A/N: Don't know what to say, except...sorry for not updating...

CHAPTER TWO: MEETING

She was surprised that they'd actually let her do this. She wasn't a pureblood. Far from it. Why could no one else do this thing?

The fact was, they'd offered. Even little Mrs. Weasley had offered to take Hermione's place. Apart from the fact that Mrs. Weasley was obviously too weak to take this on, Hermione had insisted on this because there was nothing else for her. She would have done it, even if someone else had.

–x–x–

Dumbledore's request that Hermione get closer to Voldemort was nothing if not difficult. It was nearly impossible, to be truthful. So far, Hermione had only succeeded in earning Voldemort's disrespect. She'd tripped in front of him. How disgusting.

She smiled as she slipped on black robes for the night's upcoming meeting, thinking of that. She was beginning to think like one of his followers. That was for sure.

It was probably good for her to be thinking so. Talking with Dumbledore had certainly increased in discomfort, but it was better than talking to Voldemort and giving herself away.

Hermione used to be crazy over books. It had almost been an actual hunger to read anything at all. Before Hogwarts, Hermione was mainly interested in history. The subject that had begun her craving for it was World War II. In so many ways, she now remembered as she pinned up her hair, Voldemort reminded her of Adolf Hitler. The two were carbon copies of each other in everything but appearance. Both conniving and having unmatchable wit. Both had names that could frighten even the strongest of hearts. Both had found the perfect scapegoat to make themselves the perfect army to carry out their own wishes. Both had followers who weren't really followers but people who had nothing else to do with themselves, who could not deny him in any aspect, or who just wanted more...like Hermione. She shivered as she walked outside into the snow (there were too many wards on her home to apparate from inside of it), not because of the cold, but because she knew that she was falling into the same patterns as the rest of them. She was going to become a true follower and never be able to back out, not after sinking so low.

–x–x–

Diamond. Hermione hadn't thought before that Voldemort's choice in chandelier crystals would be made of diamond. She'd thought that he was too practical to pair a chandelier with diamonds, blue candles, amazing tapestries, and illustrious windows. Strangely enough, Hermione felt comfortable in the large room among the rest of the Death Eaters. Harry had always set the image in her mind that Death Eaters were always looking angry and arrogant. She could never have imagined them looking so kind and contented. Ahead of her, Hermione could see Lucius Malfoy clutching the cool delicate fingers of Narcissa.

The meeting was a welcoming one. Four new Death Eaters, fresh out of school and noticeably innocent, were having the ugly Dark Mark burned into their arms. All of them were boys. Rarely was a woman accepted into Voldemort's ranks. Tonight was special, apparently, because half of the Death Eaters had brought their wives. Bellatrix, to Hermione's right, looked like she was brooding. Her glance kept slipping toward a young, beautiful woman who was holding the arm of a newer Death Eater. Bellatrix's scowl deepened with every glance.

Hermione looked back up at Voldemort. Strangely enough, she hadn't been listening to Voldemort's welcoming speech (oh how she craved Dumbledore's welcoming speeches instead), like she usually did. Now that she thought about it, Hermione realized that she probably knew what he'd said. This wasn't a usual meeting, so there would be no useful news tonight. He was obviously done, because everyone suddenly hurried forward to congratulate the newcomers, shaking hands and nodding approvingly. Many of the mass of people were congregating in little groups here and there. Music started playing from somewhere and some people danced. Hermione headed toward the edge of the room, feeling put out.

She wished vaguely that Harry were here...or perhaps...not here, but at a party with many guests and lavish decorations where everyone else felt content and giddy from the wine. If no one else would dance with her, Harry would. After the difficult time he'd had during fourth year dancing with Parvati Patil, Harry had taught himself how to dance. He wasn't amazing, but at least Hermione felt comfortable with him.

After a few minutes of gloomy looking-on Hermione was surprised to find a man, tall and dark with strangely lit grey eyes, asking her to dance. She almost said no, being accustomed to letting things happen around her (she'd always liked being the third party), but hesitantly accepted and held out a hand for him to take.

Nimura Kikyo's slender frame was shorter than Hermione was. Her fingers were so much softer, unlike Hermione's wand calloused hands. Her legs were quite long compared to Hermione's, but moved more like a swan than a stork. Her head seemed heavier with so much more hair up on top. In every sense, Li Kikyo was perfect–at least in Hermione's mind. It felt rather pleasant to be residing in such a perfect body.

The man (Gregor, he'd called himself in a Russian accent) was quite good at dancing. Comparing the two, Hermione easily decided that he was much better than Harry. Although, on the grounds that Harry had been seventeen when Hermione had last danced with him, that wasn't much of an assumption. Besides, Harry had more things to do with his time....like saving the world, for instance.

Why was she thinking about Harry?

Hermione pulled her act together as Gregor deposited her back in her original place at the wall, bowing as he skimmed away. Hermione quickly immersed herself in her position again and pulled on the elegant nobility that she usually took as her face. It suited the oriental eyes that she had now, she'd found. It made her look mysterious. Rather, it made Kikyo look mysterious.

She was asked to dance once more. It took a few moments of dancing with the small giant to realize who he was. Crabbe. What was the first name...? Vincent. Draco had never referred to his bodyguards in first name terms. It was a wonder how Hermione even remembered it now.

She spoke with him. He was still stupid, though not as stupid as she remembered. He didn't quite fit into the caveman image that she'd seen him in school. It wasn't a bad thing, really. After so long Hermione wondered if the only reason why Draco's bodyguards seemed so stupid was because he never gave them a chance to be anything else. After so long the surprise she'd felt at the fact that he could carry on a conversation wore off, and she actually began to enjoy herself.

Half an hour of dancing with Vincent and he let her go. She went back to her previous seat, feeling content. She wondered why she felt so cheerful, then smiled when she remembered that Vincent had been kind enough not to step on her feet.

She had been sitting alone for a few minutes, gathering her bearings silently, and had not yet been asked to dance. She was getting lonely. No one looked at her. At the end of the hall Voldemort spoke with a few men, who were obvious soaking it all up like sponges.

"He doesn't want to be here."

"Wha–?" Hermione asked, turning to whoever had spoken.

She gasped.

He looked only slightly confused, a trace of the boy he'd been only a few years before. Other than that, his face was noble now, proud, impassive. A slight smile played over his older features. The freckles had almost faded. The red hair was long, in a stylish ponytail. His tall (no longer lanky) torso was in bottle-green robes. The robes made a mockery of Harry. He obviously couldn't care less. He held his head up like the pureblood that Voldemort had made him to be.

"What?" Ron questioned.

She gulped. She felt her skin crawl. She blinked away a tear and muttered, "Nothing," Before turning away.

"What's wrong?" He said insistently, touching her shoulder. Hermione shrugged away from him, standing up and looking for somewhere, anywhere to go but here.

Why hadn't she thought about him? She'd spent the first few months as Kikyo, looking over her shoulder every few seconds, making sure Ron wasn't there. How could she have forgotten?

She didn't look back as she walked off, hoping beyond hope that he would just forget about her, ignore her. She wasn't so lucky, though, as she found out with a quick glance behind her. He followed her.

Hermione stopped, thinking fast. What should she do? What should she say?

Ron caught up with her and came to stand in front of her. He frowned.

Hermione screwed up her face then, acting surprised....relieved. Her insides squirmed with dread. "Oh! I..." She laughed softly, happily, "I thought you were someone else--"

"Who?" He asked.

"N-no one."

He raised an eyebrow. He didn't believe her.

But he let it go. Ron had grown up.

"Okay." They stood, silence between them while noise circled all around. Someone bumped into Hermione's elbow. Finally, "Want to dance?" Ron asked.

Hermione looked at his outstretched arm, frowning. She hesitated, then took it.

She didn't want to give herself away.

But the feel of his hand on her back, his fingers curved over her knuckles, his very presence frightened her. Her lungs felt like an iron fist was clamped over them.

Stop it, stop it, leave me a–

"Hey." He was looking at her with a teenager's pout.

"Hmm?" Hermione asked, trying to sound as if she was enjoying herself.

"I was just asking you your name." Ron said, sounding annoyed.

"Nimura Kikyo. Call me Kikyo."

He frowned at her. "I know how to say it." Then he was silent. So was Hermione. After a few more minutes Ron fidgeted and said, "Well?"

"Well what?" Hermione asked

Ron let out a guttural sound and muttered, not looking at her, "My name is Ron. Ron Weasley."

Hermione nodded.

After a few more minutes she realized something, and it was almost motivation enough to run away right then. She was enjoying herself.

A frown knitted itself between her eyebrows as she leaned closer to Ron involuntarily. How could she be enjoying herself with him. With him? It was wrong. She felt like a traitor, or worse. She hadn't felt this comfortable with Vincent, and Vincent was a good man, compared to Ron. Couldn't she just feel revulsion and be done?

An arm pushed Ron away from her. Hermione looked up. Vincent was there.

She fought the urge to run out of the room along with the urge to run back to Ron's embrace and stood still, looking at Vincent expectantly.

Vincent smiled greedily. There was that school bully.

"He gave her to me." Vincent said to Ron. With that said, he took Hermione's arm in his and took her away.

A/N: too many cliffies, no?