Hermione Granger: A Bird in the Hand

Hermione Granger

Hermione pressed her back against the sandy rock wall, using the narrow crevice to keep herself in shadow despite the bright morning in Cornwall. The cliffs along the beach could be a forbidding presence, but now she found comfort in their solidness after her whirlwind of apparations.

She'd been careful and hidden her most precious possession in the ruins of Hogwarts, apparating through several safe points before Voldemort's Dark Guard had found her. Enough safe points that her magical signature couldn't be traced if they threaded their way backwards. They couldn't find what she'd hidden. They couldn't. In a year of defeats—in the years of progressive defeats—this was finally something to hold on to.

She'd deliberately taunted them, staying just out of reach to encourage them to follow her instead of investigating where she'd come from. And once she was sure the full unit was concentrating on her, she moved through her safe points again, spelled to scrub the trace magic with each apparation. After the last safe point, the only place left to go was back to the base. Still, there was always a possibility that they'd created a newer, stronger spell.

Straining her ears, she listened through the breaking waves and the screeching gulls for the murmur of gruff voices or the crackle of spells. Remembering her mental training, she took silent, deep breaths of the chill September air, and the smell of saltwater refreshed her. The morning crispness made her realize she hadn't cast a warming charm, but she didn't dare at the moment. Not until she was certain.

Slowly, she drew her cardigan closer to her neck. The brisk wind bit at her and she looked down. A hole at the elbow, the frayed threads waving frantically. She waited, legs aching from keeping still, heels sinking into the sand. Waves and gulls, but no voices. Another deep breath and she let herself relax. A touch of her wand and a quick spell and the fluttering threads wove themselves together again. If only everything were so easily mended.

Keeping to the overhang of the cliff, she scanned the shoreline. A gull stared back at her, and a few plump sandpipers hopped in the swirling foam. No sign of anyone, but that didn't mean she was alone. She whistled the distinct call of a nightingale and waited.

A long howl rose above the crashing waves. It almost sounded like it came from the surrounding cliffs, but that was the distortion of sound that happened in this area. She wound her way round the cliffs to a flat rock protruding from the sand.

A lanky black dog sat atop its lichen-covered surface, staring out at the sea. At the sound of her step, it turned and gave a happy yip of recognition.

Lowering its head, its body rippled, the torso thickening and extending, the stifle and hock joints in the back legs reshaping into human knees and ankles. Brown and olive-green fabric unfurled in ribbons from the curls of dark fur, fusing together to form a tattered sherpa jacket and loose-fitting trousers. With a final, dog-like shake, Sirius Black flipped over from his hands and knees, sitting carelessly on the rock with his legs hanging over the edge.

"All clear?" she asked. She hadn't seen or heard any sign of the Dark Guard, but Sirius in dog form could pick up scents on the wind.

"Nothing to report, Captain." He cast his patronus and the silver dog bounded to the surf and slipped beneath the waves. "Could use a cuppa, though."

She tsked. "How long have you been out here this time?"

He shrugged and looked away. "Not that long."

"You know I can ask the others how long—"

"Yeah, all right. Twenty-four hours, but,"—he held up his hands to stop her from interrupting—"Moony took the midnight shift whilst I slept out here. A nice, restful sleep that left me happy and healthy and so on."

She nodded, fighting the urge to say more. The last night he'd spent inside the thick stone walls of the base, he'd woken everyone with screams about dementors. They were all used to it by now, but he seemed more troubled by the embarrassment than the nightmares. The days weren't much better, as he wore a groove into the floor from his pacing. She wanted him happy and healthy and so on inside the base, where he wasn't at constant risk. But they did need a lookout, and he was always the first to volunteer. Perhaps he needed to feel useful as much as he needed the open horizon stretching out before him.

He watched her as if expecting an attack, and when she said nothing, his shoulders loosened. "Care to join me?" After a wave of his wand, the sand below the rock parted and a full tea tray appeared, hovering at table-height. Both of the chipped cups were mercifully charmed to repel stains and other grime, considering how much time they spent outdoors. The teapot wobbled as steam escaped the spout.

"Thanks." Hermione poured for the both of them, scalding her tongue with the first sip and not caring. She'd been running for hours.

"Anything for our captain."

She eyed him over her cup. "You had to give me that nickname, did you? I should make you walk the plank."

"What? It suits you." Sirius smiled, but there was a sadness to it. "Far better than me."

She couldn't stop herself from saying it again. "That battle wasn't your fault—"

"It wasn't? Funny. Tell that to Fred and George."

Her tea sloshed over the rim. "We all miss Fred and George, but that doesn't mean—"

"That I didn't tell them to jump into battle when we could've retreated and regrouped? That I didn't lead Death Eaters straight to us when we made camp in that mine?"

"The mine was dark and cramped and horrid. We all had nightmares that night."

"But yours didn't cause the silencing charms to break." He shook his head. "Unintentional magic at my age. Pathetic."

"Stop it." She tossed her cup on the sand and leaned on the rock next to him, gripping his arm. "Every leader loses people." She thought of Moody and Flitwick, the green light of avada kedavra enveloping them. "I've lost people. What you're doing isn't helping, so just stop it." He still looked stormy, so she gave his hand a gentle pat. "That's an order from your captain."

He let out a long breath and nodded. "Aye, aye."

She knew he wasn't through internally berating himself, but she didn't know what else to do. These were the things you didn't find in books. With no one else to give her advice, she had to figure it out on her own. And she sensed that talking about it more would only aggravate things. She made herself another cup of tea and they stood together, sharing the rest of the pot in silence.

A silvery figure splashed to the surface and paddled frantically to shore. Another dog, but this one was smaller, its ears flopping in the wind and its pointer tail cutting a line through the water. Ron's patronus.

Sirius watched its progress. "He was out here at dawn, levitating more fish out of the sea. We won't need to ration our protein for a few days."

Hermione relaxed a bit. "It's a shame to move again. But we've been here too long already."

"He asked about you. We thought you'd be back hours ago."

She glanced at the cliffs. The sun was still low in the east, but it was well over the horizon.

"It's five after nine." Sirius tapped his wrist, which sported a black leather watch, gifted to him by James Potter years ago. Tiny stars scattered across the indigo dial, like the night sky. "I always track the time you're gone. I like to know how long I've been worrying about you."

She knew, and she was sorry. But the information she had was dangerous enough that she was unwilling to share the burden. "I was delayed."

Sirius glanced sharply at the surrounding cliffs. "Delayed how? Anyone after us?"

Hermione smiled grimly. "Always. But I waited until the trace magic dissipated. If we were going to get any visitors, they would be here by now." Still, she couldn't help scanning the landscape herself. "Any sign of Crookshanks? We can't move bases until we know the location of the next attack."

The silver Jack Russell terrier pattered up to them, offering several yips before it dissipated. Ron was on his way. Sirius straightened, gesturing for Hermione to join him in a walk along the shore. "No sign of your furry friend." He gave her a mock bow and grinned. "Your other furry friend. But he could be back at the base by now. There was some excitement earlier after Ron and Moony got back from a mission."

"Excitement?"

Sirius shrugged. "I was off patrolling and only got a message. Don't know the details."

She nodded. "They're all right, though?"

He gave her a curious glance. "Still fretting over Ron?"

She tensed. "I worry about all of you, that's all. Ron and I are just mates now."

"Didn't mean to re-open old wounds." He picked up his stride. "Here he is now."

About thirty meters from shore, the rolling waves split apart. A thick-walled bubble the size of a small kiosk emerged, containing a familiar red-headed figure. He was thinner—they all were—but his freckles and his slouch gave the impression of a seventh-year. On the outside, at least.

Once he reached the shore, Ron waved his wand, and the bubble broke with a light pop. He grinned at her. "I've got news."

"I heard there was an unplanned mission. New intel?"

"Maybe. We got one."

"Got one?"

Ron tapped his forearm.

Her blood chilled, but she stayed focused. "You're certain?"

"The skull, the snake. Hard to forget. And this one was bound to be in the inner circle."

"This one? Who—"

Ron grinned again. "Oh, you'll want to see for yourself."

Her impatience rose. He was always like this, teasing her when she was trying to get information, or run a meeting, or do anything as a leader. "Ron—"

"We used those handcuffs you charmed. They work like a… well, you know."

"Won't you just—"

"Can't cast a single spell. Assuming he could even manage that, wandless."

"Ron, this is no time for surprises. There's a war going on. I need to—"

Like a cloud covering the sun, his face changed completely. "You think I don't know that?" His voice was hoarse, barely audible over the waves. His gaze shifted to Sirius, misery in his eyes. Sirius stared back with a nearly identical expression. Sirius's canine tendencies made him a pack animal, and Fred and George had the high spirits Sirius missed from his old Marauders days. He'd felt their loss deeply. But not as deeply as Ron.

She shook her head. Why couldn't she ever find the right words? "I know you do. I…" But her voice grew hoarse as well until her throat closed up, and they both stared past each other in silence.

Sirius laid a hand on each of their shoulders. It was a reassuring presence.

Ron looked down at the beach and took a breath. "Just a bit on edge. I kept thinking of Fred and George, how they'd jump at the chance to go on another mission, and another. You were gone all night, and I don't understand why you can't…" He firmed his jaw, holding back the words, but she knew what they were. Be here. Why can't you be here? It was the question he asked her when they were still together, and the question she asked herself now that they weren't. Why couldn't she be here, for him, for Sirius, for all of those who were grieving and worried and looking to her for guidance, for a plan, for some assurance that they would get through this?

But that was the reason she couldn't be here. She had to be there, out there, securing bases and finding weapons and laying the groundwork so that she didn't lose any more of her people, so that they could one day fight the enemy and win. "I'm sorry, Ron." And part of her was sorry, but not the part of her that made decisions for the resistance. She couldn't afford to be that sorry.

When he looked up at her again, his eyes held that old hopefulness. We'll get through this. You and me. It'll be just like old times.

She didn't say that things wouldn't be the same again, and that some things couldn't be fixed. He knew that. He just didn't want to know it. "It's fine," she assured him.

Ron reached for her hand, but she sidestepped him. It was partly her fault. It was easy to fall into old habits, even when they both knew that it would just fall apart again. Better to not send mixed signals, even if the temptation for comfort was strong. She glanced back at Sirius and kept her voice light. "Coming?"

Sirius shook his head, stepping back and heading to his lookout spot. She blinked, and the black dog was sitting by the shore, gazing at the horizon.

At the edge of the water, Hermione cast her wand in a wide arc. Another air-filled bubble encircled them, muffling the waves until there was only the sound of their breathing. The bubble only held breathable air for a short time, but it would be enough. She sent it floating onto the sea, keeping the impromptu vessel steady on the waves. Ron stared stonily ahead, his arms crossed.

"You're right," she offered in a conciliatory voice. "I'll see the prisoner soon enough. If you want to keep it a surprise… I suppose that's a bit of fun."

Ron, looking out at the swirling waters, spared her a brief glance. "It's Malfoy."

Very mature, Ronald, she was tempted to say.

When she started to ask more, he turned away. There was nothing she could do about the awkward silence, so she focused on directing the bubble under the surface. The water rose, lapping the sides.

They caught Lucius Malfoy? She felt a stirring of excitement. This could be a true win for the resistance. There were many units of the Dark Guard, but there were only a few who bore the Dark Mark of one of Voldemort's inner circle. The information he had could turn the tide.

A school of red mullet darted away as the bubble traveled down. The color of the water changed from aquamarine to deep blue to nearly black. She cast lumos, and the surrounding water glowed, revealing an undersea tunnel. Shifting her stance to steady herself, she navigated the tunnel, the bubble rocking as the passage turned upwards.

They broke the surface in a cave pool and drifted to the sandy edge. Ron broke the spell for the bubble, and the cool air and the smell of sea salt surrounded them.

The rough-hewn cave had been opened and leveled by magic. The base had a large main cavern, enclosed by a curved roof thirty feet overhead and smaller passages leading to living and storage spaces. Glowing honey-colored stalactites hung high above them. They cast a warm light on the rough wooden crates of supplies being prepped for removal. A few of the stalagmites jutting upwards had also been spelled for illumination, but most were used to hold the discarded coats and scarves of other resistance members.

The base was one of Hermione's favorites. At least, it used to be, when it was bustling with witches and wizards, everyone full of energy and determination to defeat the enemy. The whole cavern seemed to radiate warmth as people gathered in clusters, making plans or breaking into laughter.

That was years ago. These days, the cavern felt too big—a large, damp chamber that echoed the scuff of her steps. So many killed or lost to prison camps. Their group was now too small to raid Camp Arswyd or Camp Dreygar to break out their comrades, to say nothing of the restored Azkaban. And even if they could, they didn't have enough food for an influx of prisoners. The cavern seemed to emphasize all of it, the empty space overwhelming the few rebels and crates of goods.

"He's in the cell with the stone door," Ron said. "He hasn't been able to make it budge. You designed it perfectly."

"It's based on a design from a wizard in this area, Romuald Fincherly," Hermione said. "The tunnels built for the telegraph machines during World War II intrigued him, and he thought they might serve an additional purpose if the Nazis ever overtook the country. He came up with impenetrable doors and secret exits." She glanced at him and shrugged. "A literal underground resistance."

Remus Lupin joined them as they reached the stone door. He gave a nod to Hermione. "I've been watching from the two-way mirror. Brilliant muggle invention, that."

"Two-way," Ron repeated. "I mean, you can only see one way—into the room. Shouldn't it be called a one-way mirror?"

"He's cuffed?" Hermione asked. "No magic?"

Remus nodded. "We'll be right behind you."

Hermione steeled her face and walked in. She wouldn't let them see how it affected her. The Death Eaters had killed people right in front of her and tried to kill her. But when she saw the man on the other side, she felt her mouth droop. "Oh."

Draco Malfoy paced the length of the cell, twisting his arms, trying to wriggle out of what looked like ordinary muggle handcuffs. He wore wizard robes that cost more than all the meals she'd eaten that year. Although these robes were as rumpled as he was.

Ron looked like someone dumped coffee on him. "It's a good catch, isn't it?"

Malfoy rushed for the door, trying to barrel his way through. Remus and Ron formed a wall and shoved him back into the room. He sputtered until his gaze fell on her. "Granger?"

She shouldn't have expected them to pick up one of Voldemort's inner circle. She'd told them not to even try. They'd get killed. Draco Malfoy might not be as dangerous as the rest, but…"You're certain he had the Mark?"

Remus nodded.

"He wasn't in the inner circle the last time I saw him. At least, he never mentioned it. And he definitely would've mentioned it." But that was years ago. They'd all had enough time to make poor decisions since then. Quite a few of the Slytherins from Hogwarts hadn't been seen in years, and she'd wondered if they'd ended up part of the Dark Guard, or spies. It made sense for Malfoy to be a Death Eater now, with his connections. And that meant he might have valuable information. Plans of attack, of where they were vulnerable.

Malfoy stared at her like she was a blast-ended skrewt. Then he straightened his shoulders and lifted his chin. "Well, this is all right, then." He gestured at Remus. "You can talk to this… This…"

"Professor?" Remus suggested. "Honored academic? Member of the resistance?"

"Now, listen." Malfoy paced across the room, frowning. "There are rules in warfare. Conventions." He pointed accusingly at Remus. "I was in mortal danger."

Hermione didn't need to check a calendar. "It was a waxing gibbous moon last night. You've got days before you're in mortal danger. Besides, Remus is in charge of prisoners."

Malfoy's eyes bulged. "A werewolf with a job? A job where he's in charge of people?"

"Do attempt to see it from my point of view," Remus said. "What if purebloods were banned from working? Wouldn't that seem unreasonable?"

Malfoy barked a laugh. "There are reasons behind anti-werewolf laws. Good reasons."

"What if they banned stuck-up gits from working?" Ron advanced on him. "How would you feel about that?"

Malfoy shied back, gaze darting between the two. "Don't blame me. I don't write the laws. Take it up with the Ministry."

"It's never your fault, is it?" Hermione said. "Always doing as you please, completely blameless of any consequences."

An odd expression went across Malfoy's face as he stared at her, like his breakfast was disagreeing with him. "So, your two most trusted lieutenants are a werewolf and a blood traitor? Must be getting desperate."

"We've got a job to do," Ron said. "The things happening with you lot in charge. More are disappearing every day. Squibs, muggles. People who—"

"People," Malfoy said, as if it were a punchline.

That's right, Malfoy, they're people, no matter what you or your cronies may think. And unlike you… Hermione stopped the diatribe in her head. She wasn't here to win old arguments. They needed more information, something the Phoenix couldn't tell them. They needed something that would turn the tide. And Malfoy was the best luck they'd landed in a long time. "Where'd you find him?" she asked Remus.

"A couple of your muggle contacts spotted him on their rounds. Those two you knew from grammar school? They found him at that abandoned wizard's house near the docks," Remus said. "Coming out of the floo. They knocked him out when he wasn't looking with a well-thrown rock."

Malfoy rubbed the back of his head, avoiding her gaze.

"Kim was always a fair hand at rounders." Getting her muggle friends involved in a wizarding war, no matter how small their role, was terribly dangerous for them. But they'd volunteered when she'd told them what was happening, and they were so short-handed these days. She was breaking all kinds of rules about muggles and magic but couldn't be bothered to care at the moment. She frowned at Malfoy. "What are you doing on the south coast?"

"Heard it was good weather for a swim. Thought I'd give it a go."

"You realize you're in our hands now," Hermione said. "It's best if you cooperate."

"Oh, all right then. Shall I hand over the state secrets now, or do we shake hands first?"

Ron ground his teeth. "It's nothing to joke about."

"This is absurd." Malfoy addressed his remarks to Hermione, as if the other two were a figment of his imagination. "I'm one of Dark Lord's most valued servants. You're mad to hold me here. He'll bring down all his forces on you."

He's already bringing down all his forces on us. "I've seen what the Dark Lord does to servants that displease him." She'd seen the results, at least. It amused Voldemort to post such pictures in the Daily Prophet. "How do you think he'll react to the news that you were captured by muggles? He doesn't seem the type to handle humiliation well."

Malfoy shuffled his feet. "But he doesn't know yet, does he? That I was…" he frowned.

"Captured by muggles. Questioned by a werewolf, a blood traitor, and a muggle-born," Remus said mildly.

"I can't talk like this," Malfoy said. He pointed at Remus. "I don't see why one of them needs to be here. It's like having your pet stare at you whilst you're trying to shag."

Ron scoffed. "As if you know anything about being shagged."

"And you do?" Malfoy glanced at Hermione. "Oh, right. Hypocrisy at its finest. 'Equality.' 'Blood status doesn't matter.' But look who lured a pureblood into her bed." He lowered his voice as he spoke to Ron, as if confiding to a friend. "Sad, desperate purebloods are magnets for status-hungry mudbloods."

"Let's hear you say that again," Ron said, advancing. He kept his fists at his sides, but his knuckles were white. Remus joined him, standing shoulder to shoulder.

Malfoy backed away, his Adam's apple bobbing.

Hermione realized that while it would be nice to watch Malfoy get pushed around by Ron and Remus, it made her appear as if she were in need of having her delicate honor protected, and that wouldn't help her during an interrogation. "It's fine," she said. "Let me talk to him alone."

Remus looked like he was about to argue, but Hermione gave a slight shake of her head. "All right," he said. "I'll check on supplies."

Ron gave her a look. "I'll go over the Keyes report."

Code for I'll be on the other side of the mirror. Hermione nodded.

When they were gone, she turned to Malfoy. "All right. Why were you at the docks?"

Malfoy shrugged. "I visited the seaside. Wizards do that all the time."

"Wizards like you? They certainly do. When they're on a mission for their master."

"No mission. It's…" Malfoy swallowed. "My mother's birthday. I was getting her a present."

"At the docks."

"Well… she's thinking of getting a boat."

How did someone so terrible at lying ever get so far in Death Eater circles? "You must be part of a lot of meetings with the Dark Lord."

Malfoy went white. "Well… yes. I… see… the Dark Lord. I'm very important." He nodded, a combination of bravado and utter terror on his face. Hermione almost felt sorry for him. But he'd chosen to be there. He'd wanted to be there.

"What has he said about the resistance? What are his plans? His next attack?"

Malfoy's jaw clenched tightly.

Well, it was worth a shot. Malfoy seemed like the type who would break under the slightest pressure, but fear of Voldemort's wrath kept many of his supporters quiet. Fortunately, they had the Phoenix to rely on for tactical information.

Still, Malfoy might be useful. She tried another tack. Softening her eyes and tilting her head, she said, "I imagine you've had a rough morning. Why don't we take a break?" She waved her wand, murmuring a spell that took a few supplies from their kitchen. A cup of tea appeared alongside a crumbled scone that had long gone stale.

He poked at it. "You expect me to eat this? Is this punishment for not talking?"

"Things are hard all over." She gave a dismissive sniff. "Although I don't suppose you've any idea what it's like to do without."

As expected, Draco bristled. Peacock that he was, he had to be admired for everything, even his deprivations. "You think I haven't sacrificed? We had to do without truffle-stuffed quail eggs for nearly a year. Something to do with food shipments."

Now this was something. The food supplies for the enemy had been going strong, whilst they'd had to scrounge. If even some of those food shipments could be re-routed, they'd have enough for an influx of freed prisoners.

She nodded sympathetically. "Your father must've sent some strongly worded letters over that."

Malfoy warmed to the subject. "You've no idea. Apparently, there's an entire office that deals with food shipments from muggle areas. And somehow their muggle contacts got the idea that we're"–he raised his cuffed hands for finger quotes—"anti-muggle." He shook his head. "It's been a nightmare."

"Perhaps we can help each other out," Hermione offered. "I know my way around muggles. I could talk to these contacts."

He snorted in disbelief. "And what? I give you everything I know?" He fiddled agitatedly with the cuffs. "Doesn't matter, anyway. I'll never eat quail again." He darted a glance at Hermione and straightened. "Because you're not going to let me go, are you? I'll be stuck with stale scones the rest of my life."

"Perhaps not even that," she said dryly. This was their last batch of scones until they procured more butter and eggs, or at least money to buy enough butter and eggs for the camp. "But no, that's not the plan. We're not in the business of running prison camps." She sharpened her gaze at him. "Unlike some. If you play nicely, we can obliviate you and dump you in the countryside. You'll have no memory of the last few days." It wasn't the complete story, but she wasn't going to get into all their techniques for prisoners of war. "If you don't play nice, the obliviate will be much stronger. You'll be lucky to remember your own name. But either way, one of your relatives will no doubt find you. You'll be back to dining on quail in no time."

He grew still. "You're sending me back?"

She frowned. Why had Malfoy been at the docks in Cornwall, just a stone's throw away from the border? "Don't you want to go home?"

"Of course. What's better than home? But dumping me anywhere. And taking my memories." He tapped his fingers together in a staccato. "Death Eaters who get taken prisoner… That is, the Dark Lord will want to question me."

"Yes, Malfoy," she said patiently. "That's why we obliviate."

"Listen." He wet his lips. "Perhaps we could skip the obliviate, and you could drop me at some predetermined location. I'm sure there's some agreement we could come to. Some other way–"

He stumbled back, as if struck by a thunderbolt. "Potter," he murmured, frowning. Then looking up, his face bright. "Potter!" he shouted.

Hermione's veins turned to ice. "What about him?"

"Harry Potter," Malfoy said. "You know, the savior of the Wizarding World and all that. Our side captured him years ago."

"I know." She wasn't going to give an inch. Not one expression. She wouldn't give him the satisfaction. "It's not as though I've forgotten him."

"No," Malfoy said, and frowned. "Why would anyone forget him? That… doesn't make sense." He fell silent, studying the floor as if some great puzzle were inscribed on it.

It does make sense, though. She closed her eyes, wishing the thought away. It made sense to forget Harry when every thought of him still squeezed her throat, still caused her to lose the thread of what she was saying. When the reasonable thing would be to focus her energy on the living and mourn him when she had the luxury for such things. She tried her best to do that. But her memory of Harry was like a bright light that wouldn't be put out.

She knew she wasn't the only one who couldn't let him go. After information on Harry's whereabouts had dried up, they'd gotten in terrible rows about what to do next. Ron would start in on how he must still be a prisoner somewhere, that they should check the camps, break into the Ministry again, despite the fact that they no longer had the resources for such raids. And Sirius had some wild idea that Harry escaped long ago, and was out there somewhere, running his own resistance. They only needed to find him and the war would be won.

It broke her heart to listen to them. She'd stopped arguing with their theories and let them believe what they wanted to believe. Harry's bravery and steadfast friendship had kept them all alive. It only made sense that they wanted to keep Harry alive, even if it was only in their heads.

But this wasn't the time to dwell on it. "Your contacts who work with food shipments?" she prompted.

"Wait, I know about Potter, I mean… I saw him. Surely that's worth more than some low-level officials."

Another theory about what happened to Harry. She couldn't bring herself to listen to it, but she hated when she had to say it. Those leaden words. "Harry's dead. No one's seen him in years."

"I have," Malfoy insisted. "Not long ago. Just… six weeks. I think."

"Is this some attempt to play on my heartstrings? You think I'll get tearful over your false hope and let you go? I want actual information, Malfoy. Something we can use."

"No, I saw him. I'm sure of it. He—" His face contorted briefly. "It was in the throne room."

She kept her face hard. "Tortured?"

He blanched. "Well… questioned. I mean, prisoners are questioned."

Hermione felt a faint spark. Was it possible? "Who questioned him? Who was there?"

"Aunt Bella. And my father. The Dark Lord. And Nott…"

She closed her eyes. Why did she do it to herself? Why did she get her hopes up every time? "Nott was killed at the battle of Foreman's Square. Six months ago. You're lying."

"No! Maybe Nott… Maybe I was wrong about him." He pressed a hand to the side of his head. "It's all muddled. Whenever I try to think of Potter, it gets… Nott, right, he was killed. Maybe it was Snape. Yes, I'm sure it was him—"

"Our sources tell us that Snape was on a mission up north six weeks ago." She shook her head, trying to dispel her growing anger. Malfoy was only trying to save his skin, to avoid whatever punishments Voldemort doled out to those who gave the resistance information. In his mind, it was better to tell a fanciful tale of a long-lost friend than something that would help them in the here and now.

But there was something strange about what Malfoy said. Did he truly not remember Nott being killed? They were both in the inner circle, and Voldemort wouldn't have let such a defeat go unpunished. And Snape? His absence six weeks ago would've been noticed.

"I'm not privy to every little thing each Death Eater gets up to, but I know the essentials, all right?" He waved his confined arms awkwardly. "I've a general idea of where they are. And battle plans. I've definitely heard some things there." He nodded his head vigorously.

She nodded slowly. "Battle plans would be crucial to our efforts." After studying him for a moment, she gave him a false smile. "Those cuffs look like they're uncomfortable. Why don't you let me loosen them?"

"Oh, now that I have information, you're worried about my comfort?" Malfoy wrestled with the cuffs, looking like he was practicing a bizarre dance move.

"Just trying to make things easier for you. Here, hold out your hands." She gestured with her wand.

With a look of relief, Malfoy held out his hands, palms up.

She didn't waste a second. "Petrificus!" As Malfoy froze in place and began to teeter, she cast a sticking charm to root his feet to the floor. He swayed slightly back and forth, reminding her of a wobbly penguin toy she'd had as a child. His upturned palms were still held out, side by side. She approached him and rolled up his sleeve as he made muffled screaming noises.

There was the Dark Mark, its snake writhing within the skull, just like all the other Dark Marks she'd seen over the course of the war. Memories of battles flooded her. Screaming and the burn of ash in her nostrils. She took a deep breath, tried to calm the pounding of her heart, and forced herself to study it. A murmured detection spell and a sharp tap on his wrist, and the Mark shivered, the snake and skull wobbling against the skin.

Frowning, she probed at the Mark, and then, with a sinking feeling, she whispered, "finite incantatum." The mark bled like wet ink, the glamour slipping away, to reveal another Dark Mark underneath - one that had been slashed through. The mark of someone banished from the inner circle.

She looked into Malfoy's pleading eyes. But all she felt was bitter disappointment. He wasn't in the inner circle anymore. If he hadn't known Nott had died - that meant he'd been shut out for at least six months. Any information he had was hopelessly out of date. He probably knew less than the resistance did.

He was still making strangled noises, some of them sounding like words that were decidedly unsavory. She stared him down until he quieted, skin flushing as he was forced to stare back. Good. He deserved to be uncomfortable. All this time wasted on someone who had never been useful for anything more than stuffing his face with quail eggs. It was far past time to obliviate him and move on. She unfroze him and unstuck him, and he collapsed into a chair.

He shook down his sleeve and leaned forwards. "Listen, Granger. It's not what you think. A misunderstanding, that's all. I need a little time to sort it out, and then…"

He kept on like that, going on about his importance to people in high places. How he was actually quite secure within the inner circle. Half-truths and lies. She tried not to think about how he'd soon be wandering the countryside, in an obliviate-based stupor. What the enemy would do to an exile once they had him.

The resistance couldn't afford another mouth, especially one as worthless as Malfoy's. She held out her hand to stop his wheedling. "If you don't have information to share, then our business is at an end. I'm sorry, Malfoy, but—"

"Money," he said, seizing on the word. "I have money."

Hermione paused. "I'm listening."