After apparating from Grimmauld Place and appearing in the Northern forest she had envisioned, Hermione managed to put up the musty tent on her own, in record time, before levitating the still prone boys inside. The image of their limbs flopping downward was an uncomfortable reminder of Professor Snape, and the night in the Shrieking Shack during their third year. Once the boys were positioned as comfortable as she could make them, Hermione came outside again and began casting the complex matrix of protective wards she had devised and practised before the trip. She had assumed that Grimmauld Place would not have been available to them forever, they had been taking a real risk by staying in one location for so long as it was, but that did nothing to dull the reality they were now facing.

The boys exited the tent as Hermione was adding the last of the enchantments, both thundering out into the cleared woodland ready to do battle, despite their apparent lack of coordination. Once Ron had calmed down enough to let her speak whole sentences Hermione managed to convince them, or at least Ron, that she had evaded Yaxley's spell by being under their bodies, and had waited for him to call his master, using the opportunity to crawl over them, and apparate away. She could tell Harry didn't believe her; he had the same look on his face after the Quidditch try-outs, when she had Confunded Cormac. It was a look that promised that they would speak on this later, later was fine by her. Hermione knew she would have to tell Harry eventually, aside from being one of her best friends he was the de facto leader of their mission, keeping it from him would not sit well with her sense of loyalty.

Life was hard in the tent. Grimmauld Place had been bleak, but at least there had been ample space, that space might have felt almost 'unsafe for human occupation' at the time, but the dilapidated house was a palace in comparison to their current environment. Hermione found herself longing for walls, to separate herself from the boys even if it was just for ten minutes. She was the type of person that liked to avoid confrontation, and to distract herself from angst wherever possible; it was one of the reasons why she had spent so much time in the library while at Hogwarts. Living on top of each other; literally, they were in bunk beds, was testing her admittedly short fuse.

Compounding the growing cabin fever the weather had begun to get colder, in the drafty neglected townhouse the trio had put on extra jumpers and maybe socks to sleep, in the tent Hermione found herself wearing almost everything she had, and was still never warm. As she climbed into bed at night, teeth chattering, she could feel how much weight she had lost. It had started with the necessary tightening of her belt, and now, the belt had no more notches. Hermione wasn't sure if the boys had noticed, she tried to wear big jumpers as much as possible to cover it up. Food was scarce, and was set to get even harder to come by now they were in the grip of winter.

All of this would have been enough to lead to a breaking point had they just been on the run, but hiding was only one purpose of their current predicament, the other, more important side, was the Horcruxes. Which brought Hermione's to the locket in her list of woes. If there had ever been any doubt that it carried a slither of a dark wizard's soul there was none now. It hadn't taken long to realise the effect it had on the wearer; the magic seemed to seep into your very pores when you had it on, especially if it touched your skin. The locket misted rational thought and playing your insecurities and doubts like an expert violinist. Harry had pushed down his obvious fear, as they sat around the rickety table, all staring at it. 'We take turns', he had decreed, and herself and Ron had nodded gratefully. Hermione had thought it was the simplest solution, ensuring that they each got some precious respite from being the focus of the nefarious intent of the object. In practice, however, there was no relief to be found. While you were wearing the locket, you were dealing with your own issues, entrenched in its constant stream of agonising rhetoric, but as soon as it was on the next person, you would be dealing with theirs.

It was two weeks since they had left London, and every time the cold metal hit Hermione's flesh she felt sick to her stomach. At first, it had taken a while to build, the necklace, once placed on would slowly ramp up its hold on the mind until it was unbearable, but now? When it was put on it was like it could find the holes that it had already worn into your heart, the fissures in your psyche and leached straight onto them, in a brutal attempt to rob you of your sanity.

Dark thoughts would invade Hermione's mind, instantly clouding at the edges of her vision, like Death Eaters swishing into battle. She was tortured with distorted images of her past. The scenarios were true enough, though it was like the memories had been smashed, and the pieces put back together in a haste, so the pictures didn't quite fit. She saw everything from a new angle. Hermione observed herself as a young girl, at Muggle primary school, standing just on the outside of a group of laughing girls, wanting so desperately to be included but at the same time fearful of them actually talking to her, in case she said something wrong, unless she revealed herself not to understand them and was humiliated. In these slide shows her hair and teeth were bigger, her skin paler, her eyes more dead. It wasn't long before she couldn't discern what was honest memory, and what was the lockets taunting.

Hermione saw visions of herself at Hogwarts, dressed in regulation-length skirts and bouncing up and down on her seat, hand aloft, desperate to get validation from her professors and peers. In these scenes the vision-Hermione would suddenly become aware that everyone was laughing at her, the bully's sneers grew louder, and even the professors regarded her with disdain. The faces of the other children would close in and Hermione would feel her throat dry, and her chest constrict.

When she wasn't plagued by visions, the locket would whisper to her, in a breathy voice, the sound waking her in the blackness of night. He would come to her, the disembodied voice, as she laid on her bed, watching Ron and Harry talking over books.

'They don't love you, Hermione, not as you love them, you are only around for your brain, you are expendable'. He would confide, in a soothing tone that wrapped around her consciousness.

'When this is all over, they will go off and get married, the last six years won't matter, they won't want you around anymore, they won't need you for anything'.

'Antonin isn't attracted to you Hermione, how could you be so stupid? They are playing with you, silly child'.

'Your parents are never getting their memories back Hermione, if this war is ever over you will find them, but they'll look at you, their eyes free of recognition. They will no longer have any indication they had a daughter; you did that to them… you took away their choice'.

Whatever line the locket took the ending was always the same, 'you will be alone Hermione, all alone'.

The effect of prolonged exposure to the poisoned metal for Hermione was that she collapsed in on herself, she felt her confidence slip away, she wasn't sleeping, she became afraid, edgy, and totally wrung out. The results for Harry were similar. They spoke about it after he broached the subject tentatively one night, confiding through stilted words and averted glances that he saw similar things and it ended the same, he was alone, all alone. Back under the stairs at the Dursley's, only this time, no one was coming for him. They comforted each other as much as possible, but it wasn't enough to battle against the all-encompassing magic of the Horcrux.

In moments of glorious, though unfortunately, intermittent lucidity, Hermione was filled with a burning desire to hug Ginny. She had always believed she had understood the severity of what had happened to the young girl in her first year, and Hermione remembered with a pang in her chest what Ginny's hollowed out eyes had looked like even months late. But now? Now Hermione understood all those nights she had come back to the common room, after a late night study session, to find the usually exuberant redhead staring into the dwindling flames of the hearth vacantly. Words like these, taunting sentences that preyed on your deepest insecurities, cast long shadows.

Ron's reactions were different, the voices that invaded his mind while he was wearing the locket caused him to lash out at Hermione and Harry. His eyes changed when he wore it, from the moment it settled around his neck he became short and cross. He was suspicious over their closeness and would yell at Hermione constantly. Nothing she did was right, if she sat next to Harry to eat Ron would rant and rave about being the third wheel, if she positioned herself as far away as possible he would accuse them of acting out their true feelings behind his back. Hermione saw through his hollering, he was afraid, the locket was showing him ending up alone too, but while herself and Harry internalised their pain, Ron projected it. Harry, having grown up in an environment with all too many raised voices, winced the first few times Ron would shout at his other friend, but seeing how Hermione retreated rather than fighting back, it snapped something within him, leading him to scream back at Ron's accusations, which only furthered Ron's psychosis.

Then, on the coldest day they had survived so far, the levee broke.

Ron had left the tent to retrieve whatever food could be scavenged close by. The last couple of days had been difficult for Hermione. She had not stopped thinking about her most recent meeting with Antonin, only this time it wasn't flashes of wavy hair and intense eyes that filled her vision, it wasn't images at all, it was guilt, gnawing at her subconscious, reminding her that she needed to tell Harry. She hadn't been sleeping, and the weight of keeping something so monumental from her friend and it was beginning to eat at her even more than the cold. She hadn't told the Death Eaters anything they could use against them, she argued in her mind, but she had involved them in the search, even if they didn't know that yet. Hermione believed they needed the offered help, but she wasn't sure Harry would agree, though the last few weeks in a tent might have softened him to the idea. Resolved to take the chance to speak to him while Ron was out she made her way over to the bench he was sat at, noting that Harry looked concerned as she walked towards him.

"Harry I need to speak to you," Hermione started and grimaced at the nervous wavering of her voice. "I need you to do me a favour and keep quiet, or, well, as quiet as you can," she amended. Dream the impossible dream, Hermione. "Just please try to listen while I get through this, it's not going to be easy, and you're not going to like it, but the conversation needs to happen."

Harry looked weary but waved his hand to indicate she could continue.

"I wish to start at the beginning… I… I don't believe Dolohov tried to kill me in the Department of Mysteries," she exhaled roughly and steeled herself to meet Harry's eyes, her friend looked blindsided by her choice of topic. "The curse he fired at me was experimental in nature, of his own design, its original intended purpose was to get him out of danger during the first war," she explained using an unemotional tone.

"How can you possibly know that?" Harry asked, his voice drenched in bemusement.

Hermione bit her lip. "He told me." Harry sat forward open-mouthed, and she sat back, "that night, in the cafe," she qualified, "and again when Yaxley followed us to Grimmauld Place." She had to just get the words out, like ripping off a plaster, she told herself.

"Dolohov was there?!" Harry yelled, and Hermione fought against shrinking at the malice evident in his voice.

"Yaxley never summoned the Dark Lord, Antonin wanted to see me, he… they want to help." Harry's eyes had widened at the use of the Death Eaters first name, and Hermione wanted to push the slipped word back up inside her mouth.

"But why?" he asked.

"After leaving Azkaban they are determined to remain out of it, they want to help. They think we can win." She knew that was fudging the truth slightly, but baby steps. Probably best to omit her 'heartfelt' exchange with Antonin and focus on other areas.

"They want to be on winning side you mean. That's not exactly a surprise," Harry said scornfully.

"That's not what they said; they don't care about the cause, at least not vehemently,… it's about survival," Hermione protested as vigorously as she dared, though her fingers wrung in front of her. She could hardly blame Harry for the assessment; it had been the same as her first.

"No matter who wins?" Harry cut across the table, and she nodded. "Well that's very noble," he muttered sarcastically.

"No that's Slytherin," Hermione pressed, and Harry snorted. "Dolohov has already spent almost half his life in prison, we can't understand that, but we knew Sirius, he would have done anything not to have to go back there."

"Don't use his name, Hermione, that's not fair," Harry argued, shooting her a warning look.

Hermione nodded in acknowledgement, "I'm just trying to get you to understand," she tried, though she felt the truth in his rebuke, it wasn't the same.

"Understand what?" Harry snapped.

Hermione took a deep breath. "They have offered assistance."

"No, no way," Harry replied, shaking his head madly. "Are you stupid? They will hand us over."

"I thought that too, still believe it sometimes, but when I go through all of the information that I have I feel… like I might be… well, starting to understand them."

Harry stared at her for a long time, his eyes never softened, but Hermione could feel that she had somehow broken through to him. "Convince me," he commanded finally, crossing his arms over his chest.

Hermione's brain scrambled, trying to get a case together that would help get him onside. "Well, firstly, Madam Pomfrey's diagnosis confirmed what Dolohov said about the curse, they all thought it would have caused fatal organ failure but didn't, I was fine once I was revived." She looked up at Harry, but he made no move to speak, so she ploughed on, "Yaxley has already tried to protect me three times, and that was on instruction from Antonin," she supplied, letting hope shine in the edges of her tone.

Harry sighed and rubbed his face. "Why you Hermione?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Well, at the Ministry Mcnair was coming and-" she deflected.

"No," Harry interrupted, "not why the false curse, why is he trying to protect you?" he pressed, seeing through her subterfuge in a moment.

Hermione swallowed, "Harry can we come back to that?"

"Mione," he interjected, but she was not ready to have that conversation with herself yet, let alone Harry, and they had more to cover.

"No, Harry there's... there's more… I've… I've got them to help."

"What?!" Harry exploded, and Hermione couldn't suppress her wince. Keep calm, explain, it will all be fine, in several years he might even forgive you.

"I don't know if you've noticed Harry, but we are slowly being driven mad by a locket that we have no way of destroying. We have been on the run for months, and we have no idea how to get the next Horcruxes," Hermione implored, willing him to see why she had done what she did. She couldn't bare it if he thought she had betrayed them.

"You said you had almost worked out what they all were," he accused.

"I have an idea," she admitted, pulling through the parchment on the desk, "but to be able to get them we need to be smart."

"So, what was your great plan that involved putting us in league with his inner circle?" Harry sneered.

Hermione wrapped her arms around herself, in for a penny. "I sent them away with a message for Professor Snape."

Harry turned, his voice expressionless and cold. "What did you say?"

"You heard me," she replied softly, determinedly meeting his eyes and raising her chin though his low tone had frightened her.

"I can't believe you would do this, are you an idiot? Snape killed Dumbledore!" Harry seethed incredulously, he was looking at Hermione like he had never seen her before and she rushed to keep the conversation moving less he charged away before she had adequately explained herself.

"But why?" she pressed.

"What do you mean why?!" Harry was on his feet now, rage evident in the taut lines he held himself in.

"Why would he do it, Harry? Why didn't Dumbledore fight? There are some things you don't know about Professor Snape ok."

"Like what?" he asked in disbelief.

Hermione sucked in a deep breath. "At the end of the fifth year I knew it wasn't going to be safe for my parents for long, so I started planning, Professor Snape came to warn me as soon as he knew there was a potential threat. He helped me get them to safety, got me to safety, Yaxley warned me too… well, I didn't know it was him at the time, but he did."

Harry fell back into the seat next to her with a jolt and reached for her hand, "Hermione," he asked gently, "What did you do?"

Hermione sniffed, "I did what I had to." Harry didn't seem appeased by her answer, but she knew he wouldn't press. Not on this.

"I'm sorry... I... You should have told me," he whispered.

"It's fine Harry, you had enough to be worrying about," Hermione choked out passed the lump in her throat.

"That doesn't change what you did, that you involved them," he said, though his tone was softer now.

"I know it doesn't," Hermione conceded, deflating against his shoulder.

"Well… what message did you send?" he asked.

"I think there's a Horcrux in Hogwarts, and there is definitely a way to destroy them there."

"The Sword?" he mused allowed and she nodded, immediately feeling relieved that Harry had come to the same conclusion, he rubbed his hand over his face. "I wondered. And so now you've told Snape about them, he will hide them better," he said resigned.

Hermione shook her head, her tangled curls swaying limply. "I gave him an opportunity to help us. If he does, we will lend our support, at his eventual trial."

"And what about the others? How are they involved?"

"Well, we can't go marching into Hogwarts and ask the new headmaster. They will take the letter, we we meet them in a month, or well, a couple of weeks now, and they will hand it over."

"It won't be that simple Mione," Harry warned, though he snaked an arm around her back.

"It never is Harry," she replied with a mirthless laugh.

Harry sat forward and pulled the parchments still resting under her fingers, looking for the list that they had been working on for months. "What is it?"

"The lost diadem of Ravenclaw," Hermione replied, determined.

"That… that makes sense. So they will bring the crown and the Sword?" he pressed, his voice almost calm now though Hermione was still on edge.

"No just the diadem. Professor Snape won't trust them either and if he is going to show he is assisting he will want a way of being able to do that without potential interference."

Harry sagged further into his seat, "Hermione I wish you'd told me about this before."

"Honestly Harry… I wish I had too," unwittingly her eyes filled with tears. "I didn't want you to be upset after the incident in the cafe, you have a tendency of reacting badly, and then the Grimmauld Place meeting was sprung on me, I had to make a decision on the spot and you know I'm crap at that."

Harry shuffled closer to her on the bench and falteringly wrapped his arms around her shoulders. "This is going to take me a while to process," he said, and Hermione nodded against his chest. "What happens if they tell the Dark Lord what we are doing?"

"They don't know anything, we will cross the bridge of telling them more information soon, we are due to meet them at the end of the month, if they don't turn up we're no more screwed than we were this morning."

Harry pulled her tighter against him and tears fell from her eyes as the stress of the last few months collided with the relief of finally telling Harry some of it. She wished Luna was there, her friend would smile knowingly at her, plait her disgusting hair, and tell her everything was going to be ok. With her soothing tone and reassuring manner Hermione would have believed her. As her tears gave way to sobs, Harry gathered her into his lap, probably needing the comfort as much himself, and he whispered soothing words into her ear as he buried his face in her hair.

That was how Ron found them.

"Are you kidding?!" his loud yell startled them both, and they jumped apart. "What can't keep your hands off her anymore, is that it Harry?"

"Ron," she tried.

"Shut it, Hermione, this is what you've wanted all along isn't it? You two must have been overjoyed when I volunteered to go out this morning," he stalked towards them. "I'm done, I'm so sick of both of you thinking you're better than me. You know what? You're welcome to each other," he spat.

"Ron," Harry said in a calm tone, naturally eager to quell the building fury, "nothing is going on between Hermione and me, not now not ever."

Ron, however, was already too far gone. "Really? What other excuse is there for the lack of progress? I was almost hoping you were fucking her, at least that would explain why we're still stuck in a field."

Ignoring his words and pushing down the hurt, Hermione tried again, reminding herself that it was the locket talking. "You knew this wasn't going to be easy Ron."

"Yes, I knew that... I'm not as stupid as you think Mione," he bit out. "But I assumed you had a plan… Something that would not be slowly starving to death in a tent."

Harry's eyes flashed, and Hermione knew they weren't headed for a resolution this time when he spoke. "If it's that difficult for you why don't you leave? Go back to your family Ron, where it's safe, where it's easy-"

"Harry please, you don't mean that," Hermione interjected desperately.

"No, I do," Harry protested. "I'm sick of this Mione, he's not the only one who is having a shit time, but he's the only one complaining constantly."

Ron stalked forward and rising to his full height, shoved Harry in the chest knocking him to the ground before ripping the locket off his throat and throwing it at him. "Oh don't worry, I'm going." Ron turned on his heel walking out of the tent and was… gone.

Antonin had only been stood at the end of the long drive for seconds when he heard the pop of apparition next to him, as he turned Reuben appeared with his arms crossed looking totally unimpressed. Rather than waiting for the now familiar argument to begin again, Antonin set off, walking towards Hogwarts castle, secretly relieved when he heard a secondary crunch of gravel, letting him know his friend was following him.

"Why are we going through with this again?" Yaxley asked almost petulantly.

Antonin sighed, he didn't have a very good answer to that question. Sure it was a good idea to hedge their bets, help out the trio and have something to offer the Wizengamot for clemency if the Light won, but that wasn't why he was here, and his friend knew it.

"Because she asked me to," Antonin answered honestly.

"Why is that a good enough reason again?" Reuben moaned.

"Because I'm doing it, and I asked you come," his declaration was met with silence, Yaxley's protests were more for show than anything else, they both knew he would do whatever Antonin asked, as he had done time and time again over the years.

"Ok, well," Reuben began again, his tone brightening, "we have a long walk ahead of us and, having pulled myself from the Ministry today to complete this fool's errand I am in desperate need of entertainment." His eyes flashed wickedly, "so tell me again how you accidentally dropped the picture you have been carrying around in your pocket for two years, right in front of her." Antonin dropped his head into his hands, "come now don't hold out on me," Reuben teased, "this maybe my favourite bit of your unconventional romance, so far, and let me remind you this story began with her thinking you were trying to kill her."

"I haven't been carrying it around for that long," Antonin muttered.

Yaxley laughed, "Fine you humourless pendant, two years, less the time you were back in Azkaban. Though I'm not sure you want to fixate too hard on the time I was carrying her around in my pocket."

Antonin grunted as Reuben waggled his eyebrows, through his heart wasn't in it, he was still too focused on his embarrassment. "I can't believe I told you," he said, resigned to what would probably be a lifetime of grief. He had been left stunned by the all too brief encounter with the little witch, and in his ruffled state, he had spoken before he could get a hold of himself, by that point Antonin had revealed so much there was little point in holding out on the rest of the details from Reuben's consistent probing.

"If she ever asks, I'll tell her you made me work for it," Reuben laughed out. "What I really can't believe is that she was carrying a picture of you, and not just any picture an arrest photo. She's not got some weird fetish, has she? I heard some Muggles write love letters to famous prisoners."

"How on earth would you know that?" Antonin asked incredulously, whipping his head around to face him.

"I've been with enough half-bloods in my time, I hear things," Reuben shrugged, as if that was in any way an answer.

Antonin ignored him, he really wasn't looking forward to today's task and was even less desirous to discuss Hermione's possible fetishes with his friend.

"Well, we can at least hope that if we eventually end up in prison, your little pistol will campaign to be able to send letters to her dear, sociopathic, murdering boyfriend," Antonin snorted. "But if she sends you anything racy you have to share."

Yaxley seemed to pick up on Antonin's growing weariness, finally, and changed tack, "At the Ministry today there was talk about them, the trio, they appear to be focussing in on her… they believe she would be the easiest to crack if they got hold of them," the wizards exchanged a wry look, "they've ordered another search on her home."

"They won't find anything," Antonin said confidently.

"I know," Yaxley agreed. "I was there the first time, there was no trace of her parents, wherever they went they haven't been discovered, we couldn't find any sign that she had ever even lived there."

Antonin rubbed the back of his neck, "I think she did something, something to do with a memory charm, I've seen her react badly to it a couple of times," he divulged. He couldn't be certain, but it had been nagging at his brain since the cafe.

"Wow, that was... thorough," Reuben replied, looking up thoughtfully.

Antonin fell into that relaxed way of speaking he did when with people he trusted fully. "She would do anything for the people she loves," Yaxley merely raised his eyebrows though his lips quirked into a slight grin. Antonin huffed, "Just... Shut up."

"Sorry, sorry," Yaxley said placatingly, "on a more serious note, I've heard a couple of other things about her at the Ministry this week," he said, much more gravely.

"Oh?" Antonin asked not liking where this was going.

"Apparently one Dolores Umbridge, Head of the Muggleborn Registration Committee, was her teacher during their fifth year… Well, you've met her Antonin can you imagine? She took to the school like she was running her own little state, blood quills for punishments, unlimited power and rules. She caught them, the kids, that night before the Department of Mysteries, and your little sunshine led her into the Forbidden Forest before leaving her to the mercy of a herd of centaurs." Antonin's mind had fogged slightly, first at the mention of Umbridge, then blood quills, remembering the feeling of the word carved into her delicate skin. "Are you listening?" Yaxley asked.

"Sorry lost in thought."

"The idea that the little lion has sharper teeth than you thought? Don't know about you Dolohov but I was more than a little aroused when I heard," Yaxley teased.

"For the love of Merlin, will you fuck off?"

It took several minutes for Reuben to calm enough to continue walking again, Antonin couldn't blame Yaxley for taking this opportunity to poke at him, the Northern wizard hadn't been able to rattle him like this since they were boys, and was enjoying his new restlessness a little too much. Once Yaxley had stopped laughing Antonin turned to him full of resolve, his face settling into a much less relaxed expression. "I need a favour."

"Antonin I'm already here on a Saturday afternoon, preparing to engage in an awkward as fuck conversation with Snape willingly, you honestly want more from me today?"

"Yes."

"Go on then, astound me," Yaxley articulated dramatically.

"Umbridge," he said crisply, "I want her dead."

Yaxley looked at him, a grin splitting across his face. "Why didn't you say something earlier? That I can do."

It was evident that Snape was surprised to see them, though he tried to cover his discomfort at their sudden appearance with a disdainful glance that Antonin had no problem believing was truthful. Many people underestimated the Potions Master, whether for his 'unfortunate blood', or his choice of profession, but Antonin had always known there was more to the dour man than met the eye. He was clearly willing to go further than most to achieve his goals, a trait he could empathise with.

Snape had joined the Dark Lord because no one else gave him a place, not because it was his first pick. He was obviously an intelligent man, well above the curve of their usual colleagues, though considering that line up contained a deranged werewolf, a psychotic rapist and well, whatever you would classify Bella as, that wasn't exactly a compliment. Not that Snape was any less a monster, he was just a sane one.

Antonin hadn't been in the headmaster's office since he had been at Hogwarts, as a student though Snape didn't seem to have changed it much. He idly wondered what that indicated; respect for his former employer? Guilt? Or maybe just a total disinterest. Snape seemed to bury every emotional response so far down it was possible that even he didn't know what he felt about anything anymore.

The newly appointed headmaster of Hogwarts had stood when they entered, though not as a sign of respect, sitting would have left him at too much of a disadvantage. The professor moved around the desk and perched on the front of it with faked casualness, if you weren't looking closely you may have missed the slight twitch of his wand hand, indicating readiness, they had all been doing this too long.

For the first time in his recent memory, Antonin felt at a slight disadvantage. He had no knowledge of what the note from Hermione contained, and he wasn't sure why he hadn't opened it. If he was going to be truthful with himself, which he had been endeavouring to do lately, he knew why he hadn't. She was smart his girl, wasn't that what Yaxley had called her? He wouldn't have put it past her to spell the envelope, and he didn't want the first thing she said, after not seeing him for a month, to be a rebuke for not trusting her, especially when Antonin was pushing for her to trust him.

Yet Hermione had sent them there without having an accurate understanding of how the dynamics in his world worked. They were asking for something, they had nothing to offer in return, and they were dealing with another Slytherin, as well as potentially exposing a shift of their allegiances. Antonin wasn't certain what would signify a good outcome of this meeting, but he was pretty sure a bad one would be returning to his Lord to inform him he was down a headmaster.

Before the silence could stretch on too long, Snape decided to get things moving. "To what gentleman, do I owe the pleasure?" he drawled out, his face twisted, letting them know he regarded their presence as anything but.

"We need to talk," Antonin asserted firmly, they might be in the other man's environment, but he wanted it to be clear that he was in charge here.

"What could we possibly have to talk about?" Snape countered.

Keen to cut down the niceties to a bare minimum Antonin retrieved the letter from his pocket and handed it over. Snape glanced at the writing addressing it to him.

"Miss Granger?" he asked softly, and Antonin narrowed his eyes at his ability to identify her script so quickly before reluctantly nodding.

Snape opened the note warily and then read through it eyebrows rising every couple of seconds. Once he appeared to have completed it several times, he raised his wand and incinerated the piece of parchment before looking back at up them. "It will take me a few days to get the item she wants, come back for it at the end of the week," his voice was emotionless with a note of finality.

"That's it? No questions, you're just going to do what she asked?" Yaxley voice radiated surprise.

"I don't need to explain myself to you," Snape snapped.

"What are they doing?" Antonin demanded, but Snape didn't answer. He merely eyed Antonin curiously, "She didn't tell you?" the headmaster asked, sitting back in his large chair.

"No," Antonin admitted reluctantly, he didn't want Snape to get too much information, he already had the upper hand.

"It would appear she has more snake-like tendencies than I would have thought possible," Snape quietly muttered to himself, his face seeming to grow fond over some memory or other, Antonin glared at him. Snape sneered, "Oh, really Dolohov, she didn't tell me either."

"But you already know don't you?" he pressed.

"I know enough," Snape answered evasively.

There was an oppressive silence in the office and Antonin was weighing over how exasperating the meeting had been when Snape spoke again. "How?" He began, examining some object on his desk as if to appear disinterested, "How did you find them?"

"They broke into the Ministry to steal a locket," Yaxley replied, and Snape laughed, actually laughed. Antonin wasn't sure he had ever seen the man even grimace in a parody of a smile before, let alone laugh. The headmaster muttered something under his breath that sounded a lot like Gryffindor's.

"She is well?" Snape asked tentatively, not quite managing a mask of indifference, Antonin regarded him, he seemed to genuinely care about the answer. It was not lost on either of the visitors that he asked after her and not the boys, and without being consciously aware of it, Antonin stood straighter squaring his shoulders. Snape rolled his eyes at his posturing. "Did you expect me to ask after Potter?"

"She is ok, a little thin but ok," Yaxley answered, rightly assessing that Antonin was not ready to speak yet.

Snape looked contemplative then his eyes seemed to flash for a second. "Which one of you warned her?"

Antonin felt his hands begin to twitch ready to reach for his wand.

"I did," Yaxley confirmed gruffly, and Snape glared at him.

"That look might work on your firsties Severus, but you can fuck off if you think I'm going to tell you anything because you glanced at me," Reuben snapped before suddenly stepping back and waving his arms in front of his face aggressively. "Stay the fuck outta my head."

The headmaster turned away and looked at Antonin. "You Dolohov, really?" He was saved from response by Snape laughing again, "Well, the girl was named after a Shakespearean character, and she reads extensively, I'm sure she is well versed in the concept of romantic tragedy, which is fortuitous for both of you, I imagine."

Antonin had had enough and leant forwards toward the Potion's Master at the same time that Snape got up out of his chair and pointed his wand at him. "Careful Dolohov," he said impassively, "you would do well not to let your passion run away from you, and for all our sakes try and be a bit less obvious," he snapped, his voice full of contempt. "If anyone detects your interest she will have an even bigger target on her back than the substantial one she already carries."

Yaxley moved an arm across Antonin's shoulders and pulled him towards the door. "Snape we're leaving," he barked as if he wasn't dragging Antonin from the room, "have whatever it is she wants in three days, we are coming back for it."

"Fine," the headmaster snapped, falling back into his seat. "Oh, and Dolohov?" he called, as Antonin made it to the doorway. "If by intention or not, she gets in more trouble because of you, I'll kill you myself."

After the bleak and seemingly unending depravity of the Christmas 'holidays', Antonin heard that the little blonde Ravenclaw, from the Ministry, had been picked up off the Express. His Lord was displeased with what her father had been writing in his barmy paper, so she was to be taken to ensure his compliance. She was a pureblood, so the chances of her coming to any serious harm were slim, but Antonin wanted to check on her for Hermione. It was unlikely that the curly-haired witch would have heard about her imprisonment, but he wanted to be able to say he had seen her, and that he had taken steps to secure her safety.

He apparated to Malfoy Manor the first time he could legitimately find a reason to go. Yaxley had visited the previous week and was able to confirm that the girl was ok, though he had described her as 'beyond dotty'. The Manor was mostly deserted, or at least he thought it was until he turned a corner walking past one of the numerous reception rooms to hear Draco Malfoy, holding court with some of the younger Death Eaters. Antonin didn't spend much time with them, they either regarded him with complete fear or covetous envy, and he had little time for either.

He was going to march straight past when he thought he heard Granger being mentioned. Well, how many Grangers could they be talking about? Antonin moved towards the door silently, not wanting to alert the inhabitants of his presence, shuffling slightly so he could see through the crack. He noticed Malfoy, as expected, and who he thought were the sons of Crabbe and Goyle, who seemed to have inherited not only their fathers build but intellect. He was as close as he could get but he could only make out snippets, it was apparent from both the tone of their voices and the smell of the room that the drink had been flowing for some time.

"-so I told Father… and well you know… Granger always... know her place… thought it would." The blond heir's voice was covered by the sound of loud cheering from his audience. Antonin subtly moved his feet forward, so he was standing in the entrance, pushing the door marginally, so the noise would carry further.

"-he agreed… help if she would… it's the whole point… what are we... if not for this."

Antonin could feel the blood rush around his body; he closed his eyes. He knew whatever was going to follow was not going to be something he wanted to hear, but equally, he needed to hear it, he had to make himself fully aware of any potential dangers that could befall her.

"-can't wait to show her who's boss."

Antonin desperately moved forward again, pushing the door even wider.

"Don't get your hopes up mate, they haven't found them yet," one of Draco's cohorts called.

"Oh, I'm not worried," Draco responded smugly, "It's the Ministry's top priority after all, as soon as they get Hermione, Father has agreed, I can have her."

Antonin moved back from the door quickly and headed to leave the Manor; he couldn't stay here any longer, he would make enquiries about the Ravenclaw in the dungeons later, he had to get out before he lost control. Draco Malfoy would have his little witch, over his fucking dead body.

Hermione emerged from the tent, so panic struck that she had to blink twice to comprehend the scene in front of her fully. Harry was there, not lost, as she had believed, after he had been gone for over an hour. Next to him was Ron, Ron who had left them. Both were standing in the snow, drenched down to their skin. If she wasn't already questioning her sanity, Harry holding the Sword of Gryffindor in his shaky grasp was enough to make her suspect yesterday's harvested mushrooms. It was only when Harry saw her look at Ron, and moved to hide the blade behind his body did Hermione realise how real the tableau was. Given the emotions swirling within her, that had been a wise move.

Ron looked pensive, but Hermione didn't care, she stepped forward, and in a movement reminiscent of her actions in the third year, she reared her hand back and punched him in the face so hard she feared she might have broken her hand, it would have been worth it.

"Ow... fuck Hermione!" He yelled, wincing as he held a hand across his nose and eye.

"Locket or no locket Ronald Weasley, never speak to me like that again," she spat at him. "Welcome back to starving, freezing and crying, hope you're on board now," she all but hissed, before storming back into the tent.

Hermione knew Harry would have forgiven Ron as soon as he saw him, it had always been simple for them, but she was loyal to a fault, and Ron leaving them was something that she knew she could never get over, not completely. They would be friends again, of course, but she would never trust him fully… not like she did Luna or even Harry.

Hermione ignored them both for the rest of the evening; it wasn't hard, she had been exhausted for days, having not really slept since she and Harry escaped from Godric's Hollow. At least having Ron back meant she didn't have to feel guilty about climbing into bed and letting sleep take her. She had no desire to remain awake to hear Harry filling Ron in, filling him in on events he would have known about if he had done the decent thing and been here. A cursory glance at him had been enough to see how he had filled out; Hermione bitterly wondered how life had been for him over the last weeks. She pinched the scant flesh at her hips absentmindedly, hating herself for feeling ashamed of the state she was in. She didn't deserve to feel humiliated that she was too thin or that it had been too long since she had properly washed. Hermione turned her back to them, in the bunk, and buried down amongst the meagre sheets, hoping to get warm enough to sleep through the worst of her anger.

The next morning when Hermione woke she was feeling more at peace, she was as well rested as she had been in weeks, and calm enough to hear Harry's version of events from the day before. Repeatedly glancing at Ron's blooming black eye helped.

When Harry had finished the tale of his near drowning, he placed the remains of the locket on the table and it fell with a soft clang; the metal was corroded, kinked and twisted.

It was gone, finally gone.

Suddenly everything didn't feel so futile; they had achieved something. Hermione didn't want to bring it up with Ron here, but she could see by the looks Harry was shooting her he was considering the same thing; if they had the Sword, it meant Professor Snape had come through for them. Hermione allowed her mind to wander to Antonin; she realised then just how much she was hoping he would do the same. Ron wouldn't be happy with their new allegiance, but she couldn't find it within herself to care.