A/N: Folks, I'm so excited! I've received a nomination for this fic, for best drama fiction at "The Goblets". The voting begins at October 13th, so if you think this fic is worth winning, go and click the button for my name! The addresses are: www. stellanima .com/ The (underscore ) Goblets, or their yahoogroup "the (underscore) goblets". You can also access the links via my lifejournal!

And once again: Let me remind you of my lj (lioness-kayly at lifejournal .com)! Many questions you asked in your reviews are pondered there, as well as fanart!

Now, on to the show! The first part of this chapter is especially for the people who requested another meeeting with Voldemort – I hope it won't disappoint…

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In Awe And Fear

Don't faint before you have even left the school! Hermione told herself sternly as she walked, or rather stumbled, through the dark tunnels deep down in the bowels of the castle. Severus or any Order member would have probably accompanied her willingly to the apparition point, but she needed the time alone both to plan a strategy and construct a credible set of memories in her mind.

Voldemort would be very interested indeed.

The first part was easy, certainly easier than navigating Hogwarts' ground with a mind half turned inwards and a body half dead with exhaustion. Only the very potent pepper-up potion Severus had administered kept her upright and thinking, but by the time she had reached the hollow tree where her invisibility cloak would be hidden away, she had added a believable end to the sequence of memories.

Stepping beyond the wards of the school, she took a deep breath and apparated away.

It wasn't hard to let her steps and movement lack the grace she usually sported in the halls of Voldemort's Headquarters. Passing Death Eaters sent wondering looks after her, both irritated by her seemingly drunken behaviour and the state of her hair and face. She had checked her appearance with a conjured mirror, down by the tree, and had added another set of nasty bruises and a bit of dirt for good measure.

The closer she came to Voldemort's throne room the more crowded the subterraneous tunnels became. There wasn't a regular Inner or Outer Circle meeting tonight, but an increasing number of Death Eaters preferred living in Voldemort's dark fortress to the outside world. Over the last months, Severus and she had worked on exposing as many of them as they could without risking Hermione's position. They had thought about killing them, of course, but while they could claim the knowledge of their identities to Severus' memory or unknown sources, their concrete whereabouts were a bit more difficult to determine, and knowledge of them screamed "spy" all over.

Once a Death Eater's identity was openly announced or indirectly handed to the papers – Hermione had never completely given up her hold on that Skeeter woman -, his or her possessions would be confiscated, their name and face published throughout Britain. A comfortable, pureblood life would quite suddenly turn into a twentyfour-hour hunt, with the former hunter as the nation's prey.

Once even the last family member or friend had withdrawn his support – and they usually did so quickly enough these days – life here became increasingly more attractive. Living in an underground fortress with a mad Lord seemed a small price for eight hours undisturbed sleep per night.

Hermione had her own room too, of course, as all full members of the Inner Circle did, but she only used it to store a few spare clothes and robes in it, or to occasionally rest a bit when a revel had been too taxing for her to apparate right away. But usually she restricted her visits here to the possible minimum.

Hermione was just glad that school gave her a valid excuse to stay away from that boys' camp for most of the day.

I'm among boys, and I'm going to steal their favourite toy, She thought as she felt the Death Eater's eyes on her, some of them openly leering, some of the irritated. A few acknowledged her with nods or slight bows, but she noticed that they didn't behave as respectful as they had two nights ago. In their eyes, her state of obvious exhaustion made her weak, an easy prey for Voldemort's anger, and they didn't want to be seen supporting the mudblood just in case her short career among them ended tonight.

They should know that Death Eaters had excellent memories, though. If she ever fell from Voldemort's grace, her known supporters would find themselves without power within the week.

But that wouldn't happen tonight. Tonight she would gamble, and act, and win. After tonight, her power would be undebated among the Death Eaters, and with a little bit of luck, small questions would start to worm their way into their minds, questions as to why the Dark Lord protected a mudblood from the purebloods of his circle.

Small questions could bring a mountain down.

She reached the large iron doors to the throne room, decorated with snakes of all things – concerning interior design, Voldemort most certainly lacked style – and threw them open. The movement carried her into the room on unsteady feet, and when she felt her legs give way she followed them, dropping to the stone floor in an ungraceful heap of clothes, limbs and hair.

Almost immediately, the attention of the room turned on her.

Normally, she would have remained in the shadows a bit longer, watching and memorizing new Death Eaters, scanning the groups for newly forming alliances or for freshly ended ones, observing the room's hierarchy and listening in on conversations. But tonight, the stage was hers.

"Forgive me, my Lord," She wailed, loud enough to end even the last conversation. Quickly, knowing well enough that their Lord didn't like to wait, the Death Eaters cleared a path between her and the throne. She could feel his red, evil eyes on her broken form, and she welcomed them in.

"Such an interruption is indeed hard to forgive, mudblood. What is it?"

As if you had anything better to do with your evening, she thought in a detached corner of her mind, while her consciousness lifted her face to his eyes and a trembling spread through her body.

"Forgive me for my cowardice, my Lord. I have come to accept my punishment. This life of mine is yours my Lord, if you wish to claim it."

This was the trickiest part of her plan. If his mood was bad enough, he wouldn't wait to ask questions. He would simply punish her now, and she wasn't entirely sure if she would survive another round of curses at the moment.

But it seemed that her luck hadn't run out. Voldemort frowned, an almost comical expression on his alien face, and stretched out a long, white arm to beckon her to him.

"Come here, Hermione," He ordered, and she crawled across the floor towards him, painfully eager but painfully slow. Only part of it was an act. She had been right when she had told Severus that she wouldn't be able to get up again. Now that her body had made contact with the floor, it refused to keep going, but she simply transferred that conflict to her outer appearance.

She could see Lucius, who was standing at the side of his Lord as usual, move his eyes away from her in disgust. She looked awful, then. Very good.

"Forgive me, my Lord, I failed you! Take my life and thus my guilt away," She allowed herself to babble along the well cleared path of her Death Eater persona and added a little trembling to her lips. Voldemort wasn't the type for puppy dog eyes, but honest desperation and fear always worked quite well for him.

You just have to know what a man wants.

Babbling and sobbing, she wondered when he would have enough and ask her outright. He hated it to admit ignorance, but this would only work to her satisfaction if he took the initiative from step one.

Not much longer, She thought, and as if confirming her, she could hear his cold voice above her head.

"You are overtaxing my patience, mudblood," He hissed. "Look into my eyes and tell me what you are talking about."

Her head shot up as if from a slap and murmurs started among the Death Eaters. The extra mud and bruises had been a good idea, it seemed.

"But…" She stammered, astonishment widening her eyes. "About the men you sent to kill me, Bolstring and Karsev and the others. Forgive me for disappointing you once more, my Lord!"

The force of his entry into her mind knocked her head back and she was lying on the floor again, her feet sprawled in front of her, her nose bleeding from the pressure inside her head. He was ruthless, not bothering with the slightest gentleness as he took possession of her mind and her memories.

Then, she felt his consciousness freeze inside her, just like a man who had encountered the unexpected. Once more he examined the memory she had constructed less than half an hour ago, carefully and very thoroughly. She could feel his rage inside her well up, heating her skin and blood until she wanted to scream.

He crawled back into his own body. And when she looked up to him, her lips and limbs trembling again, she recoiled in fear. Never had she seen such fury on his face.

"I didn't send these men. They were acting against my wishes and my orders," He whispered. He didn't need a spell to carry his voice through the room.

She gave a little whimper of relief and abruptly slackened her facial expression. To those watching her, it must have looked as if she had de-aged in seconds, turning into the harmless, helpless, very small school girl that had worked so well with Fudge and countless others.

"Then you aren't disappointed in me, my Lord?" She whispered. "You didn't want to take my life as punishment?"

"No. I didn't." The air chilled with his wrath and she whimpered again, though of course she knew it wasn't directed at her. "Come here, pet."

Awkwardly, she crawled forward, up the steps of the throne. He stretched out a hand and rested it on her head.

"I am proud of you, Hermione. You defended yourself with the viciousness of a true Death Eater, and although you expected to die tonight, you returned to do my bidding. That is true courage, and true loyalty."

He treats me like a child, She realized at his fatherly, unusually warm tone. He tries to console me, to make me feel safe. Let's see if we can coax him a step further.

She sobbed, loudly, as if his words had robbed her of the last self control, and pressed her head against his hand, her body against his leg, like a small dog that had been hurt by others.

And the unimaginable happened.

Voldemort, Dark Lord and mudblood hater, killer of thousands, lifted the hem of his cloak and draped it around her, a sign of protection to the world.

She made herself small, as small as a child, until only her head with his claws still resting on it protruded from the dark robes. She opened her eyes to an ocean of shocked faces.

"Bolstring, Deanston, Mulhannon. Step forward," Voldemort commanded, his tone cold again, but Hermione could feel his hand caressing her hair. With all her power, she imagined Severus sitting besides her, and the thought gave her strength enough to press herself even tighter against his leg. Slowly, she let the trembling of her limbs subside, as if his presence had calmed her.

"Lucius," He said. "Get me Karsev, Askaron and Melling. Get them now, and be careful not to let them escape."

Lucius bowed without a word, although the expression on his face practically screamed curiosity, and stepped away from the throne.

"My pensieve, Darren," The Dark Lord ordered, and another man in black robes vanished from the circle gazing up at them. The crowd parted for Bolstring, then for Deanston and Mulhannon, and Hermione increased the trembling of her limbs again, as if the sight of her torturers frightened her senseless.

Voldemort observed the three men with silent, cold eyes, no doubt raving through their brains in search for motives, signs of betrayal or of weakness. He would probably find loads, Hermione thought angrily. Men stupid enough to brag and play before the kill were also stupid enough to criticise their Lord among each other.

Darren returned in less than five minutes, though it seemed like an eternity for the group assembled in the throne room, the pensieve floating behind him. Only when he had carefully positioned it on a pedestal in front of Voldemort's throne did the Dark Lord straighten and speak.

"This afternoon has seen the disturbance of my will and plans in a most crucial way, a fact that is only worsened by the identities of those who defied me."

Silence. Hermione could see Mulhannon shiver slightly, obviously knowing what would come and yet unable to think of a safe way out. Not surprising, since there was no way out at this point. None of the men would survive this night, and from her position near Voldemort's knee, Hermione could see that knowledge on the men's faces.

It filled her with a bone-deep satisfaction.

"Mulhannon. Bolstring. Deanston," Voldemort paused, and suddenly the throne room's door opened, displaying Lucius Malfoy with the other three men on their way in. Voldemort must have sensed Lucius coming, Hermione thought, otherwise the timing couldn't have been that perfect. But it certainly produced the desired effect.

"Karsev. Askaron. Melling," He paused again to let his cold gaze travel over their faces, and now Mulhannon wasn't the only one shivering. "I would ask you to explain yourselves, had I not already seen your souls and the weakness that corrupts them. But although I have seen and judged, I deem it wise to let my true followers see your treachery."

With that, he lifted his wand to his temple and withdrew a long, silvery string of memories that he commanded into the pensieve. He flicked his wand again, and the ghostly figures of ten Death Eaters arose, the six condemned men among them, waiting silently on a small clearing.

Suddenly, with a plop, Hermione appeared among them, wearing the robes customary for a Death Eater meeting. The expression on her face when she saw herself surrounded by the men was utterly dumbfounded.

So that's how I look when I'm surprised, She thought as she watched herself kill two of them with a feral snarl before the one behind her aimed a vicious curse at her unprotected back and Karsev kicked her wand out of her hand. One good reason more never to be surprised, then.

Hermione winced as she witnessed a nasty punch shattering her cheekbone. From outside the attack looked even worse than it had felt, especially now that adrenaline and fear didn't dim her pain perception any longer. She hadn't realized that their systematic destroying of her body had taken that long, either. Minutes had been seconds to her, it seemed, until she had finally found a way to escape.

She couldn't help but feel proud as she watched herself stretch out her left, uninjured arm and let loose two killing curses in quick succession, finishing off the two men that had pinned her to the ground. She robbed backwards, her eyes on the other attackers, who seemed shocked into inaction for a moment. Before they could gather their wits and come for her once more, she had reached the edge of the anti-apparition wards, carelessly close to the place where they had captured her, and apparated away.

She expected the ghostly images to end then, but obviously Voldemort had decided to show his Death Eaters how she had managed to survive after an attack of such magnitude. Perhaps it was a silent way of praising her.

Not that she needed further praising after his display tonight.

But still she could see awe on the faces of the Death Eaters as they watched her apparate to the edge of Hogwarts' wards – not her real apparition point, of course, she wouldn't give that up to potential enemies – and down potion after potion from her hidden supply.

Awe, battling with fear as they saw her ruthlessly righting her broken arm and heal herself while blood poured from her wounds and sullied the ground. Hermione swallowed. She had assembled that scene from old memories, memories taken from the dark time before Severus had decided to help her, and the fierce determination on her younger self's face frightened even herself. Only now could she see how Severus had mellowed her mind, how he had turned her from becoming bitter and hard back to living as a human being. Suddenly, she was filled with a love so profound that she hid her face in Voldemort's cloak, worrying that the emotion could be detected on her face despite her thick Occlumency shields.

She missed the memory of her fainting and lying in a crumpled, bloody heap at the foot of a tree, before awaking again after some time – Voldemort had obviously sped that part up, or they would be watching for hours -, cleaning and finish healing herself and apparating back to his fortress, on her face the willingness to accept whatever punishment he would deal out for her.

"All this," Voldemort said coldly when the memory had finally ended. "All this after I explicitly commanded that Hermione wasn't to be hurt. You disobeyed me. You sowed discord among this group. You attacked a fellow Death Eater, one that stood far above you in my favour."

This time, she could see reactions not only on the faces of the six condemned men. Although anyone able to recognize reality might have seen the way Voldemort had favoured her, their prejudices had kept them from realising that a mudblood had become Queen in their very midst. But they saw it now, and they didn't like it one bit.

"As it is", The Dark Lord continued. "I have decided not to determine your punishment myself. You have sowed discord, and harmony must be restored. Thus I give your lives to Hermione, to judge you as she wishes."

Hermione wondered if he could not see the shock that spread through the room at his words, or if he saw it and could ignore what it meant for his command. He was going beyond whatever she had hoped for this evening, handing out power to her of a magnitude that surpassed even Lucius'. He gave her power over men under his own command. He offered her the lives of purebloods.

For a second, she was severely tempted to accept the offer.

But then political instincts slammed back in and she shook her head in a meek gesture, glanced up to him with a face that glowed with love and fanatism.

"You overwhelm me, my Lord," She whispered. "But I would forget my place if I accepted that gift. They may have hurt me, my Lord, but they also defied your will. In comparison, the offence against me is small."

She could see that he liked her answer, although he normally expected his minions to joyfully accept the gifts he so rarely gave. But with this, it was important to show him that thoughts of her own grandeur and power wouldn't turn her head. That he was still, first and foremost, her Lord and she his servant.

"Their death it is, then," He announced lazily, and the group of Death Eaters winced as one, as if they hadn't really believed till the end that he would kill six of them for their offence against a mudblood.

"Crucio."

Hermione watched them twitch and writhe on the ground under a variety of pain spells without the slightest spark of compassion. This was what stupidity earned you in the world of darkness and shadow. She had walked through fire and pain to reach the position at Voldemort's knees, and she had emerged triumphant. How could she pity the purebloods that had established this game of fear and cruelty in the first place, just because she played the game better than they could ever hope?

It was over surprisingly quick. Obviously, Voldemort's anger had outweighed his wish to inflict pain this time, and as Hermione looked down to the mangled bodies at her feet, she had to admit she was glad. She was relieved they were gone, and satisfied that she had taken revenge, but nobody deserved being tortured for hours.

She was still resting against Voldemort's knees, and the Dark Lord hadn't removed his hand from her head as he punished her attackers. Now, he looked down at her with a generous expression.

"Now that justice has been done," He said. "You had better return to the school. You need to rest, and we don't want Potter to wonder what happened to you, do we?"

"No, my Lord," She whispered, ever the compliant mudblood. "Thank you for your generosity."

"It is nothing," He answered in a tone that approached kindness. "Leave now."

She loosened her grip on his knee and crawled away from him, slowly standing when she had nearly left the throne room. It was crucial to show no arrogance at this point, no pride, or the purebloods would crush down on her like a horde of furies.

Her mind was surrounded by a tired haze as she walked towards the apparition point, but it was satisfaction that made her limbs heavy. She had nearly reached the entrance to the strongly warded and guarded room when she could feel a presence behind her. And from the sound of the steps and the hint of perfume that reached her nose, it wasn't just any presence.

"Lucius," She greeted him quietly, slowing her steps so that he could catch up with her, but what she really wanted to say was Not now!

"Hermione," He answered gravely, taking her elbow and carefully leading her on. "Are you well enough to apparate on your own?"

Behind her occlumency shields, she was startled. She hadn't expected that question, rather a command to follow him to his rooms or somewhere worse.

"Yes, thank you," She answered quietly. "I should manage."

"All I wanted to tell you, Hermione," He continued after a moment's pause. "Is that whenever something like this happens again, and you need help, you may come to me, whatever the case."

This time, she allowed her impulse to move her head up to him in surprise, meeting his eyes and observing closely what she saw in his face.

She saw obsession, and worry, and a feeling that made her shudder and writhe on the inside. For all her experience with Lucius' strange moods, she would never have expected him to feel tenderness for her.

But then she thought about Severus, and how he had carried her in his arms that night, and when she looked at him again, her eyes showed nothing but love and gratitude.

"Thank you," She whispered. "What would I do without you." So I do control you after all, Lucius. Let us see how we can use that.

She embraced him for a moment, not sure how to handle a tender Lucius, then stepped away with a small nod and into the apparition room. His eyes were locked with hers until she vanished with a plop.

Her apparition and the trip up to the castle happened in a rush of triumph, carrying her straight and fast despite her exhaustion. It only faded when she stepped through the tapestry. But that was where Severus would be waiting for her, and he would protect her now. She could let go of her strength, finally.

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His arms caught her when she had barely stumbled through the tapestry. He cradled her in his arms carefully, refusing to give in to the relief crushing over him like a flood, bringing exhaustion and tiredness in its wake. First he had to get her to safety, and to make sure that nothing bad had happened while she was away again.

His eyes scanned her face and body, intently searching for signs of injuries, and his ears took up what she whispered to them before she closed her eyes and seemed to go to sleep, recording it to be recalled later, but all his consciousness was centred on her warm, living, breathing form that he had gathered in the circle of his arms.

Without one look, without one word backwards Severus stepped through the tapestry that connected his room to the Headquarters.

He didn't stop in the library, not bothering to shrug off his outer robes or alert Jane. If Jane had noticed what had happened, she would have been all over the Headquarters already, demanding actions and answers. She probably wouldn't have let Hermione leave again.

When he had reached his bed chamber, he cast a warming charm and readied the blankets with a flick of his wrist. Then, he stopped moving.

He lowered his head to her hair and slowly breathed in her unique scent, not in the least reduced by pain and blood and the many cleaning spells.

She was back. Back in the realm of his responsibility. He could keep her safe now. And he would.

"Severus," Hermione's tired voice could be heard after a moment. "You can let me down now. No need to carry me for the rest of the night."

He nodded, forgetting that she wouldn't be able to see the gesture in the darkness of his chambers, but somehow his body must have communicated the gesture to her and she reached up, softly touching his cheek, caressing it with less than steady fingers.

"I'm back," She whispered, as if she knew exactly what he was feeling right now. She probably did.

"I am safe for tonight, Severus. You honoured your promise, and now I will honour mine by allowing you to heal me, and by resting." She chuckled, and even though the sound was hoarse and tired, he could detect her wonderful, warm voice under the layers of weariness. "But to let me do that you will have to lay me on the bed, you know?"

"Yes," He answered, the pain in his voice mirrored hers. But still he didn't move until she tugged gently at his arm, telling him silently to let her go. Only then did he let her down on the bed.

"Do you want to take a shower?" He asked.

"I couldn't stay on my feet long enough," She answered quietly, taking hold of his hand. "But I do wish to be clean… Severus… would you wash me again, like you did on Christmas?"

One corner of his mind knew what she was doing as he nodded and summoned the sponge and a basin filled with hot water. She had overcome her shock quickly enough. As mad as it had sounded, he had told the Order nothing but the truth when he had dismissed the attack as "only physical". Pain and fear couldn't crush her any longer. She would have nightmares, but in her mind the evening had turned into a triumph, a wild hunt after her attackers that had left her victorious. Painful as it had been, the reward had been greater.

She knew that the main prize had been paid by him, who wanted to keep her safe and nevertheless had let her go into danger, who loved her and had let her wander among those who hated her while he waited silently in the dark places of his mind.

He could feel his hands trembling slightly as he let the wet sponge slowly glide along her skin. She had closed her eyes in silent enjoyment, showing him her trust and love without overwhelming him.

He had kept his emotions caged for during the whole evening, had kept functioning through everything. Now he could feel the shock settling in, and it was only her light, only her warmth that kept the cold from his limbs.

"I love you, Severus," She whispered. "And I want to fall asleep in your arms, and awake in your arms. For tonight, I want nothing but peace. Nothing but us."

And so he changed them both into night clothes with a murmured spell and slipped into the bed beside her, embracing her and feeling her arms sneak around his waist, embracing him in turn. He rested his chin on her forehead, listened to the little sounds she always made when falling asleep and finally allowed himself to relax in the knowledge that she was here, was safe, was – at least for tonight – his.

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They visited her around midday the next morning. Draco had waited with the others in Headquarters till late after midnight, trying to work on the prophecy with Harry and failing spectacularly while his ears strained for the humming sound the tapestries produced, and his eyes hunted for the golden shine of their magic.

But when it had come, Severus had stood by the magical entrance before Draco had even noticed.

When she had stepped through the tapestry, stumbling, her movements slurred as if every single one of them was an effort too much for her, Severus had caught her and, with one look at her face that seemed decades older and barely human anymore, had swooped her up from her feet and carried her in her arms.

"Bed, now," Was the only thing he said as the others assembled around them in an insecure half circle.

Draco had seen her nod, her eyes already closed and her head slightly lolling to the side as if she was half asleep.

"They are dead. The Dark Lord killed all six in front of me," She had whispered, barely audible.

But before they could ask more, or even wish her a good night, Snape had taken her through the gateway to his chambers, without a look back.

Draco hadn't been sure what to expect when Severus' note finally informed them that she was awake and able to see them – perhaps a tired Hermione nevertheless labouring away on some homework, or an already recovered master spy plotting or working on her fighting technique, but it definitely wasn't this – a very sleepy, very relaxed Hermione that was lying in bed like a six year old waiting for her good night story.

It was a picture difficult to console with the knife-like personality she had displayed the night before, or with the usual Hermione, who always seemed busy and on edge.

"You are so different today," Draco blurted when all she did in greeting was lift her head and smile at them. She didn't even attempt to rise to more than the half sitting position her pillows were formed.

"That's because we have a deal," Hermione answered with a tired little smile. "He doesn't interfere as long as a job isn't done, no matter what he thinks about it, and once I'm back, I let myself be treated like a meek little lamb." She snorted, half irritated, half amused. "He has been fussing over me all morning. I can't even remember how many things I have been spoon-fed. I wouldn't dare move a finger even if I could."

"I'm glad to hear that, for I wouldn't like to tie you to the bed in the least," A crisp little voice announced from behind.

Draco couldn't help himself – he jumped. That house elf of Severus was downright creepy, always appearing when one didn't expect her, always full of good advice and criticism. A house elf had to be silent and obedient and quite stupid. This… Jane just wasn't natural!

"Jane," Harry greeted her quite courteously. He had it easy – she had not only taken a liking to him from the very beginning, he had also been in her favours because of Dobby, who was, by the way, the very same reason why she seemed to despise Draco.

"Mr Potter. It is nice to meet you again. I trust our little heroine here gave you quite the fright yesterday?"

Harry nodded, clearly amused at this description of Hermione, who did nothing but grin amusedly and demand another cup of tea.

"And the Malfoy heir," She greeted Draco with less than enthusiasm.

Draco straightened himself imperiously and gave her the look. He had copied it from his father and perfected it by imitating Severus. It made even Mrs Weasley back away. Unfortunately, Jane seemed to be immune.

"No, don't even try that," She said, moving her hand as if he wasn't worth looking at. "I have suffered enough when I watched Severus grow up. Scowling teenagers are an abomination unto nature, I swear."

"Oh Jane, stop it," Hermione groaned from the bed. "It's not his fault that he was educated as a prejudiced Slytherin pureblood."

"Thank you very much," Draco commented dryly. "You do know how to make me feel better, Hermione!"

"You're welcome," She answered pleasantly. "Now tell me, is Mrs Weasley fussing again?"

"On the contrary," Draco chuckled. "She is all concern and apologies now. Obviously she finally realized that there's more to you than meets the eye, and that Snape really knows how to handle the madness that is you."

He ducked expertly as Hermione threw a pillow at him, but it would have gone wide anyway. That fact told him more than anything else how weak she was – normally, Hermione was an expert on throwing things at him. From the worried look he gave her, Harry must have noticed it, too.

"Are you really alright?" He asked hesitatingly. "I don't want to push, but I still don't think it wise that you went back yesterday."

Hermione sighed and sipped at her tea. "Who knows the Dark Lord better, you or I?" She asked dryly.

Harry looked as if he wanted to argue the point, then obviously decided that being tied to a gravestone by someone didn't give you the kind of insight Hermione meant.

"But you weren't safe!"

"Being safe and being a spy exclude each other, Harry," Hermione said, earning a reproachful glare from Jane. She grunted when the house elf abruptly removed a pillow from her back and started to punch it violently.

Inwardly, Draco nodded. The house elf was dangerous, he had always known it. But at least she liked Hermione's attitude as little as he did.

He turned his head around to Harry, signalling with his eyes that he had worried enough for today. He had known Hermione quite some time now and was sure that she wouldn't change her mind on this anyway.

"So, are you up to the meeting tonight?" Harry asked in a less than subtle attempt to turn the topic away from Voldemort's habits.

"Nope," She answered happily. "Severus has announced that he won't let me out of bed till tomorrow. He won't be present, either."

"But don't you have to plan that ball beforehand?" Draco asked. He had been slightly miffed about the fact that he couldn't accompany them. Of course, it would be more than strange for Dumbledore to bring the son of a known Death Eater to such an event, especially as the Boy Who Lived would be reluctantly following the invitation.

He had had his share of fun through critically examining Harry's dress robes and picking them apart with lots of sneering and snobbish commenting, and even more fun when he had taught Harry to dance, mind you, really dance this time, not that disastrous hobbling and stumbling he had displayed during the Yule ball in fourth year.

But he had nevertheless hoped to learn about their plans in advance. He just loved to see Hermione plan, and if he wasn't completely wrong, this would be a night to remember indeed.

"Most of the planning is done," She answered peacefully, her eyes twinkling as if she knew exactly what he was thinking. She probably did. "I only need some details on Dougall's preferences and on the colour patterns of the ball."

"But won't that take time to prepare, too?" Draco whined, knowing that he sounded infantile but not caring. Although she seemed relaxed, he could still see the lines of exhaustion around her eyes and mouth. She needed every happy moment they could give her.

"The uniforms and clothes can be transfigured tomorrow. I am a witch, you know," She smugly answered, reminding him of the way he used to think about muggleborns.

He wrinkled his nose in fake disgust. "Barely," He finally judged and got a bump against his shoulder from Harry in answer.

"That will be a full afternoon, what with us presenting the prophecy's wording as well," Harry commented, and Hermione looked up with sudden curiosity.

"You finished?" She asked. "How did you word the last sentence, then?"

Draco grinned. "That you would like to know," He drawled and shared another amused look with Harry. "But I'm afraid that would fall under the category of work, and as you just told us, you have to relax today. So if you don't mind, we will go down to Severus now, and discuss important business while you stay in bed and drink tea…"

Her outraged face was the last thing he saw before he closed the door behind him with a satisfied grin.

Hermione was safe, Harry was learning to banter eloquently, and tomorrow they would present their first independent project to the Order.

Life was good.

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