Author's note: I was bored today, so I was poking around on and I managed to find (trumpet) Hermione's birthday! And, with that, her true age. Hermione's birthday is on September the 19th, and she should be 17 years old by now, because Rowling said somewhere that she was closer to 12 at the beginning of the first book. So…yay for me! Unfortunately though, I have already passed her birthday in this story. However, if it continues on to seventh year, I will try to remember to not miss it again.

CHAPTER 3: The Cost To Be The Dark Lady

He returned to her later that night. He had tried to make do without her, seeking admittance among the adults, asking several of the older women to dance with him. While they did not all refuse, it was obvious that it was awkward between him and any partner. Hermione knew, because she watched him.

Oh, the annoying prat! She thought. He had ruined all of her nicely laid plans be asking her to dance. She had been ready to flaunt how much better she was at everything, rub in all the horrible things she was doing, just to see his shock and amazement and hurt. But he'd ruined that by asking her to dance, saving her from all these people she didn't know, and saving her from the humiliation of standing alone on the dais all night.

In the two hours he'd been gone, only three others had asked her to dance, and as between Malfoy and the older ladies he danced with, conversation was dysfunctional. And now he stood at the edge of the dais again, gazing at her beseechingly.

Hermione met his eyes, and she knew that though her expression was level, she gazed at him just as imploringly as he looked at her.

They reached an unspoken agreement. This time they would both save each other. At only 16, neither fit into this crowd of Death Eaters, the youngest of which (besides Hermione) was in his late twenties. She rose from her throne and walked to the steps, allowing him to lead her down them. They danced, and he held her as far away from him as was possible without being rude.

"You can't tell them, you know. No matter how mad you get at me," she told him in the middle of a waltz.

"Why?" he asked.

"Why?" she repeated. "Because if they find out, I won't be able to spy on them and relate information."

"Yes, I figured that out. I meant why are you doing this? Why are you here?" he drawled, though she could see he was truly interested.

"Well, that's a first," she muttered.

"What?" he asked, suddenly alert.

"You're actually interested in what I have to say." Malfoy looked shocked, then appalled. He opened his mouth to deny it, and she raised her eyebrows. His protests died and he just shrugged.

"Anyway, I'd rather not talk about why I'm doing this," she said, looking away. Then she turned back to Malfoy. "All I'll say is that I'm all for my decision."

He looked perplexed, but as she offered up no other explanation, he didn't ask for one. The silence grew. "Thank you," she said, not meeting his eyes. She had been terrified all night of these people that she didn't know, who weren't like her. But somehow, with Malfoy, it wasn't as bad.

"Is the initiation bad?" he asked.

The suddenness of the question caught her off guard, and she actually laughed out loud, thinking of her own initiation. "Actually, no, it's really simple." Something rang in her memory. "Voldemort said that most new Death Eaters know what to expect because their parents tell them about it. Didn't your father tell you about it?" she asked, interested.

Malfoy shook his head. "Father is…different. He doesn't tell me much about his personal life. I think he's guilty about everything he's done." Clearly thinking he'd said too much, he stopped. Hermione pretended not to notice.

"But…but isn't he your sponsor?"

Malfoy gave a short bark of laughter. "No, my mum is vouching for me for Death Eater-ship. Father's more of a businessman. But, in fact," he tilted his head as if thinking, "it's mum that scares me more."

Hermione blinked. She hadn't expected this. Then she craned her neck around, upsetting the dance she'd forgotten they were doing. "Your mum's here?"

"Well, of course. She's a Death Eater too. Best friends with Bellatrix, even."

"Bellatrix?" Hermione asked faintly, still looking for Narcissa. Then she snapped to attention. "Bellatrix Lestrange?"

He laughed at her stricken expression. "How many other Bellatrixes do you know?"

Hermione shrugged, "But your mum was so nice. Strict, certainly, but nice." She stifled a gasp as she realized that somehow during their conversation, his grip on her had relaxed, and he no longer held her at arm's length.

Malfoy shook his head, "she's not, usually. She must've considered you important or liked you, probably—wait, how do you know my mum?"

"She took me shopping for my dress, but she won't remember me now, we erased her memory. Couldn't let people find out about me before tonight, you know."

He nodded. "I want you to see the garden," he said. Surprised, she looked up at him. He looked just as surprised as she. As if on cue, the song ended. She bit her lip, remembering.

"But I'm the guest of honor. And in this dress," she looked ruefully down at the blood-colored dress, "My disappearance will most likely be noted."

"Ah. Maybe next time then," he said, smiling crookedly. She nodded. A clock somewhere struck 11.

"Oh!" Hermione exclaimed. "Your initiation will be starting soon, Malfoy. You should come up with me onto the dais. Father will be glad to not have to look for you." She paused at the ease that had come with calling Voldemort her father. Malfoy looked equally shocked, and let her take him up onto the dais, where Voldemort already awaited them.

"Ah, Chicklet, you brought Mr. Malfoy for his initiation. Thank you; it's greatly appreciated." The gratitude in his voice was clear, and she glowed with it, bobbing a curtsy.

Hermione stood between Malfoy and Lord Voldemort. The crowd hushed, looking up at the trio expectantly. "Ah, now, we have one last item of business to attend to. Young Mr. Malfoy here is to be initiated. Narcissa Malfoy, Lucius Malfoy, and…" he scanned the crowd. "Ah, Avery, will you three bear witness to—"

"Three?" someone shouted incredulously from the crowd. "There's supposed to be four!"

Voldemort turned in the general direction of the speaker, "You dare suggest my daughter is unworthy of bearing testimony as a witness?"

Another voice from somewhere else piped up, "But she hasn't been initiated!"

Voldemort's gaze turned in that direction. Hermione stood haughtily between the two male Malfoys and sneered at the crowd. "Yes, she has," Voldemort, waving his wand to make a magnified copy of her initiation arise above their heads. "Any more protests?"

Crabbe or Goyle (she couldn't tell which) grunted, "I don't remember that."

Voldemort sneered, and Avery (who had obviously figured it out) winced in sympathy, "Of course you don't. We modified your memory so you wouldn't tell anyone about her before today."

"ANY more protests?" Voldemort looked around, but people merely looked shocked that Crabbe (Goyle?) hadn't been tortured where he stood and didn't speak.

"Good," Lord Voldemort smiled, which looked odd on his snake-like features as it wasn't a vicious grin. "Now, Wormtail! Give me the veritaserum!" Pettigrew walked up onto the dais, handing Voldemort the vial before getting lost in the crowd again.

"Chicklet, would you do the honors?" he asked, handing her the vial.

"Open up," she murmured to Malfoy. Obligingly, he did, and she poured the clear liquid down his throat.

Voldemort began the questioning. Hermione, standing on Malfoy's other side, could see he was nervous. It was then that she realized how stressful initiations usually were. In front of a crowd, being forced to answer everything truthfully. Imagine the possibilities for embarrassment! You had only your blind trust in your interrogator to hold onto. And anyone would be crazy to trust Voldemort completely.

She'd gotten off easy. She'd known from the beginning that their memories would be altered. She hadn't been the focus of about two hundred people; merely five. She didn't have parents to please (Voldemort didn't count), who could be shunned and laughed at if she messed up.

And then getting the Dark Mark…she shivered, remembering her own. If you cried or did anything but take the pain in silence, you would be labeled as something you may not be, and possibly laughed at.

The talking stopped, and Hermione looked up. "Well done," Voldemort said. He conjured up a golden cup with ebony flames that reminded Hermione of the Goblet of Fire.

"Now, put your left forearm into the flames to receive the Dark Mark." Hermione's eyes widened. She hadn't had to do that. But then again, she thought, I couldn't very well put my back over the flames. Malfoy glanced at her apprehensively. She nodded at him slightly. He set his face and thrust his arm into the black flames. Malfoy's eyes widened in pain, and he opened his mouth to scream, and then clamped his jaws shut, wincing. Hermione assumed he'd bitten his tongue.

Abruptly, the flames went out. The audience clapped enthusiastically as Voldemort held up Malfoy's arm to show the Dark Mark.

Then he conjured up the papers, finally taking down the magnified copy of her own initiation. The six of them (Malfoy included) signed the paper, then Voldemort added "Draco Malfoy" to the list of Death Eaters. She glanced at Malfoy. He looked shaken but pleased, and his parents smiled at him proudly. She felt a pang of jealousy and edged closer to Voldemort. She had two parents too, even if they weren't acquainted.

People began to leave after giving their newest member their compliments and greetings. By midnight, the only people left were the Malfoys and Hermione, Lord Voldemort, and Wormtail.

She didn't notice the similarities between Peter Pettigrew's story and her own.

"Well, time for you two to get back to school," Voldemort said, handing them a portkey. Malfoy quickly said his goodbyes to his parents and held onto the other side of the bowl just before there was a jerk behind her navel and they were gone.

The next thing they knew, they were at the Shrieking Shack. Hermione pulled her cloak tighter about herself in a sudden chill wind. They were both very tired by now, more so because they were going home. Teenagers may have the ability to stay up until dawn at a party, but on the return home, they tend to lag as all their energy drains. Such was the case here, so they plodded wearily through Hogsmeade.

"So…the Dark Lady, huh? Big title for a 16-year-old," he said, grinning. She snorted in reply. "Hermione Granger, I do believe I have misjudged you more than anyone else in my whole life."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" she asked him.

Malfoy shrugged, "You figure it out." He met her eyes with a smile, and suddenly the moment was awkward. Silence snapped them up in its jaws.

"So, did you like my house?" he asked, just as she said, "We can't be friends, you know."

Her jaw dropped at his question, though, and so he took the chance to say, "Of course not. Besides the fact that we're supposed to be enemies, none of your Gryffindor buddies would accept me, and none of…" he paused, and she knew what he was thinking. She was the Dark Lady. Of course the Slytherins would accept her, if they knew.

"You can't tell them either. I can't trust them to keep it a secret. It'll leak out," she said.

"And you trust me?" Malfoy asked, eyebrows raised.

"Well, no," she blushed, "But…" she touched his left forearm, then continued, "But you know the cost if you tell." Seeing the sense in it, he nodded.

"Why did you tell me, anyway?"

Hermione shrugged. "You would have recognized me sooner or later. And if it was later, and I didn't tell you when I did, who knows how many people you would've told before I got to you."

"Well, yes, but I may have never put it all together, because…well, I'd never expect you to be doing this." He gestured, trying to include everything in the sweep of his arms.

"So," she said, "That was your house."

"That was my house," he agreed.

"Why on earth do you have a ballroom in your house?"

Malfoy smirked. "Because we could." By now they were making their way up the steps. They reached the doors, and Hermione thanked him one last time.

"You're welcome," he said. "And I'm sorry in advance for calling you a know-it-all bushy-haired Mudblood tomorrow." Her eyes drooped sadly, but she nodded. It had to be done; Harry and Ron couldn't suspect anything.

They parted ways in the Entrance Hall. Hermione turned halfway up the stairs to look at Malfoy. He, too, had stopped to look at her, and she waved to him across the dim Hall. He waved back, and they went their separate ways.

There are some things that you can't share without liking each other, and finding someone your age in a ballroom full of older people (not to mention Death Eaters) is one of them.

Hermione walked down the corridor with a spring in her step, eager to get back to her dorm, into her comfy pajamas and into bed.

Unfortunately, she would have to wait a little longer. She stepped into the common room, and headed the girl's staircase, when, "Where have you been?"

The voice was cold and pained. Slowly, she spun on one heel to find Ron and Harry waiting for her. She grimaced.

Ron's turn to speak, "You told us you were feeling ill. We were worried about you. So we sent Parvati to see how you were, if you needed anything. Apparently, your bed hadn't been touched, and you were nowhere to be found. Hermione, where were you?"

"Obviously at a party," Ginny said coldly. Hermione hadn't noticed her before. She ground the heels of her palms into her eyes. This could not be happening.

"Why didn't you just tell us you were going to a party?" Harry asked.

"I didn't want to make you feel left out," she said slowly. "But…I guess I just wasn't thinking. Sorry guys," she said quietly. She cursed her great mind for deserting her now.

Ron sighed and gave her a hug, "It's okay, just tell us next time. We were worried sick," he chided. Hermione nodded, pulling from his grasp to dart up the stairs to her dormitory. Closing the door behind her, she finally shed her cloak only to realize she was still wearing the dress. She'd left her clothes at Malfoy Manor! With a groan, she sank into her bed.

"Ooh, what a pretty dress! Were you at a party?" Lavender squealed at her. Parvati appeared too, to whistle at her dress.

Hermione nodded dumbly. "You look tired. Lav, we'll grill her about it in the morning. Goodnight!" Their lights winked off in unison, leaving Hermione confused, hungry (she hadn't eaten all night and was only just feeling it), and tired. In a haze, she peeled out of her gown, draping it over her trunk, and slid her pajamas on, finally falling into bed to be asleep before her head hit the pillow.


Harry and Ron exchanged glances as Hermione left. Ron turned to Ginny, "Out, Ginny, please." She looked to the two of them, then sniffed and left in a huff.

Harry sank into a chair as Ron paced. "What are we going to do about her?" Harry asked, head in his hands.

"I know what you mean, mate. First the train, now this…" Ron shook his head.

"She's different. Something's wrong, I can feel it," Harry said.

"Exactly," Ron said.

"I don't think Krum is the reason she got a tattoo," Harry said. Ron shook his head in agreement. "I think it's something deeper than that."

Harry and Ron shared a glance again. In that glance was an agreement, a promise. They would find out what had happened.

"So…that's settled, then," Ron said. "Harry, when do you think…?"

"I don't know," Harry said. "I really don't know, Ron. But all I can say is try to catch her at a time when we haven't locked her in a train compartment or just confronted her about coming late from a party and making us worry to death."

Ron nodded, but sighed. "I don't want to wait for her that long, though. I mean," he said, wincing, "I don't want to wait to have her be my girl for that long. I'd wait for her forever," he said. "Or, at least," he added sensibly, "that's what it feels like." He stared vacantly into the fire and jumped when Harry put a hand on his shoulder.

"C'mon, mate, we're all tired. Let's go to bed." Ron nodded his agreement and they made their way to their dormitory.


Hermione woke late the next morning. She glanced at the clock to see she'd already missed breakfast and still had an hour and a half before lunch. But for her, food could not wait at the moment. Her thoughts went to Malfoy—had he eaten? She assumed he hadn't eaten last night, but the real question was if he'd woken up early enough to eat this morning. She shrugged—why should she care if he ate or not? But now she'd thought of him, she couldn't leave him without food if he hadn't eaten breakfast. Quickly, she penned a note—

I missed breakfast, didn't know if you did too, but if you did the kitchens are behind the portrait of a bowl of fruit in a broad corridor off to the left of the Entrance Hall if you're coming down the stairs. Tickle the pear.

Signed,

DL

She used the initials for Dark Lady and hoped he would get the hint. They couldn't let people think they were actually corresponding with one another.

Frowning, she realized it would be out of her way to go to the owlery. But when she thought of the other options—have a house elf deliver it or deliver it for herself—she decided her stomach would just have to wait. Sighing, she dragged on a school robe over her pajamas, not caring if anyone happened to notice, and left her dormitory.

She headed to the owlery, using some secret passages to shorten the time. Finally there, she picked an alert school owl and tied the letter to its leg, telling it to find Draco Malfoy. It hooted softly at her before setting off to its task. Hoping it would find Malfoy okay, she returned to the corridor and went directly to the kitchens. Checking no one else was in the hall, she tickled the pear. The portrait swung open, and she walked in—to see Draco Malfoy sitting at a table licking honey from his fingers.

"How'd you get here so fast?" she asked, flabbergasted.

"What do you mean? How did you get here so fast?" he asked.

"But I only just sent you the owl telling you where the kitchens were!" she said.

"Really? You thought I didn't know where the kitchens were?" he asked incredulously.

"And what do you mean how did I get here so fast?"

"I only just sent you an owl giving you directions to the kitchen."

She snorted, "And you thought I didn't know where the kitchens were!" They looked at each other then, realizing at the same time the hilarity of the situation. They had both sent each other owls to tell the other person where the kitchen was. They burst into laughter.

Hermione gained control of herself first. "Thanks for thinking of me," she said softly.

"Same to you," he said. "D'you want some toast? Or bacon, sausage, eggs, anything? I've got far too much here," he indicated the table laden with food in front of him.

"Toast would be nice," she said. Several house elves rushed over, bringing toast. She closed her eyes and resisted the urge to smack her forehead. She'd forgotten they were in the kitchen.

She opened her eyes and accepted three slices of toast before settling herself on a stool across the low table from Malfoy. She began her second slice of toast before she noticed what Malfoy was doing. She put her toast down, watching him slather a slice of toast with honey and then scoop scrambled eggs on top of it. And he was eating it! She watched in horrified fascination as he finished one slice of toast, honey and eggs and began making another one. He took a bite of this second piece of eggs-on-honey-on-toast before noticing her disgusted look.

"What?" he asked, spraying toast and honey and eggs everywhere.

"That," she pointed to his doctored toast, "is gross." She brushed some of the stuff he'd spit off the table, earning herself a sticky hand. She looked around for something to wash up with, finally just pulling out her wand and casting a small spell to clean it off.

"Oh, right!" she exclaimed, remembering. "Malfoy, I forgot my clothes at your house last night…?"

"Yes, I know," he said, swallowing before he spoke this time. "My father owled them to me this morning, which is why I thought to write you before coming down here." He took another bite of his toast-thing and she couldn't hide the nauseous feeling it gave her. He swallowed, smirking, "Grossed out yet?" he asked her. There was a challenge in his eye, and she gaped to see it.

Her jaw shut with a snap and she smirked back at him. She looked at the table around them, trying to think up something grosser than what he was eating. She spied a pitcher of orange juice and grabbed a piece of toast, dunking it in until it was soggy. Then she grabbed a bottle of ketchup and poured it on her toast, topping it off with several slices of bacon. She nearly gagged when she ate a bite of it, but hid it before he could see it and swallowed her bite. She raised her eyebrows at him in challenge, taking another bite.

He smirked, accepting her challenge. He called over one of the hovering house elves and asked for something as she continued to eat her nauseating toast. As soon as he ate his own concoction, she could put this thing down. A minute later, the house elf returned with several bananas, a small cup of yogurt and another small bowl of peanut butter. Smirking again, Malfoy took a sausage and cut it down the middle so it reminded Hermione of a hot dog bun, then he piled the inside with honey, yogurt, and peanut butter, then sliced the banana and put some of that on top of it.

She grimaced when he bit into it, and the grossed-out look on his face was priceless. But just as she had, he continued to eat it anyways. She set down her own unfinished toast happily and thought for something else she could eat. Her thoughts raced back, and she remembered something she had eaten regularly as a kid. Grinning wildly, she asked a house elf for some mustard. She'd have to modify it, of course, but it would probably create the effect she wanted. She took two slices of toast, slathering one slice with mustard, and the other with strawberry jam. She reached over and took the yogurt that Malfoy hadn't used and put that on top of the mustard.

She looked around, feeling the need for something more on her sandwich. Malfoy was already looking disgusted with her sandwich, but she just wanted something more…she whispered something to an elf, and it ran off, coming back a second later with a bar of Honeydukes chocolate. She pressed that into the middle, taking a huge bite. Malfoy put his sausage down joyfully, searching for something to make something new with.

Hermione waited patiently, musing that without the mustard, this sandwich might not taste that bad. Malfoy waved off the house elves and searched the kitchen himself, coming back a couple minutes later with a bowl of cold tomato soup. He sat down and pointed out what was in it, "Uncooked noodles, walnuts, Spanish olives, Bertie Botts Every Flavor Beans." He took a bite, and she could hear the uncooked noodles crunching as he chewed. Suddenly he froze, couching violently, his face turning red. When he finally caught his breath, he looked at her. "Whatever flavor that bean was, it was really spicy." Hermione looked at him sympathetically as he took another bite. She watched him eat one more.

Four bites of that soupy thing. She had to come up with something. She asked a house elf for a stick of butter, apologizing to her stomach. She cut out the middle of the butter, making a well in it. She poured honey down that well, then poured a ton of salt over the whole thing, making it a white mound. Already feeling sick, she did herself a favor and cut off the excess butter around the well. She lifted it off the table, looking hopelessly at Malfoy.

She took a bite, and felt like she was going to vomit. Coughing horrendously, she put the butter-thing down, looking to Malfoy. "You win, because I'm not going to eat that." He nodded sympathetically, and they looked around the table at the half-eaten tools of their contest. She started laughing first, then he joined in, and before she knew it, she was crouched on the ground, unable to sit up any longer, with tears streaming from her eyes. "How stupid we are! What an idiotic competition!"

Malfoy was laughing just as hard, choking out an agreement. But then suddenly his face went slack. "This is too weird," she barely heard him mutter as he rushed out of the room. Stomach protesting this hard treatment loudly, she stood and looked over the table, saying, "Is there any way I could help with…" She trailed off, catching sight of an odd creature. It was a short thing with about 2 or 3 feet of colorful layers, with discolored feet several sizes too large for its body and several scarves. "Oh my," she breathed. It was Dobby, and it looked like he was wearing nearly every stitch of what she'd made last year.

"Dobby?" she said tremulously.

"Miss Hermione! Dobby did not recognize you with your hair! Dobby thought you were one of the Slytherin girls! Do you need something?" he said. It hurt her to see he was wearing nearly all of her clothes.

"Dobby, why are you wearing all of my hats and socks and scarves?" she asked.

"Dobby does not wear all of them, no!" he said, shaking his head emphatically. "Dobby has been giving them to Winky too, Miss! None of the other house elves would take them, Miss! Dobby has been having to clean the Gryffindor tower all by himself all last year, Miss! But Dobby doesn't mind, because he may get the chance to see Harry Potter and his kind friends that way, Miss!"

Feeling like she'd just been punched in the stomach, she patted Dobby on the back and left.

Not wanting to run into Harry or Ron, she opted to go to the library rather than go to her dormitory. She went in, realizing she had no supplies to do anything with. She plodded over to Madam Pince's desk and begged a four-foot roll of parchment and a quill and ink from her, settling at a table in the back to do a potions essay. She was so immersed in her essay that she hardly realized when a shadow fell across her work.

"Hey, Granger" a voice next to her ear said. This she noticed, and jumping, looked up.

"Malfoy," she said, surprised. He handed her a squishy package, then looked over the three and a half feet she'd written.

His eyes widened. "Is that Snape's essay on dragon heartstring use in potions?"

"Yeah, so?" she asked guardedly.

"It's only supposed to be three feet, you know."

She sniffed. "I know, but I haven't yet gotten to the ill effects of it when used with a bezoar that hasn't been soaked for at least 72 hours in a mixture of dragon's blood and monkshod, because, as you should know, that's the only way it can be used in combination with dragon heartstring, or your potion will reject it and it will go up in a foul-smelling smoke that takes months to clear out," she said, frowning. She wasn't sure if that half-foot was enough to explain that and several other items of information she hadn't been able to fit into the other three and a half feet.

"Really?" Malfoy asked, looking astonished, "I didn't know that."

"Well now you do." Malfoy looked up at the door.

"Know-it-all," he said, but he didn't say it harshly like he used to. Indeed, it sounded more like a term of endearment. "I gotta go. But you may want to do something with your hair. It still looks like it did last night, and people may…ah, jump to conclusions if their parents have told them of a young girl with curled red-streaked brown hair who just happens to bear the title…" he trailed off, not wanting to say it where they were, and she nodded, rolling up her parchment and putting away the book she had been using. She returned the quill and ink to Madam Pince and went to the nearest Prefects bathroom to see what she could do with her hair.


Draco drifted back to his common room, his mind a whirlwind of confusion. He had a lot of mixed feelings about Granger right now, and they were all so bewildering! He wished things were back to the way they were, so he could just hate her and be done with it. But that was when he had been her superior, and now it turned out that, though his blood was purer, she had a higher ranking than he could ever wish for. They couldn't be friends, but isn't that what they'd been acting like this whole time? Ever since last night it had all been a bundle of laughs.

And he didn't like it. Not that he minded laughter and fun, of course. It was just that he didn't know what to make of her. Furthermore, their two houses had had a rivalry for hundreds of years. It was obvious she belonged in Slytherin, but she wasn't, and that worried him. Then again, something might have happened and changed her from what she was before. It just didn't make sense to him, and it certainly didn't help that she'd been his enemy for 5 long years.

He reached the wall to go into Slytherin, but paused. He'd been missed last night, and he didn't want questions. So instead of going in, he continued down the hall to find an empty classroom to think in.


Hermione returned to her dormitory to find two owls on her bed. One was a large eagle owl—Malfoy's. She took the letter from its leg and reached out tentatively to pet it, but it nipped at her finger and soared off through the open window. She opened the letter, reading on it directions to the kitchen and a reminder that he needed to get her clothes to her sometime. She dismissed this letter and turned to the other one. She looked at the seal and grinned happily. It was Voldemort, probably writing to tell her how last night had gone in the eyes of the Death Eaters. She opened it eagerly, reading:

Most of the D.E.s last night were satisfied that you are my daughter, but I snuck around and listened to what they were saying when they thought I was not listening. They need for you to prove yourself, a show if you will. I fear they will not wait long before bringing this to my attention, calling you unworthy until you have done so.

Think of a date for this…ceremony, if you will, and I will see that it works and get the invitations out. Write back soon.

Sincerely,

Tom

Hermione dropped the letter on the bed, understanding what this meant. They wanted her to prove herself to them—by torturing someone.


Condemned from the start

—Fall Out Boy "Sophomore Slump Or Comeback Of The Year"