The River of Lathe

The Pupil in Denial

"If you could run through it one more time, please?" The words were polite but she could see where Lucius's knuckles had turned while around his quill. The silent presence of her companion kept them both in check. Hers was a smug politeness while Lucius fumed in muted gestures.

"We came out and I engaged the reporter in polite background conversation; where I was born, what my parents do, etc. Keep it as close to the truth as I can. When the conversation, as it will, comes around to how I met Lord Voldemort, I am to answer that I met him through you. We were both attending a party at your home and struck up an unlikely friendship. That should, for a little while at least, deflect the conversation unto you. I suppose since we are trying to keep things honest, I can say I met you at school?"

"No," Voldemort's voice contained more than a trace of amusement. "Tell them you were friends with his son. If you wish you could even go as far as to say girlfriend."

"Draco?"

"I hardly think that would really help anything, my Lord," said Lucius, clutching the quill so hard it finally snapped. But at the Dark Lord's raised hand, Lucius's mouth shut with an audible click.

"Yes, Draco. I don't think it will hurt Lucius any to be reminded of his place and how he got there, plus aliening yourself with a youthful romance cut short by tragedy will do much to gain you sympathy, child."

Lucius cringed, though whether from the reminder of his disgrace or the Dark Lord's use of the endearment, even he was not sure. "Alright, so continue... Hermione."

"Yes, so. I am the grief stricken ex-girlfriend of the tragically killed Draco Malfoy, who you, Lucius, graciously invited to a small gathering at your home. While there I meet Lord Voldemort. We strike up a conversation and you hired me as... what, an assistant, consultant, accountant?"

"Accountant."

"Okay, accountant, and over time the relationship grows from business to romantic and there you have it. The first I have heard about any kind of drug or slavery was when my mother read it in the paper and called me. I was as surprised as anyone."

"I think she's got it. Lucius, are you satisfied?"

"Yes, my Lord."

"Good. It is time for us to go. Hermione?"

"Coming."

After they left, Lucius conjured himself a glass of strong firewhiskey and sank gratefully into a plush chair. He knew for certain he would not be within miles of a Muggle television set this night.

***

Hermione stared disapprovingly at her reflection. It had been far too long since she had to pass for a Muggle under close scrutiny. She did not even dare to put on a lip tinting charm for fear the make-up artist would suspect... well something.

Sighing, she put down the hairbrush and picked up the book Voldemort had lent her that morning. She was only half-way through but kept finding herself in contradiction with the author's assumptions. The current chapter was on long distance Muggle control. She did not care how powerful you were, mass crowd control spells where always a risky proposition. Mentally she was writing lists of points to bring up with Voldemort when she got the chance.

It was strange to think of him just as Voldemort, not Lord Voldemort, not the Dark Lord, but just Voldemort, like any other person. Well... not really like any other person. She had not been able to address him by his name to his face yet. She just kind of entered his presence and started to talk, or, more often waited for him to talk to her. What that said about her and well... the relationship, she did not want to think about. Where was that make-up person?

"I don't envy you your job today, but maybe you can make sense out of my hair," she spoke to the sound of the opening door.

"Hermione."

She knew that voice... but surely not, he was dead. "Paul?" Turning, she saw it was him. He was thinner, had grown a wispy beard, and was in desperate need of a haircut but it was defiantly him. "Paul," she repeated.

"Well, for now it is David, actually," he smiled but there was worry in his eyes. "You look good. You look... lucid. How did you get him to stop drugging you?" To his growing horror, she blushed.

"He... well... he just decided to stop giving it to me. I think maybe for this interview but... hum..."

"He just decided. I see. How long ago?" There was a desperate note in his voice, like a man waking to find his fondest dream a lie.

"I don't know, a week, two weeks. What are you doing here? He knew who you were. If he finds you, you will be dead for sure this time." She could feel her anger beginning to rise. She was guilty, she had betrayed him along with everyone else she had cared about and he had every right to call her out. But she was proud; her indigent anger was all she had.

In the face of her clenched fists and high color, it all suddenly became painfully clear to him. This was not damsel in distress in need of rescue. "What did you do? My God Hermione! Tell me did you pause and shed a tear for your fallen friends and ideals or are you such a slut that you were just glad to be in a man's bed again, any man's obviously."

As his bitter words died away, a slowly steady clapping cut the air. Both pairs of eyes fixed on the tall, think, figure standing in the doorway. "Well said, Agent 27," spoke Lord Voldemort with a small mocking bow.

"Agent 27?"

"Yes, my dear. You see, I did not lie to you. Paul Listman is quite dead. Who are you now 27? David, I believe."

The younger man remained silent, his eyes carefully fixed on a point just above Lord Voldemort's left shoulder. His face betrayed nothing.

"So all that time..." whispered Hermione, sitting down, her glance flying between the two men. Neither of them were looking at her.

"Yes, child, he was in my service from the first day you met poor, young Paul Listman, idealistic leader of the rebellion. Paul was one of my favorite creations. I did tell you I had an extensive network of spies. Yes, I knew what he was doing then but what is only beginning to become clear to me is what he is doing here, now. Tell me "David" what are you doing here upsetting my Hermione?"

As the silence stretched out, Voldemort slowly smirked. "Ah, I am afraid I do see after all. Well, all in all, I am glad it has come to this. Poor Hermione has been foolishly holding onto her guilt. She even spoke your name in her sleep a few times."

The blow hit its mark. The young man jerked as if shocked and swung around to stare pleadingly at Hermione. "Oh Hermione, I am so sorry. I did not mean to... I betrayed you. I mean, it was my job but then... then I met you and saw what a unique, beautiful, intelligent woman you are. But then, when I heard how you were being kept and drugged and..."

"Well, it seems the boy came to save you, my dear. And tell me, Hermione, do you need saving?"

"I... uh... oh, Paul!"

"Hum... maybe the child does need rescuing after all. I'll even sweeten the deal. You enjoy your gothic novels, let's make this farce one. You must choose, Hermione. You can go with him and live a life of poverty but with, dare I presume, love, but you must live as a Muggle. Your wands will be broken and your powers surrendered to me. Or you may stay with me in the life to which, I believe, you have become accustomed." There was a guarded note in Voldemort's cold voice Hermione could not remember having heard before.

"And Paul?" She asked, daring to look directly into Voldemort's eyes, eyes which widened slightly at her question.

"That shall be up to you. He must be punished for his audacity. On your word I will either have him executed or exiled to live out the rest of his life as a Muggle."

Giving the dishevel man a considering look, Hermione's mouth twisted. "Life among Muggles, that seems a fitting punishment for betraying the last hope of resistance in Britain, even as I live among those who hate me. Swear to it," she demanded turning to Lord Voldemort.

Wordlessly, he brought a hand to his forehead. Hermione did the same and repeated the promise. A flash of red light encompassed them. The young man watching hung his head.

"It is done," she said.

"It is done," he replied turning to the now nauseous young man. "Your wand."

The man who had been called Paul and David and a whole host of other names but who always thought of himself as Agent 27, slowly placed his wand into the dark Lord's waiting hand. He closed his eyes as he heard the fateful snap and the Dark Lord's soft murmur, "Volo". There was a sharp tugging sensation and then he knew no more.

"Will he be alright?" Hermione asked, looking down at the unconscious figure between them.

"Yes, I will have someone come to carry him out."

"Thank you. I must get ready. The interview."

"Yes." But neither moved for several minuets, they just looked at each other as if they had never really seen the other before and so were unsure of their strengths or intentions.

"Lady," said Lord Voldemort finally, taking his leave with a small bow.

"My Lord," replied Hermione, before turning back to her mirror and hairbrush.