A/N: A warning to you all that I go on vacation next week, and that as of today, my posts will become less frequent. I am aiming for once a week on Mondays, though there might be a lag at the end of this month until I can get caught up on my writing. Thank you once again to everyone who has reviewed, followed, favorited and read this story. There's a lot coming up that I am both excited and nervous to write, and your words give the the confidence to delve into the more challenging scenes and do them justice.
Beta Love to FaceofPoe, who is indispensable and listens to me whine and obsess over plot points and bits of dialogue, prodding me in the right direction with a sharp stick when it is necessary (which is often).
Chapter Twenty-Five: Playing the Part
July 27, 1997
When they arrived at the castle, they were given a set of rooms so sumptuous Hermione might have mistaken them for the master suite had she not known better. Upon being left on their own by the wrinkled old head elf who had showed them their quarters, she and Severus had set to work. They had swept the rooms, looking for any monitoring spells which might have been placed and, finding none, had proceeded to fortify the rooms with their own protective charms and wards. Hermione had been worried that Voldemort might see this as an act of defiance or of secrecy- which it was- but Severus had assured her that such enchantments would seem natural given Avery's attack on her previously. The Dark Lord was a paranoid ruler, and paranoia in his servants was not something he would find suspect.
And so Hermione found herself in her quiet room that night, lying face up on the bed in a set of casual robes Severus had helped her pick out at Madame Malkins that morning (because it would be ridiculous to tempt the Dark Lord's ire by dressing as a muggle any longer), listening to the quiet tick of the clock on the nightstand beside her. Severus had gone with a party of his fellow Death Eaters and Voldemort himself to attempt to intercept Harry as he was being moved from Privet Drive to whichever safe house the Order had decided to put him in. Hermione and Severus both assumed it would be the Burrow, but neither of them had been privy to that information. Apparently, thought Hermione bitterly, being so near to the Dark Lord meant she could no longer be trusted with sensitive Order information, even with the occlumency shields in her mind that Severus had erected and continued to renew frequently.
Sighing, she turned her face to check the time. It was a quarter past midnight. She closed her eyes and tried not to fidget.
She had hoped Severus would not be required to participate that evening, given his status as spy, but it seemed Voldemort did not foresee needing him within the Order's ranks for much longer. Severus had been told to dress and to accompany them, had even been given charge over a group of his fellows. He had, of course, acted honored, and thanked his master for the opportunity to serve him openly. Watching him there in front of Voldemort's throne, being rewarded for his service and praised by the man who was her father, Hermione had felt almost proud before flushing and shoving the emotion down deep where she would not have to examine it.
A knock at the door echoed throughout the room, causing Hermione to startle and sit upright, gripping her wand tightly and pointing it at the door.
"Enter," she called, keeping her wand trained on the entrance as the door swung inward, admitting a heavyset woman with thick black hair swept back into a tight knot at the base of her neck. The woman looked startled as she entered to be at the end of Hermione's wand, but quickly hid her own dismay and schooled her expression into neutrality.
"I am sorry to disturb you, my lady," she said, her voice soft and cautious. "I've been instructed to inform you that Mr. Snape has returned, and that you should expect his presence soon."
"Who are you?" asked Hermione bluntly, ignoring the woman's message and narrowing her eyes. She did not recognize her, and she could see no Dark Mark marring the exposed skin of her left arm.
The black-haired woman froze, her face betraying her fear as her eyes widened and her lower lip trembled. Hermione merely furrowed her brows and adjusted her grip on her wand.
"Catriona Avery," said the woman, her voice surprisingly firm despite her obvious fear.
"Avery," echoed Hermione, "You were related to Argus Avery?"
The woman nodded, her expression wary. "He is- was- my husband," she answered, flinching only slightly as she corrected her tense.
Hermione did not respond, keeping her own face carefully blank as she lowered her wand and eyed Mrs. Avery where she stood just inside the doorway.
"I see," she said at last, forcing herself to look into the eyes of the woman whose husband she had as good as killed and wondering as she did so what the daughter of Lord Voldemort would say to that.
"I hope he was kinder to you than he was to me. Personally, I found him a foul, repugnant man who deserved what he got," she said after several moments of silence, keeping her tone as level as possible despite the part of her which was protesting the taunting of a widow. The other woman's eyes flashed but all she did was nod once stiffly. Hermione cleared her throat. "Was that all?" she asked, forcing herself to sound cross now and to ignore the way the other woman trembled.
Mrs. Avery nodded and did a little half curtsey as before stepping back through the door and into the hallway. "Yes, my lady," she said, voice hoarse as she fled back down the hallway, leaving the door open behind her.
Hermione sighed and bent over, resting her elbows on her knees and putting her face in her hands. How awful of Voldemort to send her uncle's widow here to her rooms. She only wished she knew whether it had been to torture the poor woman, or to test Hermione in some capacity. Either way, she knew that she would have to be on guard with everyone during her stay at the castle. She would have to live in the role she had crafted for herself; much as Severus embraced the Death Eater within him in the Dark Lord's presence, she would have to accept and act upon each and every one of her pettiest, most self-serving impulses. Admitting to herself that deep within the walls of kindness and justice she had worked to build her whole life there lurked a dark ocean of selfish urges she could not deny, was proving to be more challenging than she had expected. No good person enjoyed facing their own inner darkness.
Severus found her there nearly an hour later, still perched on the edge of their bed, staring at the open door which he entered through and then banged closed behind him.
"You're still awake," he said, crossing to the wardrobe, his Death Eater mask in hand as he swung open the door and began to hang his garb within. Hermione nodded and watched him as he moved deliberately, undressing to his slacks and dress shirt before coming to sit beside her on the bed. His hair was pulled back and tied with a black cord to keep it out of his face.
"What happened?" asked Hermione finally, not sure she really wanted to hear the answer but unable to continue in ignorance.
"Potter escaped," he answered. Hermione sighed in relief and Severus gave her a sharp look. "Through no skill of his own. The boy remains as incompetent as ever."
"And everyone else?" she asked, sounding tentative.
"All alive," shrugged Severus, leaning back against his hands. "Except for that ridiculous snowy owl of Potter's."
"Hedwig?!" cried Hermione. Severus nodded. "But that's terrible!"
"The idiot boy should have sent it ahead if he did not wish to risk its life."
"That's an awful thing to say. It's hardly Harry's fault that you and the rest of Voldemort's thugs-"
"What did you just call me?"
Hermione flushed as Severus turned his face toward hers, his eyes glittering. She crossed her arms and scooted a bit further from him on the bed. "I called you a thug," she answered clearly, giving him her most scornful look. The expression did not seem to faze him though, because he sat up straight and reached for her, smirking. She swatted his hand away and stood up. He watched her go, looking amused at her annoyance.
"Will your judgements never cease?" he asked.
"I'm allowed to judge you for being an unsympathetic git."
"Unsympathetic? For an honest observation?"
"Yes, unsympathetic and insensitive."
"My dear," he drawled, standing and taking a step towards her, "if I'm insensitive over a bird, whatever will you think of me when you find out I cursed one of the Weasleys in a duel?"
The blood drained from Hermione's face and her eyes widened.
"You didn't."
"I most certainly did."
"What did you do?" Her voice was venomous, her stance stiff. Severus shrugged in reply.
"I only made it so their mother could tell the twins apart more easily."
"Severus tell me. What. You. Did!" She stamped her foot as she spoke, aware that her temper was perhaps childish, but unwilling to make concessions for a man who seemed pleased to have mutilated a former student. Severus shrugged indifferently once more.
"I relieved him of an ear. It's not as though he ever used it much in class. He'll hardly miss it."
"You relieved him of his- SEVERUS!"
"Yes, my pet?"
"You cut off his ear?!"
"You'd think it was yours, the way you keep repeating yourself."
She could not think what to say after that, though she was surprised that his indifference upset her more than the fact that he had maimed one of her friends. She settled for "You're awful," after which Severus quirked one brow and smirked at her, looking for all the world like the Death Eater who had entered their rooms minutes before.
"Don't look at me like that," snapped Hermione, whirling around towards the opposite wall. It was just her luck a mirror hung there, reflecting that same predatory amusement on his face back at her.
"Like what?" he inquired. Hermione blushed and tried to avoid his gaze in the looking glass.
"Like you're thinking something filthy."
Severus chuckled.
"What if I am thinking something filthy? Do you expect me to believe you'd say no on the grounds I didn't cry over Potter's owl?"
"I certainly wouldn't say yes," answered Hermione haughtily.
"I think you would," his eyes flashed and he took a single step forward, closing the distance and wrapping one arm around her waist as he leaned down to whisper in her ear. "After all, you are the woman who sent her uncle's widow from the room to sob in an abandoned corridor. You've barely enough room to stand on, let alone judge from."
She whirled around, pushing his arm away and backing up until her back hit the mirror. Severus followed, leaving only the barest distance between them as he stared down at her, his gaze heated.
"What are you implying?" asked Hermione, her tone icy now as she contemplated his words. How did he know she'd been cruel to Mrs. Avery? Had he really come across her crying in a hallway somewhere after Hermione had dismissed her? Had Severus been a part of sending the woman to inform Hermione of his arrival?
"Only that for a woman capable of suspending her morals on a whim, your expectations are rather lofty."
"I'm doing what I have to, it doesn't mean I actually enjoy-"
"Don't lie to yourself, Hermione. It isn't becoming."
"Remember our rules, Severus," Hermione warned, "You're being an-"
"I don't give a damn what I'm being," spat Severus, looking truly upset now, his mood shifting mercurially. "Because when you act like some sort of sanctimonious prig who's never had an impure or selfish thought in her entire life, you do us both a disservice. I will not spend my summer here being brow-beaten by a termagant wife who thinks herself better than me. You will not continue to shame me for not being the guilty spy you imagined. I told you before, Hermione, I am not a good man… and there is no stopping what we've begun. It is either embrace the darkness inside, or die."
He was right. Of course he was right. But she was cross and he was being an ass and she couldn't stand to look at him for another second, knowing that his words convicted her. She pushed past him, and he let her slip by, not turning to follow her as she fled from the room and into the hallway beyond. She walked, and then she ran, until she was at the doors of the keep's vast library.
Once she was inside, she closed her eyes and sagged against the nearest wall. Why was this so bloody difficult for her? Why hadn't she realized how challenging this path would be? When Dumbledore had presented this plan to her, why hadn't she thought it through more thoroughly, taken more time to weigh the pros and cons? She didn't doubt she would have come to the same conclusion, but at least then she would have been prepared for the necessity of embracing the darker aspects of her nature. Perhaps she would have been more accepting of Severus as he was, both the noble spy and the self-serving Death Eater.
Still, despite this lack of forethought, she knew she couldn't continue as she had been. All her feelings of guilt, of outrage, of indignance in defense of her friends… she would have to bury it deep. The sense of personal justice which had long been her companion was now nothing more than a hindrance.
Hermione sighed and forced herself to stand up straight. She was Hermione bloody Granger, and she had never failed at anything important in her life. She wasn't about to start now. If succeeding here meant being less preoccupied with morality and justice, she could let them go and focus on the task at hand. She only hoped she didn't lose sight of herself completely in the process.
She tried not to think too much more about the type of person she would have to be here in the castle as she allowed herself to explore the bookshelves around her. The library reminded her of one she had seen in a movie as a child, and she wandered through it, plucking dusty old tomes from their spots and replacing them one after another until, quite by chance, she came across a book on beauty charms and glamours which she thought might have been the same one Narcissa Malfoy had promised her before disappearing into some Order safe house with her family. She took it to a nearby settee and sat, flipping through the book's pages until she found the section on hair care and started to read.
She did not notice him until he was sitting down beside her, and to her credit, she did not scream when she saw him. She could not, however, keep herself from flinching, a reaction which seemed to please the Dark Lord.
"Bippity, Boppity, Beauty?" He read the title of the book in her hands aloud, and Hermione could not tell whether his tone was mocking or merely amused. "I had not expected you to be interested in such trivial magic," he said. Hermione swallowed before responding.
"Well, I would hardly expect you to understand, but appearances do matter," she said, surprised that he was here beside her and not off somewhere having a tantrum over Harry escaping yet again.
Voldemort let out a wheezing laugh, his mouth twisting up at the corners grotesquely.
"I am not so ignorant of the fact as you might assume," he said, "there is a reason so many of my puppets are pretty."
"And yet you thought to recruit Dolores Umbridge?"
The Dark Lord looked down at her, amused. "You do not approve of the Senior Undersecretary to the Minister of Magic?"
"I approve of her as a tool, not as a party guest."
"Will you then be managing our soirees in the future? I had not realized your interests were quite so very… feminine." Voldemort looked disdainful at the word and Hermione scoffed inwardly. It was just her luck that the man who was her biological father would, in addition to being the darkest wizard Britain had ever seen, also a sexist pig.
"I would sooner eat a hippogriff whole than spend any time planning your ridiculous gatherings."
This seemed to relieve Voldemort, because his shoulders seemed to grow less stiff and he looked at her with renewed interest.
"Tell me, Hermione," he said as he watched her, "How are you finding marriage? Is Severus treating you well?" The change of subject startled her, but she nodded once stiffly. She really didn't want to discuss Severus with Lord Voldemort.
"And do you renew the bond frequently?"
Hermione nearly swallowed her tongue.
"That is none of your goddamned business," she answered through gritted teeth.
"I only ask because I would hate for either of you to suffer from the adverse effects that can accompany a period of abstinence. Your powers are too valuable to allow to be diminished."
"Perhaps you could have thought of that before you put us in this position," Hermione ground out.
At this, Voldemort barked out an amused laugh.
"Do you regret it still? I thought you were beginning to grow fond of my Potions Master."
Hermione didn't grace him with an answer, choosing instead to stare straight ahead, pretending that the dark wizard at her side was anywhere else. It was another minute before he spoke again.
"I grow tired of your petulance," he said, voice crisp and cruel. "I gave you a very great gift in Severus, Hermione. I could have chosen any man for your husband, and I gave you one with whom you were familiar, a man who is powerful and intelligent and loyal. Can you not even thank me for such a concession?"
"Thank you," said Hermione at once, keeping her own shoulders stiff as she stared down at the book in her hands. "I realize…" her voice trailed off and she cleared her throat to try again. "I realize you made a wise decision, and I find I am… not adverse to your choice."
"Hmm," said Voldemort. "Was that so very hard?"
Hermione shook her head now as he rose, crossing to a shelf behind her and plucking a book off of it.
"I tire of this conversation, Hermione," he said as he sat back down with the black tome, "Go back to your husband and leave me in peace."
She rose at once and practically fled from the room, realizing as she went that as long as Voldemort was there, she could not forget herself in the part she played. His evil would always serve to remind her of the good for which she fought, and of the real family she would never see again unless this Dark Lord and his followers were destroyed once and for all.