Remembering you running soft through the night
You were bigger and brighter and wider than snow
And screamed at the make-believe
Screamed at the sky
And you finally found all your courage
To let it all go

Pictures of You - The Cure [1989]

Answering Antonin's speculation from the week before, it turned out that the Malfoy's didn't have a larger dining room, they did, however, have a ballroom that was predictably monumental in scale. Though the atmosphere, around the even larger table, which had been brought in for the occasion, was in stark contrast to that endured through the briefings. The same oppressive quiet permeated the room, but it was no longer born from troubled minds adjusting, it was tense, mostly in anticipation, or in the case of Bella, unhinged excitement. The large space echoed with every slight movement or whispered word. The two parallel rows of black-clad, blank-faced followers looked in one direction, towards the head of the table, a silent show of deference, a way to express the universal willingness to receive instruction.

Half an hour before, Antonin had felt the twisting burn of the summons rip through his arm. Having not experienced the sensation for so long, in his surprise he was reminded of the first ever time he had felt the pull. Antonin had been so proud when the mark was finally welded to his skin, his Lord had smiled, even helped him off the floor, and despite the nausea Antonin had beamed. The pain of bonding the magic to his flesh had been immeasurable, and it had been the first time, of many as it turned out, that Antonin had believed he was close to death. When he had felt his very first summons a week later, he suppressed the small feeling of betrayal that crept up his spine as he registered his muscles contorting. The acute sensation, although only a fraction of the pain involved in anchoring the brand into his skin, had been totally unexpected and his initial indication that his Master liked to inflict pain on his followers, often and indiscriminately.

Despite residing two floors above the location of the meeting, Antonin had accepted the call, immediately was the only acceptable time frame, and he pressed his hand to his arm before landing in the Ballroom, thankfully on both feet. The feeling was similar to blind apparition, and it was going to take some getting used to it again. He kept his face as neutral as possible, it was important not to look weak in front of the assembled crowd. Now that the escapees were re-joining the ranks there would be some shoving over what positions everyone had. Some would be unhappy that they were there, Antonin, while unclear of his overall motivations in general, had no problem with doing what was needed to remain at the top, and no one had earned their place more than they had.

During the last war, the Death Eaters, once summoned, would arrange themselves into circles of decreasing size, the inner circle in the middle and the rest of the followers wrapped around, according to present favour to await their Master. Now though, it was evident no one had any clue where their position was so everyone waited in a cluster for the Dark Lord to arrive. Eye contact was minimal, Antonin moved to the side, relaxing a fraction when Reuben appeared next to him. They were garnering attention, he could feel the sideways looks and hear the soft murmurings, but he paid it no heed, he hadn't got to where he was by shaking hands and sharing stories. If they wanted his respect, they would have to be able to take him down, and by his estimation, there were only a handful of people in the room that wouldn't embarrass themselves by even trying.

A soft thump of feet on the hardwood floor alerted Antonin to his Lord's arrival, and he, and the rest of his fellow escapees, immediately dropped to one knee, a show of subjugation that made some of the newer followers look on in confusion. When his Master stepped into the dim light, Antonin regarded him for a long time, though he was careful to stare. He wasn't sure what he had expected to see following tales of his Lord's 'rebirth', but his Master's appearance was so altered he barely looked human. Antonin did not find the new face as shocking, at least not as much as some of the others clearly did, in many ways the Dark Lord's new bearing was a much more truthful representation of what lurked within the wizard's soul, assuming he still had one. When Antonin had first met him, his Master had been an attractive and charming man, he was congenial and compelling, but the red-eyed viper was only ever simmering under the surface. Antonin wouldn't have been surprised if this had been his true appearance all along, and the engaging 1940s visage had been nothing more than an elaborate glamour.

One by one the liberated Death Eaters were called forward and invited to 'pay their respects', when Antonin was summoned, his name spoken in a pained hiss, he fell to the floor and kissed his Master's ring, grateful that his knees levered when he needed them too. Deference shown he was then urged to take his place at the table in the back of the room, next to Yaxley, his same place from all those years before.

Once everyone had sat in their new places the Dark Lord moved to the head of the table, his bare feet scarcely making a sound against the dark slate floor. He welcomed back the former prisoners, commending them for their 'service' to their noble cause and then the meeting began in earnest. Several people had reports to deliver of varying degrees of competency and then Snape was called upon. The table was informed of an article in The Quibbler, detailing the night their Lord had returned. It was an interview with Potter, who had gone as far as to name the Death Eaters that were present. Antonin thought it was a bold move, not quite matching up with the description of the boy that Snape had given only days before. Once many had been given leave to express their displeasure, Snape pressed on, reporting that Dumbledore had left the castle. A few of the assembled suggested a direct attack, seeking to take advantage while Hogwarts was vulnerable. His Master had always had a weakness for the school, they all knew it would be an essential part of any plan for a takeover. The idea was rejected, while the Ministry was still denying his Lord's return and not linking the Azkaban breakout to him, they could use the advantages of operating in the shadows.

After all of the communications had been delivered the bottom half of the table, or what would have been the outer circles, were excused, leaving the newly reformed inner circle, a good portion of which being made up his fellow escapes.

"I have a plan," his Master spoke, in a voice that was somewhere between a rasp and a hiss, "you see, there is a prophecy."

Hermione would later reflect that the success of The Quibbler article had made them overconfident and complacent. The collective spirit had been so high, after such a hard time for everyone, it was only to be expected that they would relax.

They had been in the Room of Requirement for the latest meeting of the DA. After practising the charm in the last session, the group were all attempting to cast a Patronus. Hermione thought long and hard, breathing deeply to centre herself before mentally conjuring the image of Umbridge's face in the Great Hall when Professor McGonagall had dropped a copy of The Quibbler in front of her. 'Something you should be aware of' her head of house had said, barely keeping the amusement out of her voice. Hermione's mind honed in on Umbridge's reaction to reading it, her face growing redder and redder as her eyes fell down the page. A familiar smoky, white wisp appeared from the end of her wand, and for a moment she was disheartened until she discerned it was brighter that it had been before. Hermione watched as the frosted light shifted into a shape, uncertain clouds undulated until a tiny animal arose, becoming more tangible, before it danced around Luna, jumping energetically in front of Hermione's face before disappearing, dispersing into hundreds of sparkling droplets.

It was an otter.

"Well done Hermione!" Harry called from the other side of the room, rushing over to join their group.

"Thank you," she exclaimed brightly, she was so, so pleased that she had finally done it, "why do you think it was an otter?"

"Well, otters are small," Ginny began, holding her hands apart to indicate size, "but perfectly formed, with all kinds of brown in their fur, like your hair," she singsonged.

"-And even though they look all cute, they have massive claws," Ron injected.

"-And they are always carrying loads far too big for them, to build their dams, like you with your books," Harry chimed.

"-And they mate for life, so they're romantic, like you," Luna whimsically added.

"Alright alright! Thank you for your feedback, who knew you were all such avid wildlife biologists on the side?" Hermione huffed at her red-faced, laughing friends. They had just begun to calm down when a loud crack sounded, and Dobby appeared in the middle of the room, eyes wide with panic.

"Master Harry! Master Harry! They are coming for the room you have to leave now," the elf shouted nervously, tugging at his ears in obvious distress. The room was instantly fraught with tension, but Harry kept his composure and instructed the members to leave in twos as usual. Hermione grabbed onto Ginny, and at Harry's nod, they were the first to leave.

The next day Hermione trudged to the library feeling terrible. It had taken her and Ginny over half an hour to make the five-minute trip back to the Tower the night before, stopping to hide whenever they heard a disturbance. The Inquisitorial Squad had been out in force along with a lot of staff, who seemed a great deal less enthusiastic. The initial relief the girls had felt on crossing the threshold to safely had faded quickly when they realised no one else was there, and so they had watched the portrait hole in silence. An hour passed but somehow all of the Gryffindors made it back, except Harry. Hermione waited for him to return, by which time it was barely dark outside.

His shoulders were slumped and his eyes red-rimmed. Hermione had deduced that he had been caught by that point, but the rest of the story she would never have even imagined. They had been betrayed by Marietta Edgecomb, though that in itself was not a total shock, Marietta only came to the meetings because Cho Chang dragged her, she was always looking down her nose at everyone. Hermione felt a twisted sense of pleasure when Harry recounted the details of 'SNEAK' appearing on her forehead in aggressive boils. It was short lived. When he reluctantly told her they had found the members list she had pinned to the wall in the Room of Requirement Hermione cried, Sirius had been right after all, she did still have a lot to learn. By the time Harry got to the part with Dumbledore taking full responsibility and leaving the castle she felt like it was all her fault. For once the typical dynamic between the two friends reversed, Harry held her on his lap, hesitantly rubbing his hand up her spine and telling her it would be fine as Hermione cried into his neck.

She was still bleary eyed now; she assumed that the couple of good nights of sleep she had managed following The Quibbler article would be her last, which was a shame, she could have done with some extra alertness right about now. With the names of the DA public knowledge, the Inquisitorial Squad had declared open season, and there had been several attacks already that day. Unfortunately for Malfoy, and his band of thugs, the DA had been in defence training for months. The insufferable blond could call her a Mudblood till he was blue in the face, which he almost achieved just after breakfast, but he couldn't land a tripping jinx. Making it even harder to claim victory over her, the Twins were acting as part-time bodyguards. It seemed that going to them for help earlier in the year had endeared her to them in some way. After they witnessed a frustrated Pansy Parkinson pocket her wand and resort to pushing Hermione to the floor Fred gave the bitchy girl a pair of antlers, and George swiftly adorned them with a small banner, declaring 'Slytherin Sucks'. Hermione had said it before, and she would say it again, while their attitude often left a lot to be desired she was regularly blown away by their incredibly inventive magic.

Although the support from friends was a great source of comfort, Hermione needed a bit of time alone, so she was on her way to complete a fool's errand.

She walked determinedly through the almost abandoned stacks at the back of the library, way beyond the realm of Madam Pince's assessing gaze until she found what she was looking for. In the furthest corner, was a small set of shelves with a tiny plaque affixed to the wall above them, 'Hogwarts Yearbooks' etched onto it with fading calligraphy letters. Hermione's hand paused in the air for a long moment, wondering why she was doing this until she sucked in a breath and, after a moment's rough calculation, she selected the leather bound book with '1980' on it's tatty spine. It was somewhat anticlimactic when she quickly found nothing to interest her, and so she returned it to the shelf and picked up the book for 1979, repeating the tedious process until she found what she couldn't admit to herself that she was looking for, in the 1975 yearbook. There he was, in the Slytherin graduating class of that year, Antonin Dolohov.

She still hadn't got rid of the Daily Prophet article; it was upstairs having somehow migrated from the bottom of her school bag to under her pillow. Hermione knew how bad that would look if anyone happened to find it and yet she couldn't bring herself to throw it away. Anytime she tried, her mind would conjure those eyes, so blank and yet so full of intensity and she would be walking away from the bin and tucking the parchment amongst her bedding before she knew what she was doing.

In his school photo, Dolohov looked softer than she had anticipated, but his face still could hardly be described as open. The same dark brown eyes stared off the page but here the corners crinkled and his lips twitched with the hint of a promised smile that never quite materialised. He had the same stillness even back then, but it wasn't threatening, here he looked like a bored teenager. As the photograph shifted one brow would rise questioningly, his head tilting almost imperceptibly to the side, like he was all too aware that she was looking at him. Hermione had expected to feel… more? If that was the right word, when seeing him at a similar age to herself, but she didn't.

Turning her gaze she glanced across the page, next to him in the book was a school photo of Reuben Yaxley, who smirked at the camera, eyes gleaming with suppressed mirth, his arms folded across himself as he rested casually against the side of the frame. She scanned through the remainder of the book, but there were no other pictures of him, of either of them. Hermione glanced around cautiously, and then, before she could ask herself what she was doing, she duplicated the page and pushed it inside her school robes. Immediately realising that she had made her situation worse, she pushed the offending book back into its place and rushed out of the library.

Hermione had dreaded her next Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson since Harry had come back to the common room the night he'd been caught. She knew they would have figured out she was responsible for the signup sheet, if Marietta hadn't just told them outright, and she was certain Umbridge would want payback. For all of the toad's pontificating about the moralistic high ground of the Ministry Hermione knew a blood supremacist when she saw one. She was determined to follow the same advice she had been giving Harry all year, 'keep your head down and shut up'. However, as fortified as she thought she was, she wasn't prepared for Umbridge. Hermione made a pretty good vicious bitch when the time called for it, but she still had her training wheels compared to the High Inquisitor, who had perfected malevolent before Hermione was even born.

Hermione's legs struggled to cooperate as she forced herself to walk into the classroom, ignoring the way her stomach rolled as she silently took the seat next to Harry and sat up, back straight and virtually motionless, waiting for instruction, averting her eyes towards the desk.

"Ahem, you may take out your books…"

As the direction began Hermione automatically stretched down by the side of her chair and reached into her bag, it was only as her fingers settled around the spine of her book that she realised her mistake. She heard Umbridge's breath hitch in thinly veiled excitement, and she felt her blood run cold.

"I do believe I hadn't quite finished speaking Miss Granger that was coarse of you, was it not?" Umbridge looked towards Hermione, her eyes almost blazing with maniacal glee as she waggled her quill between her fingers. "I think a week of detentions is in order." Hermione looked her pink-clad tormentor in the eyes. She would show her no fear, the flushed, excited look on the woman's face made her feel sick, but she refused to make this any more enjoyable for her.

"Yes, professor," she responded, endeavouring to keep her voice firm, however, robotic the tone.

"Excellent, we begin tonight!" Umbridge's grin reminded Hermione of a cartoon cat, her mouth stretched impossibly wide, bearing all of her teeth. She felt Harry tense beside her and she preemptively placed a hand on his thigh and willed him not to make it any worse. For the first time that year he heeded her warning.

Leaving her detention later that evening Hermione took a few seconds to collect herself. She had managed an hour of repeatedly writing into her skin, gritting her teeth as the increasingly jagged strokes went over and over the same raw indents. She didn't need to look back at her hand, the freshly engraved line; I must respect my betters was just as embedded in her mind. The double meaning was not at all lost on her. The one saving grace of the evening, and her sanity, was that apparently, Umbridge considered her bright enough not to have to explain, in her sickly sweet voice, that by betters she wasn't referring to a student-teacher dynamic. Hermione had kept her mouth shut as much as possible, occasionally biting down hard on her lip to stop 'angry Hermione' from emerging, particularly having to suppress herself from asking if Umbridge was sure she wanted her to ruin her lovely pen with her dirty blood.

Hermione rested against the cool stone of the corridor wall and tried to decide her next move. There was no doubt Harry would be waiting for her to get back to the common room, and with his current rage levels she wished she could conceal her hand, but that was a futile hope. What she wanted was to retreat to her bed, secure the curtains and have a really good cry, but that was out of the question, it would be some time before she would be alone and she simply could not cry on Harry twice in one week. So Hermione spent the walk back to the Tower fortifying herself, she had begun to think she might manage a 'can we talk about this tomorrow Harry?' Without breaking down, when she turned a corner to see Malfoy reclined against the wall.

Hermione was immediately on edge, the fact that he was on his own buoyed her, she was pretty sure if it came to it she could protect herself.

"Good evening Granger," he drawled with a smirk, "I've been asked by the High Inquisitor to come and ensure you don't get lost on the way back to your Tower." Hermione wasn't taken in by his false politeness, still, she had no interest in making her evening worse, so she nodded and fell into step beside him, though she maintained a glimpse of him from the corner of her eye. When they finally reached the hall with her portrait hole, Hermione felt her chest lighten, until his iron hard grip slipped around her right wrist.

Most of the students, when using the blood quill, had obtained scars on their non-dominate hand, simply because whatever you wrote appeared on the opposite hand. Umbridge had something slightly different planned when Hermione entered her room that evening.

Swallowing back bile she picked up the quill and made to begin writing

"Oh no Miss Granger, I would like you to use your other hand," Umbridge called sweetly in between blowing on the full tea cup pressed against her thin lips. Hermione couldn't stop her eyebrows raising in question. "Well, you see this is a very important lesson for you, and I think it would be of most benefit if you, and others, see it every time you raise your wand. Before you perform magic, each and every time."

Hermione and fought to keep the bitter tears from her eyes. She breathed out shakily and then locked eyes with Umbridge before purposefully moving the quill from one hand to another.

Draco twisted her wrist to regard the words on the back of her hand, and his face broke out into a nasty little grin, the same grin that she had seen directed at Harry many times over the years. He lifted his wand, and for the first time that evening Hermione panicked, she couldn't grasp hers from its position, strapped to her right arm as Draco was holding it aloft. He muttered a quick spell over her hand, and she gasped as the fresh cuts glowed before deepening, seeping with blood that streamed over the irritated skin.

"A little gift from the High Inquisitor," he said smugly before roughly pushing her against the wall, "you're not the only one that's been learning new magic on the side, Granger. Murtlap essence can be very pesky, healing these things up before the lesson is properly learnt."

With that he dropped her arm, wiping the hand that had touched her down his trouser leg with a dramatic flourish and walked away casually in the direction of the dungeons. When the sound of his footsteps faded, Hermione slumped to the ground and clutched her hand to her chest, no longer able to stop the tears that she had been holding in all day.

Despite her earlier fears, Harry didn't say anything when he found her. Instead, he wrapped her in a tight hug before gently bandaging her hand, and she didn't cry on him again either. By the time he lifted her from the cold corridor floor, there were no more tears left.

Following her first detention, Hermione was quiet and withdrawn; she saved all of her defiance for her remaining 'correctional sessions' with Umbridge. Which meant the rest of the time she fell prey to feeling a little sorry for herself. She wasn't vain, not as such, but the idea of a permanent scar was not one she relished. Despite her steely resolve when faced with the High Inquisitor, the words she had spoken had eventually permeated, much like the repeated strokes of the quill on the back of her hand. Simply, Umbridge had gotten into her head, Hermione knew she was letting her, but she didn't know how to stop it.

While Hermione sank into herself, things in the castle were getting worse by the day, Umbridge had moved to get rid of Hagrid, and in defensive of him, Professor McGonagall had taken multiple stunning spells to the chest. For a woman of her age the effect could have been lethal, and after being tended to by a distraught Madam Pomfrey she had been moved to St. Mungo's for more intensive treatment. Hermione felt something shatter when she watched her favourite, most respected professor, be stretchered through the floo. Something that had fissured within herself at her first sighting of Harry's hand, that had cracked during her own detentions was now laying in pieces on the floor of her psyche.

Her Head of House leaving the school grounds worried her, she was the only teacher that Hermione trusted implicitly, and with her gone Umbridge was in total control. Hermione had never quite had the blind faith in Dumbledore that Harry had, too many things had happened while the school was under his care, and after the Chamber opened in their second year, Hermione would never give full credence to his motives.

Hermione was lying on her bed, following the shower that she had to talk herself into, it was Saturday, and she was debating not going further than the common room at all that day when Luna walked through the door to her dorm and dropped next to Hermione on her bed. "You need to get ready and come with me," the blonde said softly, laying her head on Hermione's pillow and facing her curled up form.

"Do I have to?" Hermione asked, a little taken aback at how weak her voice sounded.

"Yes," Luna affirmed, "I think you will regret it if you don't." There was no rebuke in her voice, no exasperation, not even a note of plea. Just a request.

Hermione sighed dragging herself up, she dressed quickly, and Luna braided her hair back away from her face, the younger girl was much more patient than Hermione, so the results were always a lot more pleasing. They were making to leave when Luna's hand circled Hermione's right wrist, and she stilled at the memory, of that touch. Closing her eyes Hermione willed herself to stay calm, the grip wasn't firm, it wasn't mean, but when she felt a small burst of magic settle on her skin, she jumped away from Luna and turned to glare at her.

"Just a small glamour," she said placatingly dropping her head and holding her hands up, Hermione pulled her hand to her face, her heart still racing, turning to the light so she could detect the slight sheen.

"I still know it's there," she uttered quietly.

"Yes, but it doesn't mean you have to see it. We'll work on the hand now, the head will come later," Luna rubbed Hermione's shoulder softly then carefully took her left hand hauling her from the dorm, straight out of the common room and through the portrait hole. She wasn't sure where Luna was taking her until they ended up in the main corridor off the Great Hall. She looked at Luna questioningly.

"3… 2… 1," Luna muttered.

A whizz sounded from somewhere above them, and Hermione's eyes scanned the air until a great whoosh, and a blast of wind preceded the Weasley Twins flying overhead on broomsticks. The following firework display was spectacular, and would certainly go down as one of the most dramatic exits from Hogwarts ever. She laughed in spite of herself when an exceptionally large rocket took off and exploded, spelling out 'POO' in shimmering, three foot high, glitter letters. The indoor fireworks that had been triggered as they flew off, presumably to face the wrath of Molly, continued for several hours. Umbridge was incensed, screaming at anyone who happened passed her to 'get the situation under control' but the professors all claimed they had no idea how to get rid of them. Hermione looked at Professor Flitwick incredulously; surely there was nothing that would baffle him about charm work? When she saw the tiny glint in his eye, she felt momentarily assured that the students were not the only ones fighting back.

Luna walked back with her to Gryffindor Tower, standing around for long was unwise, and at the very least would have meant being commandeered to help with the clear up. When they had managed to get away from any potential eavesdroppers, Luna told her the Twins had left her a small, personal leaving present. Hermione hoped Umbridge would be thrilled with the Niffler in her office.

Considering the magnitude of scrapes her little group had gotten into before, it was surprising that this was the first time Hermione couldn't come up with a way to get out of their situation. She felt guilt settle on her shoulders, she had been the one that had insisted they get proof following Harry's nightmare, and now they were being held here. If it had been another true vision, time for Sirius was slipping away; she didn't know if Harry would ever forgive her, or if she would ever forgive herself.

From her vantage point, Hermione could see across the whole of Umbridge's office, and it didn't make for good viewing. If the scene weren't so tragic it would have been funny. She, Harry, Neville, Ron, Ginny and Luna were all being held in various awkward angles, restrained by members of the Inquisitorial Squad. Millicent Bulstrode was pinning her up against a wall with her chunky forearm pressed against her neck so hard that Hermione worried she would asphyxiate, even if she didn't choke she was likely to be bruised for the rest of term.

Professor Snape had been and gone. Harry had tried to give him a covert message, but Hermione didn't think any the assembled, held students, trusted him to speak to the Order. Having not got the Veritaserum to question Harry, Umbridge had begun ranting, mostly to herself, sounding increasingly irrational. Hermione was becoming desperate. When Umbridge turned to them, her body now stilled and announced that she would have to use the Cruciatus Curse to 'loosen Harry's tongue' Hermione acted completed on impulse.

"No… You… You can't… the Ministry," Hermione managed to force out, anything more coherent was impossible with her throat so constricted.

"What the Minister doesn't know, won't hurt him," Umbridge replied in her usual tone, her demeanour had calmed now she had found a solution, and Hermione sensed something snap inside herself in response. She had been out of sorts since the DA discovery, but her anger and revulsion cleared the lingering fog. She stopped struggling against Bulstrode and let her body sag against the wall.

No, no bloody way am I going to stand here, in this fuchsia freak show of an office, being assaulted with my friends, by a bunch of jumped up, cowardly, self-important bastards, with Harry being tortured on the floor by that toad-like nut job, while a load of cross-eyed cat plates look on.

Hermione knew this would probably provoke another crisis of morality later, but for right now her sense of justice shouted louder than anything else, they needed to get out of there, and Umbridge needed to pay. So she summoned all of the upset from the last year and let herself break into body racking sobs.

"No... Harry… We have to… We have to tell her," she cried, drawing her face into a vision of total anguish.

Umbridge looked at her, her squinting eyes alive with excitement, "Millie let her down, please, I think you're hurting her," she said in a sickly sweet tone, "What was it you wanted to say Hermione, my dear?"

Harry shouted protests but Hermione blocked him out, "We were trying to contact Dumbledore… it's about a weapon… one we were hiding for him," she exclaimed hoarsely, massaging her throat in an attempt to get the words out easier.

Umbridge looked almost undone by delight, "Yes, well done for telling me Hermione, where is the weapon?"

"I will take you to it, but we will need to bring Harry, he needs to be there to activate it," she filed away how easy she just lied for further consideration later.

Harry and Hermione left the Forbidden Forest at a fast pace, very desirous to get out of there before they came across anyone, or anything, else. She didn't want to think too much about what had just happened; she hadn't anticipated the Centaurs arrival, she had expected to walk into the forest and find Hagrid's brother, Grawp. There had never been a rest of the plan there hadn't been time, the general idea was to use the distraction and get away. When they had been ambushed by the herd and Umbridge insulted them there was only going to be one outcome, Hermione watched her being dragged away and it settled on her that she was responsible for whatever would happen next to that woman. She hadn't set out for that to arise, hadn't even planned on anything specific happening to Umbridge at all, but she knew she wanted her to suffer and badly.

She didn't feel anything when the woman screamed at them for help, no victory, no remorse, nothing.

Shattered.

From the moment of the ambush, and eventual restraining in Umbridge's office, Hermione hadn't had time to think, she had been forced to rely on instinct, and that was more Harry's area of expertise. Following their escape from the forest and meeting up with Ron, Ginny, Neville and Luna, who had somehow managed to get away from the Inquisitorial Squad, Luna had the bright idea of flying to the Ministry on the Thestrals, flying on invisible horses. Hermione was getting rather sick of thinking 'this is the worst thing that has ever happened', on an almost weekly basis. She somehow made it the whole way there, without losing any of her dinner and now they were deep in the bowels of the vast and unfamiliar building in The Department of Mysteries.

The place was a labyrinth, every long corridor looking the same as the last, the lack of light and the dark green tiled walls did nothing to help in the search for the location Harry had seen in his dream. After heading through a room housing time turners of every conceivable size and shape, they opened a door marked 'Hall of Prophecy'.

Harry's demeanour changed instantly and he charged forward in search of his godfather. Hermione walked forward more cautiously; the area was divided by shelving racks as high as the eye could see, with small glowing orbs, with a small scrap of parchment placed in front of their velvety stands each, covered with different names in scratchy… hang on glowing orbs? The memory of discussing Harry's dreams came to the forefront of her mind and an awareness that all was not as it seemed seeped into her bones.

Harry shouted up ahead, and the five of them sped up to meet him. He was standing in an open square junction between racks, pacing back and forth, looking down at the floor tugging at his hair. No one said anything, no one needed to, Hermione looked at Harry, she could see the realisation beginning to form on his face, they had been lured here, purposefully.

It was a trap.

They had left school and all of the protection the castle afforded, no one knew they had come here, no one was coming to save them. The sound of footsteps further down one of the aisles echoed around the space, and the students snapped their heads up at the same time as a figure in raven black robes, and a silver Death Eater mask walked towards them. Suddenly Ginny gasped, and turning Hermione saw another robed figure heading towards them, and another and another.

Masks were everywhere.

Harry pulled himself together first, "Form a circle facing out," he whispered urgently, and they all shuffled to comply. Hermione thought she had counted ten masks, but she couldn't be sure. In some ways it didn't matter if there was ten or twenty, they may have been practising defence all year, but that hardly meant they would be any match for experienced Death Eaters. She glanced at Harry, and they shared a look, she nodded letting him know she had his back, she grabbed Luna's hand and squeezed hard before letting go. Showing fear was not going to help. She would do everything she could to get them out of here alive.

Standing in the shadows, partly concealed from view, Antonin was unsurprised to see that Harry Potter was not alone in The Department of Mysteries. Gryffindors had always had the ornery habit of turning up on mass, although on closer inspection he spotted that the tiny blonde girl was wearing a Ravenclaw jumper, how did she get mixed up in all this? Casting his eye over the assembled group, he spotted two Weasleys leaving an unidentified, tallish, dark-haired Gryffindor boy and Her. Antonin sucked in a breath. He should have mentally prepared himself for the possibility of her being there, but he had been led to believe, falsely it would seem, that she was smart. He felt his temper rise and then her head turned, and she and Potter shared a look, she nodded her head at him, reassuring him. No, no you don't. Don't you go encouraging him, you shouldn't even be here! He averted his eyes to stop himself from losing control and focused back on the action. Antonin had been gearing up to this for months, and yet now they were there Lucius had been talking for so long he might as well have been sat in the Malfoy dining room, listening to him drone on about the potential threat of half-blood representation in the Wizengamot.

While Lucius pontificated without regard for his audience, Antonin watched the children move from terror to almost looking bored. He could have sworn She rolled her eyes at one point, but he could have just imagined it. Before everyone present could forget themselves entirely and fall asleep Bella interjected herself into proceedings, and the tension promptly returned. He looked back over to Her… Hermione, suddenly with Bella making her presence known Antonin was even more concerned about what would happen that night.

He didn't know what he was going to do, but he felt compelled to help her, to protect her. A task that was almost impossible to do covertly, if anyone present should detect his interest they'd both be dead.

She was even more petite than he had imagined but just as beautiful, even more so really. Her face was small and round with alert brown eyes, her skin glowed with a light natural tan, a spattering of freckles over her button nose. She looked older than she did in the photos that he still carried in his robes. He imagined she must be about fifteen now, which he didn't want to think about too closely.

As Bella cackled her mad taunts at the assembled group Antonin could feel the air change, it was going to start soon. He turned to glance at his fellow Death Eaters, sizing up what direction he wanted to go in. It would have been so much easier if Yax was there, but his partner was needed back at the Malfoy's, putting together plans for the Ministry. Still weighing his options, Antonin spotted Rodolphus, his shoulders rigid and his eyes looking straight in the direction of Hermione. It was an intense, but not savage gaze, assessing, calculating. Antonin shifted to look at Rabastan whose eyes were flickering almost manically between Rodolphus, Hermione and the little Ravenclaw.

Antonin lost sight of Her when everyone dispersed. For a bunch of school children, who had foolishly walked into a trap, they were shockingly well organised.

It wasn't until much later that he caught a glimpse of her fighting. Walden McNair had set his sights on the little Ravenclaw, and the brutal wizard shot a fierce hex in the blonde's direction, with such force her whole body turned, and she was knocked, head first, against the shelves behind. When she collapsed onto the floor her face looked utterly bizarre, blood pouring from her nose and mouth but her expression was so unconcerned. She somehow managed to maintain a shield while she tried to right herself, and from the way she was standing Antonin could tell she had damaged her ankle. At that moment Hermione rounded the corner, he watched as she took in the sight before her and saw the very moment her eyes registered what she was seeing. She pulled herself up and squared her shoulders, rage seeming to roll off her, magic flowing through her curls. She hurled a stupefy at McNair, almost matching the force he would have had. Even after believing all he had heard about her Antonin had still somehow underestimated her, she was magnificent. While he might not have realised her true brilliance, McNair had arrogantly assumed himself superior. The strength of the stunner sent in his direction, coupled with the fact he did not attempt even a weak shield, meant he was knocked ten feet down the aisle.

Hermione spun around to check the blonde witch's face, her fingers gently tracing her pale, bloody cheeks as she softly murmured something outside of his hearing. Antonin wanted to speak to her, but he didn't know how to make an approach without scaring her, and he couldn't be certain of his reaction if she recoiled from him. While he was distracted the tall boy from before came running over, his eyes fell on Hermione, and he looked so relieved to see her that Antonin's chest tightened. He watched the boy as he checked her over, his eyes scanning for any marks before he leant forward and put his hands on either side of her face, right under her ears, his fingers visible in her hair. The propriety hold unsettled Antonin more than he would have thought possible, the boy's face moved closer to Hers, and Antonin couldn't stand it. He bit down on the inside of his mouth until he could taste blood, but neither the shock of the pain or the sudden coppery taste was enough to dispel his ire. He stepped forward, brushing a hand over his face in a jerking movement, so his mask disappeared.

The little tableau of fighters noticed the action immediately, but he barely spared them a glance before he shot a hex at the boy, straight at one of the arms that was still touching Her. Unfortunately, it was nothing deadly, just a wordless Confringo but it gave him an enormous amount of pleasure to hear the bone crack. He turned to her, without a clear thought in his mind about what he would say or do, but before he could form a cohesive thought, he noticed dark, aggressive bruising covering almost the whole of her throat.

"What happened to your neck?" He heard himself say, his voice a lot harsher than he intended.

She looked up from her crouched position on the floor to meet his eyes, he considered that she hadn't heard what he asked until she finally reacted, sitting up and whispering, "What?"

The sound may have been muted, but Antonin heard it as clearly as a chiming church bell. He reached forward as if to touch her cheek but then his partner called for him, and there was no time for further conversation, reluctantly, he tore his face away from her confused expression and darted off in a different direction.

The entire mission seemed to go from poorly planned to farcical unbelievably quickly, that was until he finally managed to corner Potter in the Time Room. Antonin needed to end this now, the longer it went on, the more chance there was of Her getting hurt. When the dark haired boy tripped over a smashed shelving unit, he knew he had got him, knew he could end it and get the hell out of there.

"I've got Po-"

It should have been a triumphant yell, but he was cut off before he could finish his sentence. At first, he couldn't understand what had happened, he spun around in confusion and there She was again. Her hair had broken free from the confines of her braid, there was a cut against the apple of her cheek, her jumper was dishevelled, and her eyes blown wide. She had clearly seen her fair share of fighting, but she still looked so radiant, more so probably, from all the heightened emotion. Their eyes locked again, and he realised what was missing from her expression both now and before, fear. Hermione's expressive face reflected wary caution and curiosity but not horror or disgust.

A noise made Antonin start, and he glanced behind her to see the blonde with the bloody face. Then, without warning, his body went stiff, and he fell straight back on the ground, hard. Potter came to a screeching halt in front of him. Little fucker had hit him with a full body bind. She screamed at Potter to run, then made her way slowly over to his prone form, her features strangely blank as she raised her leg and stamped on his forearm with a force he wouldn't have believed her capable of. "That was for Neville," she spat viciously.

Antonin was incensed. Not only had the tiny witch silenced him but he was also sure his arm was broken. That she had attacked him in retribution for the boy that had touched her churned his gut. He moved his eyes, the only physical reaction he was capable of, glaring at her until he recognised that her open demeanour did not reflect anywhere near the same level of fury as it did earlier, in defence of the Ravenclaw, and he relaxed as much as he could in his current position. Whatever their relationship he felt certain that Hermione did not love the boy. Neville, with his newly crushed bones, had hopefully learnt to keep his hands to himself.

Hermione looked away from him, and he detected a flicker of something in her eyes, hesitation? Her eyes darted around the clearing, why she was staying there in the open? Then he heard her softly murmuring, 'Luna'. Noticing a movement behind her, Antonin lifted his eyes as much as possible till he caught sight of McNair edging towards them, wand raised. She wasn't as aware of her surroundings as she had been earlier and clearly didn't notice him. Inside Antonin was screaming, but it made no difference, pushing at his body with all his might he could feel the bind beginning to lift, forcing his will to draw an end to the spell so hard sweat formed on his brow.

Just as McNair was near the end of the aisle, the bind released and Antonin jumped straight up and without waiting arched his arm, wordlessly sending a dark purple slash through the air. It landed, embedding straight across her chest. As intended.

Time seemed to stop. At first, she didn't move, she simply looked back at him, wide-eyed, blinking several times and then, as if in slow motion, her body slumped. Not waiting for her to hit the floor Antonin turned to face McNair. "Potter went this way," he shouted. As he walked away, he watched from the corner of his eye as the tiny blonde girl came skidding to a stop in the clear area between the shelves and dropped to her knees beside the body.

As soon as the Order descended Antonin knew it was over, it was over before it had even begun. He knew his Master would be completely furious and as much as the very idea of being sent back to Azkaban threatened to break him, in prison he probably stood a better chance of long-term survival. Before his wand could be taken Antonin pulled an envelope from inside his robes and cast one last spell, with a swirl of light the parchment disappeared.

The Death Eaters were rounded up to one side, magical bindings placed on their wrists. Some of the recently arrived Aurors were arguing about the best way to transport them which left them standing in the room as Healers charged about, giving aid and transporting the wounded. That was when he saw Her. Antonin hoped it was still her and not just the lifeless body he had seen on the floor. She was being carried haphazardly by the tiny Ravenclaw, her progress slow. Hermione was in a standing position her arms looped around Luna's neck with what must have been a sticking charm because she was unconscious. The blonde clearly struggled with the weight, but she had her arms curved around Hermione's waist, and although her body shook a little with the effort her face didn't show any sign of strain. He couldn't understand why Luna didn't levitate her, then as he looked closer at the hands that coiled around her middle, he could see how they were clutching at what remained of Hermione's jumper, desperately, as if she could not hold on to her hard enough. Antonin looked into her little ivory face, and he noticed her slowly mouthing the same words over and over again.

"You are going to be okay Hermione, it's going to be ok, we are going to leave here, and someone will know what to do. You are going to be okay..."

She was pleading.

As they moved further towards the clearing, close to minutely fluttering veil, Luna's head shot up and she reacted as though there was a threat Antonin could not see. Her posture stiffened and if it was possible her arms around Hermione tightened, her blank face taking on a look of steely resolve. "You will not take her," she whispered.

Antonin was puzzled for half a second then he noticed the direction of her gaze was firmly on the veil. He shook his head, his throat completely blocked and tried to cough to remove the tension in case he had to speak soon. While he pulled himself together other people had spotted the pair. The tall boy, Neville, ran forward screaming her name followed by the werewolf, Lupin.

Commotion began in his own ranks, he noticed the Lestrange brothers in a heated exchange, Rodolphus looked stricken and pale, but Rabastan looked murderous, McNair noticed the cluster of Order members.

"Nice work on the Mudblood Dolohov, didn't recognise that hex, looked unpleasant." The older wizard grinned as he looked over at the cluster of people now standing around Hermione. "They look a bit sad to have lost one of their pets."

Antonin didn't trust himself to respond, thankfully he was known as a man of few words, so it caused no shock when he simply nodded. He turned to look away, immediately confronted by the red snarling face of Rabastan, who without any warning raised his arm back and punched him squarely in the face.

With both the force and surprise of the blow Antonin was amazed he stayed on his feet. He felt his nose give way to the impact, and he looked up to face his attacker, but Rabastan was already being dragged to the other side of the containment area by his brother. He hissed as he pulled on the end of his nose to straighten it back out, the last thing he needed was to let it set broken. He didn't know what the fuck was going on with those two, but he would, he recovered in time to see the little Order cluster preparing to apparate. The Ravenclaw insisted on going on with Her and clutching her hand to her chest as they disappeared with a pop.

Hours later and Antonin was back in the windowless cell. He had only been out a matter of months, but he couldn't focus on the reality of his reincarnation, in his mind images turned on a loop, images of Her. Seeing her for the first time, seeing her fight, the moment their eyes locked, her voice, her not being afraid, her… her falling, her being dragged and her disappearing with a pop.

When his mind had turned over the same reel for what felt like an infinite amount of time he wondered if they would both live long enough for him to get a chance to explain.

If he got a chance would he have an opportunity?

If he had an opportunity would she listen long enough to forgive him?