Chapter One: Lang and Granger
The sun had barely risen, golden fingers beginning to slip over what shadows of night still remained. The gentle blue and pink of the sky hinted at what could be the start of an altogether pleasant day, breeze tickling the tall and blossoming trees that stood outside the Ministry of Magic. Along the streets, shopkeepers were just opening their doors, stepping out on to pavement with wide smiles.
But, in this particular room, not a speck of the soft morning sun eked through, concrete walls stern and thick far below the ground. The trees, the shopkeepers, the sky: they could have vanished and Lili would never have known, smothered in the gray tomb.
"Nothing," Lili insisted for the third time, shifting uncomfortably in her chair. She fiddled with the nameplate that sat on the steel desk; --the only bit of decoration in the room. "I told you, he hasn't said anything." Her fingers traced the cold-cut block letters absent-mindedly. A-g-e-n-t-L-a-n-g. She yawned, eyes watering from fatigue.
The man opposite her, tapping a quill against some parchment, seemed to wilt, sighing. His robes hung as boring and bare as the room itself, dark, brown hair cut straight across his forehead. It was the stern, arranged sort of face one might have expected in a room like this. "How can he have said nothing? We lost Alex Silver last night: you didn't hear anything about it?"
She thought about the name for a moment: it was the name of a Ministry worker, but she was unable put a face with it. She paused a moment, wondering how it might have happened, who might have done it, but Marcus Lang's gray eyes snagged her and cut that line of thought short. "No, I haven't heard anything. All he's had for us lately are, well, 'pep-talks' I suppose you could call them. Reminding us what our purpose is, reminding us where our loyalties should lie. He keeps talking of a grand war, great battles, but, not any differently than he's always spoken of them. And I certainly haven't heard anything specific. In fact, I don't think I've heard the name Alex Silver except through people in the Research Labs."
Marcus' lips were flat and stony. He continued to tap the quill in a very steady and lulling beat, a tic Lili had learned to associate with his frustration. "And you're sure he hasn't said anything, even hinted? You haven't forgotten anything…even something that might have seemed insignificant at the time?"
"The day I start to forget things," Lili said, gloomily, "you can light my funeral pyre and throw me on it."
Marcus ignored the biting tone; he, Lili supposed, had learned that this was her indication of frustration.
"And he couldn't have been speaking obliquely? You know, in metaphors or something?"
She let out a heavy sigh, not feeling up to Marcus' first degree so early on this particular morning. She had gotten little sleep the night before and still had a full day of work to look forward to. "Look, Marcus, I've been doing this for two years now. I think I would have caught anything important, don't you?"
He considered this a moment, then nodded curtly. "Yes; I just can't believe you've heard nothing."
Lili nodded: it had been troubling her as well. For almost two years she had stood in the inner circle, and, keeping her ears open, she had heard many helpful tidbits. But for the last two weeks, Voldemort's slit lips had remained tight—he said nothing but did a great deal. "You know, if you were to ask me my suspicions," Lili said, leaning back and rubbing at her tense neck roughly. "I'd say he's planning something; something he doesn't trust all of us with."
A spark lit in Marcus' eyes, and he sat up, stiff. "What do you mean? Planning what?"
"Well I don't know, Marcus," she snapped, shaking her head. "But something's going on; I can feel it whenever I look in his eyes. It's something big, and he's been planning it for some time." She remembered the way his red gaze had trembled across them the previous night, searching, guarded. "Of course, I don't have any proof: and I've no idea what it could be." She sighed. "I suppose we'll find out soon enough."
"Too late if you don't start hearing things," he said, leaning forward and scrawling something before returning the quill to its steady rhythm. "Has he said anything to you personally?"
It wasn't something she enjoyed remembering, but she swallowed and nodded. "Yes. He spoke to me last night about my progress in teaching some of the others bumozhang."
His eyebrow raised, the sort of uniform curve that made his features seem even more crisp and severe. "And?"
She sighed, trying to banish Voldemort's face from her mind's eye, his flaring nostrils and flapping lips still causing her heart to thunder slightly. "I told him they had made some progress, but that they were somewhat less skilled than I would have liked. I told him I wondered if some of them were trying as hard as they might. He just nodded and dismissed me. He seemed very disturbed by the idea."
Marcus gave her a tilted smile; even his grin remained a straight line.
"Of course, they would learn much faster," Lili said through a yawn, "if I was teaching them properly." She couldn't help remembering the down-fallen look in Voldemort's red eyes when she had told him this—it seemed as if he'd almost expected it. A cold feeling rose through her, but she stifled it with one deft motion of her mind. Forget it, Lili. She had learned not to linger on facial expressions or words for too long: after a time, they could be read to mean anything.
Marcus leaned forward, abandoning the quill and rubbing the heels of his hands in his eyes. He looked very tired, and Lili wondered if he got as little sleep as she. The Department of Mysteries never slept, or so she was told.
Then, she mused, it was the perfect place for her. She yawned again.
He sighed at length, and met her eyes with as much affability as he could muster. It was no great secret that she and the other double agents were looked upon with a certain amount of distrust. Distrust and revulsion, she reminded herself with a frown. Snape had told her it would be that way: as always, he had been right.
"Okay," he said, picking up the quill again and scribbling something more. "You can go. But you'll report back here in two days at least—and sooner if you hear any news."
"Of course," she grumbled, standing. Her muscles, stiff, yearned to stretch. Raising her hands high and straightening her back, she obliged them. The idea of work was not wholly unpleasant, but the idea of a bed was sweeter. "I'll report to you the same time in two days, I expect. I don't think Voldemort will unfold any great plans before then."
His eyes were fixed on the parchment before him now, cold and gray. "Never mind what you think; just be sure and keep your eyes and ears open."
She nodded, trying to ignore the sudden chill in his voice.
"Oh, and Miss Lee."
She paused, hand on the cold door handle, tall guards flanking her, waiting to escort her out. "Hmm?"
He stopped scribbling a moment and looked up, frown deeply etched in his bronzed face. "Has it occurred to you that Voldemort has said nothing to you lately because you've lost his trust?"
Lili felt the beginning of a smile, catching the bit of trepidation in his voice. He did not enjoy confronting her on anything, and, usually, with good reason. If there was one thing Snape had taught her, it was how to bat others down like flies. It had started as a useful skill and developed into quite a habit.
She smirked. "Nothing occurs to you, Marcus, that has not already occurred to me, and at least three days earlier."
Yes, quite a habit.
She pulled open the door and allowed the black-clad guards to lead her out, watching her with that distrust and revulsion she had learned to ignore.
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"I need that Venus root." Lili tapped the spoon on the cauldron's lip, watching the potion bubble a frantic blue.
Her partner was bent over, digging through a low cabinet. "Uh, where is it?"
Lili cursed. "Oh, honestly, Miss Granger, how long have you been working here?! The third cupboard, on the left. I told you, I moved it there yesterday because it should go with the other roots…"
Hermione shot her a poisonous look, but moved over to the third cupboard just the same.
For a long while, the young woman had insisted Lili not call her 'Miss Granger': after all, she pointed out—they were the same age and colleagues as well.
After two years, they didn't even discuss it anymore.
Hermione handed her the root.
A short pause was filled only with the sound of the hissing fire and the churning potion. "Miss Granger, this is green," she snapped, shaking it in front of the other woman's eyes, accusing.
"I know! Venus root!" Hermione insisted, throwing up her hands and pushing the plant from her face. "What did you expect? Am I to be blamed for the color of Venus root now?" The blue bubbling of the cauldron mixed with the furious red in her cheeks, causing her skin to look slightly purple.
Lili drew herself tall, though she remained several inches shorter than Hermione. "Venus root, Miss Granger, is green when it is too young. Mature root is always greenish-brown."
If there was one thing that really chaffed Hermione, it was being corrected. She rolled her eyes, snatching the offending root from Lili's hand. "I've been using that Venus root for the last three months, and everything I've made has turned out fine." She threw the root in and glared back at Lili, flat and defiant.
There was a short, dangerous silence, and any on-looker might have feared impending violence.
Finally, however, Lili turned back to the cauldron, flat-lipped. "Yes, well, if by 'fine' you mean as foul-tasting as the vomit-flavored variety of Bertie Bott's," she sighed, stirring the root in with a frown, "then by all means, you're potions must be the finest anyone has ever had the misfortune to ingest."
Hermione turned away, bending down to close the lower cabinet and visibly trying to control her frustration. They had been at each other's throats more than usual today, and mostly, Lili admitted to herself, because she was still somewhat uneasy after her meeting with Marcus that morning. Not that it would have been much different on a good day: she and Hermione didn't get on—or, at least, Lili wouldn't allow them to.
Hermione stood again, looking more composed. "Well, why don't we just add a pinch of morning glory. That should solve the taste problem."
Lili merely nodded, as she always did when Hermione was right. And Hermione was right quite often, though Lili would never tell her so.
It was really a shame, she thought, and not for the first time. Had she and Hermione met under different circumstances, a working relationship might at least have been possible. They had a good deal in common, though Lili wasn't particularly eager to admit it, double agent or not. The girl certainly knew her potions, even if her knowledge was somewhat sketchier than Lili's.
The last two years, however, had been filled with many such heated exchanges. No one had bothered telling her that Snape had also recommended Hermione for a position in Potions Research. In fact, no one had told Hermione herself: the young woman still believed the recommendation had come from Dumbledore. Hermione probably wouldn't have believed the truth anyway.
Though it might have surprised anyone else, Lili understood the Potion Master's thinking. While Lili found it likely he hated Hermione and the company she kept; while he probably found her annoying and arrogant—the archetypal Gryffindor—Snape still respected one thing: her marks. He always understood that Hermione knew her stuff, even if she did flaunt it about as perversely as Pansy Parkinson had flaunted her padded C-cup all seventh year. He knew she would be able to do the job better than many of his more favored—well, less hated—Slytherins. So, the recommendation.
And Hermione would never know and thus never try to show him any gratitude. Just, she decided, as Snape would have liked it.
While having to force enmity every day was slightly frustrating, Hermione had also provided her with excellent cover. Every time she managed to make a breakthrough in her work, she carefully and deliberately attributed it to Hermione. The Dark Lord, she knew, kept a close eye on all his followers. It would certainly look suspicious if one of his most faithful Death Eaters started formulating potions to counter the Shapeless Dread or the Razor's Edge; so, with every step forward, she quietly wrote Hermione's name down in the record.
And soon, she mused, her partner would be promoted. Which was, once again, for the best.
She reminded herself of this again and again.
The potion began to smell strongly of mold, and Lili winced, drawing back.
"Smells ready," Hermione muttered, pinching in a few morning glory pedals for good measure.
Lili frowned, bending down to extinguish the fire, certain not to breathe through her nose. "Get the vials."
Carefully, she dipped one of the vials Hermione produced into the liquid, blue sizzling against her dragonhide gloves. It steamed, smoke billowing and clouding the glass.
She eyed it suspiciously: the texture wasn't what it should be, and the color was rather dull. The immature Venus root had, she suspected, reacted nastily with the monkshood, resulting in a potion which would cause a severe but only temporary burning in the lungs and stomach. But how to be sure…
Her eyes met Hermione's with a twinkle.
"Drink this, Miss Granger," she said simply, pushing it towards the bushy-haired young woman. "I don't know if I feel like tasting one of your 'fine' potions just now."
But Hermione merely scowled back, looking between the vial and Lili coolly. "Oh come on, Lili. I can tell a bad potion just as well as you can."
Lili arched an eyebrow.
"Something must have reacted with the monkshood," she continued, taking the vial from Lili and pouring it down a nearby sink. "It would burn terribly—you know that as well as I."
"Yes, I do," Lili said, revving up for the words to come. "And since that 'something' was your immature Venus root, I thought you should reap the benefits of a job poorly done. It's usually the Aurors who have that privilege."
Hermione's shoulders raised and her muscles visibly tensed, but she said nothing.
"Tip the cauldron and clean it," Lili commanded, turning away and gliding to a nearby desk. She removed her dragonhide gloves, pushing damp curls from her face. Just above her upper lip sweat and steam had collected, and she dabbed at it with her sleeve ends, blinking. Merlin, I'm tired, she thought, feeling how heavy her limbs had become. She glanced at a clock on the far wall. Just another hour. She could make it.
The sound of water was echoing like static through the room, Hermione scrubbing at the cauldron half-heartedly. Lili could tell that she was quite upset, but dismissed it, pulling a piece of parchment closer and recording the ingredients they had used and to what avail. She wrote that the potion had been ruined, but made sure to substitute her own name for Hermione's. That, at least, would look good to the eyes that were watching.
They're always watching, he had told her. He had been right.
"You would really have let me drink that?"
Hermione had finally decided to speak, turning off the tap and facing Lili stiffly.
Internally, Lili groaned. She had seen this stance before and knew it meant a confrontation. Such quarrels happened rarely, but all too often for her liking. She steeled herself, trying to muster some strength for the show.
"Yes, of course," she said flatly, not bothering to look up from the parchment.
"Even though you knew how painful it would be?" Hermione seemed to tremble, fists balling and unballing in frustration.
"Yes. It is a rule I observe that one should never be afraid to drink what one would offer others." Though, she mused, it was a rule rarely observed among her 'friends'. She kept a bezoar in her pocket, just in case.
The young woman's lips were pushed tight and pale, and Lili knew an explosion was coming.
"Why must you be so…so bloody rude?" Hermione blurted, eyes shining below her furled brow. She was shaking more visibly now, shoulders rising and falling with rapid, angry breaths.
For a second Lili almost wished she could apologize. The desire didn't last long.
She looked up from the paper, trying to pierce the young woman with the chill of her gaze. She could tell it had worked as Hermione seemed to be holding her breath.
"Miss Granger," Lili said, fingers still gripping her quill loosely. "I am not in the habit of reserving niceties for Mudblood fumblers, especially ones who marry poor nobodies like Ronald Weasley and befriend arrogant Aurors like Harry Potter."
Lili kept Hermione's eyes, lips weighed heavily in a disapproving frown.
The young woman's mouth opened and closed several times before she finally decided what to say. "Well, at least I keep better company than the scum you call 'friends.' Draco and Luc—"
"All people are scum, Miss Granger," Lili interrupted, going back to writing with a loose hand. "Some are simply more concerned with hiding it than others. And the sooner you learn that, the better off you'll be."
Hermione was silenced, watching her partner with an astonished mixture of rage and sadness.
She's pitying me, Lili thought, vexed. Like the good little Gryffindor she is; she both hates and pities me. She pressed the quill so hard, ink began to blot on the parchment. Lili had no patience for such nonsense.
"You sound like Snape," Hermione mumbled, leaning on one of the nearby shelves and looking down at the flagstones, frown tight on her lips.
Lili's hand froze. It was odd, she mused, how often the Potions Master had popped in her head today. Over the last two years, she had thought of him less and less, though using all he'd taught her every day. She could remember him, many times, poised just as she was, scrawling at his desk while insulting his students coolly. She remembered his eyes, perched above that hooked nose, sharp and piercing, like black ice. She tried to hear the words she had just said coming from his lips. Hmmm, perhaps not subtle enough for him. He had always been able to beat her at that—
She dipped her quill deliberately in its well. "I will take that, Miss Granger, as a compliment."
It had been two years since she had seen him; really seen him—not through a mask or hood.
"The highest compliment," she whispered to herself, finishing the report with a crisp flourish.
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A/N: The first real chapter! Well, Lili has changed: does that come across? I brought Hermione in—I hope I write her reacting as she would. She's going to be an interesting character to work with…
The next chapter will be the true beginning of the action. Once again, if you haven't read We Are the Night, I recommend you read that first…
Please r/r and let me know what you think! And tell all your friends ;o) hehe.
Oh, and extra bonus cookies to anyone who can tell me where the line "When I start to forget things you can light my funeral pyre and put me on it" is from.
Ok, onward and upward…and next chapter, we'll meet Olivia!
