Hermione had, like any girl getting ready for a date, fretted about what to wear. Should she wear robes, or, since she was supposed to be a Pet Mudblood, should she wear a Muggle outfit. Would the occasion be formal and require a skirt, or could she get away with a pair of trousers?
Questions. Questions.
Hermione looked at the heap of clothes piled on her bed and decided there was only one thing for it. The 'date' was scheduled for tomorrow, and she needed to know what to wear. She would have to go and talk to Severus.
She hadn't been keen at first; she had been very pointedly Not Talking to Severus in the intervening period, but the more she thought about it, the more advantages she could see. Frankly, the silent treatment wasn't working; it was time to see what putting him on the spot could achieve.
Although that did mean she had moved from considering what to wear on the 'date' to what to wear to go to see Severus in his rooms. There was a horrid moment when the whole bloody process started again, until she pulled herself together and plumped for the maroon robes with the plunging neckline again.
Severus certainly seemed to appreciate her choice when he opened his door to her. His, "What the hell do you mean by …", obviously intended for the student he expected to find knocking on his door, died on his lips.
She took advantage of his absorption with her neckline to slip into his rooms uninvited, and say briskly, "I thought we ought to have a little chat about what you wanted me to do tomorrow?"
His gulp was clearly audible. "Do?" he quavered, his mind obviously in the gutter. Then he recovered himself, and moved smoothly onto the offensive. "Why, Miss Granger, all you have to do is appear to be my suitably deferent girlfriend. All that is required is gazing at me in an adoring fashion, hanging on my every words, and agreeing with everything that I say." He smirked.
"We are going to be there for more than five minutes," she replied, acerbically. "They'll never believe it."
"True," he sighed. "It would have been nice though; it would really have impressed The Lads… er …and obviously that's important so I can get information from them."
Hermione made herself comfortable on the sofa, and patted the seat next to her. "Well, if impressing The Lads is so important – for information gathering purposes – we could try something a little more realistic."
Severus sat gingerly next to her. He felt uneasy; she was up to something. If she hadn't forgiven him for the Mudblood comment, she could be up to something nasty. "What did you have in mind?"
"Well, no one is going to believe subservient from me are they?" He shook his head. "But how about a stormy and tempestuous relationship, with lots of arguing, but even more Making Up?"
Severus was so busy turning this idea over in his mind that he failed to notice Hermione shuffling closer. Grytpype-Thynne would doubtless sneer that she seemed a bit uppity for a Mudblood, which would be particularly amusing if he was stupid enough to do it in Hermione's hearing, and he could reply with a smirk and a nudge in the kidneys – just a little too hard – and a comment to the effect that she was a little Spitfire in bed.
He suddenly became aware that Hermione was a lot closer to him, her lips close to his ears and saying something about needing to practice.
"Practice?" he said plaintively.
"Oh, yes." She ran a tongue round the rim of his ear. "I mean we need to look as if we have been shagging each other senseless, don't we?"
"Er, yes?" Surely that was a trick question.
"So we wouldn't want to look awkward or anything if we kissed…"
She had a point, and anyway he had no chance to voice an objection before Hermione very sensibly took matters into her own hands and kissed him.
Oh, Mudbloods were friskier, he thought faintly as Hermione explored his mouth with commendable thoroughness, and then he pulled her closer and showed her that Purebloods knew a thing or two, to her evident satisfaction.
Barely twenty minutes later, Hermione was plastered to his chest, and his hand was inching its way along the back of her leg, beneath her robes. His fingers moved in interesting patterns on the back of her knee, surprising a squeak out of Hermione, and then a shuddering sigh.
He was just on the point of progressing to more interesting and advanced territory, when she pulled herself free with a regretful sigh. "I think it's time I was in bed."
Severus smirked at her. "I couldn't agree more." He was puzzled when she pulled herself free and started straightening her robes. "Erm, I thought we were…"
"We were just practising," she said. Before he had a chance to register any disappointment, not to mention start some serious sulking, she added, "You know, for the main event, tomorrow." And then, just in case he'd missed the point, which was likely because he didn't appear to be exactly thinking straight at the moment she added, "After I've met all your disreputable friends and neither of us have to get up early in the morning."
The moment the penny dropped was signalled by a broadening of his smirk, before he reminded himself that he was trying to be terribly enigmatic about the whole business. Severus watched Hermione depart with fond eyes that lingered on her form. Not only did he have a Girlfriend, but he was also On A Promise.
To his credit, he had absolutely no intention of sharing that with The Lads at all.
In the end Hermione elected to wear the maroon robes for her 'date'; Severus certainly seemed to appreciate them and therefore it seemed logical that his friends would too. She had a horrible feeling that she was going to be treated to an evening reminiscent of the post-Quidditch match parties that Harry was so fond of, which involved lots of men standing around, talking nonsense, and trying to score points off each other. The presence of a woman would only exacerbate the natural tendencies of boys to show off. On the other hand, she had a working knowledge of Quidditch, so she should be able to hold her own in conversation, and she didn't think she'd have to put her hand in her pocket to buy a drink all evening.
She strongly suspected Severus was a tight git, but the rest of them would be falling over themselves to be nice to her, either because they wanted to suck up to Severus or because they were looking for something they could use against him.
Severus had disappeared earlier in the evening to go to the main meeting, leaving her with strict instructions to be at the gates to Hogwarts at 11 pm. He was, of course, late, but she could hardly complain. He could scarcely put his hand up and ask for permission to be excused from a Death Eater meeting on the basis that he had a date.
Not and expect to live anyway.
She was cold, she was worried about Severus, and she didn't like the way the bushes were rustling at her. It was bloody frightening out here on her own; she was a city girl, born and bred, and looked on the countryside with a degree of reservation that bordered on suspicion.
There was a pop behind – someone had apparated in – and whilst common sense indicated that it was most likely Severus, her instincts kicked in, she spun on her heel and drew her wand in one smooth movement ready to face whatever was behind her.
It was a Death Eater. That much was obvious from the robes and the bloody mask. She couldn't help the atavistic chill of fear that ran up her spine, and her voice was slightly tremulous as she said, "For god's sake Severus, if that's you, take that mask off before I hex you."
A muffled 'oops, sorry' came from behind the mask, which was removed to reveal a slightly sheepish Severus. "I forgot," he said, "I don't know why; it's bloody uncomfortable."
"You frightened the life out of me," she said, still a bit flustered.
"Sorry. I was a bit pre-occupied."
"Yes, well, I can imagine that tonight's meeting would make anyone nervous."
Severus nodded, relieved she was being so understanding. "I've never taken a girl to meet The Lads before."
"I meant your earlier meeting."
"Oh. That. It was annoying and dull by turns. His Lordship was particularly verbose tonight. Fortunately, Lucius owes me a favour so I was able to slip away from the interminable cocktail party."
Severus looked tired, and pinched, and she felt a great surge of annoyance. This whole business was taking far too long. She didn't know whether it was Albus or Harry that was at fault, but she was going to sort it out. Tomorrow. Maybe the day after, depending on how well tonight went.
"Right. Are you set then?" She plucked at an imaginary piece of lint on his robes. "Are there any last minute instructions for me?"
"Well Grytpype-Thynne is a bit of a bastard really, so I'd watch out for him. He's been trying to get one up on me for years. Bloodnok is a tight bastard, so you have to keep an eye on him to make sure he's going to stand his round. Seagoon is a bit of a berk, but Smudger's ok, as long as you keep him away from the darts."
"Sounds easy enough."
Severus was mildly surprised to find that Hermione seemed a little nervous. "You'll be fine," he said. "Absolutely fine. And if someone insults or annoys you, I'll hex their balls off. You can't say fairer than that."
Hermione snorted with laughter. "Is this some obscure Pureblood thing? Because I'm perfectly capable of hexing their balls off for myself."
"It's nothing less than good manners. It's a gentleman's duty to protect his guest." Severus was perfectly serious. He was also perfectly serious about offering her his arm to apparate.
"Where are we going?" she asked. She needed a destination to apparate to. Double apparition was difficult, dangerous, and not the stuff of romance; she could well end up splinched or splattered over a large area.
"The entrance to Diagon Alley. The pub's close by; we'll walk the rest of the way."
"It's a Muggle pub?" She was surprised to hear that a collection of diehard Purebloods would deign to cross the threshold of such an establishment, much less come back on a regular basis.
"Well we could hardly hang around in Diagon Alley could we? Someone would be bound to notice, and one of these young and eager Death Eaters would be telling tales faster than you can say 'Salazar Slytherin'. Anyway, the landlord gives us free peanuts and crisps; we don't get that in any Wizarding establishment."
Hermione wasn't surprised; she had the feeling that you wouldn't want to encourage The Lads, and that was even if you didn't know they were the local chapter of the Death Eaters.
They apparated on the count of three, and appeared in a poorly-lit side street which smelled faintly of rubbish. Hermione had to admit there was something almost exciting about all this sneaking around; certainly more exciting than another night sat in front of the fire reading a book and contemplating the best way to get one over on the other teachers.
It was a short walk, and then they were at the door, so shabby she nearly missed it. Severus courteously held the door open for her, and she crossed the threshold into the Pub. The Lads doubtless thought that the Pub was cosy; they'd be wrong. It was dirty, it was dingy, and it was apparently full of people in dark robes. How did they manage to explain that to the landlord? Freemasonry? Trainspotting? Dungeons and Dragons?
"Good grief, it looks like word has spread." Severus was taken aback to see a full complement of The Lads; usually one or other of them would sneak off somewhere else and then turn up for the next meeting with wild tales of assignations and evildoing. Usually, it was because the missus wouldn't let them out that night, or there might be something particularly good on the Wizarding Wireless that they didn't want to miss. There was a tacit agreement that no one would pry too deeply into anyone's reason for absence; they all had far too much to lose for that. Once someone's reputation as heartless monster was destroyed it took several months of concentrated sneering before he was allowed to rebuild it.
A second glance showed that there were no more than fifteen people there, and the impression of crowding was simply due to the fact that it was a very small room. Nonetheless Hermione couldn't help clutching at Severus in alarm when a tall, thin shape approached her and said, "Are you a Mudblood then?"
There was that same cold finger of fear on her spine again. These may be Severus' friends and she may well suspect that they were about as dangerous as a herd of sheep, but that didn't prevent an ingrained reaction to those damned robes. A Death Eater was asking her whether she was a Mudblood; she could only hope that the next words weren't something along the lines of 'cower at my feet, scum'. This wasn't, she thought, the time for hexing, so she simply nodded.
"Great. Maybe you can explain the Offside Rule to me."
"For Quidditch?" Hermione was surprised to be asked such an odd question. Perhaps it was a test to see if she was sufficiently assimilated into the Wizarding World.
"Nah, for football."
Hermione could see that there was a television tucked away high in one corner. Doubtless the landlord turned it on whenever there was a match on, assuming that these were like any other Englishman and obsessed with the Footie. She could imagine what had happened. At first they would have gathered round to sneer at the silly Muggles and wonder why they bothered when they hadn't got broomsticks, and then, gradually they'd been sucked in.
"Oh, for heaven's sake, Bloodnok, I don't think Hermione takes that much of an interest in sport of any sort." Severus was exasperated. He hadn't expected Hermione to be badgered for information on Muggle culture. Still, there were more embarrassing questions they could be asking. Such as: how long had they been Going Out? And: How many times a night?
"Well I don't," said Hermione. "But I know a man who does. My Dad sometimes referees local Sunday League matches."
"Has he got a whistle?" Bloodnok asked eagerly.
"A whistle, yellow and red cards and a little notebook to take down the names of the players when they transgress."
The Lads were impressed. They were even more impressed when Hermione took out her Mobile phone and made a call. "Dad? Hello. I'm in a Pub. Some bloke wants to know about the offside rule. You wouldn't mind running through it for him would you?"
Hermione kept making little 'hmmm, hmmm' noises into her phone, and then began assembling some empty pint glasses. "Right, now the end of the table is the goal, right?" Bloodnok nodded. "And these are the defenders…. Right so the attacking footballer comes along…."
Severus watched in amusement as The Lads gathered round to be lectured on the intricacies of Football. Hermione was definitely in her element instructing people; it was a surprise that she hated teaching so much. Maybe it was the lack of an appreciative audience when in the classroom that made the difference.
He felt so cheerful about the whole business that he slipped away to the Bar to get the first round in.
"Bloody hell," said Smudger, as he brushed past. "Is it Christmas and I didn't notice?"
"You don't have to have a drink if you don't want one." Severus was rummaging in his pockets for the Muggle money so carefully provided by Dumbledore for this evening after much grumbling.
"Don't be daft. Mine's a pint. Of Brandy, since you're feeling so generous."
"You'll have bitter, like the rest of them, and like it." He was hoping to skim some of it off and buy himself a copy of Even More Potente Potions. Pince had refused to order him a copy on the entirely accurate basis that it had nothing to do with the curriculum. Cow.
"You know what they say," Smudger replied. "You are what you drink."
"And I'm a bitter man." It was an old joke, but it never failed to make them smirk.
Severus considered the crowd before him. They'd drink whatever was put before them, and not complain, but they were all very picky about their choice of crisps. Get them the wrong flavour and he'd never hear the end of it. "Fifteen pints of bitter, four cheese and onion, three plain, and two salt and vinegar please."
"What are you going to get your young lady?" prompted Smudger, with a faint grin.
Bugger. He could hardly get her a pint of bitter, and shouting across a crowded pub to find out what she wanted would make The Lads suspicious. He really ought to know what she liked to drink if they'd been going out for simply ages, and he didn't think they'd buy the excuse that they'd been spending so much time in bed the issue of drinks preferences had never arisen.
The Barman noticed his hesitation and assumed it was due to doubts about the ability of his establishment to provide the necessary refreshments. "We have a full wine list, Sir," he said with a reproachful air. "We even have Cocktails. Perhaps Madam would like a long slow comfortable screw against the wall?" The man was only saved from the pointy end of a wand by the interposition of the Cocktail Menu between him and Severus, and pointing at the offending drink with his finger.
Severus read the list with increasing fascination. He couldn't resist temptation. "Hermione, darling," he called across the room. "Would you like a Slippery Nipple?"
"No thank you, but I wouldn't say no to Sex on the Beach."
The Lads were watching the exchange with bated breath. They were talking about Sex, and Sex was, probably, on balance, taking all things into consideration, more interesting than Football. Though Football was easier to come by, even for the married men; Football was on twice a week.
"I don't know what you lot are all looking at. It's a drink," sneered Severus, with the advantage of five minutes further knowledge.
The Lads breathed a collective sigh of relief. They'd heard rumours about the kinky things that the Inner Circle got up to, and although it was pleasant to fantasise about frisky Mudbloods, they didn't necessarily want to see that Sort of Thing, thank you very much.
Especially not with Severus.
Severus paid the enormous bill with bad grace, and a pained expression. "Drinks are on the bar," he announced to the room, and then entered into a complicated juggling exercise to bring Hermione's drink, his pint, and a packet of plain crisps over to where she was standing.
She plucked the crisps from his hands, and then took her drink and smiled up at him quite shyly. "I think it's going quite well so far."
Whatever he was about to say was interrupted by a call from the dartboard. "Oi, Severus, leave your bint alone, it's your turn."
Severus turned, ready to snarl at The Lad in question, but Hermione put her hand on his arm and said, "No, you go and have some fun. I'll be alright here on my own."
Severus looked a bit suspicious but he went anyway. There was one lone figure at the Bar, still supping his pint, and keeping an eye on The Lads. Hermione watched him out of the corner of her eye, whilst pretending to admire Severus. Not that there was a great deal of pretending involved in that. It was odd to see him so lively, so animated, and, well frankly, bickering. It was rather better-natured bickering than she was used to seeing from him, though she wouldn't go so far as to say he actually liked any of them.
Boys were Odd, and that was all you could say on the matter; trying to understand them would only give you a Headache.
Another drink was called for. She moved to the Bar, and waited patiently to be served. The barman was busy in what was presumably the Saloon Bar – she'd hate to think that this was the Saloon Bar – and it took several minutes for him to take her order.
When her vodka and coke came, the figure slouching against the bar fumbled for money in his pocket. "No, let me get this. A lady shouldn't have to buy her own drink." If he were a woman, he would be called jolie laide – he wasn't handsome precisely, but he had an interesting face that invited you to be his friend.
"Erm, thank you." The transaction completed, she waited until the anonymous Lad had secreted his change about his person before taking the bull by its horns, and holding her hand out to be shaken. "I'm Hermione Granger, by the way."
The man carefully wiped his hand on his robes, before grasping her hand firmly. "Smudger."
"Pleased to meet you Smudger." Hermione couldn't think of a damned thing to say. She couldn't ask the usual meaningless social questions, because it might lead to a very nasty impasse. She felt a moment of empathy for the Queen; always meeting new people, always asking the same daft questions, and probably bored rigid with it. 'And how long have you been a Death Eater, Smudger. Good. Good. And what made you decide to join. How very interesting. And would you like to murder all Muggles or is that limited to Mudblood Witches. I see.'
"So you and old Severus, eh?" Smudger asked.
Hermione nodded.
"Fond of him are you?"
Hermione nodded again. "Very."
The conversation lapsed for a little, both sides having run out of uncontroversial topics. Hermione, uncomfortable with silence, fell back into awful cliché. "So, do you come here often?"
She winced as soon as she said it, though it seemed that the phrase had none of the connotations it did in the Muggle world, or, if it did, Smudger was nice enough to ignore them. "Pretty much. There's a big Inner Circle meeting about once a month, just for the high mucky-mucks, at Malfoy Manor and then the rest of us poor sods get hauled out from time to time whenever His Lordship fancies a bit of trouble.
"Not that we ever actually do anything," he added hurriedly, suddenly realising who he was talking to. "Old Malfoy is too busy shagging his Pet Mudblood to give a shit, and he normally hands it over to Old Snapey here, and we come up with some sort of story to satisfy His Lordship."
A look of consternation crossed Smudger's face. "And not that Old Snapey thinks of you as his Pet Mudblood, no, indeed. That's just Malfoy, and we know he's a bastard." Smudger faltered into silence, clearly determined to stop digging as the hole was already large enough.
Hermione took pity on him. "Malfoy is a bastard," she agreed. "And a stuck up ponce to boot."
Smudger brightened. "He is, isn't he?" Clearly 'Malfoy is a bastard' was a bit of a recurrent theme with the boys, and the man was no more popular on his own side than he was with Order members. "Swanning around, like he owns the place, just because he bloody well does. It's not on."
"Yeah, but is he happy?" she asked.
Smudger blinked at her. "Of course he is," he said, speaking slowly and carefully, "he's filthy rich and he's married to the best looking bird in our year. Of course he's bleeding happy."
Hermione didn't fancy explaining existential angst to Smudger, so she contented herself with, "She looks like a right stuck-up cow though. I bet she nags him for putting his elbows on the table something chronic."
"That's true." This was obviously a new thought for Smudger.
"And you wouldn't want that would you. Not after a hard day's trying to take over the world. You want someone to bring you a nice glass of Firewhiskey and your slippers: make you feel at home."
Smudger was staring off into space now: his new thought had been joined by a friend, and the unaccustomed effort was making his eyes cross. "Do you bring Severus his slippers?"
She nodded. "Just between you and me," she nudged him with her elbow, "sometimes I give him a foot rub as well. Makes him really relaxed."
"No." His disbelief made it sound like she'd admitted to performing kinky sexual acts involving a feather duster and a stick of celery. "You're bloody wonderful you are," he sobbed, brokenly. "Severus is a lucky, lucky sod. I wish I had a girlfriend like you."
She patted his arm soothingly. "I'm sure your girlfriend is just as nice to you."
There was a muffled mumbling from behind his sleeve as he wiped his eyes to the effect that he hadn't got a girlfriend.
"What, a well set-up bloke like you? You must have."
He peered at her with suspicious eyes, but was satisfied that she was being sincere. "Well, it's the Death Eater thing, isn't it? None of the nice girls want to go out with one, and it's a bit hard to keep secret really."
"So why do you still follow He-who-must-not-be-named then?" she asked, trying to sound offhand.
"We can't all be spies like Severus," Smudger replied.
"You know…" Hermione broke off her high-pitched squeal and continued, in a more normal voice, "I mean, you think Severus is a spy."
Smudger patted her hand fondly. "Of course he is. Stands to reason doesn't it. It's the only reason he'd hang out with those bastards. He'd much rather be here with his old muckers, but he has to go to Malfoy's cocktail parties- " here Smudger stuck out his little finger – "and drink purple drinks with umbrellas in them off of trays with doilies. It's inhumane what that man expects him to do."
"What man?" asked Hermione, biting her lip.
"Dumbledore. He's almost as much a bastard as His Lordship, isn't he?"
"God, yes." Hermione's agreement was fervent even though she hadn't got a proper basis for comparison, and never hoped to have.
They contemplated their drinks, united in feeling hard done to by the world. They sighed.
Hermione reminded herself that there was no point in feeling maudlin, that she was going to sort the problem of His Lordship out on Sunday, and that then she would be free of Dumbledore. Right. She stood up a little bit straighter. Though now she had the added complication of making sure that whatever plan she came up with wouldn't get The Lads in any trouble. They were rather sweet, though they'd deny it to their dying breath.
"So, how long have you known Severus?" she asked.
"Since school. Hogwarts," he added unnecessarily. "We were in the same year."
"So did you … erm… join up together, so to speak?"
"You're asking a lot of questions," Smudger said suspiciously. "'Ere you're not one of those reporters are you?"
Hermione sighed. "No, I'm a spy like Severus. I'm just not very good at it yet. You won't tell anyone will you?"
He patted her hand again. "Don't worry, dear, your secret is safe with me." He seemed to think that more was called for because, after burping discreetly and begging her pardon, he added, "You're not that bad either. It took me ages to work it out. With a bit of practice you'll almost be as good as Severus. He's a crafty sod you know, a very crafty sod indeed."
"He is, isn't he?"
"I just wish he'd hurry up and get His Lordship sorted out, one way or another. The way I hear it even the Inner Circle are getting a bit twitchy about things."
"Really?" she said, and then smiled broadly. "Why don't you let me buy you a drink, and you can tell me all about it."
Smudger looked at his empty glass, and back at Hermione's friendly face, then uttered the words that would eventually see him earn an Order of Merlin (Second Class). "Aye, right oh."