There was something terrible about the way her mark burned.

It had started in the late afternoon, the pain so deep she’d had to push her face into her arm in order to stop a whimper of pain from slipping between her teeth.

They had just apparated to another forest, Harry and Hermione were just finishing putting the final touches on their wards while Ron morosely sat in the tent grumbling about their lack of food. Because of his appetite, the food Humph had provided had not lasted as long as they hoped.

So when her mark started to burn, she saw an opportunity.

“Harry, I think I better go see if I can find some food. I think there’s a town a short way away.”

Harry stood up from where he was tending a fire for his turn on watch and pushed his glasses slightly higher up his nose.

“You sure? You just did a ton of magic warding the boundary line.”

She smiled, nodding.

“I’m sure – it’ll help I think,” she said vaguely, gesturing towards the tent.

Harry’s expression darkened slightly as he registered what she meant and nodded.

She stepped from the wards and walked at a brisk pace through the almost bare trees. She had missed her eighteenth birthday while on the run with Harry, though the morning of she had woken to a very sweet message in her journal. That had been almost three weeks ago but it already felt like a lifetime.

As soon as she was far enough away, she turned on the spot and let out a grateful sigh when she appeared within the manor.

“Hermione,” Draco sighed, immediately pulling her into his arms.

“Hello, love,” she said as he stepped back to look at her.

“Salazar you’re too thin,” he groaned. “I thought you had food?”

Hermione shrugged.

“We have to conserve… it’s not always safe for us to leave the wards of the tent with the snatchers out there. And with Ron well… sometimes Harry or I will give up some of our portion in order to keep him happy.”

“Fucking prick,” Draco cursed under his breath.

Hermione summoned her robes, grateful for the feeling of clean garments flowing around her. Though she’d been trying to scourgify her clothes it was nothing to them actually being laundered.

“Are you ready for this?” Draco asked in a quiet whisper as they made their way towards the drawing room, his fingertips brushing the back of her hand.

She nodded, as the doors had already swung open to allow them entrance.

In front of her was a large group of darkly clad Death Eaters all silent and waiting. The moment she stepped through the door the sea of wizards parted to allow her and Draco to move towards the obsidian dais where Voldemort resided, lazily stroking the head of Nagini.

In the quiet hours of the night, she’d thought many times over what she would do when she saw Voldemort again. What would be the best way to get back into his good graces?

As they reached him, she dropped to one knee placing a hand over her heart.

“Ah, mon couteau ,” Voldemort hissed.

“It is an honor to be with you again, my lord,” Hermione said in a firm voice, her eyes cast on the ground. “I am so grateful to be allowed back into your presence after my failure.”

The tip of his wand pressed beneath her chin, drawing her face up to Voldemort’s ruby red eyes. She noticed it was a different wand than she’d seen before, familiar looking in a strange way and thought it wasn’t his original.

“Ah, my protégé, you have undoubtedly won my affection once more,” Voldemort replied and internally Hermione scoffed, unsure if he even understood the definition of the word.

“How may I be of service, my lord?”

At those words she watched his pale, blue tinged eyelids flutter as if the words brought him great pleasure.

“Tell me, where are you and the Potter boy located?”

Hermione already had her answer ready for this.

“I am unsure, my lord. He…” She forced her face to appear pinched with frustration. “I do not believe he fully trusts me or Ron, preferring to rely on himself. He apparates us without our knowledge of where we are heading and then wards the location heavily using spells that Dumbledore taught him.”

It couldn’t be any further from the truth – in fact, it was she who most often apparated them to a new location. It also begged the question of how she would be able to return to the boys once she left here and she hoped desperately that the Dark Lord would not wonder too hard over it. In her mind she thought of the charmed galleon they used in the DA as a means of her returning to him without knowing of their exact location.

Voldemort looked at her for a long moment. She could feel the spindly, dark tendrils of his mind brush against her library shelves and she allowed him to open the books – to see the memories she’d created of Harry. Harry’s cagey expression as he forced them to apparate, his reluctance to explain their mission. The vague instructions on how to return to their campsite - using the galleon as a guide.

“I believe he is searching for something, my lord,” she said. She knew that she had to keep things as close to the truth as possible. “I have seen him many nights pouring over old books from Dumbledore having to do with wand folklore and ancient magic.”

That was true as well, they’d been pouring over all of Dumbledore’s books to try to understand how to destroy a horcrux. Theo had also been sending her messages via her two-way journal with ideas – including the venom of a Basilisk.

At this, Voldemort’s eyes widened in surprise and perhaps even fear from the way the slits of his nostrils flared. It was unlike anything she’d ever seen from Voldemort - he was afraid.

“Come inside, Couteau,” he said firmly.

Quickly she stepped inside his mind, shivering slightly at the onyx chamber that Tom Riddle waited for her in. He gave her a faint approximation of a smile.

“You believe the Potter boy is looking for something?” he said quickly, his eyes trained on her mental face.

She nodded.

“I do, my lord. Perhaps more than one thing.”

Tom Riddle’s jaw clenched as he turned, moving towards two chairs that had just appeared and gesturing for her to take one

“What do you know of the Deathly Hallows, pet?” he asked in his smooth, beautiful voice.

Her eyebrows raised, interested that this was the question he asked. She’d been sure he would have brought up the horcruxes.

She knew quite a bit from the book Dumbledore had bequeathed to her. There had been many a night she’d spent translating the runes to read the stories, occasionally helped along by Ron who could not understand how she’d never grown up with The Tales of Beedle the Bard . In fact, only a few nights ago she’d finished translating the story of The Tale of the Three Brothers and was trying to figure out how best to approach Harry about it.

“I’m familiar with the story of the three brothers, my lord,” she said politely with a dip of her chin.

Tom Riddle pursed his lips as if trying to decide how much information to divulge.

“Do you believe that perhaps he is searching for the hallows?”

Hermione blinked at him, truly surprised.

“You believe the hallows to be real, my lord?”

Tom leaned back in the chair, one ankle crossed over his thigh as he surveyed her.

“I do,” he answered simply. “I believe our mutual friend may be looking to collect the hallows to become master of death. However…” Tom stroked the arm of his chair, a black stone set in a golden ring glimmering in the light from the blue orb overhead. “He will be disappointed to know that two are already in my possession. One hidden in a place that will never be found and the other with me at all times.”

Hermione blinked at him, knowing better than to question Voldemort.

“That is impressive, my lord.”

His dark eyes flicked to her, a look of satisfaction on his face.

“I tell you this in the strictest of confidences, Couteau.”

The message was clear enough: if even an inkling of information came back to him he would know she had told someone.

“I understand, my lord. I am honored to be trusted with your secret…”

“I want you to convince the Potter boy that the search is futile or else send him in the wrong direction. Buy me time, mon couteau , so that I may acquire the cloak.”

Her mind stilled for a moment at the mention of a cloak.

A cloak of invisibility that does not age or weaken with time, that cannot be summoned or destroyed.

Tom Riddle stood and with a flick of his wrist sent her tumbling out of his mind and back into her body which was held up by Draco’s trembling hands.