Reward for services rendered

by River in Egypt

There was one task Hermione had to do - to become a thief. She didn't like it at all. Written for the Dramione Couples Remix, the orginal couple was Bilbo and Smaug. Enjoy

So, next: this was written for the Dramione Couples Remix over on LJ. My orginal couple was Bilbo Baggins and Smaug from J.R.R. Tolkien's The Hobbit.

I think I did quite all right with this. Enjoy

WARNING: character death and graphic descriptions - I had to make it terrifying. Don't like, don't read, okay?

-000-

The stench was the first thing that hit her.

Smouldering remains of small house-elf bodies littered the hallway where Hermione entered the house through the secret passageway. Their little bodies looked misplaced against the gleaming floorboards, like debris, and Hermione hated herself for the thought.

Nausea caught her in the pit of the stomach at the sight of the small, mutilated bodies, urging her to turn around and crawl back. She had to go on, however, if she ever wanted these atrocities to end. She was still not entirely certain how she'd got roped into this, but she had to keep her end of the bargain.

"Hermione," Harry had said when the tasks were distributed. "You are the cleverest. If anybody can find it and get it out, it's you."

The group had heartily agreed, but apart from that pressure, and the fact that she was, indeed, the cleverest of them all, Harry had pulled her aside and spoken with the honesty of a man who carried the burden of being the Chosen One on his shoulders. "Hermione," he'd said, "if I could, I would do this in a heartbeat. I would never send you off to do what I should do. You know that. You are my best friend."

"I thought Ron was your best friend," she'd grumbled back.

"Ron's my best mate. A male-male friendship no woman can ever understand. We make jokes women cannot or do not want to understand. Disgusting jokes." He grinned sheepishly for a brief moment, but quickly sobered again.

"But you know that I cannot do this task. I have other tasks, and this one is yours. You are my best friend, and I would trust no one else with this. It has to be you. It has to be someone with your skills and talents."

Feeling flattered by her friend's trust, Hermione's fear was almost assuaged. Nevertheless, she was afraid, and rightly so, to go alone into a house taken over by Death Eaters, to bring Harry the treasure that was hidden there. She stalled. "But aren't we stealing? Am I to become a thief and a burglar for a good cause? Stealing is still wrong, you know."

Harry looked as though he seriously doubted her mental faculties. "Do you think Voldemort asked the previous owner if he could have it? We are only taking it back and putting it to good use. To destroy Voldemort. Which is what you want, too, right?"

When Hermione continued to look for a way to avoid breaking the law, Harry put the thumbscrews on. "You cannot let us down, Hermione, let me down. I'm going to have to put an end to Voldemort, but before I can do that, you have to get me that stone."

Hermione became almost angry at Harry's wording, putting this pressure on her; was that what a friend did? However, before she could say that two wrongs still didn't make a right, Harry leaned down and whispered conspiratorially, "Think of all the people we will save. The longer we wait, the more will die – and worse."

After a small pause, he added, "And your name will go into the history books for this. Everybody will know you for your own achievement, not just as my sidekick."

He didn't say 'like Ron', but they both understood. Being part of the resistance, of Harry Potter's cause, was one thing, and a good thing, but to be distinguished for your own deeds … Hermione liked that idea a lot. It would support her desire to show everybody what a Muggleborn could do. And Harry was right; more people would die the longer they waited.

Hermione swallowed her fear with a gulp. She knew she had to do this.

That was how she found herself here, playing the thief while the others - Ron and Harry, Ginny and Dean and Seamus, Fred and George, and the rest - controlled the perimeters of the Manor and prepared for battle. With no signs of life from the outside, they were pretty sure that, besides magical traps for which she was well equipped, there couldn't be more than the one guardian in the house, but it never hurt to be cautious.

The hinges made a long, drawn-out squeak when she pushed the portrait shut to cover her secret exit. She considered briefly whether she should move the floor vase filled with decorative long grasses back to its original place under the picture but decided against it. While it would only take a swish of a wand to move it, it would cost time and attention if she had to leave in a hurry.

Hermione made her way slowly, quietly, a Silencio on her feet, along the first floor; from the hallway through the empty drawing room, the parlour, the entrance hall, the sitting room, past the kitchen entrance where a staircase led down and the staircase leading up to the second level, dead house-elves every few metres, a library, and a den. All rooms or areas were furnished or decorated with old gleaming wood and heavy cloth draperies, oil paintings, wall hangings, and shiny porcelain. The testaments to centuries gone by and old monies amassed and passed down for generations were now marred by scorch marks, some partially or completely burned down. Empty portraits and landscapes had burns in the middle of the canvas, candle wax had melted, cooling in long drips from mantles and mixing with blackened silver, contrasted against black spots on walls and tapestries. A partially burned coffee table was still giving off heat.

Impressed by the former richness of the décor and disgusted by its wilful destruction, Hermione made her way to the last remaining room on this level.

It was a good thing the Uber-Death Eater had chosen Marchbanks Manor for his headquarters. Neville knew the way around it and its many passages like his own clothes, having accompanied his grandmother there many times. A book in the library, to which he had been banished while the old ladies took their tea, had instructed him as to the complete layout of the house, its plain and its hidden parts alike. He had guided Hermione to the entrance of the secret passage into the Manor and made sure that she remembered its layout exactly.

Too bad that the Manor's only inhabitant, however, was another of the war casualties.

The stench was particularly strong and Hermione saw her as soon as she entered the grand ballroom where the intruder had made his lair. 'Lair' was the only word that came to mind when Hermione entered the grand room. It was stiflingly hot, like an incubator, and a body lay halfway between the door and the back of the room. Old Griselda, lay, open-eyed on her back, like a sacrificial lamb, and clearly dead. Avada Kedavra, Hermione surmised, looking at the entirely peaceful face of the older witch who seemed as if she had finally met a long-awaited end. Good thing Griselda had already been so very old. Hermione knew she would have to take the body with her, to give the old witch's bones the rest they deserved. The rest of the room was taken up by a pile of Galleons large enough to fill a very wealthy wizard's Gringott's vault from bottom to ceiling.

With a slight pang of grief for the old witch, who had supported the light side, Hermione realized that whereas the whole house felt as if somebody had tried to trample into the ground or set to ashes what wasn't his by rights, the ballroom was the only space that felt as if somebody lived in it. Where the rest of the house was dead, empty and destroyed, a hollow echo in the vastness of the rooms, the smell of decay and destruction hovering, this place was set up for living – in a bad way. Appalled, Hermione noted the food-encrusted plates stacked high, likely left because of the unlucky lack of house-elves to clean them away, and the musty smell of habitation and sour sickness. If only she could open a window, she thought, sniffing disgustedly while scanning the walls decorated with the same scorch marks as the other rooms before her glance fell back to the pile of gold in the room. She had never seen so much wealth at once, and like the stench, it took her breath away, making her a little dizzy. Hermione never thought of herself as a materialistic person, but seeing it piled up high, gold and jewels and Galleons and silverware, pure richness, made her think that this was something she would never have if she kept on her honest path and aligned herself with Ronald Weasley. Perhaps she was setting the bar too low?

She had second thoughts, however, when she looked at the young man sleeping on the pile. He looked peaked, the sallow paleness so different from the previously cultivated paleness that marked his pureblood nobility. He'd always been on the skinny side, but now he looked downright famished, and his previously flawless skin was pockmarked. The emerald light in the room didn't help his complexion either, giving it a greenish tinge like viper scales. Part of the awful smell most certainly came from his direction, and Hermione was surprised by this apparent decline in hygiene, given that he had always seemed immaculately groomed at Hogwarts.

Hermione almost pitied him. Being a pureblood family made the Malfoys automatically align with anything that would preserve their status – in this case, Voldemort. 'However, it couldn't have been fun,' she thought when she looked at the haggard form of a once-capable former Quidditch Seeker. Whether from duress or actual lack of nutrition, Malfoy didn't look healthy, and the fact that he slept on a pile of gold in the middle of a ballroom didn't speak well of his mental health either.

She reconsidered the value she had with an honest guy and healthy eater like Ron. All the Malfoy fortune and status couldn't make up for the healthy, hearty meals she loved so much at the Burrow, times filled with laughter and joy.

Malfoy lay on his side, his hip sunk deep into the gold, giving the impression he had melted into it, as if the gold had sucked him under, several precious pieces of jewellery tangled in his light hair contrasted against the green sleeves it laid upon, enhancing the effect of the light on his skin. His peaceful face was turned to the entrance, his eyes closed tight, giving the impression of recuperation. Hermione remembered the pinch-faced schoolboy he'd been and thought he looked almost harmless, the way he snored, the vast fortune stretched away beneath him to all sides, glinting dimly and eerily from the shine of multiple little green fires lit in the oddly windowless room.

Yet, Hermione knew that someone capable of this horrendous massacre of house-elves and the cold murder of a witch could be nothing but terrible when awakened. She wondered if the green fires, surely testimony to newly developed magical powers thanks to the Dark Lord, had something to do with the unnecessary deaths, and she swore to herself that she didn't want to find out. Not now and hopefully, not ever. The whole image in this silent ballroom – dead bodies, a pile of gold, and a starved-looking, perhaps mentally unstable sleeping man who had, most likely, killed numerous times – was so horrifying that cold fear gripped her suddenly. Hermione panicked and wanted nothing more than to escape as quickly as possible.

Ever so carefully, therefore, she picked up one single ruby lying close to her, as a token of the wealth piled up there, and, when she pocketed it, she almost squeaked in fright when the only other living person in the room shifted on his resting place, grasping at nothing with a growl. A single Galleon rolled down the pile, dislodged by his movement, coming to a stop close to her and falling with a clink. Standing stock-still, she only dared lift Griselda's body with a non-verbal Wingardium Leviosa when Malfoy relaxed again with a deep rumbling sigh. She retreated, not to say fled, back the way she had come as quietly and as quickly as she dared, through the secret passage behind the painting of Gregor "The Gossiper" Marchbanks.

Malfoy did not wake, not at this time. Nevertheless, he had an odd dream about a female warrior with dirty blood and great courage, who tempted him to question his purpose in life and then turned out to be a thief. He continued to sleep, but uneasily.

Meanwhile, the "thief" made her difficult way back through the secret passage, careful not to bump the dead body against the wall and cursing her task heartily as she went. How could she have let Harry talk her into going on this mission, knowing that Malfoy would be in there? Why did she have to be so exceptionally good at magic, making her the logical person to go on this search? Even for somebody with her skill, this was an almost hopeless undertaking. How was she supposed to find a fist-size gem hidden in a house? Certainly, there would be magical markers surrounding it, and she was able to detect some, but she wasn't Dumbledore. And where was she to start her search? On the pile of gold Malfoy was snoring upon?

Right. She shook her head in exasperation.

But they needed this gem.

They needed the Black Heart Diamond that seemed to be the source of Voldemort's dark powers. They needed to destroy it; thus, Voldemort could be defeated, putting an end to his regime of magical terror.

For that, she had to get around Malfoy.

While that wouldn't have been such a terrible thing when they'd been at Hogwarts, where he had been but a pesky boy, it wasn't so easy anymore. Voldemort had likely equipped the guardian of his Black Heart Stone with quite an array of powers. She didn't even know which ones, but she was certain they were terrible. Adding to this the lack of restraint or fair play Malfoy was likely to present – the burnt house-elves were testimony to that along with those curious green fires – made Hermione feel considerably uneasy.

A star-filled sky came into view at the end of the passage, and she smelled the fresh night air. She was surprised that it was night already when she had left in the afternoon. However, she took the last few steps with relief and exited from a magically enlarged rabbit hole behind which the passage into Marchbanks Manor was hidden.

Strong arms pulled her into a bear hug, and she smelled the homely smell of the Burrow. "Ron, umph, I can't breathe."

"You made it. Gwenyfar's galloping gargoyle, you made it."

"Yes, yes, Ron." Hermione struggled against his crushing embrace. "Don't strangle me now when I just got back alive." He let go with a grin. Hermione breathed freely for all but a second before the next squeezing embrace took her breath away again.

"Hermione!"

"Oh, for Godric's sake. Yes, Harry, I'm back, I made it, aren't you glad?" she said exasperatedly, seeing more people rushing up the hill to her rabbit hole and wanting to prevent more bone crushing. "However, I'm not alone, as you can see."

Her friends' easy smiles gave way to solemn grimaces, and Neville even pulled off his hat. "Madame Marchbanks. Oh, no."

"Well, good thing …," Luna started.

"… she was so old, yes, thank you, Luna." Hermione hurried to prevent her friend from speaking aloud what she had already thought. Let them have a clear moment of true grief without tactlessness.

"I was going to say, '…that you found her and brought her back, Hermione,'" Luna said. "That way we can bury her properly."

Hermione felt ashamed. What had she been thinking, believing her friend to be as insensitive as she herself had been? Ginny would tell her not to be so hard on herself and nobody in his right mind would blame her for being so afraid in that house that she couldn't think clearly or decently, but she couldn't lie to herself. She was trying to find fault in others when she herself was not able to fulfil her task. Guilt overcame her, guilt over her failure.

She gave a feeble smile. "Yes, Luna, you are right, of course. That is why I brought her back after all."

Harry, Ron at his side, gave her a nod and then a sharp look. It was time for a talk. She nodded back. They left Neville, Luna, Ginny and other friends to the funeral preparation and strode off to the tents. Harry held the flap for her to enter. She fell into a camp chair with a huff, weary to the bone.

"Before you say anything, he made a lair in the ballroom after he scorched the rest of the house, it was littered with dead, burnt house-elves, and no, I didn't get further than the first level, and I didn't find it," she pre-empted Harry's reproof.

Harry pinned her to the chair with a level look. "I didn't say anything. No idea, however?"

She shook her head sadly. "But you were going to. To tell you the truth, Malfoy looks terrible; he was emaciated and with pockmarks on his face. There was a strange greenish light in there, making his skin look scaly green, but I couldn't be sure if it's from the light. And he smelled like death."

"Ha, all his money couldn't buy him good health and now he lost his 'good looks,'" Ron crowed, making quote marks in the air with the last two words. "'Wait 'til my father hears about this', my ass." He laughed aloud at his joke. "Serves him right for throwing his lot in with Voldemort, the git," he finished, waiting for his friends' approval.

Which didn't come. Hermione sent him a glare and, turning to Harry, said, "And no, I have no idea."

"Damn, Hermione, you have to have an idea where it could be. You're good at this," Ron blurted out, giving voice to the tension everybody was feeling and trying to make up for the previous poorly received statement.

Hermione felt anger swell up in her. There was Harry's best mate, who was also supposed to be her best friend. Only he didn't have to earn his stripes. She sighed. This was not supposed to be a competition. She couldn't help letting her anger out, however.

"Well, I don't, Ron. Perhaps you want to try it? Make sure you don't get into a scuffle with Malfoy. He's bound to wake when he hears you stumbling in like a big oaf. As sickly as he looks, I'm sure he can still put up a good fight. He's a well-trained pureblood, after all." Yes, she might be the only one who could do it, but that didn't make it self-evident for her to find it immediately. It wasn't easy.

Before Ron could gather a reply, Harry stepped between them, holding his hands out to both sides. "Stop it, you two. We have to work together or we'll never succeed. All right, Hermione, tell us step by step what you saw. There have to be some indications."

Hermione took a deep breath and told them what she'd seen, describing the pile of gold and jewels and showing them the one ruby she had taken. She didn't like the gleam in Ron's eyes when he looked at the treasure, and she believed she saw him calculating its worth.

One by one, other friends came in, Neville amongst them, confirming some things about the Manor layout the way he remembered it. When he heard about Malfoy, he mused, "Hm, sounds like he has or had Dragon Pox. You said he has pockmarks?"

"Yes," Hermione said, feeling even less inclined to enter that house again. Dragon Pox was contagious. "I clearly saw them on his face."

Neville nodded. "Then the contagious phase is over. He's past that but likely still recovering, which explains why he sleeps so deeply and in the middle of the day. You have nothing to worry about, Hermione, and it may actually work to your advantage if he's a little sick."

Hermione didn't quite agree, thinking that even a sick Malfoy was a dangerous foe but didn't see the sense in saying it. It would make her look like a coward.

After a while, Ginny came and said they were ready for the farewell.

The whole group went outside and gathered around a pyre quickly erected over a hole where the falling ashes could collect. The atmosphere was subdued as they stood in the moonlight to say farewell, but everybody expressed how happy they were to see Hermione safely back. Harry, their natural leader, spoke the words of farewell to a formidable witch, who had invested her life to fight for the good and proper use of Magic before Neville set the pile on fire. Luna intoned a monosyllabic lament, which was still utterly fitting since nobody knew anything else.

They would have stood sentry longer and waited for the fire to consume the remains of Madame Marchbanks if not for a tremendous roar from the Manor, which shook the very ground they stood on.

All of them stood petrified; Hermione was the first to shake off the shock. "He woke up. Quick, you lot, run, hide, get as far away as you can but seek cover. He'll see the tents, he'll know we are here, he'll burn it all like he burnt the Manor."

"No," Harry intervened. "Take the tents down and take them with you. Apparate to the big fir we passed a mile back. We may still have a few minutes, and it will not do to lose everything in a panic. We may as well rescue what we can. Let's go."

People stormed off like arrows in all directions, and Hermione shrank things and magicked them into Extension-charmed bags as quickly as she could. She was petrified for a moment when a huge green flame appeared on top of the Manor, casting the whole area in eerie light. Another roar came from the roof, and then green fireballs came down, igniting their tents and things. Before people could become targets, Harry bellowed the abort.

"Grab what you can and go. See you at the big fir."

In a matter of seconds, the whole field surrounding the Manor was empty, except for a few piles of tent cloth burning green, and a burial pyre breaking down in a great gush of sparks.

The screeching roar from the roof spoke of rage and frustration.

The dragon awoke from his unruly sleep to feel that somebody had been there. He was alert in seconds, and, stretching up from his resting place, he noted the missing body immediately. Somebody had been here, taking things – his things! What else had they taken? He was searching through his possessions carefully and noticed the missing ruby after a while. It had been close to the door, not far from his victim and easy to snatch up.

Aha, so the intruder had not dared to come deeper into the room, he concluded, likely too scared before a sleeping dragon. He, the mighty Malfoy, would teach him a lesson, that little thief. He was a mighty dragon, someone to be reckoned with. The thief would regret ever coming here, disturbing the peace. The dragon would tear him apart with ease.

If only he could find their entrance, but try as he might, he couldn't figure out where the smell came into the house. It was a strange smell, flowery somehow, female, not unpleasant, but nothing he had ever smelled before. It still wouldn't save the thief from annihilation through a mighty fireball and being trampled into the dust.

With resolve, he swung himself up to the second floor and onto the roof, peering into the darkness for his foe, the thief, and unleashing a mighty roar into the night to scare him mindless.

"What in the world was that?"

"There's a dragon in the house? Why didn't you tell us?"

"How did they confine it? It will tear the house down."

"Hermione, why didn't you say anything?"

The anger washed over her like a sudden cold downpour, completely unexpected and unfair. If she had seen a dragon, of course she would have told them. But there had been none; there had only been Malfoy sleeping on a pile of gold and dead bodies, which was scary enough. How dare they talk to her like that?

"Shut up, all of you. There was no dragon when I was in there. If they had one chained in the basement, how was I supposed to know? I was supposed to go in, find the Black Heart Diamond, and get out. I stumbled over Madame Marchbanks' dead body, and decency decreed that I take her back first. What was I supposed to do, leave her there, just so I could find out if they had dragons in the house, maybe even risk my life if I found one? As you know, I couldn't even search the house for the diamond because the manor is huge, and the diamond is small. It would take several people several days. Did you expect me to accomplish all this on my own? Excuse me?"

They caved quickly under her rightful anger and relented. Contritely hanging their heads, her friends deliberated what to do now. They discussed whether it made sense to bring in many people to subdue the dragon for an extended search. However, this thought was discarded quickly, as too many people would raise a whole lot of other alarms. No, stealth was the best way, sneaking behind and around the dragon (and Malfoy), and searching quietly, unseen.

Harry took the word. "Since you were so successful the first time, Hermione, getting in and out unencumbered, I suggest you go in alone again. Take my cloak, for protection. Go and search the entire house for hidden magic. We will get everything ready so that upon your return, we can leave immediately for safety. But we rely on you. If you see the dragon, hit him with a Conjunctivitis charm and get out. Other than that, use your cleverness and skill at magic and find us the Black Heart, so we – that is to say, I – may have a chance at defeating the Dark Lord."

Hermione felt a big lump of uncertainty in her throat, but she knew there was no other choice. Already feeling guilty for disappointing her friends, disappointing Harry, she couldn't bear the thought of letting down their whole world just because she was afraid of dragons. She had to do it. Again.

"All right, I will go. As soon as the dragon is back in the house, and all is quiet, I'll go in again."

She was almost sure she would regret her darn loyalty.

The old portrait opened with a squeak again, and Hermione was quick to climb to the floor and don Harry's cloak. Trotting the now familiar way, she sneaked to the ballroom on silent shoes. Her worry and caution seemed to be for nothing because Malfoy was snoring again on his pile, and there was no dragon in sight.

'Well,' Hermione thought. 'I might as well start my search here, since he's asleep. The ballroom with its guardian in the centre would be a good place to hide a valuable gem.'

She went around the ballroom, quiet as a snowflake, moving her wand over the walls and floors to detect any hidden magic. With frequent sidelong glances at the sleeping man, lest he wake up and set her afire on a sudden impulse just because he could, she went around and behind the pile of gold, searching the room square centimetre by square centimetre, always keeping a safe distance. Who knew if Neville was right and Malfoy really wasn't contagious now? However, aside from a humming aura of general magic in the room, there was nothing, and it seemed that Malfoy slept like the dead.

Hermione had started on one side of the pile and made her way around the entire room. Having reached the end of her circle in the darkest corner behind the centre pile, she huffed in frustration. 'Nothing. There is nothing,' she thought.

So concentrated was she on her quest and frustrated by her lack of success that she'd neglected to check the apparently harmless-while- asleep sleeper on gold for the last minute or so.

"And what do we have here?" said a mean voice right behind her, making her freeze like a scared rabbit, completely forgetting that he couldn't see her. She remained utterly still, thinking that if she didn't move, he might lose interest and go back to sleep.

Malfoy, however, wasn't that easily diverted.

"Well, thief, I can smell you, and I feel you walking around. I can also hear your panting. Come to steal some more? There is plenty, it's true."

Too scared to turn, she heard his movement behind her and the clinking of Galleons when he raised himself from the pile. Slowly, heavily, she heard him get up, the trickling of gold indicating that he was moving toward her corner.

"Where are you?" He stopped as soon as he reached the floor; she heard the pat of his feet on the hard surface, and then he sniffed.

He was so close, just a few metres behind her, that Hermione almost squeaked in fright. She couldn't quite see him, having turned her back on him, but she smelled him. There was the sour odour of sickness preceding him, and she definitely didn't want him to touch her. She suppressed a gag, but she couldn't suppress her body movement when stopping her breath. She felt him turn in her direction and take a decisive step.

Her heart plummeted all the way into her pants. She scolded herself for being so careless and forgetting to check if he really were asleep (a simple spell would have done, stupid!) and for being so afraid. She had to keep a cool head. Neville had said he was not contagious, and she had to trust her friend. On top of that, Malfoy couldn't see her, after all; ergo, she would make a bad target for any spell.

Unless he shot fire at her. The little green fires she saw burning all over the house suddenly made sense. She moved her wand surreptitiously to make a solid Protego between her and the area she heard him coming from.

Highly sensitive to his movements, she noted how heavy his footfall was. He walked like a predator, taking slow, certain steps, sniffing the air to locate his prey, then changing his direction. Something was off, however, with the way he set his foot down with a thud as if he had elephant shoes. From what she could see in her periphery, he swung his shoulders around like a serpentine head - slow, halting movements as if there were a huge body needing lots of muscles to actually move. He bent forward, too, hunched, as if he were carrying something heavy on his back or walking almost on all fours.

Was that a side effect of the Dragon Pox or was he trying to walk like a dragon? She'd seen enough of the beasts at the Triwizard Tournament to know the way they moved.

She took an uncertain step away from him when he was searching for her in the other direction, then another, then another. Now there was a small mound of the treasure at the edge of the pile between them, as well as a five-piece set of parlour furniture.

When he shot a spurt of green fire from his wand to the corner where she had just been a few seconds ago, she quickly ran a few steps to put the whole pile, and a solid chaise lounge, between them.

"Come now, don't be shy. Show yourself. We could have tea together," Malfoy crooned with what was supposed to be a soothing voice. It gave Hermione a creepy shiver, and she sank behind the chaise lounge, out of the line of fire, for a breather.

He took a few steps into the corner he had just scorched, the remains of some hangings still smoking.

"There is something about you. Something magical."

He sensed the magic of the cloak! Hermione was very tempted to take it off and hide it, but that would take away her only protection. If she showed herself, it was his wand skill against hers, a one-on-one fight. Clever, trying to trick her. It seemed she would have to try to outwit him herself. Oh well.

She left the cloak on and opened her game with what she supposed he would be most pleased by: flattery. If all went well, he would let his guard down, eventually.

"Oh, I did not come to steal from you. I only wanted to gaze upon your handsome face." It had been once, after all, she thought.

A shot of green fire at the five-piece set was the answer. It clung to the wood like glue, but did not actually produce flames, instead melting it slowly, like acid.

Hermione's heart sank even more. Malfoy was highly dangerous, and, despite his soothing voice, he seemed rather deranged.

"Why would you want that, thief in the shadow?" he said in an echoing voice. Again Hermione was reminded of something majestic, immense, terribly powerful, as if he were acting the part of a huge beast –a dragon. Was he … did he actually think he was a dragon? Was there no dragon in here, just Malfoy roaring atop the roof last night?

With sudden clarity, she realized she was right. Hermione didn't know if she should giggle or be very afraid. Confundus, she concluded. The Dragon Pox must have given the Dark Lord ideas, and then he must have coaxed Malfoy's mind to make him focus solely on the protection of his Heart Stone, and now Malfoy thought he was a treasure protector with a heightened sense of smell, dragon-like. What better protector of gems and wealth, she thought, than a typical hoarder? This made the situation comical, but not Malfoy. A dragon was a clever and dangerous beast, and this fire he was throwing around was anything but funny. This made her task even more dangerous than she had previously thought. She had to be very careful. Oh, Harry was going to owe her big time.

Thinking quickly on her feet, she went through her catalogued knowledge of dragons.

Dragons were vain; they were clever and greedy and highly protective of their hoard, but they also had quite grand ideas about themselves, their might, their skill, their scheming.

She had to find out where the gem was, and quickly. Perhaps if she kept up the flummery and played into his feeling of importance, he would disclose its hiding place in his vanity. She certainly had to try. Taking a deep breath, she wracked her brain for old-fashioned flattery, which would resonate best with the Malfoy importance of old. It was worth a shot. Who knew how addled his brain was, and she didn't have much time.

"Oh, most magnificent Malfoy, I heard tales of your skill in guarding this manor, which houses one of the Dark Lord's most precious possessions. I thought you had to be truly great for him to trust you, but I didn't believe it."

Malfoy had come around the pile, she heard, and pranced up and down a few steps in front of her chaise lounge. She heard in his voice that her honeyed words had hit the mark.

"Ha! And do you believe it now?"

Hermione nodded until she remembered that he couldn't see her, luckily, and then gave voice to her affirmation. "Truly, the tales do not do you justice. You are magnificent to look upon, oh, fairest Malfoy, fiercest defender of manors." 'Except for the marks in your face, my friend, but I'm not going to tell you that,' she thought to herself.

When he didn't say anything and just moved through the room, trying to follow where her voice had come from, she put a spell on her throat that would disperse her voice; thus it reverberated through the entire room, impossible to be located.

"In fact, the tales fall utterly short of your enormity, oh, stupendous Malfoy."

She heard him shuffle when her voice came from everywhere, disoriented. Annoyed that he'd lost her trail, he spat out, "Do you think this ridiculous flattery will save you from your fate and keep you alive?"

"No, no …" Hermione started to pacify and distract him from the thought of killing her.

"No, indeed," he interrupted, however, before she could say anything of substance. Perhaps she had better make an exit of the ballroom to search somewhere else in the Manor, far away from his fire spurts. Yes, that seemed like a good strategy. Hermione started to crawl toward the ballroom door.

Then, he said conversationally (likely to keep her talking and find her out), "You seem familiar with my name, but I have no idea who you are. Your smell is quite pleasant, flowery somehow, but I do not remember ever smelling you before. Who are you and where do you come from, may I ask?"

She had almost reached the door when the thought occurred to her. If not right next to the guardian – and the Heart Stone was clearly not in the ballroom – where do people keep their valuables? In the bedroom, where they are close when people slumber. Although she doubted that the Dark Lord ever slept, he had been human once and a bedroom had to be of some comfort. Upstairs, she had to get upstairs, to the master bedroom.

All the while trying to distract the guardian beast.

Thinking quickly, she said, "I … I come from a world beyond this world."

After a pause, she added, "And through that world and this world, I came flying through the air unseen."

"So, you can Apparate and Disillusion yourself," Malfoy concluded quickly. "That means you are magical, like me. Impressive. What else do you claim to be?"

Darn, that was too close. Hermione bit her lips. She had to be very careful if she wanted to distract him from her exit but not disclose her identity, which would surely mean her instant death by green fire. She well remembered how much Malfoy had disliked her bushy head.

"I'm a knowledge-saver, a riddle-solver, a dog amongst sheep," she said hesitantly. 'Loyal to a fault and obedient,' she thought to herself with sarcasm.

"Lovely titles. Go on." Malfoy stood about two steps from her and almost purred at her compliance to play his game.

Hermione was beginning to sweat bullets trying not to give too much away. "I'm a people's person, a time-carrier, a hippogriff-rider. A best friend."

"Best friend! Hippogriff-rider," Malfoy shot back as if poked with a needle. "Now, that is interesting. Tell me, where are your little friends, camping out on my Manor grounds?"

"Friends? No, no, no friends here, you got that all wrong. I'm all alone," Hermione said impulsively with a slightly bitter tone. 'They sent me off, alone, these so-called friends,' Hermione thought, 'to risk my life going where they don't.' On second thought, guilt rattled her frazzled nerves. They'd been over this. Harry would have come with her if he could. It hadn't been possible. 'Judas,' she thought to herself. 'I say unto you, that one of you shall betray me. And here she is.'

Then she shook her head. What she needed to do was get Malfoy off their trail instead of pitying herself. 'Keep your focus, Hermione. You need to get the Stone and get it back to Harry.'

"Oh, I don't think so. I've seen them, and I just know that they want to come in and take all my treasure, sending you ahead to do the dirty work and find the way. Because, after all, you cannot just walk through the front door." He laughed maliciously and spread his arms as if they were wings.

"Truly, you are mistaken, oh Malfoy, greatest and chiefest of … guardians. To come in here, one would have to be truly fearless, and nobody is that great, only somebody like you …"

"You have nice manners for a thief and a LIAR," he interrupted her. "I've seen them, from the roof, the great Harry Potter and his entourage. It is the gold they are drawn to, and the magic in this house." He grinned like a cat that got the canary, looking a bit unhinged when he continued, as if he savoured the fact that he would face his enemies – almost reptilian. "Did you think I wouldn't be prepared for their arrival? The Dark Lord warned me, instructed me that a pack of lousy wizards would come to take his great, precious treasure."

Hermione, feeling a monologue coming on, took a few steps backwards, toward the door. And then a few more before he cut her off by walking in the same direction, gloating over his guarding abilities. Tough luck.

"But he has nothing to worry about. I will protect his treasure as if it were my own. I kill where I wish, when I wish. I was made for this. He gave me powers I did not know before, and I am invincible."

"No, no, almighty Malfoy, nobody wants your treasure," Hermione tried feebly to make him gloat, and thus, move again, to make room for her exit. "But tell me more about your great powers, for truly, they are exceptional."

He ignored her blarney and halted in his steps. Dang it. "Oh, so it is the Heart Stone he wants? Is that it? He sent you in here for that?"

Hermione almost stomped her foot in frustration; she had tipped him off so carelessly. How was she going to search secretly when he knew exactly what she was looking for? He might lead her there, but how was she going to get it with him hovering? She had to head him off.

He distracted himself, however, talking, for that is another skill of a dragon. In their cleverness they can distract your thoughts to the point of confusion. And so, he distracted himself but her, too, unfortunately.

"Tell me, will they reward you for your dirty work, the cowards, do you think?"

Having just passed the door of the ballroom and made two steps toward the grand staircase, she halted when she heard his last comment. While he now moved toward the back of the ballroom, still searching for her, she heard his clear voice in the echo through the hallways, and she didn't like what she heard.

"Harry Potter." He almost spat the name. "When you bring him the Heart Stone, will he reward you? What did you get for the ruby you brought him last night? Were you handsomely paid for your services? Or did he promise you something else?"

He strode off, and Hermione couldn't see him anymore. She made it to the bottom of the stairs in a dash.

"What are you talking about?" she yelled to keep him talking. She could better locate him that way; and she had no mind to think about what exactly he was saying. Or rather, she didn't want to think about it. There was no reward for her but helping the good cause – and the continuation of a friendship.

"Don't bother denying it. I know he's out there. I can almost smell him," Malfoy snarled suddenly from the other side of the entrance hall. Hermione took two tentative steps.

"He cannot get the Heart Stone and it would do him no good if he did. The Dark Lord is already too powerful; it is just a matter of time. In a short time, he will have conquered the world, and Potter can do nothing about it. And I will be rewarded for my service."

The air shook from his triumphant roar of delusional certainty. As far as Hermione knew, the Dark Lord hardly ever rewarded in a way that the rewarded person was able to enjoy for long. Given the fact that Malfoy looked only a shell of his former self, an emaciated magical puppet with delusional thoughts, scarred from sickness and smelling as if his body decayed from the inside out, she doubted there was anything Voldemort would grant him except a quick death. Sadness over Malfoy's most likely fate overcame her, exacerbated by his 'dragon' powers, a turmoil of emotions that almost brought her to her knees. Chewing her lip and trying to ignore the lure of what he was saying while listening to where exactly his voice came from, she took more steps. She made it around the curve of the stairs when he turned around the wall and stood at its bottom.

"So, whatever you were promised is useless because there will be no time to receive it," Malfoy gloated from the bottom of the stairs; however, he was speaking in the wrong direction. "You've been used, thief in the shadow. You have only ever been a means to an end. The coward has sent you in here, instead of coming himself; therefore, he found you dispensable."

Hermione shook her head at the thought. Harry, her Harry, her best friend … he wouldn't sacrifice her, would he? "No," she whispered, cold fear clasping her sunken heart. "No, you're lying."

"What did he promise you? Part of the treasure? As if it were his to give!" He snorted somewhere close to the den, about twenty yards away from the bottom of the stairs. His voice echoed all the way up here, as if he were not two metres behind her. "And how would you get it out? Galleon by Galleon, jewel by jewel, through your secret passage? Ha!" He continued to rile up her conscience.

Hermione stopped, somewhere close to the top of the stairs, trying to control her erratic heartbeat. 'Don't listen, don't listen,' she told herself. 'This is Malfoy. He was already good at creating discord when we were at school. With his dragon abilities, he has become extraordinary. He cannot be right, Harry would never think you dispensable.'

Thus, with a strengthened heart, she slowly inched from step to step, finally reaching the top of the stairs where the whole upper level spread out before her. Door beside closed door separated her from the target of her search.

"You may as well join me, serving the Dark Lord. Loyalty is highly valued in his circles, 'Best Friend.' Plus, this will be your only way to see the treasure for longer."

'Don't listen, Hermione. Focus. You have to find the Stone and quickly.' She opened the first door on her right with Alohomora and peeked inside. A bathroom. Next.

"Before the night is out, we kill you like all the others who don't believe in the Dark Lord. I kill where I want, when I want, you'd better believe it," Malfoy rambled on, downstairs.

'Quick, Hermione, next door. A guest room. Go on, now, quick.'

"Because I will not part with a single coin! Not! One! Piece! Of it!"

The passionate outburst from the 'dragon' hit her core. She heard wood breaking and cloth tearing downstairs, and she briefly believed him to be right. That the only way to retain some treasure, to be wealthy and escape the night, was to join him, to stay with him and admire his handsomeness in the shine of the gold.

Dizziness gripped her and made her sink against the next door, behind which was another guest room. 'Guests,' she thought, focusing on the covered bed in the middle of the room. 'Guests can be friends, staying over. My friends. I have to stay loyal to my friends.'

"And I won't have to," Malfoy raged on, his powers shaking her very foundations. She heard more breaking and demolition and was briefly reminded of the poor house-elves who hadn't escaped his deathly fire. "Because my teeth are swords, my claws are spears, my wings are a hurricane, and my breath is death. Nobody can vanquish me!"

Tears welled up in her eyes when she tried to fathom the destruction of the house. The poor house-elves. The people. Harry and her friends. Nothing but extermination awaited them if she didn't find the Heart Stone. She gathered the last of her strength and moved on to the next door, then the next, and the next.

Until, she found the right room.

Clearly, it was the Master bedroom; it had the biggest bed and was richly furnished in purple silk and velvet and dark gleaming wood, plush and luxurious and hung with family portraits. She felt the hum of magic as soon as she opened the door.

There it was, behind a portrait of Griswold Marchbanks the Third, the proud founder of the Marchbanks fortune (it said so on a plaque on the frame), prominently displayed on the largest bedroom wall: a hidden cache. And in it, locked with a complex sequence of charms, which Hermione solved in a matter of minutes – she wasn't that stupid, thank you very much – the Black Heart Stone.

It shone with a dark light and was as big as her fist. It was brilliant in a way, but ultimately it made you want to light a candle, just to get some light into the room and some comfort. All the plush and velvet felt cold in the black light of the Heart Stone. Hermione felt insignificant next to this enormous jewel and its importance for the downfall of the darkness. Being invisible didn't help. She took the cloak off and stuffed it in her Extended Bag, so that she could see her hands. When she lifted it up, she was so enthralled by its presence that she only heard him when he spoke calmly from the door.

"I should have known it was you, Granger." He took one step into the room where she stood frozen. "Your riddles were clever and you avoided almost everything that could have clearly marked you, until you got to Best Friend. You are most likely the only one able to withstand the temptation of the Stone's magic due to your heritage and thanks to your loyalty. Every person born and raised in magic would have succumbed to its enchantment. And mine."

He leaned comfortably against a bedpost two metres behind her, his posture for once relaxed, and observed her calmly. When she turned around and simply stared at him, wide-eyed, he sighed. Bathed in the black light, she couldn't help seeing dragon features in his formerly slim face. She almost expected a puff of smoke from his nostrils when he spoke.

"I'm almost tempted to let you take it. If only to see Potter suffer," he said with a nasty smile.

Hermione's heart almost stood still, the situation was that dangerous. One wrong move, one wrong word could mean her doom. He had his wand out, and she had the Stone in her hand. Best to keep him talking; he seemed to enjoy that. "What do you mean?" she asked huskily and then cleared her throat. It wouldn't do to look intimidated.

He glanced at her as a predator, having cornered his prey, aiming for the kill. "They will fight over this little gem, one by one. Potter won't be able to use it; its magic is too dark, too consuming. Only one with a split soul like the Dark Lord can use it. It will destroy Potter and everyone else. Watch it corrupt his heart and drive him mad. They will destroy each other, trying to possess the Stone. The Weasel will be the worst, mark my words." He sighed again. "I'd love to see it, but I guess I won't be around for that."

Something about his certainty in the Stone's magic made Hermione angry. "You don't know him," she spat. "Harry is stronger than you think. He will use the Stone as intended."

Malfoy examined her with his predatory gaze. "Strength won't matter. And you won't be there to support him as only you can do, with your courage and your logic and your talent. Potter will be alone without you. Because our little game ends here."

Before she could act, he'd shot his fire at her and all she could do was defend herself. Gripping the Stone in one hand, she pulled up a Protego that was strong enough to bounce the fireball back in a millisecond. Malfoy had to duck to escape his own weapon, and Hermione used this split-second to send a Conjunctivitis charm his way, as Harry had suggested when meeting a dragon. It hit Malfoy on the forehead and was strong enough to blind him for a short time. Hermione used the moment to escape the room and ran downstairs, stowing the Stone in her bag on the way.

She didn't quite make it to the bottom before he was back on her tail, chasing her, so instead of going to her secret exit she had to duck around the corner to escape his shots.

"Give it up, Granger, you can't escape me," he sing-songed. "Even if you disable my sight, I can smell where you are. It's just a matter of time. Better come out and be done with it quickly. I'll be merciful; I'll kill you before the Dark Lord gets his hands on you. I can tell you, you wouldn't like that. Ewwww." She heard the shudder in his voice. "The things he does with his captives."

Now, Hermione was really afraid. Tears filled her eyes again, and desperation gripped her heart, making her wand hand tremble. How could she ever have thought about switching sides? She knew it was his "dragon" magic making her think like that, but still, what had she been thinking?

However, there was something else he'd said, and that hadn't been part of his magic. 'Help him as only you can do, with your courage and your logic and your talent,' he'd said. Help Harry. Yes, she had to help Harry because this was something she had to do. To win. To defeat Voldemort. To put her magic to good use so she was able to continue doing it, and not be annihilated as a Mudblood under the dark regime. Use your logic, she scolded herself. What can you do to stop him? And for Godric's sake, don't panic, you hippogriff-rider.

The next time he came around the corner to attack, she was ready. She threw a Full Body-Bind at him, 'Petrificus Totalus', and turned on her heel to run toward the portrait covering her exit. He managed to stand upright and not fall face forward, and so when she turned the corner into the hallway, she looked back one last time. In his face, greenish and coarse and blemished, she saw the fury at her escape and something else, a sudden understanding. She turned quickly toward her exit and was out of the manor in a flash. The last thing she heard before the door closed behind her was his outraged howl.

-000-

Malfoy couldn't have been more right in his predictions, though, Hermione wished he hadn't been.

Harry's triumph over her quick success, as if he had gotten the Stone himself, and Ron's greedy gaze at the gem made her feel guilty. She felt guilty for the temptation she had brought into their lives and guilty that she had delivered Malfoy to a cruel punishment by succeeding. Because that had been the something else in his last look: fear of the consequences of his failure, the sudden realization that his services to the Dark Lord were no longer needed. She was sure that Voldemort would kill him several times over, and she felt horrible when she thought about potential rescue scenarios. What if he had never landed in Voldemort's clutches? What if she had already reached out to him while they'd been at Hogwarts?

At this point, she always stopped herself. 'What ifs' couldn't be undone, and to brood over them could only lead to desperation, and she was not willing to go there. She had things to do and needed her full wits and logic for it.

Malfoy had been right about another thing: the Stone possessed an evil magic that spoiled vulnerable souls. However, this there was something she could do: she could save her friends and her friendships.

This would be her reward.

-000-

As usual, let me know what you think. Good, bad, a little bit of both? Tell me. In a friendly way, of course. J

River