Four months pass and Hermione misses Ron.

She misses Ron and Harry and hates them at the same time for leaving her behind.

She feels odd not having long hair, even if it did get in the way of everything. She wishes she could just see her friends alive and well and happily growing into their late teens. She can't fully grasp how much she misses having parents.

She also does not know where Malfoy is, or whether he is even alive.

Everything irks her, and she is just so goddamn tired.

They train almost every day. There's been nothing to do for many of them since the need to run quick missions dried up. The war has hit a lull in its three years of running, and both sides are backing up to recuperate. The Order is trying to expand its garrison up North and has deployed Harry and Ron to spearhead it.

Hermione gets to stay behind with Luna and Neville to handle a safe house in Scotland. It isn't much, and the days are long and mostly boring, but she doesn't envy the boys. Just misses them. And worries for them.

Neville is firing a volley of Stuns at her, ducking past the hex she'd aimed at him. Hermione pulls away from her dreary thoughts to conjure a shield. It deflects most of the spells but lets a few slip. One catches her on the shoulder and she spins with the force, grunting in annoyance as she falls to the ground in mild paralysis.

"Sorry!" Neville calls, sweet as always.

"Oh bollocks," Hermione snarks, the spell having not hit hard enough to render her unconscious. "Sure you are."

Luna chortles from where she sits on the backdoor porch, sewing their worn out casual clothes. Somewhere inside, Parvati is getting supper ready and Angela is resetting the wards.

It is an awfully boring day and Hermione can't help but wonder whether Malfoy has survived.

On one night during a particularly dreadful thunderstorm, she realizes that she'd forgotten to ask Malfoy why he had been locked up in his own family's dungeons. Nothing she knows about him so far pieces well together and it irks her so much that she stays up all night, listening to the rain as it hammers against the roof above her splinters the night sky and illuminates her room, lighting up the scowl on her face as she angrily tries to puzzle out Draco Malfoy.

When she sees Malfoy next, she has just killed his father.

They had finally allowed Hermione into the upper ranks and her team was now fighting alongside Harry and Ron's. Kingsley had let them raid the Carrow household the week earlier, and now they were storming the Lestrange family manor. She and the others had just clashed with the guards posted inside the manor when Malfoy Sr had slunk into the fight; disarming her friends and hitting Luna with a strong Cruciatus. Neville had screamed and charged and nearly lost his arm for it, but Hermione had been there.

She'd been fast. She'd knocked Nev out of his trajectory with her own body and fired four Killing curses into Malfoy Senior's chest.

She stands over him now, the room clear of her friends but filled with the slowly cooling corpses of five other Death Eaters and one innocent House Elf. Lucius Malfoy is judgemental and eerie even in death; his platinum hair spread out around his head like a confused halo. But his eyes are sunken and his face is gaunt. He is but a shell of the powerful and intimidating man he once was.

When she looks up, Malfoy is there.

Draco Malfoy. Malfoy Junior.

He looks dispassionate and cold but she doesn't want to assume as much. His eyes are hard and his face is twisted into a subtle scowl, yet his fists are clenched and he trembles lightly. He looks angry mostly, but also confused, bitter and a little bit upset.

She wants to apologize but she doesn't and when he looks up at her blankly, she wishes she'd left before this had the unlikely chance to happen.

He's a bit thinner than he had been, and his hair is shaggier, falling across his forehead in a mess. His jaw is sharp and there's a strange silvery lattice of scars covering his forearms. He's ditched the dramatic double breasted cloak for a more dramatic, heavy black one. It contrasts harshly against his near pearlescent skin.

He looks like Death. Like the Reaper come to harvest Lucius Malfoy's dirty soul.

The thought is too morbid so Hermione shakes herself out of it. She knows she must look a right terror to him, with her hair shorn at mid-neck, curls in a riot. The new scar across her collarbone is more a healing wound than a dried scab so it is still visible to everyone with at least one eye. Its ugly and she hates it, but the man who gave it to her is dead so she wears it anyway.

Malfoy looks at her for a long time. And then nods. Slowly.

She takes a painful breath and struggles to find something to say.

Sorry I killed your dad? Sorry you had to see it? Sorry you didn't get to do it yourself? Sorry, but I'm really, really, really not?

He saves her from impending doom by breaking the harsh silence with a quick exhalation of air.

"That's thirty points in total, Granger," he says, his gravelly voice undermining the lightness he's trying to aim for. "I guess I gotta catch up."

Hermione hums in awkward agreement, wondering how she's going to exit the conversation kindly when she suddenly pauses mid-thought.

"Wait," she says, and Malfoy raises a careful, judgemental brow in the age-old way he always has. "Your dad was twenty points? Only?"

He looks startled at hearing her say so much. Then, he chuckles dryly; closing his eyes and rubbing at them before laughing a little louder, and then shaking his head.

"You're right," he acquiesces, meeting her eye with renowned energy. "He should be worth at least fifty considering the torture and his overall gloomy and awful demeanor."

Hermione nods at that. "Damn straight."

"You're a lot more palatable when you're not invisible," Malfoy says, frowning in her direction like he's trying to puzzle something out.

Hermione shifts her weight to her other foot. "Well, you're a million times more bearable when you're not dying miserably in your own dungeon."

Malfoy laughs again; a short bark that's sharp and loud.

"It's good to see that the horrors of war haven't rendered you entirely incapable of humor," he says charitably, echoing her words.

Hermione fights the urge to take delight in the familiar verbal sparring and instead tries to reply neutrally.

"Well, you could have just said I was funny."

Malfoy smirks. "Don't overdo it, Granger."

He ignores her indignant huff and taps a long slender finger against his nose before slowly pointing it at her face.

"See you on the flipside, battle angel Granger," he says, before giving his father's body one last, brisk glance and disApparating to god-knows-where.

Such drama for a measly ferret, Hermione thinks, rolling her eyes. She didn't even get to ask why he was here, or why he'd chosen to turn up at all. She kicks the ground near Lucius' head and steps over his body- determined to leave the room with haste.

"See you on the flipside," she mutters to herself. "Malfoy, you dramatic shit."

Hermione finds herself stumbling through the unknown depths of the forest, more than a little lost and very much unwilling to admit to it. Her wand is slippery with sweat from her clammy palm, and she struggles to keep her grip on it.

The sounds of wand-fire have long since faded out and she nearly trembles from anxiety at the silence around her. She is far away from the fight- separated from her friends and seemingly even her foes.

She is lost. She is alone. No one will bother to look for her.

She finds herself hoping that someone will miraculously appear.

That Malfoy will miraculously appear.

He does not, and she spends an entire day miserably attempting to escape without splinching herself. But she is weak and tired and every time she tries to set up a ward to hide behind or to conjure something simple, her anxiety gets the best of her and the action just drains her energy. When Tonks and Ron finally find her, she is dehydrated and delirious from the heat and has to be knocked out to be taken home safely.

When Hermione turns twenty-one, they are still at war. There is very little land in England that is untouched by the scars they all leave behind after battles and raids and attacks and counters- yet there is more to fight for than ever before.

Harry and Ginny have a child. A child.

A sweet, beautiful baby boy called James who was born into a war that is seemingly endless. He is so beautiful and innocent and Hermione does not want to see that innocence fade, ever. It gives her hope and that's the only good thing that has come out of this, because the Potters have more to lose now.

Some days she thinks that maybe she should look to have more to lose too. She thinks that maybe investing in herself a little would give her something to fight for, to hold on to.

She looks to Ron in those moments and tries so very hard to feel it. Not love- she knows that that's there. She does love him. But she cannot do anything about it. Her mind will not let her act on it, dwell on it, show it explicitly or even sometimes it won't let her feel it.

She tries to feel the need to have something more. Tries to feel the want for a better future, but although she knows thats what she's fighting for, she cannot let herself have it now.

So she watches as Ron takes delight in Sadie's smile, leans into Lavender's touch or leaves Padma's room in the mornings when they rest in the safehouses.

Those are the majority of her days. She finds that she does not care about what happens to her personal future apart from the fact that she remains alive along with her friends. She trains consistently and continues to get better at ward-breaking. She even joins Lupin at making new curses and spells. But the work is hard and dangerous, so she settles with watching and learning from her former professor as she tackles the task at hand. On the days when Snape checks in with Kingsley, she tries to weasel into his potions room to learn whatever she can from whatever he is doing. Practical healing has never been her strong suit, but she is determined to be the best asset the Order has. And if that means she has to deal with Snape's abominable attitude and the stench of boiling potions all in one claustrophobic room in the attic, then so be it.

He scowls at her often and mutters about how he'd rather be left alone when he visits, but still lets her sit on a stool in the corner of his workroom and take notes.

Today she sits and scribbles at her stool as he gathers the ingredients for a strong burn salve and a set of glass jars for the numbing potions he'd brewed the last time.

Severus is as sharp as ever- looking as if the war hasn't aged him in the least. His hair still hangs greasily at the same length it always has, and he hides all emotion behind his customary scowl. The hard judgment in his eyes keeps everyone at bay.

Hermione squirms as the herbs he cuts up neatly start to stink up the room. It's a pungent smell and she squelches the urge to gag noisily. Snape would not appreciate that.

"Finished your notes, Miss Granger?" Snape asks warily.

Hermione starts, surprised at hearing him speak directly to her instead of mumbling snidely.

She has stopped writing, she notices. Shaking her head abashedly, she quickly notes down what she hopes he did to the ingredients.

"It wouldn't do to only know how to brew a burn salve halfway," Snape continues, smugly.

"No, it would not," Hermione sighs. "Was that five milligrams of the sunspear?"

"Do you want to heal the burn or start one?" he asks dryly, tone as sharp as the knife he holds.

Hermione huffs, strangely reminded of someone else. "You sound like Malfoy."

The effect her words have on Snape will forever remain etched in her memory. His head shoots up in alarm and he drops all the roots he's holding into the cauldron, much to Hermione's his dismay. His eyes pierce into her very soul and she feels him reach out with a wordless Legilimens.

She steels herself against his mental attack and frowns at the man's responding scowl.

"My godson is dead," he says tightly, looking away and at the ruined potion. "It would do you best not to mention him in ill will."

Hermione gulps, her chest tight and her grip deadly on her pencil. She hasn't been expecting that.

"I... I'm sorry," she mumbles, unsure why she feels so hollow so suddenly. "I didn't know, or else I would not have brought it up."

It is quite a surprise. She feels sort of let down instead of sad. A mild disappointment so to say.

Snape seems to be more enraged at this.

"You do not expect me to accept your false wishes," he says snidely. "Save your breath, Miss Granger."

"I am genuinely sorry," she snaps, narrowing her eyes.

But Snape does not heed her.

"I suggest you take the Wolfsbane for Remus and leave," he mutters harshly.

He turns so that he cuts her view of his work with his body and shields the potions from her. Grunting in annoyance at his reaction, Hermione grabs the potions left on the counter and stomps off in search of Lupin. She focuses on asking him to teach her wandless magic, and tries desperately to ignore the hollowness that is eating at her chest.

Ron is ignoring her, she notices.

He purposefully follows Sadie around and chooses her to partner with for missions. Right now they are positioned in a valley just off Sussex. The air is brittle and cold, the grass wet and sharp, and the sky is dull and lifeless. The environment reflects Hermione's mood as she stalks around her designated spot with Terry beside her to flank while she attacks.

It's not that she doesn't trust Terry Boot to do a good job of protecting her, she just trusts Ron more. And expects him to feel the same way.

Sadie lost a practise battle to Madam Pomfrey once! Madam Pomfrey hasn't used her wand to say a single spell of violence in her entire life leading up to the war. Hermione scowls at the injustice of it all and ignores Ron when he starts to stare at Sadie as if the sun shines out of her tits.

Maybe it does. Maybe she has spectacular tits.

When the Death Eaters pass through, Hermione is almost relieved to ambush them. She attacks them with such fury and eagerness that Terry has trouble keeping up with her pace. She moves through them like a devil in a dervish, hair flying and mouth in constant motion- forming spells as fast as her hand can keep up with the wand-motions.

Although her wand is an extension of her arm, she does not truly rely solely on it anymore. Her free hand fires off simple spells and erects shields without the aid of one, making her a formidable force in the face of the enemy; and she sees the exact moment her targets realise what they are truly up against.

She holds her aim true and strong, even as she ducks spells and pauses to throw off the enemy. She watches the Death Eaters drop to the floor- some wailing and some quiet in death- and feels stronger.

Behind her, Terry is desperately trying to keep her alive. He shields her and covers her unprotected sides by disarming and tackling the enemies that flank and blindside them.

Blood trickles from a wound across her shoulder and it makes her feel alive.

The battle gives her a thrill of adrenaline that doesn't disappear even when Ron kisses Sadie when it ends and they stand winners. She holds on to the thrill, the euphoria, and takes it with her to the next fight. She tells herself that she doesn't need anything except for the war to be over, but despite this she finds herself retreating to bed early and hiding from Ron for the rest of the week.

The thrill in her veins is decidedly not adrenaline this night. In fact, her educated guess is that its anger, to be precise.

Expelliarmus, she thinks calmly, catching the wand that sails at her with ease.

"What the-," he mutters, spinning around in mild concern.

"Granger?" his eyes squint at her in recognition and then widen at her explosive expression.

"Why," she begins in a quiet, lethal voice. "Does everyone think you're dead?"

She nearly snaps his new wand in annoyance, but the sudden sheepish look he throws her way nearly disarms her in return. He drops his eyes to the floor, cheeks colouring as he lifts a hand to rub at the back of his neck.

He's a lot larger than he had been. Broader too, and maybe taller. His hair is trimmed short along the sides while the front falls across his forehead and it is a dark, dark black. It is bold against his marble skin and makes his eyes stand out eerily. He's dressed in dark clothing as well and has been staking out her target for as long as she has been.

Except this time she has surprised him.

"Ah yes," he says awkwardly, a stupid grin on his face. "Let me explain that rumor-,"

"That you started no doubt," Hermione scoffs vehemently, crossing to where he stands in the shadows.

He's chosen a position by the archway with an open and unhindered view of their target's safehouse as opposed to where she has chosen to be- up on a terrace opposite the building with a sniper's view of the area. Now, they both stand in the archway, shielded from sight by a heavy canopy of flowers and several of Malfoy's wards and charms. Greece is beautiful this time of year, and despite the reasons she is here, Hermione is glad she is able to see it in her lifetime.

The squat white buildings stacked over each other, cresting the crystal blue sea, are stunning in their simplicity and make her want to forget that she is here to kill a man.

"Yes, but now you know the truth," Malfoy smirks, still rubbing his neck.

She rolls her eyes and crosses her arms stubbornly. "Your godfather would probably appreciate the knowledge more than I could care for it."

He falls silent and she knows she's struck a nerve. Malfoy looks away then, staring intently at where she has been informed the target would be in a few minutes.

She wonders who has paid Malfoy to be here. Who does he work for? What other power, apart from the Order, even knew of Amycus Carrow, let alone wanted him dead?

She does not ask him.

"The longer hair suits you better, Granger," Malfoy says quietly, eyes still at the doorway of their target's hideout.

"You look awful with black hair," she offers, still angry.

"That's not fair-,"

"Neither is pretending to be dead-,"

"Potter did it!" he interjects.

"-for two whole months," she continues, casting a wordless muffling charm around them. "Harry was gone for at least ten minutes!"

"How sweet," he says. "Did you miss running into me?"

He looks at her then, standing close enough that she will have to tilt her head back to look up at him in return. He looks mildly amused and hides a smile behind a controlled smirk. She scoffs and feels him relent.

"The Dark Lord had to think it was true, Granger. And that meant Severus as well," he begins.

"You had to fool Voldemort and Severus Snape. Two of the most powerful Legilimens to date. I'm sure there was an easier way to do this."

"What's done is done," Malfoy sighs. "And it has succeeded, by some stroke of luck. Now I can work in relatively saner circumstances."

What work? she wants to ask. Why does it seem like you are no longer with Voldemort? Why do you run around being a nuisance? What work?

"How is he? My godfather?"

Hermione snorts. "He's a snarky pain in the arse, as is usual for him."

Malfoy chuckles lightly at that.

"You're not surprised that he's with us?" she asks.

"What if I didn't know about that and now you've just told me?"

"Why else would you ask me how he was? That's also the only way I'd know that Snape was being a bitch about losing his only godson."

"Okay, firstly... ouch. You may cease the poking, I understand it was an arsehole thing to do. Secondly, he's always a bitch about everything so your assumption-,"

"Don't be a prick about this," she snaps, avoiding his eye.

"Fine," he grumbles, crossing his arms. "You're no fun anymore, Granger."

"And you're a fat liar," she snarks. "What great news. Alert Skeeter!"

"Skeeter would have kittens about this entire situation if she was still alive," Malfoy agrees, rubbing at his chin.

"You are deflecting this conversation so hard," Hermione frowns, annoyed.

She has never wanted a conversation to go smoother than she does now. Malfoy seems intent on avoiding it however, and smirks down at her when she notes it.

"Smart witch," he nods, eyes returning to focus on where their target should be in a few moments.

Hermione scowls and turns to face him, tracing his features carefully. The faint, new scar on his cheekbone, the way one of the tips of his ears is perpetually red, the squint of his eyes and the tension in the way he holds himself.

When she turns back, the target has just appeared out through the doorway. Amycus Carrow steps out into the open, eyes shifty, and his clothing reduced to the battered remains of something once expensive. She senses Draco move for his wand, the one she still has, and smirks.

"Forty points to whoever gets the kill," she says quickly before thrusting her arm out with a wordless curse on her lips.

Malfoy doesn't even have the time to blink.

When Severus sees his godson in her memories, he nearly cries.

She, Hermione Granger, nearly sees Severus Snape cry.

She holds her breath when he ceases the legilimens charm and retreats from her mind, and hopes to god that the potioneer doesn't start weeping. She crosses her fingers behind her back and stays still.

But she need not worry for Snape only holds two fingers to his eyes for a really long time, and when he removes them the tears are no longer there.

"Why?" he asks simply.

She supposes he means to ask her why she offered him the memory, or why she catalogued it in the first place. It clearly isn't a natural observation of Malfoy's features- that hadn't been necessary given the situation. She took the time to carefully trace his features- a purposeful action with a clear intent.

"I thought you might appreciate knowing the truth," she says carefully, trying not to offend him.

Severus nods at that. "I greatly admire your effort. Although I cannot understand how you came by this information."

"Well obviously I saw him," she snorts, forgetting herself.

"And you did not think to restrain or detain him?" Snape presses, seemingly disdainful of her choices. "He is a valuable asset with a trove of information we do not yet possess and access to links we have yet to control ourselves."

Hermione scowls at the man, mirroring his usual expression. "He didn't kill me on sight and I returned the favor."

"That is not how wars are won, Miss Granger," Snape seethes, somehow angry at her.

"Well that is how godsons are kept alive for their only remaining loved one to see," she snaps back. "It kept me alive and in return did the same for him. If you are upset then you can wait with me till we see him next and personally attack him for whatever it is that you're taking out on me."

Snape sits back, seemingly having heard what he wanted to. "So there is an acquaintance of sorts here."

Hermione frowns. "A what now?"

"An understanding at the very least."

"I didn't say-,"

"Intriguing," Snape observes, ignoring her. "I must be on my way. Help yourself to the Dreamless Sleep in my cabinet. Merlin knows the Potter kid could use some."

Hermione narrows her eyes at his suggestion that Ginny drug her kid to sleep, but she understands how James' constant crying is beginning to affect everyone's temperament. She ignores him, however, and watches him leave with a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

It's the first time she and Ron are on a mission together in weeks. She feels less awkward than she expected to be and allows the summer sun to seep into her wretchedly pale skin. Ron, on the other hand, is really tense.

"Ran through the files, 'Mione?" he asks restlessly.

"For the fourth time, Ronald, yes," she replies, frowning at him. "Can't you just sit here and enjoy the sun for a while?"

She indicates to the small chair beside hers and raises her eyebrows at him. She's sat out in the balcony of the room they've booked up on the sixth floor of a questionable establishment. Their room faces the heavily warded front entrance of a seedy looking building belonging to one of the cartels that have sprung up in the wake of Voldemort's reign. The cartel is rumored to be shadow-run by Fenrir Greyback- and if that proves true tonight, they will have a shot at their first big break at Voldemort's inner circle.

Ron fidgets behind her and refuses to join her on the balcony. He fusses with his new appearance at the mirror, fumbling with their new robes. The polyjuice potions they've taken have turned them pale and eerie, similar to Bellatrix and her kin.

Ron's hair is black and long and touches his elbows. Hermione gags at the sight and goes back to peering through their balcony. Her own skin is miles away from its usual tan brown and it makes her stomach sink, but she focuses on their mission and takes comfort in the safety of well-laid plans.

When night falls, they wait to see their informant enter the building before crossing the street to follow him in. Hermione feels the wards reach out to scan them and she hopes their informant did what was necessary to grant her access.

They enter with ease.

The joint is gloomy and dark, lit only by a few moody light fixtures and a cage full of pixies. The few wizards that mill about drinking firewhiskey are large and intimidating. Some, however, stand sleek and tall and regal- allowing Hermione to note who the ones with the real power are, and who is just the muscle.

Their informant sits at the table right in the middle of the room, just like they'd discussed with Moody. He's shrouded by cigarette smoke, but when they draw near, Hermione spots dark, closely cropped hair and nearly dies on the spot.

Except it's not black hair, its brown, and the person is not deathly pale, he's a healthy tan and is a head shorter than who she thinks it is.

She and Ron take their seats quietly and Ron indicates for a pint. Their informant smiles at them crookedly and leans forward. His face is too complicating to be identified- most likely the product of a charm.

"When I rise and leave, you'll know that he is here. Do not waste time or we will all die," he says in a low voice.

"What about these guys?" Hermione asks.

"Leave them to me," the man offers, smiling.

"Do you have the potion?" Ron asks, eyes shifting to glance at their potential exits in a way that is ridiculously suspicious. "Can't expect us to go against a werewolf without some luck."

Their informant scoffs. "Do you have my deal? Can't expect a bloke to help without his protection."

Hermione rejects the urge to scowl and places a small coin on the table beside the coaster for Ron's drink. It is a list of the informant's requirements from the Order for his help, signed by Kingsley and transfigured to look like a galleon.

"Right then," he says, grinning as he pockets the coin. "Guess I'll be rolling with you lot after this goes down. Got any hot birds back there?"

Ron growls in annoyance, reaching for the potion their informant passes over to them as he rises to leave. He sidesteps a few other patrons of the bar and slowly morphs as the charm leaves his features as he walks. By the time he reaches out to shake hands with three wizards who'd just walked in, he strongly resembles someone Hermione feels she should know.

She doesn't have time to ponder, however, as the newcomers start to move and her mind kicks into overdrive. Greyback is among them; a brutally large, hulking figure amidst the smaller, leaner wizards that accompany him. The four of Dark Wizards head upstairs and their mission begins.

AUTHOR'S NOTE: Thanks' for reading the first chapter ahah. here's more!