January 11th

The elderly woman who owned the small house Hermione was squatting in should really learn to be more careful. Once she set her sights on her target, it hadn't taken Hermione any time at all to break into the house. She didn't even have a security system or a deadbolt on her back door! What trusting fools Muggles could be.

Even though she felt confident that she could rest inside the house comfortably for a few days, Hermione knew better than to get complacent. She made as little impact on the woman's dwelling as possible. Lighting a fire in the fireplace might have been noticed by a concerned and nosy neighbor. Any amount of smoke swirling out of the chimney could bring the front door crashing down by a citizen's call to the fire services. Turning any of the lights on or off could also draw unwanted attention.

Once when she was able to sneak into an empty house, she'd been so careful keeping her presence a secret that the home was actually burgled while she was trying to sleep. Thankfully, her instincts kicked in and she was able to get out of the house before she was spotted by the criminals, but it had been a near miss. Knowing that they would assume the items were taken in the heist, Hermione had the presence of mind to slip a few valuables she could easily sell inside her pockets on the way out. The burglars were responsible for giving her enough money to eat for the next couple of weeks. Small favors.

When she first inspected the dwelling that would be her temporary home, Hermione had been excited to see the comfortable-looking bed in the largest bedroom. A thick mattress and fluffy sheets seemed like Heaven to her after trying to sleep in the backseat of cars or her chilly nights in the cellar. As she kicked off her shoes and prepared herself to slip between the heavy blankets, she stopped. Getting too comfortable in the last house was exactly what almost got her caught. If Draco Malfoy was on her trail, she had to be even more careful than she had already been.

Reluctantly, she tore herself away from the bedroom. A deep sofa in the tiny living room offered her the best opportunity to see or hear anyone trying to come in through the front door. She was closer to the back door as well. It certainly wasn't nearly as comfortable as the bed would've been, but in no time, she was fast asleep underneath several blankets she found in a linen cupboard.

Sleep was sometimes difficult to find when she was on the run. Other times, it was the only activity that could fill her days. Whenever she got the opportunity, Hermione took advantage of sleeping as much as she could. Not only would she be unable to guarantee that she would find somewhere safe to sleep outside those walls, but slipping away into her dream world was as close to an escape from her harsh reality as she could ever expect until death. Nonsensical dreams and memories of a happier past could sustain her in the hours she was forced to be awake.

The events of the previous few days colored her dreams. Instead of hiding within her dreams, she was forced to relive one of the worst days of her life. As unsettling image after unsettling image raced through her subconscious, Hermione couldn't stay in a carefree, blissful sleeping state. To her frustration, she woke up with her heart racing.

Oliver Wood was frequently a guest star in her nightmares. She hated that there were others after him that carved their individual marks on her conscience, but he was the first and in a number of ways, the most upsetting. Up until the moment his life force drained out of his weakened body, there had been opportunity for Hermione not to become a monster. Once he was dead, however, there was no turning back.

It had been a simple mission, a simple set of orders. Flush the renegades out of the Hogsmeade Caves by any means necessary. Capture them, if possible. If not, use whatever level of force was required to neutralize them as a threat. Rumors spread quickly through those unfortunate souls chosen for duty that day that the Caves weren't filled with the usual Resistance fighters. They would be attacking families, children. Most didn't care. An order was an order. Those who were new to the ranks, however, felt their fear and guilt manifest into twisted guts.

This would be her first test, the first real proof that she was serious in her decision. Her training and indoctrination were thorough. In theory, she was a perfect little soldier. She needed her 'first blood' as her master called it. One couldn't be sure of their true capabilities until they were faced with situations that couldn't be easily duplicated in a training room.

Someone had warned them before they arrived. Not soon enough for everyone to get away, but most. Many of the Resistance members who were able-bodied and ready to fight had enough time to rally for an attack. They were outnumbered, of course, but history had proven time and time again that a stout heart and righteous anger could make up for a lot. Each side had heavy casualties. Fighting in close quarters was dangerous for everyone involved.

Hermione tried to stay back away from the bulk of the violence for as long as she could. There was enough activity going on that she didn't have to be right in the thick of it to make it seem like she was trying. She'd almost made it too. Almost survived an entire battle without injuring an opponent once.

As the prisoners who were willing to come quietly were magically bound and gathered, she felt a rough hand on her arm. Unsurprised to see a furious Antonin Dolohov, she prepared herself for what was certain to be an unpleasant encounter. He moved his mouth to just outside of her ear, lowered his voice, and changed her life irrevocably.

"If we go back to the Dark Lord and you haven't shed any blood, he will not be pleased. He's expecting you to prove yourself, Hermione."

She knew he was right, of course. Her mind would be assaulted the first moment Lord Voldemort saw her again. His methods of ensuring his followers' loyalty hadn't changed even after the war ended. She would never forget the first time he ravaged her mind with Legilimency. Never had she felt more violated in her entire life. He would continue to do it until she gave him no reason to doubt her commitment.

Antonin dragged her back into the caves. He had had concerns since they were first given orders that she wouldn't be able to carry them out. Thinly veiled hints at her incompetence were whispered at her before they left for Hogsmeade. She wasn't just proving herself to the Dark Lord that day. If the fearsome Death Eater who had been in charge of her training from the first day she was released from her broom cupboard wasn't convinced, she had no doubt she would be dead at the end of his wand before the sun set on that day.

"I saved one for you. Knew you'd try to wait until the rest of us got our hands dirty first."

His lack of confidence in her was telling. No matter what she did next, he would punish her when they were alone again. Most of his training had been cruel punishment after cruel punishment. He had been successful already in hardening her heart. This next task would simply be his final exam.

He pushed her in the direction of one of the more secluded caves. An energy barrier could be felt across the mouth of the cave even if it wasn't obvious to her eyes. He'd been teaching her to feel wards. Soon, if she didn't displease him too much, he would teach her how to cast them and bring them down.

Huddled in the back of the cave was a man Hermione recognized even if she couldn't immediately put his name with his face. She was still fuzzy on how much time had actually passed since the final battle was waged and Harry was killed. Even after she was no longer living in the broom cupboard in the castle and had her own bedroom in the attic of Antonin's Hogsmeade home, she was kept isolated in her training. In her 'reprogramming' as her teacher was fond of calling it.

"He's unarmed. Just step through the ward and finish him, Hermione. Do it quickly and you'll get a special treat when we get home tonight."

Antonin's special treat could be anything from a fresh biscuit to a new spell or even permission to use his private bathtub. Sometimes, the 'treat' was he simply went easier on her or shortened the time he spent punishing her for her misbehaviors. He liked to keep her guessing. She never knew how she was going to be rewarded.

"Granger? You're alive? We all thought that you…"

She remembered Oliver Wood's name the moment she heard his voice. His change in circumstances following the end of the war had altered his appearance, but she was certain it was him. Part of her wanted to respond to his questions, but one of the first lessons she ever learned from Antonin was to never allow your enemy to get too personal. It would make killing them much harder if you made even a hint of an emotional connection. Before she lost her nerve, Hermione lifted her wand to point at the cornered, unarmed wizard. Rage was clear in his eyes.

"A simple Avada will do. There's no reason to make it more complicated than that for your first kill."

The content of Antonin's words spoken in his calm, even manner changed the rage in Oliver's eyes to terror. He knew what was going to happen next. There was no way to avoid his fate. Hermione felt her wand arm trembling, a sign of weakness Antonin would punish her for later no doubt. She shouted the incantation with a false bravado to mask her own terror. Oliver was dead immediately. As she willed the contents of her stomach to remain inside her body, Antonin placed his arm around her shoulders and promised her that next time they could make the kill more interesting. There were several spells he was going to teach her to prolong her victims' suffering.

Hermione sat up abruptly on the old lady's couch when the last of her memory dreams ended. It was always unnerving to remember that day in Hogsmeade. She recalled the face of almost every single person she'd killed. None of them haunted her like Oliver.

Moments after waking, she realized that it wasn't the end of her dream that woke her up. A sharp, burning pain in her arm had been the culprit. Frustrated that her precious sleep was disturbed, she rolled up the sleeve on her left arm. The stain of her foolishness and her weakness mocked her in its deep, black ink. Staccato bursts of gradually increasing pain in her Dark Mark made her clench her teeth and close her eyes tightly.

Her master was calling to her.