After tucking herself into bed that night, Hermione unwraps her new two-way mirror. She stares into it, her reflection looking back at her with the flickering candlelight from her bedside table playing across her skin.

"Harry? Ron?" she asks tentatively.

After a few moments the mirror's surface begins to shimmer and shift.

"'Mione? Are you there?"

Harry and Ron appear in the glass, crouched close together and looking out at her.

"It works," she smiles happily.

"Wicked," Ron beams.

"Did you talk to the Order about what I told you?" Hermione asks, eager for news.

They nod.

"How'd it go? What did they say?"

"It didn't go well at first," Ron tells her. "A lot of people were... hesitant to believe, um, well you."

Hermione scowls.

"People worried that maybe you were cursed and possibly leading us into a trap."

"That's absurd, I'm not cursed."

As she says it a brief flare of worry runs through her.

What if Lucius is lying to me... playing me. What if it truly is a trap?

"That's what Dumbledore said," Harry chimes in. "He said that the enchanted ring he gave you protects you from anything like that. After he put in his two knuts, everybody started listening and plans were finally made."

"They kicked us out, though, and we couldn't get our extendable ears past the barricade," Ron adds.

"As long as something is being done."

Hermione is still anxious about the situation, but she does feel marginally better knowing that the Order is taking her tip seriously.

"I have to go," she tells them, "early day tomorrow training with Draco. Please let me know what happens tomorrow night as soon as you know. I won't be able to sleep until I find out how it went."

Ron scowls at her mention of Draco, but the day's activities are catching up with her and Hermione doesn't have the energy to reassure him.

"Goodnight," Ron bids.

"Give 'em hell," Harry says, smirking.

Smiling softly, Hermione tucks the mirror into a drawer in her bedside table, and spells it shut. Then, after blowing out her candle, snuggles into her blankets and falls asleep.

The following morning, Draco manages to disarm Hermione three separate times in their lesson. Her head is elsewhere, and her stomach rolling, worrying about the upcoming attack.

"Are you feeling alright?" Draco asks as he helps her once more from the ground. "I mean, I know I'm good, but I'm not that good."

"Sorry," she apologizes, "I'm not much of a partner today. I'm just... feeling a bit off. I think I might go lie down for a bit.

Draco nods, telling her to feel better and watching her go with a worried expression on his face.

Back in her room, Hermione tries to take a nap, willing the time to pass her by, but can't fall asleep. Next she settles into the couch near the curved window and tries reading her new school books.

For what is possibly the first time ever, she can't even lose herself in those. In a repeat of the previous day, she begins pacing anxiously back and forth.

What if it is a trap?

No, Lucius seemed too sincere.

Well, he is a skilled liar... he managed to avoid Azkaban after the first war with Voldemort.

Back and forth she paces.

I wonder who the Order is sending. Surely Moody, Tonks, and Kingsley, but who else? Will Remus be there? Arthur? Will they finally allow the twins to join in? I know they've been pestering everyone for months.

After a soft knock sounds on her door, Hermione throws herself into bed, pulling the covers up around her.

"Come in," she allows.

Looking quite concerned, Narcissa lets herself in and comes to sit on the edge of the bed.

"Draco tells me you are ill?"

"I'm just not quite feeling myself is all," she tries to reassure.

Narcissa reaches out, placing a cool hand on Hermione's forehead.

"No fever, so there's that at least," Narcissa sighs, sliding her hand down to cup Hermione's cheek. "Is there anything I can get you?"

"Thank you, no. I think I'll just spend the day resting."

Narcissa nods, dropping her hand.

"Would you like me to stay and keep you company?"

"I'll probably just be sleeping on and off."

"Alright," Narcissa says, standing up. "If you need anything at all call Kinny and have her fetch me."

"Thank you," Hermione repeats, feeling touched at her concern.

Narcissa leaves, pausing briefly at the doorway to look Hermione over once more on her way out.

I feel bad for lying to her... but I won't be great company today.

Throwing the covers back and jumping out of bed, she restarts her anxious pacing while running through all the horrible scenarios she can image, which (considering she knows next to nothing about what either side is planning) is quite a lot.

When Kinny pops in at lunch with a tray of soup, Hermione sends the elf away opting instead to take a bath.

Maybe a long, hot soak will help me relax.

The warm soapy water does wonders for her tense muscles, but nothing to ease her mind.

She climbs out of the tub, slipping into a cream-colored silk dressing gown Narcissa bought her. In a vain attempt to keep busy, Hermione combs out her hair, leaving it to air dry, despite the nifty tricks her new aunt has shown her.

Hearing a noise from the other room, Hermione trudges out of the bathroom, ready to shoo Kinny and her mollycoddling away, and instead finds Lucius waiting for her.

She realizes she's not surprised to see him, which in turn does surprise her.

Just an escaped Death Eater hanging about my bedroom, no big deal, she thinks sarcastically.

"No wonder your son doesn't know how to knock," she says, rolling her eyes.

"Now, now, no need to get tetchy. I did knock, but you didn't answer."

"That is when normal people would go away."

"I heard you were ill," he says simply.

Though he doesn't say it aloud, she can hear the words "I was worried about you" floating in the air between them.

You're losing it, she tells herself.

"I've been preoccupied with the information you gave me, worrying about tonight. I thought it best to keep my agitation to myself lest I raise any questions. I didn't hear you because I thought a bath would help relax me."

She knows she is rambling unnecessarily, but she can't seem to stop.

It dawns on her that she's still only wearing a thin silk robe, and though her heart races at the inappropriateness of their current situation, she refuses to let him think he scares her.

"What do you want?" she demands, placing her hands on her hips and holding her chin high.

Lucius runs his eyes up and down her without the slightest attempt at subtlety.

"I wanted to ensure that you were able to make contact with your Order, about tonight?"

"Yes, I was."

"You didn't tell them your tip came from me, did you?"

"No, of course not. They'd think it was a trap," she says, trying to keep her own worries about that out of her voice.

"I do swear it is not a trap. I'll make a wand oath if you'd like," Lucius offers, withdrawing his wand from his cane.

"Thank you, but no."

"Are you saying you trust me?" he asks, with a quirk of his brow.

Hermione snorts in a very unladylike fashion.

"I wouldn't go that far, but for the moment I do not think you are being dishonest."

"Fair enough," he concedes.

Lucius returns his wand to its holder, but makes no move to leave.

"Is there anything else?" she asks.

He glances around the room, eyes scanning the surroundings, until they fall on the book he gave her. He approaches the table it rests on and picks it up.

"Did you get around to reading this?" he asks, holding it up.

"I did."

"What did you think?"

Is he stalling? Why does he suddenly want to talk literature?

"It was... interesting," she admits. "While I do not agree with the sentiments, it was enlightening to read a well articulated account of the reasons behind so many of the pureblood biases."

"You didn't find yourself swayed at all?"

"No, of course not."

"You had to understand some of the concerns outlined," he continues conversationally. "A smart witch like yourself."

He takes a seat on the edge of her bed.

"Haven't I told you flattery will get you nowhere?"

"I was simply stating a fact. Don't deny a compliment, it's in poor taste. A woman of your station shouldn't harbor so much self-doubt."

"I haven't always been a woman of my station," Hermione reminds him, moving to perch lightly on the bed next to him.

"And so you have much to learn."

"And you're going to teach me?" she asks incredulously, turning her head to look up at him.

"Oh, I have much I could teach you," Lucius tells her silkily, his steely eyes boring into her own.

The air in the room seems to thin, and Hermione can feel the warmth pooling in her stomach.

She suddenly loathes her fair skin, knowing how brightly her cheeks must be burning, giving away the thoughts she'd rather keep hidden, even from herself.

"Hello? Hermione?"

A faint muffled voice draws both of their attention. As soon as they break eye contact all of the air comes rushing back, and Hermione takes a deep, calming breath.

"Mione?"

"I believe your table is talking to you," Lucius says, a bemused expression on his face.

Hermione bites her lip and looks back and forth from her bedside drawer to Lucius.

"Don't mind me."

With a heavy sigh she gets up and pulls out the mirror, taking a seat on the opposite side of Lucius, her back against the headboard, keeping him out of the mirror's view.

"Ron?"

Why is he calling me now? And where is Harry?

"There you are- oh, uh wow, um..."

Ron turns bright red and looks pointedly away from her, waving his hand at her.

"What?" She asks, confused.

Hermione looks around her and then glances down and realizes why he won't look at her.

The water from her wet hair has soaked the bust of her robe, rendering the creamy material practically see through. She gasps and covers herself with one arm while shooting Lucius a death glare over the mirror for not saying anything.

He gives her a smirk and shrugs one shoulder as if to say, what?

"Sorry," she tells Ron, holding the mirror so he can only see her face.

"My fault, really, calling at a bad time."

Ron's ears are bright red.

"What's going on?" Hermione asks, trying to get him back on topic.

"Oh, nothing really. I just wanted to talk to you about something."

She bites back her bitter response, having hoped he had important news from the Order.

"About what?"

"About that kiss yesterday."

She can feel Lucius' interest in her conversation increase.

"What?" she asks, unable to believe this is what he wants to talk about.

"Why did Malfoy kiss you?" Ron presses.

A quick glance reveals Lucius studying her through narrowed eyes.

"It was only a peck on the cheek, and I'm sure he only did it to annoy you."

I'm only feeling defensive because of Ron... she tells herself.

"So there's nothing going on between you and Malfoy?"

Hermione rolls her eyes.

How many Weasleys must I explain this to?

"There is nothing going on between Draco and I," she swears.

Another quick look shows her Lucius relaxing his scrutiny.

"Look, I need to go," she tries.

"Wait," Ron persists, "I've hardly talked to you all summer... and I thought we had a lot to talk about."

"Well, I have been a bit busy having my entire identity ripped away."

"Yeah, sorry, I know. It's just that- I thought that- you and me... are we...?"

Her heart patters a little, having wanted to talk about this for quite a while, but now is not the time or place.

"Ron, please, I'm sorry. I can't do this right now. I really have to go."

His face falls.

"I see, then. Alright, I'll just, uh, leave you to it. Bye, Mione. We'll let you know how tonight goes."

"Bye," she says softly, but he's already gone.

She puts the mirror back in the drawer, this time placing a silencing charm as well.

Hermione crosses both arms over her chest and glares at Lucius.

"For being so supposedly well-bred you have atrocious manners," she huffs.

"So, that's why you aren't interested in any possible suitors," he says, ignoring her jibe. "The young Mr. Weasley. I guess I should be pleased he is a pureblood, even if that family is quite... unfortunate, but I can't help but feel he is entirely wrong for you."

"Don't start this again," she groans. "Ron isn't my... anything," right now, "and it's not your business if he was. Shouldn't it be up to me to decide who is right or wrong for me?"

Lucius opens his mouth, undoubtedly to give some sort of smart remark, but she cuts him off.

"I am not going to listen to 'right and wrong' from a Death Eater, who also happened to be unrepentantly ogling a... an underage witch in her private chambers not ten minutes ago."

She tightens her crossed arms around herself more securely.

Her outburst only seems to amuse him.

"Well, my dear, I am trying to remedy that whole Death Eater thing," he says as smoothly as someone discussing the weather. "Now your other accusation... ogling is such an ugly word. Admiring perhaps, the way one would a piece of art. As for underage, though the Ministry does not acknowledge the aging that occurs from time-turner usage, the body does."

How does he know about the time turner? she wonders.

"Let's see, if I did my calculations correctly, based off of your class load and the number of school days in your third year... you would technically have come of age sometime in the last two weeks."

She shakes her head disbelievingly. She herself had done the math, and her counting her time travel, her birthday should have been yesterday.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," she scoffs.

"I don't sleep at night," he says softly, his eyes growing momentarily distant.

Hermione feels herself soften at the sudden look of vulnerability on Lucius' face, but it's gone in an instant, and he gives her pompous smile.

"Well, I think I've let you waylay me enough for one day," Lucius says, standing up.

"I waylaid you?" she questions indignantly.

"Yes, I know, but I forgive you. I am hard to resist."

"So is cancer."

"I have to go get ready," he offers, ignoring her.

"For what?" Hermione asks in spite of herself.

"I'm part of the raiding party tonight."

"You're going to be at Belinda Dalyworth's?"

He nods stiffly and turns towards the door.

Hermione climbs off of the bed and follows him, forgetting all about keeping her arms crossed.

"Be careful out there," she tells him, drawing his attention back to her.

Lucius scans her, eyes running up and down her form once more, expression unreadable.

"Don't worry, I won't hurt any of your little friends tonight."

"Don't let them hurt you either," she says suddenly, surprising both of them.

Once again their eyes lock and Hermione feels her lungs straining for air.

It's not until he gives her one final nod and excuses himself that she can breathe freely once more.

Changing into pajamas a little more suitable to being seen in, Hermione impatiently waits for the hours to tick by, desperately wishing she could be one of the Order members out there tonight.

Narcissa is the only interruption in her anxious waiting, stopping by once more before bed, again telling Hermione to summon her if she needs anything.

After that, Hermione sits by the window, holding her two way mirror tightly, and watches the moon make it's way across the sky.

It's well past two in the morning, when she finally hears her name.

"Hermione?"

She holds the mirror up, catching a glimpse of her face glowing in the moonlight before Harry's appears.

"Harry! What happened? What took so long? Is everyone okay?"

"Slow down," Harry urges, scratching his head. "Everyone is alive. Everyone on our side, anyway. Even if a few are sort of banged up."

"Who?"

"Mad Eye has a new scar on his face, and George lost an ear, but they'll both be okay."

"Lost an ear?" she gasps.

Harry nods.

"Belinda and her family got out okay?"

"They were gone well before the Death Eaters ever showed up."

"Good, good," she sighs. "Wait... you said everyone on our side was alive... what about theirs?"

"Moody killed a Death Eater."

"W-who was it?" she asks, mouth going dry.

"I'm not sure yet, they wouldn't give me details."

What if it was... she can feel the panic in her chest swelling.

"You don't have any idea who it was?" she asks, voice getting higher. "No clues at all?"

"No," Harry swears, "does it really matter? The best Death Eater is a dead one."

It was him, she thinks miserably. Lucius was killed and it was all because I asked him to spy. He wanted out and I sent him right back in.

Her eyes start to prickle and she can feel herself on the verge of a breakdown, when she hears her bedroom door creak open.

Her head snaps up, and there he is.

Hair disheveled, black robes rumpled and dusty, but alive.

"I have to go, Harry," she says distractedly, not hearing his response as the mirror returns to its natural reflective state.

She's up and across the room in a flash, and throws her arms around a very surprised Lucius Malfoy.

With her face buried in his chest she inhales deeply, reveling in the scent of his cologne, affirming that it is him and not an apparition.

After several seconds she feels him respond, wrapping his arms around her and holding her closer.

When at last she pulls away, taking a step back, she can't meet his eyes, and instead stares down at his shoes.

"I heard someone died," she says quietly, almost defensively.

"I'd imagine you would be thrilled to be rid of me."

This time she forces herself to look up.

"No... I- we need the information you can provide."

"Perhaps there is a Slytherin streak in you yet," Lucius smirks.

What is wrong with you? she chastises herself. You're behaving like a schoolgirl with a...

She shakes her head, refusing to finish the thought.

"Slytherins aren't all bad, you know," he says, mistaking her head shaking as a response to him.

"I'm starting to see that," she agrees. "Narcissa isn't, and Draco may be a prat, but he's not inherently bad."

"And what about me? What am I?" Lucius asks, taking a step closer.

"Useful."

Her answer seems to amuse him.

"How very... practical of you."

"Who died?" she asks him bluntly.

"Dolohov," he sneers. "Good riddance."

Unconsciously, Hermione begins to trace the thin scar that begins at her collarbone and travels across her body, down between her breasts, stopping just above her navel.

Her fingers stop at the collar of her v-neck sleep shirt.

Lucius leans in, brows furrowed, to study the shining pink line and she feels her self-consciousness soar. Normally she has the scar hidden beneath a glamour, but she never keeps it up when she sleeps.

Lucius is the first one to see it aside from the healer who told her it would never fade.

"Dolohov's work?" he asks. "In the Department of Mysteries?"

"Yes."

Ever so slowly, he reaches out towards her, giving her every chance to step out of reach. She doesn't, and instead stands still, waiting.

His index finger follows the path hers had just moments before, tracing the thin scar from her collarbone to where it just disappears into her cleavage.

Her skin burns in the wake of his touch, but it's a sensation she knows she could get used to.

"As I said, good riddance," he repeats, anger vibrating through his words.

Seeming to realize himself, Lucius pulls his hand away and takes several steps backwards.

"I should go," he says. "I just wanted to make sure you knew that everything went, for the most part, smoothly tonight."

"Thank you," she says, breathless.

Lucius opens his mouth to say something but seems to think better of it, nods, and lets himself out.

Her legs are absolute rubber, and her breathing is stilted.

Hermione isn't sure she can deny her reactions to him any longer, and tries to look at her recent behavior around Lucius clinically.

Agreeing to dance didn't mean anything. I had a bit too much champagne, and he seemed so lonely. Just because there was a moment at the end...

She retreats to her bed, throwing herself onto her back dramatically.

The other day in the hall I just tripped. There's nothing wrong with being in someone's arms if they are catching you.

Your reaction to being in someone's arms however is another story.

Hermione groans loudly.

Why did you hug him? she asks herself.

Because he has proven to be a useful spy, and I was glad that I- WE- didn't lose him tonight.

She pulls a pillow over her face, wishing she could silence the traitorous thoughts demanding to be heard.

No, no, no. I am absolutely NOT attracted to Lucius Bloody Malfoy. He is a bigoted, elitist, pompous, entitled, Death Eater!

... with strong arms, silky hair, and eyes that could drown you with their depths.

For the first time since her first few days at the Manor, Hermione can't help but wish for September first to arrive and carry her away from her new, and growing more complicated by the day, life.