The air had felt substantially heavier ever since Malfoy had made his return to the real world. He melted in fine with everyone else in the house, doing his part in daily chores, bonding with his second-cousin, and managing to bite his tongue when it came to snide comments.

From the outside, there wasn't much of a difference whether Malfoy was in the attic or not. Except to Hermione, it made a world of difference.

She had become accustomed to his and her late night meet-ups over the past months. Relying on them, craving them. Only now that Malfoy could wander around the house whenever he liked, he didn't seem to need her company as much as she'd thought he might.

A week had passed since her recovery and neither of them had spoken to each other. He could barely look her in the eye, and she wasn't willing to embarrass herself to ask him why.

They both still had the habit of being awake at midnight, though. Hermione watched Malfoy from her window every night as he stood by those front gates. It itched her to know what he was thinking.

If he saw her, he didn't ever say.

Two days ago they had accidentally bumped into each other in the hallway. Not physically bump, but had to pass one another in order to get to the next room. Malfoy looked at the floor while Hermione rolled her eyes as she stepped around him.

Apart from sitting next to one another at the kitchen table each meal, that was the closest thing either of them had ever had to an interaction.

Professor McGonagall was due to arrive that evening. Their new housemate too.

Cho and Hermione had combined talents in making a lasagne and salad for dinner, Hermione thankfully on the salad. Compliments circled the table as everyone ate, all except from Malfoy. He chewed with control, just like he did everything else, and gave no indication on whether or not he thought it was good.

"Where did you say you got this recipe from, Cho?" Dean asked as he sliced another piece onto his fork.

"It was something my Grandmother used to make all the time when I would stay with her in the summer. I've made it that many times, it's probably carved into my brain by now," Cho answered.

George tilted his head back and talked with a mouth full, "Well, it's very bloody good."

"I aim to please."

The overhead light flickered above the dining table. Everyone looked around at each other in a wave of concern. Malfoy's shoulders stiffened as he looked around the kitchen.

Footsteps bounced off the front porch and the kitchen door squeaked open. McGonagall came in first, followed by a girl that Hermione recognised but didn't know the name of. She was a Ravenclaw in Hogwarts, two years above her.

She had the biggest blue eyes Hermione had ever seen. Her skin was smooth with delicate freckles and chestnut brown hair that fell to her elbows. She had horrifyingly good posture. It complemented her slender frame well.

"Good evening, everyone," McGonagall smiled. "I am happy to finally introduce you to your new houseguest. This is Ophelia Jane, some of you may remember her from school."

Ophelia smiled like she had never seen an ounce of evil in her life. Her lips were a natural tart red, that didn't dare part to reveal her teeth, but Hermione could tell they were perfect anyway.

Under the table, Malfoy's leg accidentally brushed against hers. They awkwardly side glanced one another and shifted so that it wouldn't happen again.

"It is lovely to meet you, Ophelia." Andromeda stood and embraced the new girl, who accepted with grace. "I am sure that you will fit in well with the rest of us here."

Ophelia tucked her shiny hair away from her face. "Thank you, Andromeda. I know that my coming here is due to dire circumstances, but I am very grateful for your welcoming arms despite them."

Her voice was as sweet as a daisy. Anyone would think she was auditioning to take over from Princess Diana. She looked and sounded like royalty.

Hermione's arms were hot and her palms were clammy. As she sat at the head of the table she could see everyone's reactions to their newest guest.

Cho was very clearly jealous but also in awe. Harry cared little. Fred and George were sussing out whether or not she'd be a good sport about playful pranks. Dean was bright eyed and Malfoy…The top of Malfoy's ears were pink.

It occurred to Hermione then that he had spoken about having fancied a halfblood during their schooling years, and being punished for doing so. Given his reaction to her arrival, it was obvious that this was whom he liked.

Ophelia made her way around the room asking each person their name and doing the smallest bow every time she moved onto the next.

Harry gave a half smile and placed his fork onto his plate. "I'm Harry," he said, unbothered.

"It is very lovely to meet you, Harry. I hope to get to know the greatness you carry behind your name's sake."

Next was Hermione.

"Hello, I'm-"

"Hermione Granger!" Ophelia answered for her. There was joy in her tone. "I am already well acquainted with your name, Hermione. You were quite the topic at school."

She fake laughed. "Not all bad things I hope."

"Of course not. You are the Brightest Witch of Our Age, and muggle-born at that. You are nothing but impressive."

This was quite possibly the nicest thing anyone had ever said to her. Ophelia was so effortless with her kindness. It was nauseating, but also impossible to hate. Hermione tried to suss out whether this was an act, or what her personality was really like.

The dark haired beauty gave her tiny bow and fixed her eyes on Malfoy. She tilted her head and looked at him how an old friend would. Eyes glistening with the ghosts of their, no doubt, sexual past.

Malfoy pushed back his chair and gave her cheek a light kiss. Barely touching, like an inconvenience.

She placed her hand over his arm and squeezed it, twice.

"Draco Malfoy," she sighed. "You are a sight for sore eyes."

"Hello, Ophelia," he said smoothly. "It is nice to see you." Then sat back down again.

Hermione found herself wanting to see more of an interaction between them both. She wanted to know the nature of their friendship, to pick at it and break it down to it's very core. There was a history between those two, and who was Hermione if not a history-buff.

Malfoy began eating his food without a care for the woman behind him. Or so he made it seem.

For all she knew, he could be leaping up and down internally over the reunion. One thing she did know now though, was that all those chances of Malfoy ever coming back to their midnight meet-ups were gone.

Hermione got up and made a serving of dinner for both Ophelia and McGonagall by the sink.

She used the time to steady her beating heart. Carefully placing one slice of lasagne on each plate, and then a handful of salad on the side, she breathed in through her nose and out through her mouth. Quietly, so no one noticed.

The task took longer than it truly should have, but she needed a minute to compose herself.

As she turned back around, Malfoy was standing behind her. She almost dropped the food on the floor with shock.

He looked her dead in the eye, then inched his face downward as if he was trying to read her mind. Hermione swallowed and forced herself to give nothing away. Though, there was no doubt her trembling lips gave some sort of clue.

Malfoy took the plates out of her hands without breaking their eye contact, then slowly spun to put them in front of their guests.

Ophelia thanked him with another arm squeeze.

"Thank you, Mr Malfoy." McGonagall did not sit at the table, but remained by the door. "Miss Granger, could we have a word?"

Hermione was still trying to jolt herself out of whatever state Malfoy had left her in when she hummed in agreement and followed the professor to the living room.

McGonagall sat in the largest arm chair, and she took the one opposing it.

"How are you, Miss Granger?"

Fiddling with her thumbs, Hermione said, "Better than I would expect someone else to feel if they were in my shoes. The night times are the hardest, but who isn't suffering during these times?"

"No one. However, this sort of suffering should never have been added to your load. I would like you to know that Mr Nott has been placed in a home where he is no longer able to hurt anyone else until the war is finalised."

"I appreciate that, Professor." Hermione moved her jaw. "More than I can express in words."

"It was the least that could be done."

There was a lull in the atmosphere. Hermione consciously ignored the echoes of Ophelia's laughter as well as everyone else's.

"Miss Granger, my reason for coming here tonight was not only to introduce Miss Jane to this safehouse. Given everything that happened these past weeks, I wanted to ask you if you were still committed to aiding the Order in their first revival attack."

Electricity ran through Hermione's fingertips. "Professor, given everything that has happened these past weeks, I am more ready than ever. If you have a plan, I am willing to hear it."

"I thought you might say as much." McGonagall patted down her ropes. "You are brave, and far older than your years. All of you are."

That was true. They all may be playing house right now, but if given the opportunity to strike, none of these people would back away. Their youth was stolen from them long ago.

"How much time do we have?" Hermione asked.

"Bellatrix will be meeting her fellow Death Eater come Thursday night."

"Thursday night?" Her voice hitched. "As in two days away?"

"Yes. As in two days away. Is that something you are prepared to do?"

Hermione folded her legs to contain her excitement, "I am. My only concern is whether or not you wish to keep this a secret from everyone else. Harry more specifically."

McGonagall turned down her glasses, "I think you might agree in my opinions of keeping Mr Potter out of the loop. Should something happen to you during the mission, I will hold that responsibility on my own shoulders. However, Miss Granger I must ask that you stick to the plan that had been placed. Nothing more. Do you understand?"

Hermione thought about the consequences of keeping this a secret from Harry. He would be upset that she decided to do this without him. But Harry didn't have much against Bellatrix like she did. This was justice that needed to be held in the first degree.

If she came back safe. No one would know she even left the house.

"Tell me the plan."

Two nights later, Hermione was sitting at the kitchen table pretending to eat dinner with her leg bouncing under the table. She was oozing with momentum.

In the background, Fred and George were sharing with Ophelia the genius behind their revenge on Umbridge in their final year. Hermione couldn't really concentrate on the story, she was too busy thinking of ways to excuse herself from the table to go mentally prepare for later in the night.

Ophelia had settled in well since her arrival. She took Theo's old room and did her part in helping around the house. It was obvious that she hadn't done any work in her life, given her wealthy heritage.

A hand came under the table and pushed on Hermione's knee to stop it from bouncing.

It was Malfoy. He did this all while keeping his focus on the story at the other end of the table. No one else noticed what he had done.

His hand had a solid grip on her lower thigh. He kept it there for six seconds before bringing it back to his glass of water.

Hermione hated how much heat he brought to her skin. Just by the brush of his fingertips he had made something pulsate inside of her. It was infuriating.

She worked very hard not to bring attention to herself for the rest of the meal. Same thing when Cho and Harry did the dishes and she told everyone she was tired and wanted to go to bed.

This was a normal thing, so no one looked at her any differently. Most of them waved her off and said that they'll see her tomorrow.

It took three hours of pacing her bedroom before everyone had gone to sleep. Hermione still had Harry's invisibility cloak in her bag, and she used it to sneak out after locking her bedroom door.

Malfoy hadn't visited her in a long time, but she still did it in hopes that maybe he would.

He was actually standing at the front gates when she made her way there from the back door. She had a suspicion he might be there, so she'd used the back door seeing as the front one was needing some oil.

Walking as quietly as possible, Hermione crept up behind Malfoy at a distance so she could see his face, but not be heard. He stood, feet apart, wand in hand and determination painted across his face.

An 11 was formed at the top of his brow. His eyes were almost completely black. A ring of silver was barely noticeable.

He was breathing roughly. Every inhale was jagged and every exhale was short.

"Do it," Malfoy mumbled to himself. "Come on, you cunt. Do it."

There was a sharpness to that curse he spoke.

"Stop being a pussy and do it."

Hermione took three steps in order to get a closer look at his face, then stopped when Malfoy's entire demeanour switched. His pupils shrunk, his head snapped to the side and fear took over.

He must have smelt her perfume.

Feeling a bit of deja vu, Hermione held her breath and froze. She didn't move an inch as he turned on the spot, as if expecting someone to be standing right behind him. He ducked his head and looked around a near-by tree, but saw no one.

Time was ticking and she needed to get off the farm.

Slowly, but surely, Hermione backed away. The warm buzz of the wards washed over her as she stepped through them and stood on the gravel countryside road.

She couldn't see or hear Malfoy once she'd passed through, but he could still see her if she wasn't careful. Toe to heel, Hermione tiptoed down the road far enough so that she hoped that he couldn't hear her apparate.

When it was safe enough she pulled the cloak off and stuffed it into her bag.

A few pep talks ran through her mind. One about being as brave as her grandfather, one about standing up for herself and the final for every single person who had fallen short at the receiving end of Bellatrix's wand.

She practised apparating from one side of the road to the other four times before she felt comfortable enough to go back to England. The tug to her navel was exhilarating

One firm hold of her wand, and the other on the bag around her shoulder, Hermione left with a crack.

Her legs wobbled on her landing in Wiltshire soil. England didn't have the same freshness to it as Scotland did. There was pollution and dark magic hovering over it.

Voldemort had made his claim over Britain, and it was showing.

The Malfoy Manor stood tall behind its glooming gates and boundary hedges. Even after being abandoned in May, it was still bursting to life with history. Generations of prejudice were hard to wipe clean even if no one lived here to sustain them.

Hermione pulled out the invisibility cloak from her bag and covered herself in it as she stood in front of the entrance pathway. The watch on her wrist read 12:28am. Any second now and her mission would arrive.

There had been several discussions with McGonagall on what their message wanted to be for Voldemort, and how exactly they were going to execute it. For two days, Hermione had been rehearsing and practising that plan.

Now, it was show time.

An unknown Death Eater arrived first. His black apparation marks swished upon his coming. He looked old, possibly the father of someone who went to Hogwarts. There was a certain texture to his skin that made him look devilish. Hermione loathed him already.

The pair of them waited in solitude. One completely invisible, holding her breath. The other, completely visible, panting with anticipation.

Bellatrix arrived at precisely 12:31am. Fashionably late.

A liquid as heavy as oil and as sharp as whiskey swirled at the bottom of Hermione's stomach. Just the look of the witch's black curls alone made her want to scratch her eyes out. The markings on her forearm encouraged the act of violence.

The two Death Eaters snarled at one another, then made their way to the grand entrance gates. Unsure of whether or not the wards would let her through, Hermione bent to hold onto the bottom of Bellatrix's long robes and followed them inside the property.

Her hands were surprisingly steady given the next steps playing in her brain.

She counted eight albino peacocks and four house elves all dead along the front gardens. No doubt more out the back. The scent of death was pungent, and it was adding fuel to the fire of Hermione's rage.

The unnamed Death Eater opened the Manor doors for Bellatrix, then guided them through the halls. Paintings hung along the walls, some of landscapes, others of Malfoy descendants, but all were laced with dust. Vases had been smashed and their pieces were scattered amongst blood stains on the running carpets.

Something happened here the night of the battle. Something so bad it empowered Voldemort to go on a rampage before his departure.

Or it could have been Lucius. Or Narcissa.

No doubt they were mourning their son, whether they believed he was dead or alive.

After two different sets of stairs, the Death Eaters and Hermione came to stop at a small sitting room. The snitch wallpapers suggested that this could have been a nursery at some point in time, and now it had little use. Bellatrix sat on a rocking chair, crossing her feet on a coffee table, while her companion stared out the roof tall window.

"Is there news on The Dark Lord's recovery?" The Death Eater asked, with a voice that matched his devilish exterior.

Bellatrix tapped her wand against her teeth, "Not… yet. Looks like you'll have to stay in Germany just that little bit longer, won't you Crabbey? Such a pity."

Hermione clung to the invisibility cloak as she crept into the corner of the room to get a better view of them both. The other man must be Vincent Crabbe's father. No wonder he had vengeance in his eyes.

"We do not have much more of a hold on the German Ministry." Crabbe spun sharply. "If the Dark Lord insists on killing the Potter boy himself, he must do it soon. We cannot hold these nations out any longer. They are resisting, clinging onto the hope that Potter is their saviour."

"You dare question the strength of your Lord?" Bellatrix hissed.

"I do. He is frail, and barely capable of holding a wand, let alone casting a curse to kill Potter! How am I supposed to convince ministers of his reign and rule when there is but a year left of him to live?!"

Crabbe had surpassed anger and had jumped straight into exasperation. His life was built on the assurance of Voldemort's supremity, and he was obviously losing that foundation.

Hermione wanted to know more. She needed to know what had happened to Voldemort.

A spark of red lit up the darkened room and hit Crabbe Snr directly in the chest. He groaned out in pain as he fell onto the floor.

"LET YOUR FAITH IN THE DARK LORD SLIP ONCE MORE, AND I WILL REUNITE YOU WITH YOUR PIG OF A SON!" Bellatrix bellowed as she rose to stand over Crabbe. Her heeled boot pressed into his throat.

She blew strands of wild curls out of her face and smiled down at the man beneath her. "You look pretty under my boot, Crabbey. Do you feel pretty?"

Crabbe clenched onto her ankle, begging her to release the pressure on his neck. He gurgled trying to talk but not having the oxygen to do so.

The feeling was something Hermione knew all too well. She pained to go and help, even though Crabbe would never do that same for her.

Bellatrix lifted her foot from his neck, and took no interest in watching him scramble up off the rug. She twirled her wand in her fingers, pacing the feature wall of golden snitches.

"The Dark Lord-" Crabbe Snr choked, "The Dark Lord will be moved on Tuesday night."

"And the snake?"

"And the snake."

Bellatrix did a swift turn, and grinned. "Good! The Manchester residence is ready for him."

Manchester. Voldemort was being moved to Manchester on Tuesday. This is the exact information Hermione needed to retell McGonagall. Manchester on Tuesday.

Crabbe rubbed his neck as Bellatrix handed him a piece of paper, "The address." She explained.

Hermione tried to lean forward on her feet to get a look at the parchment, but it was enclosed in an envelope. This new lead that involved a transfer of Voldemort meant that there needed to be a slight change in the Order's plan. Crabbe needed to walk out of here free.

The two Death Eaters continued to discuss things that were in no importance to the Order. Hermione thought on her feet. She took her wand from her pocket and poked it out of the invisibility cloak. Creeping up to the back of Crabbe's head she whispered, Imperio.

She willed the slime of a wizard to announce his sudden need for departure.

"I need to leave," Crabbe said in an urgent voice. "We will meet on Tuesday, Bellatrix."

Taking no notice of the unforgivable curse, Bellatrix nodded and shooed him away with a flimsy hand. Crabbe Snr left the meeting, apparating with a booming crack.

Hermione held back on her next move and watched as Bellatrix picked up a photograph that was standing on a bookshelf.

"You truly were a pathetic excuse for a nephew, weren't you boy?" She tutted, then threw the frame at the wall.

Glass shattered next to Hermione's feet. She peered down at the picture on the ground. It was a photo of Malfoy as a baby, his hair was slick and his eyes were bright. He was clapping his hands as his mother placed a single cupcake with a candle in front of him. A moment in time of his first birthday, no doubt.

It hurt to know that a baby not that much older than Teddy was already being trained as a child soldier. He looked so innocent, so happy. All that would be ruined because of the people who raised him and this house that haunted him.

Hermione's glass heart shattered once more.

Suddenly, the attack on Bellatrix was not only personal for Hermione, it was personal for Malfoy too.

Ripping the invisibility cloak off her shoulders, Hermione yelled as she cast a Stupefy, hitting the other witch in the back of the head. The Death Eater fell on her back with a thud, falling unconscious without any knowledge of who her attacker was.

Hermione stuffed the cloak back into her purse. Her heart was racing. She had gone over this plan in her head so many times, and yet now that she was performing it, she knew there needed to be some dress rehearsal changes.

She placed Bellatrix under a light weight charm and carried her to the front of the Manor, tossing her body to the ground. Then she went back inside, found the nearest chair, dragged it outside and tied the Death Eater to it. She made sure that from her seat at the front gates Bellatrix was facing the old mansion.

Hermione snapped her wand and threw it across the gardens, then stormed back inside.

There was retribution steaming from her ears as conversation with Malfoy played through her mind.

"The one good thing about that manor is the gardens. It was the only place I could run without being either yelled at by a portrait or beaten for knocking over an antique vase that my mother worshipped. If I could burn it to the ground, I would."

"You really mean that, don't you?"

"Wholeheartedly."

Her feet found the drawing room before her brain could calculate it. The chandelier had been replaced, but nothing else had changed. It still smelt of wood, and any traces of her muggle-born blood had been scrubbed away.

It's funny how such a small space meant for joyous entertainment was forever torturing Hermione about everything except joy.

Unsure why, she laid down on the floorboards like she was forced to do earlier in the year and stared up at the ceiling. That infamous Malfoy motto was still carved around the chandelier's base. In Italian, Purity Will Always Conquer.

The words made her chest tighten. They were the basis on which this war had started from.

She pulled herself off the floor and pointed her wand at the roof, ready to burn this hell-hole to the ground. Then the memory of that baby blond's face stopped her.

There was something she needed to do first.

It took over half an hour of vigorous searching before Hermione found the bedroom she was looking for. A framed photo of Pansy Parkinson gave it away.

Draco Malfoy's bedroom was just as dark as she had expected it to be. The duvet was grey, and the walls were forest green. It was the picture perfect room for the Slytherin prince. His open wardrobe of black suits matched the tone just as well.

There was no youth in this room. The wall by the window was covered in books. Some were well read, others were outwardly untouched. Melted candle wax stuck to both bedside tables and newspapers were scattered on the floor.

Whatever life Malfoy had been living prior to the farm, definitely didn't involve fun. Then again, how much fun can a teenage boy have when Voldemort is staying just down the hall.

Hermione was in search of a letter. The one Lucius had written for his son's eleventh birthday.

She practically yanked drawers out of their chests, throwing useless quills and sweets over her shoulder in order to find it. In the process, she found a watch that would've been gifted to him when he came of age. That seemed like it had importance, so she gently placed it into her purse for safe keeping.

The letter had been under a pillow, clearly crinkled after being slept on for so many years. Hermione was tempted to read it, but decided against the idea. Burning the Manor down was enough invasion of privacy for one day.

There didn't seem to be anything else that would be monumental to Malfoy. Everything else was either screaming with pureblood supremacy, or memories of a life that he probably wanted to forget. Hermione left with just the watch and letter secretly packed into her bag.

She marched back to the drawing room with more determination than ever. There wasn't a single ounce of hesitation when she pointed her wand at the Malfoy motto, casted a fierce Incendio and watched the drawing room erupt into flames.

A smile perked itself onto Hermione's face when she made her way out to the front gates. The manor slowly burned behind her. Bellatrix was awake and squirming in her seat, trying to loosen the charmed ropes around her wrists and abdomen. The gag on her mouth muffled any and all screaming.

Her eyes widened when she saw who was to blame for her capture. Hermione stopped a metre away from the witch, a long speech ready to pour, but the explosion of the first floor's windows in the background seemed to speak for her.

She pulled a piece of parchment from her bag and pinned it to the front of Bellatrix's dress robes. It read: THE LIGHT WILL ALWAYS CONQUER. The exact message that the Order wanted to send Voldemort.

His time was coming. His end was near.

Hermione didn't speak a word to Bellatrix when she stood by her to watch flames eat the manor like they hadn't had a feast in over a year. She didn't deserve her words. She didn't even deserve the effort of being kept alive, but there was satisfaction in seeing her face crumble at her own destruction.

There was a time for violence, and there was a time for revolution. The violence could come when they met on the battlefield again. For now, Bellatrix could watch the oldest pureblood family estate fall. Just like everything Voldemort stood for will too.

The smell of burnt wood was rewarding.

The red flames were poetic.

If Hermione had any regret, it would only be that Malfoy wasn't here with her.

When word got back to the farm of the Order's first attack, she didn't want anyone to know it was at her hands. So she took extra moments in soaking in the triumph. If Malfoy ever asked, she'd deny it. He didn't want her confessions these days anyway.

The watch and the letter in her purse could wait.

It wasn't until the sun was peering over the horizon that Hermione left Wiltshire and Bellatrix behind. She apparated back to Scotland with pride.

A familiar cat was sitting patiently by the front gates when she entered through the wards at the farm.

"Hello, Professor," Hermione smiled.

McGonagall transformed into her human self and said, "I take it all went well, Miss Granger?"

"The plan changed slightly, but Bellatrix has been left with the message nonetheless. Crabbe Snr was whom she was meeting with. They discussed a transfer of You-Know-Who on Tuesday to Manchester. I didn't get an address, but he is weak, Professor. His followers are losing faith."

"As they should," McGonagall tapped Hermione's shoulder. "Thank you for what you have done tonight, Miss Granger. It will remain unknown on the Order's side who was to honour for our first attack, but your name will go down in history books someday."

Hermione blushed. "Unnecessary. Let this be the beginning of a new era, but my name need not be attached at its turning point."

"Very well. In the meantime, go clean yourself up before everyone in the house wakes. You smell like smoke and I don't dare to ask why."

A surprising gesture came from the professor when she hugged her student. Hermione took the embrace lightly at first, and then clung on for dear life second. It was the perfect amount of soft and encouraging as she needed.

Waxing goodbye to the newly formed cat, Hemrione entered the house through the backdoor. On her way down the hallway she heard a small baby cry from the living room.

Thinking it would be Andromeda, she poked her head around the door to see. She was met with the bare back of someone who was most definitely not Andromeda. It was Malfoy.

He had Teddy over his shoulder as he patted his back in an attempt to stop his whimpering. Hermione's breath hitched. Her mind went to images that were strictly prohibited. This was another one of those moments that separated him from Lucius.

Hermione watched Malfoy soothe his cousin back to sleep for two more minutes before she retreated back upstairs. He never saw, and she hated to think about what he would've said if he caught her spying.

As odd as it sounded, seeing him do something like that made her glad that she burnt down his childhood home.

Barely having the energy for a shower, she fell onto her bed and slept until the next day. No one checked up on her, no one cared.

Her dreams were filled with pale babies blowing out birthday candles and silver eyes seeing a manor's ashes.