Chapter Text
Judas:
traitor, betrayer, deceiver, renegade.
｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡
Hermione never truly stopped to consider her predicament, she’d been barreling through life with purpose the last few years, ever since Harry walked into the forbidden forest that fateful day, taking with him the last remnants of her peace and hope. The horror that had crawled up her spine, at the sight of her best friend’s limp body, will haunt her forever. Even now, as she walked through these familiar dry woodlands, the helplessness of that day haunted her.
A owl hooting in the distance, a rustling of leaves here and there was the only sound in the perimeter, whatever prey animal lived here, scurried at the sound of her approach.
Hermione unholstered her wand, from her strategically placed thigh holster. "Lumos Minima,” she muttered quietly, before the tip of her wand emitted a subtle blue light. She aimed the sleek Vinewood to her right, the shadows of the rustling trees unsettled her.
She had been here a thousand times, but never at night. Her vision was limited, which left her reliant on her other senses. Hermione’s imagination ran amuck in situations like these. What if someone had seen her walk past the car park and off the hiking trail? She had taken great care to Disillusion herself. No one saw, she reassured herself. She took a few calming breaths before aiming her wand to the left, where a path was beginning to form. A testament to how often she frequented the area.
A few thin branches caught on her utility cargo pants, and snapped as she continued on her arduous journey. The secluded prairie was untouched, just as she left it a month ago. With a small sign of relief, she clamped her wand in between her teeth, partially illuminating the area, as she walked further in and began collecting the Dittany leaves. Hermione had stumbled upon these woodlands years ago while being chased by the Snatchers. To this day, it remained one of her favorite spots to resupply their stock. Her monthly trip to collect supplies was the only time she got to herself. The only time she could let her guard down, where she could feel like the twenty-five year old that she was. Not the jaded war veteran, on the run, that she'd been forced to become.
Tonight, she didn’t have that much needed reprieve, as she hastily collected what she could. The pale light of her wand reached no more than a few meters in each direction, bathing the rest of the circular meadow in total darkness. Her heart beat steadily in her chest, she remained calm, she had to. Panic had never served her right.
Once her magically extended bag was filled to the brim, she hooked it to her belt at her side, where it swung back and forth, as she began filling the many pockets of her (Muggle) cargo pants. When she was satisfied with her procurement, she reached up for her wand, and massaged her sore jaw muscles. Perhaps, she ought to invest on a headband that could securely hold her wand, she mused.
Hermione extinguished her light and summoned her Protean Charmed Galleon from one of her pockets. The writing around the edge of the coin shifted, and changed to reflect the message she willed into it:
Done collecting. Heading back.
H.
The message faded back to its regular placeholder message as she stuffed the coin back in her pocket. She did not wait for a reply, and began making her way back out of the woods. The car park was desolated of its usual Muggles, due to the late hour, which added to the overall eerie feeling that had been tickling up her spine the moment she arrived.
She paused briefly to look over her shoulder, the street lamps helped ease her nerves a bit as she crossed the paved road towards the visitors’ office. Which was closed at the moment, of course. With a wave of her wand, the glass door unlocked. Hermione glanced over her shoulder one last time, making sure the coast was clear, before heading inside and locking the door as she went.
As she walked further in, towards the public bathrooms, she knew something was wrong. The national park maps were sprawled out on the front desk. When she’d first arrived, the maps had been neatly stacked on the counter.
It could be a herd of trouble making teenagers, breaking in for fun, she thought…or at least hoped.
They couldn’t afford to lose this batch of naturally growing Dittany. Their Gringotts vaults had long been destroyed as they were declared “domestic terrorists”. They were barely able to hold their heads above water nowadays.
Hermione’s grip tightened on her wand as she reached for the bathroom door, slowly pushing it open before she froze.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
A fucking Death Eater?
The last time she’d crossed paths with one was months ago. Hermione found herself caught between a rock and a hard place. She had never been a true strategist, that had always been Ron’s forte.
The cloaked figure hadn’t spotted her yet, which meant that she could slip away unseen, and perhaps after a few months she’d be able to return to harvest the much needed herb. Or, she could face him head on now, stun him and alter his memories. The latter was the safest option, but her magic was weak. She hadn’t had a proper meal in weeks, never mind her sleeping schedule. Plus, there was no way to know how good of a duelist the masked man was. She couldn’t afford getting captured. At this point, it was more than her life at stake if she were to go missing.
Hermione took a tentative step back, allowing the door to close back up, as slow as her trembling hand would allow. If there was a god looking down on her, it was clear that he hated her. The door hinges fucking creaked , and the Death Eater’s head snapped in her direction, impossibly fast. She was met with a pair of icy grey eyes that could see too much. There was something oddly familiar about that gaze, which was unsettling. The silver skull mask glinted under the fluorescent lights. She spun on the spot, wasting no time, and apparated away with a loud pop.
Before her surroundings began to take shape, tears were already falling down her cheeks. She wiped them away furiously as soon as she felt solid ground beneath her feet.
“Oi! Where the bloody hell did you just come from? Mate, she just popped out of thin air, I swear—“
“Funny, that’s impo—“
Hermione aimed her wand at the two Muggles, and casted a Confundus charm that had them walking in the opposite direction, and out of the back alley. She barely managed to catch her breath when the air in front of her began to shift, buzzing with magic, as the Death Eater apparated into the dirty alley silently. He faced away from her. Hermione threw a stunner that he deflected, just in time, as he turned.
He had followed her here, but how?
She was in the heart of muggle London. Not the easiest place to predict. Hermione was unsure why this particular location popped into her head at the last minute, but the Death Eater shouldn’t have been able to follow.
Hermione took the offensive and levitated a large metal rubbish bin and sent it crashing towards him. She didn’t stop to see if it hit and bolted out of the alley way like a crazed woman, passersby gawked at her, but otherwise minded their own business. They probably thought she was on drugs. The thought would have been embarrassing under any other circumstance, she was too preoccupied with her escape to dwell on it. She ran down the pavement, making it into the convenient store she frequented as a child.
There was a brightly colored haired clerk behind the counter and a few customers browsing the isles. With a wave of her wand they all froze and began to scurry out the door—faces blank. Her stomach sank when the gloved hand of the Death Eater caught the door as it closed. His wand was nowhere in sight. With one last glance, to ensure there were no more innocent bystanders, Hermione apparated to the Forest of Dean. Before her body had time to materialize completely she apparated again and again to neutral locations, that no one could easily predict, and finally back to the safe house.
Exhaustion caught up with her instantly, the sharp pain of her head hitting the front steps of the house was the last thing she felt, before everything went black.
｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡
Hermione startled awake, sitting up far too quickly, her stomach disagreed with the sudden movement. She was alone in the cramped bedroom she shared with Ginny. The witch in question, who she was extremely vexed with.
After taking a few sips of water that had been placed on her side table, she staggered out of bed and headed downstairs. Where the rest of their ragtag group mostly congregated. A quick Tempus charm indicated it was half past three in the morning. Mostly everyone was getting some much needed sleep. The pair of redhead siblings, who had been talking quietly amongst themselves, got to their feet the moment she walked in.
“Hermione, you shouldn’t be up. You hit your head pretty hard,” Ginny’s voice wavered at the glare aimed at her.
Hermione’s anger ignited at the sight of the malnourished witch before her. “What did you do?” She asked.
Ron’s weary expression gave way to concern.
The siblings exchanged troubled looks.
“What are you talking about?” Ron stepped forward, his protectiveness over his remaining family member was clearly evident.
“I was followed by one of them today.”
Ginny’s eyes widened in horror. “No, that’s impossible.”
“Oh, apparently it was,” Her tone was harsher than she intended. “I told you, your carelessness would cost us.”
“Alright, that's quite enough,” Ron glared at Hermione. “She didn’t know, and Dean was injured. What would you have her do instead? Let Dean die?”
Hermione’s gaze flickered back and forth between them, their tired expressions were almost identical. The fire that burned within her chest extinguished immediately, her shoulders sagged, and she collapsed on the couch. “We lost the meadow, we can’t go back now. it’s too dangerous.”
The siblings were relieved to see the fight drain from Hermione. Ron’s expression softened. “What happened?” he asked.
“Everything seemed fine, there was nothing out of the ordinary. But when I made my way back to the visitors building, to begin apparating my way back through the safe houses, as usual. I found one of them in the bathroom. He was looking for someone. I thought I could get away in time, but he followed me,” Hermione closed her eyes.
“Did he Side-Along?”
“He wasn’t touching me when I apparated, Ron. I don’t know how he did it,” Hermione hadn’t been part of their latest supply run. She stayed behind and that had cost them. “I'm sorry, I should’ve been there. If-if I had been there, maybe Dean wouldn’t have gotten hurt.” She opened her eyes and glanced at Ginny, who’d been hugging herself tightly. A habit she’d picked up recently, self soothing, unknowingly. “I’m sorry Gin,” Hermione choked out. The telltale sharp sting of tears caused her to cover her face in shame.
“It’s alright, Hermione, I shouldn’t have apparated directly to the meadow in the first place. But I know for a fact, that no one Side-Alonged from that battle... Although, there was a single Death Eater that stayed behind, after Ron drew the others away. I thought it was safe to apparate. He didn’t even have his wand drawn,” Ginny confessed.
“You reckon the rumors are true then? About the Inquisitor?” Ron muttered.
“That he’s finally been put on the field?”
Ron nodded, wordlessly answering Ginny’s question.
“If that’s true…then we’re in far greater risk of being discovered,” replied Ginny, anxiously casting a silencing charm.
All their knowledge regarding the Dark Lord’s Inquisitor came from the many taunting Death Eaters, who took pleasure in describing how the Order members fared after being captured. Hermione had never seen this so-called Mind Inquisitor, no one had, but the rumors preceded him. Many people at their cramped Headquarters were convinced his existence was solely a rumor to push them further into hiding.
Dean, Ginny, and Ron had spearheaded their most recent outing without backup. Thinking they wouldn’t be intercepted in Muggle territory, they had been wrong.
“We need to find a different source,” Hermione began making mental notes on which areas would be best to locate natural growing Dittany.
“Hermione…”
“No,” Hermione’s gaze stopped whatever objection Ron attempted to lay out.
Ginny glanced back and forth between them anxiously.
“Hermione, we can’t keep going on like this.” Ron tried again.
“I said no,”
“Look at us…look at this,” He extended both arms out, forcing her to take in the state of malnourishment they found themselves in. Ron had always been tall and lanky, but the sharpness of his cheekbones and the pronounced way his elbows jutted out, caused a sob to tare from her throat.
“We can’t give up now,” was all she managed to say.
“You’re being selfish,”
“Ron-“ Ginny intervened.
“We’re so close,” Hermione said weakly, she wasn’t as sure as she used to be.
“No, we aren’t. We haven’t been close in years.”
“Harry wouldn’t want—“
“Harry isn’t here! It doesn’t matter what he’d want! We’re here, and if we keep going on like this, we won’t be for much longer!” Ron roared back, startling Hermione.
And just like that, the fire within her was set ablaze again. She jumped to her feet, and wiped her tear streaked cheeks. “Harry is still here Ronald, and just because you’ve decided to give up, doesn’t mean the rest of us ha—“
“I would hardly consider that living—“
“How dare you!?”
“How long have we suffered? How long? tell me, Hermione, Tell me!?”
More tears threatened to spill as she stared back at the equally agitated Ron.
“Enough!” Ginny stepped between them, chest heaving. She’d begun crying the moment Ron raised his voice. Ginny always hated when they fought. “Hermione, please,” Her eyes begged: stand down, you know he won’t, the words went unsaid.
The coppery taste of blood filled her mouth as she bit her tongue. There were so many things she wanted to say to him but stopped herself. With fisted hands, and watery eyes, she stormed back upstairs. Hermione walked past her shared bedroom and further down the hall, to the room that served as a makeshift “medical” ward.
The door was ajar, she pushed it open the rest of the way, and peaked inside. Dean lay on one of the beds on the far right, unconscious. His chest rose and fell steadily. Hermione glanced to the opposite side of the room, where antimicrobial curtains formed a cubicle around another bed. She steeled herself, as she often did before her visits, and walked closer. The rhythmic beeping of the Muggle ECG machine filled her with anticipatory dread. She watched her hand reach up and pull back the medical grade curtains in slow motion.
The gaunt face of her childhood friend made her chest ache. He was so pale, if it weren't for the heart monitor indicating a steady heartbeat, she’d think him dead.
Hermione closed the curtain behind her, and perched on the side of the bed. The oxygen mask covering half of Harry’s face unsettled her friends, but Hermione insisted he wear it at all times. There was no knowing when his unusual breathing may stop. It gave her peace of mind. Harry’s hair was brushed and face freshly shaved. Ginny insisted on up-keeping his appearance so that if he woke—no, when he woke, it would help his morale.
“Harry…you need to wake up,” Hermione’s voice was barely a whisper.
There was no sarcastic, yet thoughtful, reply from her friend. The heart monitor beeped again, and Hermione swallowed thickly before running a few basic diagnostic spells. Her knowledge on magical healing was subpar at best. The limited knowledge came from a stolen, outdated, Magical Healing guidebook. Dealing with magical induced commas was not something she often read about during her time at Hogwarts. She’d turned to Muggle medicine due to its accessibility. Ginny and Hermione were Harry’s primary caregivers, Ron couldn’t handle it anymore.
Once satisfied with Harry’s vitals, She transfigured one of her shoes into a small stool, not the most comfortable, but it made due. The rhythmic beeping of the heart monitor and the ticking of a clock somewhere else in the room, eventually, lulled her to sleep.
｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡
“Hermione, you should get some breakfast before it’s gone,”
It took her a moment to get her bearings. She’d fallen asleep at an awkward angle, half leaning on Harry’s bed. The neck cramp was evidence enough of her poor sleeping posture. Ginny stood on the other side of the bed, holding Harry’s daily dose of healing potion, which helped reverse any muscle deterioration from lack of movement.
The sound of her back and joints popping in protest as she stood made her groan. “Thanks, Gin…did we run out of nutrition potions?” She eyed the sole vial Ginny held.
“We have enough to last us a month, I was hoping to stretch it out a bit more. We should lay low, plus, three potions a day is quite excessive anyway,” Ginny replied, reaching to touch Harry’s hand. “He’ll be alright.”
Hermione transfigured the decrepit looking stool back to her well worn sneaker, earning a small smile from Ginny. “I think the sooner we scout for a new source, the better,” she pushed back a few unruly curls away from her face.
“We have enough Dittany to last us three months, Mione. don’t overwork yourself,” replied the redhead.
“It’s best we get a head start,” Hermione straightened her clothes and began heading out. “We’ve never been short on Dittany and I refuse to start now,” She added with finality.
Ginny nodded, lowering her gaze pensively. The witch always spoke her mind. It was a rarity to see her cautiously considering her words. Hermione hesitated by the door.
“Lavender is pregnant…Ron told me last night—that is why he wants us to pack up and go West,” Ginny rushed the words out, as if a dam had been broken and she couldn’t seal it back up. “He refuses to leave us behind, Hermione. I-I want us all to go. Ron wants to call a meeting and lay it all out for everyone to choose. You-Know-Who’s army is setting their sights East. This is the best time to slip away.”
Her heart sank. “He didn’t say anything…”
“He doesn’t want to force your hand,”
You’re forcing my hand, Hermione wanted to say.
“Think about it,” Ginny added.
Hermione nodded stiffly, and headed downstairs. She hovered by the kitchen door, the space felt crowded with the rest of the Order members having breakfast on the elongated table. A newly healed Dean and Padma sat together, sharing one serving of food. Kingsley sipped on a hot drink, refusing his serving all together. He often gave his portions to the youngest members of the Order, “You lot need it more than me. How are you supposed to beat those vile creatures in battle, if a strong gust of wind could take you down?”
Ron huddled protectively over Lavender, he’d been that way for weeks. It made sense now, seeing his behavior under a new lens. He’d been giving his portions to his pregnant wife. Hermione had wondered about his sudden health decline. He had lost more weight in the last few weeks than he had in years. She swallowed the lump of guilt and grabbed her portion. Without hesitating, she marched up to the young couple, Ron eyed her wearily as she approached. Hermione held out the plate towards him, he refused it with a sharp shake of his head.
“Take it,” Hermione placed the dish in front of him when he made no move to take it. “You need to keep your strength…Ginny told me.”
Ron’s blue eyes flickered to the preoccupied pregnant witch, as she devoured her food, for a moment and back to Hermione.
“You can take my dinner portion,” He said quietly, digging into the meager breakfast. The tension, defusing in a matter of seconds.
Something broke inside Hermione at the way he ate. He probably hadn’t had dinner the night before either. Her stomach grumbled as she turned on her heel, she paid it no mind. Hunger didn’t bother her anymore, there were worse things to suffer from.
They wouldn’t be hungry for much longer, anyway.
Fuck integrity.
｡ ﾟ☾ ﾟ｡
Hermione’s wet hair was plaided neatly down her back. She put on her nicest pair of utility cargos—the black pair was her favorite. She secured her thigh holster and quickly Disillusioned it. Her long sleeve shirt had a small stain, she vanished it easily, it was still one of her nicest. Her charmed bag was clipped at her side and Disillusioned. Because her sneakers were beyond Reparos at this point, she opted for her combat boots. Not the most comfortable, but they looked properly clean.
Slipping out of the safe house unseen was simple, everyone was out on scouting duty. She apparated a few blocks from a Muggle food market, with sweaty hands and a guilty conscience, she grabbed a shopping cart and headed inside. The market was bustling with shoppers, music played on the overhead speakers, and kids cried as their parents denied them sweets, it was sensory overload.
Building up the courage to place the first item in the cart was toilsome, reaching for the second item was a bit easier. Before she knew it, her cart was full of fresh fruits, meats, potatoes, biscuits, milk, bacon…No one batted an eye as she pushed the mountain of groceries through each isle. When there was no longer room for food on the cart, Hermione reverted the Disillusionment Charm on her bag, and began throwing in any canned goods she deemed palatable.
Hermione walked up to the register, impatiently tapping her foot, as the cashier scanned the mountain of food and slowly bagged the items. The fake Muggle money she handed was accepted without suspicion.
If her parents could see her now, surely, they’d be disappointed.
Adding to the long list of stolen things, she disillusioned the shopping cart and pushed it down a few blocks, where she often apparated without being spotted. Hermione quickly decided that apparating with an entire shopping car was a bit mental on her part. So, she opted to divide the groceries into three batches that could be easily held. Apparating back to Headquarters took her a total of fifteen minutes. Record time, considering the amount of things weighing her down. She placed the groceries on their entryway and began apparating back to retrieve the second batch.
Hermione’s lack of eating caught up with her, rather quickly, as a wave of nausea overcame her the moment she deposited the second batch of groceries. Sweat coated her forehead and neck, she sagged against the door frame for a second, catching her breath.
The exhausted witch considered giving up on the last batch, and just falling asleep on the floor, but she knew the food she’d acquired would only last a few weeks, the last batch would put them at a month mark of eating relatively well. So, with a stubborn set to her jaw, she began apparating back to retrieve the remaining items.
As soon as the world materialized before her eyes, the malaise of her magical reserves depleting rocked her. If only she had listened to her body, she thought. Perhaps she would’ve been more alert.
“Petrificus Totalus,”
Hermione felt the full body-bind curse wash over her, rendering her immobile. She hit the ground sharply, meters away from the food she’d come to collect. A boot collided with her sternum, knocking the air from her lungs.
“That’s the golden mudblood,” A man crouched nearby and grabbed her chin, forcefully turning her head this way and that. “The Dark Lord will surely reward us for this catch.”
All she could see was the silver mask of two Death Eaters, glinting under the sun, blinding her. Their voices were unrecognizable through their masks, she glared in their direction when her wand was ripped from her fisted hand.
“You know the Inquisitor is the only one allowed to relay information to the Dark Lord...”
“Fuck that mind leech. He’ll steal all the praise, and do none of the hard work.”
“If we ignore the chain of command, he may send the Carrows after us. That Alecto Carrow is a cow, and a fiend for torture.”
“Fine, call the Inquisitor.”
Hermione felt dread pool in her stomach before another kick, this time directly to the head, claimed her consciousness.