February 19th
Hermione lay in the warmth and comfort of the stolen bed staring at the scrap of parchment in her hand. Her stomach was full and her body could not sleep another moment and yet she was far from relaxed. In that single moment she had nothing to fear. No matter how hard she tired, she couldn't ignore the overwhelming feeling that she was making the wrong choice.
There seemed to be nothing for her in Devon. It had been a very long time since she'd gone anywhere near the Resistance outpost. The Dark Lord ordered his Death Eaters to leave that area alone years earlier. It was too heavily defended and there were much more important issues to concern themselves with. As long as the known troublemakers stayed put, they were left alone. Much like what had been done in Edinburgh. The Scottish city was no longer safe for a single Death Eater to enter alone, a fact she'd already learned the hard way.
If her fate had rested entirely in William Wood's hands, she would not have made it out of there alive. There was something off about the man, unhinged even. Of course it was normal to feel grief about the death of a sibling. She could even understand the desire he had to make her pay for his brother's death. The sheer hatred she saw in his eyes bothered her immensely. It didn't matter how many years had come and gone since Oliver's murder, his older brother wasn't going to move on. Not at least until she was dead too. She knew she would have to be careful wherever he was concerned. Aberforth Dumbledore wouldn't be around every time. Neither would Ginny for that matter.
She was completely at their mercy when she was alone in that tent with Malfoy. It would have been quite a boost to the morale of the Resistance if they were finally able to capture or kill Lord Voldemort's prized pet. Hermione was aware that there had been a call for her head for years. Part of Antonin's insistence that she stay away from the Resistance and their allies was his concern that she would be a prime target. She represented everything that the rabble was fighting against. More would rush to their ranks if they could prove that they were able to overcome someone like her.
For whatever reason, Ginny not only didn't kill her that night, but she also calmed down her companion to prevent him from getting any violent ideas of revenge. It all made little sense to the fugitive. Draco's complicity in the whole affair still baffled her. Why would he cast his lot in with those destined to lose? No matter how organized or impassioned they might become, they couldn't win.
She could respect his desire to better his station in life. With the end of the war, the Malfoys had fallen about as far as it was possible to fall without being executed. How his mother continued to survive was a marvel. The Dark Lord did not surround himself with traitors. Narcissa was never allowed in his presence, but she was kept alive to fill his dark purpose of reminding everyone what would happen to them if they tried to turn their back on their Lord. Of course, Hermione felt that execution was a much more effective method, but her opinion on the matter wasn't important.
To associate with anyone in the Resistance, even as clandestinely as Draco had been, was an excellent way to be eradicated from existence. The foolishly trusting Daphne Goyle née Greengrass learned that the hard way just by being friendly with her former Housemate Pansy Parkinson after her public denouncement of the Dark Lord. As Parkinson ran off to join the rebels, not even Daphne's loyal father-in-law was able to sway their master's orders. She left a bereft husband behind and two small children without a mother simply because she was seen speaking to Parkinson and doing nothing to try to apprehend the traitor. It was difficult for Hermione to feel any sympathy for the woman. The rules were simple, after all. One could not afford to be friendly to the enemy.
The address written on the parchment was forever seared into Hermione's memory. She didn't even need it anymore, but as her mind kept traveling down the dangerous roads that led to the Resistance, she couldn't put it down. Devon might be a death sentence. Ginny kept Wood from killing her on sight. Others might not be so understanding. Over the many years she had lived with a Dark Mark engraved on her left arm, she had done some truly terrible things to a lot of people that if she stopped to think about it, probably didn't deserve it. Antonin hadn't been wrong. There was a large target on her back. Many would rejoice in the streets with her death.
She didn't expect anyone to forgive her for her crimes. There were too many. A number of them she completed readily, joyfully even. Being removed from the heart of the Death Eater forces meant that she had had the opportunity to sit back and rethink about the past. Perhaps, she had too much time. Some days that was all she could do. A time existed when she was so thoroughly convinced that she was doing the right thing that it didn't even matter what she was being ordered to do. She did it gladly. William Wood wasn't the only surviving brother still grieving a sibling she killed.
It bothered her more than she could adequately express that she was still haunted by Oliver's death so many years after the fact. She had killed plenty of others that didn't creep up into her nightmares when she closed her eyes. Maybe the reasoning was simply because it was the first life she had taken. It was the moment that she knew she could not go back to being the same Hermione Granger she had been before Harry was killed. If she had refused to kill Oliver, Antonin would have either killed her himself or dragged her to the feet of the Dark Lord. She had a choice. Her life or Oliver's. To choose hers over his had been selfish and a line had been drawn in the dust that she'd not hesitated to step over.
Some of the murders she committed in the years following that cool Spring afternoon in the Hogsmeade Caves had been much more gruesome and yet, they didn't bother her nearly as much as snuffing the former Quidditch Keeper's life with a simple, painless spell. When she finally got her revenge against Walden Macnair, he had begged and pleaded for mercy. Not to spare his life, but to end it faster. His cries had been ignored. Years passed since that day she heard the horrible man suggest she be locked in a cage with starving manticores before she had the opportunity to make him pay, but what was that Muggle saying? Revenge is a dish best served cold.
Even Antonin had been horrified by the depths of depravity she had dropped to with Macnair's death. With years to plan and fantasize how it was going to happen, when she was able to lure him into the basement of her family home, she had been thorough. She'd asked Corban's wife Mafalda to watch her son. Shit mum that she was, she knew better than to do what she intended with an innocent child just up the stairs. There was still at least a modicum of decency left within her at that point in time.
Macnair was easy to get alone. Too easy. The wizard had always been foul when it came to the fairer sex. All it took was a few sultry glances in his direction, a couple of touches to the arm, and a whispered assurance that her husband need never know what happened and he followed her home. She managed to convince him that the bedroom or even the kitchen table were too tame for what she had in mind. He was practically undressing as he descended the stairs behind her.
It had been an unfortunate side-effect of her well thought-out plans that she had to suffer the indignity of the man's lips on hers. To completely catch him off guard, she had to keep him thinking that she wanted him to do unspeakable things to her body. As his large hands pawed possessively at her and he pressed her against a wall in the dark basement, a fleeting thought amused Hermione. It was a shame that the wretched man had to say such vile words the day she was removed from her broom closet. He wasn't terribly unattractive even if he was a bit unconventional in his looks. In her post-Augustus, pre-Antonin days, she might have even been able to have a great deal of fun with the violent, experienced wizard. Merlin and everyone else knew that she always loved it a bit rough.
A hidden syringe, much like the ones Muggles used, was stabbed into his gut just as his meaty hands reached around for her arse. He struggled at first when he realized what she was doing, but by then, it was already too late. The paralytic she pressed into his body went to work within seconds. His large form crashed to the floor.
"What have you done, bitch?"
Hermione kicked him in the side with all of her might. Macnair might not have been able to move anything but his head, but he was able to feel everything. Without bothering to answer his question, she cast a spell to strip him of every single article of clothing he was wearing. Once he was completely naked, she drizzled each square centimeter of flesh with thick, sweet honey. Another spell completely encased the man in a glass box not much bigger than a coffin. Fear finally started to set in as he realized that she wasn't about to engage him in some kind of messed up sexual deviancy. She would never forget how wide his eyes grew when she opened a small door at the top of the glass box to dump in half a dozen rats.
"They're not the same starving manticores that you wanted to lock me up in a cage with, but they are starving."
His first scream made her smile. She dropped a few more rats in the top. The owner of the Magical Menagerie in Diagon Alley was a friend of hers. When she requested that he order a hundred rats for her and not feed them for a few days, he hadn't even batted an eye. She had a way of getting exactly what she wanted.
"Manticores would finish you off too quickly. I'd rather you suffered."
Antonin found her just as she was adding the last of the rats. Macnair was begging for mercy. Her husband, the one who could flay a man alive with a single spell and not bat an eye, gagged and almost threw up when he saw what she was doing. He hadn't stepped in to stop it, of course. No, he was well aware that she had a number of enemies that she was intent on disposing of. Instead, he stood at her side, wrapped his arm around her waist, and complimented her on her creativity. The student, it seemed, had finally surpassed the teacher.
If she could look back on the gruesome end of Walden Macnair and still feel justified, why was she still so hung up on Oliver Wood's painless end? She feared it was something she'd never understand.