Disclaimer: I don’t own the characters described here, nor the world or war in which they live. J. K. Rowling and her assorted publishing companies do. And I’m the last person you’d want to sue. I’m nice… really!

Author’s Note: I appreciate any and all feedback, especially of a constructive nature. Let me know what you think, please?

Also, a BIG thanks to Vaughn for her wonderful beta reading!

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She recognized the writing immediately. It was the writing of the man who she’d spent the last six months studying in depth, the writing of a man who she’d always admired, and once trusted. She didn’t trust him anymore, though she understood him a lot better. She knew his loyalties would never be clear again in her eyes.

The note came by Muggle post, to the same address at which she received letters from her parents. When she saw it, waves of shock had struck her, so that she’d sat down quickly on a rickety little chair and blew out a tense breath.

No one was supposed to know about this address. It was a place set up for communication with the Muggle world, intended to keep both sides safe by separation. Clearly, someone else knew about it, which meant…

She was in danger.

She Apparated out immediately, landing in a random place a hundred miles away. It was part of the training she and the boys had undergone in the last year. Always Apparate to a random place when in danger. Don’t be predictable.

After only a quick glance at the little meadow in which she found herself, she turned her attention back to the envelope. A year away from Hogwarts, exposed to the truly dark side of the Wizarding world, had hardened her and made her wary to the point of paranoia.

She spent half an hour on the little scrap of paper, subjecting it to every test she could think of. Only when she was sure it wasn’t cursed, hexed, jinxed, poisoned, or meddled with in any Muggle manner did she open it, and then only from a distance, with her wand.

The note inside was similarly tested, with the same results. He hadn’t tampered with it.

When she finally picked it up, she was surprised to see that it was written on plain paper, thin and white and clearly quite cheap. It was written, also, in plain black pen and a familiar handwriting.

And it contained information that could help the Order very much, should they act upon it. Or, it could be a trap. She thought those possibilities equally likely. The man had killed Dumbledore, but there was every chance he would want to see Voldemort dead as well.

Once she would have spurned contact with him, thinking it would lead to no good. But she was desperate now, and more cynical than she would have liked. She knew what it meant to have to kill a man, someone who you thought was a friend.

Mundungus Fletcher had died by her wand, subject to the Sectumsempra Curse. She’d never doubted the necessity of killing Dung when he’d tried to blackmail her with information about Horcruxes. But it had been a hard thing to do, and she hadn’t been able to summon the hatred for an Unforgivable Curse.

She knew she couldn’t tell Harry. He’d rush in and try to capture the informant, purely for revenge. Ron, of course, would go right along. As, she thought sadly, would the rest of the Order. They were angry, desperate, and without a real leader.

So she made discreet inquiries, all of which collaborated the tip she’d received. And on the night in question, she, herself, went to the Patil house.

She Apparated to a town some distance away, and flagged down a Muggle taxi. The driver looked her over suspiciously when she slid inside.

She couldn’t say she blamed him. She was dressed from head to toe in black, and the cloak she had thrown over her arm didn’t look that much like a coat. Probably, this man was afraid she was a criminal.

“Where to?” he asked tersely.

When she gave the address, he went quickly. She kept an eye out for a tail, just in case, but they weren’t followed. After she got out and paid him, he sped away, seeming glad to be rid of her.

As soon as the taxi was out of view, she pulled the black cloak over her shoulders and moved quietly into place on the hill overlooking the large country dwelling.

An hour later, hooded and masked figures Apparated into the backyard. She stayed just long enough to be sure they really were raiding the house, and not ambushing Order members, and then she Disapparated.

She ruthlessly suppressed the guilt she felt at leaving, knowing there was nothing she could have done to help the twins who had been her schoolmates. But it was with hollow satisfaction that she celebrated the return of the Order’s best spy.