Chp. 2
Hermione thoughtfully chewed her bottom lip while she shuffled through the overflowing stacks of paper that littered her working area. Her lips curved into a wry grin as a flash of mahogany showed beneath the pile she had just moved to sort. She had almost forgotten what the desk looked like…the desk so generously given to her as a gift from The Order.
She shook her wavy mane of hair as she recalled the beaming faces of Lupin, Ron, and Harry as they stepped aside to reveal the massive piece. It was beautifully crafted with elegant curves and ornate designs etched into its drawers. Yet…yet it was not the gift she was expecting to receive for her birthday. Some women get diamonds, others get flowers. Hermione, though, got a desk. With a sigh the young woman deposited the pile back to its original location, thoroughly convinced that her mission was futile.
Languidly, she sank into the swivel desk chair and proceeded to massage the dull pounding in her forehead. All she wanted to do was find the blasted paper that listed The Order's theories as to where the horcruxes were located. It would have been easy to locate, had she taken the time to organize the room.
A crack resonated through the room, as the brunette's head made contact with the desk, sending random sheets flittering through the air. How could she be so stupid? How could she forget the one thing that had separated her from the average person walking along the street? With a flick of her wand, Hermione mumbled " Accio horcruxes list," and watched as a sheet wiggled itself out from beneath a particularly treacherous looking pile teetering on the edge of her desk, and floated down into her lap. And to think that her professors used to call her brilliant.
It was with that thought that a hysterical giggle bubbled forth from Hermione's lips. If only her professors could see her now…
Hermione scanned the disorderly room and decided that the only appropriate title for such an atrocity was "a complete and utter mess". Yet in an odd sort of way, some part of her was proud of that mess. The other part of her was mentally berating her lack of color-coding and cross filing.
The old Hermione would have never allowed the misplacement of one paper, let alone several dozen stacks of paper. The new Hermione, though, was fed up with Ron and Harry and the blasted Order.
"Alls they had to do was ask," she muttered darkly to herself while glaring at the desk before her.
But they hadn't. After their sixth year, Ron, Harry, and Hermione went out in search of the horcruxes but quickly realized that they would need more than just the three of them to get the job done before any more of those they had gone to school with ended up missing or dead. The trio agreed that the best source of help would be The Order, and the next day, Kingsley, Moody, and the rest were all trying to dig up any information as to where a horcrux may be hidden.
Hermione was elated at the prospect of having The Order aid them in their search. Hermione was down right thrilled with the knowledge that they would be doing what she did best; research. Research to find any possible link between Voldemort's past to some object he valued enough to entrust with his soul. What Hermione hadn't been ready for was the day that The Order gave her that desk. It was with that desk that her purpose in The Order had changed from "agent" to "secretary".
It was as though some unspoken agreement had been reached between all of The Order members…all of them except herself. Every day they would bring her pile after pile of papers on mysterious deaths, disappearances, sightings; papers on interviews, statements, happenings in the Ministry. They would even bring her all of the receipts from the day's expenditures. And all of them expected her to file them away all nice and neat like the old Hermione had done with her work for years.
Actually, she felt that having someone file away all of their work was a good idea. It was possibly the only step in the right direction The Order had taken since they had been informed of the horcruxes that needed to be destroyed. Then why, if she agreed with the idea of having a secretary of some sorts, was she upset with The Order and her two best friends? Because they hadn't even found it necessary to ask her if she wanted to file things for them. They just expected her to. And by golly, if Harry, Ron, or anybody else were to give her one more bloody sheet, she may very well explode.
So, through means of a silent protest, Hermione blatantly refused to file away any of the papers that came to her. What she was doing was making it harder for her to produce the information when necessary, thus creating a quite ineffective protest. Yet she was pleased with herself none-the-less.
"Hey Hermione!"
Hermione's head snapped up at the amiable greeting, only to find a lanky red head staring down at her, a stupid grin plastered across his face. She blinked several times, ridding herself of the feeling that through the power of her thoughts she had summoned him.
"Ron," she greeted back, her voice void of expression.
The young man didn't seem to notice though, for he quickly took a step into the room, minding to keep a hand hidden behind his back. The action was not lost to Hermione, who raised a querying brow at her friend.
"Oi, Hermione, ever hear of a filing cabinet? You've got some mess goin' on here." Ron let out a low whistle as he appraised he room, oblivious to the muscle spasm occurring in Hermione's jaw.
"Can I help you, Ronald?"
Whether it was the use of his full name, or the room temperature dropping several degrees from her frigid tone, Ronald quickly turned to shoot Hermione a wounded look.
"Sheesh, someone's got their knickers in a twist," he grumbled while attempting to pick his way through the chaotic piles to his friend. "Got something' for you," he said with a delighted grin, having quickly recovered from her curt words.
"Unless it's a steaming cup of tea, I suggest you leave." To emphasis her statement she benevolently pointed out where the door was located, incase he had forgotten.
Ron scowled at her in a playful way, thoroughly determined not to let her foul mood affect his chipper one. With a dramatic flourish of his hidden arm he produced a handful of papers.
"Ta dah! Dad wanted me to send them over to you…I suppose once you've sorted out," his arm swept out to indicate the room of papers, "this mess, you can get these tucked away too. You know Hermione, you really have let yourself go, allowing a clutter like this in the Order's Headquarters."
Hermione felt her body stiffen. Slowly, her gaze traveled from the freckle-dusted-face of Ron down to the thick pile of papers he held out expectantly. Her eyes narrowed and her breathing became erratic, as she mentally willed the pile to set ablaze. A gulp could be heard from the vicinity occupied by Ron.
Hermione's eyes glazed and she heard a distant roar as several years of repressed anger began to spill over. A burning sensations spread throughout her chest and her stomach clenched as she recalled all of the years of helping Ron and Harry in school, of checking over their essays, of taking care of them and the whole Order without one complaint…until now.
"Tell me Ronald," began the tiny witch, "is it nice having someone do all of the work for you? Is it nice to have someone clean up the mess that you're too lazy to take care of yourself?" Abruptly Hermione stood, sending her chair spinning backwards into a littered bookshelf. "Because you know what? I wouldn't know! I wouldn't know how it felt to have someone bloody wait on me hand and foot to do all of the work I didn't feel like doing because you and the rest of the bloody Order-," Hermione's fist made contact with a pile on her desk, causing it to crash into another pile. Like a macabre game of dominoes, pile after pile went spilling to the ground, visibly demonstrating the frustration that was spewing forth from Hermione, "-use me! You all use me!"
Ron's eyes widened at the unexpected turn his visit just took. He watched in horror as Hermione began to advance on him in a crooked sort of way with her arms flailing. He winced as her foot made contact with one of the knocked over piles, causing her to stagger and let out a stream of curses he didn't believe were possible to be known (let alone used) by Hermione.
"You never ask! You just-"
"Hermi-"
"-give give give and expect me to behave like some trained lapdog or something," she spat while taking one last step, now standing directly before him, "but I'm not!"
Ron felt the odd urge to chuckle as he stared down at Hermione. Her chin was raised defiantly and her nostrils were flaring in such a way that he expected smoke to suddenly start leaking from them. Fighting the smile that threatened to appear, he raised a hand to ruffle her hair. This, apparently, was not the wisest choice of actions, for it only made Hermione increase the intensity of her glare. With a sigh, Ronald Weasley put on a very serious expression.
"Hermione, listen-"
An odd guttural growl sounded before Ron found himself sprawled on the ground.
"Oh, don't you Hermione me, you prat! I am through with your stupid chauvinistic attitude! Of course it would be the woman who got appointed secretary." Hermione began pacing back and forth while muttering incoherently to herself.
"Hermione, have you gone mental?" Ron squinted at Hermione while attempting to free himself of the clutter that conveniently toppled upon him while he was forcefully shoved onto the floor. If his flushed cheeks and narrowed gaze were of any indication, one would say that Ronald Weasley was beginning to get angry. Very angry.
"And of all things, a desk! Now that's a to you for me gift if I've ever heard of one…" Ignorant of his question, Hermione continued her ranting and pacing, her face growing redder and redder with each word.
"Hermione!" Ron grabbed the witch by her shoulders before she had a chance to register that he had successfully risen from the pile previously holding him captive.
"Ronald Weasley, if you know what's best for you, you will remove your hands from me this instant. I am completely and utterly through with you!"
Both Hermione and Ron's eyes widened at her words. It wasn't as though she meant to say them. They just sort of…slipped out. Anyone that knew Hermione, really knew her, would say that the words just uttered held no truth. Yet the words stung Ron. They truly hurt him…hurt him more than anything else had. Maybe it wouldn't have bothered him as much if he didn't have feelings for…
He shook his, not allowing that thought to be completed. Pushing away all feelings of hurt, Ron instead focused upon the anger that had been simmering inside of him, waiting to boil over.
Ron regarded his friend with a curled lip, the tips of his ears a furious shade of scarlet. Very slowly and deliberately he turned and walked away from her. He paused when he reached the door and glanced over his shoulder, shooting back, "You know, it's a pity. You're pretty useless to The Order now that you can't even do the only thing your good at…cleaning up their mess."
Later, Hermione would reflect upon his words with an air of indifference. What did she care? Ever since they had met she had been nothing more to him than a tool. A tool for answers, for correcting his mistakes, for cleaning up his mess. She was better off without him. Besides, there's no use regretting things that happened in the past…things that can never be changed.
Then again, she may have felt differently had she known that that was the last time she would ever see him.
oOo
Bellatrix stared at the crumpled figure with mild curiosity. Really, it was fascinating the positions a body could be twisted into. This was the second body this week they would leave, and with the same results as the first. With a curl of the lips, she delivered the corpse one final blow to the stomach before spinning to face her partner.
"Useless," she said with an airy shrug of her shoulders.
Severus spared the body a curious glance before responding.
"Whatever secret he was protecting must have been an important one, since he was willing to take it with him to the grave."
He watched as Bellatrix sashayed her way throughout the man's room, pausing now and then to finger a photo or a book. Suddenly she spun around, eyes flashing in the dim lighting of the kitchen.
"One of us will have to inform the Dark Lord." Her voice was husky from the laughter that seemed to froth endlessly from her lips earlier during the torture. She toyed with the silver broach that kept her cloak clasped around her neck, calculating eyes boring into his own glassy orbs.
"The other should stay," began Severus, "and search the house. Make sure nothing useful gets left behind." Bellatrix nodded in approval and headed towards the door. No words needed to be spoken. They knew who was to do what.
Had they merely been friendly acquaintances they may have searched the house together, but the mutual hatred warranted that any chance of a possible separation was instantly taken.
Bellatrix hesitated for a moment as she passed by the coffee table, her eyes alighting upon a vial filled with a shimmering, syrupy liquid that Severus had set down just a moment earlier. Delicate fingers flexed before she swiftly snatched it up. The Dark Lord would want it, to see what they had done. With a clink, the vial fell into her pocket, knocking against her pocket watch. And with that she left, throwing over her shoulder a, "Be sure to be thorough."
Severus sneered at her words.
