Hermione stared at the large notice board in front of her and tried to make some sense of it; there were pieces of red string making a sort of haphazard map and you would be forgiven for thinking that this was the lair of a serial killer. There were photographs of death eaters all over the board, some had red X's marked across them and the ones that were closer to the centre, where there was a plain black square which represented Voldemort since nobody wanted to credit him with a picture, were the senior members. Well, as far as they could see it there was only one real senior member and that was Voldemort's confidant; Draco Malfoy.
It seemed that Voldemort was killing randomly and without thought now that he was mortal, a lot of the members Hermione would have recognised three years ago were no longer alive. She almost envied them their death.
Hermione spent hours pondering the board, occasionally adding another piece of string to connect a photo to a suspected death eater lair or pin up a new picture. It was her obsession but she preferred to think of it as a project.
She paused, again for perhaps the fifteenth time that evening, over Draco Malfoy's picture and wondered at how he had changed over the past few years. His hair was still immaculate but short now only his fringe remaining but hanging loose into his eyes rather than slicked back. His facial lines were chiselled and prominent cheekbones above a hard jaw line gave his face a commanding look he hadn't before possessed. The only real constant were his eyes, the same deep silver albeit with thick purple bags underneath them. She would still recognise him anywhere, despite the evidence of several years at war painted on his face like a mask.
She shivered once again thinking of the forbidden kiss that seemed like it had happened to someone else, as she had done regularly since this new picture, barely a week old, had come to her attention. It had meant everything to her at the time; it had been frightening, passionate and desperate all at once. After yet another coincidental meeting between them and another tense but failed attempt at convincing Draco to talk to Dumbledore, he had grabbed her blindly and pushed her against the wall of the tower latching his mouth onto hers with all the fever of a dying man clutching for his last straw. The kiss had awoken something in Hermione that she had never had the chance to explore. It had ended as quickly as it had started and later that night Draco had been dragged out to the tower and far away from her.
The passion he had filled her with, the longing and the sheer desperate ache which he had left behind when he had pulled away filled her with pain now. She loathed how she had reacted, how her back had arched pushing her towards him and allowing him to fill the space between them as his hips had ground into hers. She was repulsed by how she had moaned and responded to his touch with all the fervour of an addict finally getting a hit. She had lost herself in him, suddenly feeling certain of something and sure of everything in that instance.
Hermione sighed heavily, that silly, schoolgirl kiss was a fantasy come true and the reason she lost sleep even now so many years later, it was the reason she had been filled with so much revulsion and something akin to regret when she had first pinned up the pictures on the notice board last year, only to find Draco Malfoy staring back at her, scowling as usual.
Hermione frowned at the picture of Malfoy, they changed the pictures as regularly as possible always wanting to keep things recent. This one had been taken five days ago at one of the many known execution sites. She had stared at that picture in the beginning for several moments and it seemed to catch her eye every time she stopped to check the board, it was a close up shot taken as he had turned his head over his left shoulder perhaps to speak to someone behind him. His face seemed to be set and hard, the strikingly handsome features clear and the cigarette dangled from his mouth almost nonchalantly but his eyes held something that had transfixed Hermione from the moment she had noticed that something was wrong with them. The wind was blowing his hair so that his eyes only appeared occasionally but they appeared slightly glazed, as if he wasn't really present in the moment but somewhere else entirely. Hermione had been trying to put her finger on why they bothered her so much and for the now, the best she could think of was that he couldn't even be bothered to pay attention.
They had murdered fifteen muggle borns at that particular execution, some of whom she'd known. She'd heard it had been brutal, old fashioned torture methods utilised until they had screamed for death and once execution had been completed, they had fallen into the mass grave before them. They were the latest casualties in the death eater raids and the new recruits were said to be even more heartless than the death eaters they knew so well and even those numbers were dwindling as Voldemort became more and more erratic. For every one familiar face, there were at least ten new fresh-faced youths she didn't know and they were getting younger and younger by the month.
"Here you go Hermione", said Ron handing her a steaming mug of coffee. "What time do you need to leave?"
"In about twenty minutes", she replied blowing away the steam before inhaling the scent of coffee slowly and turning back to the board.
"Do you think he will show this time?" He asked sipping his own tea but she could feel his eyes studying her carefully.
"I don't know, I hope so, we haven't met in two weeks and I need what information I know he has", she sipped her coffee and smiled at him. "Thanks for this".
They had been indulging in a relationship of sorts, seeking each other in the late hours of the night for comfort, among other things, before returning to their respective beds and not speaking about it again. He was comfortable and safe; Hermione felt a security with him that she had struggled to find since Harry had died at the Battle of Hogwarts and it had felt like the whole world was turning inside out.
The headquarters of the Order of the Phoenix had been forced underground in the immediate aftermath of the battle and the subsequent year. They had spent the last three years openly battling against the dark forces but it hadn't been easy. Like the death eaters, they recruited regularly and were stretching this recruitment far and wide. They now had a strong Irish following as well as a steady American contingent. Currently, Kingsley and several others were attempting to recruit more followers but more and more people saw the situation as hopeless and refused to even get involved.
The house was located in Connemara, a quiet area deep in the countryside of Galway, Ireland. It had been necessary to move where nobody would find them or even think to look especially since apparating was so easy and Portkeys were made readily available.
Seamus Finnegan had offered his family's holiday cottage which the Order had readily accepted and promptly converted to make it bigger on the inside. Now it had upwards of twenty bedrooms as well as a kitchen big enough to feed everyone. The entire Weasley family including Charlie and along with the girlfriends of Percy and George all lived here now.
The original plan had been to have all the Order members under one roof but instead, for fear of having all the hens in one hen house as Mrs Weasley had said, this house served as main headquarters. Bill and Fleur had taken in Teddy and Kingsley had refused all offers of moving in with any of them.
All of the meetings were held here, as numbers grew so they had set up several safe houses around this country, Scotland and England. These were all marked by red lights on a large map to the left of the noticeboard. If the light went out, the safe house had been compromised, if they were red as they were now, it meant there was at least one person present keeping watch. The lights turned green when there were more than one person present and it was possible to cast a simple spell and reveal the names of those in the houses, of course, such a spell was only entrusted to the highest Order members.
"You think he has more intel?"
"I really do think so, I mean we've been hearing rumours for a long time about their recruitment process but they have to be moving further afield as we have been".
"I can never look at his face and stay calm", said Ron following her gaze which had been unconsciously trained on Malfoy's picture.
"I know, sometimes my rage feels like it will boil over and I fully believe it's why we're still standing here and Harry isn't", Hermione said resignedly. "I think he just couldn't do it anymore".
These were words she had said a thousand times, words to stave off the anger that Harry had somehow abandoned them and then they had been words for comfort to stave off the guilt at having thought of Harry like that.
"He made Voldemort mortal", said Ron sipping his tea before straightening Malfoy's picture and then unconsciously wiping his hand on his jeans.
"And in nearly four years none of us have been able to get close to him", said Hermione and she couldn't help the anger in her voice as she spoke.
"Your source has led to some valuable deaths Hermione, we just need him to start delivering us information that will get us closer to Voldemort", said Ron throwing a casual arm around her shoulders.
Hermione smiled but shrugged out of his embrace under the pretext of moving away and going into the kitchen. In truth, those kinds of casual intimacies felt...wrong...uncomfortable and as if they didn't fit in the rationality of day. At night she could, lose herself and...and...
Pretend he was someone else.
She shuddered as she took two more gulps of coffee before pouring the remains down the drain and stared out into the slowly darkening night. It was true, when he came to her or she to him, she would close her eyes and enjoy his careful and cautious love making and pretend that he was someone else, anyone else. A faceless man that she did not know and did not care about, it would make everything easier after all if she just didn't care.
"Any closer to discovering who the source is?" Ron's question was the same one that he asked about once a month for the last two years but the truth was she already had her suspicions.
"He's made a special request", said Kingsley suddenly slumping down at the kitchen table and staring at the expectant faces before his gaze finally settled on Hermione. "He would like his contact to be Miss Granger alone".
Every head swivelled in her direction but she didn't notice all she could focus on was Kingsley's face.
"What?" she had asked incredulously. "You're not serious? Me, specifically? How do you know I won't be captured or tortured?"
"Or worse", Ron had chimed in furious at Kingsley for even thinking about this.
"He has taken Veritaserum, he also allowed me to perform Legilimens and I see no reason to believe that his actions are anything but sincere. I appreciate that he is a death eater but his only two requests were to keep his identity a secret and that you act as his liaison Miss Granger. Please remember that I reached out to him, I recognise a man who is desperately seeking a way out", Kingsley was tired Hermione could see that but she couldn't believe that he would take leave of his senses like this.
"I won't do it, I can't...you can't make me...I won't", she had finished in a quiet voice knowing it was useless. They needed this source, this spy inside the death eater army. Snape's death had been a huge loss to them and they were losing more and more people every day because of bad intelligence. They were getting desperate and now at last a light had begun to glow.
"Miss Granger...I will accompany you on your first meeting and subsequent meetings if he will allow it before you trust him but believe me when I say that you are the only one he will talk to".
"I'm sorry...I...I don't..." she stopped before getting to her feet. "Yes, I'll do it. Set up the first meeting or whatever and just tell me when and where.
Ron had rounded on her, "Is this some sort of sick joke? I won't let you go alone, I have to go with you".
"Ron", said Shacklebolt, ever the peace maker. "That is quite impossible".
"You want us to honour the request of a Death Eater? One we don't even know!"
"I know him, I reached out to him, I offered him this chance and even after the first time I went to him, he never revealed the fact to anyone. If he had, I wouldn't be here right now which makes me think that he is trying very hard to survive and won't jeopardise his own chances".
Hermione stayed silent during this exchange, which continued behind her becoming more and more heated as Ron grew angrier. She would calm Ron down and she would go despite his wishes because she knew how important this was.
All for the greater good.
The when and where had turned out to be a field in the middle of the Cotswolds and Kingsley had indeed accompanied her on the first visit, and the second and the third until she could trust that her source was not about to kill her or take her hostage. However, Kingsley was not permitted to be within ear shot of the conversation which had been stilted until he had allowed her to use Veritaserum again so long as she never asked for his identity.
She had asked him if he meant to kill her, capture her or harm her in any way to which he had replied negatively. The last question she had asked was "Can I trust you". He had replied sharply with the glimmer of a smirk around his eyes since that was only part of him not really covered by his scarf: "Yes, I'm all you've got".
The answer hadn't seemed strange at the time but afterwards, on careful pondering, she had realised that it had reminded her of someone. The other answers had been simple and one worded but that one...that answer had struck of arrogance and something had resonated deep within her due to its resounding familiarity. It was like she was trying to make a memory resurface but it kept refusing, every time she thought she was getting closer it would slip through her fingers like sand.
She was aware that he was under the guise of polyjuice, had assumed as much in order to keep his identity a secret and once, just once, he had taken the potion and she had been late arriving, meaning that while he was with her he had started to change back. She could have sworn that she saw long fingered, impossibly pale hands flash before her eyes before he was gone and the whole encounter seemed like a dream but she knew, she knew in her very soul that she had seen those hands before. After that, realising how close he'd come to revealing himself, he had requested the thirty minutes or leave rule along with several others they had created.
All in all, he had requested her; therefore, the logical part of her knew that he had to be someone she knew.
"No", she whispered. "I'm not but I don't know if I want to find out".
"Don't you want to know why he asked for you specifically?" said Ron wrapping his arms around her and this time she didn't shake him off because she was already far away.
"No because that's the question you want answered because you feel irrationally jealous. My questions are far simpler and will be satisfied when I go tonight, where has he been and what's been going on". She sighed and leaned her head back allowing herself one moment where she could imagine herself in anyone else's arms but as she turned her head and stared back into the living room she saw the noticeboard again and trembled as the realisation hit her like the stomach punch Bellatrix, long may she burn in hell, had once delivered her.
Malfoy's eyes had seemed wrong in the picture and they were; they were off by a mile. She thought he had been turning to say something to someone or because he no longer cared but neither of those were right. The look in his eyes said the complete opposite, what she had taken for indifference was something else entirely. As she stared, the knowledge flooded through her like a tsunami, it changed everything about his demeanour and she began to wonder if she had read the picture all wrong to begin with.
His eyes weren't deadened with indifference. Indifference was a reaction she had grown used to seeing in the eyes of death eaters but previous photographs they had had of Malfoy had never been this close to his face. She had just automatically assumed that the same emotion as everyone else resonated in his eyes but it didn't.
He was sad, his eyes positively screamed it that she could have kicked herself for not seeing it before.
The truth hit her hard; sadness for a death eater at a place of execution wasn't right so if Draco Malfoy was feeling sad at the demise of muggle borns, something was definitely wrong.
And that something, she knew, might just change everything...he couldn't be her contact...could he?