Nest of Vipers

------

To die fighting is to die free. Should we then tremble in the dark for a few more hours of falsely lived life?

--- Sirius Black at the Siege of Vichy, The New History of Britain, Book II

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Precisely two minutes before eight o'clock, a light lit on the mantle of a marble fireplace. For one unused to it, traveling by Floo was often dizzying and frightening - but not for Draco. He had been using Floo powder since he was a young child, so he paid the momentary disorientation no mind. Prepared for the sudden sensation of solid ground again, he strode gracefully out of the elaborate fireplace situated in the entrance hall of the Manor but as usual, he did not pause to appreciate the lovely hall. Malfoy Manor was one of the grandest estates in England, and it boasted several gardens and hallways of glass. There were two lakes on the grounds, as well as several acres of forest that served as prime hunting ground. Visitors often likened Malfoy Manor to the fictional grounds of Pemberly in the Muggle novel Pride and Prejudice.

After the house elves had taken his baggage to his rooms, he examined his reflection in one of the decorative mirrors in the hall. Cold gray eyes stared back at him as he swept back a lock of pale blond hair. Although he was hungry and in desperate need of a bath, he instinctively headed towards his father's study. From his earliest days, Draco had been taught to follow the ancient forms of protocol - and that included greeting the head of Malfoy House upon arrival. Smoothing his hair, he made a mental note to get a trim, and then he knocked once and waited for permission to enter.

"Do come in," said the cool, cultured voice of Lucius Malfoy. Draco pushed open the wooden door to be greeted by a familiar sight.

Draco respected only three people in the world, and two of them were gathered in his father's study. Lucius Malfoy and Severus Snape were sitting in the leather armchairs in front of the fire, gazing at him with small smiles of welcome. His mother was not present, but that came as no surprise, for she was still in France.

"Ahh, there you are." Lucius beckoned his son over. "And on time as well." Draco bowed to them both before taking a seat nearby. "Tell me, how was your assignment?"

Draco's assignment had been to deal with a financial issue at the Norwegian Ministry, and though it had been prestigious, it had also been very boring. "Successful."

"Your father will make a politician out of you yet, Draco." The silky voice came from his old Potions Master. "Perhaps the next Minister of Magic, hmm?" The friendship between the Malfoys and the Snapes stretched back hundreds of years, and it was a relationship that was preciously maintained. Lucius and Severus had attended school together and had later joined Voldemort's following together. Narcissa was Severus's distant cousin, and Severus was Draco's godfather.

Draco shook his head, the fine pale hair glinting the firelight. "I certainly hope not, Professor." Snape flashed him an amused smile, to which Draco amended, "Severus."

Lucius chuckled, a rare occurrence indeed. "Pour yourself something to drink, my son. We have some matters to discuss."

As he hastened to obey, Draco reflected on the luck of finding both Lucius and Snape in such amiable moods. Although theirs had been the victory, the restructuring of the ministry and all of its peripheral departments had kept Lucius busy. Snape, now retired from teaching, had gone back to his beloved research - although what he was researching was unknown to Draco.

"How is Mother?" he asked as he poured himself brandy.

"Quite well. She sent an owl to me this morning and claims that she has acquired a tan."

Snape snorted in laughter. "A tan or several sunburns?"

Lucius sent him a mock glare. "Really, Severus. Just because my family and I have pale skin does not mean you have to rub it in."

Although their banter sessions were often amusing, Draco was too tired to sit through one now. "Have the vacancies in the Ministry been filled?" He gratefully sank into a nearby armchair.

"That is what we wished to tell you about, Draco." Lucius leaned forward slightly. "For the most part, finding replacements has been easy. We took as many surviving qualified people and gave them jobs, and what remaining positions that were left we handed out as appointee positions."

"Appointee positions?"

"A reward system. Now that the war is over, we had to reward the faithful families for their allegiance. Families such as the Goyles, the Parkinsons - people who are loyal but in the end are useless."

"Combined, they perhaps have one useful brain cell," cut in Snape's dry voice.

Lucius smirked in agreement. "Thus we awarded them offices that really serve no vital purpose. It keeps them happy as well as out of our way, and it saves the truly important positions for more qualified people."

Sipping his brandy, Draco once again admired his father's cunning. He was a much better organizer and politician than Fudge could ever have hoped to be. "How does this affect me?"

Snape stretched. "Did we say that it did?"

"An assumption," responded Draco.

"An astute one," he agreed. "We have recruited two of your former classmates for two of the more qualified positions."

Impatiently glancing at the clock, Draco's only comment was "Zabini?"

"I sent Mr. Zabini to India. His assignment was similar to yours."

"Boring, then." Draco finished off his brandy. "Father, Severus, I would appreciate it if you came to the point. I am tired and in need of a bath and a long nap. My brain is in hardly any state to follow this circular conversation." He allowed his mind to drift to more pleasant things. Perhaps after refreshing himself, he could find a witch at a nearby tavern to entertain him tonight.

Snape shrugged. "We met with Charles Weasley and Hermione Granger earlier this evening."

All thoughts of sleep vanished from Draco's mind. "Weasley? I thought that they were all dead! I killed three of them myself. And Granger - why is that Mudblood still alive?"

"I will tolerate no crassness in this house, Draco," warned Lucius, who was far too elegant to use such vulgar language.

"Yes, sir," he grumbled. "But why are they alive? Shouldn't they be dead by now?" He struggled to withhold the irritation from his voice. One would think that two of Dumbledore's greatest supporters would have been hunted down immediately, not allowed to...frolic in the new order.

Quickly explaining the bargain, Snape finished with, "They are alive because we need them to be alive. Granger is a talented and powerful witch - with more training, she will surpass even her old mentor, McGonagall. Weasley also has much potential."

Draco placed a hand to his forehead. "But do we really need them? Surely you can find someone else to fill whatever positions you need filled."

Lucius waved that suggestion away. "Draco, have you not realized that these jobs are only a front for what we really need them for?" Lucius gazed at his son in expectation.

"Father, please tell me that this is not some form of affirmative action," blurted Draco in horror.

"Draco, you were the brightest student in my house. I do hope you haven't lost any intelligence in the months following graduation," scowled Snape.

The not-so-bright student scowled as well, which caused Lucius to shake his head in exasperation. "As I was saying, they have a powerful affiliation with magic. Draco, I trust that I have your discretion?"

"Of course, Father." Draco ended the stare-contest with Snape and focused on Lucius again.

Lucius and Snape exchanged looks again, as if in reconsideration. Finally, "The Dark Lord has grown weak."

Comprehension dawned in Draco's eyes.

------

Hermione rose the next morning to be faced with another bright and cheerful day. A small, illogical part of her wished that the day had been gloomy and damp, an ideal foreshadower of her future days. But the weather insisted on being cheerful, so Hermione stumbled around Ginny's room as she tried to gain her bearings.

Her rest had been anything but peaceful. Having dreamt of Ron and Harry, she woke up even more tired than she had been before going to bed, and after a quick, bleary-eyed examination in the mirror, she went back to bed.

In many aspects, Ginny's room was still a girl's haven. Because she had been the only girl in the family, Ginny had been pampered to a certain extent. The bedspread and canopy were a pale, pink color, and several trinkets were scattered about the room. There were a few posters of handsome wizards - including one of Gilderoy Lockhart, which had probably been Mrs. Weasley's contribution to the décor.

If Hermione closed her eyes, she could pretend that Ginny was alive. This was a typical end-of-summer gathering, when Harry and Hermione would come to the Burrow before school started. Ginny would return from the bathroom any minute. Yes, and Ron and Harry are in the next room snoring away, Fred and George are upstairs, Bill and Charlie are in their own room, Percy is up early working on a report, Mr. Weasley is reading The Daily Prophet, and Mrs. Weasley is downstairs making breakfast. A typical summer morning.

But just as Hermione became immersed in her fantasy, a sharp rap on the door made her dream dissolve. "Hermione, are you awake?" Charlie's tired voice dispelled any hopes of this being a typical, summer morning.

"Yes, Charlie. Come in." She sat up again and tried to smooth her wild hair.

The door opened. "Do you realize that it's only an hour from noon?" His footsteps drew closer to the bed. "You're usually an early-riser."

"I decided that I ought to do the world a favor today by staying in bed."

He pushed back the curtains and inspected her face critically. "I dare say that you're right. You look terrible." At her scowl, he took a seat at the foot of the bed. "Didn't sleep well either, I see. But once you take a bath and eat some food, you'll feel much better."

She met his eyes. "Are you going to send the letter?"

Silently, he pulled a piece of parchment from his pocket. "I wanted you to read it before I sent it off with Hedwig." The mention of the snowy owl brought a smile to Hermione's face. Hedwig, after Harry's death, refused to serve anyone else other than her former master's friends. "Read." He thrust the parchment in front of her eyes.

Mr. Lucius Malfoy:

After due consideration of your offer, Miss Granger and I have decided to accept your terms.

Sincerely,

C. Weasley

"It's short," said Hermione.

"I prefer to think it succinct." Charlie pushed back his hair, an action that he had unconsciously picked up from Bill. "I think he's the type that appreciates conciseness."

Hermione snorted. "Since when do you care about what Malfoy appreciates?"

He stood up. "Since he now has control over my life," he reminded her tersely. "And you had best remember that as well." He mussed her hair affectionately. "Now get out of bed. I'm making breakfast downstairs." With one last smile, he left Ginny's room.

Once downstairs, Charlie pushed the permanent ache within his chest away, sent the letter off with Hedwig, and resolutely began to prepare breakfast. Molly had been insistent in teaching her children basic household skills, including cooking. In Romania, Charlie had been responsible for his own meals as well, so cooking meals now should have posed no problem.

In theory, at least.

But in the Burrow, each pot, each ladle, each mug - all had memories associated with them. Hermione, who had sensed this, had graciously been cooking for them for the past few days. But Charlie knew it was time he shouldered his own responsibilities, cooking least of all. He would have preferred to die with his family, but by some wicked twist in fate, he was alive. It would dishonor his family if he lived as a human shell.

That meant moving on, and for now, that meant making breakfast.

The Burrow was low on food. There were a few eggs, and although Hermione had baked bread the other day, it was almost gone. Pulling his wand out, he rolled up his sleeves and found his mother's apron hanging from a hook in the wall. It was a bright orange color - a gift from Ron - and he flinched when he saw his reflection in the glass. All things considered, it was probably a good thing he had never played Quidditch for the Chudley Cannons.

"Oi! Charlie!" Charlie turned to see his youngest brother run after him.

"What is it, Ron?" Charlie was on his way to meet Elena Mondreal, a very pretty witch he had met in Hogsmeade.

"Will you please teach me how to fly?" Ron looked up to his brother with soft, pleading eyes.

"You're going to Hogwarts soon. You can learn it there." Impatient, he looked toward the clock on the wall and straightened his robes.

"I can't go there inexperienced! Please, Charlie! You're the best Quidditch player that Hogwarts has ever seen!"

"I wouldn't say that..."A tiny blushed appeared on Charlie's cheeks. It was one thing to have friends and fawning women say that, but it was entirely different when his own brother said it with such devotion and belief.

"Well, I say so." His tiny face scrunched up in stubbornness, as if he meant to say, "Well, I say so, and that's the way it's going to be."

All thoughts of his date were pushed aside as he crouched down to look Ron in the eye. "Well then, I would be most honored to teach you."

Ron flung his small arms around him. "Thank you, Charlie! You're the best brother ever!"

"Better than Bill and the twins?"

"Loads better."

Charlie leaned forward and whispered, "Better than Percy?"

Ron rolled his eyes. "Everyone's better than Percy."

Charlie's hand shook as he pulled out ingredients from the pantry, and with eerie determination, he prepared omelets and toast. Later in the day, he would have to go to the village market and buy some more food.

"Breakfast smells divine, Charlie." Hermione, considerably more fresh-faced, took a seat at the kitchen table.

"We'll need to go to the village today." He placed their plates on the table.

She nodded in agreement. "We have just enough money for today, I think." She smiled ruefully. "Perhaps it is a good thing that we're going to be on Malfoy's payroll. At least now we'll have money."

Charlie aimlessly pushed his food with his fork. "But how easy will it be to survive on Malfoy's money? We aren't even doing honest work."

"We haven't a choice," she said firmly, but the quaver in her voice made her doubts clear.

Hedwig flew in through the open window and hooted in greeting. Absently feeding the beloved owl some toast, Charlie untied the message from her leg.

Mr. Charles Weasley:

I cannot begin to tell you how pleased I am that both of you have accepted. It saves us both from more unpleasant actions. But I must confess that communication through owl is tedious, and I prefer not to talk through the fireplace. It would be in everyone's best interest if both you and Miss Granger brought your belongings to the Manor and dwell with us here. Please come tomorrow morning, for we have no time to waste on your training.

Severus has requested that Miss Granger join him at his estate tonight for supper at six o'clock this evening.

Sincerely,

L. Malfoy

"That was quick." Charlie tapped the edge of the letter. "And he doesn't give us much choice, does he?"

Hermione closed her eyes as a headache threatened to overcome her. "He wants us there so he and his minions can keep an eye on us."

"Evil git," muttered Charlie.

She sighed and reluctantly got up. "It's a good thing I'm not very skilled at dueling."

"So Snape and Malfoy can breathe more easily?"

------

At precisely six o'clock, Hermione stepped out of Snape's fireplace and into a comfortable parlor. She would have preferred to apparate, but Snape, like Malfoy, had anti-apparition charms surrounding his home.

Snape himself was waiting nearby. Clad in robes of black with a white frock shirt underneath, her formidable former potions master looked the same as ever. Even the sneer on his face was familiar. "Miss Granger, so kind of you to arrive on time."

"Yes, sir," mumbled Hermione meekly. Only Snape had ever been able to make Hermione cower.

Amusement flashed briefly in his dark eyes. "Someone else will be joining us for dinner tonight. It will be no bother to you, I trust?" But as polite as the question was, Snape's face suggested that he did not care about her answer.

"No, sir." She was quite pleased that someone else would be here tonight, for she did not feel comfortable around the man who had betrayed Dumbledore. Unless the guest happened to be Lucius Malfoy.

He nodded. "Excellent. Follow me." He led her out into a wide hallway. Hermione had assumed that Snape's ancestral home, Belvedere, would be much like his office and classroom at Hogwarts - dark, damp, and colorless. However, Belvedere was out of the eighteenth century. The beautiful mansion was tastefully decorated in Victorian furniture, and many priceless works of art hung from its walls. "Titian," he remarked when he saw Hermione pause in front of one of the paintings. "The original." He then went into a short explanation of how his family had kept this painting from the early sixteenth century. For Hermione, this was a peek into her reclusive professor's life. Now she knew that his coloring was due to his Venetian ancestry.

She leaned closer. The painting was similar to Titian's renowned Venus With a Mirror, but this one featured a woman and two men. The men were trying to capture the attention of the woman, whose gaze was looking beyond them. "It is lovely, sir. What is its title?"

"Fawning Over Venus." Snape looked at the painting fondly. "A remarkable piece, is it not?"

"That it is. But if I may ask a question sir?" At his nod, she hesitantly asked, "Titian was a Muggle. By owning his works, are you not paying homage to him?"

He pursed his lips and gave her a significant look. "As a scholar, I appreciate brilliance wherever it is found. And Muggle paintings seem to have more magic than wizarding ones." He gestured toward Venus. "This painting is absolutely still, and yet it is able to convey just as many thoughts and feelings as a wizarding one."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "But don't the rest of the Dark Lord's supporters mind?"

Snape waved that away. "We all have our quirks. This just happens to be mine."

"Don't tell Molly," whispered Mr. Weasley. "You know how she gets when I bring home Muggle artifacts."

"I won't, Mr. Weasley." She followed him into his workroom, where various Muggle objects lay scattered around.

He reached under his desk and pulled out a box. "Tell me what this is. It fell into my hands yesterday, and I've been brimming with curiosity since then." Hermione leaned forward in excitement to see Mr. Weasley pull out a...nail filer.

"You use it to smooth and shape nails."

His face lit up in excitement. "Muggles invent the most interesting things!" He examined it in light. "How do you use it?" What followed was a lesson on nail care in the Muggle world, a topic that fascinated Mr. Weasley. But although nail filers were common, everyday mundane objects, somehow Mr. Weasley made them seem unique and innovative again. It was as if Hermione were viewing the filer from an entirely different prospect."

"ARTHUR!"

Mr. Weasley hurriedly put the filer away. "If Molly ever finds it, I can always say that it's a new type of wand. She isn't that fond of this quirk of mine."

"Miss Granger," interrupted Snape. "I realize that I am devastatingly handsome, but can we please continue on our way?"

Dimly Hermione realized that she had been staring at Snape in her daze. "Sorry, Professor." After gracing her with another sneer, he spun on his heel and marched away, leaving Hermione to hurry after him.

The dining hall was furnished as nicely as the rest of the house, and it looked like it could seat at least a hundred people. Snape crossed the room and went into a smaller antechamber, where a smaller table was set.

And waiting for them was Madam Pince.

The Madam Pince of Hermione's past had been a dour-faced librarian always swathed in robes of dull gray. But this Madam Pince, with brown hair pulled back into a sleek chignon and dressed in fashionable robes, looked ten years younger. "Miss Granger." Even her authoritative tones now held a glimmer of affection.

Snape bowed to her. "Irma. I apologize that I was unable to greet you."

"The house elves showed me in," she smiled. Turned to Hermione, whose eyes were flickering in confusion, "I am glad to see you are well, Miss Granger."

Automatically, she inclined her head and responded with the proper response: "Thank you, Madam."

Snape pulled out a chair for Pince, and once she was seated, he pulled one out for Hermione as well. "Madam Pince is the guest I mentioned earlier," he said unnecessarily.

Hermione nodded politely and distantly listened to the conversation between Snape and Pince. Although several questions were burning in her mind, she held her tongue. From the past seven years at Hogwarts, she knew that both Snape and Pince valued their privacy. She realized that she knew nothing about Hogwart's librarian, save that she was very knowledgeable about a wide range of subjects.

"-some wine?" asked Snape.

Hermione blinked and nodded hastily. "Yes, please." She watched him pour the wine into her class, the deep ruby red reminding her of blood and red hair. "Professor," she asked, a hint of desperation threading her voice, "What is all of this about?"

"It is called dinner, Miss Granger. I believe you have those in the Muggle world?"

Madam Pince hid a smile behind her hand. "Really, Severus, the least you could do is give the child straightforward answers."

Snape glowered darkly at Pince. "Straightforward is hardly the right word." Turning to Hermione, he asked, "I suppose you have some questions?" When she nodded, he folded his hands on the table. "Ask away. I cannot promise you that I will tell you all the answers, but I will endeavor to be as truthful as I can."

That was probably the largest promise Snape could ever make to her. "What capacity will I be serving in?"

"A fair question," he said agreeably. "I am in the process of researching several potions in various areas, such as defense and medicine. Besides Draco Malfoy, you were my brightest student. I will require your assistance."

A compliment from Snape. "Thank you, Professor."

He sneered again. "It was no compliment, Miss Granger. Only the unfortunate truth."

Leave it to Snape to ruin even a small victory. Refraining from rolling her eyes, she asked, "If I will be working with you, why must I live with the Malfoys? It seems more inconvenient."

"It is more inconvenient, but it is also highly improper for an unmarried woman to live with an unmarried man without a chaperone." He shrugged ever so slightly. "I would prefer not to cause gossip."

Hermione refrained from rolling her eyes. Snape concerned about public opinion? Taking a deep breath, "Why did you switch sides again? To Voldemort?"

"Oh ye of little faith," muttered Snape, and for a tiny moment, Hermione fancied that she had seen a thread of sadness in his dark eyes.

"So you didn't? You didn't switch sides?" she demanded.

Snape gave her a contemplative look. "I am not on anyone's side," he said finally. "But I am on the side of justice...justice tempered with revenge." The house elves came and cleared away the last remnants of dinner. "Miss Granger, you are aware of my history up until my "return" to the Dark Lord's side?" At her nod, he continued. "Lucius Malfoy and I willingly joined Voldemort in the early seventies. As much as I would like to believe that we had been coerced by some sort of unsavory method, I was fully aware of what I was doing and whom I was agreeing to serve."

"You also know that a few years later, I defected to Albus Dumbledore. In exchange for his trust, I became a spy. A double agent, in fact."

"You mean you lied to both sides?"

He shrugged. "Lied is a strong term. I manipulated information, something that could never be discovered since I was rather unique."

Too shocked to be angry, Hermione could only stutter. "Why?"

"Why is a question that is far deeper than its answer, Miss Granger. I could give you several reasons - that I saw both Voldemort's and Dumbledore's policies as wrong. Do not misunderstand me, Miss Granger. Dumbledore was a great man, and he possessed all the virtues that Voldemort lacked. But it was because of these virtues that made him a weak policy-maker - we all know that Fudge was only a puppet figure in many ways."

"Voldemort is a Muggle-hating, murdering wizard," responded Hermione.

Snape nodded with equanimity. "Yes, he is. But he also appreciates the importance of traditions. Voldemort feared, and rightly so, I might add, that under the liberal wizards running the government, our world would become much like the Muggle one. We share nothing in common with Muggles. Our history, our customs, our laws - we might as well be from another species. Their race is one of destruction and cruelty - always they are fighting over the most trivial issues, and they build weapons of immense destruction, which they fire into their own cities."

He leaned forward. "You live among them. Can you really say that they are as harmless as Arthur Weasley said?"

"But Voldemort speaks of genocide on the mass scale! He wants to kill of Muggles and all Muggleborns!"

"Mostly propaganda by the Ministry offices. When Voldemort first began speaking out against Muggles, there was no talk of killing. After all, purebloods make up only a small percentage of wizarding society. We needed mixed blood members. We only wanted to keep Muggles out of our own society. We wanted to keep our society pure, the way it has been for over a thousand years. In essence, we wanted to quarantine Muggles."

Hermione, carefully pushing away her emotions, relied on her logic and reasoning to ask the question that mattered the most to her: "Where did Muggleborns fit into his society? Where do I fit in now?"

"Muggleborns were still accepted in Voldemort's old conception of stable government. He was, after all, a Muggleborn himself. The discrimination of Muggleborns by purebloods is a far more ancient prejudice, stretching back into the times of Salazar Slytherin."

Madam Pince spoke for the first time since the discussion had started. "Miss Granger, you must understand that not all Slytherins are Muggle-haters and that not all Muggle-haters are Slytherins." Tucking an errant strand of hair behind her ear, she confessed in a quiet voice, "I too was a Slytherin, and I believed in what Voldemort preached all those years ago."

Hermione looked at her former librarian numbly. "You too?"

"There was so much discrimination in those days. Grindewald was a Slytherin, and he single-handedly managed to shred the dignity of our house. Soon people, especially Muggleborns, grew eager to lay the blame of dark magic at someone's feet and pointed to the House of Slytherin." She exchanged a sorrowful look with Snape. "We lost our credibility, and we were faced with a twisted sense of reverse discrimination. Gryffindors, Ravenclaws, even Hufflepuffs were given jobs over far better qualified Slytherins. After graduation, very few people of Slytherin House were able to find jobs because no one wanted to hire them. In a way, Voldemort provided us a way to earn money and support families."

"As Death Eaters?" asked Hermione, a heavy note of sarcasm in her voice.

"Voldemort had more people in his employ than Death Eaters. There were people who researched spells and potions, people who managed the wide array of contacts and business transactions, and even people who made the clothing and masks for us." Pince looked away briefly. "In those days, women had a harder time getting jobs, but Voldemort held no such reservations. Women rose in high positions under his command."

Snape steepled his hands. "Slytherin is the house of ambition, after all."

Madam Pince met Hermione's gaze. "I was one of them. After having been refused job after job by wizards who hired men less qualified than I was, Voldemort hired me to research and create new spells. Spells of medicine..." she trailed off. "After Voldemort's defeat several years ago, I was in even worse shape than before. Not only was I a woman, I had been in Voldemort's circle. It had not mattered that the spells I had created were for the betterment of all...no one would give me a job. I would have been forced to more...unpleasant job prospects if Dumbledore had not taken me in." Her eyes flickered away. "And although I was grateful for the job, I was not allowed to teach. So I became a librarian."

Hermione glanced at Snape. "But Professor Snape was allowed to teach. Even if he did have to spy."

Madam Pince shrugged. "Dumbledore trusted me less although I had never even been a Death Eater."

"He also had no problem using the spells you had created, Irma." Snape's scowl was back. "To call you untrustworthy but to use your work freely...and to force you into a job far beneath you but still expect you to supply him with more spells...it was a hypocritical move on his part."

Hermione looked down into her glass, the dark red glinting in the light. She was troubled, for in all her years of learning history from Professor Binns, from listening to stories from elder wizards such as Alastor Moody, Remus Lupin, Minerva McGonagall, and even Sirius Black himself, not a single person had ever told her about these events. And she knew, without a trace of doubt, that Snape and Pince were not lying to her.

She had seen the reverse discrimination herself, something that she had brushed off because Slytherins were evil anyway. How any time something had gone wrong, fingers pointed to Draco Malfoy, how in Hogsmeade, many people would shy away from those wearing cloaks of the Slytherin House. She understood now why some of them, most especially Malfoy and Pansy, had always used the influence of their family to get what they wanted - because they would otherwise be ignored. And those that hadn't had the family name or money had been ignored and shunned. People such as Marcus Flint and Malcolm Baddock, who had relied on their patronage to the upper-class families for survival.

A memory of Harry came unbidden to her mind.

"You know what Hagrid told me once? He said that there wasn't a single witch or wizard who went bad who wasn't in Slytherin."(1)

But that was only what Hagrid, McGonagall, and even Dumbledore had wanted them to believe. Hadn't Pettigrew been a Gryffindor? Emeric the Evil a Hufflepuff? Sebastian of Kent a Gryffindor? Catherine of the Three Hands a Ravenclaw? These evil witches and wizards had been raised with the virtues of loyalty, honor, and bravery.

Then there were the Slytherins, who were taught to use whatever means to an end, to manipulate circumstances in their favor, to outfox the fox. Were those qualities really so bad? Perhaps they could be used toward evil ends, but the witch Edica had persistently searched for and hunted down Sebastian of Kent. The wizard Marcus Eddington had cunningly outwitted the head of the goblin army is 1489. These were Slytherins, who had relied on these devious qualities for good ends. Good people, such as Madam Pince...and Snape.

Snape's cold eyes flashed briefly - perhaps sympathy again?

"But, over time, Voldemort had to pay a price for his heavy use of dark magic. He descended into insanity, and from then on, he began the persecution of Muggles and Muggleborns. It was as if he had forgotten that his family had been Muggles. Many of us in his service found this distasteful. We learned the hard way that quarantine implied separation, a concept that does not, in fact could not, exist in the magical community." Snape's lips thinned. "But there were many who reveled in Muggle killings. Some of them sought to take revenge for decades of unfair treatment."

Hermione wearily closed her eyes as she digested this material. "But you haven't answered my other question, Professor. Where do I fit in now?"

"I have told you that the Dark Lord has taken a personal interest in your welfare. I believe he seeks his own qualities within you."

"That's preposterous!" snapped Hermione. "I'm nothing like him! I'm a Gryffindor!"

"I would think that you would have applied that brain of yours to what we have been explaining to you," said Snape, the cold sarcasm back in his voice. "Regardless, what the Dark Lord thinks is of no consequence to us. Indeed, it is a stroke of luck."

Hermione gave him a blank look. Madam Pince filled her in. "Now that the old government has been abolished...in a very unfortunate way...we must be careful with the new one. Don't you see, Miss Granger? This is our opportunity to change the mistakes, to structure the magical world in a way better for everyone, Muggleborns included. We call ourselves the Alliance of the Faithful, those that want to restore order to the old way of life, the way it was before Grindewald."

"With Voldemort?" snorted Hermione.

Snape paused, and then, "Without Voldemort." He leaned forward again. "And we need you to help us kill him."

Hermione fell back into her chair. "Kill him?" she squawked, disbelieving. "Kill Lord Voldemort? You can't kill Voldemort! How can you kill Voldemort? Not even Harry and Dumbledore could do that."

"Irma, perhaps you were too confident in Miss Granger's intellect." Snape's facial expression was far too familiar to Hermione.

"This is a bit much for me to comprehend all at once," said Hermione, her cheeks reddening with anger and indignation.

Snape poured himself more wine as Hermione distantly appreciated his ability to hold down alcohol. "In all your years as president of Harry Potter's fan club, did you ever wonder why Dumbledore kept sending Harry to fight the Dark Lord?"

The question caught Hermione off guard. "Well, I suppose because Harry was the Boy-Who-Lived, and-"

He waved that away. "He could be the Boy-Reincarnated-As-Godric-Gryffindor, but he was still a young and untrained wizard, and it was by sheer luck that he had managed to survive as long as he did." Snape shot her a mocking smile. "Perhaps some of his friends were responsible for that."

"Harry was a powerful wizard," she protested.

"That he was. But what use is unharnassed power? Dumbledore should have allowed Potter to focus on his training instead of wandering the hallways at night with his dratted invisibility cloak. But then again, Dumbledore possessed some rather Slytherin qualities. He was quite an enforcer of the phrase 'Use a sword until it is too blunt for use.' Yes, Miss Granger," he said at the look of sickened comprehension in her eyes. "Dumbledore used Potter in order to survive longer. But Voldemort was by far a wilier Slytherin and saw through his plans."

"He kept his own strength on reserve, on some occasions even increasing it, in order to prepare for his confrontation with Dumbledore. Added to the fact that Dumbledore was ancient even before Voldemort was born - well, I should think the outcome came as no surprise." Snape leaned back. "Unfortunately, Voldemort underestimated his own powers at magical retention. After killing Dumbledore and Potter, as well as several others, he lost much of his own powers as well. Right now, he is so paranoid that he is not even running his own government. He has gone so far as to go into hiding again."

Madam Pince gripped her glass tightly. "Voldemort is weak and almost defenseless. Once his lapdog Pettigrew is killed off, a simple spell will finish Voldemort off for good."

"I don't understand why you need my help. Compared to all of you, I'm nothing."

Irritation crossed Snape's eyes again. "Spare us the melodrama, Miss Granger. And your lack of attention is really quite shameful. As I have already said, the Dark Lord is very interested in you, Miss Granger. Soon, he will request your presence, and you will go to him. You will be like him. And he will think of you as the heir he never had."

"Voldemort does not trust his Death Eaters very much." Madam Pince looked toward the fire. "And although he champions the superiority of Purebloods, he is afraid of giving them too much power. He does not wish to be undermined by people such as Lucius Malfoy."

Snape nodded. "But we have made an oath to him. The spell that binds us to him does not allow us to do anything harmful to him - although we can speak about it."

"You have a unique position, Miss Granger." Madam Pince was all earnestness now. "Like him, you are a Muggleborn who rose through the ranks of society to gain respect, and had circumstances been in your favor, you would have had power as well. Voldemort will not think that you are consorting with your enemies - these Purebloods who have sought to banish you from society."

The cold eyes of Snape glittered at her. "He will try to win you over, and he will try to use you against us. He will try to make you his watchdog - to keep us in check."

But there were loose ends. "What about Veritasum? He will surely use it."

"A good observation, Miss Granger." The approval in Snape's eyes surprised Hermione. "But what if I told you that not all the potions I brewed were solely medicinal or defensive? What if I told you that I am brewing a potion that gives you immunity to Veritasum?"

"How did you..."

He chuckled without any humor. "Many years of research, many failed experiments. But I have done it. And you will drink it."

Hermione glanced from Madam Pince to Snape. Both wore expressions that were unreadable. "This is all so treacherous," whispered Hermione.

Snape's eyes glittered coldly. "It is efficient," he corrected.

Hermione's elbow slipped, and her head almost hit the tabletop. "There's no way. There's just no way!" She steadied her hands. "With all due respect, both of you are mad! Even if I thought that we stood a chance, even if I trusted both of you again, there's no way I could work with you. Your power is from dark magic while mine is not!"

"Do not be so sure of that, Miss Granger," said Snape darkly. "Magic is only magic. Sometimes good is simply another form of evil, and sometimes the most wicked of deeds can lead to the most advantageous of results."

Hermione's head began to pound. It is not always the same thing to be a good person and a good citizen.

"I thought that you were willing to risk everything to avenge your fallen friends and family." Hermione bridled at his scornful, cruel tone, but he was not finished. "But I suppose that you would rather pine away and mourn their misfortunes."

She gasped, and at that moment, she wanted to do nothing more but cry and sleep. But a sudden flame filled her and strengthened her resolve. "Yes. I'm in."

------

Draco stood in front a door of smooth, paneled oak. It was already close to noon, and he had an appointment with his father in two hours. But two hours was more than enough time.

He had left his father's house a week ago after hearing the stunning news that the best friend of his most despised enemies would be on their side now, that she would be working for the same ends as he was. He knew that she was now dwelling at his own home, and according to Lucius, a quiet and unobtrusive girl. Draco had read the news and flinched in disgust. How is father managed to despise Mudbloods but still be a courteous host to them was a skill that Draco had yet to master.

And hopefully he would never have to. Unlike his father, who bore no personal resentment against Granger, Draco did. He despised Hermione Granger and all that she represented. Perhaps his resentment was rooted in fear, but Draco did not care. Fear was a healthy emotion, regardless of what Dumbledore had preached, and it could be used toward the most difficult of ends.

Unfortunate blood, his father had called her. She should have been born among us. But we can still use her.

It galled him to have to work with this Granger girl, to view the Mudblood as an equal - at least for the time being. Once Voldemort was gone, perhaps Granger could go as well. After all, she was only a tool being used for the betterment of society. A society without Voldemort's twisted designs and without unwelcome and damaging Muggle influences.

Feeling better, he raised his hand and knocked on the door. He heard the rustle of cloth upon cloth, and a few seconds later, the door opened.

Hermione Granger.

"What do you want?" she spat with a surprising yet pleasant amount of venom.

Draco pushed past her and entered her room. "I see my father has given you the corner room. There is a splendid view of the lake from here." He casually slouched on one of the armchairs and looked Granger over. She looked the same as she had when she graduated. Short, with her mass of brown hair that was doomed to be a curse for the rest of her life. Her plain, unremarkable facial features. Her lack of a generous bosom.

And the hatred burning in her eyes. That, at least, was a welcome sight. "For shame, Miss Granger," he said, mocking her with the formal title. "I am fulfilling my duties as a son of this House by greeting one of our most esteemed guests. For sake of manners, shouldn't you be offering me tea?"

He inwardly cheered when he saw the reluctant admission in her eyes. "Fine," she snapped. She conjured a teapot and two cups with saucers.

While she was pouring the tea, he allowed his eyes to wander the room. Her room was decorated in cool colors of pale yellow and white, a fact he was sure had startled Granger when she had first seen the room. Briefly, he wondered if she knew that his mother had grown sick of the traditional silver and green colors and had insisted in a variety of other colors in their house. On her desk were scattered scrolls and books - most likely research she was doing for Snape. The wardrobe on the other side of the room was closed, but he knew that many new and expensive clothes lined the racks within. His father and Snape would not allow Granger to live in high society without at least looking like she belonged.

Even if her blood made it impossible.

"How is it, working for Snape?" he drawled.

Handing him the saucer and cup, she took a seat across from him. "Difficult," she admitted. "Snape is a demanding task-master."

"I would imagine it to be so." They were silent then, but it was an almost pleasant sort of silence. And then, "Father tells me that you spend most of your time in the library." Apparently it had been the proper thing to say because the frost in her eyes diminished just a little bit.

"Yes. Your father was gracious enough to allow me access to all the books in there."

"There is quite a good collection," he agreed with the tiniest hint of pride. "It is unfortunate that you are not inclined to read books on dark magic. We have the most interesting selection of spell books, and my favorite - Applications of Unicorn Blood during the Full Moon."

A spark of interest lit her eyes before disappearing a moment later. "I would much rather read the books on divination," she said with her normal amount of prudishness.

"Your loss," he remarked unsympathetically. "Where is your sidekick Weasley?"

"Charlie is not my sidekick."

Draco smirked. "Is that so? I would have thought that one Weasley was like any other - replaceable and poor."

Her expression did not change, but her fingers turned white as they gripped her teacup. "Malfoy, I would appreciate it if you would leave now. I have nothing more to say to you."

He stood languidly. "Struck a nerve, have I? I'll have to remember that."

"It would be just like a Slytherin to manipulate such things," she hissed.

Draco rolled his eyes. "And it's just like a Gryffindor to be so dramatic." He leaned closer so that his breath was hot on her face. "I will manipulate whatever I see fit to get what I want."

She jerked back her head. "Whether for good or evil?"

"Good and evil are two sides to the same coin, Granger girl." He moved toward the door. "Besides, I think that you are afraid. Afraid to see that some of these evil Slytherin qualities are admirable, afraid because you have already begun using them." His cold eyes narrowed in triumph. "Afraid that you will turn into a Slytherin."

"Don't be ridiculous. I was sorted into Gryffindor. Not Slytherin."

He shook his head. "You were eleven years old when you were sorted, Granger. At the time, you believed in all those silly qualities of foolhardy bravery and stupid loyalty. But you are different now. Experiences have shaped you into a different person. But whether you like who you have become or not is another matter entirely."

The sudden anguish in her eyes proved that he had gotten through to her. But then her eyes grew darker, and he wondered if they were filled with anger, fear or hate - most likely all three. That was just as well. He preferred Granger only when she was coldly determined, fueled by thoughts of revenge. Not lovesick Granger. Not sympathetic Granger. But angry Granger.

She spoke, her voice surprisingly firm and composed. "I will remain what I am, no matter what else is done to me."

Inclining his head, he quietly exited the room and left Granger with her troubled thoughts. But the triumph that he had been expecting at proving a point to the know-it-all was strangely non-existent. If Draco had not known any better, he would have called the feeling guilt. But he did know better...didn't he?

Making his way to his room, he entered the haven with a sigh of relief. This place had been his since his earliest days, and while the decorations had changed year to year, everything in it was his. His father and mother, who controlled most aspects of his life, rarely intruded upon his own domain. Stripping off his cloak and boots, he padded over to the far side of his room to his own wardrobe. Reaching behind it, he pulled out a small box of wood. It had been a gift from Snape many years ago, and over time, it had been filled with trinkets and other useless things - things that had no purpose save for the memories they held.

Sprawling onto his bed, he opened the box carefully. He pulled out a slender green ribbon that his mother had given him when he had been a young boy. Then there was the tiny marble elephant his father had brought back from India. Next came out a piece of glass from a window he had shattered before he had gone to Hogwarts. He had been playing Quidditch with some of his friends, and he had managed to catch the snitch - only to crash into the window of his father's study.

Lucius had not been happy.

Beneath the box was another secret compartment, which contained only one object. He allowed it to lie there before he reluctantly reached in and pulled it out.

The delicate bracelet gleamed brightly in his hands as the sunlight from the windows filtered in.

"I have you cornered." Draco twirled his wand in his right hand. Ron Weasley furtively glanced around the deserted room as he desperately sought another way out. "Too bad you allowed yourself to be trapped with me." He moved in on the redhead. "And you don't even have your wand. Tsk tsk."

"Shut up, Malfoy," sneered Weasley. "I don't need my wand for the likes of you." Suddenly, he launched himself at Draco. They struggled for possession of Draco's wand, which fell from his hands. Deprived of wands, they fought as common Muggle street brawlers, fist to fist.

Blood spilled and covered every inch of their skins, yet they fought on.

No words were needed.

But while head locked by Weasley, Draco noticed that the end of an upturned table leg was particularly sharp, and when he finally became free of Weasley's hold, he pushed his enemy onto the table.

The leg acted as a spike.

"So you won," hissed Weasley in pain.

"So I did," said Draco, an unwelcome hollowness in his stomach. His feet making footprints in Weasley's blood, he moved closer to the shuddering and bleeding body and allowed a reluctant flare of admiration for Weasley. A poor Muggle-lover he may have been, he still had fought well. Gently pulling his body off the stake, he lowered Weasley to the ground.

"What are you doing?" gasped Weasley. "I'm already dying. There isn't much else you can do to me to hurry it up."

Draco rummaged through his pockets and found a handkerchief. Wiping Weasley's face, Draco avoided the piercing blue eyes. "I hate you, and I'm glad that you are about to die, but a worthy opponent should not die like an animal on a stake."

Weasley managed a tired grin. "This your twisted sense of honor, Malfoy?"

"I suppose so. It's a good thing you are dying, so you can't spread the word that I have a sense of honor." Ignoring his own injuries, Draco folded himself into a sitting position. "And no one should die alone."

His breaths grew more labored. "We are enemies, Malfoy."

"We were a few minutes ago, Weasley. But there are no enemies in death." Draco fell silent as he acknowledged the flicker of gratitude in the blue eyes.

When Weasley stopped breathing. Draco stayed a moment longer before rising painfully. But as he turned away, his eyes caught the flicker of gold from Weasley. Pulling out the bracelet, he read the inscription. To Hermione from Ron, whose love for her is as constant as the stars. He was about to put the bracelet back, but the gleam seemed to call to him.

He placed the bracelet in his pocket, and without looking back, he left the room.

Winner takes all.