Chapter Seventeen

Time kept passing with few victories for the pathetic excuse for the Order of the Phoenix. Hermione thought more than once that they should just give up the formerly proud name and try to forget the glory of the past. Looking back wasn't helping anyone move forward. They were all running out of any hope that a day would come when the war would finally be over. Worse than that, she believed very strongly that Mundungus Fletcher was not going to be the only one amongst the ruins of Albus Dumbledore's rebel group to defect to the other side before it was all done.

Tracking down and destroying the rest of Voldemort's horcruxes seemed to be an even more impossible task the longer time went on. How could Dumbledore have even thought a teenager was capable of being the world's savior? It was too much to ask. Teenagers could barely feed themselves. In fact, that had been a major struggle when she was living in the tent with Harry and Ron. Once they no longer could rely on Kreacher, they nearly starved. It was foolish to put so much trust in someone so young and naïve. Not to mention it was terribly unfair to endanger the life of someone who had hardly begun to live at all.

There was a real danger that she would never get over her bitterness about what was done to her friends. While she could consider herself a victim right along with them, it felt wrong to do so because she was still alive. Maybe later when it was all over, when she was satisfied with the brutal revenge she exacted against those who took part in ruining her life, maybe then she would take the time to feel sorry for herself.

Very little progress had been made on discovering the next horcrux. None really. Some days she wondered if she was the only one who even cared about the seemingly impossible task. Everyone else seemed to her to have given up. When members of the Order sat around Tonks' large table to discuss plans, most of them offered excuses on why they should not continue the hunt. It was pathetic. Only Kingsley and Fred Weasley remained consistent in their support for moving forward. How could they give up when it was the only way the war could ever hope to be won?

There was no alternative for her with Voldemort in power. All she could hope for was a quick death or that the Death Eater she was gifted to wouldn't treat her too terribly. It was no way to live. She had to destroy the horcruxes or die trying. The reluctance to do anything made her hate the Order members even more than she already did. Was she going to have to do everything herself?

Every free moment she had she thought about the Lestrange vault. It was the only viable lead they had. Strange that she was back to trusting Snape the tiniest bit, but she was. Saving her from her prison went a long way in changing her opinion. She believed him when he suggested something very important was stored there. It made perfect sense.

Unfortunately, her obsession with getting into the vault didn't mean she magically had the answers to how they were going to get inside. Other than a list of reasons why she would not be able to break into a high-security vault from a heated conversation with Bill Weasley, she hadn't learned anything of true value beyond some security traps. No one else could offer any additional information or even any ideas. As desperate as she was becoming, she would've taken even ridiculous suggestions. Anything would've been better than nothing.

More and more were simply giving up, unsure why they should keep fighting. Some even snuck out of the country. Hermione's hatred for the weak and pathetic only grew. She could feel herself growing hard and mean. Ron and Harry died and the arseholes left couldn't be bothered to keep fighting.

"I might have heard a rumor about where Harry's and Ron's possessions ended up."

Fred was one of the few she continued to have any respect at all for. Spurred into increasingly more dangerous actions to avenge his two lost brothers, the wizard refused to give up. He would die first. It was something they had in common.

"You might have heard a rumor. Or you did?"

Minutes after a dismal lunch where the topic of conversation kept falling back to memories of times before Voldemort's return, Fred followed Hermione into one of the formal reception rooms she'd been hiding herself in to deal with her simmering fury. Everyone who spent any time at all in the house knew it was best to leave her alone when she shut herself in there unless they had new information to share.

"I definitely heard it but I won't tell you where I heard it because I don't want my mum to know I go to Knockturn Alley from time to time."

His cheeky grin and wink actually made her smile. It had been too long since anyone had been able to do the same. There hadn't been much reason to smile in recent days.

"I have a few professional contacts my mum should never hear about."

"Understood. What's the rumor?"

"There's a Snatcher with questionable loyalties. Seems it's not only our side growing weary of all the violence and uncertainty. World under You-Know-Who's thumb probably isn't as glamorous as they imagined it would be."

That was easy enough to believe. Even amongst members of the Inner Circle of Death Eaters, there existed those who weren't entirely pleased with what was happening around them. Wasn't that why Thorfinn held any power at all over Dolohov? Dissension in the ranks was common in all armies throughout history. No matter how well the conflict was going for their side, there were always those who weren't happy or believed they had better ideas than their leaders.

"This Snatcher has made it known in certain corners of our world that he would be willing to pass along information to the highest bidder, regardless of which side they were on."

"That sounds very reckless of him. How can he trust no one will report him?"

Fred shrugged his shoulders.

"Even amongst the lowest there's a sort of honor system."

"Or he's a spy."

"Or he's a spy. You're right. He could be."

She didn't know why she was even considering finding out how to track the Snatcher down. If she hadn't been so lost and unsure of her next moves, she would probably laugh in Fred's face. All she needed was to get entangled with a potential spy. Trust came at a grave cost. There was incentive to make her life even harder than it already was.

Except at least it would mean she was doing something. Even if it ended badly. Part of her almost hoped it would because she was no longer living. Just sitting around existing was getting old. How did everyone else endure it so well?

"I can get a message to him, tell him you want to meet."

"How?"

"Best you don't ask me to explain how. I have my ways. It might be dangerous for you to know."

Both of the Weasley twins would've done well in Slytherin. It wasn't the first time Hermione thought so either. Several times in happier days she thought that one of the reasons the twins, especially Fred, struggled to get along with their older brother Percy was because they actually were very similar in a lot of ways. If there hadn't been so much pressure placed on the Weasley siblings to be in Gryffindor, all of their lives could've been very different. Maybe not better, but surely different.

"Seems like a lot of bother for dirty socks."

"It's much more than socks."

Fred nodded.

"You'll have to go alone. These types wouldn't appreciate a crowd."

"No, I don't suppose they would. I'm not afraid."

"I didn't think you would be, but it might be better for you if you were."

His words just hung in the air as he made his escape to compete his mission. What did he mean by that? She didn't understand what he was trying to say to her. Quickly it became unimportant as her mind resumed its thoughts about other more important concerns. Fred Weasley's opinion of her really wasn't any of her business.

Two days later Fred slipped a piece of crumpled parchment in her hand at the dinner table when he thought no one was watching. She tucked it immediately away into her pocket, hoping the meal would end soon. Sitting there listening to the same whingers express their many concerns was tiring. At the first chance she got, she returned to the small bedroom at the top of the narrow stairs that had become hers.

She had an address somewhere in Watford. Knowing she wouldn't have to meet the Snatcher in Knockturn Alley made her breathe a little easier. It was imperative that she not repeat any of the same mistakes she did when she tracked down Mundungus Fletcher. A person could be lucky only so many times in their life and she suspected she'd used up all of her chances.

No one was going to go with her. She didn't expect many, or any, would even want to if she announced her intentions. If Kingsley knew what she was about to do, he would make her stop or insist on going with her to keep her safe. As much as she appreciated his concern, it was unnecessary, unwanted. She couldn't just keep sitting around the large, old house waiting for the world to end.

Sneaking out of the house was easy, almost embarrassingly so. Everyone inside was too wrapped up in their own concerns to spare a single thought for what she might be up to. Magic helped, of course. Although unable to Apparate in and out of the house directly thanks to the security enchantments set up to protect its residents, there was nothing preventing Hermione from conjuring up a rope and climbing out the open bedroom window. Making certain to cast a strong sticking charm to the rope so she didn't have to worry about falling as she descended to the ground, it didn't take her long to reach the gravel driveway.

No one witnessed her escape from the windows as far as she could tell. Most of the pathetic arseholes inside wouldn't even try to stop her if they did. More concerned with saving their own sorry necks, they would probably just close their eyes and pretend they saw nothing. Even if she wanted a partner to join her on her potentially dangerous mission, she would've had a hard time finding one. Less and less of the Order members seemed to remember that most of them had been Sorted into Gryffindor. Few had any desire for adventure or dangerous even for a noble cause.

Hermione focused on the piece of parchment Fred slipped into her hands. Though not familiar with the area she was supposed to go, she didn't want to waste any time. Perhaps in the past when she felt like she had all the time in the world, she would've considered going there the first time strictly for reconnaissance. Every moment that she wasted made the world more dangerous. She spun in place with her destination fixed firmly in her mind.

To her surprise, her feet landed on a fairly unremarkable street lined with unremarkable houses. Checking the number of the one she was looking for, she worried that Fred might have been given incorrect information. Tucked away in a clearly Muggle area was a narrow terraced house painted white with a dark blue door. That was the home of a notorious Snatcher? She would've assumed those types kept themselves in only magical districts or Hogsmeade.

It would be beyond foolish to just go up to the door and knock like she was a known neighbor popping by for a friendly chinwag. If this person really was growing disillusioned with the war and was ready for it to be over, they would be on edge just like the rest of them. Hermione was grateful that the sun set so early that time of year. Sticking to the shadows was easy. Unable to go around to the back of the house easily thanks to the other houses on the row, she had to walk several minutes until she saw the gate to the back garden. Sneaking in that way would be less risky than a bold approach from the front.

Careful to use as little magic as possible to prevent any authorities monitoring the usage in a predominantly Muggle area, she took great pains to lift the latch on the gate slowly. It was rusted, rarely used. As tidy as the front of the house had been, the back was the opposite. Either no one ever came out into the back garden or the occupants simply didn't care what it looked like. She was glad for large, overgrown hedges that blocked the view into the garden from the immediate next-door neighbor. If she was seen, she might have to make a quick exit.

There was a small window on the back door itself that she could peek through. No light in the back garden kept her mostly hidden. The house was small with few pieces of furniture she could see. Whoever the Snatcher was, it didn't seem as if he lived with a wife or a mother who would likely insist on more comfortable furnishings. She hoped that she would catch the occupant inside alone. One on one was much easier than being outnumbered.

In the front room of the house she could make out the glow of a television set. That seemed odd in a wizard's house, but not entirely out of the question. If he lived in a Muggle area, it was possible he had been influenced at least a little by his neighbors. It would make sense why he might not be as keen to be under the rule of Voldemort if he had some sympathy towards Muggles. His choice of profession, however, was suspicious.

As she squinted her eyes to see as much as she could in the dim room, she nearly jumped when a figure laying on a sofa moved. He'd been laying so stiffly she hadn't realized he was there. She felt her heart pound in her chest. Though it would be better for her to make certain that he was the only one inside before she made her presence known, she grew impatient. Relieved to find the back door unlocked, she opened it, stepped inside, and pointed her wand towards the sofa in one swift movement.

"Expelliarmus!"

A long wand made of alder flew straight into her hand. Caught by surprise, the figure on the sofa tripped over his own feet in his haste to jump up. He landed face first into the hard wooden floor. Hermione needed no time to run through the house's small kitchen to stand over him with her wand pointed at his face.

"You got me."

The wizard carefully rolled over onto his back with his empty hands held up. Amused by the whole encounter, he had a smile that did nothing to put Hermione at ease. Either he was not afraid of her or he was a good actor. She wasn't sure which one she would rather. Mistakes could be made with either.

"What is your name?"

She wasn't sure why that was the first question she asked him. In truth, she really didn't care. It might have been better for both of them if she remained ignorant of his true identity.

"Scabior."

He said it so matter of factly with another disarming smile. Was that a first name or a last name? It could be difficult to tell with wizards sometimes. Some of the most ridiculous names were given to poor children when they were born. Not that she had much room to talk. Hermione was odd enough.

She'd heard about that particular Snatcher. One of Fenrir Greyback's most trusted members of his gang, he had been around for many of the most high-profile arrests. The fear she had that she was walking into a dangerous trap with a spy who meant her harm only grew more potent. If she didn't get anything useful out of the cretin quickly, she would stun him and run as fast as she could out of the damned house. She didn't like how narrow and small the dwelling felt.

"I've heard rumors that you're willing to offer information to those that ask."

"I could be."

"Why? I know who you are. Why should I believe you would want to do anything to hurt your side?"

"Would you believe me if I told you that I was tired of fighting? I like a quiet life, wouldn't mind going back to that."

Hermione didn't believe a word he said. Had she been foolish again to make another mistake? She worried that she had been too reckless in her anxiety to move forward. Scabior's explanation didn't sound plausible to her ears. If something sounded too good to be true, it nearly always was.

"Wouldn't you like to go back to living in peace? Can't be much fun staying in hiding to avoid those like me who are supposed to take you to Azkaban."

"You know who I am?"

Scabior kept his hands up as he slowly sat up. His unnerving smile wasn't getting any easier to get used to. Nothing about him put Hermione at ease. She'd wasted her time. If she was as smart as everyone else seemed to believe she was, she would snap his wand into pieces, stun him, and never look back. To remain standing in his home with him looking at her like that was one of the worst ideas she'd ever had.

"Of course I know who you are. It's my job to know who you are. You have quite the reputation but I don't understand why."

It was human nature to be at least somewhat curious about what was being said about a person behind their back. She knew that as one of Harry Potter's best friends she would be known for that, but was there more? Scabior was the sort to like the sound of his own voice. She didn't even have to ask him questions to get him to continue. Any other time that might have been annoying.

"There are two Death Eaters who argue about you. Or so the rumors go."

She hated that she found that bit of information interesting. The Death Eaters in question were obvious. Who other than Thorfinn and Dolohov would care enough about her at all to argue? No doubt Dolohov assumed that Thorfinn helped her escape from the Shrieking Shack. He was too arrogant to believe otherwise. When she was first brought to her prison cell, he took great pains to make certain she would be unable to escape it. His hatred for Thorfinn must have only increased since they discovered she was missing and there was a giant hole in the floor.

For a brief second she worried that Dolohov might've hurt Thorfinn in his anger. The concern only lasted for a heartbeat or two. She reminded herself that she didn't really care. Let them kill each other. The world would be a better place if they were both dead. She knew she wouldn't lose any sleep over their loss. If they could somehow figure out a way to take Draco out with them, all the better.

Instead of asking Scabior to explain what he meant, she chose to steer the conversation into a much more helpful direction. Too much of her life had already been wasted on those men. She needed to be certain that she would survive until the end, maybe even have a future beyond the dismal war.

"How can I be sure you're not just a spy lying to hurt my side?"

"You can't. Not really."

"Are you going to tell a Death Eater you saw me?"

"I'd only do that if there was something in it for me."

She could appreciate him being honest. Even though she didn't know anything at all about the wizard, she didn't get the impression that he was lying. Something about him, about the way he spoke told her that he would tell her the truth even if she didn't like hearing it. That was a character trait that not everyone possessed. Some people were more concerned with other's feelings than the truth. It annoyed her.

"I've been led to believe that you might know where some of the possessions belonging to Harry Potter and Ron Weasley ended up after they died."

There was no reason to not get straight to the point. Either he knew something or he didn't. She was eager to find out.

"Do you mind if I..?"

With his hands still held up in front of him to show that he wasn't armed, he asked with a gesture of his head if he could get off the floor. He was more vulnerable in that position especially with her pointing her wand at him. It was tempting to tell him to remain on the floor. She felt more confident with him down there, but she knew that if she wanted to get good information, it might work to her benefit to treat him as an equal. A simple nod was her answer. If he tried anything, she would show him no mercy. Perhaps that truth was reflected in her eyes. He stood up and stepped back up against a close wall. Evidently, paranoia was part of his profession too.

"They were found inside of a tent by both Snatchers and Death Eaters. Some took souvenirs. Anything specific you are looking for?"

"There was a sword."

Scabior shook his head.

"Don't know anything about a sword. But…"

His hand moved towards his pocket. Concerned there might be a weapon inside or a spare wand, Hermione cast a stinging charm on his wrist. Cursing the pain, he put his hands back up on the air, palms facing out.

"I have something of Potter's in my pocket. Don't like to just leave it laying around."

"No, I'll get it."

Sticking her hand inside a grown man's pocket she didn't know wasn't high on the list of activities she wished to pursue. Especially not when the closer she got to him, the less of an advantage she had against him. Magic was a great equalizer. If he was able to attack her physically, she didn't have any doubt he would be the victor. Just to be certain he wouldn't try anything, she cast petrificus totalus on him.

"You don't trust me, do you, love?"

"Not in the slightest."

"Clever girl. Don't trust anyone and you'll stay alive a little longer."

Within seconds of sliding her hand into his pocket, she felt metal. She carefully grabbed it and pulled out a small golden snitch. Her eyes filled up with tears. She knew without reservation that it was the snitch that Dumbledore left Harry in his will. Stepping back from the Snatcher, she removed the spell.

"What do you want for this?"

"I thought that was obvious."

The contents of her stomach threatened to come hurtling back out of her mouth when she saw how he looked her body up and down. If he thought she was going to have sex with him for any reason, he was going to find out the hard way that wasn't going to happen. She would slice his bollocks off first.

"Galleons. Lots of galleons."

Scabior smirked when she looked relieved.

"You can save the other for those fools brave enough to face Rowle's wrath. I'm not stupid."

She didn't understand.

"What about Rowle?"

"Wizard is obsessed with finding you. He's made it clear he'll kill anyone who hurts you."

Learning that Thorfinn had been so vocal was surprising. Scabior and Mundungus Fletcher both were aware she was highly prized. Who else knew?

"Fool is going to get himself and probably you killed too. You're a weakness to him. Someone is going to exploit it."

Scabior's words hung in the air as she fished a handful of galleons out of her pocket. In the position he was in, she really could just steal the damned thing and run out of there, but she hoped he might be useful some time in the future for more information. She dropped the galleons on a side table.

"Find me again if you learn about any other possessions, especially a cloak."

Returning to the back door, she waited until it was closed behind her to drop Scabior's wand into the overgrown grass. She spun around, anxious to be back in the safe house. The evening had given her a lot to think about.

No one inside the Order safe house paid her much mind when she walked in through the back door. Either no one was aware there was a rope still hanging out her bedroom window or they simply didn't care. Pleased to find there was a fire going in the formal reception room she had claimed, she sat down on one of the overstuffed sofas to stare into the flames.

Her hand hadn't stopped touching the snitch since she sat down. It helped her to feel closer to Harry holding something that he'd once held. While the Sword of Gryffindor or his invisibility cloak would've been far more practical items to purchase, she was glad she had it. She only wished Dumbledore had been more open from the beginning and actually offered a real explanation about the bizarre items he left them in his will.

She dwelled on her conversation with Scabior for hours. Yes, he was absolutely correct that someone would eventually exploit Thorfinn's affection for her to use against him. What if she could figure out a way to be the one who did?