Notes: Thank you all so very much for all the support. You make my day better every time.

And now, things get real...

~*~ Thirty Four ~*~

A rough hand shoved her off the pallet, jarring her awake. Heart beating out of her chest, Hermione twisted away, fighting her sleep-dampened senses. She'd been dreaming, something pleasant and oh so far away from the hellscape of war, from the misery of months on the road, blood stains under her nails and throat raw with dark incantations a better witch would not know. She blinked, lashes fused and unwilling to face the harsh light flooding the tent. Hermione reached blindly for Draco, but his pallet was empty, cold even. An uneven breath later and she was bolt upright, his absence propelling her to abrupt clarity.

"What?" She squinted toward the light, but it was impossible to distinguish features beyond the harsh glare. "What's going on? Where's Draco?"

"Commander Malfoy is outside." The voice was harsh, but familiar. Augusta Devereaux, Grindelwald's right hand woman on the western front of his campaign. She was an austere woman Hermione had only spoken to a handful of times as she often left Hermione and Draco alone, seemingly content with their leadership abilities.

"What are you doing in here?"

"You're being brought to Nurmengard to stand judgment for treason."

"What!?" Hermione couldn't believe her ears. Treason? She and Draco had only ever done what was requested of them, braving battles and broken souls to ensure their trap for Tom would be complete.

"It has come to Lord Grindelwald's attention that you have been in contact with one Albus Dumbledore. Seeing as how Professor Dumbledore is felt to be a significant threat to our efforts, we have no choice but to bring you before our Lord for you to pay the appropriate price." She lowered her wand a fraction and at last Hermione could make out her harsh features, hawk-like nose overlarge in the shadows cast by the illumination spell. Her paper-thin lips twisted together in silent glee before she offered, "The appropriate price for treason is always death, in case you were wondering. If you are honest, perhaps he will even make it a swift one."

Her pulse was thundering in her chest, up and down every limb, a raging drum against her temples. It couldn't be real. Perhaps this was the dream and the pleasantness of before was reality. But she knew better. The sheen of sweat on her brow, the cold wash of acid in her blood. It was all too real. "Who?"

Augusta blinked, an owl on the hunt, predatory and hungry. "Who what, my dear?"

"Who turned me in?"

"So you admit it?" The sinister glee in her dark eyes was enough to make Hermione's stomach turn an extra time.

"I don't admit anything," Hermione ground out, teeth gnashing. "But I deserve to know who my accuser is."

"Your beau."

But how could Tom have known she was here? The link with him had been blessedly silent during these months of hell rediscovered. Her Occlumency skills had increased tenfold in the time since they'd arrived at Grindelwald's farmhouse and they'd continued to practice in the castle and their field tent when the situation would allow. And how would Augusta even know about Tom to begin with? Even Grindelwald had been kept in the dark about the particulars of her relationship with him. Particulars that included that he was her husband and not her boyfriend.

She lifted her confused stare to meet Augusta's gleeful one. "I don't understand."

"Perhaps you should ask him." With that, Hermione was shoved unceremoniously out of the tent, stumbling to the ground before a pair of scuffed boots she knew as well as her own.

Draco's hand was oddly firm, too strong and too quick, as he hauled her to stand, her momentum swinging them chest to chest for a moment. His lips found her ear, words tripping over each other as he spoke quickly, "You have to trust me. I've researched everything and this is our only option. You have to be guilty, if only for a little while. I'll explain—"

He cut off abruptly as Augusta took hold of Hermione's free arm, dragging them apart. "Lover's spat can wait until after we're within Grindelwald's walls, Malfoy." She tsked, shaking her severe black bun from side to side. "Although I don't imagine she'll forgive you for this one. Turning in your lover, that's harsh even for you. I didn't realize what sort of darkness lay inside that heart of yours."

It didn't matter that they hadn't kissed since that moment after he'd saved her. It didn't matter that his soul was blacker than Augusta Devereaux could ever imagine. It didn't matter that he was breaking her heart right now. No, nothing mattered but the ferocity behind his eyes, the storms that held promises she couldn't comprehend, but was compelled to trust. She was lost at sea in this awful moment, but he was the lighthouse guiding her to shore.

A different Hermione, one who didn't know the healing warmth of his hands upon her sore muscles, who hadn't heard him singing softly beneath his breath to stave off the misery of the night, might have doubted. But she wasn't the girl whose childhood Voldemort had stolen leaving only a shell behind, or the woman whose body Tom had claimed without permission, her mind a jumbled mess of fiction and reality. She was Hermione Granger, warrior and friend, witch and Muggle. She was all of her scars and yet greater than their sum. So she would have faith despite the evidence and wait and use the strength she'd found bit by bit every night she'd lain across from him, learning to breathe again.

Draco said nothing as he turned his focus to Augusta, but she could see the twitch of his lip, a sure sign he was reining in a nasty sneer. It should have been chilling, but it wasn't. He didn't scare her, hadn't scared her in a very long time. Augusta scowled back at him. "Don't just stand there, Malfoy. We have places to be, fates to decide."

"Don't be so dramatic," he drawled, the cold disdain dripping over Hermione's skin like a cracked egg. This time she did tremble, just the slightest bit. She knew it wasn't real. Hoped to Merlin and Godric it wasn't real, knew exactly what sort of deceit he was capable of, but still it was the first time she'd heard him like this since they'd arrived in the past and his wand had nearly poked a hole in her jugular.

Augusta rolled her hawkish eyes, but merely pulled Hermione into a crushing embrace. A moment later the tug of apparation threatened to separate her insides from her outsides. If traveling alongside Draco had been nauseating, this was turning it up to eleven and then putting her through a blender for a rotation or two. It was never comfortable, but it rarely was this unpleasant. It reminded her unhappily of the portkey trip to Riddle House, which did nothing for the dread pooling in the pit of her stomach.

They appeared inside the great hall of Nurmengard, a feat Hermione hadn't known was possible. She forced the observation aside. Now was hardly the time to be analyzing the tactical strengths and weaknesses of Grindelwald's fortress. She focused on Grindelwald instead. He was seated atop a dais in a chair that very much resembled a throne, hands folded innocuously in his lap beside his wand—the Elder wand if she wasn't mistaken. His brilliant, sky blue eyes were hard diamonds as they consumed her, dragging across her face, prodding the edges of her mental defenses. She shut him out, slamming her shields into place with relish. If she was going to trust Draco, and right now she had no choice but to trust him, Grindelwald could not see even the barest hint of anything behind her eyes. Her truths were far more valuable than whatever farce they were enacting.

"I've been told you know Albus Dumbledore, Ms. Granger." It was the first time he'd called her anything but Commander in months. "Is this the case?"

Her gaze flickered to Draco. He was immovable as cold marble, lips twisting in an ugly smirk that reminded her of who exactly he'd been. Of who he was still capable of being, if the occasion arose. He held her stare, icy veneer thawing for half a moment as he blinked slowly. His expression was cruel again the next second, foreign and hard. It had been over before it began, but she knew the moment had been deliberate. She knew the depths of his patience, the ability he had to play the game until the bait was taken, no matter the price.

So she said, "Yes. I know Albus Dumbledore."

Draco's lips quirked, sneer melting into a half smile that instantly extinguished. "I told you. I intercepted a letter communique between the two of them last night at our tent in the field. Granger here was planning to lead Dumbledore to you before the month was out. She believes he has the power to end you and your campaign."

Did she now? It was true, from a certain point of view, but it wouldn't serve their plans for Riddle, so Draco must know she would never invite Dumbledore's interference. Which meant he was playing a different game here, a game which left her life tenuously suspended in the balance.

Grindelwald seemed to share her doubt. "It was my understanding that destruction of this Riddle boy was the priority for the both of you. You have both upheld your side of our bargain, so I am not sure what Ms. Granger has to gain from my destruction."

Draco's jaw twitched and Hermione realized he needed her to sell this deception. In a leap of faith she could hardly justify, she stepped forward, eyes blazing and hackles rising. "I have withstood enough of your crusade against the Muggle world. I will not help you break the Statute of Secrecy and I refuse to help you subjugate the people who raised me. I am a witch and I am proud of it, but I will never hold my power at the expense of another. What you stand for is sick and twisted and I will no longer be your pawn. Tom Riddle isn't worth this sacrifice of my principles or my soul."

It would have been easy to say it was all a lie, that she'd gotten going and let the moment get away from her. But as she spoke, she realized the bitter truth hidden behind each biting syllable. She was sick of the senseless violence, the war that stood for everything she'd never believed. Only the bit about Tom didn't truly resonate, her need for him to pay, for him to lose his precious control until he no longer had the world at his fingertips, far greater than her reluctance to participate in Grindelwald's seedy agenda.

"So it is treason then." Grindelwald seemed almost disappointed.

She held his sharp stare, feeling its press against her temple. She let him see the signature of the letter from Dumbledore, the dance they'd shared together at the Yule ball, enough to damn her beyond question. The elder wizard sighed, weary suddenly as he stood from his seat. His steps were slow as he descended toward her, Elder wand spinning between nimble fingers. "You will not recant? I am willing to spare your life, Ms. Granger. You have contributed much to my cause and I do not want to end such a bright light as your own."

"She is not to be trusted." Draco's brittle voice snapped, all hard edges and barely contained violence. "I put my life in her hands, but when she discovered the truth about me, what I did at the behest of the Dark Lord, she forsook me. She's sent for Dumbledore to destroy me as well, My Lord. I would not leave such a traitor with breath."

He nearly convinced her of the guilt she did not bear. Where before she'd seen a glimpse of the man she loved, now there was only nebulous darkness, a manifestation of a creature of nightmares, a legend of pain and suffering. If she'd doubted before, she knew now. He might have been coerced into the role, but he had fulfilled it. There was a tremor down her spine that had nothing to do with the rise of the Elder wand or the determined set of Grindelwald's jaw.

"Then justice shall be served." His tone was the kind that left echoes in your soul, unyielding as stone, resonant as the wind. "Avada Kedavra."