Chapter Twenty Five

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Hermione held Severus's arm as they stepped onto the rooftop garden. The heat of the day had faded into a pleasant evening, and the sun was just dipping towards the edge of the horizon.

Hermione had never seen anything like it before, and she was impressed. Tropical trees rose to form a green canopy overhead, and ferns and bushes formed pathways, which twinkled with live fairies. There was the sound of rushing water nearby, and house elves in smart uniforms glided past carrying trays of hors d'oeuvres.

"Can you see him?" she said to Severus.

Severus looked around. The Selwyn Midsummer Party was in full swing. Throngs of people crowded the greenery, talking excitedly, or sitting on marble benches drinking from flutes of champagne.

"I don't think he's here yet."

Hermione nodded, smoothing down her dress nervously. It was the most expensive thing she had ever owned. A narrow sheath of emerald green silk fitted from throat to ankle, following her curves so closely she could wear nothing beneath. But that was only the innermost part of the dress. Swirls of black gauze began at her shoulders and cascaded down her body, wreathing tightly around her waist and billowing out into a full skirt. The translucent gauze was suspended by magic alone, and as Hermione moved it followed her, creating the impression that she was as insubstantial as smoke.

"You are a vision," Severus had said when he saw her.

Hermione thought that Severus was quite the vision himself, in his new robes cut in the latest style. She wanted to say he was beautiful, though that was not a word that one would normally apply to a man.

"Hermione! Severus!" somebody called.

Hermione turned to see Arabel, with Rabastan on her arm. As the daughter of the host, Arabel was the very picture of the beautiful heiress, and she wore a long royal blue gown encrusted with thousands of tiny diamonds. But Rabastan's tension was apparent in the set of his jaw.

"The Malfoys are here," he said to Hermione in an undertone. "Lucius seems to have recovered. He hasn't spotted you yet. No sign of...him."

"And the plan?" Hermione asked. "Are we still good to go ahead with it?"

Arabel nodded. "Everything is in place."

Hermione knew the moment she was seen by the guests. A man caught sight of her, and dropped his glass. It shattered on the marble floor, and the noise halted abruptly. Although the elegant sounds of a string quartet continued, murmurs began. Everybody was staring at Hermione, and she dug her fingers into Severus's arm.

"Smile," she said.

Hermione had never been more afraid in her life. There was a bitter taste in her mouth, the metallic tang of fear, and the comforting warmth of Severus beside her was all that kept her upright. But -

"Smile," she repeated.

"We're here," said a voice behind Hermione. It was Regulus, with Alecto, who looked unexpectedly pretty in long silver robes.

"Good," said Hermione. "Stay close. And smile."

How well the bluff worked depended on how well they could act as though they belonged here. Hermione engaged Severus in conversation. They walked lightly across the garden, Hermione plucking a champagne flute from a house elf, and they mingled. But they were watched. People turned as they passed, and whispered as they approached. As she turned from guest to guest, Hermione's jaw ached from smiling and talking, and trying to look at ease until finally she turned and found herself face to face with Abraxas Malfoy.

Abraxas stopped in front of Hermione, and looked her up and down. "Good evening Miss Black."

Hermione swallowed. "Good evening Lord Malfoy."

"Quite the display last night," Abraxas said. "Well, I won't keep you young people. Enjoy your evening."

The encounter left Hermione shaky and nauseous. "Excuse me," she said abruptly to Severus. "I'm going to the bathroom."

At the sink, Hermione washed her face with soap and water and rinsed it and dried it with a guest towel. She leaned against the vanity, staring into the mirror, into her eyes, which lately seemed alien to her, and she wondered if she could really do what she intended to do.

Even as a young girl, she had never spent a lot of time gazing into mirrors. She could see too much of her mother in her face, so that her reflection was a reminder of loss. Not least of all, the image in the looking glass reminded her of the confusion and self doubt and fear that had paralysed her when, as a seventeen year old girl, she had erased herself from her parents entirely. Though she had known that they'd be killed otherwise.

We grow, we change, we labour to maturity, to what little wisdom we might ever acquire, but always in the mirror is who we were as well as who we are, a harking back and, yet again, a quiet reckoning.

The problem this time was not cowardice. No courage was needed to do to Abraxas Malfoy what she intended. Instead, ruthlessness was required. She needed a hardened heart, if not hardened to all the world, at least to those who lacked the ability to see their own humanity in others, who preyed on others, who recognised no right to life except their own, and for whom power was no less essential than air and water.

They could not combat Lord Voldemort using the techniques that had failed them in Hermione's time. The deepest roots of his psychology were snarled in a knot first tied in childhood, and elaborated on since then; the man now if his fifties might appear to be a mighty oak but he was rotten at the core, all his limbs and branches deformed. He was a maze of deception, a primal forest of deceit, and she was in considerable peril if she underestimated him.

With such a man and his followers, she had no choice but to be extraordinarily cruel.

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to bring to mind Harry and Ron as she had last seen them: in the grounds of the blackened, burnt-out Hogwarts, at the edge of the forbidden forest, putting the finishing touches on plans before the final battle. For a brief few moments they had been hidden away and safe, dappled by sunlight and oak-leaf shadows. Harry's hair was dark and tousled, like his fathers, and stirring in the light breeze; his eyes the green of his mothers, still clear with an innocence he should have lost long ago.

In the past, before they went into battle together, they had helped each other don duelling robes and told each other 'good luck.' But five years into the war, Harry could no longer bear parting in that manner. On the morning of the final battle he'd made it known that when the time came for them to go, they should just pretend that they were going to check on the others, or send a patronus, or something like that, without saying the word good-bye.

And so Hermione had stood for a while, watching Harry and Ron scribbling the final amendments to their plan of attack on a piece of parchment on the forest floor. A moment came when the deep-heart sorrow of leaving them seemed to double in weight each minute she delayed, so that if she didn't go right then she would never go.

And so she kissed Harry's cheek as he drew the last few lines on the parchment, and she said that she was going for a walk, and she went into the forest through the trees and past the boundaries to where she could apparate away, the sky before her blurred and darkling as if storm-swept, though the day was blue and bright. The next time she saw Harry, he was dead.

Now, in the Selwyn's bathroom, Hermione regarded her mirror image and knew that, without doubt, she would be able to commit the horror they intended. In the defense of the innocent - not just Harry, but also the uncounted others who had been or would be killed by the Death Eaters - she would incur no mortal stain.

However, she would be a fool if she believed that the acts her friends were about to commit would not haunt them for the rest of their lives. And she was no fool.

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"Hello and good evening ladies and gentlemen, witches and wizards!"

The party guests turned as one towards the rear of the garden, where a tall wizard stood on a raised podium beside a small waterfall. He raised a silver bell and rang it again, and the last of the conversations fell silent. Hermione rejoined her friends, slipping quietly between the guests.

"Welcome to Selwyn Manor," the wizard said. "It is my pleasure to host our annual Midsummer Party, and see so many dear friends here tonight."

Hermione realised that this must be Arabel's father, Lord Selwyn. He was older than she had expected, but there was cunning in his face, and although he spoke only pleasantries, his eyes never ceased moving across the guests. She shifted, until the fern plant beside her obscured her from his gaze.

"Watch out for that one," somebody said quietly.

Hermione turned. Regulus had appeared by her side almost silently, and he raised a finger to his lips.

"Get ready. Arabel is keyed into the Manor's perimeter wards, and she said they just activated again. We think the Dark Lord is -"

Hermione gasped, and pressed a hand to her throat. The Dark Mark pendant had been strung onto a silver chain by Regulus. Now it rested in the soft hollow between her collarbones, and it had just emitted a static shock.

"He's here," she said quietly.

Lord Selwyn paused, and tilted his head as though listening to something. He smiled, and raised his glass.

"I will bore you no longer ladies and gentlemen. Our guest of honour has arrived, and I believe he wishes to address us. I give you, Lord Voldemort!"

The crowd turned. Walking through the entrance to the garden, Lord Voldemort raised a hand. A smile graced his lips, and Hermione shivered. Flanking him were Bellatrix and Rodolphus Lestrange, and although both were smiling their hands were buried deep in their pockets, where wands could be clutched.

Hermione's squeezed Severus's hand, her signal to him to prepare. As the witches and wizards around them turned to watch Lord Voldemort approach, she moved unobtrusively into position, right behind Lord Abraxas Malfoy. Across the room, Rabastan lined up behind Lord Theodoros Nott, and scattered amongst the crowd the others were doing the same.

Arabel had been the architect behind this plan.

"I don't know what the Dark Lord saw in my mind," Hermione had told them earlier that day, at the Shrieking Shack. "I don't know if he knows I'm a time traveller. If he knows then there's no undercover anymore, there's just battle. But the only way to find out is to go tonight. Find out if the cover has been blown."

"If the Dark Lord tries to attack Hermione at the party, we all need to escape the manor," Arabel had pointed out. "But while we're there, we might as well hit them where it hurts. I think you all know what I mean."

Regulus had nodded, but everybody else looked confused. Arabel had explained.

"We should kill the Lords. Who do you think is funding the Death Eater movement? Kill the Lords, and you kill the Dark Lord's cash supply. Or at least tie it up in legalities for a while."

"You want us to kill the Lords of ancient bloodlines?" Rabastan said incredulously.

"Just the Lords, not the heirs. The bloodlines won't be damaged," Arabel said patiently.

Rabstan was not appeased. "But that would mean…"

"Our parents," Regulus finished.

"What an insult to wizarding purity," Rabastan said bitterly.

Arabel shook her head. "There's only six of us, so even if we take one each it doesn't need to be anyone related to us. Malfoy, Nott, Crabbe…"

"And if the Dark Lord doesn't attack Hermione?" Severus asked.

Arabel shrugged. "Even better. It means her cover isn't blown."

Alecto frowned. "These are fully grown wizards. We'll never make it out alive."

Arabel looked like the cat who had caught the mouse. "I'm tied into the manor's wards. I can alter them on the fly, and suppress the magic of everyone except us. It'll only last thirty seconds or so...but that's long enough for a cutting curse to the throat."

Regulus stared at Arabel. "You're fucking bloodthirsty you are," he said, with something akin to admiration.

The argument had carried on for some time, and the sun was streaming through the cracked walls of the Shrieking Shack before they all agreed, but finally even Rabastan had conceded. When Lord Voldemort moved to attack Hermione, they would kill the Lords.

The crowd gathered around Lord Voldemort as he stepped onto the podium beside the waterfall. It was as though they were drawn in by the mere force of his presence. He nodded to them, and waited for silence. Bellatrix stood close beside him, wearing formal duelling robes.

When everybody was silent before him, Lord Voldemort cleared his throat.

"Thank you Lord Selwyn for having us here tonight. You honour us."

Lord Selwyn, standing in front of the artificial waterfall, nodded. Lord Voldemort smiled at the crowd.

"Only the finest of wizarding society is invited here tonight," he said pleasantly. "The finest, and the most distinguished. Those who we trust, those who we know embrace the traditions that we work so earnestly to keep alive. Later there will be the opportunity to hear much more about this. But over the last few years we have created a tradition of our own, and it shall be continued tonight. Rodolphus - please."

Rodolphus Lestrange stepped forwards. In his arms was a large bundle of robes. Across the room, Rabastan couldn't tear his eyes away from his brother.

Lord Voldemort paced across the podium.

"Some have distinguished themselves above others, and have proved worthy of the rank of Death Eater. Last night we saw two new members submit to testing and take the mark."

The crowd burst into applause, and Hermione brought her hands together, though they were cold and leaden. Lord Voldemort steepled his fingers, and silence fell. Witches and wizards leaned in eagerly so as not to miss a word.

"Lucius Malfoy, step forward."

With a beaming smile, Lucius stepped out of the crowd and towards the podium. He glanced in the direction of his father, Abraxas, but instead his gaze slid past and met Hermione's. She remembered him writhing and vomiting in the dirt, and snorted. Severus squeezed her arm.

"Shh," he whispered.

Lucius turned back, but his smile had slipped somewhat. Lord Voldemort ignored the byplay and continued to speak.

"You distinguished yourself last night, and we welcome you to the Inner Circle."

There were nods and murmurs. Nobody was surprised at this news. Rodolphus Lestrange stepped forwards and handed Lucius a set of robes. Death Eater robes, Hermione realised. And then a slender silver mask. Lucius donned it, the silver gleaming against his golden hair. Hermione wondered what the point was in a Death Eater mask when your hair stood out like a beacon.

Lord Voldemort scanned the crowd, and his eyes landed on Hermione. But what was he going to do, so publicly, here? Was he going to attack now, or seek a private audience later? Everything about their plan depended on the answer to that question.

"But we have another," Voldemort said, and she sighed. It was going to be public.

"Get ready," she murmured, and heard the whisper pass along the line.

"Last night we witnessed something unusual," Lord Voldemort said. Hermione tensed.

In the chaos that would ensue after they killed the Lords, it was Hermione's job to get them out. While her friends held a line of defence, she would break the anti-apparation wards. They would leave a swift, bloody mess behind them, and they would run.

Hermione stared Lord Voldemort down, refusing to let him see her fear. He smiled lazily at her, his dark eyes flickering. The gathered witches and wizards waited with bated breath.

"Hermione Black did something extraordinary," Lord Voldemort continued. "During the testing period, which every recruit experiences, we are used to people who are brave. We are used to strong, and we are used to powerful. But nobody has ever, wandlessly, wordlessly overpowered every single tester."

There was silence so still that you could have heard a pin drop. Lord Voldemort smiled.

Hermione withdrew her wand from her pocket, angling it carefully upwards towards Abraxas Malfoy's neck. Any second now…

Lord Voldemort clapped his hands together. Hermione was so jittery she almost shot off the cutting curse. Idiot. Calm down.

"This is why Hermione Black will be entering the Death Eaters as no ordinary member of the Inner Circle. It is my pleasure to announce that Hermione Black will assume the role of my second-in-command, upon her graduation from Hogwarts and subsequent marriage next summer. Until that time she will be in control of our Hogwarts contingent. They will answer to her. Step forward Hermione Black."

Lord Voldemort gestured, and the air erupted with cheers, gasps and exclamations. Hermione stood stock still, as frozen in place with shock as one of the marble statues lining the garden. She became aware that someone was shaking her. It was Severus. He dug his fingers into her arm so hard that it hurt, and the pain of it brought her back to herself.

"Congratulations," he said, his eyes cautioning her. Don't fuck this up. Not now.

Hermione stepped forward, dazed. The crowd parted before her, people patting her on the back and murmuring congratulations. Bellatrix inclined her head towards Hermione, and Lord Voldemort gave a short nod of approval, before gesturing at Rodolphus. The man rushed forward, his arms full of dark fabric, and Hermione reached for it. Her first set of Death Eater robes.

They were soft and fine; finer than anything she'd ever felt before, and blacker than the night. Rodolphus helped Hermione arrange them around her shoulders. Then from his robes he pulled a silver mask.

Hermione took the mask in her hands, and turned it over and over, marvelling at the a craftsmanship. It seemed to glow like it was lit from within, and she lifted it to her face hesitantly. Before it had even touched her she felt it reaching for her, longing to attach itself to her. The moment she placed it against her face, it shifted and adjusted, until it fit so snugly atop her features it might have been with her her whole life.

"Congratulations my lady." Rodolphus said, bowing as he backed away.

The Death Eater applauded again, and Hermione looked around at the sea of faces. But we were going to kill you. This wasn't supposed to happen.

Lord Voldemort stepped closer to Hermione, and spoke in a low voice. "I do not have to impress upon you the greatness of the honour I am bestowing. But I believe you and I will do great things together."

"Yes my Lord," Hermione managed.

The rest of the party was a blur. Hermione was passed from person to person. There was music and dancing. Hermione found herself hand in hand waltzing with Abraxas Malfoy, and with every flash of golden hair she saw in her mind's eye the jagged cut she would have made across his throat. He would never know how close he had come to death that night.

Everybody wanted to congratulate her, and everybody wanted a piece of her. Bellatrix Lestrange took the time to pull Hermione aside for a brief chat.

"I never thought another woman would make it into the Inner Circle," Bellatrix said, tugging Hermione behind a row of trees. "Nobody's been good enough...until now. You're proof of what I've always known. The Dark Lord needs women on his side. We're cleverer, and we're better at taking the pain. Number two and three, that's you and me Hermione Black."

"I look forward to working with you," Hermione had managed to get out, before Severus had found her.

"I'm afraid I need to steal Hermione back," Severus said apologetically to Bellatrix. "The fireworks are starting."

Severus grabbed Hermione tightly by the hand and pulled her back into the main party, where the guests had crowded together. It was dark now, and and the heat of the summer evening had cooled somewhat, but the heady scent of the tropical plants still drifted across the air.

"Sev -" Hermione began to say, but then the first firework exploded across the sky. It was a dazzling display of magical artistry, golden showers shimmering beside crimson and emerald starbursts. It was too loud to speak, and Hermione gave up.

Severus slid his arm around Hermione's waist. Her silk dress was so fine that his fingers raised goosebumps, as though he was touching her bare skin. Hermione leant into him, the warm solidity of his body comforting. Every face was turned to the sky when she turned to him, and raised her face upwards. Severus leant down and kissed her.

The simple kiss deepened quickly, as Severus's mouth moved over hers, soft and urgent. As he went to draw away Hermione pulled him back, pressing her mouth back to his feverishly. Severus's other am came around her waist and he gripped her tightly, as his tongue pressed tentatively against the seam of her mouth. A small gasp escaped Hermione, inaudible under the sound of the fireworks. She worked one hand in Severus's hair, as his hand trailed up her rib cage until he was tracing the outline of her breast.

There was an enormous boom, and a flash of light high above them, and suddenly the night sky was alive with silver dragonflies. Hermione and Severus broke apart, gasping, and stared upwards. The dragonflies fluttered gently downwards, coming to rest among the guests. One landed on Severus's shoulder, where it rested, before collapsing into ashes.

The witches and wizards laughed and exclaimed, and house elves began popping up with trays of stronger drinks for those who wanted them.

"Firewhiskey?" Severus asked Hermione, tilting his head towards the tray.

Hermione's mouth was tender, and the places where Severus's hands had rested still tingled.

"When do we need to meet the others?" she asked.

"I saw Rabastan," Severus said. "While Bellatrix was cornering you. We're going to go home individually so we don't make anyone suspicious, we can catch up in the next few days."

"So we don't need to wait for anyone?" she confirmed.

Severus shook his head, and Hermione slipped her hand into his. She bit her lip.

"Then I'm taking you home Severus."

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Phew. Long chapter. I cut the scene here, so I've still got time to decide whether or not I really want to have smutty scenes published on the big ol' internet.

Thanks for reading,

Cas