His Mistress

- CHAPTER FOUR -

Instincts of Treason

The two Aurors had been given the mission of investigating the repeated sightings of Dark wizards and Dementors in Leeds. For the sake of discretion, they had been instructed to use Muggle rail to get to their destination, because Apparition could be magically tracked. Hermione had blushed and clenched her teeth before asking Ron whether he had brought his pouch of Muggle pounds because she had forgotten to go to Gringotts to exchange enough galleons to pay for her own ticket.

She had handled the task of buying the tickets, though, because Ron was no good with Muggle money, and that was quite lucky, actually, since he had brought thirty pounds, which was more than enough to pay both their tickets. Apparently, the brochures the Office of Misinformation had provided to them had been outdated, and Midland Mainline had since increased the ticket fares twofold.

Seated next to Ron on a comfortable, if not very clean cloth-lined seat in the moving Master Cutler, Hermione ignored her Ron's attempts at conversation. Instead, she let her mind drift away from the crowded compartment to a memory that had been haunting her since the age of eleven.

It was Hermione's first day at Hogwarts. She was peering curiously at the enchanted ceiling, currently of a midnight blue, almost black colour sprinkled with stars. She had read in Hogwarts, A History that it was charmed to look exactly like the sky outside. She had read all the textbooks before school started and knew all the hexes by mind, for she, along with many other first-years, was expecting an admission test.

But unlike the other first-years, Hermione knew a lot about the four Hogwarts houses. For instance, she knew that You-Know-Who had been in Slytherin. Personally, she hoped she would be sorted into Gryffindor - it appeared to be the best of the houses, but Ravenclaw didn't seem bad either. Courage and intelligence were qualities that she wanted to develop and perfect in herself.

She was a nervous and overexcited little girl, waiting for her turn to be sorted. When her name was called, she almost ran her way to the wooden stool. Oblivious to the entire Great Hall's eyes on her, she pulled the tattered hat frantically over her head and waited, barely able to contain her excitement. Then, out of nowhere, a tiny voice began to speak.

"Hum, quite difficult. I see lots of ambition ... eagerness to learn, and - oh, a desire to prove yourself despite your background ... you're ready to do anything to prove you're the best. I see that you won't content yourself with being average; you won't let your blood and upraising hold you back. So where shall I place you?"

"Aren't you the Sorting Hat?" she thought, "You aren't supposed to ask me, right?"

"Hmm ... Hasty in taking sides, and once you've made a decision, you rarely reconsider. There's a remarkable selflessness, yes - you don't care about your own fate as long as those you care about are protected, and you let nothing stand in your way to help them. Such great loyalty ... oh, blessed are those you choose to side with -"

"Are you considering placing me in Hufflepuff?" she thought, horrified.

The tiny voice chuckled. "You would never fit in there. Very difficult indeed ... I see a lot of intellectual potential, a sharp mind, no doubt about that, but - oh my goodness, no, you aren't suited for quiet Ravenclaw either. You study not for the sake of knowledge itself but for the power that comes with it, to surpass others, eh? Great ambition, I see. Plenty of determination, too. Once you're set on a goal, you don't tire until you reach it. An interesting combination ... oh, oh, one thing is certain, young lady - whichever way you go, whatever path you choose, a brilliant future awaits you."

Hermione suddenly remembered the Hat's song ... use any means to achieve their ends ... she was now even more horrified than at the prospect of being placed in Hufflepuff. When she had read the section about the four houses in Hogwarts, A History, she had never thought about the possibility of ending up in ... Slytherin.

The bewitched hat, aware of her thoughts, chuckled again. "Courageous, you speak and fight for your beliefs. You have a deep-seated respect for authority, but you would sacrifice your beliefs if it were to help those you care about, now that's interesting ... There's also a certain contempt towards others - you know that you surpass them. And I see a penchant to boast; you are already aware of your power, aren't you? For that alone, you would fit perfectly in Slytherin ... but the underlying intent is purely GRYFFINDOR!"

The last word had echoed in the hall and a startled but beaming Hermione had made her way to the table on the far left, decorated in red and gold, to be enthusiastically greeted by Percy the prefect. But she could have been the first Muggle-born ever to be sorted into Slytherin ...

Even in Gryffindor, she had been more Slytherin than would have been proper. When Harry and Ron had been struck dumb with fear, caught by teachers in the girls' bathroom with a concussed troll, she had quickly come up with a plan to save them from possible expulsion, misleading the teachers with a clever lie. And that was nothing compared to how, facing a fate worse than expulsion and watching that horrible Umbridge woman prepare to torture Harry, she had been the only one whose brain hadn't shut down from panic. She had the only one able to come up with a way out, a way out that involved a good bit of playacting and a load of lies that everyone instantly believed. She was still quite proud of the way she had pulled that off ...

"Leeds City," announced an amplified voice. Hermione nudged Ron, who had dozen off on his seat. He sat up and rubbed his ribs. Had she elbowed him too hard?

-

Ron gawked at the crowd around them as they walked past a branch of Upper Crust on the ground level of the station. "What language are they speaking?" he asked in an undertone, his nostrils flaring as he inhaled the delicious smells coming from the restaurant.

"English," said Hermione, rolling her eyes. "Honestly, Ron, have you never been out of Surrey? People who live up north don't speak the same way we do -please close your mouth before you start salivating like a dog," she snapped, disgusted. "They're using a West Yorkshire dialect which has retained part of Old Norse grammar, that's why it sounds so unusual to us -" She stopped talking when she saw that Ron wasn't even listening to her. "It's rude to ask someone a question and pay no attention when they answer it, Ron. I can't believe your mother didn't teach you to behave like a civilised person!"

Ron's ears turned slightly pink. "Sorry, Hermione. Er - how can it be English when I don't understand a word? Who in the world calls a cuppa a brew? And what on earth is a d'oi - lam?"

She sniggered. "A doylum, Ron, is exactly what you're acting like right now."

Ron then complained that his stomach was staring to hurt, and Hermione was starting to feel hungry too. Neither of them had eaten breakfast that morning. They stopped at a restaurant in the arches under the railway station, and after arguing with Ron over the menu for ten minutes, Hermione ordered two portions of Yorkshire Hotpot (Ron had offended the waiter by making retching noises when she explained the ingredients in tripe and black pudding).

It was a disconcerting experience to have trains passing above their heads every five minutes, making the floor shake and giving them a sensation similar to a mild headache. They ate quickly and left the place, paying for their meal with what remained of the Muggle money in Ron's pouch. Hermione bought a copy of the Yorkshire Post on the way.

"What do you need that for?" asked Ron. "It's just Muggle stuff."

"Shush!" hissed Hermione. "If a wizard hears you use that word, we're done for. We're supposed to pretend we're Muggles!" She looked around quickly to check that no one was paying them attention. "I want something to read if we're going to spend all day discreetly observing the city. And you know it doesn't look very discreet if you sit on a bench all day doing nothing but staring at your surroundings."

Emerging from under the brick arches that supported the station, the pair of Aurors walked beside the River Aire, which was a light teal colour that day. The voices talking in strange accents grew fainter in the distance.

They sat on a bench by the river and Hermione promptly disappeared behind the newspaper.

-

Ron had the common sense of staying silent, and Hermione didn't re-emerge from her reading until she felt him put his arm around her shoulders.

She raised her eyes from the report of the recent disappearance of a twelve-year-old boy and his grandmother. "Ron, what are you doing?"

Ron withdrew his arm, and she saw that his ears were red. "It's bloody cold," he said, tugging at the collar of his jumper. He wasn't looking at her. "Why are you so jumpy?"

Hermione looked away. "No reason," she said briskly.

She saw his other hand going for the pocket of his trousers where he kept his wand.

"Oh. It's really cold, Hermione. If we could just -"

"Don't even think about it!" she said, zipping her own coat up to the chin and drawing her hands back into the sleeves so that only the tips of her fingers remained visible. "You should've used your head and brought a coat."

"I don't have a coat," said Ron. "Why can't we just Conjure cloaks? It's just a swish while no one's looking," - he demonstrated the movement using his hand instead of his wand - "it's not like the Muggles would see; there'll be no harm done ..."

"Ron Weasley, don't be such a doylum! Muggles do not wear cloaks! You might not have taken Muggle Studies at Hogwarts, but it was mandatory at the Academy and you even passed. I refuse to believe that your memory is already becoming deficient."

Huffing, she turned away from Ron to look at the river in front of them. For a few minutes, she contemplated the reflection of streetlamps on the dark water and the tall buildings rising conspicuously above it.

Then it went unnaturally cold and the light of the streetlamps seemed to dim. Hermione felt an icy coldness wash over her body, and things echoed in her ears, faintly at first, an indiscernible hum of sounds and voices.

"You don't think You-Know-Who ..."

Ron's tentative whisper was drowned out by a distant yell of "Chuffin' ell, it's cowd art heear!"

The voices grew louder in Hermione's head. They were the voices of her past, speaking cruel, horrible words that had once made her cry. "Ugly twit ... know-it-all ... stuck-up bitch ...is she a girl at all?"

"Dementors?" whispered Ron, and she understood his fear: their collection of bad memories was quite more extensive than when they had been at Hogwarts. Ron's voice reverberated off the walls of Hermione's mind and mixed with a spiteful younger version of it. "Haven't you done enough damage this year? Have you just been to tell on us?"

"I think so," Hermione whispered back. "Wands out -" She fell silent as other voices drowned out Ron's in her head.

"I was lucky once, wasn't I? I might get lucky again ... let's take out a mirror, just in case ... If you want to kill Harry, you'll have to kill us, too!"

She tried to think of the elation she had felt when the Sorting Hat had called out 'Gryffindor'. Instead, she heard Ron's voice as clearly as that day: "Whatever house she's in, I hope I'm not in it ..."

She couldn't see ... it was so dark and cold suddenly ... where was Ron?

"He's back. Voldemort is back."

She saw two glowing, bulbous eyes that looked like they were reflected from a mirror in her hand, and she couldn't summon an ounce of happiness ... she felt useless and unappreciated ...

"Expecto Patronum," she said without feeling, her voice dull with the emptiness that she felt. The wisp of light didn't even last a second. She heard the rustle of the Dementor's cloak as it glided closer to her ...

"How do we get there?"

She sensed the creature bending over her. It would be her last kiss ...

"... you may kill the others if necessary ..."

It was as if a jolt of electricity went through her at the memory of that voice. She remembered her last kiss ...

It wasn't a happy memory, but if it was the only thing she could think of, the only memory strong enough ... she struggled to recall the touch of those cool hands all over her body and the sound of his voice as he crooned commands in her ear ...

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

A silver otter burst out of her wand and chased the Dementors away, leaving a blinding light in its wake. The warmth returned, as did the streetlamps' glow, and she saw Ron lying unconscious on the grass. She grabbed him by the arm and Apparated both of them out of there.

It wasn't until later that she would realise that the memory she had called upon wasn't a happy one ... or wasn't supposed to be ...

-

A week later, Hermione was sitting in her cubicle at the Auror Headquarters, sipping a cup of tea while reading the morning's Daily Prophet, when her friends burst into her cubicle. Harry was in the lead, closely followed by Ron. They yelled incoherently over gasps for breath,

"Attack - Diagon Alley - GO!"

Hermione understood the situation in an instant. Incidents like this had happened before. This was an emergency; their help was needed to save people's lives. She got up and followed her friends as they hurtled frantically past the cubicles; people poked their heads out and stared worriedly as they streaked past.

"ATTACK IN DIAGON ALLEY!" Harry yelled to their colleagues without turning around, and the hurrying trio heard rather than saw their fellow Aurors gasp and start talking urgently amongst themselves to decide whether or not to follow them.

"But Harry, we don't have the Head Auror's clearance!" Hermione spoke up.

"You know Shacklebolt is on a mission abroad this week. To hell with it! It's people's lives we're talking about!" retorted Harry, giving her an irritated look.

Someone else spoke. "Potter, the report said it was a minor disturbance; there are only four or five Death Eaters -"

"Meaning they'll kill just a dozen people and go?" said Harry. "It isn't a minor disturbance if there are going to be casualties, and you know there always are, with the Death Eaters ..."

"That was nicely argued, Potter, but no one put you in charge while the Head Auror is away on a mission," said Zacharias Smith, who had followed them into Auror training as soon as he had heard that Harry had been accepted, so that he could compete with the Boy Who Lived.

"No one asked for your opinion, Smith," Ron said rudely.

"Please be respectful to your colleagues, Auror Weasley," said Dawlish, poking his head over the wall of his cubicle.

"Sorry," Ron muttered, not looking at Smith.

"Alright, let's go," said Harry resolutely, setting off for the lift at the far end of the corridor. Ron and Hermione followed without a word. Smith watched them go, not moving an inch.

It was impossible to Apparate or Disapparate inside the Ministry of Magic except in the Atrium. The protection spells on the building were similar to those on the Hogwarts castle; no one could break through them, not even a wizard of Voldemort's powers. It was a good thing, but in a situation like this, Hermione sometimes wished they could Apparate instead of losing precious time to reach the base floor.

They finally arrived in the Atrium and the lift opened with its usual clatter. The trio walked straight to the right-hand fireplaces and, rudely pushing everyone aside, each threw a handful of Floo powder into the fire and stepped into the now green flames, yelling, "Diagon Alley!" It wasn't safe to Apparate to the scene of an attack without knowing exactly what was happening and which areas were safe to appear in, so they had been advised to avoid it whenever possible.

Emerging from the fireplace in the Leaky Cauldron, they quickly walked out of the door, rolling up their sleeves and pulling out their wands, preparing to fight You-Know-Who's followers.

They were met by a panicked crowd. People were running in all directions and screams of all pitches floated over the street. Five cloaked wizards were sending curses at everyone in sight while a few Ministry wizards were attempting to hit them with beams of crimson light, but kept missing. Light of all colours, white, golden, red and occasionally green flashed, the latter coming exclusively from the Death Eaters and followed by ear-splitting shrieks.

A soft crackling sound filled the street and a skull of green sparks appeared in the sky above them. There was a glittering snake coming out of the skull's mouth. It was the Dark Mark, in all its glory, Hermione added to herself. She could say that - it did look beautiful, in a certain sense - but since it was associated with terror and death, people usually did not stop to admire the design of the image that was their worst fear. No, they ran.

One of the cloaked figures fired a jet of red light at Harry, who was duelling with another Death Eater and was too distracted to see it. Hermione lunged forward and shrieked, "Protego!"

The Stunning Spell bounced back at the hooded person, who fell to the ground. Then she saw someone aiming a wand at her -

"Imper--"

"STUPEFY!" she shouted.

The Death Eater conjured a shield and her spell reflected off it. "Avada Ke--"

"Crucio!" said another Death Eater.

Hermione looked up over her opponent's shoulder ... and into the cold grey eyes of a masked man standing behind him. She froze in shock and recognition, only snapping out of it when the spell hit her and she tumbled forward onto her knees, screaming. Through hazy eyes, she saw a beam of green light fly over her. It would have struck her if she had still been standing.

The pain receded and she forced herself to get to her feet, leaning a hand on the ground for balance. Her robes were stained from rolling around on the pavement and her hair felt sticky with dirt.

The man who had tortured her exchanged a few quiet words with the Death Eater she had been duelling. She saw the latter nod, lower his wand and move to attack Ron instead. Then his eyes shifted to her.

She glared at him through her tears. She didn't know whether these were tears of pain or sadness, but she couldn't raise her wand against him. He clearly had no such scruples. He had just tortured her ... he had saved her life by doing so, but he didn't have to use this particular curse and he didn't have to hold it for half a minute after the green flash had faded. However, she didn't want to sink to his level ...

Hermione wiped her tears and walked away. He let her go.

She fought the rest of the battle while trying to forget that he was among them, that every masked Death Eater she cursed could be him. She duelled as she would have before yesterday, as if her opponents were nothing more than faceless enemies.

A crack announced the arrival of two people whom the Aurors recognised as their fellows in duty by the uniform they were wearing: scarlet robes with a golden 'A' embroidered on the left-hand side of the chest. Neville was dragging a sullen-looking Zacharias Smith with him. Realising that they no longer had the advantage of outnumbering their enemies, the Death Eaters attempted to run.

They were knocked backwards when Harry and Neville yelled, "IMPEDIMENTA!" together.

Soon, the favourers surrounded the Death Eaters, two of whom were already motionless on the ground. Five wands rose; five different voices bellowed: "PETRIFICUS TOTALUS!"

That did it. The remaining Death Eaters fell to the floor alongside their fellows, rigid as boards. Hermione knew Mr Malfoy was among them, but there was nothing she could do. Maybe she would visit him in prison if she had the chance ...

"Summon their wands, Hermione," called Harry, who, by his rank, was in charge of the group. She waved her wand, taking a turn in aiming it at each of the unconscious Death Eaters, before calling out, "Accio!"

Five wands zoomed through the air and into Hermione's outstretched hand. Wizards needed a wand to Disapparate; surrounded and without their wands, if the Death Eaters were to awaken, they had no chance of escaping, neither by running nor by Disapparating.

There was another series of popping sounds as a group of people in lime-green robes Apparated next to them. They were the emergency team St Mungo's Hospital sent to the scenes of crisis.

Ron had a bloody cut on his forehead and several deep scratches on his forearms. He was holding up Neville, who she suspected had received a Bone-Shattering Curse in his leg. The mediwizards started healing them while Harry walked to stand by Ron and began talking anxiously to a mediwizard. Zacharias Smith stood a few paces away with his arms crossed, looking bored.

Hermione's knees stung and she was still trembling from the Cruciatus Curse. When the mediwizards would finish with Ron and Neville, she would approach them for a Healing Draught, she decided.

Feeling a gaze on the back of her head, she spun around to look at the magically paralysed Death Eaters. She realised she had made a mistake when for the second time, her gaze met that of a man who had done unspeakable things to her.

She inhaled sharply, remembering the night she had spent with him, a night she wasn't likely to forget anytime soon ... a night that had left her with a shameful, treacherous craving that was slowly driving her mad, making her thoughts return to him at the most random moments ...

She looked around at her fellow Aurors. They were in discussion with the staff of St Mungo's; even Smith was now talking animatedly to an attractive blonde mediwitch. What should I do? Hermione thought frantically. Should she behave like a dedicated Auror or ... or like the Slytherin she could have been ...?

She read a command in the eyes had been troubling her nights. Help me, they dictated, and Hermione raised her wand to obey ...

"Finite Incantato," she breathed.

She pushed his wand harshly into his hand and Disapparated without a word, but not before catching a glimpse of the incredulity in his eyes. A second later, she reappeared silently on the other side of the street. Usually, Apparition made a sound similar to a pop, but it was possible to Apparate noiselessly, although it took a great deal of concentration and frankly, it was very difficult. It had been one of the Stealth lessons during Auror training, but no one except her and Harry had managed it.

She knew it was sheer luck that none of her co-workers had noticed her moving. She faked a look of disbelief when there was a crack and they all turned to see one of the Death Eaters disappear into thin air. There was a moment of stunned silence followed by shouts of "WHAT THE -?" from the dumbfounded Aurors while the mediwizards dutifully began levitating wounded bodies.

"No wizard can Apparate without a wand," said Zacharias Smith. "It is impossible by the laws of magic!"

Harry glanced over at Hermione. "How - er - he's right, that's not possible! You have their wands! How could he Disapparate?"

"I - I don't know," she stuttered, "that was definitely strange. Maybe he had a spare wand? But then we would have it as well, right? I mean, we summoned all their wands. I don't understand ..."

Harry shook his head distractedly. "Well, honestly, me neither. Let's bind the others before they escape as well. Incarcerous!"

Harry didn't notice that there were four wands instead of five in Hermione's hand.

You're so clueless, Harry. You would never suspect me of such stupid, outrageous behaviour. And why did I do it, anyway? Hermione wondered as she and the other Aurors levitated the bound Death Eaters and Apparated them to gates of the Azkaban fortress. The specifically trained prison guards would take them from there. As ordinary Aurors, they weren't allowed to enter the prison - only the Head Auror, the Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement and the Minister for Magic were authorised to go past the gate.