Despite the gravity of the situation at hand, Hermione found herself suppressing laughter as Professor Snape, Antonin and Yaxley discussed the best plan for removal of the snake. After increasingly volatile comments from all involved, her sheltering Death Eaters agreed to meet the headmaster that evening. It would be fair to say that none of them were happy at the conclusion. Hermione had always felt that her Professor's tone of address, to her as a student, had been condescending, sarcastic and on occasion, downright rude, she wondered if it was a poor reflection on her character that she found it immensely comforting to discover he spoke to everyone like that. In fact, in light of the way he conducted himself that evening, with Yaxley in particular, his classroom taunting suddenly seemed rather tame.

Through everything that had happened, Hermione had come to respect Severus Snape, and like anyone that moved into her sphere, she was determined to keep him there. If by some miracle they all got through this, he was remaining in her life. She began to suspect that he needed her in some way, whether her survival had somehow got tied in with his own sense of redemption, she wasn't sure, but Hermione was determined to have her way. She assumed Antonin would be unhappy about her conviction, but honestly, she thought Professor Snape would probably be more put out, so it was a good job she wasn't asking either for their opinions.

In the last couple of days, Hermione had felt her strength returning, the fatigue in her limbs was lifting, and under the continued tender care of both Luna and Antonin, she was beginning to feel some semblance mental peace as well. Hermione didn't expect to feel better, not for a long while, she doubted any of them would ever fully recover. You could have filled the ark with the amount of anguish the people in this house were repressing. Antonin and Reuben drank far too much, their tolerance for alcohol, which Antonin used as a part way excuse, only made her fret more. As much as Luna seemed to be coping she had told Hermione enough about her time in the cells at Malfoy Manor, for her to be sure her friend was likely quashing a lot of her feelings.

Being of sounder mind and body meant that Hermione was able to not only seek out quiet places, but to also enjoy the alone time without triggering a panic attack. Hermione was a person that liked to get away from everyone, to work things through. When she was at Hogwarts, her sanctuary was the library, her place of solace whenever she had an academic puzzle she couldn't solve. When it came to emotional unrest she ran, for all her bravery when faced with mortal peril, there were scenarios she could not confront. Hermione would risk her body, and even her mind, but her heart? It was, she felt, her weakest area, and undoubtedly where she felt most exposed.

The revelations laid at her feet about her paternity were beyond her understanding, she had so many questions, and at the same time felt unable to voice any of them, there were numerous factors needling at her, and she couldn't talk to her mum that was the biggest weight on her heart. Hermione wanted to know… why. But it was so much more than that. Being a Muggleborn witch was as much a part of her identity as her wayward curls and know-it-all tendencies. She had fought against the stereotype and was proud of all she had achieved; she was the anomaly, the fly in their soup, if Muggleborns were supposed to be so dirty, how was she better than them?

Except she wasn't.

Would people that had shunned her now come forward? Would they want to acquire her for her mind, because she was somehow purer? Would the response to her change of blood status be a passive one? Now they had an explanation for her 'brilliance'. Hermione felt like all of her hard work; her struggle had been for nothing.

She lost herself to her thoughts in the warm sunroom, and left alone her mind fluttered back to Rodolphus and Rabastan, her family. Two of the most infamous Death Eaters were blood-related to her, how would people take that news? Was she to be welcomed by those who had hated her, only to have her friends turn their backs?

Hermione wanted to hate them, to hate Rodolphus at least, but she couldn't, she cursed herself for her weakness, but flashes of his broken face crept up on her at times, her mind was determined to make him human. Neither brother appeared to have had a peaceful existence. That was the thing she never comprehended about purebloods, they all believed their way of life was far superior, and yet they were all so bloody miserable, so damaged, when did it start? Even Antonin and Yaxley, who by their own accounts had loving parents and happy homes, were both holding onto so much rage it was a wonder they could function.

Thoughts of Antonin made a blush creep across her cheeks; it had been unexpected and somewhat wonderful to be with him in that way. Hermione had been naive and fearful, and he made her feel desired. When he looked at her she felt whole, and beautiful. Antonin had shown patience that she hadn't known he possessed, and a kindness that she had longed for without ever knowing it. She wanted to talk about it in some way, finally understating the hours Lavender and Parvati had devoted to what she had once referred to as mindless chatter. It was at times like this when she missed Ginny. Her friend's frankness was legendary, and Hermione was sure that, however difficult it would have been to initiate a conversation on sex with the redhead, she would certainly have felt any residual nervousness reduced following it.

She could speak to Luna she supposed, though it was questionable whether she would get a straight answer. Despite being a year younger, Luna always came off like an old soul, if Hermione broached it with her, she would probably spout something about being at one with the universe and Hermione would be none the wiser.

Hermione poured herself another cup of tea and curled her legs underneath herself, cradling the dainty cup in her fingers, letting the porcelain warm her palms. She would have to speak to Luna about Rabastan she realised. Fairy tales and intertwined hearts aside, she had seen the way he looked at her friend, Hermione couldn't determine if the savagery in his intense gaze indicated that he wanted to devour or be devoured, but either way she did not imagine their relationship would be limited to handholding and romantic platitudes for much longer. She would have to speak to him too she decided, putting aside their issues, and hear with her own ears what his intentions were. Hermione trusted Luna's innate sense more than she trusted her logic but this was still her dearest friend, and he needed to know what would happen if he hurt her. Azkaban would look like a seaside holiday camp in comparison.

Hermione wasn't sure how long she had been sat staring off into space, when Antonin came looking for her, he appeared slightly flustered like he had thought she was missing. He didn't trust her yet, she knew that, though for all of his astuteness she wasn't sure he realised it. It was revealed to her in the way he reached for her in the morning, not releasing a breath until his searching hands found her flesh. Or in how he came up the stairs at night, slowly opening the bedroom door as if expecting to find the room empty. It was a sensible fear; Hermione had decided if a completely unfounded one. Even if she knew she should leave him, she couldn't anymore, not without leaving a portion of herself behind. So Hermione didn't tease him when his face relaxed as he spotted her, despite the fact she hadn't moved since he last saw her. Antonin approached her chair but did not sit.

"What's wrong?" she asked seeing his weary look.

He sighed, "You have visitors," he said with a shrug that she didn't believe, watching the way his fingers bit into the chair back.

"Lestranges?" she asked tentatively, and he nodded. "Do I have to?" She hated that she sounded like a child, but she was approaching the very limit of her emotional capacity.

"Yes… Hermione they're not going to give up," Antonin said, but she could hear his reluctance, he didn't want them here anymore than she did. He reached forward to take one of her curls between his fingers and looked at her softly.

"How do you know? Any lost children you're trying to bring back into the fold?" she asked her tone was sarcastic, but he ignored her mood.

"None of us are wired like that; he'll keep coming until you see him, and then until he can find a way of getting what he wants."

Hermione dropped her head into her hands, "Fine, can they come in here? Oh, and where is Luna? I would like her to be here."

"She's in the garden, something about how the way the plants are spaced is offensive to some creature or other, so she is instructing the elves on how to correct it."

Hermione suppressed a smile at Antonin's befuddled expression, "And Yaxley is ok with that?"

"I'm not sure he had a choice, he requested coffee this morning, and all of the elves were in their gardening garb, for some reason they all treat that girl like some high priestess."

"As they should," Hermione laughed.

Her mirth failed her a short time later, when the Lestrange men entered her retreat. Luna had opted to sit in the same chair, it wasn't big enough for two people, but the blonde entered the room and shifted Hermione till she could dangle her legs over hers, like some kind of human emotional shield. Hermione appreciated the gesture, despite being mindful of the scowl she could see fall over Antonin's features.

Yaxley wasn't here this time; Hermione wondered if it was because he was done finding amusement in the dog and pony show that was her life, or whether he was using the opportunity, while Luna was distracted, to recolonise his elves.

Hermione looked intently at Rodolphus Lestrange, trying to detect some evidence of paternity from his features, nothing particularly stood out, and yet she didn't doubt the spell that Luna had cast. When they were both in the room, she could feel it. The awkward silence made Hermione hyper-aware of herself, and while looking at the wizard, she could perceive a soft, low-level hum in her person, almost as if her blood was calling to his, recognising their bond. She had read once, in a huge and dusty old tome, from an almost abandoned section of the library, about familial magic. Hermione had been covetous at the time, learning about this strange and innate power, she had felt deprived, knowing she would never have any access to a greater understanding because of her birth. Now that world was open to her like the old adage said, you should be careful what you wish for.

Compartmentalising was a way of life for Hermione, and right now that was what she needed to do, her personal mess would wait, she had sat in ignorance for this long, the focus now had to be on what was really important, the war and Harry. Though the level of urgency didn't make the situation any less cumbersome, this conversation would be painful to start; it would appear that even in the highest pureblood circles there was no etiquette guide on how to converse with your recently uncovered daughter, of unfortunate blood status, while her murderous… well, whatever Antonin was, looked on.

They engaged in light conversation, him asking after her health and a few other short enquiries that he seemed to labour over, before blurting them out. Hermione found herself thinking that she liked that Rodolphus didn't seem as 'put together' as she was anticipating, and then a flash of her father came into her mind. David Granger, with his dark, wiry curls that she had always thought of as so like her own, and she would feel burning guilt. Eventually, she couldn't stand the talking around the houses anymore.

"This," she waved her hand between them, "What does this mean for the war? What do you want from me?"

If Rodolphus was taken aback by her directness he did not show it, in fact, he looked almost relieved. "It means that I will do everything within my power to keep you safe," he answered, and Hermione sat back in her chair slightly taken aback by his forthrightness.

"Including change sides?" she asked incredulously, not that she had asked that of Antonin, but it was important to start with as clear a picture as possible.

"The side is irrelevant," he said immediately, his voice flat. She wanted to doubt his words, not trust his intentions but Antonin's voice played over in her mind, 'he killed his wife'. Maybe the side didn't matter?

Hermione turned her request over in her mind once again; she needed them to do this, she doubted that Harry would have picked up on Bellatrix's behaviour at the manor, what with everything else that was going on, if she pulled this off they would be home free.

"I need something from you," she asserted, endeavouring to make her voice calm, and devoid of emotion. Hermione didn't want to convey how important this item was, not yet, if she had learnt anything from her time around the Slytherins in her life, it was that everything had a value, it all came down to how much you would be willing to pay.

"Go on," he answered measuredly, sitting back in his chair, his dark blonde hair catching the fading light from the window.

"You have an item, I believe it is located in your vaults... and I would like it," Hermione said carefully.

"You want some restitution?" Rodolphus asked, he didn't even seem mad, just contemplative, he turned his head to the side, and the long straight strands of his hair escaped from behind his ear, on one side. His lack of disgust triggered hers, seriously who the fuck were these people? Hermione started, she normally didn't swear in her head. Up to this point she had day after day of feeling muted, both from Bellatrix's torture and the emotional revelations that followed, Hermione felt a stirring of anger, and she clung to it. While not typically the best response, the surge of reaction made her feel more like herself.

"No, I'm not interested in your money," she declared, as dispassionately as possible, despite the fact she wanted to scream in his face. This whole situation could have used a great deal of shouting and breaking things, not that she could give into those urges now. Belatedly she realised that might be part of the reason she liked Antonin, the passion that thrived under his skin; she shelved that worrying revelation for further consideration when she was on her own.

Hermione centred herself, drawing herself up, and pushing away the other thoughts. "It's a cup, it supposedly belonged to Helga Hufflepuff, there is a spell I am working on, for the war effort, and that chalice is mentioned specifically."

Hermione didn't know a great deal about Rodolphus, much of what she had heard was about the dark, ruthless character that the Prophet painted, rightly given his crimes. But she knew almost nothing about the man behind the mask, accept what he had freely told her, though that wasn't enough for a complete picture. Would he believe her? Was he even intelligent and calculating enough to doubt her? Did he care either way? She didn't know. More questions and no answers. Hermione was well aware that she was a terrible liar, though it appeared that if the person's last name was Lestrange she could pull it off. She hazarded a quick glance at Antonin whose face was impassive as ever, though she was sure she could detect a hint of pride in his eyes as she regarded him.

Rodolphus was staring at her intently, his eyes assessing, he appeared to be weighing his options. "Ok," he said finally, "I believe we can accommodate that." Hermione felt herself internally sigh with relief; it had been worth it, she would have something to give Harry, something that moved them closer.

"I have a condition, though," his measured tone caught her by surprise, lost as she was in her planning.

"Name it," Hermione said dismissively, there was nothing she wouldn't do at this point to end it.

Rodolphus half smiled at her, and she felt a bead of concern form in her stomach. "Let's discuss when I have the… item, I'll be back as soon as it is in my possession."

She nodded, the tiny worry bubbling within her as she assessed his demeanour, he looked almost cheerful, after all her time around Death Eaters, Hermione knew in her bones that nothing good ever came from them being happy. Without a further word Rodolphus leapt up from his seat and was gone from the room, calling his goodbyes over his shoulder. Maybe she would know more about him sooner than she thought.

Luna untangled herself from Hermione's lap, and both girls made to stand.

"Hermione, might I have a few words?" Rabastan asked hesitantly.

Hermione stared at him, as she bent her knees, getting the life back into her legs. She hadn't figured out what to make of the younger Lestrange brother, his moods were so changeable, he seemed to feel everything so keenly, not that she could criticise him for that. Hermione had always thought she might grow out of having such raw emotions, but looking at Rabastan, who she supposed she should start thinking of as her uncle, she recognised that this might be an inherited trait. Sighing she dropped back into her seat and Luna moved towards him; his face lit with a smile as he whispered into her ear before she nodded and rushed out of the room.

"Antonin give us a minute," Rabastan said, once the door had closed, his tone was much less patient than the tone he had with her, and Hermione could have told him his attitude was a mistake even before Antonin stood and moved lazily towards him, her... Whatever he was, wizard? Turned to look at her, clearly asking for her approval to the requested conversation, she nodded her head, almost imperceptibly, and Antonin continued stalking forward. He placed one large hand on the younger wizard's chest and pushed him back into the chair behind him, without warning or ceremony.

"Feet on the floor, voice down, and hands to yourself Lestrange," Antonin bit out before looking at her. "Five minutes." He raised his eyebrows as if daring her to challenge him, but she had no intention of doing so, he was clearly unhappy about some of the events of the morning, and she had no craving to rile him further.

The sound of him slamming the door behind himself had her staring at the ceiling; she was not looking forward to the inevitable conversation after this. The silence seemed to stretch on forever making her uncomfortable.

"He meant it… when he said five minutes, in fact, he will probably be back in here after four so if there is-"

"I'm not sure how to begin," Rabastan interrupted, his words a mirror of Rodolphus first sentence to her that grim day, Hermione felt her throat run dry. "I wanted to speak to you, but I didn't plan what to actually say," he wrung his hands in front of himself. "My brother has not had the best life-"

"-Look if you want me to feel pity for-"

"No, not pity," Rabastan interjected, "but maybe, one day, some… understanding… he... well, he loves you already you know? And love has never really been his strong suit," he said with a pained expression. "I think he shut himself off from emotional responses a long time ago, but he does feel for you. You might never be able to return that feeling but… I would ask that you try, in time, to accept it from him, in the ways that he can show it."

The earnest plea in his tone dissolved Hermione's anger, righteous as it may have been. She found herself pondering his request long after the wizard had left.

A very much still disgruntled Antonin left the house in the early evening with Yaxley, to meet with Professor Snape. They had found out that Wormtail had been made responsible for Nagini's care before his death, and due to Voldemort's increasing paranoia another Death Eater had not been assigned the role of carer come guard, giving them the opening they needed. Hermione tried not to think about Antonin putting himself in danger at her request, again. If they were found out the punishment would be severe and lengthy. Though Antonin never acted as if he was put upon, or even afraid, Hermione worried. Remaining in the bedroom after he left, quietly fretting until Luna breezed in.

"Do you think they are going to be okay?" Hermione asked, as Luna settled herself down next to her.

Luna considered her reply, playing with the frilly hem of her transfigured dress. "I believe so; Professor Snape is very good at not dying, that snake has gone against the natural order; the universe will be looking to right itself. I'm sure they will feel her assisting them."

"Thank you," Hermione said, looking up at the ceiling, "that was strangely comforting."

They laid in silence for a while, simply drinking in the peace that came from being together again, Hermione realised how much she had subconsciously been worrying about her friend since they had parted company at the Weasley wedding. Her wool-gathering was interrupted by an amusing thought. "Luna, how do you think they're all getting along?"

Her friend's face broke into a wicked little smile, "Whatever are you implying Hermione?"

"Just that, if it wasn't so dangerous, I would have loved to be a fly on the wall for this mission." Hermione put on her best Professor Snape voice, "Do you two dunderheads have any idea what you are doing? I would have thought, given your time of life, you would show a little more aptitude than first years, but alas, I was foolish to hope."

Luna was overcome with giggles. Hermione attempted Yaxley's thick Northern gruff, much less successfully. "Fuck you Snape, not all of us have an innate understanding of creatures that slither in the shadows, looking up at everyone they interact with."

Once their laughter had died down the stillness between them felt heavy, they were safe here, tucked away in Yaxley's home, but they weren't facing reality, and they both knew it.

"We need to speak to Harry," Luna whispered, vocalising the unsaid between them.

"I know," Hermione sighed.

"He may be somewhat displeased by events here," Luna hedged.

"That is potentially a very large understatement."

Antonin and Yaxley got back late, and Antonin was in an even worse mood than earlier. Hermione didn't think she should find it so diverting that Professor Snape could get under their skin so easily, but they were usually so unflappable, she mentally congratulated herself on having been able to survive under the heat of the teacher's scorn for so long.

She and Luna had waited up for them, quietly making plans in the empty house. The elves had brought them teas as they discussed next steps, the mood had been more than a little solemn. When the expected wizards finally made their appearance, Hermione followed them, without invitation, into the study. They didn't protest, and seeking to continue her stay she moved to the sideboard while they were removing their outer robes, pouring them some liberal measures of firewhisky.

Hermione resisted the urge to take a swig herself, squaring her shoulders before she turned to deposit the glasses in front of them, and waving off their murmurings of thanks, as they collapsed into the aged leather chairs. She remained standing, steeling herself she began before she could lose her nerve.

"Now that the snake is gone, and Rodolphus is getting the cup, I need to speak to Harry," she recited her prepared words, "if I contact Professor Snape I can get their location," she divulged in a surprisingly even tone, but the real challenge was still to come.

She heard the sharp clunking of a thick bottomed glass being set down roughly, Antonin spoke, his voice guttural and jarring, "You are not leaving Hermione." It wasn't a question, it wasn't even an acknowledgement of what she had said, it was a command. But she wasn't answerable to him.

"That's not your decision," Hermione began hotly but she felt her throat run dry as she took in his face, Antonin looked wild, the intensity of his expression almost too much. If it was just rage and dominance contained there she would have felt herself harden, ready to do battle with him, but there were a myriad of things conveyed in his expression, the momentary flashes of both hurt and fear cut her the deepest. Hermione couldn't back down, though; this wasn't about her. "I have to see him," she implored.

Antonin stood, his body language predatory, commanding and serious, his face in shadow as his unruly, thick hair fell in front of one of his eyes unchecked. Hermione noticed smudges on his cheeks for the first time, dirt and what looked like dried blood spotted on his flesh. Another cut to her heart as she remembered what he had been doing that evening, for her, and as soon as he had returned she had launched at him. It was the only way, she told herself. If she had let him sleep, brought it up again in the morning he would have attempted to handle her, the fight was inevitable, but it didn't make it hurt any less.

"You are not well enough yet, if you leave you could get hurt again."

Hermione pushed aside his concern, "I'll have Harry and Ron and I'll-"

"That didn't help last time," he yelled, "you were nearly dead, and where were they?" The hold Antonin kept on his rage seemed to be snapping, she stepped back, colliding with the large desk. Logically she knew that Antonin would never hurt her, but standing at his full height and loud as he was being, she couldn't help feeling intimidated.

"Antonin you don't understand, the war," she tried desperately, and immediately she knew it was the wrong thing to say.

"I don't understand the situation because of the war?" he said incredulously, stepping back in disbelief, his face pinching into affronted disbelief. "Can you hear yourself, Hermione? I have been fighting in this war since before you were born. Don't you dare presume to preach at me about my lack of understanding," he growled.

She glared at him, condescension a trigger of old for her, she agreed with his argument but not his conclusions, she wasn't a delicate bird to be kept in a cage of his creation. Gritting her teeth she stepped away from the desk, from her position of retreat, right back into his path, moving until she was a hair's breadth away, and pushed her finger into his chest. "Don't speak to me like I'm a child Antonin, if you want to be fighting this war for the next twenty years, by all means, try and stop me, but if you want this over, then you will understand that I need to go."

Antonin grabbed her wrist, pulling her finger away from him and moving towards her until there was no space left between them. "Do not force my hand on this Hermione, you will not like the results," his voice was low and menacing, and she didn't doubt his ability to follow through on his threat. All at once the mounting tension peaked, and he dropped her hand carelessly, stomping out of the room without a backwards glance.

After his retreating form had disappeared, there wasn't anywhere to direct the turmoil she was feeling, she span around regarding Yaxley sat back in his chair, tumbler held to his lips. "Don't you start," she warned.

He smiled at her, raising his hands in front of himself, though the gesture seemed patronising rather than conciliatory, Hermione suspected he found her about as intimidating as an angry kitten. "Sit down Hermione," he bade, gesturing at one of the vacant chairs across from him, and she complied, not immediately sure what else she could do. Did she go back to her room? Or avoid it in case Antonin wanted to fight? She could wake Luna, but then it would seem like she was prolonging the fallout.

Her ratcheting thoughts were interrupted when Yaxley placed a glass in front of her, not even half as full as the ones she had poured and she picked it up warily. "I haven't poisoned it," he accused softly, and Hermione nodded at him once, drinking a bit of the burning liquid down.

"I suppose you are going to tell me I handled that poorly?"

"No," Yaxley said finally, surprising her. "I was just going to suggest that we arrange for Potter to come here. Then you two can go back to not shouting at each other."

Hermione felt too angry to articulate her thanks; the words came out a little mumbled and he laughed "and to give you some, perspective, on his reaction, I wouldn't have warned you, I would have just ensured you couldn't leave."

Hermione looked up, regarding him for a long time, taking in his unrepentant face and smirking eyes. "I don't doubt it."

Antonin managed to maintain his bad mood for a whole two days. In spite of being made aware of the plan to bring Harry to them, he continued to be haughty and aloof. He managed to infuse his every waking moment with ways to make his malcontent clear. Hermione would never have believed that you could eat breakfast, or put away a shirt, in an angry way, but she had unfortunately been proved wrong. She had assumed, having spent a lot of time with boys of her own age, that when they grew up, males would mature, and thus, be unlikely to continue to fall into sulks or angry tirades. Spending time with men in their forties made Hermione realise, with a sense of growing despair, that actually, all that changed was that boys tended to get a little taller, as they became men.

Yaxley had informed them over dinner, the night before, that 'Potter' would be at the house today. Hermione had no idea how Professor Snape had managed to pull that off, but she presumed he must have been making use of some of the communications networks that the Order had set up. It was comforting to think that the fighters still had ways to make links with each other, even when they were forced to go underground. Hermione needed to see her friends with her own eyes, to affirm they were fine, but she was realistic about the likely outcome of the meeting. Censure was probable, approval negligible. But Hermione had made up her mind already; she wouldn't break in the face of the tirade that was coming her way, she had given her oath that she was prepared to stand by her choices, it was time to start proving it.

When she awoke that morning, Hermione felt excited beyond belief, and nervous as hell at the same time. She started to slide towards the edge of the bed when a pair of warm arms wrapped around her, halting her progress. Antonin buried his head into her neck, his rough stubble chaffing against her cheek, as he gripped her tighter into his chest. He had barely looked at her since their argument, though they had both opted to return to the same bed, so the sudden contact was a bit of a surprise, Hermione shut her eyes tightly and tried to stop her body from sinking into his comforting embrace.

"Hermione," he breathed against her shoulder, "whatever happens this morning… You'll stay?" he asked hoarsely.

She winced at the desperate tone in his voice, wondering if he had gotten any sleep at all. She doubted it, though his methods often enraged her, she was beginning to understand this man. Protection of those he loved was everything to Antonin, and while that sometimes manifested itself in possessive inclinations, she recognised, in this instance, that the night at the manor had affected him as deeply as it had her, as annoyed as she was with him, the vulnerability in his inflexion made her chest hurt.

She wanted so much to tell him what he wanted to hear, but after her little pep talk with herself, she knew she couldn't, not honestly.

"Antonin," she began softly, but the one word was enough for him to know what she would say, she felt him tense, and she sagged. He was too bloody perceptive for his own good. Hermione paused to try to think of what solace she could offer, "I won't leave today," she spoke quietly.

Antonin leant over to kiss her cheek, "I suppose that will have to do," he murmured mournfully, before pulling himself out of bed and disappearing into the bathroom.

Harry and Ron's appearance in the sun room later that day, was so surreal Hermione might have considered she had dreamt the visit, if it hadn't been for the very strong dose of reality she got with the memory of the subsequent arguments.

The boys had clearly been hesitant to believe whatever intelligence they had been given, if the look of relief on their faces when they saw her was anything to go by. Moments passed with frantic hugs, and assurances that they were all alive, and more or less whole, before they moved to sit down.

Luna took up her place from the day before, in the chair with Hermione. That the blonde clearly believed her to be in need of a physically comforting presence threw her off for a couple of seconds, this was Ron and Harry, this wasn't the same as facing down the Lestranges, was it? Hermione had learnt by now not to second guess her friend's judgement, so she kept quiet and straightened her spine. Yaxley and Antonin took seats in the circle of chairs, much to Ron's confusion, and the movement caused Harry to raise an eyebrow at her. She wondered at Yaxley's behaviour for a few moments; she had never known him to do anything other than to remain at a distance, positioning himself on the peripheries, much like someone standing on guard. Then she realised, her friends were unknown entities, he wasn't satisfied to calculate his move from a corner, or more likely, he wanted to make sure he got to Antonin in time, should he need to cut the other wizard off.

Hermione looked her friends over, wherever they had been, they had obviously been looked after. The both showed signs of having eaten regularly and had obviously gained access to free running water; Hermione felt a tiny bit of the guilt she had been carrying float away from her shoulders. She had been tortured with the possibility that they were still facing hardships, while she was being doted on by house elves, and attentive members of the Dark Lord's 'most faithful'.

They caught her up on life at Shell Cottage, Remus' baby and the like, all peppered with little glances around the room as if they were both waiting for the penny to drop, and though it was great to hear the news 'from home', after a while, Hermione began to feel frustrated. Harry seemed to be evading the main topic; their mission was a giant elephant in the room. She could see the Master of the house getting impatient. Yaxley was not as still as Antonin, though he could also be described as stoic, by knowing him better she supposed she was learning his tells. His foot twitched with every new topic, and Hermione silently pleaded with Harry to get to the point. Finally, when her bespectacled friend seemed to have exhausted every other subject in the world, he sighed before addressing what they were there for. "We haven't done anything," he muttered, and Hermione felt her eyes widen.

"Anything?" she asked, with a calm she didn't feel.

"We tried Mione, we really did, but we had no idea where to start looking for the next... piece... and I didn't know how you were progressing with the snake situation and well... Dobby was hurt during the fight," Harry said, his words coming out in a rush. Her friend looked so forlorn, and Hermione felt terrible that the elf had gotten hurt as part of his attempt to protect them, sadly, however, it appeared that her sentiments were not shared by the whole room.

"Bloody hell, the fate of the free world hangs in the balance, and we declare a national holiday because an elf got hurt," Yaxley gruffed, he never raised his voice, he didn't need to, his blunt timbre was intimidating enough.

Though, not of course, to Harry, the-boy-who-never-knew-when-to-keep-his-mouth-shut Potter. "Excuse me?" Harry said coolly.

"Sorry Potter," Yaxley spat, "I was under the impression that your best friend was savagely attacked, left for dead, and taken off by Death Eaters. But by all means, carry on about your fucking elf."

The silence in the room lasted all of two seconds before Ron, who up to this point had been darting his eyes around to regard everyone present, started shouting. "Will someone please tell me what the fuck is going on here?"

Hermione swallowed, pushing down the fear in her stomach, "Ron."

He turned to her, rage and accusation burning in his eyes. "Why did they bring you here? Why are we all acting as if it's just fine that we're in a Death Eater's house?"

Hermione looked towards Harry with narrowed eyes, thanks a lot, Potter. In a painful, faltering way, herself and Harry explained the history with the Death Eaters present, and how they had assisted up to that point. By silent agreement, they seemed to be glossing over any personal attachment. While Hermione was unhappy with subterfuge, it was necessary for the moment. Antonin, thankfully, remained silent, though his knuckles clenched and his neck twisted as if he were fighting against himself to remain so. Hermione tried to not look directly at him, as much as was possible, lest she send some unintentional message that he needed to help. Instead, she focused on Ron, apologising for the information they had not divulged, and pleading for his understanding.

Eventually, they managed to calm him down, enough for him to stop shouting at least, he didn't like it, that much was plain, but he would go along with it for the greater good.

Which was why it was the worst possible time for a small house elf to pop up, announcing the arrival of Rodolphus and Rabastan, who entered the room, not a second after the elf had disappeared. Hermione held her fingers to her temples as the two men walked towards them, their progress halting at the sight of her friends.

"Ah, Hermione," Harry began, looking up at the new occupants of the room with wide eyes. "What's going on?"

She opened her mouth but nothing happened when she went to speak, she felt Luna's slim hand wrap around her own, giving her a gentle squeeze. Hermione locked eyes with Antonin whose face was set in grim lines, mirroring the tightness of his body, and yet something in his expression gave her comfort, he gave an almost imperceptible shrug of his shoulders, and she picked up his meaning, how much worse could it get?

Hermione sat up, looking them straight in the eyes and concentrated on keeping calm. "Since I have been here I have found out that, well, there isn't any easy way to say this but I." As if she was hit with a Silencing Spell, the words just would not come. Hermione could feel her eyes beginning to sting; an icy grip seemed to claw at her heart, what if they rejected her?

Harry, sensing her hesitation, sat forward in his seat. "Hermione," he said gently, offering her a small smile, "I thought you were dead, literally dead. The last time I saw you… I," he grit his teeth, "there isn't anything you could tell me that would make me hate you." He stared at her intently, and Hermione felt her throat close, she was so grateful for his reassurance. He knew, not everything, but more than Ron had about her relationship with Antonin and he was genuine.

"Harry I," she tried, but she still couldn't get the words out. Saying it to Professor Snape had been easy, he was part of the new order of things, and he was also a master of the understatement, but Harry and Ron, they were her life, a life she was desperate not to have to relegate to the past.

When it became apparent that she wouldn't be resuming speech anytime soon, Rodolphus spoke, moving amongst the circle until she could see his booted feet by her chair.

"Hermione is my daughter."

Simple, to the point and apparently factual. She was too emotional to pick up on the pride that had seeped into his otherwise placid tone.

Hermione had become an expert at reading her best friends over their years together; Harry seemed to be flickering between disbelief and pity for her plight. Ron, however, was an easier read, he was furious. She had anticipated he would be angry, but judging by the vein popping out on his neck, the train he was on had left angry some time ago.

"Ron I," Hermione began quietly, trying to head him off, but it was too late.

"Don't you Ron me," he snapped, "what the actual fuck Hermione, how could you?"

She wasn't sure if it was his choice of words, or his tone, that had offended the room at large but in an instant, all the men present descended on him, and yet it surprised her that it was Rabastan who got to him first. In a movement, so swift she wasn't exactly sure how it had happened, the younger Lestrange had Ron pinned against the far wall.

"How could she what? Pick her parents," he seethed, close to the redheads face. "You will adjust your tone when you speak to her or I will make you."

Ron's ire didn't dissipate; he never could turn it off one he got going, even when facing down a serial killer, he continued looking straight at her, as if Rabastan wasn't even there.

"You kept all this from me, you and Harry keeping secrets as usual."

Hermione shared a glance with Luna; the blonde was sat in the chair watching events unfold impassively, after an unspoken exchange she reluctantly moved her legs allowing Hermione to stand. She hated when Ron shouted at her, especially when it was in front of others, and these others were not her favoured audience for this conversation. But she couldn't ignore that underneath his passion there was some real hurt, she never wanted that, she approached the wall in slow, measured movements, thankful that for once, Harry wasn't reacting as well.

"Rabastan, please put him down," Hermione requested softly, but Rabastan made no move to follow her directive. She raised a hand hesitantly and placed it on his forearm, feeling strange about touching him, he flinched slightly at the contact but otherwise didn't react. "Please," she pressed and watched his resolve crack, Rabastan clearly didn't want to listen, but he knew he had to. Eventually, he complied, though rather than 'putting him down' as she had requested he more 'let him drop'.

Hermione suggested, gently, that they all sit back down, she hoped that given a chance to cool the atmosphere they could get all of this straightened out, well, maybe not that, but at least get them to a point where they would be able to work together. It was a foolish hope. The emotionally unstable in the room outnumbered those on a more even keel, and even the more restrained among them, herself included, were known to have a bit of a temper. It didn't take long for it all to ignite once more, Ron was still seething from earlier and was too raw to resist making a jab following her updating Harry on progress with Nagini.

"Another thing I don't know about? See, that's the thing, when I left you were both adamant that you weren't talking behind my back, and yet here's all the evidence that I was right all along."

"Well, you said that we were fucking, and you were wrong about that," Harry seethed quietly, and Hermione looked heavenward, both in exasperation and to avoid Antonin's eyes which she knew would have trained on her.

Hermione heard her mind whisper defensive comments but she was glad the thoughts remained inside her head, she doubted they would have been comforting. She was so caught up in how to ease her friend's heart that she didn't fully comprehend what he had said, but others had. The increasingly desperate protestations from herself and Harry were cut off when Luna spoke.

"You left?" Her voice had none of her usual melodic inflexion; the tone was flat, cold and deliberate.

At the sound, everyone in the room tensed, apart from Ron. Her tone was low and quiet, but there was a clear warning to them. Hermione had only ever heard Luna take that tone once or twice, and this Luna was not to be dismissed.

Ron didn't immediately answer so she pressed. "You left them? When?" Luna turned in the seat, shifting forward until she was perched on the edge of the chair. Hermione felt like the temperature in the room had dropped several degrees, and she instinctively wrapped her arms around herself.

"What does it matter Luna, before Christmas okay?" Ron answered frustrated.

"No, I don't believe it is," Luna breathed, her face seemed vacant as she twirled a thick section of her flaxen hair around her fingers, the display would have looked absentminded to a casual observer, Hermione was not that. Ron's face was flushed by now, and he glared. Luna was unperturbed by the demonstration, Ron may have been hot fury, but Luna would burn like ice when pushed, and she was being pushed now.

"You should speak to Harry; we had a little talk about erosion years ago."

Ron looked perplexed, "They didn't need me-"

"No, I don't suppose you think they did. Tell me, how long were you breastfed for?"

Ron was spluttering now, and Luna made to stand, Hermione felt her body shift forward and instinctively reached to loop her hands around Luna's waist. She didn't know what would happen if Luna got up, but she suspected it was nothing good. "No matter," the blonde said, sinking back into the seat,

"Do you dream of Hermione, Ron? As she was at the manor? I do. I dream of her screams and her bloody face. I dream of the burden I carry because she did it for us. I dream of her limpness and her lifelessness. I was wondering when you were going to ask how she was?"

"She looks fine, supported by her Death Eater buddies," he retorted, but Hermione noticed a slight darkening of his cheeks that she assumed might not be attributable to rage. As ever, Ron displayed an almost unparalleled knack of knowing the exact words and force that would piss everyone off. Hermione was beginning to feel slightly despondent.

Yaxley seemed to take the most offence, "Watch yourself ginger. Otherwise, I'll use you to decorate the walls. You're in my house, and I don't give a fuck how pure your blood is. You should know, though, whatever your opinion of us, Hermione is under Antonin's protection, which means she is under mine, and that's even before considering her family and the little blonde in the corner."

Harry, whether sensing her distress or feeling his own put his hand on Ron's shoulder silencing him and turning to regard Yaxley and Antonin. "Thank you, for bringing her back," he said, each word a concession, "I don't think I trust you, but thank you," he said softly, and Hermione fixed a grateful expression on him.

Antonin rubbed his thumb and index finger around his mouth. "You're right not to trust us, Potter," he said without apology, "we're not doing this for you," it was the first time he had spoken, and Hermione was stunned at how calm he sounded.

Harry nodded, it was likely to be the only conversation between the men that day and Hermione was grateful for the soft tones. Harry looked at her then, and they shared a million thoughts in that one glance. "Hermione, I can't do this without you," he pleaded.

"You won't have to," she said firmly, "I think the… Items are taken care of; the next thing is to plan how to end this."

He nodded clearly relieved, regarding Ron from the corner of his eye. "Maybe we could meet again in a couple of days when… Err… When everything has settled?" he suggested.

"Good idea," she sighed, it was best to end it as soon as possible.

With that the disastrous meeting began to break up, Yaxley followed the exodus to speak to Harry about contacting someone within the Order to pass on information. Clearly, he thought the balance of power was shifting.

Hermione sagged in relief when she was once again in her refuge alone; she had a blissful thirty seconds or more of peace before she realised they hadn't covered off Professor Snape's involvement in all of it yet.

Shit.