with the Thestral driven carriages. Adrian Pucey and the other girl from Slytherin had left for the students guild- including Cedric. Hermione watched all the magic from afar, and felt dread and excitement mingling together in her. She stared at the glorious sun setting, the sky bathed in swirls and strokes of red and yellow as the numerous carriages seemed to merge into one extravagant one together in the sky.

The last of Dumbledore's trusted was gone. (Snape didn't count. He would just go with the tide.)

Hermione inhaled sharply and stayed up in the library till midnight, stack on stack of hard bunked books in front of her. She couldn't go back to the Common Room, she was avoiding it as much as possible and besides there had always been so much to learn. To survive, she would have to learn. She would have to adapt. She shouldn't depend.

She might even have to forsake all this, she might have this snatched away when she was at her most vulnerable. Hogwarts was officially enemy territory from this night. She looked out at the shining moon in the dark sky and found herself wondering about how it looked from the highest tower in Hogwarts.

Hermione had once spent the night lying on a broken pavement in a dirty London alley, shivering in the cold. Luke had found a soiled and drenched note beside a broken plastic crate and several rotting apples. And the cold, it had been burning. The sound of her own teeth chattering had echoed in her ears. And yet, she had for one second, felt an almost insane strait of excitement.

Hermione shook her head, and instead focused on the right pronunciation of the disillusionment charm she'd been practicing.

'Muggle Studies is sick, Hermione!' said Padma, depositing a heavy book in front of her. It had been nearly three weeks since Hogwarts started- nearly two weeks since Jacob Selwyn had assumed as Headmaster. And Lucius Malfoy had been successful in his endeavor to get the students a Wizarding History class- they would be starting that from tomorrow. Hermione sighed.

'I expect Muggles are filthy beasts who kill each other and must be dominated by the Wizarding World for their own good?'

Padma bit her lip. 'I'm sorry.'

'Don't be,' said Hermione dismissively, now copying down several spells that could increase clarity of hearing and vision. 'There's enough guilt without you piling it on.'

'It isn't like that,' she said, now sitting beside her and wrapping a tendril of dark, shiny hair around a finger. Hermione was inexplicably reminded of Andromeda for a second. 'It's just sick,' said Padma.

'All those new Muggleborns here, and us being taught that their parents aren't even human- Merlin, it's disgusting.'

Hermione did not say anything. She wrote down the next spell- a severing charm more lethal than diffindo. Her imagination came up with a gruesome image, red, dark blood but she suddenly found she didn't mind. She wasn't really going to perform it, really. It was something to keep in handy the next time she saw a death eater or one of her teachers started showing a sudden talent for lethal duelling.

Anyways, she reckoned, whoever she was going to perform this on, would really, really deserve it.

Fabian and Gideon Prewett - took five Death Eaters to kill them...

"Death Eater ideology," said Professor Marina. "is deeply rooted with the ideas of pureblood supremacy, on which the Department of Mysteries has been conducting several tests and research. The group has a set belief and practices that hint on a hierarchy of Wizards and Witches, where Purebloods are at the top, half bloods second and mud- excuse me, Muggle borns at the end of the rung. It has neither been proved nor disproved, nevertheless, several studies have shown that the average pureblood has more magical aptitude than the average muggleborn...Death Eaters have known to take part in several demonstrations to further this ideology...

'Hermione!' came a loud voice. Someone was shaking her, she could feel warm fingers clutching her shoulder. Hermione shot up, suddenly roused from sleep, and without thinking bit a shield charm. Her wand was clutched tight in her hand, as it always had. She had just woken up from another of those dreams, and this time her voice was silk, as she casually looked onto the scarily familiar grey eyed, dark haired man writhing on the ground. Her incantations were clipped, precise. Long, smooth, Lord Voldemort's fingers. Flashes of the dream sparked in her vision, making her dis oriented, suddenly everything was hazy. Her scar seared with pain.

The familiar voice calling her name was seemingly far away. She felt like a ghost, as the visions started to ripple and spiral together, merging in little flashes. She was talking Parseltongue, as a thick snake crawled from under her throne. And now she was back to the dorms and waking up from one of these dreams, sweat plastering her hair to her face. And now it was different= her scar burned once again. A woman's glassy eyes stared back at her- Hermione remembered this woman well, (but she wasn't Hermione now, was she? )- a martyr, Dorcas Meadowes. Her screams echoed. Hermione's voice was softer than the snake's hiss, except it didn't feel right- her voice- high, cold- it reminded her of frost on the windows, numb fingers-

She cradled a diadem in her hands. Silver, shining filigree, with a magnificent blue sapphire embedded in a silver oval, as the delicate designs engraved were intertwined together. Something about that diadem was fixating, drawing. It was a piece of art, she thought. It was elegance, it was power. It was magic. It was hers, so, so close.

It took Hermione a moment to realise that her head had hit the wooden floor, as her eyes flew open and everything disintegrated before her eyes. It felt like she could see how the dormitories had been built- the flooring of the wood, the comfortable, luxurious four poster beds, the large mirrors with its ebony borders- slowly twisting into each other.

She stared into blue eyes that were full of concern and something like guilt.

'Merlin, Hermione.' He grabbed her hand, she instinctively pulled it back, and retreated a few steps. Her breath seemed to catch in her throat and she blinked rapidly, trying to ignore the way her scar was prickling painfully. That diadem, with its shining sapphires and filigreed silver, the desire to hold it was like an itch she couldn't scratch, it was like the first glimpse of water in a desert. She couldn't breathe.

'Hermione, what the hell just happened?'

She finally looked up, her fingers gripping his tightly as Ron yanked her to her feet. Her brain seemed to whizz through this-why was he here, in her dormitory on a Saturday morning when he hadn't talked to her in nearly three weeks. Had anything happened? Had Selwyn done something? Ever since coming to power, he had been lording it, going as far as to ban several magazines and no checks on detentions or classes. There were talks of him giving Filch free reign on punishments. Then there had been Malfoy's sudden retreat to home- she had no idea why and if the others did- well they seemed to guard their secrets very carefully.

Yesterday night had been one of anticipation- the Wireless had crackled in the Common Room as they waited for it to announce who were the Triwizard Champions. Hermione had however, gone to bed early, finding the loud shouts stifling.

'I..ah, had a bad dream,'

Why should she even explain her self to him? Who was he to her? True friends, didn't do that, did they? They didn't shout at you when you were at your most vulnerable, did they?

How would she know, anyway? She had never had friends. The only ones she had ever counted on, those she had started to lean on without thinking, the thought that after hell, there would be a reassuring voice to tell her everything would be fine-

She had never had friends.

She withdrew her hand from his, taking a step backwards and sitting on her bed. 'And why are you here, anyway? I thought you didn't give a fuck about me?'

'Hermione, it isn't, it isn't like that-'

'It was exactly like that!'

'You didn't make it any fucking easier, did you? The first day of term, You Know Who's back, and what do you do? You nearly kill Draco Malfoy!'

Hermione ignored this, pressure building at her temples. The pain had decreased a bit, but it felt like she was just waiting, the waiting for the prickling in her scar to rise and rise till she drowned in it-

'How did you get through? I always have a simple security charms on my bed...' It had been a necessity, in her first days at Hogwarts- when Parkinson would jinx her shoes and she'd run late, when she punched Zabini as they muttered about her poverty and parents and her faded, coarse clothes.

'I know them. I'm a blood traitor in the same house as you.'

She sucked in a deep breath. The words echoed in her ears - Professor Marina, the new Wizarding History teacher, appointed on courtesy of Lucius Malfoy telling them on the Death Eaters ideology, the way her lips had curved before she said Muggle born- it was never Muggle born- it was always mudblood, always demeaning, like they were filth, like they weren't supposed to exist-

A blood traitor is considered slightly above the muggle born- their preferred crude term being mudblood, in their books. Very slightly. I would not like to, of course, take names, considering the sensitive history of it, but the Wizarding War did have several cases like this- doubly so when said "blood traitor"- I will advice you not to use that word- was a member of the Order of the Phoenix, a then illegal group that led the resistance against this particular ideology...

'I-forgot-'

'Yes, you do seem to do that quite a lot. You think its easy- being friends with the Girl Who Lived, being the only Weasley in Slytherin? You think I don't realise I've disappointed my parents? You think its any easier to hear taunts on your parents when they're alive and breathing rather when they're rotting and dead? You think it's any easier to share a fucking dorm with Malfoy when his own father is lording it out, is changing the school, the world?'

'I-well-'

'The world doesn't revolve around you, Hermione,' he said harshly. Her mouth was slightly open, and she stared back, twisting her fingers together nervously.

There was a dry silence. 'I meant to say I'm sorry,' said Hermione. 'You were right- that day-'

Ron gave a mirthless chuckle, hollow and biting. 'Your apologies are-' He waved a hand. 'They won't amount to much now, will they? Yeah well, that's where this has all ended up. My words and Draco Malfoy's blood. I thought it would be kinder coming from me than anyone else.' He inhaled sharply. 'I- well- I was sorry too. I didn't mean to say that I know better or anything-'

He flushed, the tips of his ears red. Hermione took another deep breath, focusing on the polished ebony frame of the mirror hanging across her. She could see herself, sitting on the four poster bed, thin and pale with unruly hair.

'But you were right, Ron.' she said. She hadn't had the chance to say that in nearly a month. 'Something's happened.'

Ron shrugged. 'It's equally shocking. Which one do you want to hear first?'

'Whatever affects me the worst,'

Ron let out a low whistle, shuffling nervously. He looked so out of place, she thought all of a sudden. So out of place with his vivid hair and easy smiles and friendly, almost safe view of the world.

'You have been- you've-'

'Just fucking spit it out,'

She couldn't breathe. It was suddenly so cold here, in the empty dorm with only her and a friend. A friend. Right.

Ron let out another whistle, shifting on the balls of his feet. He looked her straight in the eyes.

'You're to be expelled. And the second bit- you've been chosen by the Goblet of Fire as the fourth Triwizard champion.'