Moody sent word that Severus would be at Spinner's End late in the afternoon on Friday. Hermione got ready and hoped it would be an easier conversation than the one she'd had with Minerva.
She and Severus had struck up a friendship of sorts during the war. It had been started by Hermione when she appeared at his door following Dumbledore's death, asking him to train her in potion making. Over the years, as Hermione's relationships with other Order members had grown fraught, they came to enjoy the mutual bitterness of each other's company.
Not that they were close.
Neither of them had time to be friends with anyone.
They simply signaled their respect for each other with small gestures. Severus by not viciously insulting Hermione during Order meetings the way he insulted everyone else, and Hermione by shutting down the ongoing suspicions of Harry and others about whether Severus was truly on the Order's side since they weren't winning.
When Hermione arrived at Severus' home, she found the door left ajar for her, and Severus brewing in the kitchen. The steamy room was a sensory assault. Potion making had given Hermione the habit of compulsively identifying scents. The air was thick with the combined aromas of stewed herbs and tinctures. Sharp and sweet yarrow, the mustiness of dried dandelion flowers, the mineral bitterness of ground roots, and burn and grittiness of ashwinder eggshells she could almost taste in the air. The tang of Magic was effused through the scents, clinging to her skin and hair.
"Something new?" she inquired after watching him huddle over the cauldron for several minutes.
"Clearly," he replied in a snide tone as he added a drop of Acromantula venom.
The potion burped a cloud of sour yellow vapour, and Severus stepped back to avoid it with a faint hiss of irritation.
Hermione glanced at the ingredients laid out.
"Is there a new curse?"
"Indeed. Dolohov has outdone himself this time. Effortless to cast and highly effective. Countering it is simple but the damage is immediate. They'll start using it in the field soon."
"What type?"
"Contagious acid boils."
Hermione pressed her lips together, and drew a sharp breath. She'd have a lot of research to do in preparation. Acid spells had rarely appeared during battles in the past, but the effects of them were often devastating and difficult to heal.
Severus added four drops of moondew, and then turned to stare at her.
"You have twenty minutes," he said, sweeping ahead of her into the sitting room. She dawdled a moment longer to study the slowly simmering potion before turning to follow him.
"I hear you're sacrificing yourself for the cause," he drawled from an armchair before she'd seated herself.
"Moody said you thought it was a legitimate offer," she said evenly.
"True," he said.
He didn't offer tea.
"Why?" she asked. There was no point in being coy. She wanted straight answers. After so many years of war, she had found Severus answered short direct questions better than any other.
"Draco Malfoy does not serve anyone," he answered.
Hermione waited.
"Of course, technically he serves the Dark Lord," he said, making a dismissive gesture with his hand, "But that is out of necessity, not loyalty. His motivation is personal in nature. Whatever that motive is, he has decided that the Order can enable him to achieve it better than the Dark Lord can."
Severus paused and then added "He will not be loyal to the Order but he'll be as excellent a spy as he is a Death Eater."
"Is it worth it if we can't trust him?" Hermione asked.
"At this point I don't think the Order has any other option. Do you?"
Hermione shook her head and gripped the arms of the chair.
"And-I think he miscalculated somewhat when he made his offer," Severus added.
"How?"
"Asking for you. I think it was a mistake on his part," Severus said staring at her speculatively.
Hermione blinked. "Why?"
"As I mentioned to Moody, I observed Draco had a sort of fascination with you in school. Do not misunderstand; I am not claiming it to have been anything meaningful, much less serious. However, you were someone he noticed. You may be able to use that fact to your advantage. I don't believe he realises it."
"He demanded to own me. I think he realises it," Hermione pointed out.
"If he merely wanted a body to own or fuck, he could get practically any one he wanted with little effort. You're hardly Helen of Troy, and even it you were, he hasn't laid eyes on you in almost six years. And you certainly weren't then. I doubt he even knows what you currently look like. On the list of grudges he likely carries now, I doubt your academic rivalry still qualifies," Snape retorted. "You are not the motive for his switch of allegiance."
Severus' words plunged Hermione into a state of simultaneous relief and despair. She did not want the attention of Draco Malfoy-but she needed it. She felt suddenly tempted to cry over the sheer impossibility of the mission she had.
"Therefore," continued Snape, "his decision to add you into his demands is an opening. If you choose to take it. You-could make him loyal."
"By what? Seducing him?" Hermione asked skeptically.
"By holding his interest," Snape said, rolling his eyes as though she were dense. "You are an intelligent enough witch. Be interesting to him. Find your way into his mind so that he starts to want what he cannot simply demand from you. You're most assuredly not going to hold him with your feminine wiles."
Snape snorted as he said it.
"Men like Draco Malfoy are ambitious, which makes them quickly bored by anything that is easy for them to obtain. Sex is possibly one of the easiest things for him to get; even sex with you now-given the terms he set. You will have to be more than that, and you will have to make him see it."
Hermione gave a curt nod with assurance she did not feel as Snape added, "He'll have a considerable advantage of power over you. However, the fact that you hold his attention means you may still have a hand worth playing. After nearly six years, when he had a chance to demand anything, you were what occurred to him to ask for. You will have to utilise that knowledge carefully if you wish to equalise things or make him loyal."
"Malfoy isn't stupid. He'll expect it."
"He will."
"But you think I can manage it?"
"Are you trying to fish for compliments, Miss Granger?" Severus said coolly. "At this point in the war, I think almost anything is worth attempting. That you have any chance of succeeding is highly unlikely. You have agreed to sell yourself in exchange for information to an incredibly dangerous wizard who has obtained most of his power by means of his own considerable intelligence. A wizard whose current motives are a mystery; even to those who have known him a lifetime. He is exceptionally isolated and mercurial, even by Death Eater standards. He did not get where he is by being easily beaten or having predictable weaknesses."
There was a long pause. It appeared Snape had no further insight to offer.
Hermione stood, feeling freshly demoralised.
She was selling herself in a gamble with a multiple points of failure. It would likely be futile.
She was going to do it anyway.
She hesitated, a question rising to her lips that she was almost afraid to ask.
"Is he-," she stammered. "How-cruel do you know of him being?"
Snape stared at her with his inscrutable black eyes.
"I haven't known him well since your fifth year. However, bully though he was, I had never considered him to be a sadist."
Hermione nodded jerkily, feeling light-headed as she turned to go.
"I wish you luck, Miss Granger. You are a better friend than Harry Potter will ever deserve."
Severus' voice had a trace of regret in it. Hermione paused and brought her hand up to her throat, tracing her thumb along her collarbone for a moment before twisting the chain of her necklace between her fingers.
"I'm not just doing this for Harry," she said. Severus snorted and she looked at him defensively. "There is a whole world out there that doesn't even know they're relying on us. Besides, if we lose, what possible chance do you think I'll have?"
He gave a short nod of agreement. She left Spinner's End without another word.
When Hermione returned to Grimmauld Place, she went into the bathroom and stared at her reflection.
She was thin and tired-looking. Her skin was pale from lack of sunlight. Her features were sharper than they had been in school; a bit daintier. Her protruding cheekbones made her look more elegant. Her eyes-well, she had always thought they were her best feature-large and dark, but with enough fire in them that they didn't make her look too naive. Her hair remained her cross to bear. Still bushy, but it was long enough nowadays that the weight held it down somewhat. She kept it braided and pinned back to keep it out of her face when brewing and healing.
She pulled her clothes off and stepped into the shower. The hot water beating down on her skin felt like safety. She didn't want to leave it, but after scrubbing herself from head to toe she made herself shut off the water and step out.
She cast a quick shaving charm on her legs and under her arms, and toweled off.
Wiping off the steam from the mirror, she appraised the body in the reflection critically.
She'd have to hope Malfoy's subconscious interest was primarily in her mind because she was certainly not Helen of Troy. Stress had eaten away her curves. She was bony and thin-limbed. Not particularly flawed anywhere, but generally lacking in softness in the places men typically liked to hold.
Insofar as general sex appeal went, she was assuredly middling. It was simply not a quality she had ever had the thought or time to cultivate in herself. Dwelling on how she came across sexually-it just hadn't really seemed to be of pressing importance.
It had not occurred to her that the war was going to require her to offer herself-as a mistress? Whore? War prize?-to a Death Eater.
She did not bother to fuss over her underwear or clothing as she dressed. There was no point in trying to pretend to have wiles or attributes she did not. She would undoubtedly do it poorly. Trying to undertake an additional angle might cause her to exceed her limitations and reveal her hand.
As she prepared to leave she glanced in the mirror and fingered the chain around her neck, hesitating before she pulled it out from under her shirt and stared at the amulet that hung from it. The pendant of Aset. A tiny throne rested upon deep scarlet stone, a sun-disk, fitted between two horns. It had been given to Hermione when she'd briefly studied healing in Egypt, before returning to Europe to study in Austria.
She pulled it off and slipped it into a beaded bag under her bed.
If she died, Severus would probably know what it was.
The location Malfoy had provided was in the village of Whitecroft. Moody apparated her there, and then after glancing sharply around for a minute with his magical eye, vanished again with another pop.
Feeling so viscerally abandoned that her skin hurt, Hermione walked up the gravel lane of the address, glancing around at an empty lot.
Unplottable. Or else a midpoint before she was directed to the real location.
After glancing around nervously, she swallowed hard and resigned herself to wait.
There was a stump to the side of the lane. She seated herself. After another minute, she pulled out a book, keeping her ears alert for any noise.
She had read six pages when a sound to her left made her look up sharply. The light from a floating doorway in the empty lot suddenly appeared, and with it a rundown shack began bleeding into view.
Draco Malfoy stood framed in the door.
She hadn't seen him in over five years.
She slipped the book into her bag and walked forward; her heart rate increased with every step.
He had grown taller and broader. The haughtiness of his school days had faded, replaced with a cold sense of power. Deadly assurance.
Even after she had ascended the steps, he towered over her. He was at least as tall as Ron, but he felt larger. Ron's height was always offset by his lankiness and awkwardness. Malfoy owned every inch of his stature, as though it were an additional testament to his superiority as he stared down his nose at her.
His face had lost all trace of boyishness. It was cruelly beautiful. His sharp aristocratic features were set in a hard unyielding expression. His grey eyes were like knives. His hair still that pale, white blond combed carelessly aside.
He leaned nonchalantly against the doorframe. He left just enough space for her to enter, so long as she brushed lightly against his robes. She caught the sharp scent of cedar in the fabric as she passed.
He felt dangerous. She could feel the taint of dark magic around him.
Approaching him was like walking toward a wolf or a dragon. Her whole body felt on edge as she drew nearer. She struggled against a fear that felt like it were slicing its way down her spine.
A sense of ruthlessness hung about him.
He had killed Dumbledore at the age of sixteen, and that had been only the start of his bloodstained ascent.
If an assassin's blade were made into a man, it would take the form of Draco Malfoy.
She stared up at him. Taking him in.
Beautiful and damned. A fallen angel. Or perhaps the angel of death.
Such cliches, and yet they somehow captured him. If he was complicated or conflicted, he didn't show it; he just seemed cruel, harsh, and beautiful.
"Malfoy. I understand you want to help the Order," she said after she walked into the shack and he shut the door behind her. She fought against the impulse to flinch or turn sharply when she heard it click.
She was alone in a house with Draco Malfoy, whom she had agreed to sell herself to in exchange for information.
The Calming Draught she had taken immediately before leaving with Moody was far from sufficient relief to the nauseating terror crawling through her. She felt it everywhere; in her spine, and her stomach, and her hands, and closing around her throat as surely as if he were strangling her.
She squared her shoulders and forced herself to survey the room slowly.
The building seemed primarily composed of one large, empty room. Hardly any furniture to be seen. Two chairs. A table. Nothing else.
No bed.
"You understand the terms?" he said coolly when she looked at him again.
"A pardon. And me. In exchange for the information."
"Both now and after the war." His eyes gleamed with a mixture of cruelty and satisfaction as he said it.
Hermione didn't flinch.
"Yes. I'm yours from now on. Moody says he'll act as Bonder if you require an Unbreakable Vow," she said, trying to keep any bitterness from her tone.
He gave a thin smirk.
"That won't be necessary. I'll trust that Gryffindor nobility you have if you swear it now."
"I swear it. I'm yours. You have my word," she said without giving herself time to hesitate.
She wished she could feel triumphant that he was leaving her a way out. But-if they won the war at this point it would be because of him. She'd owe him. They all would.
"Until we win you aren't to do anything that will interfere with my ability to contribute to the Order," she reminded him firmly.
"Ah yes. I'll have to make sure I keep you alive until this is over." He smirked as he looked her over.
"I want you to swear it," she said in a tense voice.
His eyes flashed and he laid a hand across his heart. "I swear it," he said in a droll tone, "I won't interfere with your contributions to the Order."
Then he tsked. "My, but you're suspicious of me, aren't you? Worried this is all just a ploy on my part to get a piece of you before the war ends and you die," he speculated. "Don't fret. As a token of my sincerity, I won't touch you-yet. After all, I've waited this long to get you as my prize, I can restrain myself a bit longer."
He smiled wolfishly at her.
"In the meantime, I'll let you go running back to your precious Order with my information, and sustain myself with your delightful company."
If Malfoy were trying to set Hermione on edge he was doing an excellent job of it.
As though the thought of consenting to whatever awful thing he wanted to do to her wasn't bad enough, having to keep dreading it almost felt worse.
She gritted her teeth and forced herself to breathe. She slid a hand behind her back and fisted it tightly, then forced herself to open her fingers slowly. Bracing herself. Clearing her mind.
This was better, she reasoned. The longer he waited to act, the more time she had to try to ensure his loyalty; to find a way to bring him to heel before he tired of her.
She nodded shortly.
"Alright. That's-generous of you."
He laid a hand over his heart.
"You have no idea what joy it brings me to hear you say that," he said with false elation.
Hermione's eyes narrowed. She couldn't understand him. His true motive was escaping her entirely. She hated how disadvantaged that made her.
"But you know..." said Malfoy suddenly looking contemplative. "Perhaps, you should give me something-"
Hermione stared.
"-to warm my cold heart," he said leering. "A memory to keep me motivated."
"What do you want?" she asked in a stiff voice. She started mentally calculating likely options. Maybe he'd make her strip. Or suck him off-she'd never done it before, she'd surely be terrible. Or come on her face. Or maybe he wanted her to stand there and let him curse her. Or just get to backhand her across the face in retribution for third year.
"You don't sound very enthusiastic," Malfoy said. "I'm offended, truly."
Hermione tried to restrain herself from glaring at him.
"Would you like me to kiss you or just stand here and let you hex me?" she inquired in the most demure tone she could manage.
Malfoy gave a barking laugh. "My goodness, Granger. You are desperate."
"I'm here. I assumed that was obvious."
"So true," he said nodding. "Well, I'm all dueled out for today. Let's see if that mouth of yours is capable of doing anything but talking."
Hermione thought she might vomit, and the revulsion must have shown on her face. Malfoy smiled cruelly.
"Kiss me," he said in clarification. "As a demonstration of your sincerity."
He smirked at her, and didn't move. He just stood there, waiting for her to approach him.
Hermione's whole body felt drenched with cold terror at the thought of reaching out and touching him. Of having him touch her with those cold, pale, murderous hands of his.
Of pressing her mouth against his.
Standing near him without having her wand pointed at his heart felt as vulnerable as exposing her throat to wolf.
She hesitated. "How do you want me to kiss you?" she inquired.
"Surprise me," he said, shrugging.
Surprise him. Well, that was an opening; an opportunity she had to capitalise on. She analysed him quickly.
He was goading her. The entire conversation seemed to be intentionally trying to make her angry with him. To see her writhe under the power he had over her. This kiss was probably intended to seal her animosity.
He expected her to be resistant and proud, unable to squash her hatred; so he could trick her into fueling her own punishment and keep her distracted by her emotions.
She couldn't give it to him.
She steeled herself. She would not lose.
She drew closer to him, studying his face carefully.
She had never been so close to him before. For someone so "eager" for her, he didn't look it. His irises were contracted. His eyes mostly grey. He seemed-amused.
The coil of fear in her spine felt like a needle being driven down her back. Her heart was beating so forcefully it felt as though it were bruising itself against her ribs.
She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him down toward herself. He smirked and permitted it.
When their lips were almost touching she paused, half expecting to find a knife buried to the hilt in her stomach.
There was a brief moment of stillness between them-breathing slowly. Close enough for the air to ghost across each other's faces. His breath smelled like juniper, peppery and sharp like a fresh-cut evergreen. She studied that deadliness and coldness of his eyes. She wondered what he saw as he looked back.
Murderers are still men, she told herself.
Then she gave him a slow, sweet kiss.
She imagined how she'd do it for someone she felt affectionate toward. Sliding her hands up into his hair as she deepened it. She teased his lips with her tongue, and murmured slightly against his mouth. He tasted like gin.
It was clearly not what he had expected. Apparently surprises weren't really his thing. He stilled in visible astonishment the moment their lips softly met, and after a moment jerked away from her.
His eyes were darker now.
Hermione wasn't sure if she were pleased or concerned by that detail.
Her heart rate slowed somewhat.
His amusement had vanished, and he suddenly seemed to be considering her more seriously.
"You don't fight much, do you?" he abruptly asked.
"No. Most of my work is outside of raids," she admitted, not willing to detail what she did. She was there to get information, not give it.
"Do you know occlumency?"
"Yes. Moody trained me," she lied. "I haven't had much practice, but he said I was fairly solid at it."
"Well, that's a relief. It would be a problem if you were ever picked up and they found the details of this arrangement in your mind," he said with the most serious expression she'd yet seen on his face.
Then he sneered. "I hope you don't mind if I check for myself just how good you are."
That was all the warning he gave before driving abruptly into her mind.
Hermione's shields were already up, and the force with which he drove into them was enough to make her head resound like he'd struck a gong inside it. He kept shoving forcefully against her walls, again and again, until she was gasping with pain as she kept him out. Then he paused, and she nearly stumbled.
"You're surprisingly good at it," he said, looking as though he actually were surprised.
The compliment caught her off guard. Abruptly, he smashed into her mind again. The brief respite had been a feint. She was insufficiently braced for a renewed attack. He found a weak spot, and sliced through it with the speed of an arrow.
She tried to shove him back out, but he quickly moved so far into her memories she couldn't. She could barely even slow him.
Then abruptly, without even pausing to look at anything in her mind, he wrenched himself back out.
She nearly fell over backwards but caught herself, gripping her forehead as she gasped from the pain.
"It's a common trick," he said casually, not looking as though his assault on her mind had required any effort on his part. "After an intense attack, when an occlumens thinks it's done, they relax slightly. It's the perfect opportunity to get in."
Hermione was still catching her breath and couldn't respond, so he continued, "If ever you're under interrogation by a truly accomplished legilimens, you'll never keep them out with the sheer strength of your mental walls. If you were a minor member in the Resistance, they'd probably just kill you rather than go to the effort of getting in. But you're an Order member. Potter's Golden Girl. If they ever get their hands on you, they'll probably bring you to me, or Severus, or even the Dark Lord himself. I'm afraid you're going to need to brush up on your occlumency skills."
"How?" Her voice sounded rasping. She hadn't known it was possible for a mental attack to be so powerful. No wonder Harry had hated his sessions with Snape. Her mind was in agony.
"The trick is letting them in," Malfoy informed her.
"What?"
"Put in a bit of effort, but eventually pretend to give way. Once they're in, give them false memories or distract them by feinting toward something of less importance. You'll never keep the Dark Lord out of your mind, but if he thinks you're weak, he'll assume victory. You'll have to give up something valuable enough to seem legitimate. However, it's a way to keep the things that matter most hidden."
Hermione's brain churned as she considered it. Of course, there had to be more to it than just mental walls. There was no way Severus could have deceived the Dark Lord for so many years simply by refusing to allow him to access his mind.
"Spend time thinking about it. If I'm looking for information on Potter or Weasley or the Order, what can you give up that will seem like the biggest secret you've got? Legilimency is like setting someone's house on fire. Minds instinctively bolt to protect what's most important to hide. You have to train yourself to do the reverse. Rush toward what doesn't matter. Practice pulling those memories around in your mind like you're hiding them. I'll try again next week."
Hermione nodded. She hated the thought of him in her head again, but his reasoning was sound. It would be an invaluable skill.
Malfoy reached into his pocket and tossed something toward her. She caught it reflexively.
She stared into her palm. It was-well, it looked like a wedding band, if wedding bands came in black.
She looked up at Malfoy in astonishment.
"Your protean charm from fifth year inspired me." He smirked, and raised his right hand indicating a matching onyx band on it. "It'll burn briefly if I need to meet. Twice if it's urgent. I'd highly advise coming quickly if it burns twice. If you want to reach out, the wards here will let me know when you arrive. But otherwise we should stick to a schedule. Is there a time you can get away without drawing suspicion?"
Hermione slid the ring onto the pointer finger of her left hand. It was a simple, slightly geometric band. Not flashy or likely to draw attention. She suspected there was a heavy notice-me-not charm on it.
"I go out for potion ingredients early on Tuesday mornings. I could add an extra half hour without anyone paying attention. Would seven-thirty work?"
He nodded.
"If I can't come for some reason, come back again at the same time in the evening," he told her.
"What if I can't come?" Hermione asked.
His eyes narrowed.
He was trying to determine what it was she did for the Order. Well, she wasn't interested in volunteering the information.
"I'll wait five minutes and assume you can't make it."
"Fine," she agreed flatly.
He smirked, and with a flick of his wand conjured a scroll of parchment which he held out to her.
"My first installment," he drawled, leering at her again.
She took it from him and unrolled it partially, glancing at several maps and building blueprints.
"I'm trusting that Moody has the sense not to use everything at once," he said.
"Your service will be one of the Order's most carefully protected secrets. You're useless once your cover's blown. We won't risk it."
"Good," he said with a cold voice. "I'll see you Tuesday then. Practice your occlumency."
He vanished with a crack.