Hermione was surprised by her own apathy towards the news that she hadn't been named prefect. It was unjust, she knew, to have been passed over in favour of Daphne Greengrass when she was clearly the superior student and a leader among her peers already. The others had raged on her behalf and Daphne had offered to refuse the position but truthfully, the whole affair seemed a little trivial. She'd led war-torn Germany, duelled dark wizards and now presided over a city with more inhabitants than the entire school if one counted the guardians. It wasn't like she would ever need to apply for a job and she didn't need a badge to tell her she was a brilliant witch. In fact, she was almost glad to have not been saddled with the additional responsibility.

By the time the trolley came around, Neville and Theo had finally let the matter drop and moved on to far more interesting topics – namely, Dumbledore's removal from his position as Chief Warlock of the Wizengamot and the inquiry pending at the ICW.

Ginny and Neville hadn't been able to sneak away from the Order of the Phoenix at Longbottom Manor in the time since the trial so they were able to gleefully recount the chaos that had been sown among Dumbledore's allies. Lady Longbottom had obviously reported on the rift in the order but she'd been far more businesslike than Ginny Weasley, who took great pleasure in describing just how her mother had screamed at the headmaster with enough volume to overcome the anti-eavesdropping charms in the drawing room.

It seemed most loyalties had been shaken, but not enough to sway any to Hermione's side. Of the four players in the brewing war, the ministry was a far more likely destination for defecting phoenixes.

It was only after the lamps had finally flickered to life that Hermione remembered the holiday homework they'd been set, which she only had vague memories of completing over breakfast on one of the very first days of summer. Harry hadn't done his at all, and Theo had scribbled a handful of lines, then been distracted by financials if the string of numbers jotted at the bottom of the parchment were anything to go by.

The pleasure of Ginny's retelling of Dumbledore's fall gave way to the drag of summoning charms – elementary magic they'd all been able to do since first year. They were distracted several times by members of the defence club, sliding into the compartment to inform Hermione that they believed her or that they'd been practicing over summer and asking when the next meeting would be. Eventually Neville pulled out his basilisk scale and set a meeting for three days time, before Quidditch trials could start.

With half her mind on reviewing her essay, Hermione found herself marvelling at how surreal it felt to be going back to school. They were at war, and here she was returning to classes and homework.

It was difficult to justify; taking time to sit through hours of subjects she could easily teach when lives were at risk. Of course, British policy was that every muggleborn child had to attend Hogwarts until their 17th birthday, so she had little choice. Unless she wished to become a true enemy of the ministry and ICW, in contravention of the Restriction of Underage Sorcery, she had to waste her time.

She took a moment to reflect on how much she'd changed since Jessica Manly had first sneered at her carrots. The Hermione of old would have been horrified to learn that future Hermione would consider anything more important than school… not that past Hermione would have had any real comprehension of the scale of events her future self would become involved in. She would have scoffed at pretty clothes and social events without understanding how the pretty gowns and flashing jewels played a vital part in the dance of power. She would have charged relentlessly towards a fight against injustice, unaware of the true cost of war. She wouldn't know the pain of loss, the cold burn of fear and the crystalline focus of combat. What would her life look like if she'd never appeared in Grindelwald castle? A childhood, perhaps? Would she have become one of Dumbledore's phoenixes; another pawn in the tug of war between revolution and tradition? Would she have understood what she fought against? What she fought to destroy?

'Hermione?'

She blinked, focusing on Ginny. The Gryffindor witch was holding a hairbrush and several pins, obviously intending to help Hermione with her hair. Ginny's own hair had already been brushed and hung in enviably perfect ringlets over her shoulders. She glanced at her watch, realising they were getting perilously close to the school.

'Neville's going to do mine whilst I do yours.' Ginny explained. Neville was already perched on the small table, at a perfect height to work on Ginny's hair. He raised another brush and Hermione raised her eyebrows in surprise.

'We didn't have much to do over summer.' Neville defended. It was a mark of how far he had come that he didn't seem at all self-conscious. Hermione conjured a cushion and shifted to the floor, shuffling sideways so that she was between Ginny's knees. The younger witch quicky began disassembling the frizzing remains of the braids Flighty had made that morning, using her wand to finely mist water over the frizzy strands.

'What were you thinking about?' Ginny asked as Hermione relaxed into her ministrations.

'School. There's so much else I could be doing.'

Ginny hummed in agreement, gently trailing the brush through her hair.

'Just skip classes.' Harry shrugged, without looking up from his hastily completed essay. 'Set up an office in the chamber and only show up for exams. You'd still get straight Os in your OWLs.'

Hermione scowled at him. She was not quite so far gone as to completely abandon any pride in her schoolwork. Besides, skipping classes would give the ministry almost as much ammunition against her as leaving all together and it would certainly give Dumbledore the right to assign detentions. She wondered whether "write down everything you know about Voldemort's plans" could be considered a detention task and if it was, could it be delivered to the ministry as proof of Dumbledore's supposed battiness. McGonagall seemed to be heir apparent to the position, and she would be a far more favourable headmistress.

'She'd still have to turn up for potions.' Theo pointed out, ever the voice of reason.

'And Herbology.' Neville agreed, from behind Ginny. Hermione grimaced; Herbology was one subject that had only been touched on in passing outside of Hogwarts, usually only as it related to other subjects. Potion brewing was likewise something that she had theoretical knowledge of but hadn't had the time to commit to becoming quite so practically adept. Swinging a sword had little in common with dicing slugs.

'I wonder if you'd get extra points for knowing more than the examiners?'

'Or if I'd lose them for being Hermione Grindelwald; public enemy number 1.'

'You wouldn't.' Harry denied, looking somewhat affronted. 'They're impartial.'

'Supposedly, but Crabbe's father got six Os and he's got less brains than a bludger.' Everyone in the compartment swivelled to face Ginny, looking incredulous. She blushed and ducked her chin slightly.

'How in Circe's name…?' Theo trailed off.

'I overheard my Mum complaining about it – they were in the same year at school. Apparently it was a bit of a scandal… everyone knew he wasn't smart enough to have actually done it.'

'My Gran says I better earn my OWLs honestly. I just hope Snape isn't in the potions exam.' Neville looked feint at just the thought.

'You'll be fine.' Hermione assured easily. Ginny pinned the last braid securely around the base of Hermione's pointed hat, then combed her fingers through the section of loose hair cascading down Hermione's back, announcing her finished. Hermione continued, standing and beginning to pack her homework away. 'Even if you don't manage an O, Master Slughorn will probably be happy to teach you at home. You could sit your NEWT outside of school, just to spite Professor Snape.'

Neville looked unconvinced, but didn't respond – the train had begun to slow and he hadn't quite finished Ginny's hair. Theo glanced out the window, then looked at his watch and frowned.

'We should still be half an hour away.' Theo pressed his face up against the window, angled forwards.

'It's not dementors again, is it?' Neville, who had reached to open the window, paused.

'Surely not.'

The loud babble of voices and banging of doors up and down the carriage outside suggested very few people had realised they weren't yet at Hogwarts. Ginny climbed around Hermione and slid the door open, breaking the muffling charms and letting the cacophony of voices spill into the compartment.

'Death eaters?' Harry asked lowly, hand on his wand.

'Lord Nott would have told us.'

'The Dark Lord might not have told him. He'd know we're likely to be together on the train.' Theo pulled away from the window and drew his wand as well.

'We have to protect the younger students.' Hermione announced.

'Obviously.' Ginny whipped out her wand, then swore as the train jolted to a final stop and she stumbled into the doorframe. Exclamations of confusion drifted up and down the carriage as other people finally caught on to the unusual circumstances. Many people seemed to remember the dementors of a couple of years ago, others thought it might be a security check enforced by Dumbledore. One person loudly scoffed that You-Know-Who would have to be an idiot to attack the Hogwarts Express with Hermione Grindelwald and Dumbledore both protecting it. Hearing that almost made her smile.

Then the doors slid open, and it wasn't death eaters at all.

Purple robed aurors flooded onto the train from both ends, wands drawn and ready. Someone screamed as they barged forwards, knocking students back into their compartments and blocking any way off the train. Foreboding tightened Hermione's chest – there were very few people she could think of that warranted such a show of force and she was the only one of them on the train.

Her suspicion was quickly confirmed; a gruff sounding auror called for Hermione to step out. Her mind flew, wondering whether Alice's search for Hexemeer had borne fruit; had she found incriminating evidence? It couldn't have been anything she had done; Hermione had toed the line perfectly since the trial.

'On what grounds?' Theo demanded, without leaving the compartment.

'Destruction of government property and the release of dangerous, incarcerated individuals from high security confinement and another violation of the decree for the restriction of underage sorcery.' The auror sounded somewhat gleeful but Hermione was more caught on what he'd said. There was only one high security prisoner she could be accused of releasing without any real evidence.

'Gellert…' She breathed. She was almost to the door, ready to hand herself over on the assumption that Gellert had some plan to exonerate her, when Theo caught her sleeve.

'No. Individuals… not an individual.'

She frowned, mouthing the words until they sunk in. Then her eyes widened.

'The death eaters.' She realised. 'Voldemort released his death eaters.'

'And he framed you for it.' Harry looked furious, perhaps because having a guardian framed for a crime they didn't commit was a particularly raw wound for him.

'Or the ministry just jumped to that conclusion, rather than admit they were wrong.' Theo offered darkly.

'Last warning! Roll your wand out of the compartment, then come out with your hands raised!' The auror shouted from outside. A dead silence settle over the carriage as everyone seemed to hold their breath, waiting for Hermione's decision.

There was only one option. She rolled her shoulders, deliberately relaxing the muscles in her neck and opening her collarbones, tipping her chin up and flexing her fingers. Then she drew her wand – the wand that had seen her through life and death, duels and trials. It felt far too light for something so storied, skittering out of the carriage and clattering against the opposite wall with only the slightest flick of her booted toe. One of the aurors summoned it with a quick movement.

'You can't go to Azkaban, Hermione.' Neville breathed, horrified.

'My options seem limited. I won't risk the lives of everyone on this train.' Hermione ignored the hands of her friends, tugging at her sleeves in half-hearted attempts to stop her. She fanned her fingers and framed her pointed hat with them, palms facing forwards. Then, with slow and deliberate steps she moved into the corridor and faced the auror that had spoken. He leered. Another hurried up behind her and Hermione forced herself to remain relaxed as handcuffs were snapped around her wrists. Runes flared, reflecting brightly in the windows and Hermione's magic dampened like a campfire doused in dirt. She refused to let anything show on her face as her bonds winked out, leaving her isolated in space for the first time since she was ten.

As though time were frozen, everyone remained perfectly still for several long seconds. It was as though they were waiting for her to fight back; for the other shoe to drop. Perhaps they couldn't believe that they'd managed to get so far. Hermione wasn't stupid; there were ten aurors in the carriage and presumable more outside the train. They were all experienced adults and she had nowhere to move, nor was she willing to risk fighting so close to the people she was sworn to protect.

The auror that had cuffed her patted down her pockets and checked for a spare wand in her boots and sleeves. Hermione had never bothered to carry one, so he came up blank. Then he poked her in the small of the back with his wand, encouraging her forwards. She obliged, shuffling past carriages full of stunned students with their pale, incredulous faces pressed to their windows.

The step down from the carriage to the tracks below would have been intimidating enough without cuffs but she managed without embarrassing herself. The steep embankment brought them down into a dark pine forest, lit only by the moon and the wands of the squad of aurors. The ground was an undulating carpet of moss which camouflaged the treacherous rocks and fallen logs underfoot, blending it smooth. A second squad of aurors waited in the deep, jagged shadows cast by the trees.

'You've got her?' An auror stepped forwards from the squad that had waited outside. He might have looked friendly at another time; an earring in one ear and chocolate skin, crinkled with smile lines that cast ghoulish shadows in the light of his greenish lumos. He sounded surprised.

'Yeah. She came quietly.' The auror leading her sounded like he couldn't quite believe his luck. He glanced up at the sky, then back down. Hermione's eyes were adjusting to the darkness and she could already make out the ward specialist holding an anti-disapparition jinx. His second held a shield dome over him, protecting him from attack. Both enchantments were betrayed by a slight glow at the tips of their wands.

'She's just a school-girl without Grindelwald to back her up.' The arrogant auror that had been the one to order her surrender leered at her again. Hermione smiled serenely at him.

'You'll find it's not the Grindelwald side of the family you have to worry about.' She informed him, voice friendly.

'What?' The dark skinned one demanded sharply.

'She's bluffing.' The arrogant auror declared. 'She didn't contact anyone.'

A mournful howl pierced the suddenly silent night.

'What the name of Godric?' The politer auror had gone as pale as his silvery breath, which spiralled and eddied in the air as the temperature dropped as though a dementor had appeared among them. Hermione felt nothing but anticipation and it showed. The arrogant auror's wand trembled as he pointed it at her.

'What are you doing?' His voice squeaked upwards a little at the end. Hermione's smirked; was this how Gellert had felt every time he slipped prison?

'Me? Nothing. I can't do anything' She shook her hands slightly so that the cuffs flashed. Then, she raised one hand to point straight behind the dark auror. A pair of pale, silvery eyes blinked beneath the shadowy trees. 'But they can.'

Two more eyes appeared, although perhaps they had already been there and Hermione simply hadn't noticed. No, more than two – three, a dozen, two dozen… tall, short, small and large…

'Ghosts?' One of the aurors beneath the trees confirmed, sounding uncertain.

'Impossible.' The arrogant one backed up until the shifting, uncertain stones of the embankment impeded him. The lights on the train flickered, casting them briefly into deep darkness and revealing the pale outlines of the figures within the trees. Screams echoed from the train. 'Ghosts can't do that.'

'Ghosts alone can't do that.' Hermione corrected as the lights flickered yet again. 'But on ancestral land, they gain the most remarkable haunting powers.'

'You're not on family land, Grindelwald.' He seemed to have regained some of his nerve, hoisting his wand and shooting a golden spark into the trees. It fizzled out before it could reach the first rank of pearly horsemen.

'Oh, but I am.' She paused, for effect. With a screeching, discordant sound, the ghosts drew their swords. The lights flickered again, flashing off steel that should have been too incorporeal to reflect anything. 'I am of the line of Gorlois, whose number include the Witch King. The entire country was once our land.'

The dark skinned auror pivoted, opened his mouth, but didn't manage a word. A second howl rung, clashing with the mournful blast of horns with followed a bare moment later. Two tone, low enough to vibrate within her very bones then a grating, flat note.

The ghosts charged.

The aurors had never been to war. They skirmished against covert foes, skittered between cover and cast like muggles brandishing guns. They had not faced hooves, teeth and horseflesh, clad in cacophonous armour, they had not faced a foe across open ground with nothing but a shimmering shield charm to defend them. They panicked, flares of spellfire vivid against the monochrome render of Gorlois livery.

Then Hermione too was within the haunting. A golden flare unseated a headless horseman, his savage stallion lashing out with teeth solid enough to catch flesh. A shield maiden drove her spear into the chest of the dark skinned auror, screeching like a banshee. The auror gasped, scrabbling at unblemished skin as she twisted the weapon cruelly.

Another howl, a wavering note on the horn. The air seemed to thicken as every ghost converged, riding tighter and tighter circles, semi-translucent bodies piled atop each other until it was almost impossible to see anything but the uneven ground beneath her feet and the white grim that had materialised in front of her. Slashing, snatching claws and snapping teeth bowled the arrogant auror over, his wand snapping beneath a massive back paw. Lips peeled back, wrinkling into a deep snarl, drool trembled and dripped onto the collar of the whimpering wizard trapped beneath. The polite auror dropped his wand and stumbled backwards, tripping over a concealed log and sprawling into the spectral shield.

'Cavella!' Hermione breathed, burying her cuffed hands into the thick ruff.

Hermione blinked, and when she opened her eyes she found herself in another forest. It was looser than the one she'd left at the side of the train, gnarled branches curling overhead and bedecked in leaves that reflected too-bright stars in the sky above. Cavella yipped, tail brushing against Hermione's legs as she padded away between the trees. Hermione followed uncertainly, boots crunching loudly as though she were walking across broken glass rather than forest loam.

It felt like no time at all yet all the time in the world before the scenery around them changed. A dark castle loomed ahead, blocking out the stars as if they'd been cut from the midnight canvas. Ferns curled up from the ground, each frond like a great reaching hand with fingers that reached to brush her robes. Ivy raced across the ground; a blanket of rustling, crinkling leaves which concealed glittering dirt beneath. It was a land of deep shadows and silver starlight, too cold to be anywhere further south than Durmstrang where, by all rights, the sun shouldn't have completely set in September. Ice rimmed the fruit which hung from the trees, setting them alight as though made of colour-leeched jewels.

It was also a land of strange illusions; everything she saw seemed to flicker whenever she looked away, becoming bare and dead. Leaves dried to husks and crystalline fruit withered, the ground cover a web of bare stalks. The deep tones which hid within the darkness leeched to monochrome and distances seemed to distort and flex around her – one minute she was miles from the castle, the next it loomed over her.

The castle was not derelict, as Hermione had first assumed, although that did not make it a fair place. The walls were as dark as Avalon's were light, even where the stars should have shone upon them. It was more of a hall than a real fortress; rectangular and narrow slitted windows filled with stained glass that soared from far above Hermione's head to the distant top. There could not be separate floors within.

She followed Cavella around the edge of the building, brushing a finger along the coarse stone of the castle. Faint strains of music grew louder as she reached the corner and turned to find an entrance spilling light and sound across a cobbled courtyard. It was the sweetest music she'd ever heard, a voice that pulled at her like the moon pulled the tide, ebbing and swirling until Hermione almost believed she could feel her magic again. She found herself drawn forwards by the promise of warmth, into the archway.

The court beyond was not as fair as the music, nor the land it resided in. The hall was spectacular, on the same scale as Avalon. Flowers as deep and rich as jewels twinkled in the light of a thousand witchlights. Fairies danced and spun like tiny stars among the larger magical orbs, but they were not the golden creatures used by wizards to decorate trees. These were large enough to see malevolent red eyes and sharp teeth as they swooped among the colossal statues that appeared at first glance to be angels with their wings outstretched. The floor was a defence against the dark arts beastiary; dementors which swirled in elegant circles with lethifolds, banshees whose voices were beautiful despite withered lips. Kelpies, feral and savage with jagged fangs that curled over their lips and bones braided into their manes. Grims, black as pitch and larger than both Sirius and Cavella, winterlings and rusalka, drakes with scales as bright as the stained glass windows.

And before them all, a throne. A creature sprawled upon it that Hermione knew could be none other than the Unseelie King. Across the loud and merry crowd of his court, unearthly eyes met hers. Even across the hall, she could see the ring of purple that burned brightly against black. He raised a single pale hand, gesturing, and Hermione jumped as a hand landed on her shoulder.

'You should not be here, Lady Gorlois.' The Dullahan spoke from the head at her elbow. She twisted on her heel, the enchantment of the music quickly falling to an eerie, discordant screech and the cries of the banshees becoming a grating wail.

'I know.' She responded quickly, shaking her head to rid it of the remaining illusions. The rich, bejeweled world around her leeched quickly of colour. The leaves crumpled and fell, drying to blackened husks across lifeless dirt. The light of the ball dimmed to the sickly greenish-yellow more common of witchlights and the stars faded to chips of ice. The Dullahan's head blinked once, slowly, the purple fire in his eyes the only bright thing that remained.

'Impressive. Your blood is as potent as my master believes. Come, your hound will take you home.' He gestured to Cavella, who whined unhappily and crept forwards, belly on the floor. Hermione knelt and buried her hand into thick fur, distracted by the Dullahan's cryptic words.

When she blinked, it was daylight. Summer sun streamed through the glassless windows of her office in Avalon.

'Hermione!' Lord Nott breathed in relief, jumping up from her desk. She blinked, then frowned and wiped at her nose. Her fingers came away bright with blood. She blinked, puzzled, then she was gone.