"I'm alive, but I'm alone,
And part of me is fighting this,
But part of me is gone."
--Three Doors Down
Hermione sat on the cot, caressing the disgusting section of skin on her upper left arm under her robes. She couldn't bring herself to look at it. She'd done that enough. She hated it, and she hated herself, and could not make herself deepen that hatred.
She was back in her stone prison, as she had been since Christmas day. There were differences now, though. She had blankets and food and water. Though it was still cold, that was no longer the worst thing to her.
After receiving the Dark Mark from Voldemort, she'd been healed by a nurse. Though the woman had deliberately left many of her bruises and cuts that would inevitably scar as they healed the Muggle way, her arm, ribs, and other serious injuries had been taken care of. She had a strong feeling that the only reason they had bothered to heal her at all was that she had to go back to Hogwarts and could not do so in the state she'd been in. They'd put her back in the prison cell and she'd been there ever since. She had not seen Malfoy or Voldemort—much to her relief—since that day, and only house elves would come in twice per day to change her food and water.
She hated being in the cell. It gave her time to sit and think about everything, which wasn't something she wanted to do. It seemed that taking on the Dark Mark had taken all the strength she had left, and she spent many hours in her cell, crying in terror and hatred, all her courage depleted. She tried to keep her thoughts off the past as well as the future. Remembering the good times with her parents, and Harry, Ron, and Hagrid made her hate herself even more for what she would inevitably be forced to do to them. Harry, most of all. Her first priority, before warning Dumbledore even, was to warn Harry. Voldemort would kill him the instant he found him-- and Hermione would not allow that. She knew that she might have been being selfish, but she couldn't bear to think of Harry going through what she had gone through and not surviving the ordeal.
Hermione lost track of days in her sorrow, and she did not know how many had passed. Time no longer mattered to her, except for the wish that she could turn it all back. It was not at all unusual for her to completely shut down for several hours. One day, her mind had blanked as the sun was rising and the next time she became aware of herself, it was dusk. She came to find that these were the most enjoyable times of her imprisonment. Several times, she contemplated finding a way to kill herself, but she wouldn't allow it. She had volunteered to take the Dark Mark to help the Light side. Her death would destroy it. She was not going to give up the Light side after all she'd done to protect it.
Finally, days later, a man came. It was no one she knew and she was relieved for that. He was tall, but that was all she could tell, as his face was shrouded by shadow, courtesy of the long hood he wore. He dropped an envelope onto her cot, which she stared at numbly.
Then, he spoke. "Tomorrow, when you return to Hogwarts, you are to follow those instructions. Read them carefully, your life depends upon it. Later tonight, the Master will call for you to come to his chamber. He will perform a spell on you so that you cannot betray him." The man said no more and turned away, leaving her cell.
She stared after him, at the door swinging shut. All her breath had caught in her throat, and she felt crestfallen. If Voldemort was going to put an anti-betrayal spell on her, she was doomed. She would not be able to warn Dumbledore, Harry, or anyone else. All she had done was in vain, for she still could not protect the people she loved. And now two members of The Key were traitors. Therefore, whatever protection—if any—the Light side had left, it was incredibly weak. She forced the thoughts from her mind, allowing denial to take over completely. She'd always been good about suspending disbelief, but she'd had to do it too many times. Denial became a haven for her and she convinced herself that the man had gotten the wrong instructions—he had to have.
With a trembling hand, she reached out and slowly picked up the manila envelope the man had dropped beside her. She spent the next hour reading the contents, which only served depress her even further. Her instructions were to do what Draco had done. She would continue to go on with normal life, but would try to get as much useful information as possible. Useful information to them consisted of anything about The Key, secret passages into the school, weaknesses, general data on teachers and staff, and anything about Harry Potter. She would be expected to make weekly reports.
Hermione spent her afternoon rereading the contents of the envelope time after time. She played mental word games with the words on the pages, and sometimes just stared blankly at them. She didn't care what they said, and did not want to read them again, but even less did she want to think about what a fool she had been to think that she could become a Death Eater, then find a way to betray Voldemort. As her denial was slipping, this realization was taking hold stronger than ever.
Finally, when she could see the moon waning outside her small cell window, a distant door closed again. Yesterday she would have assumed it was a house elf, arriving to give her food. Today, she knew it was whoever had come to take her to Voldemort. She stood and faced the door with as much dignity as possible. A moment later, she heard a key turning in the lock and the door swung open. It was Lucius Malfoy. Most of her self-dignity flew away in that instant and she took a wary step back, still frightened of him. The injuries the nurse had left—which had been aching on and off ever since Christmas—seemed to burn painfully at the sight of him, reminding her of everything he'd done to her.
He sneered, sensing her fear. "Glad to see you're not so brave anymore. Come over here."
Hermione hesitated and instead, she shifted a little bit in the direction of the wall.
"Foolish girl," he hissed. "I do not intend to hurt you. Get over here so I can mask your eyes. You are an untrustworthy Death Eater, so you must be blindfolded while we make our journey to our Master's chamber."
Hermione winced when he called her a Death Eater, and again when he referred to Voldemort as her Master. He could tell by the glint in his eyes that that had been his intent. Still hesitant, Hermione came forward. He pulled a black bag from his robes and jerked it over her head, instantly making everything go dark for her. A moment later, he pulled a string, fastening the opening of the bag tightly around her neck.
She gasped at the sudden, complete darkness. It was stifling in the bag, and for a moment, she feared she could not breathe. She realized she could, but the air was stale. When Malfoy pulled the string, she felt at her neck, and at the string digging into her skin.
A moment later, Malfoy placed one of his hands on each of her arms. She went instantly rigid, the terror she'd felt when he'd tortured her coming back to her full force. She saw flashes and visions and memories in the darkness, and remembering was almost as painful as the injuries had been. He shoved her forward and she walked. They walked a long way and he had his hands on her arms the whole time, for purposes of steering and guiding her through the halls. At one point, they went up a flight of stairs which he conveniently forgot to warn her about until she tripped.
Finally, they stopped and she felt one of his hands detach itself from her arm. A moment later the sound of a knock came and she heard him call, "Master? It is Lucius. I have brought the girl."
"Enter," echoed the familiar voice that sent shivers down Hermione's spine.
Malfoy shoved her forward yet again, but they stopped soon after and he ripped the bag from her head. She stood in a vast, dim room. There was a bed in the distant corner and some other commodities, but mainly, it was taken up by the giant chair—throne, really—in the center of the room where Voldemort sat. Hermione was fixated in horror by him, and went numb, just as she had the first time she'd seen him. She dimly was aware the Lucius had sank to his knees and bowed his head. Hermione tried to make her limbs obey, but all she could do was stare.
Voldemort quickly grew angry. "It isn't polite to stare at your master, girl," he hissed. Hermione opened her mouth to reply, but all the came out was a faint squeak of fear. "And yet you have nothing to say? I shall teach you some respect then, Mudblood. Crucio!"
Instantly, pain ripped throughout Hermione's body, forcing her to her knees and making her scream, though she could not hear herself over the blood pounding in her ears. Though it was over in just a few moments, it seemed more to her like hours. When the pain went away, it left a hollow, terrified feeling in the pit of her stomach. She found herself on all fours, gasping for breath
"Get up," Voldemort commanded uncaringly. "Stand up and try again, or we can continue the lesson."
Hermione struggled to her feet, knowing from Lucius's torture that repetitive use of the Cruciatus Curse was far worse than just once. She was trembling, and did not dare to look at Voldemort this time.
"Now, what do you
do when you greet your master?"
Hermione sank to her knees, which was a relief, as they were so weak beneath her she felt as though they would collapse any second. She bowed her head and waited, mimicking what Malfoy had done.
"Better. Much better. Stand and face me."
Hermione once again did as ordered. She was still trembling, but she dared not disobey Voldemort again. "Yes . . . Master," she said, whispering the last word, and feeling like a traitor just for saying it. What would my parents think if they saw me now? she thought in shame. What about Dumbledore? Hagrid? Or worse . . . Harry and Ron . . .
"Now, you see what happens when you do not follow orders. Now, you get some idea of what you will suffer should it be a common occurrence," Voldemort stated and she didn't doubt for a second he meant it. She nodded, unable to choke out the dirty words again.
"Down to business," he said calmly. "You have read the packet and understand the terms, correct?"
"Yes," she whispered.
"However, though you submitted willingly, you submitted after torture. You did it to save yourself, and therefore you are an untrustworthy ally. We must watch you and make sure you do not betray us the first time you get the chance. Pull up your sleeve."
Hermione did not doubt for a moment which sleeve he meant and she did it, doing her best not to look at the Mark there herself. However, she was forced to a moment later when he ordered her to. She turned her eyes to the mark and immediately ripped them away, unable to stare at it for longer than a few moments.
"Your mark is special, different from the other Death Eaters'. That mark binds you to me, now and forever, whether I am around or not," he said menacingly. "You cannot remove it ever, through any means. Magically, you are under my control. If I summon you, you will come. If you run, I can track you down. You are mine. It will not be removed even if I die, and if I die, that Mark will still hold the magic of Dark in it forever. The only escape is in death and even if you attempt to kill yourself, the Mark will stop it. Should you die in battle, or should someone else kill you, you will die. But suicide is also impossible now."
Hermione barely managed to stop a sob from escaping her lips. She'd thought that maybe, if he died, then she would be free. She'd never been too clear on the exact uses of the Dark Mark. But now that she knew, she understood her life was ruined permanently. She could no longer even take her own life. It was her worst nightmare come to life.
"However, it does not protect against betrayal," he said sharply. "You, I know, are quite capable of that and I cannot very well send you back to Hogwarts knowing that information. Step forward so that I can touch the Mark with my wand."
Hermione walked forward, keeping her eyes lowered. She felt like she was a magnet and Voldemort was the other. The closer she got, the more she wanted to repel away. However, unlike a magnet, she could not. She came to a halt in front of him and once again, his cold finger laced around her arm. He touched the tip of his wand to her arm, directly atop the Dark Mark. "Lokaium," he whispered. Her mark flared vibrant green, and she gasped quickly as pain burned in it. It stopped quickly, though, and the mark gradually returned to black.
"There," Voldemort said. "You can no longer do anything to betray me. Should you attempt to say something, you will find yourself unable to. Should you try to write something, you will not follow through with it. You cannot harm another Death Eater. There is no way you can betray us to someone else. The only people you can talk to about your life as a Death Eater are my minions and I, Draco, and Severus Snape, the other mole inside your school. I take it you know him."
Hermione nodded numbly, not at all surprised Snape was working for Voldemort. She had known since the end of the previous year that Snape was a Death Eater once. It did not surprise her that he had gone back.
"Now, Lucius will take you back to your cell. Early in the morning, before it becomes light, he will Apparate you to Platform 9 ¾ where you will return to Hogwarts. Draco has covered for you with your friends and teachers by telling them that you went away on a last minute emergency, concerning your family. That will be all."
Hermione allowed Lucius to tie the bag over her head, and didn't really notice anything the whole trip back to her cell. All she could think about was that she no longer even had the option of death at her hands, or betrayal. She was being forced to serve the Dark. She could not say she was a mole, or a good person working from the inside to destroy Dark.
All she could say was that she was Hermione Granger—a fool, and a minion of the Dark.
**************
It was barely dawn, and she stood, silent and apart, on Platform 9 ¾, waiting for the train to arrive. Students surrounded her, talking animatedly with their friends about their Christmas holidays. Hermione remembered the last time she'd left for Christmas, in her first year. She'd been dropped off by her parents, who had been reluctant to let her go back to Hogwarts, claiming they hated to have to send her so far away for so long. The dull ache in her chest increased. She'd been eleven, bright, carefree, and with the world at her feet. Here she stood now, alone and in pain. She was fifteen, an idiot, troubled beyond words, and had nothing. She wanted to go to her parents terribly, but she knew she very well might never see them again. She dared not try to send them a letter, even a friendly one, saying nothing about recent happenings. She didn't want Voldemort to try to hurt them.
She did not bother looking for her friends. Harry and Ron were at Hogwarts, and any of her friends that might be on the platform she no longer wanted to see. Even though they knew nothing of what had happened, she still did not want them to see her.
She was not to be that lucky. As she was standing with most other students on the platform, waiting for them to open the doors to the train, she heard her name shouted from behind her. She ignored it the first time, praying it had not been real, or that the person shouting had been calling for someone else. When it came again, from closer, she sighed and turned to see who it was.
Ginny Weasley stood waving frantically with her parents near the entrance. She was motioning for Hermione to join them and Hermione reluctantly walked over, trying to appear happy, though it was not easy. When she reached them, Ginny greeted her happily. Mr. Weasley smiled at her and shook her hand. Mrs. Weasley hugged her, informing her that it was good to see her again. Hermione unconsciously stiffened at her touch. Mrs. Weasley felt it, and released her, saying nothing about it, though she was clearly puzzled.
"Hermione, I didn't see you on the train out of Hogwarts, or I'd have joined you. I thought you were staying," Ginny proclaimed. Hermione felt happy that Ginny looked quite content and like her old self for once since Percy's death, but it was difficult to feel terribly happy about anything anymore.
"I was staying," she lied easily. "Then, I got notice from home of an emergency and I came there later."
"Oh, dear, I do hope everyone's all right," Mrs. Weasley said worriedly. "It wasn't . . ." She did not finish her sentence, but Hermione understood perfectly what she was referring to.
"No," she assured quickly. "My grandmother was in an accident. A car accident," she said. "She's all right now though."
"I'm glad to hear it," Mrs. Weasley said, smiling. She turned to look behind her, and frowned suddenly. "Now where have they gotten off to . . . ?"
Ginny turned to Hermione, grinning. "Fred and George are here!" she proclaimed. "I figured you might want to see them again. Too bad Harry's not around, too."
"Yes," Mrs. Weasley said unhappily. "Not even Hogwarts students any longer and still they manage to disappear and get themselves into trouble."
Ginny leaned closer to Hermione and whispered, "They've gone into business—joke shop business. Next year, they'll open a shop in Hogsmeade. I'm ecstatic and they told me to spread word around Hogwarts. You can help. Mum's not too happy, though."
Hermione put a false smile on. "Can't wait to visit their shop. I'm sure it will be even better than Zonko's."
Before Ginny could reply, two tall twin boys with matching grins appeared beside their mother. They looked basically the same as they had when they'd left Hogwarts, and Hermione could tell instantly that their trouble-making streak had not diminished in the slightest.
"Hermione!" one of them—she was pretty sure it was Fred, as he had an "F" sweater on, but judging from their past antics, she could not be sure—said, grinning and shaking her hand vigorously. "Great to see you."
"Yeah," said the other, apparently George. "Have you, Harry, and Ron gotten into anymore exciting, life-threatening and deadly fun situations yet?" She could tell he was joking, but her throat tightened slightly at his words.
"Not yet . . . George?" she asked.
"Don't fall for it," Ginny warned. "They've been switching shirts all morning and trying to confuse me."
"And it's worked, too, hasn't it? By the way, Hermione, I'm George," the one she'd assumed was Fred, said.
"Then he's George," Ginny said dryly, pointing at the one with the "G" sweater.
George clasped his chest, pretending to be in pain. "Oh, Ginny, dearest little sister, you have speared my heart!"
"Absolutely killed us!" Fred cried.
"Hurt for life, I am," George said solemnly. "How can you not trust me? How can you think I would lie to you? I love you! I would never trick you."
Ginny rolled her eyes. "You must be kidding."
Hermione, who was tiring of the happy conversation, used the excuse that the train was open to try and get the message across that she wanted to leave. Mrs. Weasley nodded quickly and agreed. She kissed Ginny on both cheeks and made sure to verbally check that she had everything before finally agreeing to let her go. Fred and George did not let the opportunity pass though, and followed their mother's production of things, kissing Ginny, hugging her and asking in high-pitched voices if she was carrying obscure things such as Floo Power and apple pies. Mrs. Weasley got annoyed at last and told them to go wait in the car. They all said their goodbyes, and Hermione and Ginny walked back toward the train. Hermione was feeling worse than ever, after being in the presence of the Weasleys, who were a family still recovering from a tragedy and yet managed to seem so happy.
She wished that Ginny would find another car to sit in, but she knew that they would be together the entire ride. She thought of the irony in the fact that she had been alone in a cell for days, wishing for someone to come and help her. Now she was out and in the midst of all the students she'd been with for years and she wanted that quiet, lonely cell.
Ginny talked off and on most of the ride, and Hermione said little in response. There was a desperate desire deep within her heart to just blurt it all out to Ginny, to tell her everything. If she could have, she would have in that instant, without regard for what the consequences might have been. But she couldn't. Finally, Ginny got the message that Hermione did not want to talk and pulled out a book to read. Hermione did not have her things, so she sat there in silence the whole trip, staring out a window.
Finally, Ginny stood. "Almost there. I suppose I should put my robes on. Do you want to borrow some from me? I see you don't have your things and mine should fit you. I'm tall for my age—a Weasley trait, as I'm sure you know from Ron."
Hermione looked down at her clothing. She was still wearing the Muggle sweatshirt and jeans she had been wearing when she'd first been captured. She'd used her wand—which Lucius had returned to her earlier that morning, with the warning that the spell would stop her from attacking him or any other Death Eater—to restore them to normal, washing away the blood and dirt and mending the rips and tears. She'd even managed to take care of the smell and tame her hair, which had been a nightmare, but she decided to take Ginny up on her offer and agreed.
She grabbed the robe Ginny handed her and the two girls began to shrug into them. The train lurched under their feet as Hermione was putting hers on and she lost her balance, falling. The robe fell to the ground, and she cursed, making sure her sleeves were still down, which they were. She rolled over and started to get to her feet when she heard Ginny gasp. She looked up at the girl who looked shocked and horrified. She couldn't have seen the Mark, she thought desperately.
She hadn't. "Your back," she whispered, looking scared.
Hermione shut her eyes in a mixture of shame, horror and relief. The nurse that had healed her had left most of her bruises and gashes on her back, as they could not be seen. When she'd fallen, she supposed her shirt had gone up enough for Ginny to see the marks. Hermione knew there was no way she could deny it, but she couldn't tell the truth either. Instead, thinking hard, she just nodded, then walked over to sit down, the robe Ginny had lent her lying ignored and forgotten on the floor.
Ginny hadn't moved. She was staring at her friend. "Hermione," she said slowly, "what happened? Who did that to you?"
Hermione looked at the floor, both because the memory was still fresh and painful, and because she could not think of a lie. "I . . . I'd rather not talk about it, Ginny," she whispered, telling a mixture of truth and lie. She did want to tell Ginny how she'd gotten them, because then she might find some help, but she didn't want to relive it.
"You've seemed jumpy and distant since we met up at the station," Ginny realized slowly. "You weren't like that before break and if you were, you did a hell of a job covering it."
Yes, Ginny, figure it out on your own, please, Hermione begged silently. Of course, she knew Ginny would not. She was smart, certainly, but Hermione's story was far too obscure and impossible for anyone to guess. She said nothing out loud.
"Those wounds were fresh," Ginny said. "You must have gotten them during the holidays. Hermione, tell me what happened. I just want to help. I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. Whatever it is, it's serious, I know that."
No, Ginny. You have no idea how serious it is, Hermione thought. "I know you want to help, but it's not something that's likely to happen again and I'm fine. I just don't want to talk about it, all right? And don't tell anyone what you saw, please?" She was shocked at the words that came from her mouth. She'd decided to test the spell and try and tell Ginny to tell Ron and Harry—the exact opposite had happened. All hope seemed to vanish from the room in that instant. She was truly alone.
Ginny nodded. "I don't understand, but I won't tell. And I hope you're right when you say it won't happen again."
"It won't," Hermione replied shortly, bending down and picking up the robe. "The train's slowing. It's time to go." She shrugged into the black robe and turned away, hoping Ginny would not question her further.
They got off the train and Ginny went to go and get her things. Hermione, having nothing to collect, told Ginny that she was going on ahead. Ginny nodded, watching her closely. Hermione turned and started the long walk back to the grounds of Hogwarts. There were carriages like in the beginning of the year, but Hermione ignored them. She decided she would prefer to walk than to be sandwiched into a carriage with someone else, which was sure to happen.
The day was sunny and much warmer than the day on which she'd last been at Hogwarts, though still not actually warm. There was a thin coating of snow under her feet, and the lake was beginning to thaw just enough for the giant squid to find a shallow area and stick one of his tentacles through, causing it to appear as though he were waving.
By the time she reached the steps of Hogwarts, all the carriages had long since come and gone, and the students were all inside. Harry and Ron were sitting, talking animatedly on the stairs, when they spotted her. Harry leaped to his feet and Ron trudged to his.
"Hermione!" they both called, and she was greeted by hugs, which she was careful not to stiffen at.
She told them the same story of an emergency with her grandmother and they all headed inside. Ron was commenting on how her presents were still up in her dormitory and how she could open them whenever she liked. She didn't care much about presents anymore, but decided to do it just to make them feel like she was acting somewhat normal.
Hermione opened her gifts in front of the two down in the common room and was pleased with what she'd received—several new books, some candy, a sweater from Mrs. Weasley, and a book from Hagrid called "Defending Against the Impossible: The Most Powerful Anti-Dark Arts Spells Known to Wizard Kind." Hermione bit her lip as she stared at the book, thinking how it could no longer help her at all.
"Well?" Ron asked expectantly, raising an eyebrow and grinning. "You like them?"
Hermione nodded. "They're lovely. Thank you both." Ron had given her a brand new book bag, twice the size of her old one, claiming she'd most likely need it with all of her books. Harry had given her a camera that could take moving pictures, similar to the one Colin Creevy had.
"I got the idea from him, actually," Harry admitted sheepishly when she mentioned this. "You don't have to develop these kind in special solution—they just come out moving, like Muggle automatic cameras. I know how much you've been missing your parents lately and I thought it might help. Of course, it's not the same as actually seeing them, I know that better than anybody, but I do know that it's cool to see a moving picture, rather than one where it just looks like . . . well, a picture."
Hermione had hugged him, trying not to cry and knowing that she would probably never even get a chance to use it for the purpose Harry had intended. Harry had hugged her back awkwardly, enjoying it, and glaring at Ron who stood behind them, grinning at him tauntingly and making kissing faces. Harry was simply glad Ron stood where Hermione could not see him—had she been able to, he'd have had to kill his best friend.
"I can't believe classes start again tomorrow," Ron groaned, helping Hermione carry her new items back up to her dorm. "It's been such a great break hasn't it?"
Hermione's steps faltered momentarily, then kept walking, praying they hadn't seen. They had, but Ron assumed the lie. "Oh," he said apologetically. "Sorry, Hermione. That was a stupid comment. I know how you're feeling."
Hermione nodded. "It's fine. Grandma's okay now, so things turned out well. It was just sort of a . . . depressing Christmas, is all." Ron and Harry accepted that, and Hermione sighed inwardly. Day one of her life as a spy for Voldemort and already she was messing up. Maybe she'd get lucky and he'd kill her—the spell would allow for that.
But she had the feeling he wouldn't kill her. He knew that's what she wanted. And Voldemort never gave people what they wanted.
************
Classes were horrible, much worse than they'd been when she'd first returned from learning about The Key. She no longer cared at all for schoolwork—where would it get her? Her future was already destroyed. She was simply wasting her time. She skipped breakfast entirely to avoid Malfoy. She didn't know how she felt about seeing him. She hated him and wanted to hurt him, for putting her in the place she was now in, but she was also scared of him. If he was anything like his father . . .
She did not see him until Potions. This was the class she had been dreading, knowing that not only would she have to be with him in the same room, she would have to sit with him at the same table. She came into class and started to walk over toward the table where she was always supposed to sit. Malfoy had not arrived yet, but just the thought of him sitting next to her was enough to make her steps slow and hesitant.
Snape, the other factor of the class she'd been dreading, saw her and said in his low, menacing voice, "And where are you going, Miss Granger?"
"To my table, sir," she answered.
He watched her closely, and she broke eye contact with him and glanced over at Harry and Ron, who were watching the exchange with scowls. "Well," he said finally, "I think you can be allowed to sit where you want again. Pick your seat."
She was startled. This was certainly the last thing she'd expected. "For . . . for today, sir?" she asked.
"Until I say otherwise," he snapped. "Now do it before I change my mind."
Hermione snapped back into action and walked over to where Harry and Ron were, sitting down in between them. Her eyes trailed Snape, who was watching students come in with his signature frown.
"What's wrong with him?" Harry asked. "He's been torturing you all year. What's made him decide to be nice?"
"Don't jinx it, Harry," Ron warned. "Can't imagine it'll last longer than today. Or longer than a minute ago."
Hermione sat quietly throughout the lesson, saying nothing. Snape did not bother her, nor did he say anything to her at all. Malfoy kept glancing in her direction from across the classroom, but she did not look at him once.
At the end of the class, Snape called her up to his desk and she motioned for Harry and Ron to go to Charms. Whatever was going to be said, if they heard it, their lives would be in danger. This was the only thing that had been keeping her from trying to make them catch on somehow—she didn't want them to be hurt because they were getting in Voldemort's way. While it was likely they would be hurt anyway, she didn't want to push the chances. Hermione walked over to where Snape stood behind his desk. At this point, only Draco was left in the classroom, gathering his things at a terribly slow pace.
"Mr. Malfoy!" Snape barked, making Draco jump. "Get out!" Draco nodded and hurried out of the classroom, still glancing backwards at them. Snape watched the door with distaste, pulled out his wand, and muttered, "Silencio!" It was the Silencing Charm, so no one could hear them speak. He tucked his wand away and looked at Hermione.
"Why did you do that, sir?" Hermione dared to ask.
"Our conversation is private," he said calmly. "I do not want Potter, or Weasley, or Malfoy, or anyone else who's likely to be lurking around to overhear." Hermione nodded. "I know you are a Death Eater now, Miss Granger."
Hermione nodded again, but this time her head was bowed and she dare not look at him.
"I know it is not your fault, so do not look so pathetic about it," Snape snapped.
"I think I have the right to feel sorry for myself," she snarled back. She knew Snape was a Death Eater, but she'd been arguing with him for five years; he did not inspire the terror in her the other Death Eaters did. "I was kidnapped, tortured, made a Death Eater, had my entire life taken away from me and now Dark is most likely going to take over. I can't even kill myself! Yes, I think this is a good time to feel sorry!"
"Then you would be wrong," Snape said, in a voice that was not a snarl, but nothing resembling contrite or gentle. "I am well aware of what Lucius did. I am well aware of the Mark on your arm. I am also aware of the spell Voldemort performed on you and of Mr. Malfoy. But if you want any chance of saving yourself and everyone else, you need to stay strong."
Now Hermione felt very confused. "What are you talking about? You're a Death Eater, aren't you? You want Dark to take over."
Snape sighed in exasperation. "I was hoping you and Mr. Potter on one of your little adventures had discovered my secret. Unfortunately I was wrong. I am a Death Eater, but I am working against them, for Dumbledore. I'm a double-agent, I suppose."
Hermione felt shocked. "You are?" she whispered. The possibility had never crossed her mind. She studied him and still felt that her guess had not been all that far-fetched. Anyone who knew Snape would assume what she had rather than what he claimed to be the truth.
"Yes."
"Well . . . then tell Dumbledore!" Hermione cried, hope surging through her. "Tell him what's happened to me—he'll help."
Snape, for the first time, appeared contrite. "I'm sorry, Miss Granger, but I can't."
"Why not?" Hermione demanded, disappointed.
"Because Voldemort doesn't trust me either. I have a spell on me, though not one as strong as yours. I can find ways around it to tell Dumbledore things, but I cannot come out with the truth about you. It's one of the strongest aspects of the spell—I cannot betray another Death Eater, and while you are not a loyal one, you are still a Death Eater."
Hermione felt the disappointment weighing her down. "Well, it's still different for you," she said. "You can help Dumbledore, even if it is just a bit. I can't even talk about what happened."
"No, you cannot. But if you want to help your friends, stay strong," he said, returning to what he'd said earlier. "There may be a chance for you to help in some way, but you won't be able to do anything if you fall into despair. Keep your head up. Now go off to your next class, and do not speak of what happened here today. And though I may be working for Dumbledore and know your secret, I am not a source of support, I want you to understand that. I will act to you as I always have, and you will do the same with me. You will not talk to me about this unless it is an emergency or I summon you. That is all."
"Thanks for the advice. I really feel motivated," she said sarcastically and left the room.
She couldn't believe that Snape was really a double-agent—but he was still the same old Snape. She knew that she would find no help there. The encounter with Snape had destroyed all her resistance to make it through her last class, and she decided to ditch, for the first time in her life. She went up to Gryffindor Tower and put her books away, then laid on her bed, thinking about what Snape had said.
When she heard Lavender and Parvati come in, she realized Charms was over, and it was time for dinner. She was hungry and so she decided to attend this meal. Harry and Ron questioned her about why she'd missed Charms and she lied and told them that Snape had sent her on an errand for him. She explained that she had not gotten back in time for class. Both looked suspicious, but didn't say anything. She had not seen that expression on Harry's face since she'd spoken with him earlier in the year. There was a difference this time, though—this time, she wanted him to find out. She remembered promising to tell him if anything happened to her. She wished desperately that she could.
Justin caught up with her in the hall and told her that they had a meeting that night. He looked happy about it, but Hermione hated it. Over an hour in a small classroom with Malfoy where they would be expected to work together. The prospect did not appeal to her in the slightest.
That night, she made sure to hang around Harry and Ron until eight, when she headed out the door. She deliberately told a weak lie (that she needed help with her Transfiguration homework, which was easily her best subject this year) to inspire more curiosity in them. If she could not tell them, she would drop all the hints she could to make them suspicious, to make them want to start investigating. She'd decided that she could not be worried that Voldemort would kill them—he already wanted to. She felt it was better for both her and them if they knew what was happening. The trick was to get them to find out.
Harry looked at her when she lied, and said, "Are you okay, Hermione? Sure there's nothing you want to talk about?"
"No," she replied. She tried to wink at him before she left, but she found that she could not—all she could do was blink. She felt despair at the realization that it was Voldemort's spell working to stop her from giving them such a hint. All she could do was lie in weak ways and be public about her status as a resistance member.
The Key was torture. She and Draco sat on opposite ends of the chair line that was always set up. He said nothing to her and stayed away, which she was grateful for. At one point during the lesson, when Professor McGonagall was showing them a new spell, she called up both Draco and Hermione to demonstrate. She instructed Draco to take out his wand and prepare to administer the curse to Hermione.
Draco, who had been wary of Hermione all day, saw the fear flash through her eyes, could see the internal struggle in her. "Let her curse me," he said, tucking his wand away, and watching Hermione's eyes turn from frightened to shocked and suspicious. He put on a sneer. "I'm sure she's dying to show off, aren't you, Granger?"
"That's enough," McGonagall snapped, accustomed to their arguments, and knowing better than to let one start. "Fine, then. Hermione, please take out your wand and administer the curse to Draco."
The curse was one to throw your enemy against a far wall—the very curse the Draco had used on her in the beginning of the year, she remembered. She raised her wand, thinking that it was about time she got retribution for that—if only she could get retribution for everything else. "Jevolosia!" she cried. A ribbon of gold shot out of her wand and hit Draco in the stomach, sending him flying backwards against the wall Dumbledore had protected with a Softening Spell. However, anger fueling her, she raised her wand again, before Draco hit the wall. "Removio Protectonsy!" she said, removing the protective barrier in front of the wall. Draco smashed into it a millisecond later, and slid to the floor, groaning and clutching his stomach.
McGonagall ran to him, but Hermione stood her ground, tucking her wand away and letting a small smile play on her lips. Draco would know that if she had to be a Death Eater, she would not put up with him. Justin and Jenna were looking at her with grins on their faces which were quite contrary to those of the teachers.
"You are supposed to be working together, not fighting one another!" McGonagall cried, helping Draco to his feet. He was brushing it off like it was nothing. "Miss Granger, I am quite disappointed in you."
"Yeah, Granger, what were you trying to do, kill me?" Draco snapped. He knew he had to keep up the appearances that he was not guilty at all. However, he understood perfectly why she'd done it, and, as a strong surprise to himself, he wasn't angry.
"If only I could," she hissed. "Believe me, should our circumstances allow for it . . ."
Draco knew she was speaking of one of the affects of Voldemort's spell—she couldn't harm him, as he was now a Death Eater. McGonagall simply assumed their "circumstances" were The Key.
"I do not know what has gone on between you two to make you hate each other so, but I suggest you leave it outside this classroom," she said angrily. "That's enough for one day. Get out of here. I apologize to Justin and Jenna for cutting our lesson short."
The four headed back down, Justin giving Hermione a thumbs-up, and Jenna grinning at her. Hermione was not smiling. Much as she'd enjoyed what she had done, it was nothing compared to what Draco had done to her—and all that spell had done was make her as desperate for revenge as a shark in bloody water. Normally she was not vindictive, but now everything was different. What she'd once considered normal would never again be so.
Hermione hurried to catch up with Justin and Jenna, but Draco stepped in front of her. She stepped to the side, and so did he. She knew it would do no good to try to get past him further and Justin and Jenna had already disappeared.
"What?" she hissed. "Haven't you done enough to me already?"
To her surprise, an expression of pain came over his face. "Look, Granger . . . I'm sorry. I chose you as the one member of The Key to turn Dark. I also told my father about The Key in the first place. It is my fault, as much as Voldemort's. But you don't understand why. At first, I hated you, I wanted to see you suffer." Tears came to her eyes, and he regretted his way of saying it. Apologizing was something he had no experience with.
"Well," she said, voice trembling, "you got your wish. I've suffered. I've suffered more than you can ever understand. And my suffering will last for the rest of my pathetic, miserable life serving a man I hate and watching him destroy everyone I love. I hope you're happy, Malfoy." She pulled out her wand, almost automatically, with no real thought in the matter. "I should have done this long ago, but I had morals and standards. Now that's been ripped away from me, thanks to you. Now I don't care if I sink to your level. I just want you to die. And you deserve it more than you ever did."
"You can't hurt me," he said dully, with absolutely no pleasure in his voice. "I'm a Death Eater."
"No, you're not, liar," she growled. "I saw your arm."
"I am now," he said. "My father initiated me after I brought you to him and successfully covered where you'd gone." He pulled up his sleeve to reveal to her the Dark Mark.
She barked out a laugh that contained no humor. "You did it all because you wanted so badly to be a Death Eater?" She shook her head in disgust and shame. "I guess there's no limits for you, are there, Malfoy? I hope you die. That's all I can say. And I promise you that should Voldemort ever remove this curse, you will be my first victim." With that, she stormed away down the hall.
"Wait!" he yelled. "You didn't let me finish!" She didn't so much as falter her steady stride. He sighed. He knew she would never listen to his explanation as to why he'd done it. "I'm sorry," he whispered. He wished she'd understand. "For the first time in my life, I am."
