His Mistress

- CHAPTER SEVEN -
Of Friends and Enemies

Hermione needed to consult some particularly rare books for her latest article in the Defence Chronicles, a magazine focusing on Defence Against the Dark Arts where she wrote a monthly column, 'From the Auror's Desk'. Unfortunately, the only place where she could find these books was Britain's largest magical library: the Hogwarts library. Even there, it would take her hours to even find them among the thousands of books. And I'll no doubt get distracted by other fascinating books on the way ...

She suddenly remembered the Room of Requirement. Back when Harry had held DA meetings, there had always been a shelf of good spellbooks in the room ... this was much more practical than to sift through the rows and rows of the library. It was time to pay her old school a visit.

She walked over to the fireplace in her kitchen and tossed in some Floo powder. She didn't really like travelling by Floo, but she could not Apparate to Hogwarts, and Floo was definitely better than taking the Knight Bus or flying by broom (something she had never been good at).

"Hogwarts - Entrance Hall!"

-

On this early Saturday morning, Hermione reached the castle's seventh floor without meeting anyone but a few students in the corridors. The children stared at her curiously, and she wondered whether they had recognised her Auror uniform and were thinking she was planning to catch a Dark wizard among them. But according to the law, Aurors had free access to every place, house, dwelling, castle and room in the wizarding world, and she definitely did not need to ask for permission to visit Hogwarts.

She reached for the brass handle of the door that had suddenly appeared in the wall. She pulled it open and walked in. She saw a large writing desk covered with a supply of parchment, quills and ink, and comfortable-looking chairs in the corners. Most importantly, the four walls were lined with bookcases. Even after all the times Hermione had used this room to study, it never ceased to amaze her.

She examined the nearest bookcase, and some of the titles she saw surprised her, because they had no relevance to her research on ancient and particularly nasty Dark Curses. She was quite sure that Political Assassination in the Wizarding World and Surviving as a Spy had nothing to do there at all. Nor did One Hundred Ways to Eliminate Your Rival, when she thought about it. But as tempted as she was to read them, Hermione had to keep her mind on the task at hand. It wouldn't do to get distracted now, not when she had to send in the completed article by Monday morning. And she couldn't take any books home with her either, because that would be like stealing, and Hermione Granger did not steal. No matter, she could always come back another day; Dumbledore had made it clear in her seventh year that former students were always welcome at Hogwarts.

She slid a couple of tomes from the shelf and sat down to read them. She became so absorbed in the complex theory of the various kinds of Dark magic that she forgot where she was. But it did not last.

Despite her best efforts to concentrate, Hermione's mind wandered away from her research and to the choice that she would have to make soon. She didn't know what she was going to do. She didn't know what she wanted to do either. What was it that she wanted most in her life? She wasn't even sure about what her greatest ambition was. When she had been a Hogwarts student, it had been to be the top student in her year and to become Head Girl. Once she had achieved these things, her goal had been to do something worthwhile with her life and to do it well.

During her career consultation with Professor McGonagall, in her fifth year, she considered a career with the Ministry of Magic, preferably in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, so that she could fight for house-elf rights. When she had told Harry and Ron that she planned to take SPEW further, she had meant it.

But as time passed, she had realised that it wasn't a cause important enough to devote her life to it, not when compared to the other issues in wizarding society. It wasn't fair if her friends were out there risking their lives to fight Voldemort while she sat in a dusty office at the Ministry, lobbying for the freedom of magical creatures. There were more important things to do ... like fighting for people's lives. She had had the necessary grades; her path had been open ... so she had chosen a job both prestigious and valiant. She had become an Auror, and despite occasional moments of doubt, she hadn't regretted it.

But then, suddenly, she had seen another possibility for her future. It was one so unexpected that it had left her light-headed and more anxious than excited. She still couldn't believe that she was considering it at all.

The relatively safe existence that the Dark side offered her, the success Lucius had predicted, the adventures she would share with him and the others ... all that was a temptation that left her far from indifferent. What interested her even more was the chance to attain knowledge without restriction, to learn the most mysterious of magic, the Dark Arts, and to practice spells forbidden and forgotten ... her heart raced whenever she thought of all the exciting possibilities. But she could live without them, couldn't she?

Knowledge is power, her mother used to say, and the young Hermione had taken that little sentence to heart. It had become her personal creed, the rule she had lived by at Muggle primary school. When she had discovered the world of magic, she had seen the truth of those words more clearly than ever. To know more spells meant a better chance to win in a duel, which in today's context equalled a better chance of surviving the war.

She sought knowledge; thus, she sought power. But there were different kinds of knowledge, just like there were different kinds of power. She already had a lot of power: she had an influential and relatively well-paid job that provided a lot of privileges in society. She was one of the most respected Aurors in the community.

But recently, Hermione had realised that she wasn't satisfied with her career. She no longer felt the pride she had once felt when saving someone's life or capturing a Dark wizard, back when she had been new to the Auror Office. These days, she did her duty with a sense of emptiness. And when people sent her long letters of gratitude for saving the lives of their families, Hermione read them with impatience. For each wizard she managed to save, there were ten Muggles that the Death Eaters killed every day, and she couldn't be everywhere, always arrive on time and save everyone ...

What you have isn't enough for you. You have always aspired higher, haven't you? suggested a voice in her head. And Hermione agreed with her entire mind. She had entertained dreams of becoming the Minister for Magic one day, and being an Auror sometimes wasn't enough to satisfy her competitive nature. But people did not become leaders of a country in their twenties, and Hermione had realised that she had to settle for less, but that didn't mean she had to be happy with the situation.

But if it isn't enough, what would be? What would it take to make me happy? she wondered. If everything was possible, if there were no laws to hold her back, what would she become? What would she want to be? What was her deepest desire?

Hermione sighed and forced herself to stop daydreaming about questions that she couldn't answer. She found it ironic that people had called her a know-it-all when she couldn't even answer such simple questions about where she wanted to go in her life.

But she had to make a decision by the end of the week, and she needed to know ...

No sooner she had thought the last sentence that she noticed something propped up against a wall between two bookcases, something that looked out of place in this research room. It was an antique mirror. Framed in gold, it almost reached the ceiling, and there was an inscription carved in gold above it: Erised stra ehru oyt ube cafru oyt on wohsi.

Hermione took in a sharp breath. Erised. The Mirror of Erised. This was exactly what she needed right now. She mentally thanked whoever it was who had created the Room of Requirement.

Her heart started beating wildly and her knees suddenly felt like they couldn't hold her weight. She hadn't been really considering getting the answers to her questions ... she closed her eyes. She feared looking into the glass; she feared what she would see. She feared that it wouldn't be something good ...

Taking a deep breath, she forced her legs to move. Slowly, she took the three steps that separated her from the object that would decide her life and probably change the world in the process.

"I want to know," she whispered shakily and opened her eyes. They were thin brown slits at first, but widened as she stared at the image before her.

At first, she saw nothing, no reflection. The surface of the mirror was black. There was nothing but darkness, a limpid darkness like the night sky, only with no stars. The darkness was so deep it was almost tangible, and Hermione had the urge to reach out a hand to touch it, because it exuded an almost magnetic attraction. But she hadn't been a candidate for reasonable Ravenclaw for nothing. She reminded herself that it was just a mirror.

But what is it? she wondered. What did the darkness represent?

The darkness of your soul, came the unbidden answer.

The curtain-like darkness cleared to show a familiar manor house with ivory walls that set off a glow the same colour as moonlight, each of its windows lit by a dim light. There was a crowd of masked people dressed in black on the ground around the manor. They were all looking up at the balcony on the top floor, where Hermione could see two people standing close together, silhouetted against the dark, starry sky.

Suddenly it was like watching a Muggle movie in slow motion. The crowd on the ground disappeared from sight; the view seemed to zoom in and the balcony appeared in more detail. The couple - she saw now that it was a man and a woman - looked like a King and Queen addressing their people, or their army, judging by the uniform she had seen on the audience gathered in front of the house.

And as the picture became clearer, Hermione stared, wide-eyed and avid. For in the elegant woman whose brown hair was rolled up neatly on her head, with a few tendrils falling out so as to frame her face, Hermione had recognised herself. She had also recognised the man standing next to her, a tall man with a pale, pointed face and sleek blond hair.

She was dressed exquisitely in dark velvet; there was a golden, jewel-incrusted tiara on her head and a glittering necklace around her neck. Her stance was so graceful somehow, but also confident, her chin raised in an almost smug way. Her eyes looked deep and dark, full of knowledge beyond access to the average witch. She could see a dark red sign that she guessed was the Dark Mark on the inside of her left forearm.

Her hand rested in the crook of the arm of the man next to her. Lucius Malfoy looked as haughty as ever, but the power, the command in his eyes ...

Hermione trembled. She felt so insignificant compared to this wizard and to the woman next to him ... an air of dark, sinister power seemed to radiate from the pair of them. They looked as though they owned the world, their very presence daring people not to notice or not to fear them.

Hermione stared at her image, her mirror image ... what she wanted to be. She felt a strong emotion well up inside her, a combination of joy and longing. She lost track of time as she stood staring into the glass, trying to memorise the picture she was seeing.

So she didn't want to be liked; she wanted to be feared.

The more she thought about it, the more it made sense. As a Muggle girl, Hermione used to have a fascination with royalty. She had often fantasised being the Queen of Great Britain, and the dreams of her youth were filled with adventures of conquest and politics. She had dreamt about having the power to order people killed at her whim - not that the Queen did such things, of course not, but she could if she really wanted to, couldn't she? Hermione had dreamt about having a nation obey her, and now, her childhood fantasies had taken a new dimension.

She didn't know how long she stood there before she found the will to tear her eyes away from her reflection's face and step away from the mirror. "That was enlightening," she mumbled.

But there was no way she could achieve it. Hermione was flooded with even more guilt. In her deepest desire, she had the Dark Mark on her arm ... how could she? How could she want to betray them all? Was she really so ungrateful, so cowardly? In any case, she knew she had never been brave and noble like Harry, but she had always strived to be. And she thought she had achieved that bravery, after all the adventures she had taken part in, with Harry during their years at Hogwarts and later as an Auror. But she had been wrong.

How could she have considered betraying her friends like that? Her friends had stood up for her at Hogwarts and saved her life more than once ... And why? Because she was afraid? But she was supposed to be brave; she had been a Gryffindor ...

A Gryffindor who actually belonged in Slytherin. But no one knew, did they? Me, a secret Slytherin ... she definitely didn't deserve such wonderful, caring friends like Harry and Ron.

It was true, one had to admit, life was difficult in these dark times. Especially for someone actively involved in the fight against Voldemort. And she was doubly involved, as an Auror and a member of the Order of the Phoenix.

The Daily Prophet was full of reports of murders and disappearances. The streets were no longer noisy and filled with careless, relaxed people like before. She just had to go to Diagon Alley to see the change. People talked in low voices, jumping at an unexpected noise, looking around fearfully as though expecting Death Eaters to suddenly appear among them. Voldemort had successfully instated another reign of terror.

Even in the Muggle world, there were constant reports of mysterious crimes and catastrophes. The Muggle-Worthy Excuse Committee was working overtime to invent a myriad of reasons and explanations, and she had to admit that they did their job well. But like any Muggle-born, Hermione knew better than to believe the version of events diffused by the Muggle news. Serial killers, earthquakes, gas explosions, fires resulting in dozens of casualties ... No, it was all Voldemort's work.

In the magical community, people lived in fear, leaving home for work every morning wondering if they would ever see their family again, and expecting to find the Dark Mark over their house upon their return. Ministry officials were working overtime both to clean up after the Death Eaters who did not bother concealing magic from the Muggles and to try to prevent the attacks, to protect their world. Hermione knew all too well the stress her co-workers had to live with. Many had to stay at work for the night, spending the night at the Ministry or on the field. The latter was the case for Aurors, who often had to track Death Eaters hours after sunset, because that was when most of the attacks occurred.

Apart from that, there were constant cases of Imperius-related trouble at the Ministry, too. The Aurors were asked to watch out for the tell-tale signs of the Imperius Curse on their co-workers; they had to investigate any suspicious behaviour and to report it. The worst was that there was no way to check if a person was really under the Imperius or if they were acting of their own free will - there was no spell that allowed to prove it. True, it was mostly the lower-ranking Ministry personnel who were affected, but no one was entirely safe. Few of the Aurors had the power to resist the Imperius Curse - even Mad-Eye Moody had fallen victim to it.

Trelawney's second prediction had come true. The Dark Lord had risen again, greater and more terrible than ever before.

There were other troubles, too, or so Hermione believed. On the Light Side, you had to be content by just being, being normal, like everyone else. But it was not the life Hermione had always wanted. It did not satisfy her yearning to be better than everyone else, her ambition to know more, to be the best ...

And a desire to be better than others was unacceptable in the world of the Light. It shocked her, even today, how intolerant they were, they who proclaimed themselves the good guys, yet who shunned those among them who were different, those who were ambitious. Ambition was unacceptable in the Gryffindor world, as Hermione had found out long ago.

She resented her parents, who had always had such high expectations for her, she had never been good enough for them ... but they were Muggles, they did not understand, they could not understand her as a witch.

No one had ever called her beautiful before, no one had truly appreciated her powers, her ambition and her hunger for knowledge.

But did that mean she had to accept to become what Lucius defined as 'an immense asset' to the Dark side? Did she want to?

She did not see clearly in herself. From one moment to another, she felt both ready to accept and to reject the proposition. It was Harry and Ron who, without their knowledge, were going to influence her decision.

Her editorial finished, Hermione got up to leave the Room of Requirement, when she noticed a black book that had just appeared on the desk before her, and the golden inscription on the cover caught her eye. The minuscule letters read,

SO YOU'VE CHOSEN THE DARK?
A Neophyte's Practical Guide to the Dark Arts

On a whim, she snatched the book and slipped it into a deep pocket of her robes. She left the room carrying three scrolls of parchment.

Lost in thought, she collided with a very pretty witch with long, sparkling dark hair, sending them both stumbling. With a jolt, Hermione recognised her former classmate, whom she had not seen since their last year at Hogwarts. Hermione dropped the scrolls she had been carrying in surprise.

"Parvati!" exclaimed Hermione. She ran over to her former dormmate and threw her arms around the young woman's shoulders, pulling her into a hug.

"Hermione?" squealed the witch, who was wearing a large amount of eyeliner. "Wow, you look ... different."

"So do you. You work here?"

"Yeah, I am the assistant Divination Professor. You're an Auror, right?" Parvati commented, eyeing Hermione's scarlet uniform with something akin to envy. "I've heard of you. Your name appears in the Daily Prophet regularly, and you're just as popular in Witch Weekly ..." she trailed off. "So, what brings you to Hogwarts?"

"I am here on Ministry business, if you must know," Hermione replied dismissively. Which was a lie, but it was the official answer all Ministry officials seemed to give, because it opened doors in the wizarding world and discouraged further questioning. "How's Professor Trelawney?" Hermione inquired, not that she really cared. She had never liked the old fraud. Yes, the old woman had made one - or rather, two - real prophecies, but that did not change the fact that she was completely inept as a teacher.

"She's fine, much better, now that I'm here to help her deal with the load of work. Poor dear, having to teach all those ignorant brats ..." she sighed sympathetically, then broke off abruptly as she caught a glimpse of Hermione's palm.

"Let me see," Parvati said excitedly, and seized Hermione's hand without waiting for permission. That must have been Trelawney's influence.

Hermione was faintly annoyed, but out of politeness, she restrained herself from saying what exactly she thought of palmistry. It wouldn't be very tactful to tell an aspiring Divination teacher that her treasured art was nothing more than a waste of time. Well, even Professor McGonagall had admitted Divination was 'the most imprecise branch of magic'.

Parvati was running the tips of her fingers over the lines on Hermione's palm, staring and muttering excitedly under her breath. Suddenly, she flinched, stumbled and let go of Hermione's hand, clapping her own hand to her mouth. Hermione had to reach out and steady the distressed woman by seizing her arm, or she would have collapsed right there and then.

"What's the matter, Parvati?"

But Parvati did not seem to hear her. She was staring at Hermione almost as if not recognizing her anymore, or as if she were trapped in a nightmare. She was muttering faintly, her voice weak. "Oh my goodness - I hoped it wouldn't be - but who are we to doubt the Fates - no, don't ask me -"

Parvati sounded so much like Professor Trelawney that Hermione had the urge to tell her so - no doubt she would find it a compliment.

"What?" insisted Hermione. Her former dormmate had no doubt had a 'vision' of her death or something, not that Hermione believed in such rubbish - except for the rare true prophecies, of course.

Parvati suddenly looked into her eyes with such intensity that Hermione was taken aback. The woman's eyes were wide and tragic, but when she spoke, it was in a strong voice. "You're the one!" Her eyes sought Hermione's, as if trying to transfer some kind of silent message or warning. "You are the one! I can't believe it! You, of all people ... it doesn't seem possible -" her voice was growing more high-pitched and downright hysterical.

"What do you mean? What about me?"

Her former dormmate gave her one last sad, solemn look before closing her eyes. "You are the one," she whispered, "the one who'll betray us all."

Hermione froze for a moment, before berating herself for even listening to the crazed predictions of Trelawney's prodigy. "Don't be ridiculous, Parvati! You're speaking nonsense ..."

And Hermione turned her back to the woman who was slumped against the wall. But she heard Parvati's voice again, echoing behind her. "It starts tonight ..."

"What starts tonight?" Hermione asked sharply, turning her head.

Parvati seemed not to hear her. "It starts tonight," she repeated, sounding quite crazy.

Huffing impatiently, Hermione exclaimed, "Fine. Don't tell me! Play deaf! Perhaps I'm better off not knowing ... always knew Divination was rubbish ..."

She picked up her scattered notes from the ground. Then she walked quickly towards the fireplace, threw in a pinch of Floo powder and yelled "Ministry of Magic!" But even when she emerged into the noisy, crowded Atrium, she still heard echoes of Parvati's crazed voice. It starts tonight ...

-

She Apparated home at about seven o'clock in the evening. She shed her cloak in the entrance hall and walked into the kitchen for a quiet supper. The problem was that there were two people already sitting at her dining table.

"Hermione, what's going on? What are you not telling us?" demanded a disgruntled-looking Harry, who was sitting next to an even more annoyed Ron.

"What do you mean?" she asked apprehensively.

"What Harry means is this," and here Ron shoved a parcel into her hands. "We found it on the table. What's the meaning of this?" the redheaded Auror demanded.

She opened the wooden box, which was lined with dark velvet on the inside, and blushed as she saw what it contained. It was a nightdress made of the softest silk, with a low neckline trimmed with lace. The fabric was embroidered in silver threads, which criss-crossed to form floral designs. The whole thing was of a pale lavender colour, the same shade the Muggle Queen favoured in her coats, and looked quite expensive.

There was no note, no address. There was no way to determine who sent it, although Hermione could take a guess.

She turned to Harry and Ron, her eyes flashing furiously. But the fact that she was smiling was not lost on either of them.

"What gives you the right to open my mail?"

Her best friends looked uneasy.

"We thought - we though it might be jinxed. You know, an anonymous parcel ..." Harry broke off. She knew that he had probably thought it was a Muggle bomb lying there on her kitchen table, ready to explode ...

"And once we saw what was inside," Ron continued for him, "we knew we were right. I'm sure there's some kind of jinx on it. There must be ... I mean, who'd send you a nightdress?"

"You know, I seriously doubt it's cursed. In fact, I'm quite certain that it isn't."

"Come on, anyone could have sent it ... probably a Death Eater!" Hermione kept a straight face, but inwardly, she agreed. It was certainly from a Death Eater, but she doubted he would have jinxed it. The situation reminded her of her third year at Hogwarts and the Firebolt Harry had received from Sirius.

"Don't touch it, it could be dangerous!" yelled Harry when she reached for the fabric.

"No, I don't think it is. The thing is ..." She wondered how she could put this into words without revealing too much. "I have an idea of who could have sent it. A very good idea."

"Really? Who is it?"

Of course they would ask. She couldn't tell them that it was a present from a Death Eater, but this particular Death Eater meant her no harm. "None of your business," she said curtly.

"That's it! I knew it!" exclaimed Ron suddenly.

"What are you talking about?"

"Oh, don't play dumb," snarled Ron angrily. "I Flooed you late Friday night and you weren't there! And you come back in the morning, not telling us anything, and here you're acting as though nothing was wrong! And that isn't the first time, is it? That, plus this present. ARE YOU SEEING SOMEONE?" yelled Ron.

Hermione had the urge to tell Ron he sounded exactly like his mother, but decided against it. After all, it would not do well to risk riling up his explosive temper even more. Who knew, he might even try to hex her.

"So what's this? Who's sending you those presents?" asked Harry almost at the same time, although his voice was lost behind Ron's.

... what right did they have to intrude on her private life? Who did they think they were? And suddenly, Hermione had had enough. That's it! All the irritation and frustration she had been feeling these past years finally burst forth. Her face twisted unconsciously into a sneer. She sat up straight, head held high, and glared at her 'friends' disdainfully.

"I don't see how that's any of your business," Hermione spat.

Ron's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "But- but we're your friends!" he stammered, clearly taken aback.

"So? I'm afraid that doesn't give you the right to meddle in my private life," she answered coldly.

"Hermione, what's wrong? What happened ..." Harry began tentatively, but his voice trailed off as she turned an icy glare on him.

"All right!" Hermione snarled at both of them. "Yes, I am. Does that answer your question, Ron?"

Ron's eyebrows had totally disappeared into his hair by now, and Harry was staring at her open-mouthed. The Boy-Who-Lived looked oddly like a gaping fish, but being the quickest of the two, his eyes widened in understanding - and surprise - after about thirty seconds.

"Well?" Hermione demanded of Ron, who still looked like he had been hit with a Confunding charm - or maybe an Obliviate? "Or is it true, what they say about Weasleys having brains as well-stocked as their Gringotts vault?"

Ron's ears went as red as his hair. What a predictable reaction ... they always did that whenever someone mentioned the Weasleys' legendary lack of money.

It took Ron long to process everything that had just been said, and when he did, he went very red in the face. "WHAT? NO, YOU'RE LYING!"

Lying, am I? Oh, Ron, you'd wish I was.

"That temper of yours will lead you into trouble one day, Ron."

The way she said it sounded slightly familiar to Harry. Where had he heard similar words before?

Harry, the more observant of the two, noticed that Hermione acted differently. He had never seen this side of her before. In fact, he had never imagined she possessed such a side ...

"Alright, you two, stop acting like I joined the Death Eaters, for heaven's sake!" Where did that come from?

That pulled them out of their daze.

"You what?" Harry and Ron said together.

Hermione had a hysterical urge to laugh. "I said, stop acting as if -"

"Thank God!" exclaimed Ron.

"Do you honestly consider me capable of ... such a thing?" Hermione asked, visibly hurt. It was time to test her friends.

Harry shook his head quickly, but Ron answered nastily, "Wouldn't put it past you, these days."

This time, even Harry looked at Ron incredulously. "Really, Ron -"

"What, Harry? Don't you see that she's not the same Hermione? Our Hermione would never joke that way. I don't know what happened to her, but she's not the girl we knew."

Harry fell silent, and she got the distinct impression he wasn't going to defend her again.

Not the same Hermione? Not the girl they knew?

"That's correct. I'm not the Hermione you knew. The Hermione you knew was a girl, while I am a woman!"

"OK, we know that ..."

She had a sense of déjà-vu. She recalled a conversation with Ron, while Harry had just been sitting there in silence, before the Yule Ball.

"Hermione, Neville's right - you are a girl ..." Ron commented in wonder.

"Oh, well spotted," she said acidly.

"Well - you can come with one of us!"

"No, I can't," snapped Hermione.

"Oh, come on," he said impatiently, "we need partners, we're going to look really stupid if we haven't got any, everyone else has ..."

"I can't come with you, because I'm already going with someone."

"No, you're not! You just said that to get rid of Neville!"

"Oh, did I?" said Hermione, her eyes flashing dangerously. How dare he? "Just because it's taken you three years to notice, doesn't mean no one else has spotted I'm a girl!"

Ron stared at her. Then he grinned.

"OK, OK, we know you're a girl. That do? Will you come now?"

"I've already told you!" Hermione said, past the point of irritation now, "I'm going with someone else!"

They haven't changed, Hermione thought. Ron was still the same thick, tactless git, and Harry still sided with Ron. Back at Hogwarts, Harry had never bothered to support her, afraid of losing Ron's friendship. Obviously, Ron was more important to him than she was. But she had always defended Harry, like when Ron had accused him of putting his name into the Goblet to enter the Triwizard Tournament. What an ungrateful -

"Who - who is it?" Harry asked in a croaky whisper.

"Whatever do you mean?" Hermione said in a bored tone, raising her eyebrows. It was not lost on either of them that she was playing oblivious.

"WHO ARE YOU SEEING?" shouted Ron, losing patience.

And what gave Harry and Ron the right to demand answers from her? What gave them the illusion she was obligated to tell them anything at all?

Her friends never saw her as an equal, a person who had feelings, just like they - they only saw the know-it-all bookworm who got them out of trouble and helped them in any way she could.

Behind Ron's yells and Harry's silence, another voice echoed in her head.

... you would be an immense asset to our cause ...

"- we put up with you all those years, we were your friends when everyone else disliked you, so you owe us at least an explanation, you ungrateful woman ..."

You owe them nothing; they owe you, thought a part of her mind, the part that spoke in his voice.

"Where would you go? No one else would have put up with your annoying presence for years -"

Join us, Hermione. Join the Death Eaters.

Where she'd go? She could go where she would be accepted for what she was, where she wouldn't have to restrain herself from expressing her knowledge, her power ...

"Nobody would want an annoying woman like you. No wonder you don't have a boyfriend -"

Join the Death Eaters, Hermione.

And at long last, she thought, why not?

This time, Harry was thinking, Ron has gone too far. This was way over the top; this was much too cruel. But Hermione's reaction was not at all what he had expected.

The old Hermione would have burst into tears and ran to hide in her room. This Hermione, however, raised her chin proudly, almost haughtily, and replied with a smile, "Oh, you would be surprised."

This was no longer Hermione Granger, former Gryffindor, rule-abiding bookworm, now Auror, and always the best friend of Harry Potter and the Weasleys.

This was Hermione Granger, Lucius Malfoy's mistress, soon-to-be undercover Death Eater and spy for the Dark side.

Ron, however, was unfazed by her reaction, or rather lack of reaction. "AHA! So you're seeing someone, and you won't tell us! You see, Harry? I was right! That's her secret!"

A tinge of red spread over Hermione's cheeks. For an instant, she was prepared to drop her cold reserve. But, closing her slightly open mouth, she stayed silent, her mouth creased in disdain.

In the past, Hermione would have been deeply hurt by their cruel words, but now they no longer bothered her. The knowledge that someone, somewhere, appreciated and accepted her, gave her immunity against their attempts at causing her anguish, letting her listen to their rant with detachment, and she was glad for it.

"So you've got a brain after all," she said nastily. "Wow, Ron, I can't believe it!"

Could she really betray her friends, her colleagues, and the side she was on ... for what? For power, for recognition, for love... could she? And the answer was clear, as clear as it had always been, even though she had refused to consider it or to admit it to herself. Yes, she would betray the Light side, and she would do so gladly ... for love.

Because it was no use deluding herself. She loved Lucius Malfoy; there was no point to denying it ... why else would she have risked so much to keep him out of Azkaban?

I'll go where I'm wanted and appreciated ...

It was at this moment that Hermione decided to join Lord Voldemort.

It was a moment that history would remember forever.

-

Hermione asked her two friends to leave and told them that they were no longer welcome in her home. She also said a few carefully chosen, particularly cruel words to them, just because she could not resist it. Once started, the words seemed to come of their own accord, and she herself was taken aback by the sheer viciousness of some of the things she told them. It felt natural, as though her tongue had suddenly become comfortable with uttering words meant to hurt like knives. In the end, the two men left.

After the quarrel, Hermione collapsed into the nearest chair. What had just happened? Was this the end of their friendship, the friendship that had lasted for so many years? She had told herself she didn't deserve friends like them, but perhaps they did not deserve a friend like her? Perhaps they were the ingrates, they were the ones who owed her, for all the times she had helped them and pulled them out of trouble?

She could betray them all ... why? Is it worth it? her conscience questioned for the tenth time that day. But there were so many reasons. First, because the Darkness could give her everything she had always wanted - such as knowledge, power, recognition and love - which she could never find on the Light side. Second, because she had heard that the Death Eaters were like a family, how they were the closest friends for each other, how they protected and defended each other. She had heard rumours Voldemort punished his followers if they let one in their midst get injured in a battle. It was their duty to watch out for each other, as much as it was their duty to do their leader's bidding. She remembered Harry mentioning something Voldemort had said about his followers being his 'true family', and she hadn't believed it. But if that was true, it meant the Dark side was far more united and loyal - to their own - than the Light, the good side.

Was she doing this just to spite Harry and Ron? But it was the entire wizarding world that would pay the price, and that wasn't fair ...

But then, she had already betrayed them all, she had broken the Auror Oath in the worst manner. By letting him escape, she had helped Voldemort.

You have already betrayed them; might as well do it properly, coaxed a cynical voice inside her head.

But there was still a doubt in her mind, a fear ...

She was a Muggle-born! Even if Voldemort, who was not a pure-blood himself, accepted her, the other Death Eaters sure as hell would not.

There was only one thing to do. She had to ask Lucius, just to make sure.

Would he meet her? Or would he believe it was a trap, because she was, after all, an Auror?

... I have found in you an ally who would never betray me ...

Had he really meant that? Did he really trust her? Well, she was going to find out.

Hermione grabbed a quill and a sheet of parchment.

She thought for a few minutes about how she was going to put the request in words, and the safety precautions. Even if she didn't use their common names, there was still a risk. Anyone who had access to the Ministry records knew her middle name was Antares, and she suspected so did Dumbledore. It was not safe enough, not with what she was intending to write. She could not afford the risk. If that letter was to be intercepted, there would be hell to pay.

One of the things she had learnt during Auror training was that you could never be too prudent. It felt wrong to use these lessons to help the enemy, but ...

Perhaps this was the time to reveal one of the things she had never bothered mentioning to the world. Namely, the fact that she spoke French, which she had learnt during her and her parents' repeated sojourns in France, the summers before her second and fifth years at Hogwarts.

Finally, after several attempts at a draft and three pieces of parchment discarded into the fireplace, Hermione came up with a message she deemed brief but acceptable, matter-of-factly stating that she was considering the offer he had made during their previous encounter and that there were several questions that she wanted to discuss with him in person.

Hermione sealed the letter and tied it to the leg of the tawny owl that had been Ginny's seventeenth-birthday present to her. Her hands were shaking slightly. "Take this to Lucius Malfoy. And do try to stay in the shadows, OK?"

The owl hooted in understanding, although it was looking at Hermione with a rather reproachful look, almost as if it knew what she was doing - or perhaps the lazy thing just didn't appreciate the prospect of a long journey to Wiltshire. In any case, it ruffled its feathers, stretched its wings and took off through the window.

As she watched the reddish-brown bird become a tiny speck in the sky and then finally disappear from sight, Hermione silently said goodbye to the life she had been leading ever since her entry into the world of magic. There was no going back now. Sighing, she sank back into a chair.

But even as she sat there, her decision made, a hint of excitement bubbling in the pit of her stomach, words she had once heard Dumbledore say same floating out of her memory.

Remember, if the time should come when you have to make a choice between what is right and what is easy, remember what happened to a boy who was good, and kind, and brave, because he strayed across the path of Lord Voldemort. Remember Cedric Diggory.

This was precisely the situation Dumbledore had been warning against ... a choice between what is right and what is easy ... but then, Hermione reasoned, there was the reason why she was joining Voldemort: she did not want to end up like Cedric, or like Harry's parents, or the Longbottoms ... She wouldn't stray across the path of Lord Voldemort anymore, no, she would walk along it. She wasn't going to repeat the mistake made by all those who opposed Voldemort and ended up dead because of their choice.

-

She received his answer the next day, telling her to knock three times on the door of the house she had been to, in Knockturn Alley, at six o'clock the next morning.

There was no fog the morning when she went, wrapped in a heavy cloak, into the dingy street where she would never have imagined she would, one day, go willingly. The sky was clear and the warming autumn sun felt welcome on her chilled shoulders. For once, she was not wearing her Auror uniform; she would have attracted hostile attention with its bright colour.

When Hermione reached the door that bore the number 25, she stopped for a moment and took a deep breath to calm her nerves.

She knocked three times as he had instructed in his letter. Almost instantly, there was a click and the door opened. She hadn't had the time to take a step when a pair of hands seized her upper arms and yanked her inside. She stared at Lucius's face in surprise as he kicked the door with his foot. She winced and looked at him disapprovingly when it slammed shut with a loud noise.

He stepped up so closely to her that his chest touched hers. His eyes looked wild, and for a moment she thought he was going to kiss her, then he moved back slightly.

"I was not aware that you spoke my forefathers' tongue, Hermione," he spoke without letting go of her upper arms.

She shifted in his grip. "You never asked, and I didn't tell you because I wanted to surprise you," she said, raising her chin proudly. "My parents often spent the summer holidays in Dijon and Aquitaine; I picked it up there."

He nodded curtly. "So. You said you were considering joining us - then what is it that you wanted to discuss?"

Hermione felt small and awkward in her hooded cloak, and she was sure that he could sense her uncertainty. "What if the other followers don't accept me into the fold? I mean, my blood is no secret ..."

"Do not worry!" he assured swiftly. "Rest assured that you will be an equal among the followers," he said gravely, "the Dark Lord would not tolerate one in his midst being treated as an inferior, for he does not admit inferior beings into his family. I would not tolerate it either. If the Dark Lord accepts your fealty, then he considers you worthy despite your - ah - origins, and the others will have no choice but to do so as well. You will be duly recompensed for your accomplishments, which will no doubt be tremendous."

She felt her eyes widen. "Really, you believe I can hope I'll be ... appreciated?"

"I am certain."

But a hint of worry remained. "It's just ... I don't want to be welcomed half-heartedly ..."

"Hermione, you have to trust me when I say, 'Do not worry'. I assure you that you will not be - ah - 'welcomed half-heartedly'. The Dark side has been waiting for someone like you to join us in the last few years ..."

And she believed him. The trust that he required of her, she gave it to him gladly.

The last traces of resistance disappeared. There was no reason left for her not to accept the offer.

Her answer came after a moment's pause, phrased in the language of his ancestors.

"J'accepte." ²

Her voice was firm, and the look in her eyes was one of determination.

"Good." There was genuine approval, even relief, in that single word. Then he added, "I would have been obligated to kill you if you had refused."

She had figured that out on her own, but she still found it disturbing to hear the lack of emotion in his voice. "You would have really killed me?" she asked in a tiny voice.

His expression didn't change. "The Dark Lord would have stood for nothing else. No one refuses the Dark Lord and escapes the consequences."

It occurred to her then that he must have been sure she would say no, and he had been preparing himself for what he would have to do. That must have been why he had been holding her like that: to stop her from fighting him when she would realise what he was going to do. She guessed that she had surprised him by accepting the offer not even three days after he had made it ... she sighed sadly, and her shoulders slumped in his hold.

He touched her cheek with a surprising tenderness= before finally kissing her.

He pulled away and let her go almost as soon as she had closed her eyes. "I'll inform the Dark Lord of your decision," he said simply. "He will set the date of your initiation within a few weeks, if that is convenient to him. I'll take you to the next meeting, where you shall receive the Dark Mark."

She nodded, hiding her apprehension at the prospect of getting the Dark Mark. She was sure that it hurt a lot ...

"The Dark Lord ordinarily requires recruits to undergo a series of tests to prove their worth," he continued. "In your case, however, the formalities are dispensed. You will be our primary informant, and you will be inducted directly into the inner circle -" here Hermione looked like she was about to protest, but he raised a hand to silence her before she spoke.

"- though you are far more useful to us if you retain the Light side's trust, which is why you will not partake in any attacks, as it would endanger your position with the enemy."

That made sense, though when Hermione had considered becoming a Death Eater, the idea was always associated, in her mind, with leading a life of violence, going around terrorising and killing people. But it turned out it wasn't so, and Hermione did not know if she was supposed to feel relieved or disappointed.

The enemy, echoed in her head. They are your enemy now. Just this morning, the Light side had been her side and the Dark the enemy ... but no more. Everything was different now. Then, suddenly, Hermione remembered words she had heard several days ago: The one to betray us all ... it starts tonight ...

She was right, she thought. Perhaps Parvati Patil really had some Seer abilities, just like her mentor Trelawney. No matter how much Hermione used to dislike the woman, she could not deny that she had made two important prophecies. Perhaps she had been right about her favourite pupil's aptitude for fortune-telling.

But what if Parvati told someone? What if she tells Dumbledore? she thought worriedly. But Parvati would know that it was useless to tell, because predictions came true no matter what people tried to do to prevent them from happening - that was Trelawney's approach, wasn't it? And who would believe her even if she told them? They would dismiss her as a crazy Seer. No, really, she had nothing to fear.