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

"I rebel, therefore I exist." – Albert Camus

She looked out to the sun setting behind a dark bank of trees. Her time was up. She looked to Malfoy, awaiting his instruction. He still watched the sun, not relieving his gaze until dusk dipped its inky tresses into the fiery welkin. As the light had softened his features, the darkness seemed to turn him to icy stone, a face hard and taut against the future that stood before him.

He finally turned to Hermione and nodded, walking towards her inert form.

Something akin to acceptance had arisen between them both over the passing weeks. They had certainly provoked, argued and almost killed one another at first, but the flames of distrust had slowly been doused. He had taught her many things, which would help her to survive in the dark world she was to enter. Some things frightened her, although she would never let Malfoy know. He had turned her into a skilled Occlumens and Ligilimens, had taught her to create memories that were not her own, that were to be those of Harmonia Black. Her past was moulded around the truth, but omitted details of Hermione's Muggle-born life or anything that could draw her attackers back to the Order.

I am a Pureblood that has been forced to flee from my home in France. I was the daughter of Orpheus and Electra Black, sister to Deimos and Phobos Black. I am the only known survivor of the massacre that took the lives of my family— an attack set about by French allies of the Order. I was always told if anyone in my family needed to escape, all they had to do was get to the Black family ring.

This is what she had rehearsed. This was what Malfoy had drilled her on until she was Harmonia Tisiphone Black, and Hermione Jean Granger was becoming fainter and fainter every day. He prepared her for every outcome, good or bad.

He had schooled her in Pureblood history, traditions and etiquette. They often discussed and debated over certain customs and ideals. It was a challenge that Hermione relished. He could be iron-willed and conniving in his convictions, but so could she. But Hermione knew that change, that change, which Andromeda spoke about was hardly even noticeable in the young wizard. So much so, that Hermione often wondered whether Malfoy's intentions were as clear-cut as he made out.

His words echoed in her mind as she stood beside him as the night sky began its reign: "You know why she changed her name to Weasley, Granger?" She knew he had been speaking of great-aunt Muriel. "It's all about alliances, fealty, loyalty. She didn't want to be seen as a traitor. However, try as she may, she will never be able to escape her roots. She stands by them first and foremost, second only to her family. That is why she judges you even though you both are fighting for the same cause. It is in her nature…as it is in mine."

She heard someone cough behind her, breaking her from her reverie. It was Harry. She smiled weakly. It was all she could do to stop herself from running into the safety of her friend's arms. Ron stood beside him, looking on anxiously. She had thought she had said her goodbyes, but every time she went to they never seemed to be her last.

The Weasley clan had congregated near where she and Malfoy were waiting to leave. The Order stood close by; McGonagall gave a curt nod of her head, trying to stop the ensuing tears. Molly Weasley was not as restrained, crying into the shoulder of her husband.

As Hermione turned to Malfoy, a hand gripped onto her wrist, stopping her.

It was Ron. He drew he close, resting his forehead against hers, wishing for only her to hear. His actions shocked her— her hesitation noticeable— but his steady hands held her firmly in place.

"Just promise…just promise me you'll come back safely."

She looked up into his eyes, full of emotion. He was asking this of her yet again, like he had at Grimmauld Place. It was like a vicious circle that she could not seem to escape. Traces of the past dredged up in the present. But her answer would— could only be the same.

"I can't promise you, but I will try, Ron."

He pulled her to him, planting a sad kiss on her trembling lips. Instead of clapping and cheering issuing from the others, it was followed by a loud wail from Mrs. Weasley. Hermione swallowed hard as she peered up at Ron. She knew it was not a kiss of passion, but of parting. Possibly their last kiss.

Turning away, she faced Malfoy, who had been watching unfalteringly to the events before him, and he had no scathing retort to make. She saw the undeniable tension in his stance, his jaw clenching. He was as apprehensive as the young witch. Briefly, he met her gaze, but looked over her shoulder towards Ron. She was acutely aware of Ron's hand tightening in that moment as the two wizards faced one another. They would never be able to resolve their differences, even if they won the war. She had no choice, at least for the time being.

"Weasley."

"Malfoy."

Ron let his hand fall to hers, squeezing it lightly in reassurance and pointed at the pendant around her neck, "If you need us."

She nodded. She was suddenly at attention when Malfoy finally addressed her.

"Granger, are you ready?"

She answered him by walking back to stand by his side, trying to listen to his final instructions.

"Take this and drink it as soon as I leave. And remember: do not let your guard down— no matter what. If anyone offers you anything, but me, do not take it. Do not trust anyone. Am I clear?"

The pounding in her ears seemed to distort his every word, her mind working half its rate. She had to take a calming breath, the cool air seeping into her lungs, clearing her heavy thoughts.

"Look at me, Granger."

She tentatively looked up, awaiting his upbraiding comments, but there was no note of anger or exasperation in his voice, only a faint trace of something else— Hermione thought pity, perhaps. And she could see it when she looked into his eyes, not like the saddened blue of Ron's, but the icy thaw of emotions in the man before her.

"I promise I will be there."

He extended his hand to her. She placed hers in his cool grip, shaking hands. It was devoid of any emotion like her other goodbyes, but certainly entailed the possibility of their future reliance in the world beyond.

With that he disappeared in a flourish of darkness. She stood there alone, holding the vial up to her mouth, trying not to retch at the smell. Closing her eyes, she drank the large draught in one unwilling gulp. She immediately felt its familiar effects. Her insides started writhing as though she had just swallowed live snakes. She doubled up, trying to ignore the need to vomit. She just needed to relax and let the potion run its course. She felt a burning sensation spread rapidly from her stomach to the very ends of her fingers and toes, signalling the horrible melting feeling, as her skin began to bubble like hot wax, rippling and morphing in colour and shape. Hermione looked down at her hands noticing them take on a pale and delicate mien. She felt her already long hair lengthen even more, tickling the backs of her arms. Her usually untameable curls, relaxed into a mass of light blonde waves.

Running her hands slowly down the front of her dress, she tried to smooth out the wrinkles. She flicked her hair over he shoulder, her sleeve catching on the pearl drop earrings that she was wearing. Hermione knew she was stalling, but still she tried to fathom a reason why she needed to fiddle certain aspects of her dress, her hair, the grip of her wand. Regardless of it all, the only thing that she could see was the ring that rest on the grass before her.

She turned to take one last look at her friends, her colleagues— her family, before she slowly bent over to grab the ring from its resting place. As soon as she touched the Portkey, it felt as though she was being dragged backwards and falling.

Falling, falling, falling until she felt herself crash onto something hard. She could hear the scrapping of chairs against a stone floor, muffled screams and shouting. She felt like she had almost broken her back when everything went black.

She did not know how long she was out, but when she managed to open her eyes, she was met with something she had not expected she would see. A circle of darkly clad Death Eaters had their wands trained on her feeble form. She recognised Lucius Malfoy and the Lestranges. Other faces too— Rabastan, Yaxley, Rowle, Avery, Nott Sr., Dolohov, Greyback, Macnair, Mulciber, Alecto and Amycus Carrow. The Inner Circle. For a moment, she thought she had been tricked, that all of this was a plan to lure the brains of the Golden Trio to her untimely death.

Her fear had been real, and still faintly caressed her mind until she spotted Malfoy amongst the horde. His distinct blonde hair matched her own now. He betrayed nothing, except in his brief glance of recognition. His eyes hardened as soon as a cold, hissing voice rose above the deathly silence.

"And who might this be?"

Hermione felt her heart beat a tad faster in his presence. The words were heavy in her mouth. She could not seem to find the will to speak. She felt the tears slip down her face, as her trembling hand rose in front of her. That was what Malfoy had told her to do, play the victim.

"I— I— my name's—"

"ANSWER!" The woman's commanding scream was unmistakable.

Hermione looked around wildly, spotting Voldemort's assassin, viciously pointing her wand at her. Her eyes darkened in rage that lusted for fresh blood. She almost thought she would die looking her in the eye, like a Basilisk she was poised and ready to kill.

"Please— please help me!"

Bellatrix stepped forward and grabbed the front of Hermione's dress, dragging her to her knees. She aimed her wand at her head. The young witch looked around desperately for her wand— the ring. I have to show them the ring. She tried to pull away, but her attacker, gripped tighter, her nails digging ruthlessly into her skin.

She spotted Malfoy, looking on quietly. She saw his mother bend over and pick something off the floor. Narcissa held up the ring, it glinted dangerously in the light thrown from the chandelier above.

"She is a Black. My Lord, she of the house of Black. No one else could use this," She looked up towards an indiscernible figure standing beyond the throng of people. Her sister threw her victim disgustedly on the floor.

"It can't be! IT CAN'T BE!"

Hermione was not sure whether Bellatrix was angry at her oversight or that fact that she was to be denied a bit of fun. Hermione's hands clenched against the cold stone slabs of the floor, her nails creating half-moons on her palms. She looked up through the curtains of her hair, spotting the red glow of a pair of eyes in the dark channel between his subjects as they made way for their master's approach.

Having been reposing on his throne, hehad watched the scene unfurl before him like an emperor at the arena. Hermione held her breath as she awaited his pollice verso.

"Shh Bellatrix," He cooed, "You may have your prey yet."

It was like death was walking towards her. A shadow of the man he once was, his skin was sallow and taut against his skull. He smiled. His jagged and pointed teeth did nothing to quell Hermione's terror.

He seemed to slither towards her, stopping in front of her frozen form. He turned to rest his gaze of Narcissa Malfoy, who held Hermione's salvation in her hand; the key to her identity was emblazoned on the cool silver of the ring.

He took it from her, Bellatrix's eyes focused solely on the Dark Lord.

He studied it with a cursory glance, and suddenly looked into Hermione eyes. She did not look away— could not look away from his, its crimson sheen like freshly drawn blood.

"Tourjours pur."

"Always pure," Hermione whispered.

"Indeed."

Suddenly he was on her, grabbing her chin, his eyes not allowing her to appeal to the others for help. It would prove fruitless, they were at the mercy of the their master as much as she. Hermione wanted to scream and slap him away, his bloody breath sweeping over her as he spoke his next words.

"Who are you?"

"Harmonia Tisiphone Black."

"What are you doing here, Miss Black?" He seemed to hiss her name. She imagined his tongue flicking like that of a snake gulling its prey.

"I— I don't know!" Her tears dribbled pathetically down her face. She noticed as they fell, they continued over his hand that gripped her chin. He was unaffected. His face was cold and unfathomable. He simply watched her, studying her pooling emotions.

"Hmm…" His eyes ran over her face once again, and then turned to Bellatrix, "Take her away."

"NO! NO! I don't know why I'm here— the ring brought me!"

He turned to her again, his interest piqued slightly by her pleas.

He smiled again. His hand caressed her cheek. Hermione did everything to try and stop herself from shivering at his touch, but could not. Malfoy had told her Voldemort liked to toy with his victims, which was not surprising. But the means he used were unsettling, frighteningly calm and then unexpectedly violent. Malfoy called him the ever-showman, and Hermione felt he was definitely playing to his audience like a seasoned actor. Yet Hermione knew this was all too real, and at any moment she could be dead if he so wished.

"Why?" His gaze seemed to penetrate her.

"I— I don't—"

"And for the sake of time, do not say 'I don't know'," Impatience tinged his speech.

"The last thing I remember was— was my family being murdered."

His eyes seemed to constrict into a narrow slit as he gauged confession.

"You should know, Miss Black, that honesty is dearer to me than life."

Hermione had thought her courage had deserted her on her arrival, but suddenly the thought of her parents drew it out of her. Her mouth turned to a sneer, her nostrils flared. She matched his steely glare and spoke.

"Then, my Lord, we all must be half-dead by now," The comment seemed to slip from her lips as easily as she thought it. But she did not regret even when the room seemed to sink into a deeper silence than before. Everyone held their breath in its wake.

Voldemort opened his mouth, seeming to be on the brink of uttering the last words she would ever hear when suddenly he laughed.

No one, not even Bellatrix knew how to react their master's response to the witch's valour and grit in the face of death.

"Are you not afraid of death, Miss Black?"

She kept his unnerving gaze, noticing the pale curve of boyish curiosity on his lips. She knew enough about his life before his transformation to know that he had been and still was smart, craving answers to what he did not know.

"Yes. I am human after all."

His eyes shone with mirth at her response.

"Then tell us your story. Why are you here?"

She looked about at those surrounding her, studying their reactions, their white-clenched fists still clinging onto their wands. They appeared unfaltering like dogs ready to sic her at their master's command. Bellatrix's crazed eyes made the dark pit in her stomach deepen and her breath to hitch in her throat.

"As I said, the ring brought me here. My family surely knew then that you would provide for us in circumstances like these. I believe that this was no wanton raid made by common thieves and murderers. It was an attack— a statement made by allies of the Order. They must have known my family's allegiance."

The Dark Lord paced before her, listening while Hermione reeled off her fabrication. He stopped at her silence. His eyes seemed to meet each of his followers, hesitating on Malfoy. The blonde wizard gazed on without fear. He was almost smug.

"Tell me, Draco, why do you question her? Do you believe she is lying?"

Suddenly, he turned and trained his wand on Hermione's frozen form. He knew.

She warily glanced at Malfoy. Her heart went cold— dead even before the necessary curse had been made. He, however, was unaffected by the Dark Lord's probing questions.

"I do, my Lord. How did we not know of this so-called familial allegiance? Am I expected to welcome a prospective spy into an order whose foundation has been cracked by people like this before?" The venom oozed from his lips. He was playing the bitter, cold and heartless man that the Death Eaters had learned to follow and revere as their Chosen One. His mother let her sad eyes rest on her son. She didn't know then that he was not who he was claiming to be. Hermione could see a part of his mother's soul die in her eyes.

"What do you suggest I do then with Miss Black?" He whispered in her ear, the gleeful hiss returning to his voice.

Malfoy looked her directly in the eye; a sickly smile crept onto his lips, his teeth barred in a vicious grin.

Flippantly, he proposed, "Legilimency, my Lord?"

The Dark Lord came to stand in front of her, the quirk of his brow reminded her of what Harry had described of Tom Riddle het met in the Chamber of Secrets. Dark, sly and a knowing slant to this mouth. He was goading her to make a rash move. Test her strength in his dark court.

"Well, it appears you have a choice, Miss Black."

Harmonia's eyes widened in terror at this ultimatum. Hermione, however, was ready. She knew what to do.

"Please! I will do anything. I can assure you that I am not lying whatever this man may believe. If it will ascertain my freedom and your faith, then so be it. I have nothing to hide from you— any of you."

For a moment, she looked pointedly at Malfoy. A little pride seemed to creep into his eyes. Touché. Their faux encounter had started on cue and with the right tone of distaste from both parties— not enough to appear rehearsed, but equally not too blasé.

He knew the inner-workings of this dysfunctional time bomb. They only needed the right tools to make it obsolete. But the first task was to break the clock face and access the springs of cogs of this immortal machine. Her first obstacle was coping with Voldemort's invasion into her mind and placing the appropriate memories to the fore.

The Dark Lord stood before her, taking a step closer to her. The intimacy was unnecessary, of course, but he liked an air of discomfort when he performed the spell. It made it all the easier to see the weak spots in his victims' defences or lack thereof.

Hermione took a deep breath and willingly gazed into the deep crimson pools one couldn't quite call eyes. She was lost for a moment as she looked at the very embodiment of death. This steeled her resolve.

She could hear Malfoy's voice in her ears: 'Empty yourself of all emotions. Repress it if you must. But you are nothing. No one.' She did just that. Her anger, her pity, her fear faded into the nothingness.

A rush of memories passed through her mind. Harmonia's childhood in the countryside of Dijon. She was running through the fields, a dark manor just visible beyond the crest of the hill. Two little boys playfully duelling in the expanse of the summer sun. First steps. First love. First heartbreak. First death. Second death. A third and a fourth. The dead bodies of her parents and brothers lay strewn throughout the house. The fear, the shock, the pain, the disbelief raging through her. The moment she realised she wasn't alone in the house. The split second. A decision. The ring.

Darkness.

She was pulled away from her memories, sucking in the cool air of the room, like a woman craving air after being submerged under the icy waters of a pond during winter.

A sob escaped her lips.

"Enough, Miss Black."

She looked into the monster's eyes. He revealed nothing whatsoever.

"Answer me this: If I let you live what will you do?"

"I will kill them for what they did."

A dark smile slid onto his pallid lips.

"Good."

He stood before her a moment longer, appraising her dishevelled form, the dirt that muddied her hem, her bloodied hands— the very image of war. She would do very well, indeed.

"Draco, I'm placing Miss Black in your family's care. Do see she is well looked after. She has been through so much to get here," He said this never letting his eyes leave hers in the moment they met.

"I would be very much obliged to see you well again, Miss Black."

"Thank you, my Lord," Her eyes dropped from his. She couldn't meet them any longer without letting a glimmer of hatred seep into them.

Voldemort and his followers resumed their seats at the great oak table. All eyes trained to look ahead into emptiness as their master stroked Nagini on the head in the wake of his pomp and circumstance.

Narcissa approached her slowly like she would a hurt deer, or perhaps like a rabid animal. Malfoy stood behind his mother watching her move; his disdain was carefully and purposely left unguarded. He wasn't meant to respect his mother and father anymore. It was his role. He hadn't told her in so many words, but to protect them he had to treat them like this. They had to know as little as possible about their son in order to keep things in motion without emotional fault. But deep down Hermione knew he was going a step further than what he taught her about Occlumency. He wanted to trust no and no one to trust him. Emotions were useless now. They were weak and feable against the dark. They had no place in his heart nor in hers, apparently— at least until the war was won, or they died trying.

"My dear, lend me your hand. I will not harm you."

Hermione peered up at the broken woman in front of her. The tears in her eyes nearly spilt out and cascaded down her cheeks, but Hermione quickly rubbed her hand against her cheeks, leaving a trail of blood there in the process. Narcissa placed a tentative hand on her shoulder instead. Her small hand like a ghost, it was barely noticeable. Gentleness was absent in Hermione's life recently, and this small effort nearly sent the tears flowing again.

"Mother. Father. I will take her from here. She cannot stay here."

"But Draco—" His mother tried to intervene. Even Malfoy Sr. looked as though he was about to question his son.

"Do not test me, mother."

Hermione looked to Draco. She hated him.

"She has no place here. The Dark Lord may trust her, but I do not. I will not endanger the efforts of our master. She will stay with me where I can keep a close eye on her," He whispered dangerously.

The last few words rolled out of his mouth, the insinuation was hard to miss.

He turned to Hermione. The guarded arrogance masking his cold face, a sneer bled onto his lips.

"It would be a pleasure, Miss Black, if you would follow me."

Hermione did as she was told for once, out of necessity and partially out of shock. Despite everything, the man she feared the most was waiting before her. Part of her knew he was acting, but a small questioning doubt crept into the back of her mind at his actions. Voldemort clearly possessed an air of theatricality and gore, but Malfoy, he was the master of deception in this game of charades.

"As you please," Her voice barely made a voice even in the ensuing silence.

She took his arm. Her pale hand a shadow against the darkness of his robes. She could feel any heat that was left in her drawn away at the coolness of his skin beneath his sleeve. He tensed at her touch. Whether in discomfort or disgust, she wasn't sure.

Without much a do, he turned to his lord, nodded.

"My Lord."

"Draco," His voice hissed. Hermione shivered. Evidently, Malfoy had repelled any semblance of fear that she had seen before, but Hermione couldn't help but detect a slight tremor in his breath as they apparated away. Although, it could very well have been nothing.

Hermione nearly collapsed when they arrived. Malfoy had to grip her arm tightly to hold her up, trying not to get any more blood on his already sullied clothes.

"Stand up."

She did as she was told, her hand clutching on the pendant that sung at her neck.

A clatter came from beyond the room. The great ornate doors of an apparent drawing room towered above them, partially ajar. The dark blue of the patterned wallpaper shrouded the room in a mystic and sombre glow. The drapes, although open, seemed to the drain any light from the room and prevent the little light that came from outside.

The door creaked open further; a figure emerged from behind the door. A dark silhouette approached them.

All seemed to fade away in the presence of the woman standing before them. She was relatively tall, her dark hair cascading down her back. Her black dress was quiet but stunning in his simplicity. Her dark eyes were cool and inquisitive. A smile touched her lips.

"Draco?"

She looked instinctively at Malfoy.

"This is Miss Black, Astoria. She will be staying with us for a while. That is until the Dark Lord says otherwise."

He gazed darkly at Hermione, who tried to prise her arm away from the wizard. He kept his grip firm. The witch looked on without worry at Malfoy's actions.

Patting her hands over the front of her dress, she took a graceful step forward, placing herself before Hermione. She presented her hand, all pale white and unsoiled.

"I have not introduced myself properly. My name is Astoria—"

"Yes, this is Astoria Greengrass, my fiancée."

Malfoy peered down at Hermione. His handed tightened slightly over her arm, the glint of his ring shining in a little moat of light.

Author's Note: Enjoy! I've edited a lot of the previous chapters, so check them out. There have been very little major changes, but I've tried to remove any mistakes, etc. This is dedicated to my Dobby-obsessed, sheep-herding best friend, Christina, once again! It is her birthday gift from me! Oh, and check out my blog for further snippets of future chapters and sources. Please review and spread the word if you've enjoyed it enough!