November 12th

Hermione wasn't sure why she ran out of Draco's flat without getting any answers. It didn't make much logical sense. Of that she was painfully aware. For one of the first times in their acquaintance, he actually seemed to want to tell her one of his secrets. So why then did she not stay long enough to hear him out? She'd been frustrated with all of the secrets, annoyed with all of the alliances she knew nothing about. Draco practically begged her to stay to listen his explanations. Why wouldn't she listen?

Maybe because she was almost certain that anything he told her was going to be a lie. Draco wasn't exactly known for being honest. Every time she had a conversation with him, even when they were naked in bed and should've been able to be completely open with each other, she never felt like he was being truthful. He was playing some part in an elaborate game that she didn't understand all of the rules to. In the back of her mind she constantly worried that he was just manipulating her and trying to make her a fool. Certainly he wouldn't be the first man to try to do the same. She was exhausted of being lied to. If she allowed Draco the opportunity to explain why her husband was contacting him privately with a magic mirror, she had little faith that she could believe any of it.

She couldn't help but wonder the extent of her husband's relationship with Draco. Even as part of her wished she could go back in time to before she picked up the damned mirror, she wanted to know how long the two of them had been working together and for what purpose. Was everyone allied together behind her back? Was it literally Hermione against the world like she always feared? She shook her head to rid herself of such a preposterous notion. How self-absorbed could one person be to believe that everyone was against them and the world revolved around them? While she couldn't deny that she had always had a high opinion of herself in many facets of her life, she wasn't quite that bad. It wasn't all about Hermione no matter how many times it could feel that way.

The night she and Antonin reconnected on the sofa in Aubin's cottage, she'd simply assumed that her husband had been contacted by Thorfinn with his mirror. She didn't know how many mirrors existed. There could be dozens! One more infuriating piece of a vastly frustrating puzzle. What would it be like to live a normal life free from the stress and worried of constant violence? It was an existence she felt she would never get to experience.

Especially when she stood over a bleeding Marcus Flint tied to a chair in his own kitchen. Unable to sit still while she had so many thoughts running through her mind, she needed something to keep her hands occupied. Marcus offered a suitable distraction. Left alone to stew in her anger for long, she worried about her delicate mental health.

"Why are you doing this, Hermione? I've never done anything to you."

Because of recent events, including her near-murder and the seeming betrayal of men she cared about, Hermione was somewhat concerned that she would never stop being angry. Almost like she was a volcano that had been simmering for years, ready for the top to blow and rain down death and destruction. No longer did she care the least bit about the rebuilding of the wizarding world. Nor did she care about her own future. There was no reason to believe she would be alive much longer. She chose to focus instead on her own personal enemies. Fuck the list. She had scores to settle.

When Marcus repeated his question, Hermione rolled her eyes so hard she feared she might be in danger of causing herself physical harm. For being such a devoted Death Eater after his son was killed years earlier in a tragic Diagon Alley attack, he could be entirely too trusting. Getting him in his current position was all too easy. He'd hardly struggled. The idiot actually invited her inside when she knocked on the front door. Even offered a cup of tea because it was so cold outside. He was filling the kettle at the tap when she attacked him from behind.

Did he not understand how unstable she was? There had been whispers for years and after that horrifying display during the Dark Lord's funeral, it was no longer a secret that she wasn't playing with a full deck. Marcus should've been more careful with the visitors he allowed to enter his home. Besides, his wife hated Hermione above all other witches. Wizards too, probably. For once, the woman's hatred had nothing to do whatsoever with fear that Hermione was sleeping with her husband. Though she and Marcus had always been friendly, there had never been anything between them. Even if Hermione had been interested, which she never was, Marcus was another one of those rare breeds who only had eyes for his own wife. No, Mrs. Flint's hatred for Hermione was entirely personal. They had a long history, none of it particularly pleasant.

She wanted answers anywhere she could get them about Rodolphus' plans. There was much more than he was willing to tell her. Rebuilding the Wizengamot had nothing to do with her as Rodolphus only wished to have Purebloods represented. Or as close to Pureblood as it was possible to get. Some of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families were a trifle less pure than they were when Cantankerous Nott wrote his book about them almost a hundred years earlier. No, there was something else Rodolphus had in mind for Hermione. She hoped that maybe he or his younger brother had been careless with their tongues when Marcus was around. More like a loyal dog than an equal, she could see them not being so guarded in his presence. Maybe something was said that could help her understand what to expect next. And getting rid of another of their trusted allies was an added benefit.

"I want to know more about Rodolphus' plans. You must've heard him talking to his brother about what he wants to do."

"Yes, he wanted to rebuild the Wizengamot. Asked me to represent the Flint family."

She sliced his chest again with a spell. He flinched and hissed at the pain. Blood was already pooling on the kitchen tile at his feet. It gave Hermione a perverse pleasure to desecrate Mrs. Flinch's pristine kitchen. As one who took a great deal of pride in keeping her home neat and tidy, finding her husband's dead body and blood everywhere might send her into an obsessive panic. Would her first scream be because her beloved husband was dead or because the false sense of perfection she always tried to strive for would be besmirched? Would she frantically scrub up the blood before calling for help lest others know she had a home that was less than perfect? Mrs. Flint had an image she cared more about than most people. Perhaps Hermione was at least somewhat responsible for her manic need to project a flawless face. The thought only made Hermione laugh. Even after so many years she was still pathetic.

"I already know about the Wizengamot. What plans does he have for me?"

"I don't know… ahh! Hermione, please! I'm telling you the truth."

There was an immense amount of satisfaction that could be had during a successful interrogation. Most of her subjects broke easily. Others she had to encourage. That took time, something she was woefully short on. The Flint children might all be tucked safely away of Hogwarts, but Mrs. Flint would eventually come home. Hermione worried she wouldn't get the answers she needed in time. It made her miss Level Eleven. At least down there she could take all of the time she wanted.

"You must have heard something."

She conjured a pair of pliers. Maybe using Muggle tools was a bit primitive, but even a staunch Pureblood supremacist like Rabastan couldn't argue that they worked. Marcus must've realized what she was going to do. One touch of his mouth and he tried to bite her hand. She punched him in the jaw with all of her might, pleased when she heard cracking. Blood dribbled down his chin with his saliva. It was disgusting but she'd handled worse.

"Would you like to rethink your answer?"

"I already told you…"

A spell froze his mouth open. Safe from worry that he would try to bite her again or close her mouth, Hermione was able to slip the pliers inside. There was some debate amongst experts as to which teeth were more painful to extract. Hermione never understood why anyone cared. They all hurt. Picking one of the crooked teeth in front, she pulled. There was a very valid reason the phrase "pulling teeth" meant something was difficult, tedious, and time-consuming. His mouth might've been frozen open, but Marcus was still able to scream while Hermione yanked and pulled. Tears streamed down from the corner of his eyes. It wasn't anything to be ashamed of. Most people cried under the same circumstances. A human body could only withstand so much pain after all. Every time Hermione had to remove a tooth or several in completion of her duties, she thought of her parents and had to bite back a grin. Would her parents appreciate the humor of a daughter of two well-respected dentists extracting teeth purely for information?

"Marcus, I could keep doing this, but I don't think either one of us wants that."

She released the spell on his mouth. He spat globs of blood onto the tile as he tried very hard to keep from breaking. It was difficult to remain calm in an interrogation, especially when one was all but certain they wouldn't be leaving it alive. Madam Dolohov had just as many, if not more, kills as the wizard Marcus followed around like a lovesick lapdog. He knew the odds of survival were slim. Likely it was the very reason he wasn't speaking. She had to change tactics.

"Your wife gets home a few minutes after five, is that correct?"

Mention of the horrible woman he married a few years after the end of the war changed him immediately. She almost smiled. Love could be such a weakness. Maybe he wouldn't say anything to save himself, but she was sure he'd spill to protect his wife.

"Do what you must to me, Hermione, but leave Marietta out of this. She's never done anything wrong."

Hermione disagreed, but said nothing. The fear in his eyes when talking about the woman he loved was easy to spot. She could use it to her advantage.

"I don't like your wife. Never have. Wouldn't bother me to finally get rid of her."

"Please, Hermione. Leave her alone. My children need their mum."

"Tell me something useful and we can both walk out of here alive. Marietta never needs to even know."

It was a complete lie, of course, but Marcus didn't need to know that. He attacked her family on at least two separate occasions. That couldn't be forgotten or forgiven. His shoulders slumped as he made the decision to betray the ones he'd been blindly following.

"I don't know everything."

"I never thought you did. Just tell me what you do know."

He sighed, shame colored his features.

"Rabastan used to send me to the apothecary for potions."

"What kind?"

"I didn't know what they were at first. Didn't care really, but one day I got curious."

"You mean, one day Marietta got curious."

He didn't even try to deny her statement. There were two kinds of successful marriages between a Death Eater and a non-Death Eater: the Death Eater spouse either shared everything or nothing. Giving only half the truth eventually grew tiresome and those marriages usually failed. The Flints evidently had one of the former. Marriages between two Death Eaters were infinitely more complicated.

"One was to induce anger and the other was a mild aphrodisiac. Mari said it was hardly more effective than eating oysters or chocolates. "Hardly worth the effort" she said. I gave them to Rabastan and he told me to leave. But, I didn't. I left the room but watched him mix them with another through the keyhole. I didn't understand why. Never much cared for potions. Snape said I was too impatient and clumsy."

Hermione bit back the uncharitable remark that it was more likely he just simply wasn't smart enough. There was no reason to call him an idiot. No doubt others had been calling him that all his life.

"Another time I brought him the potions and Rodolphus was there. He sent me away but I listened again. Rabastan was complaining. Said it was too tedious and demanded to know why they were necessary. Rodolphus said the combination of all three potions made it easier to cast the memory charms he used. I didn't know they were for you until later. I saw you drinking a vial and then you disappeared with Rodolphus. Thought at first you two were just… well, it doesn't matter what I thought. Then I thought Rodolphus was maybe casting spells on you. Mari said…"

"That it's what I deserved? That you shouldn't tell me?"

"Something like that." He sighed again. "I heard Rodolphus talking to Alecto once about you. It was a few months after that. Maybe a year. She wanted to know if Rodolphus had any success "waking you up". I still don't know what she meant by that. Rodolphus was mad. Said it wasn't working and that he'd probably have to do it another way, the way that was more complicated and time consuming."

Her fears that Rodolphus had been trying to turn her into some sort of weapon or worse hadn't gone away even after Mr. Akingbade declared her free of Rodolphus' memory charms. Marcus' confession terrified her. What was Rodolphus trying to do to her and was it still possible?

"I don't know anything more than that, Hermione. I swear on my children's lives."

Coming from a man who'd once held his son in his arm as he died thanks to a Resistance bomb, Hermione knew that wasn't a swear he made lightly. Though once again she was left with more questions than answers, at least he was able to explain something to her.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The light left his eyes at once. She didn't want the kitchen to look like there'd been an interrogation. It would come back to her and could cause her future headaches. A few spells cleaned up the mess. Untying him from the chair and levitating his lifeless body to the tile, it could easily seem like he'd died of a massive heart attack. He wasn't exactly known for eating healthy and years away from the Quidditch pitch changed his body. Maybe no one would notice he was murdered.

"Marcus!"

Hermione rolled her eyes and sighed.

"You were supposed to be at work, Marietta."

The woman was sobbing, whether from grief or fear it was unclear. As Hermione stood to her feet, she took a glance at the woman's face. Though time had made the marks virtually undetectable, she could still see the word 'sneak' written across the wretched woman's face. It might have been poor planning to not create a countercurse for the cursed parchment from Dumbledore's Army, but she no longer cared.

"I didn't feel well. Thought something was wrong."

"Stupid woman."

Marietta was too consumed in her own fear to even try to fight. Not that she would've been able to defeat Hermione. The second time she uttered the killing curse, she didn't even have to put much effort into it. She'd been wanting to kill the woman for years.

"Avada kedavra."

Hermione stifled a yawn and finished cleaning up all traces that she'd been there. She'd let whoever found their bodies worry about what to do next.