IN THE NOISE OF SORRY NIGHT

Chapter 7

Phillippa loomed over her, a dark needle against the rising sun. 'Give him up, Hermione,' she snarled, and her eyes flared with fire.

Hermione cowered back into the bed, but she could not turn away. Everywhere hands held her down, and they were Lucius' hands, all of them, gripping and at the same time caressing, and Phillippa showed her teeth in a smile.

The light dimmed. The sun rose in the dark, globe of fire in hell.

'You'll never have him. He loves me. Me … me …'

Hermione could feel Lucius all about her, knew his fingers were on her skin, but she could see him nowhere. He said nothing.

'Me …' The whisper went on, breathing its hatred deep into her mind, chilling her body. Phillippa held up a knife. 'Lucius, would you like to do the honours?'

There were footsteps. The hands did not move. Hermione heard him approach, felt the figure above her, but it was too dark to see him.

And the voice. The voice that so many times she had longed to hear, that had made her shiver. Deep, rich, and echoing against Phillippa's triumphant smile.

'Any last words, Mudblood?'

She tried to gasp 'Lucius,' but she could not speak, and the faceless figure raised his wand, Phillippa at his side, still smiling. The sun was fading, and everything was so cold, so faded …

Hermione woke, coughed, gasped, sat up.

She inhaled sweet air, and sat wide-eyed and terrified. It was quiet.

Then she remembered it all, and trembled, in the noise of sorry night.

*****

She woke as the faded light seeped in through the curtains. She opened her eyes, as peacefully as a baby. It was morning. Morning was safe.

And yet still her body was shaking.

She could remember her dream as clearly as if it had really happened, only a minute ago. It had frightened her. It had frightened her perhaps more than anything she had experienced over the past week.

Lucius had been there, and she could not see him, and he had been ready to kill her, and …

'Merlin,' she breathed, not trusting herself to speak any louder.

For a few minutes Hermione sat, gathering her thoughts, and trying to stop herself shaking. Then she grabbed her wand.

If she was this scared, she was no use to anyone. She had to harden herself against everything, so she would not care.

She had to let him be brought down. Lucius had to die.

Reluctant as she was, and even with every fibre of her body pleading with her to allow him to be spared, Hermione knew that he had to be killed. Not by her – she could barely think about him without shaking – but by someone who could do their job without thinking about it.

For the good of everyone, Lucius had to die. He had killed, tortured and terrorised too many people to be allowed to live, no matter how much she wanted him. And anyway, he clearly did not want her.

Hermione assumed Lucius was only enjoying Phillippa's body, that he did not really care for her at all. Still, it appeared he was not in love with Hermione any more. What man in love, even a Death Eater, would run straight into someone else's arms? Sleep so callously with a girl who was barely out of childhood?

No, she had to harden herself. She had to forget that she loved him.

She faced herself in the mirror, eyes running over her own face, setting in her mind the look of desperation and need that had settled itself so persistently into her features. The slightly wild-eyed look. No Auror looked like that.

Hermione raised her wand. She could use the Faiblesse charm. She would erase the love from her consciousness, and then she could do her job. Perhaps she could go back to Harry. Perhaps they could finally be happy.

But you don't love Harry! Her mind exploded into sudden revelation. You're planning to do exactly what Lucius has just done … you're planning to sleep with someone else when you know full well you're in love with Lucius! And you're planning to do it under the Faiblesse charm, which is –

Which was a charm, according to their intelligence, highly favoured by the Death Eaters.

Lucius.

Faiblesse.

Slowly, Hermione lowered her wand, and finally, she realised.

Lucius had charmed himself. Or he had gotten someone to do it for him. Whichever way, he thought he did not love her any more. It was lodged firmly at the back of his mind, never to be revealed.

There was always the antidote.

She had to know. She looked into her own eyes, and she had to know. She had to know if Lucius still loved her.

The problem – as all problems seemed to be nowadays – was Snape.

The antidote to the Faiblesse charm was a rather complicated potion. It did not take long to brew, but timing and skill was essential, and it required a great deal of experience. No doubt Snape had brewed it before, and he knew how.

Desperately Hermione searched for an alternative, but it was generally acknowledged that Snape was the best potions brewer in England, and … it had to be him.

Hermione smiled faintly. If she had ever had the urge to believe in fate, there was plenty of evidence for it.

*****

She could not bring herself to ask him face to face – she was still rather young, and easily embarrassed, especially with Snape. He had the knack, repulsive as he could be, of reaching into her inner thoughts and making her realise exactly how stupid she was being.

She wrote to him.

Dear Professor Snape,

I am writing to request several bottles of the antidote to the Faiblesse charm to use in my studies. I am (here she stopped, sucked her quill, and thought of a convincing lie) experimenting with how the potion could be used in battle, since you have explained to me a number of times how the Death Eaters use the charm to harden their emotions. (A wry smile.)

I am aware that this is a complicated potion but I am willing to pay for you to brew them for me as I think this could be quite a useful breakthrough in ways to bring down Death Eaters.

Hermione Granger

Auror

Of course, he would guess straightaway. There was no way she could prevent it. Snape was far more intelligent than she, and like any well-trained spy he would immediately question her motives in asking for the potion.

But she had to know.

Hermione knew she had to take the letter to the Ministry to be sent. Doubtless she was being watched by somebody – Lucius, perhaps, or someone working for him – and an owl sent from the Leaky Cauldron would be intercepted straightaway. The Ministry had ways to send things. She had the meeting with Fudge this morning, so she was going anyway.

Quietly she sat down on her bed, mulling everything over. She would have to ask Fudge to let her go back to the investigation – it was the only way she could get close to Lucius. Fudge would be easy enough to deal with – he didn't even know what had happened between her and Lucius. And the other people who knew – Remus and Harry – she probably wouldn't see for quite some time. So that did not matter.

The person that inevitably would cause problems, though, was Snape.

Hermione had, until now, gone through life accepting that the more you saw of someone, the better you got to know them. Intimacy came with time.

But the more she saw of Snape, the less she understood him. He was enigmatical, reserved, closed, everything that made friendship of any kind difficult. She did not know what he felt about Lucius, whether he wanted Lucius dead, whether he would approve of her killing Lucius, should she have to. She knew that he disapproved of her having slept with Lucius, but further than that she was completely in the dark. Did he disapprove of her as a person? Did he think she was incompetent, a bad Auror? Did he hold some sort of prejudice against her from her schooldays?

She remembered her Auror graduation ceremony. Snape had been there, among the seeming thousands of people who had congratulated her. He had been civil, almost friendly - very different from everything she had known of him. He had not said much – he never did – but his eyes had been new, acknowledging her achievement, respecting her. Hermione had been elated, so terribly elated.

In working with him she had come to appreciate just how keen his sacrifice must have been. He could never have a normal life. He was one of the very unlucky, whose lives Voldemort had permeated to such an extent that the thought of life without him was alien, strange, and a faraway dream. She knew that Snape held little hope but for Dumbledore and his followers. Politics were so dangerous now.

So many had wanted Dumbledore to be Minister after it was discovered that Fudge had been trying to cover up Voldemort's return. But they had all failed. Fudge had wielded his weapons. Lucius had been roped in to assist with bribes, Hermione knew – even despite his alleged crimes – in return that he be protected from the investigations. When Fudge had secured his position, Lucius was still senior, still powerful. Still very, very dangerous.

No one had been able to take Lucius out. Fudge had not allowed very extensive investigations into Lucius until fairly recently, and Hermione knew it would take strong evidence to persuade Fudge that Lucius should be arrested and convicted.

Politics were dangerous. Lucius was still protected, and by no means friendless. If he was taken out, retaliation would follow …

But Lucius was one of Voldemort's best. If not the best. He had done terrible things, but he sat astride the two sides so well that he still had his position. He still had power. He could still manipulate things.

Hermione would not be surprised if he was manipulating Fudge. She could picture him in Fudge's office, pleading with a rather pained expression for Fudge to pull himself together, to stop being so paranoid and drop all the investigations. Telling him that it undermined everything. Then casually drop a few coins onto the table. She'd seen it done before.

She suspected Fudge had been rather relieved when she had pulled out of the operation. Now he did not have to be quite so vigilant. He could sit smugly in his Minister's chair, believing that everything was quite in control and that his position was secure.

Hermione smacked the rumpled bedclothes in frustration. Fudge was so stupid. He was so open to corruption. He was trying to wage a war, for fuck's sake, and yet he was accepting bribes from the very people he was supposed to be fighting.

She had wondered a few times whether Fudge was in league with Voldemort, a puppet of the Dark Lord. She suspected almost everyone had wondered. But she did not believe it. There was no proof, in God knew how many years Fudge had been Minister, to suggest that he was remotely capable of staging something as subtle as that. No. He was simply stupid.

Snape, though, was not stupid. Snape was extremely clever. And Snape knew.

Once he found out that Hermione was returning to the investigation, he would guess quickly enough. He would work out that she loved Lucius. He would realise everything.

Hermione groaned, as she felt the beginnings of a headache sink into her skull. Today, she suspected, was going to be a long day.

*****

'Sit down, Miss Granger.' Cornelius Fudge motioned to the seat in front of his desk.

Hermione sank nervously into the chair. 'Thank you, sir.' She watched him carefully. She still had no idea what this meeting could be about, but judging by Fudge's expression, it was not something trivial.

'Did you have a relaxing time at Hogwarts?' he asked politely.

'Yes, sir. It was wonderful to catch up with everyone.' Best play it safe for now – as yet there was no need to tell him about Snape and her suspicions.

'I trust you are more rested now? Less anxious, less … highly-strung?'

'I … I suppose so,' Hermione lied. She knew perfectly well that despite the amount of sleep she had had, she was no less tired than she had been a week ago.

Fudge regarded her for a moment. 'Miss Granger, I am going to be frank with you. I have allowed you a few days to recuperate. Harry sent me an owl to say that you were exhausted and rather shaken up after your – what exactly did happen with Lucius?'

Hermione had thought this one through already. 'Well, sir, he … he started watching me, and I saw him in Knockturn Alley with one of his friends, and he pointed me out and said something, and they both looked at me, and I – I took fright. He was noticing me more before that as well, I'm sure. He kept looking at me, as if he'd worked out that I kept appearing in the same places as him.' Of course it could never have happened. Lucius was far too subtle to suggest, in public, to someone he could not really trust, that he was being watched.

'So you decided to flee for your own safety?'

'Yes, sir … I thought it would be best to get out for a few days. I couldn't focus my mind, I was too afraid of being attacked or ambushed or something.'

'But are you all right now?'

'I think so.' She raised her chin, and switched to the truth. 'I feel stronger now. I've thought about it a lot, and I know what to do if Lucius becomes suspicious – I back away for a while. Not too far to be obvious, but far enough to keep me safe.'

Fudge looked rather uneasy. 'Are you saying you want to carry on the investigation?'

Hermione groaned inwardly. Her head was still throbbing. Don't you dare try and think of excuses why I shouldn't, Fudge. You know it's the right thing.

'Yes, sir. I want to go back to it. Lucius is very closely allied with the Dark Lord, and no matter how high up he is in the Ministry, he is an evil man. He has to be brought down if we are to win.'

'You're rating Lucius' importance very highly, Miss Granger,' Fudge remarked. 'What makes you so sure?'

Hemione sighed. Fine. She would spell it out to him. 'Sir, he's well connected. He's rich. He's powerful. He can do anything if he talks to the right people. And Harry has seen him with the Death Eaters. Several others have too. He's definitely one of them. We know what sort of person Draco is – was. He was his father's son. He was a purist, he hated Gryffindors and Dumbledore and Muggle-borns, he was a great believer in Salazaar Slytherin. And don't tell me you don't believe Lucius is like that too. He's as snobby and elitist as Slytherin was himself. He's Voldemort's right hand man. He shouldn't still be here at the Ministry. He should have been in Azkaban twenty years ago.'

And that, she thought rather sadly, was true. He'd done enough to be kissed. Deadened. A dozen times. He deserved everything he got.

And still she wanted him, even though he had betrayed her. Still she wanted to know if he wanted her. But all that proved, she supposed, is that no one could control who they fell in love with.

Fudge was shaking his head. 'I don't know, Miss Granger. I still think it is a dangerous idea.'

Hermione lost her temper. 'The whole war's a fucking dangerous idea, sir!' she yelled. 'That was bloody stupid, whoever thought that up. But in wartime, danger is bloody everywhere. We have to deal with that. We have to eliminate the people who pose the most threat, and if that means more danger, then that, I'm afraid, is fucking that. I'm going to carry on the investigation, Fudge, whether you like it or not. I'm sick of the dithering, the umming, the twiddling your thumbs. We're at war. And I'm going to the front.'

Fudge's face was cold. 'Miss Granger, you go too far.'

'If it helps to jolt you into some action, sir,' Hermione said, just as coldly, 'then I'm perfectly willing to go further. There's a difference between what should be done, and what has to be done. This has to be done. And I'm the one who's going to do it. Whatever your reasons are for not wanting to bring Lucius down, they don't matter as much as winning the war. And you know that. So let me do my job.'

She was breathing fast with fury. If she hadn't persuaded him, she'd have lost her job by now.

Fudge was dignified, but defeated. 'Fine,' he said. 'Fine. Do it. Bring him down. If you've got enough evidence to prove he's a Death Eater, then do it. But I warn you, Miss Granger, I will not tolerate another outburst. Another loss of temper like that, and you lose your job. The only reason I'm letting you keep it is that as it happens, you're rather good at it. And you're a woman.'

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'Your point being?'

'Lucius likes women, Miss Granger,' Fudge said coldly. 'If you're so sure, then do what you have to do.'

Hermione swallowed. Fudge wanted her to sleep with Lucius? After all Snape's warnings, everything he had said, Fudge thought it was a good idea?

More than ever now, Hermione realised how terrible a strategist Fudge really was.

But he had warned her.

'I'll do what I need to, sir,' she agreed.

Fudge nodded. 'Good.' He pushed his glasses back up his nose. 'I think that's all, Miss Granger. No doubt you will check on your office and things while you're here?'

'Yes, sir.' Hermione rose and smiled gratefully. 'Thank you, sir. I'm sorry I lost my temper, but … well, I just feel very passionately about the cause, that's all.'

'Better that than complacency, I suppose. Meeting closed.'

*****

Overall, Hermione thought it had gone well. True, she hadn't kept herself under control very well, but she had persuaded him of her reasons and he had allowed her to do what she had asked. So. A success.

She wandered along to her office, which was rather small and located at the back of the Ministry building. It had not changed at all since she had left, save that the inevitable pile of papers on her desk had grown rather larger.

Wearily Hermione settled herself into the old leather chair, and began to flip through the parchment, looking for anything marked higher than Restricted.

There was nothing. Various copies of the Daily Prophet, marking another few deaths in Scotland, declaring that despite all this the war effort was making progress. Reports from Harry. Very little had been found in Europe. A letter saying that he was to return soon, bringing the other tired Aurors back with him. That was it.

Hermione threw most of the papers into the bin after reading them once, whereupon they were engulfed in a burst of blue flame. Routine. Nothing.

Right, then.

She made her way down to the post office to send the letter by special Floo to Hogwarts. Fudge had spent rather a lot of money organising the system, and although Hermione, like others, had criticised him for it at the time, she had to admit now that it was useful. Much faster, too. They could communicate with Hogwarts very quickly, which was crucial in such dangerous times.

Hermione decided, after she had sent the letter, that she might as well wait for a reply. Snape would be in the dungeons and was likely to answer immediately, and hopefully send the potions through as well. She hoped the bottles were small enough to go through the Floo system – otherwise they'd have to be sent in a parcel, which would be conspicuous and would take about five hours from Hogwarts.

Then there was movement behind her. 'Good morning, Miss Granger.'

Hermione froze. Then slowly she turned, schooling her face into an expression of cold contempt, and all the while not quite believing it. 'Hello, Lucius.'

She had to swallow hard to keep from crying out when she saw him.

He was, if it was possible, more handsome than ever. His face was absolutely motionless. She had no idea what he was thinking, but his eyes were full of … of something.

Her body was throbbing with the hot tension between them. She did not know how long she could look into his face, that full, probing gaze. She needed to breathe so much faster.

'Whatever are you doing here, Miss Granger?' Lucius asked, not taking his eyes from hers for a second.

Hermione raised an eyebrow. 'I work here,' she answered coolly.

Lucius' cheeks tightened; it appeared he was clenching his teeth. Why, she could not quite work out – it had not been a particularly provocative remark. Perhaps he was trying to keep from saying – or doing – something inappropriate.

Eventually he replied. 'Yes. You do. Although in truth, I haven't seen you here for a rather long time. You always seem to be at that pub.'

'You haven't exactly been avoiding it yourself, Malfoy,' she spat. If he was going to be pointed without actually saying it, then she wasn't going to allow him any liberties. 'You want to be careful, you know. People might think you're not doing your job.'

Lucius smiled faintly. 'I wonder what they'd think about you, then. Whether you're doing your job properly.'

Hermione inhaled sharply. That was too far. 'You don't even know what I'm doing, Malfoy.' Not any more.

'No, that's true,' he admitted rather wryly. 'Why don't you enlighten me?'

'Why, I'm standing in the mail room at the Ministry for Magic, talking to Mr Lucius Malfoy.' It was hard to say his name without her voice shuddering, remembering it in the dark. If only she had the damned potion! She might not get another chance …

'What about the last couple of days?' Lucius asked innocently. 'What about your little session in Flourish and Blotts? What about your meeting with dear Cornelius?'

Shit. He knew. He had been watching her, then.

But she could answer. 'And what about your little … outing … with dear Phillippa?'

Lucius' face tensed again. 'What about it?' He sounded rather defensive for someone who was normally so in control.

Hermione pressed her advantage. 'A seventh-year, Lucius?' she said contemptuously. 'She's barely more than a child.'

'She's barely younger than -' He broke off and glanced about guiltily, but Hermione knew what he had been going to say. Suddenly she was quite relieved. He had slipped. He had been going to acknowledge that they had slept together.

She searched his eyes, still quietly watching her, but she could detect nothing that convinced her as love, or lust, or softness of any kind. He was hopelessly inscrutable. It was a stalemate.

'I'm going back to my office, if you don't mind,' she said abruptly. 'Excuse me.'

She made to push past him to the door, but he put a strong hand on her arm, held her back, turned her to face him.

Desperately she tried not to look at his eyes, but it was impossible to resist the draw. He stood over her, dark and hot, and she longed to have his lips on hers again … but suddenly she was reminded of her dream. Lucius was no longer hers. He had been snared by another.

'Let me go, Lucius.' There was no bite in her voice, merely quiet determination.

Lucius moved aside, averting his eyes from her face, but she could feel him watching her as she retreated down the corridor. She did not look back; the tears were already pooling in her eyes.

She waited until she had reached her office and murmured a soundproof charm on the door before she burst into heavy sobs.

*****