Chapter 1
London’s eerie silent night did nothing to mask Hermione’s panting breaths.
With a shuddering heart, Hermione tried her best not to make too much noise. Her breathing wasn’t steady at all, and she felt as if all the oxygen had suddenly disappeared from the world. Glancing at her side, she kept running as fast as she could, skipping over slippery parts of the street that she knew by heart and changing route every now and then. There was no point in trying to convince herself that she was safe.
Right now, she knew she was in danger, and she had to find a good hiding spot to apparate away.
Hermione’s legs felt like giving up, as if she hadn’t trained for months. They felt heavy, every limb of her body slowing down from the exhaustion, despite her will to keep on going. Contrary to them, her head was focused, concentrated on one task only: not being killed.
It was humorous. Three hours ago, she had been sitting on a sofa, spending time with the others and occasionally sharing news about what was happening outside England. Charlie had even thrown a joke that had made everyone laugh and roll around until their stomach hurt.
Now, instead, her stomach hurt, but it was for a totally different reason. She could hear footsteps running after her, one moment chasing her from behind, the next from right beside her. She couldn’t focus on one path only, as her chaser had obviously a good plan of disorienting her, one that was frustratingly working.
She didn’t dare look behind her, because she knew what would happen. Looking behind was a show of vulnerability, as it would slow her down and take away all of her focus. There was no way she was going to lose to someone she hadn’t even seen the face of.
Grunting, Herrmione sped up her escape, searching for another route that could give her an upper hand. Her way of winning was to always have a trick up her sleeve, no matter if it was moral or not. Wondering about right and wrong didn’t matter in the world she lived in.
With one last push, she quickly stepped into a small dark street to her right, one that was so badly illuminated that Hermione had almost missed it if not for her sharp attention to her surroundings. She continued running even as her eyes couldn’t focus on anything due to the lack of light. She kept her attention to any abrupt noise she might hear around her, being sure that it was a matter of time before her chaser would catch up to her.
Her boots splashed water everywhere with her stepping into small puddles. The sounds that produced made her swear internally, knowing already that she was drawing too much attention to herself with all that noise. London’s weather wasn’t one of her favorites, as the streets were always wet and difficult to camouflage. The only good thing about them was their job at covering traces.
Just as she had imagined, footsteps appeared not so far away from her, running after her and matching her speed. Without looking behind her, Hermione retrieved her wand from the pocket of her cloak, clutching it strongly between her hands. Without missing a beat, she pointed it behind her and slightly turned around, angling herself for the hit.
“Stupefy!”
She must have missed it, because the footsteps didn’t slow down or anything. So she did it again. And again. And again.
Hermione didn’t stop, and just as she was about to strike again, her eyes caught sight of a street mirror, right at the end of the dark alley she was running in. It was barely illuminated, but she could make out her minuscule figure running towards her reflection, and an even smaller person, dressed in a black cloak just as hers, running behind her.
She didn’t think twice. Gripping her wand, she pointed it at the mirror, casting the spell towards it. Her magic hit the surface, and just as fast, bounced back, skipping past her head and stunning the person behind her. She heard the footsteps falter, slowing down while hers echoed in the alley. She took her chance and turned around.
Right behind her, a few feet away, stood a dark figure, clutching their head as the spell must have passed it but caught on nonetheless. The person was wearing a hood, but even as he turned towards the light, Hermione didn’t recognize his face.
She aimed her wand at his head, her posture ready for a fight, while he kept swaying and clutching his eyes. Perhaps it was a tactic. Perhaps he was just faking it so that it would lead her to lower her guard. It sounded like a good plan to attack her. That meant that she was supposed to confront him first.
“Who are you?” She asked suspiciously, taking a step ahead.
The guy snickered, lowering his hands from his eyes and turning towards the light. From her spot, she could see that his left eye was fake, the glass sparkling in the dark. Hermione still couldn’t recognize him, and that didn’t sit right with her. There must have been someone who ordered this attack on her.
“Who sent you?”
He hummed. “I’ve been told I shouldn’t lower my guards around you.” The guy said. “Seems like they were right.”
“Answer me.” Hermione studied him, being careful not to make any abrupt moves. “I asked, who sent you.”
“The kitten has claws after all,” he smirked, the shadows from the light defining his face. “Who would’ve believed it when they told me about you, that the brightest witch of our time could know how to be feisty.” He licked his lips, bearing his teeth at her. “I like that.”
Hermione’s rage took over her, her body suddenly regaining more power. The adrenaline hit her, and without further thought, she lunged at him, hitting him with a spell.
The guy only smirked at that, fueling her rage. He moved to the side, dodging every single one of them, and threw his in response. Hermione managed to dodge them every time, but the sight of him, smirking and running around, made her want to hit him even more.
“What do you want?” She grunted between attacks, moving her body sideways to skip his spells.
“Someone is interested in you, isn’t that enough to make you happy?”
She hit him on his chest, knocking the air out of his lungs. “Not really.”
Having an opportunity, she approached him, ready to strike again. The guy looked up, his face lacking any fear as he drew more breaths in. Hermione couldn’t read what his next move would be, but she knew that she should be prepared for anything. Something about him didn’t convince her.
Seemingly to have regained his balance, the guy moved out of her reach, looking her disgustingly up and down. She was ready to wipe that smirk off his face, when, with one look at her, he disappeared in a cloud of black smoke.
Hermione stopped, staring at the spot he had vanished from.
She blinked a few times, looking around for any sight of him. He had disappeared, for whatever reason, and Hermione had not managed to extract those answers out of him. She felt ready for another round just at the memory of his confident answers.
But she couldn’t do anything now. She knew that he was a Death Eater, that much was evident from the dark smoke he vanished with.
All she knew was that her questions were left unanswered. Who sent him, and what did he actually want from her?
She let the thought marinate for a second longer, archiving it for later. Looking around her, Hermione made sure no one else had been following her or saw her, and with a quick check, she disapparated away.
******
Hermione landed in a small park, right beside a big tree that covered the sight. She didn’t know what would happen if a muggle saw her appearing out of nowhere in the middle of a kid’s playground, with a cloak that covered her from head to toe and a wand clutched between her fingers. Most of all, she really didn’t want to see the state of her curls, as she knew that it would take hours to detangle her bird nest of hair. Guess more work for Ginny.
After checking that no one was around, she began walking towards the nearest houses, lights coming from inside the windows. Her feet led her in front of a small gate, which barely reached her waist. She had always wondered about its purpose here, in front of a wall that connected two buildings, but she guessed it was just for the Order members. This way they would probably not get lost trying to find the entrance.
Pronouncing the entering words, the wall began shifting, slowly trembling as it started splitting itself in half. She watched the windows of the building shrink in size, the same as the people and families inside. After a door appeared in front of her, she grabbed the handle and twisted it, stepping inside and finally, for the first time today, letting out a sigh of relief.
The smell of warmth and roasted potatoes engulfed her, and she closed her eyes and let her muscles relax for a second before taking off her cloak. There were multiple lights lit all around the place, contrasting with the darkness her eyes had grown accustomed to after the whole night.
One thing about this place was that it would never be empty. And by never she really meant it. Hermione couldn’t remember a time when she walked around the house, or at night, when she sneaked silently to get herself a cup of milk, when there wasn’t someone keeping her company. Being alone in this place was almost impossible.
It was the same now. She stepped into the main hallway, and as she fixed her wild curls, footsteps appeared out of nowhere above her. The old stairs squeaked from the force of the steps, and even dust began falling from them. She sighed, and without having to wait a moment longer, ginger hair sprouted from the second floor, scanning the place before settling their eyes on Hermione.
“You’re late, don’t you have a watch to help you come home at time?!” Ginny’s voice echoed in the hallway while she slowly descended the steps. They were really endless, the stairs, spiraling in circles, leading to the upper floors.
“I’m here now, am I not?” She met Ginny halfway through the hall, shoving her a little and walking towards the main room of the house.
“One day you’re gonna forget that time even exists.” Ginny sighed, following close to Hermione as they walked to the planned place.
If only it was that easy.
“Has the meeting already started?”
“Probably, I was waiting for you.”
“I’m sorry,” Hermione looked at Ginny, guilt reaching for her all of a sudden. “I promise I’ll try to come home sooner, it’s just-”
“Hermione, it’s okay, I was just joking.” Ginny smiled, her eyes softly sparkling under the lights. “I don’t know what takes so much of your time to keep you this occupied, but as long as you come safe, it’s fine with me.”
Hermione wished she could write down Ginny’s words and carve them in every cell of her brain.
“You know-”
“That you go to find information, yes, I don’t doubt you,” Ginny interrupted her. “But this place is not safe anymore.”
“I know.” Hermione sighed.
******
Hermione sat at the long table beside Ginny, listening to the discussions around her. She was tired, even beyond that, but she couldn’t allow herself to miss an Order meeting. Being used to doing everything by herself, she couldn’t just let them decide everything and not have a word on it.
During the years, people have called her control freak, probably judging by her perfectionist tendencies that she had developed early in her childhood. Harry and Ron had started noticing them in the first year at school, but aside from a few jokes here and there, they understood that side of her. She couldn’t deny the fact that she needed to always do everything perfectly, even going beyond her ways sometimes, but it was for the best. It didn’t let errors in.
Hermione rested her hands on the table, her chipped nails picking at her skin. They were currently meeting in the biggest room in the entire house, one they used whenever something important happened, so that a meeting had to be held.
The table was long, occupying almost the whole room. They were discussing something new, clearly something to do with the battles fought against Death Eaters. She was sitting near the head of the table, which, as always, happened to be occupied by Shacklebolt. He was listening to what the people at the table were discussing, throwing an opinion here and there to keep the conversations going.
Beside him were seated other important members. Lupin and Tonks were talking about something with Arthur and Molly. They were the loudest, for which Hermione winced every time their talking would turn into yelling. Ron and Harry were close to Hermione, stating their points now and then when there would be a moment of silence. Moody was just observing, along with many other members that seemed to be there as a public.
“All I’m describing is the way I see their plan work. You can’t tell me that what they’re doing isn’t just a way of steering us away from the possibility of a new attack.” Lupin said, scoffing at Arthur’s opposite opinion.
“Why would they decide to attack us again in such a short amount of time?” Arthur replied, staring at both Lupin and Shacklebolt. “We fought against them a week and a half ago, and let me tell you, I’m bloody sure we weren’t the only ones that got injured and had to back away. I think they just need to fight someone to stroke their ego.”
Tonks hummed, her nose twitching as she stared up at Lupin. “I think Arthur is right.”
Lupin glanced at her confused, raising an eyebrow in question. He lifted his hands in the air, letting out a laugh of disbelief. “How does that make sense? We all know that they are strong enough to plan another battle again.” He replied, confronting Arthur. “Think - if they attack us unexpectedly and weaken us, that will only prevent us from going against them sooner.”
“Dark Magic definitely works in their favor, we gotta admit it,” said Ron opposite them.
“Yes, but that’s not the only way they win almost every time.” Harry looked at Shacklebolt. “We know that they are probably planning another attack, but don’t know where, when or how. The way I see it, I think Lupin is right and this is all a strategy.”
“How so?” Shacklebolt asked, eyebrows raised in question.
“We fought them a week and half ago, which we can all say was successful since half the Death Eaters looked severely injured and apparated away.”
“Yes, and?” Tonks replied, furrowing her eyebrows.
“As I said, we just fought them, which probably weakened them to a point we don’t know, but still, force is not their only power,” Harry drummed his fingers on the table. “Almost every attack they have done against us was too coordinated and flawless, as if it had been planned before the battle.”
“But we do that too, how is it any different?” Hermione spoke, snapping Harry’s attention to her.
He frowned, as if not liking what he was about to say. “We do, but there are always too many odds against us, and even though we have a strategic plan, it always gets changed during the fight.”
“So, what you’re saying is that someone among them makes sure to plan every move before every single battle?
“I don’t know… It could be a theory.” Harry sighed, exhaustion lining his features. “I don’t believe it to be just a casualty, I think we all saw their coordination at some point while fighting.”
“It makes sense,” Ron voiced beside Harry, staring at everyone as if stating a fact. “At every battle, they apparate and split precisely in the same groups, behaving like marionettes. I’ve always thought it was weird, but bloody hell, now that I think about it, it does sound a lot like a psychotic thing they would do.”
Shacklebolt nodded, rubbing his chin. “Perhaps, Harry, what you said could be true, but we can’t know if it’s real. Our spies among Death Eaters can’t give us all the insides of the organizations, not when this information is probably kept among the highest ranked Death Eaters.”
“Someone close to Voldemort.” Hermione added, understanding what he was stating.
“Indeed, Miss Granger, only the closest Death Eaters to Voldemort could know the strategy.”
“But how do we find it out? There’s no way that any of us could know the Death Eaters’ hierarchy, or even worse, their plans of conquering more territories.” Tonk’s hair color started changing, turning into a hue of blue.
“Just look into a biology book of serpents and you’ll find out how their ranking works.” Ron mumbled from the corner of her vision, only to be elbowed by Harry.
“As of right now, we can’t know the answer, but I’m sure some information will come out sooner or later.” Shacklebolt pushed his chair back and stood up. “What we need to immediately do instead, is take care of the injured and prepare in case another attack follows up the last one. It’s better if we set groups of people in safehouses that hospitalize muggles. They can’t possibly protect themselves, and I’m sure we need a little bit of training, no?”
With that, everyone nodded, some looking at each other reluctantly, while others spoke with the person close to them, mumbling words silently. No one said anything, which put an end to their meeting.
Hermione stood up as well, her chair scraping the pavement and making her wince. As she looked around, she noticed Harry and Ron glancing at her, but even before she could take a step towards them, Shacklebolt’s voice stopped her in her tracks. “Miss Granger,” he raised an eyebrow, nodding in the hallway’s direction. “A word?”
Hermione pulled her jumper closer to herself, glancing and smiling one last time at her two friends before following Shacklebolt. She knew what those glances signified, and she just didn’t have the energy to answer their questions right now. She would do it after a good night of sleep.
Both of them stepped into his office, which actually looked more like a closet, and shut the door behind them.
“What can I help you with?” Hermione asked, sitting on one chair that was facing the armchair beside a dusty bookshelf.
Shacklebolt sat on the armchair.
“How did today go? Anything to report?”
Hermione lifted an eyebrow, trying to find the hidden meaning behind his modest question.
He could’ve meant many things: if she found any new information - which was, in fact, the whole point of her mission. If she had killed anyone - which, if you asked her, was a rather dumb question because that was literally her job. Or more probably, if someone saw her or found out about her identity. Well, about the last one…
“If you’re asking if I found some informations about Voldemort’s deadly Right Hand Man, then I’m not so happy to tell you that I didn’t find anything other than surnames given to him, such as ‘demon’, ‘serpent’, or even, credits to a crazy grandma, ‘phantasma’ which means ghost.”
“And I’m guessing that’s because no one has ever seen him…?” Shacklebolt drawled.
“It seems like it, though I wouldn’t be so sure. If people are scared of him, then he must have made an apparition somewhere to inflict such fear in Wizards.”
“Perhaps putting fear in people in that way could also be a way of reminding citizens of Voldemort’s power.”
“I don’t really know, but I don’t think stories about his close man could be worth the time making up.” Hermione nibbled the inside of her cheek in thought.
“You could be right,” he hummed. “Try to find more about him, the more the better.” A smile followed Hermione’s nod. “Is there something else I need to know?”
“Not really.” Other than the two people dead, one without an eye and another still refusing to answer questions because they couldn’t stop shaking their head at the mention of Voldemort. Oh, and someone she presumed was a Death Eater following her around.
“Very well then, that brings us to the reason why I brought you here.” He rested his elbows on the armchair, folding his hand in his lap. “Since there has been no improvement in our fights against Death Eaters in months, it has brought me to think that we should change tactics.”
She remained silent, waiting for his next words as something close to nerves settled in her stomach. She didn’t like it.
“Even if I’m wounded to say this, we can’t outsmart Death Eaters if we don’t know who we’re competing against.” He sounded sure, as if this plan has been going on for a long time in his head. “More Order members are dying, and our odds of winning are turning smaller each day another safehouse or Order territory gets attacked.”
His words brought up a million possibilities in Hermione's mind, but she still couldn’t pinpoint where this was going exactly? Did anyone other than her know about this?
“So, in order to turn the tables and get the situation in our hands, I need you to do something for me, Miss Granger. For the sake of the Order and for your friends.”
“Why are you being so secretive all of a sudden? Do I have to kill Voldemort?”
The side of his lips tipped up, but other than that, his expression didn’t show anything besides that.
“I wish it was that easy, but no, Miss Granger, I have another mission for you.”
She promised herself that if he didn’t spit out the words in the next five seconds she was gonna extract them from his throat.
One.
Two.
“I want you to infiltrate the Death Eaters’ headquarters and find Voldemort’s Right Hand Man. Once you do that, your mission is to kill him,” he smiled, which came off as anything but promising. “In order for us to solve our biggest problem, the only way to do it is by eradicating the root of it completely from the world.”
Hermione’s mind stopped counting at three.