It had been an exhausting day. The Death Eater breakout had an enormous impact on both Harry and Neville, and then Hermione's talk with Luna had left her both angry and drained. Hermione had climbed into bed an hour before her usual time, but so far hadn't been able to get to sleep. She imagined there would be a fair few people in the castle in the same position that evening. The student body were not the only ones affected by the Prophet report, Umbridge went into a tailspin. Ten escaped Death Eaters missing in the country set the school's rumour mill into overdrive, and the High table had been approached multiple times during meals, with clusters of students asking questions from the sensible to the ridiculous. By the time curfew had rolled around that evening Educational Decree No. 26 was being hammered into a wall now in real danger of falling from the added weight. The decree prevented staff from discussing the mass breakout, at all, highlighting the High Inquisitor's limited understanding of social dynamics, by preventing anyone curtailing the ridiculous speculation it would only get more out of hand.
Ron had come back to the common room enraged because Malfoy had taken points for him being 'ginger and poor'. When Hermione had waved her hand dismissively reminding him that Malfoy couldn't take points from Prefects, Ron grimaced and told her about the Inquisitorial Squad Umbridge had formed that afternoon and the new powers they had. She had sighed, letting her eyes close and her head fall back against the sofa... bugger.
Hermione shrugged the covers off her bed, reaching down to pull out the Prophet from her school bag. She still hadn't had a chance to go through the article in detail. Setting herself back against the pillows she continued scanning the images of the Death Eaters until her eyes fell on a picture that was notably different to the rest; Antonin Dolohov was perfectly still in his photo, the two Aurors 'holding' him merely had a hand on each of his arms. He looked to be in his late twenties, with dark wavy hair that fell onto one side of his face, obscuring the view of his dark brown eyes. He would have almost look bored if it wasn't for the almost violent intensity present in his gaze, from the picture alone Hermione felt like he was boring into her with an aura of raw power that was frightening. All of the others wore their cruelty as armour, unleashing themselves in their pictures like they knew, which they probably did, that the general public would see, they wanted to invoke fear. Dolohov wasn't the same; he could conjure terror without posturing.
She skimmed the article again and her eyes clouded with tears when she read that the released Lestrange's were put in prison for the torture of Frank and Alice Longbottom. Poor Neville. His response that morning made so much more sense now. Professor McGonagall had told her later that his gran had come to meet him and he had gone home for a couple of days, given the current tension in the castle that seemed like a good idea.
Hermione knew she had to tackle Luna's missing possessions soon, the longer she stewed, the more extreme her reaction would be, and she couldn't risk getting in trouble with the Inquisitorial Squad running around the castle. So she considered her options, she understood bullying, speaking to a teacher might make things worse. The only solution she could think of was to talk to someone inside Ravenclaw, but she didn't know who was responsible, or even how widespread the issue was. It was evident a few students must be aware of it, were they all involved or merely turning a blind eye?
Resolving to talk to the seventh year Prefect, Penelope Clearwater, she pondered her approach. Hermione knew that an older student might view her as an irritant rather than take her seriously. A lot of that was down to her delivery; maybe it would be a good time to take up swearing? It wasn't her intention to be threatening, she didn't need to be, she was a force to be reckoned with when she felt she had right on her side, like always. Still, it would be good to have some backup, in case an alternative was required.
What she needed was a bad cop to her good cop, or preferably, someone that seemed ever so slightly unstable when angered. If films had taught her anything, there was nothing scarier than a smiling assassin. She needed shock value; she needed barely suppressed rage, she needed… Ginny Weasley.
Ginny had needed microscopic encouragement to be involved when Hermione had filled her in. Growing up with six older brothers had afforded Ginny a level of protection when she first came to Hogwarts, protection that Luna didn't have. It troubled both the girls that whoever was responsible was singling Luna out, not just because of her individuality but because they perceived she was without allies. That was going to change. They found Penelope leaving the Prefect office after lunch, and Hermione politely requested a moment of her time. The tall blonde acted as if she was being incredibly gracious by offering a few minutes and suddenly Hermione realised what her and Percy Weasley must have seen in each other. "We need to speak to you about Luna Lovegood; I believe she is being bullied by students in Ravenclaw House. They are taking her possessions and hiding them, often with her not getting everything back until the end of term," Hermione stated, seeing no point in beating around the bush.
"What do you expect me to do about it?" Penelope snapped, and Hermione narrowed her eyes. She wasn't a naturally polite girl, but she was respectful to a fault, until someone gave her a reason not be.
"I'm so sorry; I was under the impression you were the seventh year Prefect. Make. It. Stop," Hermione ground out.
Penelope took one look at the both of them and burst out laughing. "Was that supposed to be intimidating Granger? Your bossiness may work on your own year, in your own house, where intelligence like yours is scarce, but you do not frighten me. So you will not instruct me on what I will, or will not do, do we understand each other Miss Granger? Or will I need to take this up with your Head of House," Penelope finished, an officious little smile on her face.
Ginny made to rush forward wand in hand, but Hermione held her arm out to block her. She grinned turning back to Penelope. "I wasn't attempting to be intimidating at all Miss Clearwater," she answered in a sing-song voice, "when I have good, firm evidence as to who the perpetrators are I will take it to my Head of House. You see we have spelled all of Luna's things, anyone that attempts to take her stuff again will get a pretty nasty burn," she informed the blonde breezily.
"You what?!" Penelope exploded, "You cannot just go around jinxing objects to trick people into hurting themselves, it's not for you to hand out punishment."
"I've done nothing of the sort," Hermione retorted defensively, "I've merely placed an anti-theft spell on my friend's things, if no one tries to steal anything no one will be harmed, and anyway it's not a punishment."
"It depends on your view of punishment, burning someone's hand seems a little over the top for a prank," Penelope admonished.
Hermione's face hardened. "Maybe to you, but then this has not been happening to you. Every year. For five years. At the risk of repeating myself, it's not a punishment, rather, the burn will be an identifying mark. You see Luna has become quite ingrained with the students of Gryffindor House, especially the fourth and fifth years, and they were all made aware this morning that burns that appear on the hands of Ravenclaws indicate bullies and well, you know how passionate Gryffindor's like Ginny here can be." Hermione made a pre-practised gesture and the redhead waved, her face twisted in a horrifyingly cheerful smile.
"You expect me to believe that the great Hermione Granger, rule stickler and annoying swot would attack students in the corridors?" Penelope replied sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest in a display of indifference.
"Of course not, as most people in this castle would attest, I am tied up in seemingly old-fashioned notions of fairness, but Ginny here-"
"Really?" Penelope interrupted, rolling her eyes.
"Ginny, would you mind?" Hermione asked, in a nauseating tone of voice.
"It would be my pleasure," Ginny responded matching her tone. She spun on the ball of her foot and launched a bat bogey hex at the closest student in the corridor, who, unfortunately for him, turned out to be Ron. He let out an impressively shrill scream and dropped to the floor next to a completely bemused Harry.
Penelope regarded both the girls in front of her, and there was a brief pause as she appeared to be contemplating her response. "Fine," she huffed out finally, "I'll speak to the girls."
"Excellent, thank you so very much, Penelope, we are so grateful for your time," Hermione simpered and with that herself, and Ginny swept off down the corridor.
"Did you really mention it to everyone in Gryffindor?" Ginny asked when they had moved a far enough distance from the condescending Prefect and a livid Ron.
"Of course not, I haven't had time, I'm sure they would all stick up for Luna but I don't want people knowing she's being bullied. She didn't offer up the information, I dragged it out of her, and I don't want her to feel humiliated," she explained.
Ginny nodded, "I'll keep quiet, but make sure to invite me if you ever want to do anything like that again I had so much fun."
"What about Ron?" Hermione questioned, fighting to keep the smile off her face, "He didn't do anything to provoke that."
"I'm sure he has done something to deserve it in the last few days, and if not we can call it one in the bank," Ginny responded totally unconcerned.
After a full day given over to sleep, showering every time he woke up, and eating as much as he could stomach, Antonin felt well enough to leave his room, which was advantageous, as today was the first scheduled 'briefing' for the escaped Death Eaters. He and Yaxley found themselves in the main dining room of Malfoy Manor, at least he hoped it was the main dining room, the grand table in the centre of the room was delicately carved and looked like it could hold at least fifty. They sat awkwardly, on uncomfortable chairs, slowly letting the social graces that had been ingrained in them since birth rise to the surface as they greeted each other.
The first session would be a 'history lesson' of sorts where they would be brought up to speed on the changes that had occurred while they were in Azkaban. Antonin was keen to get started, he hated not knowing things, and if the Dark Lord had liberated them, war must be close, he intended to finish this one without further incarceration. However, it wasn't just the modern world he was interested in, the more pressing information to be gleaned from the day would be the state of his fellow escapes in this room. Who had lost their sanity to Azkaban? Or in the case of Bella, what was left of it. But Bellatrix, thankfully, wasn't there. Reuben had mentioned earlier that it appeared Bella's disposition had not been improved by fourteen years with only her own mind for company, and it had been decided that her presence was not conducive to getting anything done. No doubt she would have been told that it was a reward for being one of the Dark Lord's 'most faithful'. It was the right course of action, trying to hold a meeting while someone repeatedly screamed incoherently, which was all Antonin had heard from her room thus far, was unlikely to add to the discourse. He glanced around the room, observing the interactions of the assembled Bratva. There would be no point in attempting to determine who was trustworthy, the answer was no one, what he needed was to assess was how untrustworthy, he didn't want to turn his back on someone and regret it.
Lucius Malfoy was leading proceedings, making no pains to disguise how much he was enjoying it, strutting around like one of his ridiculous birds. Antonin wondered if the pompous blond had bartered with the Dark Lord, when their Master had first suggested using his manor as the location for a Death Eater rehousing programme, or if Lucius had graciously acquiesced, on the basis that he could Lord himself over them at any given opportunity. Many around the table did not care for Lucius Malfoy, some because he had avoided Azkaban and instead got to live in his ridiculous manor with his beautiful wife, while the rest of them were left to rot. Many simply disliked him because he was an obnoxious prat. In the last wizarding war, despite being a part of the Dark Lord's inner circle, and being one of the campaign's chief benefactors, he rarely got his hands dirty. Lucius gave off an air of superiority, no doubt stemming from being raised to believe he was better than all of those around him. To the less observant it would appear as if Lucius did not care about the hostile atmosphere, but Antonin could never be described as such, he knew better than that. Loathed to admit it, even to himself, Lucius was one of the smarter Death Eaters, and he was evaluating the occupants of the room every bit as much as Antonin was.
They covered off all of the major events since the end of the last wizarding war, and then there was an in-depth delivery of the current political landscape. It was no surprise to Antonin that the Ministry denied that the Dark Lord had come back, they had always been very easy to manipulate. Times changed, economics changed, but power, and the type of people that pursued it never did. He doubted it would be long before the entire government was neutralised.
The meeting passed quietly, save for a few questions, and stopping every two hours to eat. There wasn't much emotion in the room, most of the recently liberated Death Eaters were still trying to adjust to life on the outside, and it would take weeks to be operating anywhere near normally. Antonin knew that he was likely irrevocably damaged by the stretch, he had been young and relatively sane when he went in, which was not advantage that many could boast. That the Prophet reported Sirius Black as being responsible for orchestrating the escape raised a few derisive laughs. Antonin had met Black as a child, and again as a young man, he was smart, and a talented duellist, but criminal mastermind seemed a little generous.
During yet another food break Antonin forced down the bread and thin soup presented, cursing his body for not being able to process something larger. He pushed the half-empty bowl to the side when Lucius started up again, this time beginning with Harry Potter. The name made the already quiet room silent. How could this child be so hard to kill? Lucius read excerpts from the last letter from his son, Draco, seemingly his wife had won when it came to baby names, but being married to Lucius she lost overall, he thought unkindly. Draco was in the same year as Potter, and the missive mainly covered the growing speculation concerning Potter's mental health. What was Lucius doing pulling Draco into all of this? Antonin's father had urged him to follow the Dark Lord, but he had not been a Death Eater himself. His father had been a darker wizard than most, but he had loved his only child, and Antonin was sure that had he fully understood what it meant to be a follower, he would not have been so forceful in pushing his son to join the cause. Not that he was abdicating responsibility for the acts he had undertaken, onto either his father or the Dark Lord. No one had held a wand to his head; Antonin had been more than willing, he believed in the cause. But that had been before Azkaban. He couldn't say for certain how he felt now. He had only been out days he reminded himself, maybe things would change, but the idea of fighting had lost its appeal, slightly. The vehemence for which he held his views had softened over the time spent in a cell, pondering his existence. Did any of it matter enough to be locked up again? Antonin wasn't sure. Maybe it was a case of finding purpose, something to fight for? He was no reformed character. It wasn't even like he wanted to be, he had pursued dark magic, had lusted after its power. He enjoyed intimidation, and he could be ruthless, even cruel. He was involved in many of the worst Death Eater actions and had built a reputation as a deadly duellist with a penchant for prolonging pain; he used the fear it brought him as a weapon to assert his dominance. Antonin derailed his train of thought; he didn't want to dwell on the idea of power for long, all too aware of how depleted he was, magically and physically, he hoped to rectify both as soon as possible.
Once Lucius had finally come up for air, the assembled wizards were invited to sift through documents that had been collated for them on the table. Antonin shuffled absentmindedly through the pictures and parchment strewn without discernible order. There were various bills passed by the Wizengamot, and listings of how people had voted, biographical detail on known members of the reformed Order of the Phoenix, most were familiar faces. There were also agendas of creatures and beings that could be persuaded to join their side, and explanations of what they wanted in return, as well as newspaper articles from the last two decades. Antonin sifted through, cataloguing various facts until a small movement caught his eye, and he stilled his hand. It was an article from the Daily Prophet from a little over a year before, concerning The Triwizard Tournament and a girl called Hermione Granger. He skimmed the feature, alarmed to find that the love life of a fourteen-year-old girl was somehow newsworthy enough to be printed in a national paper. After reading the salacious first paragraph, he discounted the words on the page immediately. "Who is this?" he asked, speaking for the first time that day. He held the page aloft, directing his question at Malfoy.
"Hermione Granger. Mudblood friend of Harry Potter," Lucius answered succinctly. "In the same year I believe, Severus will be coming tomorrow to shed a bit more light on Potter and his menagerie."
Antonin opened his mouth to ask more, but before he could, there was a loud smash that rang out, echoing around the carved ceiling in the stylish room. All eyes went to Rodolphus Lestrange who had dropped his glass tumbler against the table's edge. Rodolphus didn't make any attempt to move, explain, or even react to the incident or any pain, his hand was cut in a few places. His brother, Rabastan, stood from his seat, putting his hands on his shoulders. "Come on Dolph, let's get that looked at yeah?" he began, pushing Rodolphus towards the door, then turned to address the room. "He's still getting used to glasses and cups, some persistent problems with his grip." Antonin turned to Reuben who was already looking in his direction; they share a glance that confirmed they both knew that was a lie.
Lucius started up on some other subject, but Antonin occluded him out easily, maybe Azkaban had been useful for something? His eyes fell back to study the picture of the tiny girl in the soft blue dress, being twirled around by a boy in Durmstrang robes. The boy was named in the article, Viktor Krum, a Triwizard Champion and some kind of Quidditch prodigy. Krum was staring at the girl, Hermione, his eyes intense and his mouth set in a grim line. Her face could not have been more different, her eyes twinkled when he bowed, and she erupted into fits of giggles every time she was lifted, lighting up the whole picture with her smile, and then the motion of the photograph began again. There was another picture on the page, and in this snapshot she was in her school uniform. Antonin could make out the crest for Gryffindor House peeking from the bottom of the frame. Her robes were ill fitting, and she had none of the effortless style she displayed in the previous picture. Seeing her hair in what he supposed was its natural state was slightly unexpected, it appeared to have a life all of its own. Her smile was not as bright, and when she tentatively opened her mouth her teeth look a little too big for her face.
"A bit young for you surely?" Reuben breathed out, muted enough for no one else to have heard, holding back his laughter at Antonin's jump. He threw article back into the middle of the table and Yaxley howled with laughter at his reaction disturbing everyone else. Using that as a distraction, no one noticed as Antonin quickly duplicated the page and slid the parchment into his robes
Hermione was sitting cross-legged, propped up against the wall in the Room of Requirement. The numbers had been uneven for the DA that day, as some of the regular members had been taken down by either colds or Quidditch injuries. As there were not the right number of students for even pairs, she was currently in a three with Luna and Ginny, and it was her turn to watch. She quietly mused that recently she had become lackadaisical in her revolutionary activities, what with the time she had spent setting up the DA, and her studies, it had somewhat fallen by the wayside. It was time to ramp it up a notch. Harry was deteriorating again. Leading the DA normally had a calming effect on her friend, today, however, he was clearly struggling with more than just the usual lack of sleep. Harry would never admit it, but the fact that he was not believed weighed heavily on him. But what could she do? The Prophet was still ignoring Voldemort's return and instead was continuing to push the Ministry's 'Harry and Dumbledore are mad and a menace to all society' propaganda. Her eyes fell on Luna as the blonde expertly shielded a tripping jinx from Ginny, maybe they could release Harry's side of the story? Hermione watched as the girls continued to throw spells at each other, they were fairly evenly matched though Ginny favoured offensive magic. Their duel eventually ended when Ginny managed to disarm Luna after she had got a tickling jinx through her shields, simple but effective.
"Luna, do you think your dad would run an article, Harry's point of view from the night that Voldemort came back?" Hermione asked as the girls moved over to join her.
"Yes, I believe so, Daddy is very concerned about the goings on in the Ministry lately," Luna replied absently, as she stretched to pick up a cup of water from by Hermione's knee. "He believes werewolves have infiltrated the water supply with babbling potion following the release of stricter regulation on creatures and of course he believes Harry, he would love to be able to show his support publicly."
"That's great," Hermione enthused, "could you speak to your dad for me? And please keep it to yourself for now, until I talk to Harry."
Hermione reflected that she had now spent a vast portion of her relatively short life convincing Harry to do things that were in his own interest. As with his reaction to the DA, he had been ardent in his initial refusal to have anything to do with a news story. Hermione could understand his reservations, his association with the press to date had hardly been pleasant, though, once she impressed upon him the opportunity to tell his side of the story he capitulated rather quickly.
They entered the Three Broomsticks; lesson learnt thank you, Sirius, settling themselves with butterbeers in a far corner with a good view of the door, waiting for the journalist to arrive. "No one is going to believe me if it's printed in The Quibbler, I know we like Luna, but people aren't going to take it seriously," Harry started, rehashing one of their back and forths for about the twentieth time that morning.
"I am aware Harry, I am one of the those ridiculously practical people, and as much as I don't like myself for saying it, I'm not sure I would have believed it had I seen the story printed in that paper for the first time," she replied in hushed tones.
"Then what are we doing here?" he protested.
"I have told you I was aware of the issue, do you really think, having known me for all this time, that I would have spotted a strategy hole like that and not addressed it?" Harry just crossed his arms and huffed, so she continued, "Never mind, all will be revealed."
Revealed it was. Five minutes later the lurid green robes of Rita Skeeter glided into the bar, and she perched herself down in front of them both. Harry looked from her to Hermione incredulously, "What are you playing at Mione?" he barked.
"Now Harry, is that any way to greet an old friend?" Rita simpered, and Hermione grimaced.
"Please refrain from antagonising him," she sighed, regretting her decision already. "I'm sure we'd all like this done as quickly as possible," Rita sneered in response, and Hermione leant forward smiling sweetly. "I could put you back in the jar, or would you prefer a different receptacle this time, change it up a bit?" she said in as innocent a tone as she could muster.
Rita's face reddened. "Listen here you little bitch, I am only here because of the threat you hold over my head, after I have risked my career to have an article of mine printed in that rag, you and me are done, no more favours," Rita blazed, and Hermione was silently rather smug at her apparent ability to discombobulate the older witch.
"I couldn't agree more Rita; there will be no more favours," she turned to Harry. "Although Rita is repugnant in every way, the wizarding public holds her brand of... journalism to some esteem; it will lend weight to your credibility." Harry made a face like he was sucking a lemon, "Yes, I am aware Harry, do you think I want to be sat across the table from her?" she questioned, raising an eyebrow, when he didn't respond she turned back to Rita. "Let's just get this over with."
It didn't take long, Rita may have been human garbage but she was somewhat efficient, and when they were done she looked somewhat appeased. Degradation to her career or not, the story was very juicy, and as the writer had only a passing acquaintance with the truth Hermione was sure it didn't matter if Rita believed in Harry or not, she would make the article convincing as it would be more kudos to her that way. Skeeter stood to leave but paused picking imaginary lint off her coat before glaring down at Hermione.
"If this is all true, and he hasn't lost his mind, there might be comeuppances for me. If I end up with Death Eaters on my doorstep I'm sending them to you Granger," she said viciously.
Hermione regarded her impassively, noting the contrived way she had waited to stand before launching any intimidation attempt, against a schoolgirl. "You do that; I'm sure they will wait until your say so to come after one of the most talked about Mudbloods of the modern age, thanks for your part in that by the way. Don't fret Rita, your kind always manage to come out unscathed, the only thing to survive a nuclear blast is a cockroach after all."
"Beetle," the furious witch corrected through gritted teeth.
"If you say so," Hermione conceded unconcerned before turning to Harry and ignoring the witch's pathetically dramatic exit from the pub.
A week later Hermione was preparing for bed, sat on top of her covers and reviewing their handiwork. The article had been printed, and she had to admit, despite all of Skeeter's usual sensationalism being on display, the piece was good. The effect of the article had been even more immediate than the report on the Death Eater escapes; The Quibbler had already been banned at Hogwarts, Umbridge once again showing how little she understood children, the entire student body would have a copy by the end of the week. Luna had skipped up to Hermione in the library earlier, her father had written, they'd had to arrange a reprint to meet demand.
Harry was on a high. Their professors had been finding ways to award him scores of points all day, he passed a book to Hermione in Charms, and Professor Flitwick awarded fifteen points for his 'kindness'. She felt it was their way of rewarding him for his bravery.
Even better she had noticed the softening glances of the other students towards her friend. Earlier that evening Seamus Finnigan had come along to the DA meeting with Dean. A lot of people hadn't believed Harry that year, but the censure of his dorm mate and friend had been particularly cutting. Hermione hoped that the successes they had gained within Hogwarts were being replicated outside of the castle.
Hermione had slept well for the first time since Umbridge had interrupted Dumbledore at the Welcome Feast. She subtly watched Harry from across the breakfast table and smiled at his more rested appearance. It warmed her heart to see him look more like himself; he needed it. The jubilance had carried from the day before, and not even the prospect of a Quidditch match could dampen her spirits.
Shortly after she had put together her plate, Luna walked into the Great Hall to stunned silence from the assembled students. Alongside her typically bizarre weekend attire she was wearing an almost life-sized lion head sat on top of her blonde hair, and secured around her chin. Hermione had no idea how she was even able to support its weight as she walked over seemingly unconcerned by the whispers around her to their table.
"Good luck today Harry, I'll be supporting Gryffindor," she said, her voice slightly muffled, pointing needlessly to her head.
"Thanks Luna, nice... Lion…. Hat?" Harry hedged, and Hermione was glad he had addressed it first as she had been running through a preparation of what to say about it herself.
"Thank you, it was supposed to be chewing a snake, but I didn't get the time," she said with a smile turning to Hermione. "Look", she patted the side of the head, and it let out an incredibly loud, very realistic, roar.
Ignoring the shell-shocked faces all around the hall Hermione stood and beamed at her friend, "Wow Luna, that's amazing! Come on let's head to the field; we better find a seat where you're not going to be obstructing anyone's view."
"I'll come with you," she heard Neville say, though she couldn't see him as her vision was totally hampered by the giant headpiece.
The three students walked towards the Quidditch pitch, aimlessly chatting until Luna ran on ahead, muttering something about wanting to show her Head of House her charm work. With the buffer of Luna gone Hermione suddenly felt a little awkward, remembering the last time she had been in Neville's company and got a bit stuck over what to say next.
"So," Neville began, and Hermione turned to face him quickly, grateful that he had broken the silence. "Err, I wanted to say thank you for the other day, for getting me out of the Great Hall. That article was… difficult for me, I don't know what would have happened if you hadn't been there." He looked away from her, staring with some concentration at the damp grass. "I'm sorry you had to see me like that."
Hermione smiled softly at him, "You're welcome, don't worry about it, you were fine. I've seen Ron and Harry in much worse states. I'm glad I could help, wish I could have done more really but-"
Neville cut her off, "You couldn't have done any more, and I'm… I'm glad you were there." With that Hermione and Neville continued the rest of the journey to the stands, in silence, cheeks both a little pink.
As Lucius had warned, the next day the Death Eaters met again in the dining room, this time with Severus Snape holding court. Snape was the only one among the marked that was considered even less popular than Malfoy. To start with he was a poor, half blood, then, he too had avoided Azkaban. While Malfoy was hated for avoiding the prison by falsely claiming Imperious, Snape was despised for throwing himself at the feet of Albus Dumbledore. Snape, they had been told, was supposedly acting as a spy, Antonin wasn't sure he believed that. Everyone knew that Snape had loved Lily Potter, even if you hadn't seen them at Hogwarts together it had been openly talked about in Death Eater circles. He was sure, for a man like Snape, Lily had been the only good, light thing in his life. The severe looking wizard had hated James Potter more than anything, so much so that even when the seemingly fated pair had gotten married, he continued to refer to her by her maiden name. They had been estranged for some time, a good while before he took the mark if Narcissa was to be believed, and yet the torch he held for her never diminished. Snape never even looked in the general direction of another witch as far as Antonin knew, that whole part of himself belonging wholly to Lily. Then the Dark Lord killed her. Snape had supposedly begged for her to be spared. Men like them did not beg, nor did they forgive when people acted against their own.
Snape went into detail on Hogwarts starting with the castle itself, protections and enhancements, then staff and Dumbledore's comings and goings. He highlighted the potential candidates for the mark from the students that were coming to the end of their seventh year, and finally, he moved to Harry Potter. That Snape hated Potter as much as he had hated his father was obvious, he could barely keep his tone neutral when he said his name.
"Potter, for lack of a better expression, is an idiot," he drawled. "He has had survived thus far through a combination of sheer dumb luck and a reliance on the talents of those around him. He is close to his godfather Sirius Black who he is now associated with following his liberation two years ago. He also regularly spends time with Sirius' werewolf friend Remus Lupin, as well as having a close relationship with Dumbledore himself."
Snape listed all of Harry Potter adventures, from a possessed Defence Against the Dark Arts professor to a Basilisk and Barty Crouch Jr. "He has had a challenging year, following his proclamation that the Dark Lord had returned most of the students have turned their back on him, but not his closest friends. The first of which being Ron Weasley, the sixth Weasley," Snape uttered with an air of distaste, though whether for the red haired blood traitors in general, or excessive reproduction was uncertain.
"It would also appear that he has romantic designs on the seventh Weasley, Ginevra. Ron is mostly loyal but has the occasional fit of jealousy that leaves them not speaking. If you can believe it, he is as stupid, maybe even more so than Potter. His other close friend, Hermione Granger, has long been recognised to be the brains of the Golden Trio," Snape spat out the nickname. "She is the brightest in her year, and many regard her as the brightest witch of her age." There were snorts and a few muttered comments around the table and though Antonin remained silent, his interest was piqued.
"She's a Mudblood, she must be copying from someone. There is no way she has achieved those results on her own merit." It was Mulciber who spoke, but the majority of the table made positive noises. He heard Yaxley groan at the derailment; he wasn't known for his patience; however, Antonin was too busy watching Rodolphus to pay attention to the clamour. He had been focusing what Snape had to say about Hermione, but he noticed he wasn't the only one. While Antonin had been masking his interest, Rodolphus had paled at every mention of her name, and now Rabastan next to him was getting twitchy. Something about the brothers was off, and Antonin resolved to find out what it was before long.
When the meeting let out for the day Reuben and Antonin headed in the same direction, it had only taken a couple of days, but all of the escapees fell back into old allegiances. Antonin found that despite the years that had passed their easy friendship remained. They were both quieter than their peers, though in company Reuben spoke more and had a more forthright, no nonsense demeanour. Yaxley had been raised in the North of England on a remote estate, and though not the same as the snowy, isolated landscape of Russia their upbringing, regarding fundamentals, had been similar. Antonin trusted him, and that trust was reciprocated. They had become fast friends after being sorted into Slytherin together, Antonin being an only child from a prominent Russian family, and Reuben a pureblood scion, and only child, following the death of his younger sibling, they had bonded strongly over the years, becoming more like brothers than friends.
They stepped into his room and fell into their preferred chairs of the last few days, throwing some wards up at the door and making a start on more of the bland food that he had been laid out. "So what do we think?" Reuben asked openly.
"Everyone that we had expected to make it out 'just about sane' has done so. We will have until the next full meeting to assess the others, and then I suppose work out where we are in the pecking order now, and what the plans are," Antonin rattled off wearily.
"I didn't live through fourteen years of Azkaban to be lectured by Malfoy and Snape, I'll be glad when this parts over, but what about the rest of it?"
"What do you mean?" Antonin questioned, wiping his hands on a napkin.
"You know what I mean Antonin, you don't exactly seem to be chomping at the bit to get out there killing again," Reuben said cautiously, eyeing him knowingly.
"Maybe not… that's not to say I won't do it, but it isn't about the fight anymore, I would like to focus on getting through this time around." Yaxley stilled, and Antonin was slightly concerned; he had, after all, just intimated that the cause might not be his first priority, to anyone else this would have been information they could use to discredit him with the Dark Lord. He knew his friend wouldn't betray him; they had done everything together since the age of eleven, but he didn't like the idea of them acting independently now when things were likely to be problematic.
"You echo my sentiments," Reuben spoke finally, and Antonin let himself relax, they were silent for a while letting the confession sink in. "What now?"
"We find a way to survive, we need to keep on top of everything, and we need to start with the Lestrange's something going on there."
"Maybe they're just adjusting to life on the outside without Bella here to dictate their every move?" Reuben offered,
"Rodolphus yes, but not Rabastan, he was too volatile to be under Bella's control, though I don't think her being in his ear helped his temper. He never cowed to her the way his brother did."
"Perhaps they already have a task from the Dark Lord?" Reuben tried.
"It's possible," Antonin nodded, "but I think we should keep watch on them, something doesn't feel right." All that could be heard for some time was the sipping of tea, Antonin would have infinitely preferred firewhisky but was certain his body couldn't handle it yet.
"What about the girl?" Yaxley asked, he looked to be making a concerted effort to keep his face neutral.
"What girl?" Antonin replied dismissively, and Reuben gave him a reproachful look maintaining his gaze for a long moment before Antonin sighed. "I don't know what you want me to say, I saw a picture of a girl in an article and enquired as to who she was, that is all."
Yaxley placed his teacup down on the table and stared at Antonin seemingly trying to decide on what to say. "Fine, for now, but this conversation isn't over."
"Of course it isn't," Antonin replied caustically, and Reuben grinned at him.
"You know everything you're doing is just making this seem more suspicious?"
Antonin carried on as if Reuben had not said anything and eventually the conversation resumed on a different topic.
When Yaxley left to go to bed Antonin carefully removed the hastily folded parchment from his robes and glancing down, he carefully cut around the pictures and incinerated the article, vividly imagining doing something similar to the author at some point in the future. Delicately holding the images he had liberated from the acerbic text, he placed protective charms over both and spelled them to look like blank parchment if anyone else touched them.
He had no idea why he was so captivated by her, the ridiculously young girl. She wasn't pretty, well, not in an obvious way, but the more he looked, the more he could see how so exquisite she was. She looked perfect in the picture of her dancing but it was her reactions that enthralled him, he didn't think he had ever seen anyone with expressions that open.
He shuffled the pictures in his hand to view the school picture, if he had only seen the ball picture he doubted that he would have reacted quite as strongly. As alluring as the dancing photo was it was like a dream, her school picture was the reality, and she was so very, very real.
Maybe even... attainable?