The ocean breeze was sweet as it curled around Hermione’s cheeks, swirling her hair up in a gust of wind as they got their bearings on the high cliff the portkey had placed them. Blaise steadied her with a hand on her elbow while looking around.

A narrow path laid out before them, a mixture of grasses and rocks that lined either side. In the distance she could see a small shack, a thin stream of smoke billowing from the tiny chimney. The square windows of the small building were illuminated with a warm light and occasionally a shadow cast itself on the far wall, the silhouette of a tall man with a weak chin ghosting in and out of view.

Hermione still hadn’t come to terms with the Dark Lord’s mission. It was one thing to abstractly consider assisting in the murder of a man who had done so much harm. She had rationalized that with Dumbledore out of the way, they could move forward without so much manipulation and lies. With Dumbledore dead, true change could begin.

But Karkaroff? He was merely a coward who refused to rejoin the Dark Lord. Though she could understand why the Dark Lord wanted him dead, she struggled with the thought of being the one to do it.

How did you kill when you lacked the necessary hate in your heart?

Last night, when they’d returned to the castle, she and Blaise had spoken at length with Theo and Draco about how best to approach Karkaroff. All four agreed it would be better to come without their robes, posing as lost travelers in need of shelter.

Now as they began their walk on the gravel path, Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if it would even work.

Blaise hitched a shoulder bag higher up his arm before taking her hand in his and giving it a squeeze. She tried to smile as they stepped to the front door. Inside were the telltale sounds of someone cooking and what she thought might be the soft whisper of a wizard wireless. Drawing his wand, he quietly cast a non-apparition ward around the house and Hermione gave him an impressed look.

When Blaise knocked on the door, all sound vanished quickly from behind the door.

“Excuse me? I’m sorry to bother you but we’ve gotten a bit turned around,” Blaise said in a softened version of his usual aristocratic tone.

No reply.

“We were hoping you could direct us the proper way back to the city center?” Blaise continued, stepping closer to the door. “My girlfriend and I have been wandering around all evening.”

After another tense moment of silence where Hermione started to reach for her wand, they heard shuffling close to the door before it swung open.

Igor Karkaroff was a shell of his former self. His goatee was long and gnarled, cheekbones sunken in and dark purple bags tugged at the bottoms of his eyes. Once pale and smooth, his skin now was deeply tanned and windburned, likely from spending so much time on the cliffside. His long mane of dark and grey hair was matted and pulled back in a leather thong, all vestiges of the resplendent Durmstrang headmaster nowhere to be found.

“Good evening,” Blaise said warmly.

Karkaroff gestured towards the path where it split to the right.

“Down there, take a left at the large tree and you will find the city,” he said in his brusque accent, trying to close the door.

Blaise placed a hand upon the door, stopping it from closing.

“Any chance we could take a rest for a mo’?” Blaise asked and Hermione almost giggled at his lack of posh accent. “Like I said, we’ve been out here for a few hours.”

Karkaroff stared at both of them, his black eyes flicking between Blaise and Hermione with a look of deep suspicion.

“No,” he said, trying once more to close the door.

Blaise wedged his foot into the bottom of the door, using his body weight to push the older man back. Karkaroff stumbled, his arms flying to grip the side of the table behind him.

The shack was a depressing single room. A small bed with a thin mattress was pushed up against one wall while on the other a small hearth crackled with a dying flame. There was a long countertop with a sink where he obviously did the majority of his cooking and Hermione saw the remnants of a modest dinner still on the small round table he had grabbed for balance.

Hermione stepped in after Blaise, pulling her wand from the back pocket of her jeans.

“He isn’t happy with you, you know,” Blaise said casually. “Even if your existence appears to be a miserable one.”

Karkaroff’s eyes went wide and he scrambled back, grabbing for his wand.

Blaise and Hermione just jumped out of the way of Karkaroff’s stunner as it whizzed between them hitting a small bookshelf beside the door making parchment and wood explode around them. Hermione twisted towards him, casting her own stunning spell that the man deflected with a flick of his wand.

“The Dark Lord sent children to do his bidding?” Karkaroff sneered, throwing a lethal looking hex towards Blaise who summoned a chair to take the blow, splinters of wood showering them both. “Who is he now? Albus Dumbledore?”

Blaise shot back an acid hex, Karkaroff turning at the last moment so it merely grazed the side of his face. Deep purple pustules blossomed over the man’s face as he threw his head back to let out a howl of pain.

Hermione pulled up the sleeve of her jumper, pressing her wand to the glamoured mark, and wordlessly summoned her robes. Last night Theo had helped her to transfigure them into trousers, that way it would be easier to fight.

“No,” she said as the mask slid over her face, her pulse drumming in her ears. “He sent his second in command.”

She shot a burning hex at him, hitting him in the shoulder. Karkaroff growled, drawing his wand down through the air. She felt a slice of hot pain hit her thigh and the unmistakable feeling of blood sliding over her legs.

Karkaroff twirled his wand and another deep, burning wound lanced through her left side. Rage and agony coursed through Hermione.

They had to stop acting like children.

Had to stop trying to fight him and start trying to kill him.

Karkaroff turned his attention towards Blaise, who was currently preoccupied with the large pool of blood forming beneath Hermione. He raised his wand high above his head, wand pointing downwards, a look of satisfaction in his eye. She knew that look, knew what would be coming next and without stopping to count the cost she acted to protect her friend.

“ Avada –”

“ AVADA KEDAVRA !” Hermione cried, green light shooting from her wand to hit the man square in the chest.

Karkaroff’s eyes went wide in surprise before the light left his eyes and his body toppled over backwards.

She’d done it.

She’d killed him.

Darkness skittered over her skin, tugging at some piece in her chest she couldn’t understand. It took root deep inside, curling around the brightest parts of her. She wanted to cry, wanted to mourn the man, wanted to feel horrified at watching the light leave his eyes.

But she couldn’t find the emotion. Couldn’t find the feeling as she stood there staring at the body.

“Hermione…” Blaise said, making his way over to her through the wreckage of the shack. A bright gash of red stood out against his dark skin, cut from the exploding chair.

“I’m fine,” she said, her head beginning to spin. “I’m absolutely…”

Then the world went dark.