On a lighter note however, I'm glad to inform you that I have created forums both for this story and my other story „Had I known". There you can find information, discuss aspects of this story with me or other readers, and, with a bit of luck, find hints about things to come and exclusive previews.
I created the forum because you all deserve replies to your questions or comments, although I am not able to answer to every review. Feel free to leave any comment you like, and be sure that I will participate in discussions and answer questions as long as they don't betray my plot.
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New PathsDays turned to weeks as Severus settled into his role as the Order's Spymaster. He had never been prone to the meetings of the Inner Circle, nor had he ever found out more about Albus' sources than whispers and rumours. Now, while he extended his reach on every available information and full access to the Order's network, he quite frankly wondered how they could have survived that long.
Albus might be the most powerful and brilliant wizard of this and the last century, but his organisational skills were next to nonexistent, and his idea of proper documentation was connected all too closely with his near perfect memory. Writing things down, he seemed to think, was for other people.
So they spent hours in his newly acquired office, Severus asking questions and Albus answering them in his unique, roundabout way. He designed maps, diagrams and emergency protocols, tried to bring order to the chaos of Dumbledore's correspondence and sifted through the heaps of documents that filled trunk after trunk.
Much was to be done, and it didn't exclusively concern the spying and information business. Most of the member's concentration centred on the practical aspect of their work – collecting information, gaining new allies, following Death Eater activities and keeping the ministry at bay. Perhaps it took a Potions Master to teach them that "Gather as much as you can and then mix it wildly together" wasn't a method to organise resistance. Dividing the crucial from the unimportant, combining facts so that patterns might emerge and bringing all this into a form that allowed other Order members to evaluate it for their own work – all these steps so basic for scientific research, or research of any kind, had never occurred to most of them.
Even if some were aware of the shortcomings of their methods, they lacked the time or will to change them. As things stood, nobody protested when Snape took a look at what they had or hadn't achieved over the last months, exploded, and set to work.
Order meetings needed to be restructured and more efficient ways of communication had to be established, and while the Order's new quarters in Hogwarts made many things easier, they added the stress of decorating, planning and introducing an acceptable system of wards, passwords and security systems.
Some of these days, when he sat hunched over documents so long that his shoulders ached, it felt as if he hadn't enough time to breathe. Even his time with Hermione was cut short to fighting practice and strategy meetings as she was trying to teach the more than willing Harry Potter a basic knowledge of politics, Order work and the arts of deception. But he couldn't have enlisted her to help, anyway, while her role remained a secret even among the Inner Circle of the Order, and he couldn't have explained her presence in their Headquarters when even Harry Potter was waiting for his official introduction to the Order of the Phoenix.
Hermione.
He preferred not to think too closely about her these days. Outwardly, nothing had changed between them, but it was as if the insults of Ronald Weasley, flung at them in the heat of the moment, had destroyed something too tender to be named.
Perhaps it had been innocence.
Before, he had never questioned their close contact, both bodily and in the connection of their minds. She had been a girl in need of help first, a victim to unnameable cruelty. When she had turned into his partner, he had accepted her as a brilliant mind and able body, as sexless to him as Albus or Minerva.
And then, they had become friends. Family. Something so close that his search for a fitting description had been in vain. Something that surpassed every intimacy he had ever shared with another person by far, even the shorter or longer relationships he had shared with women over the years.
Every day with her had revealed something more about her, and, in turn, about himself, for he found feelings and thoughts returning that he had thought lost and dead years ago. Feelings Hermione evoked in him. Care. Tenderness. The wish to protect. Love.
And instead of remaining at a safe distance, he had plunged into it head over.
He had never even thought about their casual way of touching, of embracing or sharing their favourite couch during a quiet evening. How easily those endearments he had always scorned slipped across his lips with her. How barren and cold his chambers seemed without her.
How harmonious their bodies felt when they fought, like a graceful dance between equal partners.
But now, as if Weasley's words had unleashed some hidden part of his mind, he remembered the feeling of her hair as he had brushed and braided it, or as he would stroke it when she was in distress. He remembered the sweet scent of her breath and the clean smell of her sweat that would wash over him when they sparred. Her well defined body, so close to his that he could feel its heat.
The silky feeling of her skin when his hands had glided up her thighs to remove the daggers. Her dazzling smile, unexpected and overwhelming, that turned her into a beauty all of a sudden.
He was all too aware of her possible presence in the next room whenever he lay in the darkness, waiting for sleep that would elude him for hours, all too aware of her body when they fought, or talked, and his physical reaction to it.
And he cursed his own weakness.
This was wrong, so wrong that he shouldn't even be thinking along these paths.
Not because she was half his age or a student – such thoughts didn't even occur to him as he tried to exorcise her from his mind. She was no child, no student, and to him she seemed older, more mature, than many women his age would ever be.
But she had been hurt so badly, so repeatedly, that male desire had to be nothing but a threat to her.
He remembered how she had flinched from every touch when they had entered their partnership, her body nothing but a stranger, a tool to be used to her advantage. It had taken them months to establish this level of trust, months for her to feel secure with him, to believe that no hidden meaning lay behind his touch, and even considering her in this… way… seemed like betrayal to him.
She would hate him if she found out that he was just another – how had Weasley so succinctly put it? – horny old Death Eater, lusting after her body while she tried to keep her sanity intact.
And even if that part of her hadn't been destroyed irrevocably, who was he to believe he could attract a beautiful young woman like her, a woman that… No. He didn't allow himself those thoughts. Not even in the safety of the night, hidden away from all eyes in his bedroom.
So he buried himself among tons of parchment, busying his mind and body until he barely had the strength to crawl into his bed and concentrating all his thoughts on keeping his feelings from her, hiding his forbidden thoughts behind thick mental shields and forcing his straying eyes away from her body.
Silently praying that she wouldn't notice anything amiss.
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February had begun in a shower of rain and snow, drenching the ground in mud and turning the Great Hall's ceiling to a stormy grey.
Hermione didn't notice. Nor did she join the sighs and complaints of those who felt trapped in the castle, with little to do except schoolwork, and less to look forward to during these bleak and barren post-Christmas days.
For she was busier than she had ever been in her life, and when she crawled into her bed after midnight, asleep as soon as her head touched the pillow, she often wondered where she took this energy from, enough strength and motivation to carry her through days that seemed endless.
There was Harry, for once. He had stuck to his decision about joining the Order, and it had been received enthusiastically by both Dumbledore and McGonagall. But his first happiness about having finally found the right thing to do evaporated all too soon, and the first, casual talks with Dumbledore had left him confused and frustrated. His knowledge about tactics, politics and the structure of wizarding society in general, he had to realize, were virtually nonexistent.
What did he know about the workings of the Wizengamot or the Constitution? About the rights of the aurors or the Unspeakables? Even wizards' etiquette and the lineages of the great pureblood families were a great unknown to him. Finally he understood why Hermione had spent the last six years of her life studying incessantly, trying to understand this brave new world they had been catapulted into.
And it was to her that he turned for help.
She provided reading material, history and etiquette lessons, and told him everything about the Order – well, not everything, if she was honest, but definitely everything he had to know. But it were the simple things that drove her mad. How to teach him, for example, that he couldn't read his new found sources of knowledge in public? How to explain to him that the new air of determination he wore was a bad idea? That he shouldn't display too much tenderness and care towards her while other eyes could see them?
She had observed and studied human interaction as long as she could think, and only now, as she saw Harry struggling to maintain an acceptable façade in public did she realize how easy acting came to her, how much of a second nature lying and pretending had become to her. She had been playing a role long before she had turned into "Hermione the spy", and it seemed near impossible to her to teach what she was doing automatically.
"We do not only want to hide things from possible spies, we also want to project certain impressions," She explained the umpteenth time while sitting with Harry in her Head Girl's room. "Your public distance from Ron is a good thing, but we don't want you to look self confident or content. Insecure and nervous, those are the key words. I will tell Voldemort that I got closer to you, and that I'm reducing your hopes for victory. You must mirror that impression, or it won't work. Brood, withdraw, pick your fingernails, refuse to look others into the eyes…"
"I'm trying." Harry protested, his face an open book of emotions to her. "But it doesn't come naturally to me, and the moment I do not concentrate fully on those things, the mask slips. I don't know how to…"
She couldn't suppress a sigh of frustration. "And I don't know how to teach you," She admitted quietly. "I was never instructed in these things myself, and I don't know who… except… That could be a solution…"
Suddenly, her eyes lightened and colour rose to her cheeks. She hastily scribbled a short message on some dog-eared parchment and sent it off with the owl she had bought over the summer.
"Let's go," She then announced. "He will be waiting for us in the dungeons, and we shouldn't let him wait too long."
She didn't answer any of his questions on their way down, safely hidden under Harry's invisibility cloak, which he carried with him everywhere these days. Harry had a sinking feeling in his stomach and the dreadful forbearing that this unnamed him would turn out to be Snape. But when they finally shrugged the cloak off and rounded a corner, they were greeted by a shock of white-blond hair and aristocratic features, smoothed into a mask of arrogance.
"Granger. Potter. Two kittens lost in a snake's lair," He greeted them coldly. "Be careful that you find your way out again."
"Malfoy," Hermione hissed aggressively and brushed by him.
Totally confused, but wise enough by now to silently copy her behaviour, Harry followed her, not sparing a glance towards Malfoy. He could now see that Hermione was performing some sort of spell, hidden from view by her robes. They rounded another corner and heard nothing behind them but the clicking of Malfoy's boots and his quiet comments about "mudblood and scarhead searching for a place to snog".
Only when they had reached an old wooden door that seemed strangely out of place with the gothic grandeur of the dungeons did she turn around to the Slytherin.
"All's clear," She announced and hugged him quickly. "Thank you for coming, Draco."
"My pleasure," He answered and gave Harry one of his trademark sneers. When it lacked the usual contempt and hatred, Harry realized with something of a shock, it looked surprisingly cool.
Fortunately, his thoughts were diverted from this worrying realization when Hermione turned back to the old door and placed her palms on it. Whispering something incomprehensible, she lowered one hand to the knob and turned it. The door swung open without a sound.
"Come in," She told the waiting boys and extended her arm in an inviting gesture.
"Where are we, Hermione?" Harry asked with mounting frustration. While the old Hermione had been all too glad to inform her friends in extension about any connected or unconnected topic, the new one had obviously developed a taste for secrecy and dramatic effects.
No doubt because of the company she's been keeping, Harry thought and remembered Snape's billowing robes and Draco's taste for flourishing gestures.
As it was, she only answered his question with a smile and a short "You'll see", and quickly ascended a winding staircase that turned out quite longer and more tiring than Harry cared for.
But what he saw when they had finally reached the top of the stairs made him forget all his exhaustion.
"A gym," He breathed, unknowingly mirroring Hermione's surprise after her first entrance.
"Indeed," She answered, smiling again. "Severus' private one. So don't touch anything and keep away from the cupboards. There are some nasty surprises in there."
Deciding to ignore the question of why the hell Snape needed a private gym for the moment, Harry took a deep breath to repeat his questions once more, but Draco beat him to it.
"Impressive," He commented with the nonchalance of someone who had definitely possessed his very own private gym for most of his life. "But why are we here. What's the problem you mentioned in your letter?"
Hermione just raised an outstretched hand towards Harry.
"His face," She answered dryly. "I can't bring him to stop betraying himself."
Harry could see how it itched Draco to simply agree that Harry's face had been, indeed, a problem for quite a number of years, but then the blond visibly restrained himself. "What exactly do you mean," He neutrally asked instead.
"This," Hermione answered. "Take a close look, will you?" And then, turning to Harry: "Try to keep a straight face, Harry. Try to show no reaction at all, will you?"
He nodded, uncertain where this would be leading and rather unhappy about the close scrutiny Draco Malfoy, brat prince extraordinaire, gave him.
"Then tell me, Harry," Hermione continued offhandedly. "How long have you been sneaking out to the Shrieking Shack to be alone with yourself?"
Harry simply couldn't help it. His jaw dropped abruptly and an incomprehensible, gurgling sound escaped his mouth. He felt his eyes grow wide and a blush rising to his cheek, and saw Draco Malfoy smacking his own forehead with frustration.
"I think I understand," The blond drawled, amusement dripping heavily in his voice. "Gryffindors."
If Harry had expected Hermione to protest, he had been wrong. She simply cocked a brow and nodded grimly. "Indeed," She repeated. "No chance to add further spice to our plans as long as he is like that."
"What did you try with him," Draco now asked, circling Harry as if he was a horse for sale.
"Everything I could think of," Hermione answered. "Not that it was much, mind you. I never ran through the sort of teaching you did, and all I know about pretending evolved naturally over the years…"
"Is this a roundabout request to teach him some pureblood discipline," Draco asked, the amusement now threatening to boil over into a hearty laughter.
Hermione grinned. "Turn him into a Malfoy if you manage," She challenged.
"Excuse me!" Harry found that he had finally relocated his tongue. "Could you two please stop talking as if I didn't exist? What if I don't want that precious 'pureblood discipline'?"
"You wanted to learn, Harry," Hermione answered, her smile fading away like mist over the Great Lake. "Hiding your emotions and thoughts is one of the most basic lessons I can offer. Charms and spells may protect your mind from invasion, but if your enemies can read their answers in your eyes, you will never survive. And survive is what you must learn. It is also exactly what pureblood children like Draco are taught from their first conscious moments onward. Their control must be perfect, their discipline immaculate and their behaviour always, always up to top standards. Especially when their father is a bastard like Lucius Malfoy."
She didn't turn around to Draco or shoot him an apologizing glance for insulting his father, and to his surprise, Harry saw that Draco nodded in grim affirmation.
For one moment, Harry's brain seemed to overheat as he tried to take in the changes of his situation. Not two weeks ago, he had been a slightly depressed schoolboy with a talent for mischief and a clear knowledge of who his enemies were: Voldemort with his Death Eaters and the Slytherins. Now he had found out that his best friend belonged to the one category and was forced into a room with one of the other, hoping to learn from him the art of deception.
For that one moment, he wished that the old Harry were back, the one that would protest and shout and be generally too righteous for his own good. Then, his eyes met Draco's, and though the Slytherin's face was a cool mask as always, he could see the uncertainty in him, lingering just below the surface and mirroring his own. And he nodded.
"But don't expect me to go and mistreat Gryffindors," He warned, and saw an identical smile form on the faces of Hermione and Draco.
"That wish develops naturally with the time," Draco answered, and Harry could have sworn he saw Hermione nod from the corner of his eyes.
"Right then," She suddenly announced. "I will ask Severus to clear this area for you. Just be sure to use it only on afternoons. He doesn't like people to get in his way, as both of you know."
Silently, she hugged them, one after the other, and again Harry marvelled at the sheer absurdity of the situation. There they were, two archenemies since childhood, bound together by one woman they both loved. Wanting this to work, and if only for her.
She had nearly reached the door to the winding staircase, when Harry decided to pay her back, at least a little, for the turmoil of the day.
"Before you go, tell me, Hermione," He called after her and she turned back towards them willingly. "How long since you stopped wearing push-up bras that you filled out with toilet paper?"
He had hoped for a reaction, any reaction on her face that would betray her and ease his frustration, but though Draco burst into a sudden fit of laughter, her face remained a smooth, unreadable landscape. Not a muscle moved. She didn't even blink.
Only when she had shown him her perfect self control did she smile and nod in approval.
"Good, Harry," She said with an amused look at Draco who was still snorting with laughter. "Quite good. But not nearly enough to get me. You will learn that from Draco, too, I hope."
And with that she left them in Snape's private gym, a Gryffindor and a Slytherin, eyeing each other as if the other was suffering from a dangerous disease.
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But introducing Harry to his Slytherin side wasn't her only problem. School work was nothing to her, especially as Severus and Professor McGonagall had stopped accepting her essays weeks ago, telling her that she was far beyond class level anyway and that she had better concentrate on things far more important. But the mere necessity of her presence during lessons took away time that was desperately needed in other areas.
The more she managed to strengthen her position with Voldemort and the Inner Circle, the bigger were her chances to be called away. Her Dark Mark burnt now more than once a week, and though her little trick had taken care of the more dangerous aspects of her relationship with Lucius, still there was MacNair to be worried about, who had betrayed her to the Ministry at the possible cost of exposing the identity of all those Inner Circle members, and Justin, who was at his mercy and suffering visibly.
She and Severus hadn't decided on what to do yet, and deep down, Hermione knew that there was only one possible solution to this problem. But still she fought against it, for the thought of planning and executing a murder, even that of a Death Eater as repulsive as MacNair, sent shudders down her spine.
It was this she thought about, sitting in Severus' library and drinking tea, when a letter from Dumbledore arrived, telling her that she and Harry would be introduced into the Order this very evening.
All of a sudden she was nervous. Of course she knew how to behave, Severus and she had developed a strategy weeks ago, but those men and women weren't the Inner Circle for nothing. All of them possessed exceptional talents, and though she knew Dumbledore, McGonagall, Severus and Remus to be on her side, there was much that could go wrong.
They had decided against exposing her real job to them, if only to keep Molly Weasley from exploding with indignation, and she hoped to leave it that way as long as possible. But that would require a careful act not only from her, but from the others as well. Especially from Severus, but she expected him to enjoy their banters tremendously. She hadn't forgotten his passionate acting during the poisoning episode.
Gathering the things she would need into her worn school bag, she flooed back to her Head Girl's room, just in time for the knock on her door that had to be Harry. When she opened her connection door to the Common Room, she found him nervous but composed. Obviously, the lessons with Draco were bearing fruit.
She waved him inside and closed the door silently before hugging him. He had asked Ron if he wished to join them and the Order, but had received nothing but an angry grunt, a bitter comment about his "new friends" and a backside turned towards him. Hermione knew how much Ron's behaviour hurt Harry, but every time she had tried to approach Ron herself, the reaction had been much worse.
Perhaps it was best to let him simmer for a while. It had taken him weeks, after all, to realize how stupid his anger had been during the Triwizard Tournament. She hoped that Ron would come around, and if not, it simply couldn't be helped.
At exactly a quarter to six, they left her room and walked down the great stairs, meeting Dumbledore at their foot as it had been planned. He greeted them courteously and with his omnipresent twinkle, but it was clear from his behaviour that he was preoccupied, perhaps even worried. Not only Hermione's secret identity had to be taken into consideration, but also Harry's performance in front of the Order.
He was, after all, their saviour, and it wouldn't do for him to show ignorance or a lacking maturity. Hermione simply hoped that he was well prepared and that her plan would serve to divert attention from the Boy Who Lived as much as possible.
They followed Dumbledore down to the entrance of the Great Hall, where they turned left into a seldomly used corridor. After a series of abrupt turnings, they came to a halt in front of yet another grubby old tapestry, very much alike to the magical entrance to Severus' quarters.
"At this rate, I'm going to be used to them very soon," Harry whispered to Hermione and saw her smile in response. For a moment, she found his hand and pressed it tightly, hidden in the folds of their school robes. He answered the pressure, hoping to convey reassurance. He felt surprisingly calm and well prepared, and though it itched him to no end, he knew that he had Draco to thank for that.
"Ready, my dears?" Dumbledore inquired, and, when they nodded, placed both hands on the tapestry and murmured: "I will not choose a password connected to sweets."
When the tapestry started to glow in a golden light, he turned around to Harry and Hermione and smiled. "Severus is in charge of the ward system. This was the password he set for me, though I have no idea why."
Not bothering to hide their amusement, Harry and Hermione followed their Headmaster through the golden light.
The room they stepped into took Harry's breath away. It was huge, with a high, strangely charmed ceiling and colourful rugs on the polished stone floor. It seemed divided into a living room area, where sofas and armchairs were forming little groups and the walls were lined with bookcases, and another area that projected a more formal, serious atmosphere. This part of the room was dominated by a huge, oval table and at least forty chairs that lined it. Harry noticed several doors opening to other rooms and a series of wall hangings, similar to that through which they had entered.
He turned to Hermione and saw an exaggerated expression of surprise and delight on her face, no doubt due to the amount of reading material this place held. But she was right to be impressed, he thought, for in stark contrast to the cluttered kitchen of Grimmauld Place, this room breathed power and authority, inviting its inhabitants to linger, plan and talk.
It was also much better organized, he couldn't help thinking.
"Welcome to the Headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix!" Dumbledore interrupted his thoughts. Harry raised his eyes to the old wizard's face and couldn't suppress a smile – Dumbledore's pride in this place was all too clearly displayed on his face.
"An improvement to our old Headquarters, I must say," Dumbledore continued, touching Harry's shoulder and directing his glance towards the three huge fireplaces that were situated side by side on one end of the room. "Those three fireplaces connect to different areas of the floo network. They are all secured with a special wards system that Severus developed. I have no idea how exactly it works, but it ensures that only members of the Order can come through or leave through it. One connects to the internal Hogwarts floo network, one leads to our safe houses and the last is a one way fireplace that is connected to the general wizarding network."
He gestured towards the doors Harry had noticed before, and towards the wall hangings. "The doors lead to several offices, one is mine and another is used by our dear spymaster. The magic tapestries are connected to the private chambers of quite a few Order members, including Severus' chambers, my Headmaster's office and the Burrow. The ceiling is charmed to show a map of Great Britain, on which our Safe Houses are shown as well as the properties of known Death Eaters and areas of recent dark activities. I will teach you the spells to zoom in on every area you like tonight."
Harry couldn't help gasping as he took in the enormous map that stretched over his head. Everything seemed so… practical, so well ordered and organised. Quite different actually from what he had thought the Order to be back in fifth year. It seemed that somewhere along the way, a bunch of intelligent individuals had turned into a professional organisation.
Hermione was staring, too, but the overload of emotions on her face alone told Harry that this was more an act than anything else. And when she leaned over to him, to whisper into his ear, the dry amusement in her voice confirmed his suspicion. "Like the changes Severus made?" She asked him.
"It's brilliant," He answered breathlessly, forgetting for a moment that it was his hated Potions Master he was complimenting.
The meeting wouldn't begin before half past seven, and Hermione and Harry took the time to explore their new "second home", as Dumbledore had put it. Greeting the members that stepped into the room one by one, Harry soon found himself included in a wild discussion between Remus Lupin and Mad-Eye Moody. He was surprised how easy he seemed to fit in, how they accepted him without questioning, and just hoped that the rest of the evening would run as smooth as these first minutes.
Hermione however had barely spared a look towards the men and women that stepped through fireplaces, office doors and glowing tapestries. Her eyes were rooted to the books, and her hands itched quite visibly to take out some of the older volumes.
Harry knew that she was planning to hide her identity as spy, and understood that she was trying to act her know-it-all self as best she could, but he still was irritated with the way she seemed to ignore everybody around them. Disengaging from the group that surrounded him, he stepped besides her with the intention of coaxing her away from the books, when something in the room's atmosphere changed.
"Miss Granger," A cold voice suddenly snarled and they both whirled around to meet their Potions Master's irate eyes. He had obviously just entered through one of the office doors, and Harry couldn't help but notice that the others were watching them with close attention. "Kindly refrain from touching everything you see. Some of these books are too valuable to be violated by sticky teenager hands."
He looks as if he hated her, Harry thought in shock, but when he turned around to see how Hermione dealt with this, he found very much the same expression on her face, only that she managed to make it look like childish stubbornness instead. What are the two playing at?
He saw looks of surprise and irritation settle on the Order members' faces. Only Remus and McGonagall seemed barely able to hide their amusement. Those who had watched Harry since entering the room now turned towards the confrontation between Hermione Granger and their Spymaster.
They are strengthening her role as harmless know-it-all, He realized, And at the same time diverting general attention from me.
"Unfortunately, my influence wasn't enough to keep you two well away from these Headquarters," Snape continued, eyes still fixed on Hermione. "As it is, I will have to endure your presence for the time being. But if you ever annoy me with your intolerable know-it-all attitude again or lay your hands on documents not intended for the curiosity of little girls, I will personally throw you out of these chambers, is that clear?"
Their eyes locked as Hermione's lips started to tremble.
How do you feel, my dear, His cold, derisive eyes asked her warmly, and while she commanded an embarrassed blush to her cheeks, she sent him a smile.
Quite well, Severus. A bit excited, perhaps. But judging from the dumbfounded faces around us, this will be quite a lot of fun.
"Perfectly clear, Sir," She whispered, and he nodded abruptly.
I sincerely hope so, he answered and ended the connection, striding over to his place at the foot of the table, opposite to where the Headmaster had already taken place.
As instructed, Hermione and Harry remained standing while the Order took their places and Dumbledore began the meeting.
"I have the honour to introduce two new candidates for the Inner Circle today," He announced after everyone had settled down. "You all know them, and so I will cut short the formalities. Who agrees to grant full membership to Hermione Granger?"
Most hands rose into the air without hesitation. Only Mad-Eye Moody and Molly Weasley took their time. The old auror had been most vocal in his beliefs that "small girls had no place in a battle", and Mrs Weasley would have kept everyone younger than thirty from the meetings, if possible.
But both finally complied, and it was only Snape's hand that remained lying on the table, unmoved. The look he sent her was pure venom.
"Hermione Granger is hereby accepted into the Inner Circle," Dumbledore announced, his blue eyes twinkling friendly. "Please take a seat, my dear."
Hermione nodded, and, clutching her school bag to her breast, rounded the table to where free chairs were available.
"Who then agrees to grant full membership to Harry Potter?" Dumbledore continued, and this time, even Snape raised his hand without a moment's hesitation. Harry was accepted and chose a place beside Hermione, glad that he had been managed to hide his nervousness from the Order.
And thus, without further formalities, the meeting of the Inner Circle began.
Dumbledore had told them beforehand that every Order member would willingly answer their questions after the main meeting was over, so Harry simply leaned back and listened, willing to let his questions wait. But he was pleasantly surprised by how much Hermione had taught him over the last few weeks. Connections that had been invisible to him before now became quite clear, and he was even able to comment on a few points. He could see grudging respect even in the face of Moody when he remarked that Fudge's move against magical creatures could be used to establish closer contact with Gringotts, and that Ludo Bagman and his still unclear Goblin-affair should be considered as further fuel.
Surprisingly enough, Snape managed an unheard of level of civility with the Boy Who Lived, ignoring him most of the time, but still answering his questions without the cold contempt they were both used to. Instead, he lavished all his scorn upon Hermione.
Throughout the Order meeting, she had barely lifted her head from a thick notebook in which she scribbled without a moment's pause, no doubt managing a nearly word perfect reproduction of the meeting. She blushed when Snape sneered at her and told her that every scrap of paper concerning the Order work had to remain in these quarters, and that they were using an Automatic Quill for good reason, but still she scribbled on, as if she could hide from his scowls and the curious stares other Order members gave her.
Harry could see surprise in many faces when the meeting proceeded without her asking a single question or offering a comment. Most, especially Remus Lupin perhaps, had expected more from the "brightest witch of her age". It seemed to most of them, Harry could read in their eyes, as if that reputation hadn't been justly earned. In comparison to the Boy Who Lived, Hermione Granger paled to a not so interesting, over-enthusiastic schoolgirl. No doubt the impression she wanted to produce, Harry thought quietly.
"What news from the Master Spy?" Tonks finally inquired, and most of the Order members leaned forward in interest.
Severus smiled darkly. "The French Order of Jeanne d'Arc has refused collaboration with Voldemort, thanks to our timely intervention," He announced, and whoops and shouts of joy suddenly filled the council room.
When all had silenced down again, Dumbledore, probably noticing the confused expressions on Hermione's and Harry's face, leaned forward to explain.
"The Order of Jeanne d'Arc is a group of conservative pure-blood wizards, situated in Paris. They are powerful not only because of their prominent members, but also because of the great regard French wizards are holding them in. Voldemort has been planning to contact them to offer an alliance for some time. Thanks to our Master Spy, we discovered these plans early enough to send Madame Maxime and a delegation of renowned French wizards there, who managed to convince the Order of the foolishness of such an alliance. This is not the first case in which timely information from our spy prevented a catastrophe from happening."
"Who is this Master Spy?" Harry asked, his confusion not cleared by the explanation. "And why isn't he here to report himself?"
"Because we have no idea who he is, Potter," Moody answered, and the angry look on his face made abundantly clear what he thought about that fact. "Only Dumbledore and Snape know his identity, and they refuse adamantly to inform us fully, though that would be the only decent thing to do."
"All we mere mortals are allowed to know is that he approached Albus about six months ago, offering him information from the Inner Circle of Voldemort himself, and that this information has been invaluable to us," Bill continued. "I don't know how many ambushes we managed to escape because he tipped us off."
"Whoever he is, he is bloody brilliant," Tonks, awe in her voice.
As understanding filled his head, Harry leaned back heavily in his chair. This Master Spy they were talking about was Hermione! She and Dumbledore had both explained to him how important her work was, but never had he imagined that she could be the primary source of information for the Order!
He turned around to meet her eyes, but before he could do so, she had addressed the Order for the first time, in a voice smaller and more childish than he was used to hear from her.
"But isn't this terribly dangerous?" She asked, trembling a bit at the thought of it.
She really is a brilliant actress, Harry thought as he watched her face, a little pale and filled with seriousness on behalf of this poor, unknown man who risked his life for them.
"If I could take points here, I would do so for the stupidity of this question, Miss Granger," Snape snarled. "Of course it is dangerous. Do you think all he does is take tea with the Dark Lord?"
"It is the most dangerous thing you can imagine, Hermione, and none of us could probably pull it off successfully," Arthur Weasley answered.
Remus, who was sitting to the left of the Weasleys, was staring at Hermione in shock, his eyes widened in disbelief at her cold bloodedness, and Harry felt very much the same. There she sat, calmly asking questions about herself as if all this had nothing to do with her at all.
"After Severus was detected," Arthur continued. "We were very worried that our last source of information had been cut off and we didn't believe this new spy to last very long. No one has, before. But Severus here assures us that our unknown Master is the most talented spy he has ever met, probably more able than Severus himself, and so we can only hope that he will succeed where all others failed."
"He or she," Tonks remarked. "We do not know the gender, Arthur."
"Oh, but surely a woman couldn't do such a thing," Hermione protested in shock and earned a choking sound from Remus for her efforts.
"I have had quite enough of your stupidity for today, Miss Granger," Snape hissed. "Be a good girl and do what you manage best: take notes and be quiet!"
Again, Hermione blushed and lowered her head to the table, but Harry could have sworn that he saw amusement in the dark depths of his Potions Master's eyes.
He didn't know what confused him more – that these two were hoodwinking the whole venerable Order of the Phoenix with ease, or that they were obviously enjoying it immensely.