Note: If you are interested, I have expanded on the idea of Hermione helping Lucius at the Department of Mysteries in another story called Unthinkable, which features a younger and more innocent Hermione.

— CHAPTER THREE —

An Auror's Duty

The torch's amber flame flickered on the wall, keeping the rest of the room in shadow. Hermione's eyes had become accustomed to the darkness, but she deliberately closed them. When she felt a kiss on her neck, she looked up to meet the Death Eater's half-closed eyes, and what she saw in them shocked her into speechlessness. For a moment, she saw rapture, gratitude, affection... what she saw couldn't be more different from his cool expression earlier that evening. She was amazed that this look was for her and because of her, that she had given him such pleasure...

He pulled her even closer, resting his head in the crook of her shoulder, and fell asleep almost instantly. On some strange impulse, she reached out with her hand and stroked his hair, wondering, why? Why did I let him...?

He was still on top of her, trapping her under him so couldn't move at all. Hermione lay under him, wide awake and alert, thinking, wondering...

She held her breath, afraid of waking him. She didn't think she could face him in the morning. She wouldn't be able to stand the shame of it or the smugness that she was sure she would see in his eyes. The mark on his arm was a harsh reminder of what he was, and she was afraid of what he would do to her once he regained his senses. She didn't think he would just let her leave.

What would he demand of her next? And more frighteningly, would she be able to deny him?

He might even change his mind and kill her, now that he had taken what he wanted from her... and now that she knew the location of their hideout.

By the time he would awaken, she had to be gone, she decided as she lay in his hold uncertainly. She felt the heat of his body and she found it somewhat comforting. She closed her eyes.

When it was morning and a ray of sunlight filtered into the room through a small gap in the black curtains, Hermione awoke on satin sheets in a bed that clearly wasn't hers, next to a man with glossy blond hair. The events of the previous night came crashing down upon her like a wave of cold water. She had slept with a Death Eater. Willingly. Well, almost. She hadn't really had a choice, since he probably would have forced her or killed her if she had refused. But she hadn't even protested. And she had actually enjoyed it, more than she would ever admit.

It was unlike anything she had ever felt before. He had commanded her every move, staring down at her in utter dominance. One thing was certain: Hermione had never known such pleasure.

Traitor, hissed her conscience. This was so wrong. She was supposed to hate him; she was supposed to feel disgusted to be the object of his selfish lust, not docilely let him have his way and enjoy every minute of it. But she had never truly hated him, had she? She had feared him, yes, but never hated. Oh my goodness, what have I done?

He was still sound asleep, his arms wrapped possessively around her. However, he had shifted in his sleep, and she was no longer trapped underneath him.

Where is my wand? she wondered. Then she remembered him putting it away into an inner pocket of his cloak. His cloak, which he had left on a hall stand near the door …

She managed to extricate herself from his embrace without waking him. From what she could see, he wasn't a light sleeper, and she thanked Merlin for that. Buttoning her robes, she stood and tiptoed out of the room as quietly as possible. Now was the time to put to practice the lessons of stealth she had been given during her training.

She cautiously made her way into the sitting room and towards the hall stand where their cloaks hung. She groped through the pockets of the luxurious black cloak that he had been wearing yesterday until she felt a wooden stick that felt familiar. She grabbed it and stuffed it into her pocket quickly, listening for any sound from the bedroom.

All was silent, meaning that he was still asleep. Hermione's cloak was suspended next to his, its vibrant colour clashing with everything in the room. She lifted it off the hook and replaced it around her shoulders, securing the clasp with shaking fingers. Her robes were horribly wrinkled; luckily, it hid them almost completely.

She hesitated for a moment before pulling out her wand, deciding to use the occasion to capture the oblivious Death Eater sleeping in the other room. She walked stealthily back into the bedroom, careful not to make a sound on the wooden floor.

She stared at him. He looked so defenceless, lying there with his eyes closed, oblivious to the fact that an Auror was standing over him with a wand. Falling asleep surely hadn't been his intention, and Hermione could hardly believe that a Death Eater would make such a fatal mistake. It would be a great feat for her if she brought him in; she would receive a considerable advancement at the Ministry …

Any other would have jumped at the chance, the godsent opportunity, a chance she wouldn't get again. It had been his mistake to fall asleep in her presence, leaving her unrestrained, and that mistake was going to be his undoing ... really, Death Eaters desperately needed some of the 'constant vigilance' lessons the Aurors had to take.

And yet … he looked so vulnerable, his pale skin contrasting against the black sheets, silver-blond hair on the pillow … it was almost as if, subconsciously, he had trusted her, and she felt more like watching over him in his sleep than taking advantage of the moment to catch him unprepared. She was seized with a sudden pity. It wouldn't be ethical to take advantage of this moment.

Ethical? But he's a Death Eater; he has killed dozens – if not hundreds – of people! But she couldn't bring herself to say the spell that would take him to Azkaban, not when he had treated her so civilly last night, like a lover … and it had felt so right …

Her wand raised, Hermione stood over him indecisively.

He opened his eyes suddenly, blinking before focusing on her. It took effort not to look away from the grey irises which quickly went from mild surprise to worry to alarm as he noticed the wand aimed at his head. His white face became paler than she had ever seen it.

But he seemed to regain control of his emotions rather quickly. Soon, she could not discern anything but cold indifference in his eyes, and notwithstanding his pallor, the expression on his face was neutral, almost mask-like.

"So. I see those Auror instincts have finally awoken from their desire-induced torpor. I find it flattering that I kept them dormant for such a remarkable amount of time," he drawled.

Hermione felt her cheeks heat up under his emotionless gaze.

"I have committed a grave imprudence, I admit … and how could I not have expected a vengeful Auror to seize the opportunity?"

A vengeful Auror? She wondered what this was about. Did he actually think she wanted revenge for what he had, er, done to her last night? Did he believe she was angry with him for that?

"Well? Are you going to send me back to Azkaban?" he said nonchalantly.

There was something in the way he pronounced 'Azkaban' that made her feel sorry for reminding him of it, but she refused to think about it. She was an Auror and she was going to act like one.

"Does that prospect worry you?" she asked, not without a hint of cruelty, imitating his earlier question about whether she was 'scared'.

As soon as she said the words, she felt like apologising for them. This situation felt strange. It felt wrong. It was supposed to be him standing over her, threatening and taunting her, not the other way around. Hermione had the distinct impression that she was disobeying some kind of law or command, even if it only existed in her heart.

"Why would it worry me? The Dark Lord would get me out of that place in no time, so I do not see why you even bother. Really, what's the use of chasing after Dark wizards only to place them in a prison where they only stay for days? Quite pointless, if you ask me... I do hope they are paying you overtime."

Hermione flushed like a Weasley. Everyone knew that the Aurors' hard work was underpaid, and it was very frustrating when Voldemort broke out his followers every time in spite of the security measures.

He sounded calm and collected. Only the pallor of his face betrayed the fear he felt. He was more than worried – he was frightened. In truth, he wasn't sure the Dark Lord would go to the trouble of breaking him out of Azkaban for the second time. He had done it last time only because he had needed his followers to consolidate his return. But now? He wasn't so certain.

In fact, the Dark Lord had been harsh towards him recently and he feared the consequences if he displeased him again. The Dark Lord still hadn't forgotten his failure to retrieve the prophecy from the Department of Mysteries, nearly seven years ago, nor had he forgiven – after all, he had lost the chance of ever gaining knowledge of the prophecy.

He could not believe he had fallen asleep, thus giving an Auror the perfect opportunity to apprehend him. In fact, it was a wonder that he was not back in Azkaban yet. He suppressed a shiver at the memory of that place. He had spent months in there and it had been enough to last a lifetime. He never wanted to return to Azkaban, even if there were no Dementors there.

He had spent only a few hours in the presence of the Dementors. They had left Azkaban as soon as they had sensed the Dark Lord's call, and that had happened hours after his imprisonment. But he still could not just leave the prison. Sirius Black, in his Animagus form, had been thin enough to slip through the bars, but he was not an Animagus. He and the others had had to wait until the Dark Lord had sent someone to unlock the cells, and the Dark Lord had taken his time, hoping that a sojourn in that place would serve as a lesson to his Death Eaters. The Dark Lord had been very displeased with them indeed – twelve fully trained wizards thwarted by six schoolchildren!

How could he have fallen asleep? How could he have been so imprudent? It was simply … he couldn't help it. He had thought and dreamt of her for eight years, and to hold her after all this time had been so gratifying … he had desired her for years, and now that he finally had her, it had briefly slipped his mind that she was an Auror. Her behaviour certainly hadn't helped remember it … he had found and claimed her before she became one, and to him, she would always remain the girl who had bravely held his gaze in the World Cup stands even as her complexion betrayed her true feelings. It had been an added pleasure to have her at his mercy now that she was a deadly enemy, a hunter of Dark wizards.

What surprised him was that she was still standing here, threatening him with her wand but not cursing him yet. Aurors were trained to capture Dark wizards at all cost, their entire lives consisted of it … surely she should have acted by now, instead of bothering with this chit-chat. If she truly had the intention of sending him to Azkaban, he could not see why she was wasting time. But she didn't look very determined, did she? It appeared that she was hesitating. Why?

Hermione thought of the glory that would be hers, the promotion that she would get if she was the one to apprehend Voldemort's right-hand man … she raised her wand, pointed it at his face – but as she met these grey eyes, the eyes that had haunted her dreams for the past eight years, she felt weak in the knees. She remembered the vulnerability she had seen in his eyes last night, and something within her paralysed her. She opened her mouth but found herself unable to utter an incantation. Even if she had, her aim would have been off, so much her hand was shaking.

You are stupid! screamed a voice in her head. Yes, she was really just a silly girl, if she was considering betraying the Ministry and the Order for a Death Eater who had always considered her inferior.

His gaze moved over her, full of mockery, pretending not to see the wand in her hand. "My dear Auror, you were far less bothersome when you were imploring me to touch you."

Hermione blushed again. She imagined how he was going to brag about this, in great detail, to his fellow Death Eaters. No, she had to make sure he would be safely in prison – then he wouldn't be able to tell anyone that he had pushed her into things no self-respecting woman would have done.

His white hand grabbed her wrist. "Now, girl, enough of this inanity," he snarled. "Give me that wand, as you are obviously in no condition to use it."

Hermione was tempted to just do as he said, but she felt her hackles rise at being called 'girl'. There was a reason why she had been sorted into Gryffindor, and her courage had chosen this moment to come to the surface. No, she wasn't just a girl and she wouldn't obey someone who called her one. She wouldn't submit to a Death Eater – but you already have! shouted her conscience – yes, she had, but she wouldn't do it again. Not this time.

Yet she couldn't bring herself to say the spell that would bring him to Azkaban. She just couldn't.

She had always been a clever witch. It didn't take her long to realise why she was, for once, unable to do her duty. She hadn't had any qualms about arresting Dark wizards before, so why now? What was different this time? Oh, she knew; she knew exactly what it was that held her back.

No! she thought in utter despair, I can't love him! He's a Death Eater, an enemy, a murderer … I can't love him!

But she did.

She stood there, with him holding – no, clutching her wrist while she held her wand in her other hand, aiming it between his eyes, the incantation on the tip of her tongue …

"I will not let you go," he murmured.

But she couldn't stay here. She had to leave; she had a life and a job, even if she had just committed treason. She was late for today's mission and she couldn't afford to disappoint Fudge. The Minister had never favoured her like he did Harry and some others. In spire of all her skills, Hermione was one of the least-paid Aurors. She had known that Fudge was prejudiced against Muggle-borns; she remembered Dumbledore confronting him in fourth year: You place too much importance, and you always have done, on the so-called purity of blood! But she had never expected she would be paid less because she was the only Muggle-born Auror ("Less qualified," according to Fudge). It had been a nasty surprise.

Struggling with every cell of her brain, Hermione forced herself to speak the incantation. "Stupefy!"

His pale face expressed deep surprise. He hadn't expected her to actually do it. But he had no one to blame for this but himself. How could he have been foolish enough to think she would overlook her precious Auror duty for him?

In the split second before the jet of red light struck him, Hermione saw bitter pain and rage in his eyes, and her own gaze reflected regret and a humble plea for forgiveness. In that instant, she knew she would never be able to hand him over to the Ministry. "I'm sorry … forgive me," she whispered.

Wrapping her cloak tightly around herself, she Apparated back to her home, leaving the stunned Death Eater behind. Neglect of duty, according to the Auror code, and it was the first time Hermione had deliberately failed to fulfil the obligations of her job. And she wasn't even remorseful about it.

Glancing at the clock – 7:26 – Hermione knew that she was seriously late. She had agreed to meet Ron, who was her partner for this mission, at King's Cross nearly half an hour ago so that they could walk to the St Pancras railway station in time to catch a train to Leeds. At least Ron had not come over to her flat to check on her because she was late … but he'll be here any moment, she thought as she quickly changed into Muggle clothes.

How could she explain this? She couldn't tell him the truth. Even if she left out the part about her doing nothing to attempt to escape, Ron would be mad at her. Well, perhaps not entirely at her, but he would still be mad, and knowing Ron's temper, it was never a good thing.

No, telling Ron the truth was out of the question. He would cast her out and condemn her for 'fraternising with the enemy'. She could imagine his reaction: 'Hermione, how could you? You're nothing but a traitor!'

It had been very unwise to go outside at night, to begin with. And considering Hermione's position as an Auror, when she had the chance, she should have Stunned him and brought him to Azkaban. The Ministry had been trying to capture him for ages, but he had managed to get away every time. She had been stupid to let such an opportunity slip between her fingers. But the truth was, she wasn't sure she wanted to … she had no intention of –

Crack.

She was about to stick her wand into the pocket of her coat when a Muggle-dressed Ron Weasley Apparated next to her.

"HERMIONE! ARE YOU ALL RIGHT? WHERE WERE YOU? WE'RE GOING TO BE LATE!" he shouted. His jeans looked a little faded and his jumper could have used a repairing charm in several places, but otherwise he looked no different from the average Muggle.

Hermione did not want to lie to her friends. She wished that she could tell the truth, but she would never be able to. Not to Ron, not to anyone. This was a matter of survival.

Some of the distress she felt must have been visible on her face, because Ron looked at her carefully, concern appearing in his eyes. Time to practice my acting skills …

She had fooled Professor McGonagall at eleven and faked a fit of tears in front of Umbridge at fifteen. Lying to one of her friends was different, but she was sure that she could do this. If she had successfully hidden the fact that she was using a Time-Turner from Harry and Ron for their entire third year, then this shouldn't a problem. Hermione had always been good at keeping secrets and she could be a good liar when necessary.

"I'm sorry, Ron, I overslept," she lied lamely. Oh, wait, that was the truth … "I thought the mission started at eight o'clock. It's only seven-thirty."

She hoped that in this hurry, the peculiarity of this would not occur to Ron: Hermione had never slept late, not even during her teenage years at Hogwarts.

"No, it was at seven! I've been waiting for you at King's Cross since SEVEN O'CLOCK!"

"Oh – what? Merlin, I'm so sorry … let's go! Oh my goodness, we'll miss the train!" she squealed with a hysterical expression.

"Whoa, Hermione … calm down! It's not the end of the world …" Ron tried to comfort her, though his next words proved that he really was rubbish at consoling people. "We'll Apparate directly, though – no time for a walk now. We'll be lucky to catch that train at all …"

That was easier than I expected, she thought with relief as they Disapparated together to the Muggle railway station of St Pancras.