His Mistress

-- CHAPTER NINE --

The Art of Deception

Hermione was pulled out of her sleep by a strident, loud, annoying sound that just wouldn't stop. It was not the sound of her alarm clock - she had charmed it to a more musical, softer tune - but she recognised the noise. She had heard it far too many times to count during the past five years.

This was the call every member of the Order of the Phoenix heard whenever Dumbledore was calling an urgent meeting.

Order members had learnt to dread this sound, as not only did it often wake them up in the middle of the night, but it also meant something very bad had happened. Like the death of a member of the Order, or an attack on the home of a prominent Ministry official. Hermione, too, had learnt to both fear and hate the sound the Order members had labelled the distress signal, as it necessarily meant something bad, and what was even worse was that you never knew exactly what. Fear of the unknown was the worst kind of fear.

But this time, Hermione felt no trepidation at the dreaded sound. Because this time, she did know what had happened - and although it was bad, very bad news for the Order, she no longer considered herself part of it, so it didn't concern her.

"What is that?" Lucius asked groggily, blinking sleepily. "Is it one of those awful things Muggles employ as alarm clocks?"

"No, it isn't. Watch," said Hermione, "and listen. But don't speak, or he might hear your voice."

"He?"

Hermione shook her head, not answering. She calmly got off the bed, smoothed her nightdress and ran a hand through her dishevelled hair in an attempt to neaten it. Then she reached for the outwardly ordinary pocket mirror that lay face down on her bedside table, where the alarm seemed to be coming from. And it was just a mirror like all others ... until Hermione picked it up and tapped it with her wand.

The irritating jingle stopped. The surface of the mirror clouded over, then cleared, revealing not Hermione's reflection but a moving, real-time image of Dumbledore's face.

The expression on the old wizard's face was grim. "All members of the Order of the Phoenix are called to the Headquarters for an urgent meeting at the present hour," Dumbledore stated gravely.

Lucius smirked.

Hermione nodded to the mirror, knowing Dumbledore could see her, although she had never understood how he managed to watch all the members of the Order at once. Seeing that no further information was forthcoming, Hermione tapped the mirror with her wand again, shutting off the screen. The surface blurred, and Dumbledore's face disappeared in a swirl of colour.

"The old fool actually sounded worried," drawled Lucius, smirking. "Wonder what the meeting might be about ..."

"He has probably guessed the reason of his secret agent's failure to return," Hermione ventured, opening the wardrobe. She pulled out her Auror robes and dressed quickly, not minding Lucius' observant gaze fixed on her.

"I am sure you realise I have to attend the meeting, Lucius, so you do not mind if I leave now, do you?" she asked lazily. Lucius could swear she was becoming more and more like him with each day that passed.

"No, Hermione, you may leave. Did the Dark Lord not say you refrain from doing whatever may 'compromise your position among the enemies'?"

Hermione wrapped the red cloak around her shoulders, wondering why she was asking for his permission to leave her own house, of all things. "Yes, I do remember our Lord's instructions, Lucius. Au revoir¹."

And she Disapparated to the door of twelve Grimmauld Place.

*

"As you may have noticed, Professor Snape isn't with us today. I am afraid he may not have returned from his latest meeting with Lord Voldemort -" Dumbledore paused, waiting for the gasps and flinches to subside, "- which took place late last night."

At eight o'clock, to be precise, thought Hermione. It was a good thing it never occurred to Dumbledore to cast Prior Incantato on the wands of each of the Order members, because it would have revealed that the last spell cast by Hermione's wand had been the Cruciatus Curse.

Dumbledore's statement was met with silence, followed by gasps of horror and disbelief as the meaning sunk it. May not have returned ... the Order members exchanged looks of fear and dismay as they understood what Dumbledore avoided saying directly. Their spy was probably dead.

"You think ... could it be that You-Know-Who discovered Snape's status as a spy?" Ron asked, earning a glare from his mother.

"Professor Snape, Ron," Molly Weasley admonished, then turned to look at Dumbledore anxiously. "What do you think, Albus?"

"I fear that may indeed be the case, Molly," said Dumbledore.

"Er, Professor Dumbledore?" Harry started hesitantly.

"Yes, Harry? Do you know something?"

"Er, it's just ... well, my scar hurt last night ..."

Hermione's head perked up in interest. She heard Dumbledore say in an almost apprehensive voice, "Go on, Harry."

"I could tell Voldemort was extremely happy, he was very pleased about something, but I could not tell what ..."

At that, Dumbledore looked even more dismayed. He closed his eyes in weariness for a second. "It is as we feared, then."

"But Albus," started Professor McGonagall, who looked very white, and Hermione could see a single tear glistening in the corner of her beady eye, "how could they possibly have known? How could You-Know-Who find out ..."

"Your guess is as good as ours, Minerva," said Dumbledore quietly.

"Unless there's a filthy traitor among us," grunted Mad-Eye Moody, his magical eye spinning. Hermione did not dare move. The retired Auror's magical eye could see through clothes, and if he had the idea to glance at her left forearm ...

At Moody's words, the Order members glanced suspiciously at each other. It seemed like the suggestion was plausible, and they did not know who to trust anymore. To know one in the room was probably a camouflaged enemy ... and to have no idea who ... it could be anyone, really ... what a frightening concept!

"Now, Alastor, let's not make conclusions prematurely. We do not have enough information to conclude anything," said Dumbledore.

Remus Lupin spoke up, the voice of rationality as usual. "Let us get this straight. We no longer have a spy among Voldemort's followers, and what's more, it may be likely that he now has a leak into our plans ..." In spite of his dislike of Snape, Lupin sounded very worried.

No one answered him.

"Oh, Albus, what are we going to do?" asked Professor McGonagall, and it was obvious, from the sound of her voice, that she was holding back tears.

"We will not give up, Minerva; we will not give Voldemort the satisfaction. We will unite and fight him - and we will win," declared Dumbledore fiercely to the nods and noises of agreement from the audience.

Some discussion followed, which Hermione found pointless and highly boring, though she had to maintain a carefully constructed mask echoing the emotions of those around her. She had to struggle not to show what she was feeling at the moment: the satisfaction and pride that comes with the sense of a job well done. But she couldn't afford to give them a reason to suspect her. She couldn't give Moody a reason to look at her left arm with his magical eye.

Hermione felt very relieved when Dumbledore finally declared the meeting was over. As the Order members left, they were silent and bearing glum expressions, for once not gossiping excitedly amongst themselves. The only thought on their minds was, what do you think will happen now?, but no one dared to say it out loud.

*

The following days at work were just plain hell. The Dark Lord's attack on Madam Bones had been successful. The Ministry was in shock at the death of one of their most prominent officials, and the Aurors, as part of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, were grieving the loss of their leader. Fudge had yet to appoint a replacement, though Hermione guessed it would probably be the Minister's junior assistant, Percy Weasley.

Hermione was in regular correspondence with Voldemort. She owled him almost daily, informing him of all raids planned by the Aurors, as well as the machinations of the Order.

Aurors were constantly being ambushed, and many wondered how the Death Eaters knew exactly when and where they would strike. Hermione alone escaped unharmed, because every time she duelled with a Death Eater, the Death Eater would feel a meaningful tingle in their Mark, signalling that she was one of theirs, upon which they would stop and stare at her in disbelief. Then they would remember their Lord's words: the Dark Mark never lies. After that, the Death Eater either broke off the duel in search of someone they could kill, or continued it just for the sake of appearances, both 'opponents' using minor, harmless curses. Occasionally, she let them Stun her, thus ending the mock duel.

However, the Death Eaters did not hesitate to kill Hermione's colleagues, and many times, she had been the only one in the team to survive. She rose in rank quicker than ever, and even Fudge had to admit she was much more skilled than most. She was now considered one of the Ministry's best Aurors and trusted with highly important, dangerous missions. Such as being in charge of the hunt for prominent, high-ranking Death Eaters.

Thus, during one of the raids, Hermione, Tonks, and Neville found a small group of Death Eaters waiting for them in an abandoned warehouse they were intending to search for Dark artefacts. True, there were only four Death Eaters, but the Aurors were outnumbered. They were three in the team, and since they really shouldn't have counted on Hermione to defend them, in truth they were two against five.

Hermione was maintaining a mock-up of a duel with one of the Death Eaters, in which both opponents were casting pointless spells like Rictusempara, Tarantallegra and Wingardium Leviosa, all of which were countered with a Protego, and Hermione was rather having fun ...

Yes, it was quite amusing, at least until she heard a shout of "Avada Kedavra!" and looked up just in time to see Neville fall to the floor, the silhouette of Bellatrix Lestrange standing triumphant over him. And only then did Hermione notice Tonks lying on the floor at Bellatrix's feet, as lifeless as Neville.

Hermione was the only person left standing who was wearing the red Auror uniform. But predictably, the four Death Eaters did not attack her. Their duty done, the three wizards nodded respectfully to Hermione before Disapparating. Bellatrix lingered after her fellows had left, squealing about how the Dark Lord was going to be happy with her.

"And do you know, Auror, that I killed them both? Longbottom and my worthless half-blood niece! Finally! Oh, I can't believe this ..."

Hermione steadily complimented her fellow Death Eater on her skills: "It is no wonder, Bellatrix, that you are one of the best duellers in the Dark Lord's service. But you'd better go now before they send reinforcements."

Bellatrix sighed, still giddy about her accomplishment, and reluctantly Apparated away. Left alone with two corpses in the dark storeroom, Hermione suddenly realised the Death Eaters had forgotten to do something. They had forgotten to send the Dark Mark into the sky, which they always had to do whenever they killed, thus signing the act in the name of the Dark Order. The point of it was to make the world know they were responsible for the deaths, so that people would fear them even more. The Dark Lord was going to be displeased when he would find out that Bellatrix and the others had neglected this crucial step.

Notwithstanding her being dressed as an Auror, Hermione had the Dark Mark on her arm, and thus, she was she only Death Eater left on the scene. And in such situations, Death Eaters had the obligation to clean up for their comrades' blunders.

Hermione had never cast that particular spell before, but she knew the incantation. She had heard Barty Crouch junior speak it at the Quidditch World Cup, where the Ministry wizards had even suspected her of doing it because she had shown an understanding of the way the spell worked.

Hermione figured she had to be outside to cast the spell. She stepped out of the warehouse, forcing herself not to look back at the lifeless faces of her fellow Aurors, frozen in death.

She glanced around nervously. What if the Ministry did send reinforcements? If she was caught doing this ... But her duty was first to the Dark Lord, and only then to the Ministry; she had to remember that.

Hermione pulled out her wand and aimed it up at the sky. With a deep breath, she shouted, "MORSMORDRE!"

A huge green version of the Dark Mark erupted from the tip of her wand; glittering in an emerald-coloured mist, it rose up into the sky above. The serpent-tongued skull, still growing in size, was rising higher and higher over Hermione's head, illuminating her from above with a green light the colour of the Killing Curse.

Bathed in green light, Hermione suddenly realised that should anyone be looking this way at the moment, they could see her and recognise her features, because the light coming from above was bright as sunlight.

Hermione promptly Disapparated, intending to arrive at the Ministry, feign a fit of hysterics and inform them of Tonks and Neville's deaths, and tell them that she herself had narrowly managed to get away.

*

When she finally managed to get away from the Ministry and arrive home later that day, Hermione felt tired and depressed. She sank despairingly down into a canopy in the lounge. She had the urge to cry. Neville and Tonks, her fellow Aurors and friends, were dead.

She had led them into an ambush, and she had watched two of her colleagues, one of whom was a former Hogwarts classmate, die.

Hermione was thinking about the past. She remembered how close she, Harry, Ron and Neville had been. Friends who would have done anything for each other ... they were the golden quartet, closer than friends and more loyal than siblings ... she remembered how they used to fight together; how happy they had been when they had realised they would be affronting danger together just like they had at Hogwarts. But Hermione had broken the quartet, she had destroyed it all ...

She remembered Neville, the timid boy who had run into her compartment on the train when Hermione had been going to Hogwarts the first time, the boy who had been crying about having lost his toad. Hermione had a good heart, she felt the duty to help those in distress, for was it not the duty of the strong to protect the weak? And she had taken Neville under her wing, so to say. She remembered helping the poor boy in Potions, where he had been scared out of his mind by Professor Snape; she remembered a stuttering Neville asking her to the Yule Ball in fourth year. She remembered guiding the same boy, now grown up and confident, in his Auror training.

She recalled how, when they had to learn to cast the Unforgivables in their last year of training, Neville had been unable to correctly manage the curse that had destroyed his parents - until Hermione suggested in an undertone in his ear that he visualise Bellatrix Lestrange's face when casting the Crucio. He had pulled it off quite well, after that ... with almost, but not quite, as much talent - or zeal - as Harry. Their instructor had been taken aback by the two wizards' - and Hermione's - ability to wish so much pain on someone (in that particular case, a spider).

All for nothing ... helping Neville pull through his exams at Hogwarts and at the Auror Academy, all for nothing ... if it weren't for Hermione, Neville would never have become an Auror ... and if it weren't for Hermione, Neville would not be dead.

Hermione recalled an old memory of Sirius and Lupin confronting Pettigrew in the Shrieking Shack.

What was there to be gained by fighting the most evil wizard who ever existed? Only innocent lives, Peter.

He would have killed me, Sirius!

Then you should have died rather than betray your friends, as we would have done for you.

She was no better than Pettigrew, betraying her friends like that ... But haven't they betrayed you first? hissed a part of her mind. But this time, it didn't alleviate her guilt as she thought of the fate that awaited her former friends. Death. Only death awaited them if the Dark side won.

And the Dark side would not be winning if it weren't for Hermione's cooperation. It was all her fault, every death that happened from the day she had started passing information to Lord Voldemort ... everything was her responsibility. The other Death Eaters wielded the wands and spoke the curses, but it was Hermione who made it possible. Why? Why had she betrayed them so? What had Tonks and Neville done to her? What had they done that made them deserve death?

Hermione knew the answer to that. Nothing. They hadn't done anything to her. They did not deserve death. They were innocent. But she wasn't ... it was she who deserved death ... silent tears were rolling down Hermione's cheeks.

Another snatch of the conversation in the Shrieking Shack came to mind. You should have realized if Voldemort didn't kill you, we would. Would her friends kill her, if they knew? True friends didn't kill each other, no matter what the other had done ... or did they? But they weren't even her friends anymore ... she had no friends, she was all alone - she had betrayed the only friends she ever had, and now, she was on her own.

She was alone in the world, for traitors never belonged anywhere. Traitors never found solace on either side. Hated by one side for turning to the enemy, and hated by the other for having once been an enemy ... could she honestly think she would be considered an equal on the Dark side? Not as long as she remained a Mudblood. And that was what she would remain all her life. At that thought, Hermione wept even harder.

She felt strong arms wrap around her shoulders, turning her around, pulling her closer ... "Why do you cry, Hermione?" asked the drawling voice of the man who had convinced her to join Voldemort.

Hermione closed her eyes, relaxing in his embrace.

She was reminded why she had joined the Death Eaters. No, she wasn't alone. She was not alone on the Dark side. There was someone on the Dark side who cared about her, and that made all the difference ... someone who loved her. She did belong in the Darkness, where she was loved ...

His touch made her forget it all. What was it to her if everyone around her died, if she alone survived? She didn't care! They were nothing to her! The Light side was nothing to her, as she was nothing to them. Everyone who was part of Order of the Phoenix was her enemy. Her fellow Aurors were her enemies. The Ministry was her enemy. She was a Death Eater, she was on the Dark side, she was a loyal follower of the Dark Lord ... and she would fight for her lover's side - her side - without remorse, without guilt, without scruple ... like she had once fought for the Light.

As an Auror, she had not hesitated to send Death Eaters to Azkaban - never wondering if they deserved it or not - because it had been her duty, because she was doing the right thing, because they were enemies. And now, as a Death Eater, she would not hesitate to do the right thing for the Dark side. She would not hesitate to kill her enemies.

"Do you still regret joining our side?"

Oh, so he had known all along what was the cause of her tears.

"No, I don't," she admitted.

"À propos², Hermione, that was an impressive bit of magic you cast into the sky."

"How did you know it was me?" she asked.

"Bellatrix came to the Dark Lord expressing innermost regret for failing to cast the Mark because she was - ah - 'too busy fighting those damned Aurors'."

Hermione scoffed. "Too busy gloating over having eradicated them, more like," she corrected.

"I thought so. Bellatrix is awfully predictable - anyhow, the Dark Lord sent me to rectify her blunder. Only when I arrived at the scene, the Mark was already scintillating in the skies above, uncharacteristically high and bright ... you have heard, of course, that the Morsmordre spell reflects the power of its caster - which is why it shines brightest when the Dark Lord himself is the one to summon it - and the Dark Lord seems to know, someway, that it was your work."

No, Hermione hadn't known that. It meant, then, that she was an especially powerful witch ...

"The Dark Lord was very pleased with you, Hermione."

Which was a good thing, as Voldemort was very demanding of his followers. Hermione was glad.

And from then on, whenever Hermione had thoughts of guilt, remorse or regret about becoming a Death Eater, Lucius was there to chase them away, to help her forget them, to remind her why she had joined the Dark side, to remind her that it was worth the sacrifices ...

She was thankful for it, she was glad he had helped her through what was probably the most difficult time of her life. And as weeks passed, the moments of regret became less and less frequent, until they stopped altogether. Hermione no longer had any remorse. She had become a true Death Eater, inside and out.

One time, Lucius said something Hermione had never expected to hear.

"I will stay with you tonight."

He had never done so before. He always left her before dawn. He would kiss her in farewell and Apparate back to his manor, because Narcissa would become suspicious if she didn't find him in the house when she woke up.

"But your wife -"

"Narcissa believes I am out on business for the Dark Lord." He smirked. "She might be dreadfully unhappy, of course, but she knows her place ... and I'll remind her if she ever forgets."

Hermione smirked at that, too, though not without a hint of unease. She did not care what he did to his wife - and by the malevolent glint in his grey eyes and the cruel amusement in his voice, Hermione presumed it had to be something highly painful, like the Cruciatus - as long as he didn't do the same to her.

Lucius Malfoy was a man who sought to control everything - and everyone - around him. Hermione knew he would not hurt her, as long as she was under his control. But if she opposed, challenged, defied or disobeyed him, or, heaven forbid, cheated on him ... then, she had no doubt he would not hesitate to use any means - highly brutal, violent ones - to put her back in her place. His every touch was a gesture of control; his every kiss was a mark of possession ...

He wouldn't ever take no for an answer, Hermione knew that much. He would not tolerate disloyalty or disobedience.

He loved her, yes, but his love was far from unconditional. It was a possessive, controlling, dominating love ... such love would not stop him from doing dire things to her if she dared defy him. She wouldn't be surprised if he used the Unforgivables on his wife when she refused to do as he said. He was the Master ... and he would have made a fine Dark Lord.

*

One evening, Hermione got an especially unpleasant visit at home. She opened the door to see a wizard wearing the red robes of the Aurors standing on the threshold, a wizard with messy black hair and green eyes framed by round spectacles.

Hermione felt a surge of annoyance at the sight of her former best friend. "Harry? What are you doing here? I thought I said you and Ron weren't welcome in my home anymore," she said crossly.

Harry barged inside without being invited to do so. His green eyes were flashing with anger and he was glowering at Hermione.

"Hermione, you know what?" Harry yelled, glaring at her, reminding her of the summer before their fifth year at Hogwarts, "YOU KNOW WHAT? RON WAS RIGHT ABOUT YOU!"

"Harry, what is your problem?"

Harry appeared not to hear her. He started shouting like he did in fifth year, with a disturbing amount of anger and resentment and frustration. Hermione stepped back in alarm.

"ACTING SO BLOODY SUPERIOR JUST BECAUSE YOU'VE READ ALL THE USELESS BOOKS IN THE LIBRARY, HAVEN'T YOU, AND YOU JUST CONSIDER YOURSELF SO SMART -" Harry broke off, breathing heavily.

Hermione started to get angry as well. "What is wrong with you, Harry?" she bellowed. "Or has Ron finally convinced you to think his way?"

"You shut up about Ron!" Harry snarled in her face. "Ron is my BEST FRIEND! Ron has always understood me! While you - poking your nose into what didn't concern you, always bothering me about doing homework, as if I didn't have other things to do with my time -"

Well, that answered Hermione's question. Ron had somehow managed to make Harry see things his way.

"Driving everyone crazy with your warnings, never listening when people tell you they don't need your snooty comments! Do you even have an idea how annoying you were? Did you care how we felt when you never shut up about SPEW? Did you think before you went threatening to tell us on to McGonagall? You didn't CARE!"

Harry's eyes were nearly popping out with rage. It seemed like he had been dying to say these things for years.

"AND IN FIFTH YEAR, WITH YOUR SAVING-PEOPLE THING! BUT YOU WERE TRYING TO HELP ME, WEREN'T YOU? ONLY IT WORKED, DIDN'T IT? IT WORKED TO MAKE ME EVEN MORE ANGRY THAN I ALREADY WAS, WITH VOLDEMORT POKING AROUND IN MY HEAD, AND YOU JUST HAD TO REMIND ME OF MY PAST MISTAKES, DIDN'T YOU, TO MAKE ME EVEN MORE DETERMINED TO GO! AND THAT'S WHY SIRIUS DIED!"

Harry glared at her, still breathing deeply, then turned away and started pacing up and down the room. He was too absorbed in his anger to notice that Hermione had flinched at hearing him shout Voldemort's name, and that her hand flew automatically to her left forearm. This would have appeared strange to Harry, since Hermione had not had any problems about saying Voldemort's name since their fifth year at Hogwarts.

Hermione couldn't believe this. The nerve of him ... was he blaming her for Sirius's death?

Not that she had been affected by that - no, she had not grieved like Harry and Professor Lupin did. Nevertheless, this time, Harry's jibe had hit home. Not in the way he meant it, of course, but still ... How dare he remind me of that? she thought. It is all his fault - who does he think he is - you will pay, Harry Potter!

Harry would never know how much Hermione regretted following him into the Department of Mysteries. Especially as of lately ... No, Harry had no idea ... Hermione had always been good at keeping secrets - unless she chose to divulge them on purpose. Like she wanted to do now.

"How dare you?" Hermione shouted, and Harry actually looked taken aback by the almost hysterical rage in her voice. "How dare you accuse me of all people, when I tried and fought to stop you the whole time - I even warned you not to touch that cursed prophecy - but did you listen to me? No! You ignored my warnings like usual, when I was looking out for you the whole time! Instead, you dragged me into something I had no desire to be part of - oh, believe me, not at all - where I almost died! Where were you when Dolohov cast that curse? You were the reason I was there in the first place! But you were too busy looking out for yourself, that's what. You should be grateful I did not turn against you in the midst of battle!" Her voice dropped. "As I should have done. I regret it now ... I regret it so much ... see, Harry, you're not the only one with a guilt complex here. I do blame myself ..." But for what, you would never guess, she thought.

Hermione was speaking as if she was no longer aware that Harry was in the room. She seemed to be talking to herself. And to Harry, her words were so unexpected, that it did not occur to him to ask what it was that she blamed herself for. He would have gotten one nasty shock ... that he would get anyway.

But Hermione wasn't finished. "How dare you blame me for what your foolishness accomplished in fifth year, Harry Potter, when I tried ... I tried so hard to make you see reason, but you weren't listening -"

"You tried to make me SEE REASON?" Harry yelled back, his anger returning. "Like I was some irrational CHILD, when you knew better than anyone what I've been through! But no, instead of suggesting something useful, you just had to show how much more you knew and just how stupid I was! Why bother? After all, it's just naive Harry, it's not like he'll understand anyway! Well, you know what, Hermione?

"YOU WERE NO BETTER THAN MALFOY, WITH YOUR MADDENING AIRS OF SUPERIORITY! I HATE YOU!"

It took Harry a few moments to register that Hermione was laughing.

If only you knew, Harry, she thought, if only you knew.

"I would have thought you'd aimed to insult me, Harry, yet why are you complimenting me?"

"What?" said Harry, as though Hermione was speaking a foreign language.

"Really, Harry, comparing me to a Death Eater?" Hermione calmly asked. Then she smirked. "You have no idea know how right you are."

Hermione could stand it no longer. She had lost control. She could not believe she had once considered Harry a friend. If it wasn't for her knowledge of the prophecy and the fact that the Dark Lord alone could kill Harry - and vice versa - Hermione would have cast a Killing curse at him. But she so wanted to wipe that infuriating expression from Harry's face ... Why not? She could always Obliviate him afterwards ... it was a good thing all Ministry officials were trained to modify the memories of Muggles - and it was just as well that the spell worked on wizards too.

"You're such a brave, noble creature, Harry Potter," she said softly, reaching out her left hand (That's odd, I assumed she was right-handed, thought Harry) to ruffle his hair patronisingly, and accidentally-on-purpose throwing down her sleeve, baring her forearm up to her elbow, to reveal the Dark Mark imprinted in crimson on her creamy complexion. Harry gazed at it for a moment and gave a yelp, jumping back as though he had been burnt.

Perfectly calm and composed, Hermione waved her wand almost lazily. Ropes shot from the end of her wand and wrapped themselves around Harry, binding him in order to prevent him from attacking her. Harry was too shocked to draw his wand in time.

"You see?" Hermione said triumphantly, "The Dark Mark. The Dark Lord's sign. You know what it is; you know what it means. And it is you and Ron who pushed me over to them."

The devastated expression on Harry's face was one she would remember forever ... not in regret but in vindictive satisfaction.

"You are so brave, so righteous, so courageous ... but also reckless and exasperatingly meddlesome. You accuse me of 'poking my nose' into what did not concern me, yet what about you? Do you realise you are being dreadfully hypocritical? Then again, I suppose hypocrisy is a trait to be expected from a Gryffindor ... and you, Harry, are a true Gryffindor."

"Unlike you!" shouted Harry.

"I've admitted it long ago, Harry," she said calmly. "I have knowledge - and you know the Muggle saying, 'knowledge is power'. I have knowledge, and I have power. I used to value friendship and bravery ... but, as I am sure you agree, Harry, love is the strongest force of all."

"If anyone's a hypocrite, it's you! Voldemort wants to destroy Muggles ... how could you, a Muggle-born, join him? And where's the goodness of your heart gone?"

"I renounced it ... for love. Oh, Harry, it's a negligible sacrifice for such a high goal,"

Harry looked at her in aversion that quickly turned into confusion. Hermione ignored him.

"The Dark Lord often tells us that there's no good and evil, there is only power and those too weak too seek it ..." she broke off, noticing Harry's expression. "I see you've already heard it. Yes, he does repeat that little mantra quite often, does he not? But personally, I believe in a different version of that slogan. Do you know what that is, Harry? My personal credo, the rule I live by?"

Harry shook his head, looking rather disgusted at hearing her talk like a Death Eater.

"There is no good and evil, there is only love and those too foolish to accept it," declared Hermione earnestly. "You agree, don't you?"

For a second, Harry's lips quirked in a reluctant smile. Hermione knew he understood, even if he didn't approve of her actions. Too bad he would not remember this conversation.

"Hermione, you are noble, no matter how much you deny it. You were sorted into Gryffindor, huh? You always were a very unique witch. I guess only you could go over to the Dark side and still be a Gryffindor."

Hermione looked thoughtful. "Yes, I suppose so ... I remember what Hagrid once said, in our first year - I'm sure you're remembering it too - ah, 'when a wizard goes over ter the Dark side, there's nothin' and no one that matters to 'em anymore'." Hermione did a very good, if somewhat mocking, imitation of Hagrid's dialect. "He was mistaken, of course; he knew nothing of the inner dynamics of the Dark Order ..."

"Hermione, where have you learnt to speak like that?" Harry asked, looking disgusted. "So, uh, high-class."

"Why, from him, of course ... he says I'm unique too, you know ..."

Then Harry finally asked the question. "Er, who is he, then? Who's your lover?"

"Does the phrase 'fraternising with the enemy' ring a bell?"

"So it's Krum again?" That sounded like something Ron would say. Then again, Harry was acting very much like Ron right now ...

"No, no, not Viktor. This time, it is truly an enemy ..." Hermione trailed off with a mysteriously triumphant smirk that, in Harry's opinion, looked oddly out of place on her face.

"You mean a ..." Harry's voice grew faint. He couldn't say the words, because saying them would mean admitting it. To say them would make it real.

Hermione did it for him. "A Death Eater, yes."

Suddenly, as a distant memory, Harry heard Hermione's voice speak in his head: You ... this isn't a criticism, Harry! But you do ... sort of ... I mean - don't you think you've got a bit of a - a - saving-people thing?

And then another voice, colder and much more confident - like Hermione spoke now - echoed her words as though to back her up. Potter ... He has a great weakness for heroics; the Dark Lord understands this about him.

Another of Hermione's comments, also from the day Sirius died, came back to Harry: But Harry - what if your dream was - was just that, a dream?

And as a cold echo, a drawling voice reiterated Hermione's words once again: It's time you learned the difference between life and dreams, Potter.

Harry glanced up at Hermione's face, meeting brown eyes that had always seemed so warm, so kind - but now they were cold and mocking, as was the haughty smirk on her face.

And in one terrible moment, Harry understood.

Harry's face lost all colour as he understood it all. From the cruel way Hermione had taunted Ron during their last confrontation, to the attitude she had adopted at work during the past month - haughty and overconfident, and always so unconcerned ... it also explained the expensive fur coats she had started wearing recently, always coming up with vague responses when Ministry witches admiringly asked where she had purchased them (and with what money - the Aurors weren't paid that much, and Hermione should never have been able to afford such luxury) ... At once, everything made sense.

Harry's memory carried him all the way back to the Quidditch World Cup, prior to their fourth year at Hogwarts. He had seen Lucius Malfoy stare at Hermione, and she had blushed. Harry had interpreted her emotion as indignation. But Harry knew he had always been rubbish at figuring out how a girl's mind worked, and he now suspected he had been wrong to make that assumption. No, it definitely wasn't anger or hatred that had made Hermione go red in the face ...

Harry remembered a snatch of conversation that had taken place later that day.

I'll bet you anything his dad is one of that masked lot! Ron had said stormily.

Well, with any luck, the Ministry will catch him! Hermione had retorted just as energetically, before hastily changing the subject. But Harry had incorrectly interpreted the inflection in her voice. What Harry had thought was hope ... but it didn't quite sound like hope. Had it actually been worry?

And mere minutes later, Hermione had remarked:

Mad, though, to do something like that when the whole Ministry of Magic's out here tonight! I mean, how do they expect to get away with it? Do you think they've been drinking, or are they just -

That was back when Hermione still had faith in the Ministry, when she had naively believed authority to be almighty. But the fact was, she had actually empathised with the bunch of Dark wizards, and this time, there had been no way to mistake the concern in her voice. Harry had been too preoccupied, both about losing his wand and by the sound of footsteps they had just heard in the dark woods behind them, to think about it.

But now, everything was clear.

Harry stared at Hermione in absolute, complete, utter shock. If there was something that could traumatise him even more than finding the Dark Mark on his best friend's arm, it was this.

"H - Hermione?" he croaked uncertainly, "what - how - why?"

Hermione raised her eyebrows. "Do speak clearly, Harry, as I unfortunately cannot manage to comprehend you."

"Tell me you aren't - no - I don't believe it ... this cannot be -" Harry was sputtering in denial. "But you're a Muggle-born!" he said finally, as though that was all he could find to say.

"So?" Hermione asked casually. "The Dark side knows to make exceptions, Harry. Our Lord himself is a half-blood."

"NO! This cannot be!" Harry shouted in denial.

Hermione thought Harry's reaction was rather funny. "But it is. Indeed, I am perfectly aware of what you have just realised - and for once, you are making proof of an intelligence I had not expected from you."

Harry looked aghast. "Hermione, shut up! I can't stand it ... to hear you speak like that - you disgust me, as does he! First you join Voldemort, and now this? I never thought you would sink so low!" he yelled.

Hermione scowled irately. "How dare you - filthy half-blood -"

"Now you sound like Bellatrix Lestrange."

"Yes, Bellatrix and I have much in common ... we are very much alike, are we not? We are the only women in the inner circle, and we both became Death Eaters for similar reasons ... Oh, and Potter? Just so that you know, I joined the Dark Lord after 'this', as you so eloquently say," Hermione said, smirking.

Harry bared his teeth in hatred. Hermione was sure he would have attacked her if he weren't restrained.

But Hermione had had enough. She raised her wand. "Obliviate!"

Harry's face suddenly went blank; the hateful expression disappeared. He looked utterly confused as Hermione removed the ropes that restrained him.

Hermione knew Memory Charms could be broken by a powerful wizard, but to do so broke the mind irreversibly. And she knew Dumbledore would never do such a thing - the righteous old wizard would never sacrifice his precious Golden Boy's sanity for a piece of information.

"Hermione, what happened?" Harry asked in bewilderment.

"No idea. I just came in to find you like that, on the floor ... what happened, Harry?" she countered.

"I don't know, one moment I was standing outside on your porch and the next I just wake up here, wrapped up in these things -" Harry motioned to the shredded ropes now lying on the floor. "Must've been a prank ... or maybe some Death Eater's attempt to kidnap me went wrong ..."

"Why are you here anyway, Harry?"

"Oh, that! Well, I've just been to the Burrow, and Mrs Weasley asked me to tell you ... er, the usual, you know. She's invited you to the family Christmas party."

Mrs Weasley had always been nice to her ... except when she had thought Hermione was Harry's girlfriend and had cheated on him with Viktor. So, in reality, Mrs Weasley only liked her because she was her dear Harry's friend. No, Hermione would rather spend Christmas alone than with such people, not to count that Ron would be there, and unlike Harry, Ron's hatred for her had not been erased from his memory.