Disclaimer: I don't own the characters. They all belong to JK Rowling.

"Every saint has a past, and every sinner has a future." - Oscar Wilde

"What?"

Her breath hitched simultaneously with the clatter of her wand as Malfoy slipped from the shadows. His mouth still held a mordant smirk, his obvious mirth and comfort in the presence of the other Order members made her stomach clench in unease. She felt positively sick. Her enemy, her tormentor, her saviour stood from afar watching on as though a comedic play was rolling out before him. Nothing seemed to indicate that he was anything other than a gleeful little boy who just got a bag of Fizzing Whizzbees.

In confusion, Hermione turned to the solace of the others, her heart beating in anticipation. In vain she waited for a response, but she knew from the blank faces and deadpan expressions of those around her that she would not be granted one.

In desperation she pushed herself further up the pillows gazing expectantly at her previous Housemistress. She shook her head hoping to rid herself of the ebbing queasiness, the feeling likened to the sequela of Polyjuice Potion. Not something she was all too keen to endure once again, considering the erstwhile incidents of her second and seventh year. Becoming Millicent Bullstrode's cat was not her life's ambition, yet neither was finding a sadistic git before her one either.

She pointed an accusing finger at Malfoy standing serenely by the great, wide windows.

"What does he mean?" She waited, her efforts proving fruitless.

She heard the soft tread of Malfoy's boots against the wooden floor as he slowly began to approach the congealed mass of people clinging around Hermione as though she were a martyr awaiting beatification.

"You work it out, Granger. You're bound to have learnt something useful from all those books, save the importance of blood purity, I'm sure."

Hermione knew he was trying to irk her into doing something she would soon regret. However, she had a greater immunity to his insults, however, Ron did not.

Hearing the outrage and shock of the others at the Pureblood's insinuation, Hermione watched on in horror as Ron ran forward, clumsily pulling his wand from his jacket pocket.

Malfoy drew his wand, swiftly and silently, its tip digging unrelentingly in Ron's throat. The blond's mercurial gaze was steady like a snake prepared to strike. It was then that Hermione saw the effect the war had on him. Although, Ron meant well, his actions were far too reckless especially when facing Malfoy. His Slytherin qualities oozed from his pores in torrents: stealth, determination, resourcefulness, and above all an appreciation for self-preservation. Though Hermione despised everything akin to the Malfoys and the Pureblood elitists, she could never deny their often scheming and calculative minds that found flaw in everything made her blood run cold. Their opulent and preened backgrounds were the envy of every home in the Wizarding world. A childhood surrounded by cold indifference and arrogance made them perfect for the new world, where every wizard had to be on their guard without hesitation along with an innate ruthlessness.

Hermione ran forward, trying to prevent any further attack on Malfoy's behalf. She put a hand up to stop him, "Malfoy, this is between you and I. Don't get others involved."

His eyes were still trained on the boy before him, holding his breath. For moment he looked down and met Hermione's agitated stare, eyeing her warily. Again his mirth at riling the redhead seemed to deflate when he saw her doleful eyes, those that still tortured him endlessly. Nevertheless, his pride commanded him to hold steadfast. He would not back down unless the Weasley did first.

"That is quite enough, Mr Malfoy. Mr Weasley," McGonagall's stern voice injected a sense of reason in the mass of anger and spite that seemed to swell between the two wizards. Hermione's heart seized in fear as she awaited the boys' reactions.

Ron pulled away, his fury depressed from his chest in one mighty huff, his icy glare melted into the warm loving eyes she had become used to over the years, finding hers in the aftermath.

"I think we had better sit down and talk about this before anything else is said," suggested Mr Weasley as he dragged Ron farther away than was necessary from Malfoy, who still stood reticently by Hermione.

"Indeed, Arthur. Come, Miss Granger, I believe an explanation is in order."

As she paced down the darkened corridor she couldn't help but feel Malfoy's presence behind her. The feeling brought back memories of her dream. Shocked she turned around quickly, nearly running into Malfoy, who was oblivious to the effect that that single gesture had on Hermione.

They stood a hair's breadth away, so close that she could see the cool metallic specks of blue that perused his normally cold and ominous eyes. Her brows crinkled in disbelief. The feeling was uncommonly familiar, a distant memory tickling and teasing her brain to solve the strange riddle before her. She looked into his eyes, but then abash, she looked down, watching as his chest heaved from the sudden exertion of coming to a halt. The angular features of his visage looked to have been chiselled from stone that was as cold as his heart.

He cocked an eyebrow as he waited for an explanation, but she expected he wanted her to do more than that. If he had his own way she would probably have to get down on her knees and beg for forgiveness, only to be kicked away like a hopeless and obedient house-elf.

"Are you having some bloody epiphany, Granger?" She was beckoned away from her reverie by the harsh words that spouted from his tight-lipped smirk. Hermione looked back down the hall.

"No, you complete toad. I was wondering where Pansy was."

"Well, she's not here, is she?"

"Malfoy, it was simple question that only needed a simple answer, unless that's too difficult for you," She snapped.

"I'm certain you've heard of an Unbreakable Vow, Granger. That is my answer," He tried to make his way past her, but Hermione quickly stood in front of him, wanting him to clarify his answer.

"That's dangerous, Malfoy. You could die," She was practically wracked with nerves now. How could he be so ignorant?

"Yes I know the consequences of it, but allow me to let you in on a little secret…I wasn't the one who had to accept the vow, Granger. It was Pansy."

"What did she have to promise—" Suddenly, she was interrupted when Ron appeared and grabbed Hermione's arm, gently pulling her away. Hermione nearly scowled at the redhead, but he was too focused on making his way towards the mass of people, moving little by little into a room that annexed the hall. She had been so close to finding out some information, but had been snatched away in the infancy of their conversation.

As soon as all were seated in the surprisingly spacious kitchen, all eyes were directed at McGonagall. Her previous professor watched her audience warily, especially now as Malfoy was amongst their ranks. Her beady eyes honed in on Hermione who sat agitatedly beside Ron, who had gripped her hand beneath the table. Although it was meant to be sign of reassurance and support, it became a clammy and suffocating vice against her struggle to see reason within the myriad of discord and confusion. Malfoy had sat in the empty seat opposite her, between Podmore and Doge. Both men grumbled as he placed himself between them, acutely aware of the trouble he would cause.

She felt someone's leg graze hers beneath the cover of the table. It was not flushed with chaste affection but more of despotism, but it had been enough as she pulled both her feet beneath her seat, set firm and far from his officious touch.

A small cough emitted from Professor McGonagall's mouth, gaining the attention of not only Hermione, but all that had been lost in their thoughts in those briefest of moments.

"Miss Granger the reason that Mr Malfoy so aptly describes himself as having always been around is that he is, in fact, an agent for the Order."

Hermione's brain felt as though it were about to explode from the little information she had just been given. She felt wrought with emotion, but one that seemed to soar above the others was anger. That type of anger that ate away at her, chipping at her patience. Like a hawk her eyes flew to Malfoy who sat placidly across from her, his eyes calculating and authoritative.

"You lied to me, you bastard!" Hermione produced her wand from her pocket, ruthlessly jabbing it in Malfoy's direction. She had never sworn so much in her life; it seemed to be second nature when she was around him. Instinctively, he drew a small, dark wand that yielded sporadic fiery sparks, which swept towards Hermione's wrathful form.

"It wasn't my place to say," His response subtly oozed with his mounting frustration, his eyes had turn to darkened slits, serpentine in their nature, yet filled with far more venom than his Dark Lord.

"You could have saved my parents! Are— are you still harbouring some personal vendetta against me, Malfoy? Is it because I'm a Mudblood?" She practically screamed the last word. She saw no one but Malfoy. She felt nothing but unadulterated hatred. Her magic could sense her volatile emotions that coursed though her shaking body. She realised that both she and Malfoy had stood in rage towards one another as the others tensely looked on. They leant over the table, the only barrier that prevented from either one of them stretching out and strangling their counterpart to death.

"How could you expect me to? I was risking a lot to try and save you! My aunt could have walked in any moment and killed you as well as me."

"Always quick to think of others, Malfoy! How noble of you, " She spat snidely, as he lent back, looking as though he had been struck its blow. His eyes went as cold and as penetrating as ice.

"Is this your opinion of me? You think that you can spite me for all that I have done for you—"

"Shut your mouth, Malfoy!" Ron had heard enough and rose to stand beside Hermione who nearly cried with relief, as Ron's sudden surge of pluck was enough to keep her fighting against the Ferret. However, with Ron's courage it had seemingly been synonymous with temerity. For the second time that evening he trained his wand on the young Pureblood before him, ready to blast him across the room, but was instead hit by Malfoy's attack just a moment before a biting hex could pass his lips.

Hermione had been prepared to drag Ron away by force before he could do anything, and so her hand gripped the redhead's forearm with an iron fist. As he was hit by the spell, both she and Ron were flung into the kitchen wall with such a force that various pots and pans that rested on shelves around then fell to the ground in one massive clatter, echoing about the room in the wake of the assault. The room fell into a dire silence.

All were in a state of shock. No one could scarcely breathe, let alone move around in the tension that subsumed the room. No one but Malfoy. He stepped around the table at a slow pace, allowing the crunch of glass underfoot to clearly resonate around him. Hermione watched him through a haze, blackness seeming to ebb on the edge of her vision. He hunched down beside her, the pathetic excuse for a threat fell innocuously from her trembling lips. He knelt before her, reaching out to grip her chin firmly. She tried to push herself away, but only came into contact with the wall once more.

Again, Malfoy leant further forward, whispering to her, as close and intimate as a lover, but as dark and sinister as a murderer.

"See, Granger. This is where you belong— at my feet." Standing again, he nudged his foot on a couple shards of glass that lay strewn in front of her.

Raising her head defiantly, she peered up, keeping contact with him until her only retort formed in her mouth.

"You make me sick spewing all that Pureblood rubbish."

"Though you may feel that, it has kept me from having to hide away like a coward."

The last word sounded like an alarm, sending the others that had been frozen in a state of confusion and disbelief, into one of panic. All eyes turned to Ron who began to lunge toward Malfoy before Bill gripped his collar tightly, and Mr Weasley placed a calming hand upon his son's chest, which heaved with aggravation.

"I swear to Merlin, Malfoy, next time you won't be so lucky."

"Yes, well, neither will you, Weasel."

"That is enough! All of you leave this instant. A word, Miss Granger, Mr Malfoy. Mr Malfoy…Mr Malfoy!"

The witch called after the young Pureblood as he traipsed out the kitchen heading away from the barrage of glares that questioned his motives. It was not impossible to disguise infidelity as loyalty. Though Legilimency was a tougher method to testify under, Veritaserum was hardly infallible. Anyone with enough grit and determination, and had enough skills in Occlumency would fly through without any difficulties.

Hermione's hands stung as she clenched them in anger, the blood dribbling ceaselessly from the gash that sliced her palms. Pushing herself up from the ground, she went to pursue Malfoy as he stepped out into the darkened corridor. She had barely taken two steps when she felt Harry grip her shoulder tightly, and shook his head in disapproval at her plan.

"Let Malfoy be for a moment, Hermione," he advised lightly. It wasn't that he pitied him, but he wished to save his closest friend from anymore pain and anguish.

Worriedly, Mrs Weasley scurried about the kitchen, "I'll make a pot of tea." To that everyone nodded and set themselves on their seats once more contemplating the problems ahead of them, as McGonagall cleaned up the mess, and Hestia Jones attempted to cast the perfect healing spell on Ron and Hermione.

The biscuits tasted stale, the tea bitter, and nothing seemed to be getting better. Everyone was shouting, debating on what to do with the situation at hand. When was Voldemort going to attack next? Had the other members been alerted about the raid on Grimmauld Place? Were they safe?

All their voices seemed to ring in Hermione's ears, echoing endlessly as she quietly placed her cup back on the table, and attempted to escape from the room unnoticed. The atmosphere was suffocating and the conversation was repetitive. She could only handle so much in one evening, let alone what she had to endure in the past few days.

She went to leave, when Ron suddenly came up behind her, intending to follow her outside. A smile graced her lips, encouragement enough for him to encompass his hand about hers once more. But she could see the tiredness that tinged his normally lively eyes. He was worried.

Not expecting to find anything remarkably beautiful, the two had tread towards the parlour and found a door that lead to the gardens where they were surprised by its moonlit glory. They stood together on the veranda that lined the house. The large windows loomed over both of them, their gloomy eyes following her as she broke away from Ron's emanating warmth. She began to pace in unease.

Listlessly, she leant on one of the pillars that fringed the dew-laden grass, sucking in the cool air that seemed to surround them. Its chill was plenty to soothe her nerves— a small dose of clarity injecting into her jumbled thoughts.

"Hermione?"

"Hmm?" She felt so calm, turning her head to face Ron, who stood behind her.

"I— we want you to have this," He held something in his hand far too small to see at first as it was consumed by a lengthy chain. Slowly, extracting it from his palm, she held it up to the light that splayed over them. The little pendant glimmered in the moonlight; the somewhat diaphanous glass seemed to alter between a mirror and another ephemeral image that she could not place.

"Thank you—"

"Harry and I made it from the two-way mirror Sirius gave to him," He nodded to the necklace that she held. Now she remembered. Aberforth had not felt the other half was safe in his possession and so had sent it to Harry a few weeks back after another attack had been made on the Hog's Head. It was too risky, especially as their incursions had escalated over the previous months. The three of them had planned to make a triad of mirrors that each would carry in case they were separated, but it was nigh on impossible to be sure that they would all work after splitting it up any further.

"We tested it all today while you were meeting him. Harry seems to think it will work alright," He twiddled his thumbs nervously awaiting her response. She looked up, tentatively, and tried to ease his apprehension as she clasped the chain about her neck. Hermione strode forward and clasped her arms about his waist, longing for him to hold her close. She pushed herself up onto the balls of her feet, barely reaching to place a small peck on his cheek. The rosiness soon turned to rubescent glow, but seeing it quickly sent a pang of guilt through her body. The image of the blood dripping down his pallid face would forever haunt her.

"I love it, Ron," She then pulled away, watching him carefully for a few moments before she spoke again.

"Do you mind at all if I just stay here by myself a little while longer? I just need some time to think."

Trying to hide his slightly pained expression, he nodded and made his way back into to meet up with the others once again. Her frown deepened at his absence.

The moonlight shone in the corner of her eye like a beacon of hope. Yet it was far cry from any sign of salvation. The moon always reminded her of Professor Lupin. His death was one of many, a blow to the Order's magical prowess, the source of agony and heartache for all who knew him. Her eyes strayed to the darkened landscape before her, she could just make out the outline of a forest that clung to the outskirts of the manor, its foreboding presence sent chills up Hermione's spine.

"I thought it would take more to frighten a courageous Gryffindor."

She had been so at ease, but it had all crumbled down when she heard his voice. Hermione span around and spotted a darkly clad form leaning serenely against the frame of a nearby curtained window. She could see something glint dangerously against the skin of hand, taunting and teasing.

"How long have you been standing there?"

"A little while. Though I was unfortunate enough to stumble upon your— how shall say amorous meeting with Weaselbee," He crept closer, his eyes never leaving her face, hoping to get a rise out of her.

"Come on Granger, I know how much you want to yell at me right now."

She took a deep breath, trying to quell her excessive anger.

"Malfoy, some wars are not worth starting."

"Oh, so good and moral, Granger. You're a pathetic excuse for a witch, not willing to fight! You know why that stupid twit of a Weasley died? Why your precious Order is in ruins? People like you did that! Too prudent for your own good!"

"How dare you say that!" Her screech seemed to reverberate throughout the grounds, like the strange, sonorous howls of the Forbidden Forest. Her wand was suddenly digging viciously into his throat, eliciting a hiss of pain from his lips. He looked down on her even then, when he was literally dancing with death. Still he had the audacity to sneer at her. A voice whispered in her head, black and sinewy, clawing further into her consciousness.

You know the spell, it whispered, He deserves it.

Her brow suddenly knit in confusion. Trying to throughly silence the voice, she jammed the tip harder into his neck, closely scrutinising the man before her.

You've got to mean it, It bore the command of a ruler, imperious and esoteric.

Petrified, Hermione had no idea where the voice was coming from. She knew it wasn't her; there could be no way. It was something else. Something was telling her to attack Malfoy.

Do it.

She peered up at his face. What she saw shocked her to no end. Malfoy's eyes briefly flickered underneath their lids, until his eyes ripped open without warning,. She looked on in shock and horror as his eyes were subsumed by a darkness. A sly smirk slid onto his lips. His mien of mischief was overwhelmed by something far darker now. She realised, too late, what he had been doing. Even still the voice didn't stop.

DO IT!

"STOP IT!" She gripped her head, her hands covering her eyes. Then it stopped. Like a blazing flame it had been doused.

Her tear-stained hands slipped from her face, incapable of speech. Now nothing seemed to hold her attention but the cruel, triumphant smile that the Pureblood tried to suppress.

"Granger, you failed again," His voice was dark and ominous like a cloud that obscured any small amount of faith she ever did have in him. Her eyes widened, unnerved by his little remark. In anger, she went to slap him hard across the cheek.

"Oh, Granger, you don't want me to do that to you again, do you? Voices can drive a person mad, you know."

The numb feeling seemed to seep into every fibre of her being. She went to run, to escape from his watchful gaze that awaited her reaction, but he seized hold of her arm, looking her straight in the eye. She realised she was unarmed when she spotted her wand in his hand.

"LET GO OF ME!" Her shriek seemed to make no difference in her struggle against him. Wanting to escape, she went to wrench her wand from his grasp, but he pulled it further away, practically putting himself between Hermione and her only means of protection. Diligently, she tried to retrieve it, regardless of the fact that with every empty snatch she brought herself closer and closer to the man she was trying to flee from.

"Never let your guard down. He will try anything to undermine his opponent. To distract them," Malfoy spoke to her calmly and assertively, as though speaking to a pupil of his. She went to pull away, but he gripped her arm tighter.

"Do you understand me?"

Hermione just looked at him, and shook her head in disbelief, "Why are you telling me this?"

He made no effort to answer her. Yet he still watched her closely, waiting. What for? Hermione hadn't the slightest idea.

But her thirst for knowledge would be offered a reprieve if she asked the right question.

"Where did you learn to…" She could barely finish it. She could not imagine what a place he had been brought up in, living in, attempting to survive in every waking hour. He was certainly a changed man, but a damaged one, too.

He looked down at her, mirth fringing his eyes.

"Where did I learn to possess people?"

She desperately tried to pull away, but he was unwilling to let go of what little power he had over her in that moment.

"Yes, Granger, possess. When you move in certain circles, you learn things."

He leant further toward her like hounding Manticore, ready to pounce.

"Would you like me to teach you?" The derision flowed thick and profusely; she knew he was toying with her, but it did nothing to overcome her fear. Malfoy slid her wand into her dangling hand.

"Pleasant dreams, Granger."

She stood and gaped at him as he made his way back into the house. It had been a test. For him she had promise, yet her virtue and fortitude undid her. For her it had been a shock. It was one thing to attack or threaten a person through fault, but she had nearly attacked someone who was unarmed, and whom she knew was attempting to antagonise her. The thought made her sick— sick of the world she was living, the people around her. Everything. She wanted this reign of terror to end, but she knew what Malfoy had done was to show her that peace would not save them. Only a ruthlessness that matched that of the Death Eaters could give them the chance to win the war.

She looked down at her wand in distrust. Quickly pocketing it, she ran back to find Ron and Harry, the necklace beating against her chest. The trees billowed in the distance; the wind's howls whistling through the darkened forest. The shadows seemed to have a life of their own. A sound whooshed above the home like the silent flutter of wings in the night sky.

Author's Note: Thank you to all the amazing reviews, you are all so lovely and I always love to hear what you have to say. Thank you for reading!