Notes: Thank you all for your continued support and kind words. As we move forward there are a couple of things to address.

First, I have only ever seen and read the original Harry Potter series, not any of the subsequent movies, etc. Blasphemous, I know. It's just these stories are so ingrained in my childhood and coming of age nostalgia that I can't imagine exposing myself to anything else. That means that my depictions of Gellert Grindelwald are based on the brief descriptions in the books, the images I've seen from the recent movies and a large dash of my own creativity. So please view his character accordingly.

Also, the French Resistance was very active during this time (late March 1944 currently in the story). They played a significant role in disrupting German rail routes and passing key information to The Allies in preparation for Operation Overlord (D-Day, June 6th 1944). Thus, Hermione and Draco are traveling through a very active war zone that included much gorilla-style warfare. While they mostly stick to the wizarding side of the war in this story, the final push of Allied forces into France and beyond does play out in the background (although I do not often specifically address it).

Okay, I think that's it for now. I hope each and every one of you is staying safe and well.

~*~ Twenty Seven ~*~

One month, a lifetime worth of Occlumency practice and several countries later, Hermione and Malfoy stood at the edge of Grenoble, France, surveying the rise of the Alps surrounding them. It hadn't been an easy journey, travelling through a Muggle war zone, attempting to avoid magic unless absolutely necessary. German troops had only recently begun their occupation of Grenoble and the Resistance was still in full force within the city and its surrounding vales. Of course, while the machinations of the Muggle war were important to be cognizant of, they were not the reason Hermione and Malfoy now stood a continent away from Hogwarts. No, that would be Grindelwald.

It had taken two weeks of intensive Occlumency for Hermione to finally have a worthy shield in place at all times. It had been easier this time, without Tom's deeply seated claws messing with her perception, but it had been far from straightforward. Only Malfoy's iron-clad understanding of what was necessary and her desperation to be free had propelled her to success on such an expedited timetable. Even so, she was years away from Malfoy's abilities. But he'd assured her it would be enough, especially since whatever bond they were trying to close off seemed weakened by distance. The further they'd traveled from Britain, the more they'd heard the mortars, seen the dog fights in the sky, the quieter Tom's voice in her head had become. By the time they'd reached the continent, the combination of her shield and the distance had silenced him completely.

Only after she'd stopped sensing anything beyond the fragment of his soul, an unctuous black stain upon her own, had Malfoy ceased to knock her out. It was then he'd revealed their destination. They were going to find Grindelwald and then they were going to convince him to destroy Tom. It sounded simple enough, but Hermione had no idea why Grindelwald would deign to help them. He was in the middle of the Global Wizarding War, forced into hiding, but still fighting to eradicate the Statute of Secrecy and bring about a world order where Muggles bowed at the feet of their magical superiors, a world she was very much not interested in seeing come to fruition. But Malfoy seemed unerringly sure that Grindelwald would accommodate their desire to eliminate Tom.

So here they stood, mere miles from Grindelwald's last known location, the scars of war inescapable every direction she looked. Malfoy pointed toward the nearest valley, determination steeling his jaw. His hair was a dirty blond now, more from the filth of their journey than the remnants of the dye. Indeed, he looked very much like himself again, which made a tendril of unease stir within her every time she caught sight of him. There was no more pretending he was someone other than the boy she'd grown up with, the man she'd fought against, the monster she'd heard too much about.

Despite the nearly six weeks on the road together, Hermione was no closer to reconciling the man she'd come to know with the gruesome stories passed between members of the Order. He never spoke about the war years if he could help it and when pressed he often clammed up immediately, warning only that things were not always as they seemed. By this point, Hermione was more than aware of that. She, Hermione Granger, heroine of the Order, had fallen for the manipulations of the enemy with a smile on her face. If she was no angel, and she knew she wasn't, then perhaps he was no devil either. But she wished he would talk to her, to let her understand more beyond the pain in his leg and the loss of his wife. He was so close to becoming human, to becoming a friend, and yet he maintained the distance between them, leaving her with insidious guilt and no outlet to fully articulate the struggle that raged within. So they traveled in silence, her mistakes etching misery upon her soul, Occlumency the only link tying them together.

Hermione's breath was ragged by the time they made it into the glen, the sun sinking low in the late March sky. It was still frigid at these elevations, despite the recent equinox, and she shivered beneath her heavy parka. Malfoy didn't let up on their grueling pace as he strode across the hewn fields, heading for the dimly lit farmhouse in the distance. Hermione could barely make out the structure in the dying light, the shadows of the ominous peaks already casting darkness over the valley. Her breath was visible, clouds of frost clinging to her skin with every pant. She could barely feel the tips of her fingers and was thankful for the ever-increasing size of the house in the distance. It had been too long since she'd had a wall between her and the elements, even if magic had helped keep her warm when mere Muggle solutions could not.

"Do we have a plan?" she hissed under her breath, realizing they'd never talked about exactly what to say to gain entrance to Grindelwald's domain.

"Keep your shield up. Do not let it waver, not even for the slightest moment. If you feel an attack, direct it appropriately," he cautioned, not looking away from the house, which upon closer inspection was more a manor the size of Riddle House than a mere country farmhouse. "Leave the rest to me. Don't speak unless absolutely necessary."

The thought of letting Malfoy take the lead left her feeling decidedly uneasy, but she'd stopped doubting her trust in him several hundred miles back. Taking a deep breath, the icy air burning down her throat, she began fully assembling her Occlumency shielding. While she had learned to always be on guard against the invasion of her mind from internal forces, namely Tom and his still unidentified binding to her, she had to focus to assemble the full protection needed to thwart an external foe. As each layer of defense settled around her, she took another breath, timing the construction to the steady rise and fall of her lungs. It had been Malfoy's idea to take a simple concept, such as breathing, and use it as the framework of her shield assembly. Hermione had to admit it did help ground the process and make it feel more like donning a suit of armor than some abstract construction only present in her very cluttered mind.

Malfoy's hand clamped on her arm brought reality staggering back into focus, her shield assembled. She squinted into the dusk, identifying the movement Malfoy must have sensed. Her wand fell silently to her hand, but she didn't draw it completely, letting him lead. His grip loosened on her arm, but didn't release.

"Identify yourselves," a cool voice traversed the darkness, genderless and calm.

"I'm Draco Malfoy and this is my companion, Hermione Granger. I come with tidings of the future to speak with Gellert Grindelwald."

Hermione barely kept her gasp in check, fighting every instinct to stare a hole in Malfoy's blond head. He'd been so adamant about not letting Tom know they had such knowledge, but here he was petitioning for Grindelwald's help using the same damning information. There was no reply from their interceptor, but she could hear formless whispers floating like wisps of smoke across the field for some minutes. Malfoy didn't waver, didn't look away from the spot where they'd seen the shadow emerge and then retreat.

Hermione released the breath she hadn't known she was holding, doing her best to calm the raging thunder of her heart within her chest. She'd been in worse spots, faced far worse odds on the battlefield and walked away. But this was different. For the first time in years, she was mostly lucid, and beyond that, she cared if she lived or died. It was a wholly unwelcome realization. She'd been reckless and lost for so long, numb to the risks, dulled by the steady flow of blood, that she'd forgotten the acrid tang of fear on her tongue and the nauseating realization that despite her will to live, survival was no guarantee.

"Steady," Malfoy muttered, guttural and deep, and just what she needed to take another calming breath.

A moment later a new voice crackled across the void. "Mr. Malfoy. I hear you wish to speak with me about a great many things."

Malfoy's breath caught, a sharp rasp in the night, but when he spoke, his tone was detached, calm to the point of near insolence. "I may. It depends on whether you are willing to negotiate for such a conversation."

The dark chuckle from across the field was every bit as unnerving as her memory of Voldemort's high pitched laugh, equal parts broken glass and veiled poison. "I like you already, my boy. Come, come, you and your… companion must be cold and tired after your journey."

Malfoy's grip slipped to her hand as he stepped forward, crossing the distance. The man who greeted them was flanked by two others shrouded in black cloaks, only the gleam of their eyes visible beneath the hoods. Unlike his companions, the man in the middle wore only charcoal trousers tucked into knee-high black boots and a loose cotton shirt, rolled up the elbows and buttoned down the front. It was black, but luminous in a way that told Hermione it must be silken or some sort of other expensive fabric. His hair was a platinum blond that stuck out in an ordered chaos from his scalp, his jaw square and eyes sharp beneath a broad brow. His stare was like a piercing arrow to the chest, a near physical blow as he studied each of them in turn.

Hermione could feel the precise moment he tested her shield, but when she resisted easily, he didn't attempt to pry further. If anything, his eyes gleamed just a hair brighter in the rising moonlight.

"How very curious you are indeed," he murmured, then shook his head, a biting smiling that raised all her hackles plastering on his thin lips. "Now where are my manners? I am Gellert Grindelwald and I am very pleased to welcome you to my humble abode of the hour. Do join me for supper?"

It wasn't a request. Malfoy nodded amiably, stormy eyes bereft of the slightest trace of emotion. "Of course, my Lord."

Grindelwald's lips twitched. "Such good manners. Yes, I am going to enjoy this conversation, Mr. Malfoy."

Malfoy merely bowed his head in deference as Grindelwald led the way to the manor dining room. A chandelier with at least a hundred candles towered over the table, casting the room in a warm, ethereal glow. Two additional plates appeared on the table with a wave of his wand and he motioned for them to sit on either side of his place at the head of the table. The cloaked men faded back, blending seamlessly with the shadowed recesses of the room. Malfoy sank into place without so much as a blink. Hermione followed a half second behind, nerves fraying as she surreptitiously studied the second most powerful dark wizard their world had known. Of course, Tom had yet to become Voldemort, so perhaps he was indeed the most powerful, most deadly there would ever be.

Grindelwald was everything and nothing like she'd pictured. He was younger, but that made sense; he was only in his sixties now, thus appearing only vaguely middle-aged by Muggle standards. His grey-blue eyes were less flinty than she'd expected, his whole face softer than a mass-murderer's had any right to be. But even Tom still looked like a fallen angel after slaughtering his family and splitting his soul. It was unsettling to understand death and destruction could be hidden behind such alluring visages. It was only the oily edge to his smile, the brittle pitch to his deep voice and the harsh edges of his laugh that told her this was not a man to trust.

Their host took a large swig of whatever alcohol resided in his goblet before narrowing eyes at Malfoy. "So how far into the future do you hail?"

"Far enough to know your defeat and your death." Malfoy smiled, razor sharp. "And I come with the offer to deliver the man who would kill you. But only if his death is on my terms."

Hermione went rigid for a moment, the pieces suddenly slamming together. Voldemort had killed Grindelwald in Nurmengard during his search for the Elder wand. While the Hallows had eventually been united during the first year of the war, they'd been no help in destroying Voldemort or his Death Eaters and Harry had rehidden the wand in Ron's tomb after recovering it from Malfoy during a battlefield skirmish that had degenerated into a fist fight, leaving Harry with a broken nose and dislocated jaw. Her gaze slid to Malfoy. Did he realize what he'd had in his possession? Did he know bringing Tom here would be opening up the possibility of him learning of the Hallows, if he didn't know already? It was a risk she wouldn't take, but Malfoy might not even be aware of it. Unfortunately, she could do little to inform him now.

Trying to keep her expression as neutral as possible, she shifted to consider Grindelwald. His nostrils flared the slightest bit as he digested Malfoy's words, but otherwise he showed no sign of distress at their knowledge of his death and defeat.

"Such a promise cannot be fulfilled without a price. After all, I do need to know you are telling the truth. I could be crude and force Veritaserum down your throats, but that's entirely uncivilized and I find true loyalty more effective anyway." He clasped his hands together, a cruel echo of an excited child on Christmas morning. "So here's now it will go, Mr. Malfoy, Miss Granger. I will have my truth and my murderer, but I will also have you."

Malfoy's brow raised. "I'm afraid I don't follow."

"You and Miss Granger will join my ranks. You will fight for me, lead and train my troops with your… specialized knowledge. Only after you have served me and given me what I need on the battlefront will I seek out my killer and bring him to you." His smile cut her to the bone, as if his teeth were truly sinking into her flesh. "I will, of course, require the name of my would-be murderer before I enter into this agreement. One can never be too cautious with these sorts of things."

Going back out there. Back to the blood and the dirt and the death. It was like asking her to hold her hand on a searing cauldron; she could not do it. Her very psyche, the parts of her left unshattered, rebelled against such a vile idea. And yet Malfoy said, "Agreed."

"The name?"

"Tom Marvolo Riddle." It was her voice that cut like diamond across the table. Her words that condemned them all.