A/N: I will be updating this, though it will be sporadic. The Five Winters is still my priority. However, once that is complete, updates to this story will become more regular.

Thanks to April93 for her awesome beta-ing skills. =) Seriously, she is absolutely amazing. Please give her a round of well-deserved applause.

Please review!

The reaction of the girls on Friday morning was rather mixed. Having gotten more sleep than they'd had for months, they were in an alert, relaxed, yet somewhat nervous mood. On one hand, some of them found the idea of such a party exciting, and enjoyed the chance to show off their bodies. They were the confident ones, the sexually comfortable girls. The more self-conscious and edgy ones flinched at the order, but nevertheless submitted once they were reassured by Mother that the rules of respect still applied. They were under no obligation to bring a man to their bed.

A dark-skinned girl with black moss-like hair that had been charmed to lie flat and was particularly good at Transfiguration assisted Hermione in helping the other girls transfigure old pieces of clothing into something wearable for that night. Given who their audience was to be tonight, Hermione charmed herself a dark-green robe and harem pants that hugged her waist and ankles. She wore a suitably lacy and revealing bra, and by leaving her robe unclasped made it visible, but unless she shrugged the sleeves down her shoulders—which she could do, if she needed to use the skills with intent to seduce—it did not draw as much attention as it might have otherwise. The other girls wore similar outfits, though they preferred more colourful, gaudy shades.

Harry and Ron—particularly Ron's—jaws would have dropped if they could see her now. As it was, Hermione couldn't care less. She was used to showing off her body by now, of giving men a look at what they so dearly wanted but could not touch. Not that too many of them cared when there were at least three or four other girls who were willing, but Hermione suspected it was the thrill of the hunt that had them chasing after her.

Mother, who either decided to play it safe and put up Slytherin colors or had direct orders from Malfoy to do so, had charmed the chairs, tables, and cushions green and silver. She might have put up tinsel decoration on the wall, but Malfoy had informed her such a gesture would be wasted; Severus would spend more time blasting them off out of boredom than appreciating them.

If he was to be bored, Hermione had no idea why he was being brought here in the first place.

But Hermione finally found out what the party was for when Mother relayed to her that there would be no birthday cake.

~o~O~o~

At one, Walden Macnair arrived. Hermione gave him a welcoming smile and hoped he was well—though she was more inclined to curse him—and directed him toward the main room. He was shortly followed by the Lestrange brothers and the three men sat around on the cushions in casual discussion as their fellow officers arrived.

Antonin Dolohov entered, smirking when he saw how the room was decorated. Mulciber, Yaxley, and Nott, closely followed by Selwyn and Travers. Hermione was immensely grateful Fenrir Greyback was not among them, as well as the Carrows. Lord Snape had disposed of them personally, possibly the one good thing he'd done since taking charge. In fact, he'd taken to killing or poisoning—unsurprisingly, he had preferences—Death Eaters who either refused to serve him, had made his life particularly miserable and difficult at various times, or had otherwise done something exceedingly stupid enough to make him angry. He was hardly as arbitrary as Voldemort when it came to killing, but the first few weeks after taking charge had found many a Dark Lord supporter discovered in the morning with nothing but their bones burned to ashes.

Draco arrived shortly after Snape's nine officers had made themselves comfortable and joined them in discussion. There was wine. Mitsuru and Mamoru had taken a seat by the sliding door that led to the kitchen, appearing uninterested and aloof. They were merely there to keep an eye on things, and though Hermione didn't think much of Mitsuru's intelligence, one didn't need to be particularly smart in order to keep things from dissolving into total chaos.

It wasn't until three that Lucius Malfoy finally arrived with the man of the hour.

Who, predictably, did not look happy. He snapped something at Malfoy, which the blond man responded to in an almost deliberately, annoyingly blithe tone. The moment he stepped in, kicking off his shoes by the door—as was custom—and saw the two girls standing by the door, his eyes seemed to harden. Both girls had been former students of his. Hermione had no idea what he was thinking.

She gestured to the girls waiting in the kitchen with her before picking up her fan and sliding it into her belt and following them into the main room. They were silent, but the air was still abuzz with pleasant conversation, and like practiced ghosts, they floated into the room. Hermione and Mitsuki waited until everyone had taken a seat, finding someone to sit next to, before she approached Malfoy and gave a courteous little bow.

And then she turned to Snape, averting her eyes until she was staring at his feet—he had neglected to take his socks off—and bowed in turn. Under normal circumstances, she would have reversed the order, but she felt Snape wouldn't care less and knew that Malfoy would appreciate her initial acknowledgement of him.

"Happy Birthday, Lord Snape."

Snape didn't reply, but merely sneered down at her as though she were dirt beneath his feet. It was worse than the look he had given her while she was his student. Right now, she meant nothing to him. And why should she?

Hermione stood up straight and looked him in the eye even as she reinforced her Occlumency barriers. She needed to put him at ease, and if her judgement was right, he would be scanning the surface of her mind any minute now.

As she felt him at the edge of her consciousness, probing gently so as not to alert her to his presence, she allowed her attention to wander toward his appearance. He no longer wore teaching robes, but neither did he dress extravagantly. His robes were still black, still very simple, although he was still buttoned up to the neck. He was wearing casual robes, the kind that wizards wore on their day-offs from work when they didn't want to wear their work robes, yet wanted to look relaxed. And yet, there was nothing relaxed about Severus Snape. Hermione could feel the tension radiating through his body from where she stood, and it crossed her mind that he might actually live in fear of being killed every moment still.

The discomfort this outlook no doubt brought him gave Hermione a twinge of sadistic pleasure, but in the next instant, she realized that this made her job infinitely harder. How was she supposed to kill a powerful man like Snape who spent every moment of his life fearing assassination?

She felt him withdraw, and his sneer disappeared, now masked by cold indifference and aloofness.

Malfoy interrupted the silence.

"Tea, if you please," he said, gesturing at Hermione. She bowed quickly and turned to walk back to the kitchen to retrieve some.

When she returned, it was to find all the men sitting on the floor—which was heavily cushioned by various pillows—and Snape was sitting awkwardly on a seemingly just-conjured couch, looking rather uncomfortable at the entire situation. Every single one of his officers seemed perfectly at home, but he seemed awkward and out of place.

Hermione studied him carefully as she set the tea tray down between Lord Snape and Malfoy. Malfoy took his cup and took a sip without bothering to check it. Snape, however, sniffed his cup—no doubt to check for poisons—and Hermione felt the whoosh of a wandless, nonverbal spell breeze past her and knew he had checked it magically as well.

She had considered poisoning it, but she needed to know his habits first. His appearance had changed very little, though it seemed he had finally discovered the joys of proper soap and shampoo. His nose was still as beaky as it had ever been, his eyes as cold and unfeeling, and he was still stiffly dressed. The moment he entered, Hermione had no doubt that he would check all of his food for poison, and now her suspicions were verified. This led to other questions. Would he still check it for poison if Malfoy drank from the cup first? Would he even touch it if someone else had drunk out of it? Did he check it at every bite and every sip? Could she slip a lethal agent in when he wasn't looking?

He ignored her and took another sip, pursing his lips as though he found it too sour, and then placed it back on the tray and turned away, bored.

He hadn't even spared her a glance.

This was both a good thing and a liability. If he ignored her, she had a better chance of slipping him something unnoticed. But if he ignored her, she had no chance of gaining his trust or distracting him.

She couldn't have it both ways. She had to pick one.

But she needed more information first.

Quietly, she walked back to the kitchen to check on how Cook was faring.

~o~O~o~

In the one hour Hermione had been anonymously reunited with her ex-professor, all of her suspicions had been confirmed.

He was paranoid. He ate and drank nothing without testing it first. He was dismissive and snappish, and though she doubted nothing could stop him from being snarky as well, he had also become more aloof and distant than she remembered him being. She could feel the tension, the coiled tightness of his body that came not from strenuous exercise but from fear of assassination. His reflexes were undoubtedly so fine-tuned that if Hermione raised her wand to strike him, he would likely be out of his seat in an instant and she would be dead where she stood. Of this, she had no doubt.

And yet, he was not unreasonable. He ordered only what he wanted and was frugal, finishing up whatever he had eaten rather than let it be taken away and thrown out. He ordered wine, but drank little. He did not ask any extraordinary feats of them and preferred to let Malfoy do most of the talking for him. Indeed, he seemed entirely bored, and Hermione suspected he would much rather be at home alone to celebrate his birthday. At least in the security of his house he could relax; here he was made too vulnerable.

Dinner was served and, as Hermione had predicted, when the men moved to the tables that had been joined together, Malfoy sat to Severus's left while Draco sat on his right. The tables were low and required them to kneel or sit cross-legged, one of the reasons customers were asked to remove their shoes.

Hermione was forced to take a seat next to Antonin Dolohov, who was sitting on to the right of Draco Malfoy. It astonished her that none of them recognized her, but again, who was expecting to see Hermione Granger here?

She ignored Dolohov's leering gaze, instead sitting quietly unless spoken to. They all but ignored her, preferring to carry on conversation with the livelier girls. She sat quietly, nearly invisible, watching Snape who, it seemed, wanted to look anywhere but at the girls. His eyes would travel to his food, the table, his officers, the ceiling, and more than once, the door. But not at the girls.

Throughout the meal, Hermione felt completely invisible. She was sitting almost across from Snape, and she was close enough that she could see his nostrils flare in irritation at something said by Selwyn, she began to notice things. Small things.

In the far corner of his left eye, almost hidden by the shadow of his hair, was a cloudy, milky-white agglutination. It was barely visible, given it appeared only on the white of his eyes, but when his pupils dilated, it would overlap and Hermione could see it. The next thing she noticed was that Malfoy had entered the teahouse with Snape standing on his left and now sat on his left, and Snape was angled so that his back was almost toward his friend. An exposed, vulnerable position for someone who was so very afraid of being killed.

Hermione puzzled over this for quite some time in between bites of soba and rice, watching how he interacted with his officers. He was short and terse with them as a rule, but with Malfoy, he was different. He certainly snapped at his friend, but Hermione was starting to get the impression that Malfoy wasn't just his highest-ranking officer; he was his bodyguard. It was an odd concept, but the way Hermione was seeing it, Lucius was making an effort to always stay on Snape's left, which Hermione was starting to suspect was his blind side.

When the food was cleared and they all returned to the cushions, Hermione made her move. She gracefully walked to where Snape was sitting, with Lucius still on his left.

"Was my class that boring, then, that you cannot remember how to brew a simple Pepperup Potion?" Snape sneered at Selwyn, who had been explaining how he'd been taken out of work for a week from the flu just last month. He had clearly been regaling them with the tale in the hopes of indirectly garnering leeway or sympathy from his Lord.

Clearly, he had not achieved the desired effect.

Hermione's heart started to beat faster as she slowly brought her hand to Snape's shoulder. Malfoy didn't notice, as he was leaning forward to reach for a cup of tea from the tray—

Her hand brushed his hair, as though she were about to tuck it behind his ear.

His reaction was immediate. He jumped, one hand whipping around to grab her wrist, another reaching for his wand. In that same moment, the cup smashed to the ground as Malfoy similarly reached for his, and Hermione found herself on the receiving end of two wands.

Malfoy immediately let his wand drop to his side, and began laughing.

"Sakura, Sakura," he chided, stowing his wand away. "You should know better than to sneak up on us."

Snape had not moved an inch. His face was twisted with rage, and he looked as though he were contemplating a most painful way to punish her, but Malfoy put a hand on his arm, causing his friend to flinch, though he didn't pull away.

"All the girls do it. They can't help themselves," Malfoy told him calmly, though Hermione could detect that helpless 'what can you do?' glint in his eyes. He beckoned to Hermione. "Here, Sakura—show him."

Hermione couldn't believe her luck, and brought her hand to Snape's ear again, fingering the locks of hair gently. She put on a face of admiration and adoration, tinted with innocent curiosity. She had done this very same thing to Malfoy the first day she'd met him. Truly, it wasn't unusual; the other girls did it, and it was simply how they engaged their favourite or most important customers, by putting them in an intimate situation. They were all used to it by now, and with luck, Snape would follow suit and become used to her presence.

Snape pulled away like a head-shy horse and Hermione let his locks slip through her fingers like a lost opportunity. "Bugger off."

Hermione touched a finger to her lips. "You're really quite shy, aren't you?"

"I don't like being touched," he sneered, though it came out sounding sulky.

Hermione brought her fingers back to his hair, rubbing it between her thumb and forefinger. Out of the corner of her eye, she could see Malfoy watching her appraisingly. He had never seen her approach a man like this; he was well aware that many of the men that chased her were often turned away, and she had a reputation of being a tease. But this… this was different.

His hair had most definitely been washed. It was silky and smooth and completely lacking in grease.

"You'll learn to like it," Hermione said, her voice seductive but firm. If this was how she could get close to him—by being sexually inviting and with Malfoy helping her along—then she would take it, though the thought frankly disgusted her. But she masked her true feelings, and instead added, "I've never met a man who didn't like my touch."

Snape tried to pull away again, opening his mouth to undoubtedly lambaste her for her boldness, but Hermione brought a finger to his lips, effectively shushing him by surprise, and brought her other hand around his neck to drape down his chest.

Every cell in her body rebelled against what she was doing. This was repellent, disgusting, and not only was he her ex-professor, she found him to be an invidious and nasty character, and would never be caught dead doing this under any other circumstance, but the spy in disguise side of her continued on. Her hand moved to cover his heart, and through the fabric, she could feel it beating like the wings of a bird ready to take flight in panic. He wasn't aroused. He was afraid. This was such a very vulnerable and exposed position, and if she were to bring her arm all the way around his neck and give it a sharp jerk, she could snap it, effectively killing him.

She felt him trembling, though out of fear, tension, preparation in pulling away, or all three, she could not tell for certain. His heartbeat, which had struck a frantic rhythm, was beating so fast she was surprised it didn't simply collapse. It was like the wings of a trapped butterfly struggling against a spider's web. She felt Malfoy's eyes on her—the eyes of the entire room, actually, as his officers had begun to take notice of his predicament and some were smirking in amusement— and began caressing his hair with her left hand.

It would be so easy to kill him. She was in the perfect position to and she may never get another chance. But there was no guarantee her jerk would be strong enough to snap his neck, and when she did, there would be at least a dozen Killing Curses in her direction. Hermione knew killing Lord Snape would seal her death warrant, and as determined as she was to succeed on her mission, she wasn't ready to die. That moment of cowardice—her unwillingness to go through with a suicidal mission—was what prevented her from making the killing strike.

Snape's face twisted into a grimace, and he tried to pull away again, and to his surprise—and Malfoy's—Hermione let him, unhooking her arms from his shoulder and leaning on the back of the couch instead.

She knew better than to push her luck. If she pressed herself onto him for too long, he would push back and Hermione's work to get close to him would be undone. She had made progress in leaps and bounds. Better to pull away on her own, to give him space, so that Malfoy would not see the need to keep her separated from him. Instead, she turned to the blond wizard with a mischievous smile;

"Would you like for us to dance, Sir?"

Malfoy's eyes lit up greedily, the way a collector of rare paintings might react to being asked to view a private, exclusive art gallery. But his reply to her offer was modest: "If you wish."

Hermione gestured for Mitsuki to come with her, and the girl scrambled to her feet in surprise, having been caught off-guard by her friends bold actions, and together the two girls pushed the tables away to make room. Hermione shrugged down the shoulders of her tokuemon, exposing more of her bra and guaranteeing the attention of every male in the room, including Lord Snape's. She and Mitsuki pulled out their fans, snapped them open with a practised flick of the wrist, and dropped them to their sides. Malfoy, who had seen this many times before, leaned in to whisper something to Snape.

And then Mitsuki began to sing, her voice high and clear in its childlike reverberance.

"Christine, Christine…"

Hermione watched subtly out of the corner of her eye as Malfoy leaned in once again to whisper something into Snape's ear, though she was now entirely focused on the music they were about to perform. Mitsuki finished, and Hermione waited out the pause between their lines, and then spoke;

"Father once spoke of an angel," she said, her voice rising in clarity as she and her partner began circling each other, as was part of their dance, "I used to dream he'd appear…" Her voice rose once more. "Now as I sing I can sense him, and I know he's here…"

As they completed their first circle, Hermione saw Snape's head turned away, as though refusing to watch. Malfoy was whispering urgently in the ear turned toward him, though Hermione could not hear his words, she sensed he was convincing his friend to at least listen. The darker pair of brows furrowed at this, perhaps in anger, perhaps with some other emotion, but Hermione could see he would not easily change his mind.

"Christine, you must have been dreaming… stories like this can't come true…"

She prepared to add the seductive lilt to her singing that she reserved only on special occasions.

"Christine you're talking in riddles, and it's not like you…"

And they sang;

"Angel of Music, guide and guardian, grant me your glory…"

Snape's face was slowly turning to face them, and Hermione felt the stirrings of victory.

"Angel of Music, hide no longer,

Secret and strange angel…"

Her eyes met his and she felt the warning brush of his consciousness against hers as he prepared to invade the surface of her mind with legilimency. Hermione put up her barriers without missing a note of her song. Clever of him, to have waited until she was distracted by singing… but she had sung this song so many times in so many ways that she could run her mouth and sing it just the same without thought…

"He's with me even now…"

"…your hands are cold…"

She felt a distinct pressure bearing on her now, like a heavy weight; it reminded Hermione of a large predator holding down a pigeon while it prepared to pluck it alive.

"…all around me…"

"Your face, Christine, its white…"

The pressure…

"It frightens me…"

Hermione felt Snape withdraw and locked her eyes on his.

"Don't be frightened."

The song died away, echoing faintly in the room and Malfoy began applauding, unaware of the exchange that had occurred between his lord and favourite teahouse girl, and was followed quickly by his son. The other Death Eaters were blinking in surprise, taken aback by the suddenness of the performance, but they too clapped. Hermione smiled, but her eyes were still locked onto her target's, which stared back, cold and emotionless.

But Hermione knew she had his full and undivided attention.

She brought her fan to cover her mouth, though the upward-tilting corners of her mouth betrayed her smile.

But that was the first step only. She had his attention. She needed his trust, perhaps even his admiration and respect. That was an especially tall order, but given that he was an especially difficult man to kill, she didn't see why the work to dispose of him without getting killed herself should be any less difficult than the alternative of a suicide attempt.

But she had not only made leaps and bounds, she had managed to prevent them from being sent back to square one.

~o~O~o~

Hermione managed to push her disgust aside and, after singing their own, edited version of All I Ask Of You—with Mitsuki playing as Raoul and charming her voice to take on a deeper resonance— and The Point of No Return with the ending cut out at the point just before the Phantom's mask was to be removed and instead moving into a repeat of the ending of their second song, Hermione and Mitsuki both gave their audience low bows—smiling modestly, even though they'd received applause from Mother and Cook who had been watching the entire thing from the kitchen, which was high praise indeed—Hermione moved to seat herself on Snape's right.

She was surprised he was putting up with her as much as he had. But now she only sat next to him, leaning against the arm rest, with about a foot of space between them, and watched him eyeing her warily. She suspected much of her good fortune was due to Malfoy, who seemed to be keeping him in place one way or another. For the most part, he seemed slightly shell-shocked by her, though his face remained indifferent and uninterested. But Hermione could tell that being around her made him nervous; his heart beat in fear at her proximity. If it weren't for the fact that she was one of his best friend's favourite performers, she had no doubt he might have simply killed her out of irritation.

She never thought it could happen, but she found herself silently thanking the gods for Lucius Malfoy.

However, she needed to throw him off guard. His attention was focused on her, though he was still angled away from her—as though hoping she would get the hint to go away—and was discussing the private Potions research he was doing with Malfoy, who probably was interested. Of the money Snape made off of potions he invented, Malfoy—who seemed to not only be his bodyguard in public, but also the person with connections around the world—got a portion of the profits for his assistance in procuring ingredients.

However, his conversation was centered not only around Potions, but also Harry Potter.

"I know the blasted boy has a map of Hogwarts his father and cronies made while at school," he ground out, clearly incensed by this notion. "He knows whenver I go to Hogwarts. I've been working on a potion that will exempt me from the effects of the map."

"Have you tried doxy wings?" Malfoy, it turned out, was reasonably knowledgeable about potions.

"It was an utter and absolute failure," Snape replied sourly. "There was nothing in the potion to bind the ingredients together properly."

Hermione, who had been listening, meted out her interjection carefully, keeping in mind her disguise despite her desire to make a suggestion;

"The simplest things in nature often surpass the best things made by man, magic or Muggle," she said, her voice taking on a musical quality, "spider's web surpasses many bonding materials in beauty, strength, and design." Innocently, she added; "Perhaps your answer lies there?"

She ignored Snape's reply, which was predictably dismissive, but instead focused on the glint of interest in his eyes. She had caught his attention. The die had been cast; either he ignored her and she slipped him something, which was easier to do but more likely to fail; or she garnered his interest, later earned his trust, and then destroyed him.

The latter was more difficult, but if it worked, her success would be almost guaranteed. And since when had Hermione Granger ever turned away from a challenge?

She had thrown in two gambler's dice, doubling the risk. Her suggestion might have merit to his research, but so many things could go wrong. If it didn't work, then he likely wouldn't care to come back. But if it did, he would be interested, possibly choose to come back of his own violation and pay her for her time.

Though Snape's response had been dismissive and biting, Hermione grasped onto the flicker of curiosity making a home for itself in his normally unfathomable gaze. She said nothing else to him that night, but she was nevertheless kept otherwise occupied.

Mitsuru had gotten quite drunk, at Dolohov's insistence, and Hermione stood up to intervene and bring her to the kitchen for a Sobering Potion and solid food before anything disastrous could happen. Mitsuki, who was unfortunately very susceptible to the charms of handsome and well-cultured men like Draco Malfoy, was already upstairs with her guest. Hermione had found a moment before her friend accepted the blonde's request for her solicitation to warn her against it, but her words had been unheeded. And though Hermione was in charge tonight, she didn't have the right to tell them who they could and couldn't sleep with and whose offers they should take. She felt a sinking feeling in her gut as she watched them go upstairs, but there was nothing she could do. She had to remain downstairs to look after the girls who were still serving refreshments and occasionally distract the men from becoming too persistent.

She found them disgusting, but all the same, she was grateful that the elder Malfoy and Snape were not interested in their services sexually. Trying to find a way to distract or turn them away or otherwise persuade them to desist would not be easy, particularly given that they were powerful men used to having their way and being obeyed without question. That and their unanimous sneers of disgust when they observed the other officers speaking or doing something particularly uncouth tended to discourage them from continuing, making Hermione's job just a bit easier.

The night wore on, and Snape was unsurprisingly the first to leave. He stood up, followed momentarily by Malfoy who took a moment to collect his wand-core cane. He turned without so much as another word, as though he planned to leave without even a single good-bye, but Malfoy placed a hand on his shoulders and whispered something into his ear. Snape muttered something back to him, but reluctantly turned around and gave Hermione a terse nod.

Hermione stood up and bowed low before them, thanking them for their patronage.

"Good night, Lucius," she said, addressing the blonde man by his first name. "I hope to see you again soon. You too, Sir," she added, turning to address Lord Snape. Aware that he would probably not appreciate that was clearly a downright lie, she kept it simple, adding pleasantly, "I hope to see you again."

He gave another terse nod and then turned to leave.

Oh, yes. She was looking forward to seeing him again. She was counting on it.