"No." Narcissa Malfoy's voice had a steely edge to it. "That won't do, Miss Granger."

Hermione could only roll her eyes. It was already absurd enough that she stood in front of her wardrobe with Malfoy's mother of all people. Having her tell her what to wear when meeting her friends was not acceptable.

"My friends aren't like you," she argued. "They don't care what I wear. I've been on the run with Harry and Ron for months, the same old dirty clothes on our bodies without change. It really, truly doesn't matter what I'm wearing."

Mrs Malfoy turned her whole body towards her, a strained smile on her lips. "Listen to me, Miss Granger. These people are no longer your friends. You must understand that."

She laughed. "Nothing will ever change my relationship to them. We don't turn that easily on each other."

"Our lord warned me of your naiveté, but I thought you more discerning than that." Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but the older woman cut her off immediately. "No. You will listen to what I have to say. If you then still choose to wear whatever that is–," she gestured vaguely at her jeans and jumper, "then fine, be my guest. But I promised the Dark Lord to prepare you for the visit, so that is what I will do."

With a sigh, Hermione relented. She could understand where Mrs Malfoy was coming from. She was surrounded by Death Eaters, after all. She only ever knew backstabbing, scheming people in her life. Of course, she would never believe that other people, normal people, actually could form friendships that went deeper than that.

"You have been gone for weeks. You show up at their safe house unexpectedly, which will already raise their suspicion. They will wonder how we know where they are. That alone will put them on edge." She spoke slowly as though talking to a child. "Then they will remember the manner of your disappearance. This kiss, which I am told you shared with our lord in full view of most of them."

Hermione shivered. She had hoped that nobody else remembered that kiss. It was one point that she had to give the other witch. Despite her best attempt at explaining what had happened, that kiss would linger in their minds.

"Then," Narcissa Malfoy continued, "they will remember that you are a young witch. A muggleborn witch."

"You really need to talk to people outside your own circles. Nobody cares about blood purity. Seriously." She could not keep the exasperation out of her tone.

"As always, you deliberately misunderstand me. This is not about blood purity. This is about the fact that you are young and have been brought up outside the wizarding world. You do not know the First Wizarding War. You have heard of it, probably studied it extensively, given your thirst for knowledge. Maybe you even listened to stories the older members of the Order of the Phoenix told you." Narcissa's words were cold and aggressive, her patience obviously wearing thin. "But you have not lived it. The older members who don't know you well will question whether you truly understand the horrors our lord allegedly unleashed on the world. Those are the members among the Order that have influence."

"Harry trusts me and everybody will trust in him. Even if they don't trust me, his judgement counts." She couldn't help the bad taste her own words left on her tongue. She hated having to rely on being Harry Potter's best friend. She would rather others saw her for what she was, but she knew that would actually be naïve.

The older witch laughed, a cruel, humourless sound. "Harry Potter is the last person to trust anyone. He is blinded by hatred. Have you already forgotten his single-minded obsession with Draco?"

"And he was right in that, wasn't he?" Hermione shot back. "We were the ones not listening to him, but he was right. It wasn't just blind hatred. He was the only one who actually saw what was happening."

"The point is," Narcissa snapped back, sounding truly angry now, "he had no basis for his claims. It was a childish antipathy that drove him to suspect Draco at every turn. The point is that Harry Potter is easily swayed by his emotions. Do you truly believe his love for you is bigger than his hatred for our lord?"

She stumbled back as though hit. That question hit her harder than she wanted to admit. As much as she hated being only ever seen as Harry Potter's best friend, she knew deep down that even that was not true. Ron was his best friend. More than once did she witness the boys ignore her for the sake of keeping their own friendship. Harry never forgave her for breaking his wand while escaping Godric's Hollow, but when Ron showed up out of nowhere after abandoning them for weeks, he harboured no resentment at all. He welcomed him back with open arms.

The world saw her as nothing more than an accessory to the Chosen One. Could she even call herself that?

She swallowed. Something dark and nasty seemed to scratch at the back of her mind. It made her heart pound and her head swim. This was not a path she should walk down.

"What does any of that have to do with my clothes?" Hermione whispered, suddenly afraid to look Narcissa Malfoy in the eye.

"If they don't trust you and don't respect you, you will be in trouble. As I explained before. Clothes can be a battle armour. Show them that you are an adult witch and they will listen to what you have to say."

"Why do you care whether they'll listen to me? Don't you want the opposite?"

The other woman shook her head. "I couldn't care less, Miss Granger. But I am at our lord's command and he wants this visit to be good for you. So, here I am, providing advice, however ill it is received."

Hermione sank down on her bed. This only brought her back to a question she had ever since Voldemort mentioned the visit the day before. Why would he allow her to go? Of course, she knew that she couldn't run, and he knew that she knew. But even in the one short hour that he allowed her for the visit, she could share any number of secrets with the Order of the Phoenix.

Was he so confident that nothing she had witnessed would be of any help? But even then. What was the purpose? She was sure that there was something he was getting out of this. Just like she did not believe he found and brought back her parents out of the goodness of his heart, she did not doubt for one second that this visit would benefit him.

She rolled her shoulders back. This was not something she could solve right this moment. Despite all her misgivings, Narcissa Malfoy took her time to help her out. The least she could do was pay attention.

"Fine. I don't think my clothes matter either way, but if it makes you feel better when I wear a shiny pureblood outfit, we can do that."

Narcissa gave her a tight-lipped smile. Then she turned back to the wardrobe and inspected her new array of dresses, blouses, pants, and skirts. With a quick swish of her wand, she summoned a collection of matching clothes that made Hermione groan. She could see the vision, but she hated it. Sighing once more, she allowed the other witch to help her change,

Hermione swayed slightly as she tried to recover from the side-along apparition. While she had no problem apparating herself, side-along still made her sick. That she had to cling to the muscular arm of Antonin Dolohov of all people made the whole ordeal worse.

"Here we are, little lion," the huge wizard growled, though he did not let go of her.

She blinked several times, taking in her surroundings. "Are we … are we in Kent?"

"That's right. Some kind of protected land or something. Strictly controlled by the muggles, so nobody ever strays off the assigned paths. Ideal to hide."

Carefully, she slid her arm free from his grip. Every fibre of her body felt nauseous just touching him. She was thankful for the cool breeze. It seemed to wash away the itchiness that Dolohov's closeness caused on her skin. Even her scar that burned ever since he first took her arm slowly settled down to a mild hum.

Around them, barren hills and valleys stretched as far as the eye could see. It was a beautiful, almost untouched natural landscape that she had only seen once in her childhood. Somewhere here, the Order had set up their new headquarters, if Dolohov was to be trusted.

"Come on, little one. We'll have to walk a bit. Wouldn't want to alert anyone to our coming too easily, would we?"

With a huff, she grabbed the shimmering satin of her floor length dress and raised it just enough to not step on the hem. The green dress would not be out of place in the Middle Ages and now having to walk through muddy hills in this expensive cloth made Hermione feel all the more ridiculous.

She could appreciate Narcissa's thinking. It was impressive, clinging to her upper body like a second skin, while cascading down her hips in an impossibly smooth flow. It was both regal and soft, carrying an air of confidence as well as warmth. Combined with the short silver cape that barely covered her breasts and elbows, it made her look more grown-up than she truly felt. But she still was not convinced it was the right choice for meeting her friends.

After about five minutes, Dolohov stopped and looked straight down into a valley. Hermione could see nothing out of the ordinary there, but she knew that any magically protected building would not be visible.

"Now what?"

The tall wizard short her a wolfish grin. "Now you will see the power of properly collected intelligence."

He raised his wand. As he stared straight ahead Hermione could see his lips move in a silent spell. Then, the air glimmered. Like a curtain falling, a wooden building reminding her of the Burrow flickered into existence.

She gasped. "Was that a Fidelius Charm? Are you a Secret Keeper?"

Dolohov barked out a laugh. "We don't have quite that far of a reach. It's a similar spell to protect and hide buildings. A Fidelius Charm is actually super annoying to deal with if more than a handful of people want to regularly use a location, so a more flexible version was created. This one still prevents those in the know to unwillingly divulge the information, but they can share it with whomever they want, and anyone who knows it can in turn share it as well."

"You mean to tell me that someone from the Order shared this secret location with you?"

"It would appear so, would it not?" He sounded entirely too pleased with himself as he said that.

Hermione quickly crossed her arms in front of her chest to prevent him from seeing how her hands trembled. Perhaps this was the reason Voldemort wanted her to go. To show off that nothing, even the ever-secretive Order of the Phoenix, was beyond his reach. When he first introduced the idea of her visiting her friends, it had not even crossed her mind what that would imply.

Voldemort could attack them at any time. That he chose not to do so showed a confidence in his own superiority that made her shiver. Was there truly no hope for them?

Shaking her head, she met Dolohov's predatory gaze. "And now? Are you to accompany me to the doorstep?"

He grinned broadly. "No, my lady. That would probably be too much of a good thing. I will come back in exactly one hour. It is up to you how you wish to spend that hour."

When she looked at him questioningly, he bowed down and whispered into her ear, "If I were you, I would think twice before entering that lion's den."

Without giving her time to answer, he disapparated. Despite the warm spring sun, Hermione shivered as she gazed down at the house. She was sure that the Weasley's would all be there at least. Her second family. She longed to see them. Now that she was here, she realised how utterly alone she had felt the past few weeks.

But Dolohov's words were still on her mind. As was Narcissa Malfoy's warning. If Voldemort let her come here, it could not be a good thing for her. Something was very, very wrong.

Or perhaps it was all just mind games. His followers dropping hints that she shouldn't be happy about seeing her friends. His confidence that she would gain nothing from the visit. Maybe he counted on the fact that at the last second, she got cold feet and decided against going down into that valley.

"They're your friends," she murmured to herself.

There was nothing to fear. Purebloods and Death Eaters would never know the closeness she had with her found family. They would always underestimate how far each and everyone of them was willing to go for her. How far she was willing to go for them.

Holding her head high, she descended down the sloping hill.