— CHAPTER EIGHT —

The Second Female Death Eater

On Monday, Hermione arrived at number twelve Grimmauld Place early for the scheduled Order meeting. She now had a mission; she knew she had to gather as much information as possible, because the more she would be able to tell Lord Voldemort on their first encounter, the more chances she had of getting into his and the Death Eaters' good graces; first impressions were crucial.

The idea of spying on a group of people made her feel very nervous. She knew she had to be very cautious from now on. She had to adopt Moody's "constant vigilance" as her mantra. A wrong word, an inappropriate expression and they would become suspicious of her. She would not screw up. She took this more seriously than she had ever taken anything else in her life, and being Hermione Granger, that was saying a lot.

She remembered Harry telling her about Occlumency, many years ago, and knew why she had to be particularly careful. She would look neither Dumbledore nor Snape in the eyes; she considered it the safest course of action. She could not risk them glancing into her mind and accidentally discovering her loyalty no was longer to the Light side.

Their trust in her was what made her useful to Voldemort, as Lucius had told her. And she had to keep that trust intact. The idea of being a spy, a camouflaged enemy in their midst made her anxious, but she knew rationally it wasn't as difficult a role as it sounded. Even Peter Pettigrew, who was a mediocre wizard without much intellect, had done it, and no one, not even Dumbledore, had discovered his secret until many years later.

And Snape was playing a much more dangerous game with Voldemort; at least the Light side would not kill her if her treason was ever discovered. Azkaban did not scare her as much as it used to, because Voldemort would get her out like he did all Death Eaters, but she strongly preferred if it never came to that.

All these thoughts were swirling around in Hermione's head as she made her way towards a door at the far end of the hall.

So this is what I am now, mused Hermione as she went through the door, down a flight of narrow stone steps and through another door leading into the basement kitchen where the Order meetings took place. A spy. She had never imagined her career would take such a turn.

Forcing her face into a neutral expression, Hermione took a deep breath and entered the long, gloomy room with stone walls and a large fireplace at the far end; it was packed with witches and wizards. Seated around a long wooden table, they were talking in hushed voices buzzing with interest and excitement.

Whatever they found exciting about fighting Voldemort, with the risk of getting themselves killed at any moment, Hermione had always failed to understand.

She surveyed the people in the room, noting Mr and Mrs Weasley along with their oldest sons Bill and Charlie all sitting close together. At the end of the table, Hermione's fellow Aurors Tonks and Shacklebolt were having a heated discussion with Mad-Eye Moody.

Also clustered around the table were Professor Lupin, Emmeline Vance, Sturgis Podmore (who had long since recovered from his experience with the Imperius curse as well as the short sojourn in Azkaban that had followed it), and many, many others from the original Order of the Phoenix, and many of Hermione's former classmates: Neville, Ginny, Luna, Susan Bones, Hannah Abbot and most of the remaining members of Dumbledore's Army, the group Hermione had helped create, who had joined the Order upon graduating from Hogwarts.

And of course, Ron and Harry, seated at the far end of the table with their heads close together, whispering quietly. But wait a moment –

Harry? What was he doing here? He was supposed to be at the trial where he had been called to testify! Had he been excused form his role of witness? Why? Maybe he had convinced Fudge to call in another of the Aurors who had been present at the Diagon Alley fiasco; they had all seen the same thing (except Hermione, but no one knew that).

Hermione decided not to sit between Harry and Ron. Staying far from her former best friends, she chose the empty chair between her colleague Tonks (whose hair was currently a bright red colour that reminded of blood), and Hestia Jones, a friendly young witch with black hair. Aside from a brief greeting to the people around her, Hermione stayed inconspicuously quiet and listened to the conversations around her.

The last to arrive were the members who resided at Hogwarts: Professors Dumbledore, McGonagall, Hagrid (who waved to Hermione) and, finally, Snape. As the deputy Headmistress of Hogwarts took a seat on Dumbledore's right side, and the spy took his place on the Headmaster's left, everyone fell silent.

Dumbledore stood up. "Good afternoon, and welcome to this meeting of the Order of the Phoenix," he said in a quiet but clear voice, his blue eyes twinkling as they gazed around the room, looking at each member in turn. Hermione did not meet his gaze, looking at his eyebrows instead.

"Severus," he said, turning to Snape, "have there been any news concerning Vol—" many of the witches and wizards in the room shuddered and winced at the name, "—demort's activities and intentions as of lately?"

Go on, make your report, thought Hermione. It will be your last. She had never forgotten Snape's unfair treatment of herself, her friends and so many others at Hogwarts.

"I have some fascinating news," Snape said with the usual ugly sneer on his face. "The Dark Lord intends to send a group of Death Eaters to attack the house of Amelia Bones, Head of the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, and to kill everyone inside. The attack will take place on Friday at nine o'clock in the evening."

Many gasped. Susan Bones, now a Ministry official herself, paled. "You-Know-Who is after my auntie? But why?"

"Madam Bones has sent many of his Death Eaters to Azkaban," answered Kingsley Shacklebolt in his deep, slow voice. "You-Know-Who's goal is to destabilise the Ministry, and so far, your aunt has been a major obstacle."

Susan looked terrified.

"Kingsley is right," declared Dumbledore gravely, "and this is troubling news indeed. Amelia would likely be the next Minister for Magic, if anything were to happen to Fudge. Voldemort's decision to remove her means he is paving the road for taking on the Ministry in the near future."

"We have to do something," declared Harry. There were nods and sounds of agreement.

"What do you propose we do, Harry?" Hermione spoke up, resting her elbows on the table. She knew she had to play her usual role in these meetings; anything else would look suspicious. "Voldemort himself might be there. It sounds like this is really important to him; he might want to oversee it personally."

Heads turned in her direction, faces revealing fear. They hadn't realised Voldemort might be at the attack. But there was no surprise; this wasn't the first time she acted the critic. It was what she did at every meeting. She was one of the few people in the Order who kept a clear head and thought about the risks of each mission.

She felt Dumbledore's eyes fixed on her with their usual intensity. Hermione, however, did not look at the Headmaster. Her eyes were fixed solely on Harry, who was no Legilimens. So far, Harry had avoided speaking to Hermione after their fight. Now, however, he seemed to have forgotten about his decision not to talk to her, and he answered fervently:

"There are things worth dying for! We can't let the risk stop us from doing what's right. That's what the Order is for."

"We are not going to help anyone by dying, Harry. We can't go in without a good plan. What we are we going to do if Voldemort is there?" she let a bit of hysteria enter her voice.

Just as Harry opened his mouth to reply, Dumbledore finally intervened, cutting the discussion short.

"I believe a vote is in order. Those in favour of intervening to stop the planned attack on the home of Amelia Bones?" demanded Dumbledore calmly.

Hermione raised her hand. As she had expected, so did almost everyone else. Hermione tried to see who had not raised their hand, but before she could, Dumbledore said, "Excellent," and all hands went down. "You are to arrive at Amelia Bones' house at a quarter to nine, Friday night. Are there any questions so far?"

No one spoke.

"Here," said Dumbledore, conjuring a scroll of parchment and unrolling it on the table, revealing what looked like the plan of a building. "This is the plan of Amelia's house. There are two exits," the people around the table leaned over to see more clearly, and Dumbledore continued, "and all the rooms are on the first floor, except the kitchen and the fireplace that are located in the basement. Amelia will undoubtedly be in her study working on one of the prospective law projects when the Death Eaters arrive. It would be best if we get there before them and wait for them."

The people around the table nodded in agreement.

"Which door will they come through?" asked Tonks.

"Unfortunately, we don't know, Miss Tonks," said Dumbledore, "which brings us to the next stage. You will divide in three groups, one of which will arrive by the front door, the second by the back one, and the third by Floo. The three groups are to arrive at a quarter to nine. Is this clear?"

All those present nodded, including Hermione. Yes, she would be there … but there would be no need for the intervention, because there would be no attack. Surely Voldemort would change his plans when he would find out that the Order had been informed.

Dumbledore stood up. "This brings this meeting to a close. Good day to you all."

After the Order meeting and a tiring day of work at the Ministry, Hermione had arrived home, only to find a sealed envelope on her dinner table, addressed to her in the elegant handwriting she had grown to recognise. The message was short and brief enough to ensure that if someone else were to read it, they wouldn't be able to guess what it was about.

Reunion ce soir. Viendrai te chercher. Sois prête à huit heures.

Hermione figured it out without difficulty. Meeting tonight – well, there was only one kind of meeting he could mean, and that was a Death Eater meeting. The second sentence meant that he was going to come after her – that is, she had to expect a home visit. And the sense of be ready at eight o'clock, really, there was no ambiguity in it. Hermione had promptly incinerated the message with a flick of her wand. She had memorised the indications, and it wasn't safe to have such things lying around, even in a foreign language.

And now she was standing indecisively in her lounge, shooting distracted glances around her. She was anxious, more anxious than she could ever remember feeling.

She sat down in a chair, only to jump up seconds later, unable to keep still. She started pacing the length of the room in an attempt to calm her nerves. She could not face her future master and comrades in such a state. She had to be calm and cool-headed when she would meet Lord Voldemort.

This was it; a new phase of her life was about to begin. She was terrified, but at the same time, she could hardly wait. Time seemed to pass with an intolerable slowness as she thought of everything that might be awaiting her on the 'other side'.

She was startled out of her imagination by the distinct sound of Apparition, only to see a hooded and masked wizard appear in the room. With Auror reflexes, she instantly had her wand in her hand, aimed at the intruder.

"Good evening, Hermione," a very familiar drawling voice spoke from behind the black mask. "Not planning to curse me, are you?"

She promptly lowered her wand and walked forward to greet the grey-eyed Death Eater.

"I couldn't help it, Lucius," said Hermione apologetically, placing her wand back in her pocket. "That was the typical Auror's reaction to the sudden appearance of a person dressed like this in their home."

"Obviously. Now," he said, giving her a bundle of black fabric she hadn't noticed him holding, "put that on quickly. The Dark Lord does not appreciate having to wait."

Hermione unwrapped the bundle, revealing heavy black robes and a black mask identical to the one he was wearing. The robes were of a supple, shimmering material, and when she pulled them over her head, the black cloth was long enough to touch the ground below her feet; it fit perfectly and felt comfortable, not constricting her movements like normal clothes did.

"Black is a good colour on you; it truly complements your complexion," he said appraisingly as he picked up the mask, placed it on her face and secured the clasp behind her head; then he pulled the hood up over her head, tucking her voluminous hair inside.

Then he stared at her.

The sight of her dressed as a Death Eater sent a shiver of pleasure through him. This was the ultimate triumph for him, the proof of his power and influence. He had achieved the impossible; he had convinced an Auror, a friend of Potter, to join the Dark side.

He wanted to take her right there and then, but he fought against his desire. There was no time; the Dark Lord was waiting, and he would not be pleased if they were late … no matter, he would wait until later that night.

Hermione shivered. Lucius was staring at her, and there was a feral, predatory gleam in his eyes … cold grey eyes glinting through slits in a black mask, watching her with a most disturbing look … just like that day in the Department of Mysteries, where he had scared her nearly to death.

"Lucius," she said quietly, "how do I look?"

His voice sounded somewhat husky when he spoke. "I daresay these clothes look much more appealing on you compared to what you Aurors normally wear … and my friends will not be able to guess at your identity; the Dark Lord alone will know who you are."

Hermione had expected the mask to limit her field of vision, but it didn't. Through the slit-shaped eyeholes, she could see the room as though she weren't wearing a mask at all; it was obviously charmed to fit perfectly without obscuring her vision.

She slipped her wand into her new robes.

"Do you remember what you are to do when we arrive in the Dark Lord's presence?"

"Yes."

"Show me," he said.

"Not this again … I thought you said I was doing it right last week!"

"The Dark Lord will not consider that you could do it last week when he tortures you for not doing it correctly – and me for failing to prepare you," he said coldly. "If you are to become a Death Eater, you need to learn to obey those in the Dark Order whose rank is higher than yours, all the more as your misconduct will reflect negatively on me. Do as you are told, Hermione."

It was harder to do this while wearing this heavy cloak and mask, but she knelt and did the ritual without looking up once. At his instruction, she stood up and brushed the dust off her robes. He took her hand in his.

"I cannot inform you of the Dark Lord's location, as I am not aware of it myself, so I'll simply Apparate you there. Are you ready?"

She nodded.

There was a crack and Hermione was whisked off in the familiar sensation of Apparition.

Just before the room dissolved before her eyes, she caught a glimpse of her reflection in the mirror. It was a troubling experience to see the image of a Death Eater reflected back at her.

They appeared in a dark, eerily silent clearing surrounded by woods. Hermione suspected they were in the middle of a forest.

A tall, thin figure with gleaming scarlet eyes, face pale as a skull, and facial features resembling those of a serpent stood in the middle of the clearing, surrounded by about four dozen wizards, hooded and masked in the same way she and Lucius were. The Death Eaters stood in a silent circle around the one who Hermione guessed to be Lord Voldemort. They appeared to have been waiting for them.

Lucius grabbed her arm and led her forward into the middle of the circle, stopping right in front of Voldemort. He knelt down and kissed the hem of Voldemort's robes, then he stood up and spoke to the Dark Lord in a low voice, so that the other Death Eaters would not hear him. "My Lord, this is the Auror Hermione Granger, who has expressed the desire to join you."

As Voldemort turned his scarlet eyes upon Hermione, his expression was exultant. Meanwhile, Lucius quietly backed away and took his place in the circle.

Hermione remembered the instructions Lucius had given her: When we arrive, you are to kneel before the Dark Lord and stay in that position until he commands you to stand.

Kneeling in front of Voldemort, her head bowed, she waited.

"Welcome, Death Eaters," said Lord Voldemort. His voice was strangely high-pitched and cold like a blast of icy wind.

"Today is an auspicious occasion. We have a newcomer among us … a newcomer who is going to be of immense value to our side …

"Yes," said Voldemort, his lipless mouth curling in a grin, as the eyes of the Death Eaters swivelled momentarily in Hermione's direction, "A prominent member of the Light side now owes allegiance to me. We have had such useful recruits in the past, isn't that right, Rookwood?"

Voldemort turned to a Death Eater who was standing a little stooped, and who jumped at being addressed directly by the leader.

Rookwood. The name stirred a recollection in Hermione's mind … Algernon Rookwood had been an Unspeakable for the Ministry during Voldemort's first rise, all the while passing confidential information to Voldemort. To this day, Rookwood was considered one of the most prominent traitors to the Light side (closely followed by Peter Pettigrew and Barty Crouch junior), because he had been the highest-ranking Ministry official to join the Dark side.

The Unspeakables were regarded as the second most important part of the Ministry personnel … after the Aurors. And today, Hermione was going to break the record. It was she who was going to hold the respectable role of being the Light's most notorious traitor.

Wait – the most notorious traitor? What the hell was she thinking? Why did she always assume that something she did would change the world? One spy couldn't make that big a difference. She really had too high an opinion of herself.

"My Lord … yes, my Lord," the one named Rookwood mumbled shakily. It struck Hermione as odd how most of the Death Eaters appeared to be extremely afraid, downright terrified of their Master.

"And you, Wormtail?" asked Voldemort, turning to a short figure on Lucius's left.

"Yes, master," Hermione heard Peter Pettigrew's voice say uncertainly from behind his mask.

"But this surpasses all my expectations," continued Voldemort, smiling sinisterly. "This new servant will contribute immensely to the advancement of the Dark Order by providing us with an ear directly into the core of our most pestilent, loathsome enemies … the Aurors!"

At the end of that statement, the members of the circle stirred, as though of surprise, and some muttered in disbelief. An Auror had agreed to join them? This was an occasion unheard of in history ... sure, there had been Ministry officials turning to the Dark side, but never a Dark-wizard-catcher. If this was true, it was triumph assured for their side.

Voldemort then turned to Hermione. "I have been informed that you, an Auror of less-than-pure blood, wish to join me and to fight for my cause. Is this true?"

Lucius's words came back to her: Always address the Dark Lord as 'My Lord' or 'Master'. The Dark Lord does not react kindly to disrespect.

"It is, my Lord," answered Hermione. Her voice trembled slightly, yet something compelled her to look up, even though Lucius had trained her not to. She was still a Gryffindor. She looked up into the strangest eyes she had ever seen.

She had known, from Harry's descriptions, what Voldemort looked like. Still, his eyes were indescribable. The irises were a glowing, blood red colour, the pupils shaped as vertical slits, like a cat's. They didn't look human, as it was impossible to see the smallest hint of emotion in them – there wasn't any – yet they were oddly captivating.

It was as though these red eyes were staring right through her, reading the deepest recesses of her mind. Legilimency, she realised.

There were mutters of disbelief from the masked group. Some felt it was not safe enough to believe her, others simply could not believe their luck, as this was a huge triumph for their side. And of course, all were shocked that the Dark Lord would accept someone who was not even a pure-blood into their midst.

They had also noticed that the new recruit was a woman – her silhouette was decidedly female, and so was her voice – and it surprised them, because women never joined the Death Eaters. Bellatrix Lestrange was the only exception, and everyone knew she had only been admitted because the Dark Lord had a special interest in her.

At that moment, Bellatrix was staring at the new recruit with a distrustful and unfriendly expression.

Lord Voldemort continued looking intently into Hermione's eyes, reading her mind and her soul.

Hermione realised he was checking whether she really wanted to join him, or if perhaps she had been sent to infiltrate his ranks. She stared right back, her eyes frank and honest. She had nothing to hide. Her desire to join the Dark side was sincere; it wasn't like she had been sent by the Ministry to spy on Voldemort, was it?

Yet she was scared. She understood why the Dark Lord might have trouble believing in her loyalty to the Darkness. She was an Auror, a Muggle-born, a friend of Harry Potter.

This scrutiny would decide her fate; whether she, a Muggle-born, would be accepted into the ranks of Voldemort's faithful Death Eaters … or she would be killed. At that thought, she stared even harder into the gleaming red eyes, inviting the feared wizard to read her thoughts, her darkest secrets, if that was what it took to convince him.

The seconds seemed interminably long. In total silence, the circle of Death Eaters watched as slowly, very slowly, a slight smile graced the Dark Lord's face. Hermione, who had been concentrating on Voldemort's eyes, did not notice it, but Lucius Malfoy, who had been holding his breath, stifled a sigh of relief.

Voldemort finally broke the eye contact, and Hermione instantly looked down.

"So be it," Voldemort announced to the Death Eaters surrounding them. Hermione did breathe a sigh of relief, and under her mask, she was beaming in pride. She had been accepted … she, who had not a drop of wizard blood in her veins, had been deemed worthy by Lord Voldemort himself to be part of his circle of trusted followers!

The Death Eater on Lucius's right side stepped forward and spoke in a harsh female voice. Hermione guessed that this was Bellatrix Lestrange, the only woman in the circle. "But Master, how do we know she is truly loyal to us? She may be lying –"

"She is truthful; I can sense it in her mind. Remember, Bella, Lord Voldemort always knows." The Dark wizard's voice held a slightly menacing tone by the second sentence, which Bellatrix surely didn't fail to notice, because she did not speak up again.

Voldemort raised his wand and waved it in a series of complicated motions that Hermione recognised as the Conjuring spell. A sheet of parchment suddenly materialised in the air in front of Hermione.

She refrained from glancing at Voldemort questioningly.

"This is the oath of allegiance every Death Eater is required to recite at their induction into the Dark Order," he explained, as though he had sensed her question.

She reached forward and grasped the parchment in her hand. Calling forward her sharp, photographic memory, she read it so fast her eyes looked blurred, memorising as she went. She knew she could have just read it off the text, but she wanted to do better. She wanted to impress the Dark Lord.

Rolling up the parchment, Hermione spoke in the solemn, grave voice she had only used twice before: upon her induction into the Order of the Phoenix, back when she was seventeen and barely out of Hogwarts; and to recite the Auror Oath at her graduation from the Academy, two years previously. The words were similar, all three being promises of loyalty. But their meaning wasn't.

"I swear unwavering loyalty and true allegiance to Lord Voldemort –" Hermione paused as several of the Death Eaters let out low hissing sounds. She suspected that this had to be the only time Death Eaters ever pronounced their Master's name: upon their initiation. "– whom I will serve faithfully, in life and death, for all eternity, and devote my mind, body and soul towards ensuring the continued rise and triumph of the Dark Order. Impedio Oblitteranda Est."

Impedio Oblitteranda Est. Latin for 'Obstacles are to be eliminated'. This had to be the Death Eaters' motto … the more she thought about it, the more it made sense. This seemed indeed to be the Dark side's philosophy. Obstacles exist to be removed … nothing stands in our way.

As soon as Hermione had finished speaking the last word, the parchment she was holding in her palm disappeared into thin air.

The Dark Lord nodded, looking faintly impressed. "Lord Voldemort accepts your allegiance. Hold out your arm," he said in the same high, cold voice.

Which arm? She thought quickly, trying to figure it out. Lucius hadn't talked to her about this part of the ritual, but she had read somewhere about the sign Death Eaters had branded into their skin … yes, she remembered now, in The Rise and Fall of the Dark Arts, there was a description of the symbol used, a skull and a serpent entwined … Hermione tried to recall the exact words, where the mark was located … brusquely, a particular passage of the book surged from her memory.

Every Death Eater had the Dark Mark burnt into the skin of their left forearm. To the followers, it was a means of distinguishing each other, as they were often unaware of the identity of their fellows. It also acted as a combination of a Protean Charm and a mobile Apparition point, enabling the Leader to alert all his followers to his calling and allowing them to appear instantly in his presence regardless of where he was.

Hermione extended her left arm, rolled the sleeve of her robes up to the elbow. All fear dissipated, as did any hint of doubt she still had. From the way Voldemort now looked at her, she felt accepted, she felt welcome …

She didn't recoil when the Dark Lord's pallid, unusually long-fingered hand seized hers, and she didn't shiver in his ice-cold grasp. There was not a stir of disgust in her soul at being touched by the wizard who had caused so much pain to those she used to care about, the wizard who had cold-bloodedly murdered hundreds of people and ordered the extermination of thousands, the wizard she used to hate with all her soul. No, Hermione Granger only felt a shining pride, hardly believing what was happening. She had never thought, never expected … her, a Muggle-born, to be given such a chance, such an exception …

The ambitious Auror felt deeply flattered. At last, she had found the recognition she deserved, the acknowledgement she had strived for all her life. At last, she had been found worthy, special …

Voldemort pulled out his wand and held the tip to the skin of her inner forearm. And then he said a spell. "Morsmordre!"

Hermione felt as though a red-hot iron was pressed to her skin; fire was burning her flesh. A hiss of pain escaped her, and tears of agony formed in her eyes as white-hot pain obscured her vision ... she clenched her teeth, no, she wouldn't scream, she did not want the Death Eaters to conclude she was weak …

She had been expecting the pain, as she had known the Dark Mark was literally burnt into the skin, but that didn't make it hurt less.

Finally, after about thirty seconds, the pain receded. Her breathing harsh and ragged, Hermione raised her head and stared dazedly at the sign that had appeared on her arm. Shaped like a skull with a serpent protruding, tongue-like, from its mouth, it was painted on her skin in a brilliant crimson colour that reminded her of the Auror uniform. She touched the mark cautiously, as though to make sure it was really there.

From now on, she would have to remember not to roll up her sleeves in battle.

"Welcome to the Dark Order," said the high, cold voice of her new Master. "You are now officially a Death Eater. Hence, we are united under the Dark Mark ... you are part of the family. The Mark will signal to the followers that you are one of them ... remember that the Dark Mark never lies. When you feel my call – your Mark will burn and become black – you are to don the appropriate attire, then Disapparate and Apparate instantly at my side. The Mark will provide the directions ..."

Hermione looked up at the Dark Lord – she was a Death Eater now, she wasn't afraid to meet his eyes – and her gaze portrayed gratitude as she looked at the most feared wizard on earth. The wizard who had given her a chance to prove herself to all the pure-bloods on the Dark side, the wizard who, by giving her the Mark, had made her their equal … she would serve him loyally, gladly, she would be devoted to this side that accepted her and valued her …

She crawled forward on her knees and kissed the hem of the Dark Lord's robes, exactly like she had seen Lucius do earlier.

"Stand up," said Voldemort. "Your place is over there," he instructed, pointing a skeletal finger between Pettigrew and Lucius, who moved apart, widening the circle, leaving a gap large enough for one person.

Hermione stood up and walked into the designated space.

Voldemort smiled. The girl was a very valuable recruit. A spy among the Aurors (it wasn't every day a Dark-wizard-catcher joined him; there had been Ministry employees supporting him, but never Aurors. In fact, she was the first Auror ever to join the Dark side), very close to Harry Potter, and not one they would ever suspect – who in their right mind would suspect a Mudblood of being a Death Eater?

Do it, said a voice in Hermione's head. Tell him. He is your Master now; you have to tell him everything you know.

Hermione stepped forward and spoke. "My Lord, I assume you have heard of the Order of the Phoenix?"

She thought she heard a sharp intake of breath from one of the Death Eaters.

"The Order of the Phoenix?" repeated Voldemort thoughtfully. "You are talking about the secret society led by Dumbledore during my first rise to power, I presume ..."

Hermione was astonished. So Voldemort wasn't even aware the Order had been called together again, an hour after his return, and had been actively working against him ever since? No wonder, during the Dark Lord's first rise to power, the Death Eaters had been eliminating the Order members one by one, but it was not so this time, because he didn't even know who they were.

Last time, there had been a spy among the Order, a spy who had undoubtedly delivered Voldemort a list of the Order members and their families, probably along with their addresses. This time, however, Pettigrew wasn't there to report to his Master, and no one had taken his place …

She wondered briefly how Snape managed to hide so much from the Dark Lord. No matter, she would make sure his disloyalty was revealed, and she would provide Voldemort with all the knowledge she possessed that could be of use to the Dark side.

"Tell me everything you know about this Order," commanded the Dark Lord.

And Hermione proceeded to tell everything: how Order was constantly working to stop the Death Eaters from accomplishing their plans, her own involvement in the secret society and their efforts to protect Harry Potter. To the attentive Dark Lord and the silent circle of Death Eaters, she revealed that the Order held weekly meetings at a wizarding house somewhere in London and explained that she could not give the precise location because it was protected by a Fidelius Charm in which Dumbledore was the Secret-Keeper.

At a prompting from Voldemort, who had been listening with wide eyes and a triumphant expression, she named all the members of the Order, all but one. Out of the corner of her eye, Hermione could see one of the Death Eaters shuffling restlessly. The Death Eater who stood on Pettigrew's other side … behind her mask, Hermione grinned in anticipation as she revealed the most important piece of information, the piece she had kept for last.

"My Lord, it's my duty to warn you that Dumbledore is aware of your plan to go after the Bones family on Friday night and plans to send the Order of the Phoenix to interfere."

Voldemort was taken aback. How could they know? It looked like there was a leak of information, but it could not be one of his Death Eaters informing them, he would know ... Lord Voldemort always knows.

Unless… unless one of his followers was an Occlumens, but that was impossible. Occlumency skills were a very rare talent, and required a lot of power – power none of his Death Eaters possessed, as far as he knew. Then how? The fact remained that Dumbledore knew his plans. The only people to whom the Dark Lord had revealed those plans were the 46 Death Eaters of the inner circle.

The Dark Lord's red eyes were narrowed in rage as he looked around at the masked faces.

"Is that so?" he hissed, his voice pulsing with anger. Hermione thanked Merlin that the anger wasn't directed at her. "Is that true?" he repeated in a menacing whisper, his power palpable like a cloud around him as his eyes went from one cowering Death Eater to the next, glancing at each of the circle. "How is it possible when no one but my loyal Death Eaters possessed that knowledge? How could my plans reach Dumbledore and his crowd when I specifically took measures to ensure the strictest secrecy? Unless there is a traitor in my inner circle …" With each sentence, Voldemort's voice grew louder, but the last suggestion was pronounced in a deathly soft whisper, and the silence became complete.

Once again, Hermione stepped forward, breaking the circle, and took a step in Voldemort's direction. In a small, cautious voice, fearing that he might take out his anger on her, she continued her revelations.

"It's news to you then, my Lord, that one of your Death Eaters – one currently present in this circle, might I add – is Dumbledore's informant?"

Hermione paused as the Death Eaters stirred uneasily; she saw them glance fearfully at each other through their masks. One stood frozen, however.

"This traitor has been hiding his true allegiance from you for years thanks to the Occlumency skills he achieved during personal training with Dumbledore. He's pretending to be loyal to you while actually working toward the demise of the Dark Order," she finished. All of this had been said in a rushed voice, barely stopping to breathe.

Voldemort had never looked more furious or more menacing. His eyes were glowing red slits as he slowly paced up and down within the circle, looking at all of his Death Eaters in turn.

"Which one of you has been reporting our every move to the enemy?" His voice was shaking with rage. "Which one of you dares to betray Lord Voldemort?" he boomed, resembling a snake about to attack.

No one dared move; no one dared breathe. Then the newest Death Eater broke the silence again. "I know who the traitor is."

Voldemort was mildly surprised. So Dumbledore was even more of a fool than he had thought. The eccentric Headmaster was crazy. If the fifty or so members of his secret society knew the identity of their informant, it was inevitable it would, one day, reach the enemy – or did the old fool trust them all so much he had never considered the possibility of one of them defecting from his cause? The Dark Lord wasn't foolish enough to let his followers know the identity of his spies, contrarily to the Muggle-lover.

The Death Eaters shifted agitatedly at that statement. Voldemort looked extremely interested. He turned to his new recruit. "Really? Pray tell, who is it, then?"

Hermione was aware she was signing the Order's death warrant, but if she didn't do this, Dumbledore would know there was a spy in the Order by tomorrow morning. She could not afford them to be suspicious of her so soon, and in order to preserve her position as a secret agent, she had no choice but to do this.

"His name is Severus Snape, my Lord." Hermione's voice did not shake.

Said traitor managed to hold his composure, giving no visible indication of the terror he felt. However, under his mask, the expression on his face was one of mingled surprise, horror and fear. He had stood silently while this new recruit revealed the Order's secrets to the Dark Lord, and he had been expecting this part – of course she would divulge the Order's greatest secret as well.

In fact, he found this hard to believe – he had recognised the annoying know-it-all voice he had been subjected to in his classroom for seven years, but to think that Miss Granger would join the Dark Lord … he desperately hoped she was an undercover agent sent by the Ministry, but that wasn't likely. If she were, she would not disclose such crucial information about the Light side.

His job as a spy was not to stop her from speaking – he would endanger his position if he were to do that. No, his duty was to report to Dumbledore that there was a spy in the Order and that the Dark Lord knew the Order's plans. But to do that, he had to be alive … he had to warn the Order or this would be the end of the Light side. He had to convince the Dark Lord that Miss Granger was either mistaken or lying.

"I spy for the Dark Lord!" Snape said loudly.

"No you don't! You are a double agent!" Hermione shot back more loudly still.

That shut him up … at least for the moment.

Snape looked at her with an unreadable look in his black eyes, although she could guess that behind the façade, his mind was working frantically. Did she really know? Who was she? Was there any way to warn the Order? Would he get out of this alive?

Oh, whom was she kidding? She had no doubt Snape that knew who she was; it wasn't so difficult to figure out. A woman, an Auror who wasn't a pure-blood, a member of the Order … who else fit that description? Tonks? Hermione's voice alone should have been enough to give away her identity.

Snape spoke in the low, sneering voice Hermione knew all too well. "My Lord, I am sure there is a misunderstanding. This ... witch probably believes in the act that I put up to convince the old fool … Dumbledore believes that I am his spy, but you know, my Lord, that I am your loyal servant!"

Voldemort stood still for a moment, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Are you sure of your facts?" he demanded of Hermione.

"Absolutely certain, my Lord," she replied. She was relieved to hear her voice did not shake.

Snape stared intently into the girl's brown eyes. Images flashed though his mind …

A dark garden with the moon gleaming above... a brown-haired witch wearing the red robes of the Aurors, in the embrace of a blond wizard whose sleek hair shimmered like platinum... Join us, Hermione, join the Death Eaters...

Snape shook his head sharply, breaking the Legilimency, and in spite of his self-control, he could not stop the horror that seeped into him.

Lucius looked at the traitor in disgust. He used to consider this man a friend; he had even respected him. Draco spoke of him with such high regard … if he were to believe his son, Snape was a great teacher … of course, Snape openly humiliated Potter, which had been an act good enough to fool the Dark Lord, and Draco, the gullible fool, had believed it …

"But my Lord," there was a hint of panic in Snape's voice now, "surely you don't believe the lies this girl is spewing. I have always been loyal to you and only to you!"

In her mind, Hermione heard echoes of the same voice from years ago; memories played out before her eyes.

That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger. Five more points from Gryffindor for being an insufferable know-it-all.

KEEP QUIET, YOU STUPID GIRL! DON'T TALK ABOUT WHAT YOU DON'T UNDERSTAND!

Miss Granger, HOLD YOUR TONGUE!

I see no difference.

Hatred rose in Hermione, hatred like she had never felt before. The emotion was so strong she was quite sure ordinary people were not capable of experiencing it. Loathing. Rage. And the thirst for vengeance, so strong it was overwhelming. This was something only Death Eaters felt, and they acted upon it when they had the chance. Her chance was now.

Her wand was out in a second and the word left her tongue before her mind caught up with it. "Crucio!"

Professor Snape collapsed on the ground, writhing and shrieking. Hermione was surprised the curse even worked at all. The Unforgivables were part of the Auror training curriculum, but she had only practiced on spiders. Harry had been the quickest to master it then. Hermione had been the second. She had practiced relentlessly, following the teacher's instructions to the letter until she got it right. It wasn't that she had wanted to learn the spell, but she hadn't had a choice – she had had to do it to pass Advanced Dark Arts.

This was the first time she was casting an Unforgivable Curse on a human, and she hadn't really expected to do it right the first time, but she could not deny the strange thrill she felt at her success.

After a few moments, she lowered her wand. The traitor lay upon the ground, gasping for breath.

"See you in hell, traitor," Hermione spat contemptuously at him. Then she glanced at Voldemort apprehensively. Was he displeased with her outburst?

But Lord Voldemort was laughing, a cold, empty laugh with no hint of happiness in it. "I see what you meant now, Lucius, when you told me that this woman was inherently Dark. For it takes a rare talent to cast the Cruciatus Curse successfully on the first attempt … a very rare talent."

Bellatrix Lestrange, who had been looking at Hermione rather sceptically, now stared at her with approbation and a hint of wonder. Not even she, who had been taught personally by the Dark Lord, had managed to cast the Cruciatus Curse correctly – and to hold it for almost a minute – the first time she had tried it. This girl had an unusual aptitude for the Dark Arts, and that was enough to gain Bellatrix Lestrange's respect.

Snape, however, had stood up shakily and made a desperate last attempt. "My Lord, please! I would rather die than betray your Lordship –"

"Silence!" interrupted Voldemort, and his voice held barely restrained rage as he spoke. "Severus, I have nothing more to say to you. You have earned the honour of being killed personally by Lord Voldemort. AVADA KEDAVRA!"

And in the flash of green light that followed, the Dark side's most successful traitor ceased to exist, though not before throwing a look of disgust upon the new Death Eater who was watching, her head held high, satisfaction in her eyes. This was her vengeance for all the times he had made her cry …

In the silence that followed, the Dark Lord spoke. "You all bear witness, my Death Eaters, to what happens to those who are foolish enough to betray Lord Voldemort." He aimed his wand at the corpse. "Evanesco!"

The body vanished.

"Now that our ranks have been cleansed of treacherous filth, there are slight modifications to be made to our plan. The assault on the home of Amelia Bones will take place a day early, on Thursday instead of Friday. The hour remains the same."

"You, my spy," said Voldemort, approaching Hermione where she stood in the circle and halting before her, "are not to participate in any of our offensive moves. You are dispensed from appearing at my call if doing so might compromise your position among the enemies. I expect you to report to me with all information you come across that you think may be of use to us. You will send reports to me by owl, and for security reasons, you are to sign all messages not with your name, but with the adage of the Dark Order, impedio oblitteranda est. Is this clear?"

"Yes, my Lord," she answered.

Satisfied, Voldemort stepped back. "Death Eaters, you are dismissed for today," he said before vanishing without a sound. The Death Eaters followed suit by Apparating away, except for the other female Death Eater who had been glaring at Hermione at the beginning of the meeting.

The woman pulled off her hood and mask, revealing Bellatrix Lestrange's face. Her eyes were gleaming with the same ferocity, the same energetic zeal Hermione had seen in them at the Department of Mysteries, seven years earlier. However, her face no longer looked as gaunt, and she no longer resembled a walking skeleton. She had obviously been eating a great deal and had filled up a little, and although she was still very thin, her bones no longer stuck out in sharp angles. Her skin, however, was still that livid, greyish shade that proved that she had spent years deprived of sunshine.

Hermione felt alarmed that Lucius had Disapparated with the others, leaving her alone with the most feared Dark witch in the country. She understood that it would have looked suspicious if he had shown her attention in front of the other Death Eaters, and some of them may have suspected the truth of their relationship and informed his wife of it, but she still found it upsetting that he had brought her here and left her to stand alone against people who surely hated her. Maybe he doesn't care anymore now that I've done as he wanted, she thought, horrified. She had just joined the Death Eaters for him; how could he leave without even acknowledging her?

No, I'm making conclusions too soon, she thought firmly, fixing her attention on the dark-haired witch who had stayed behind to talk to her, it appeared.

Through her heavily lidded eyes, Bellatrix was looking at Hermione with a grudging respect. "Welcome among us, Auror," she said in a harsh voice, sticking out her ashen hand in an offer of friendship.

Hermione suppressed the abhorrence she used to feel toward Bellatrix. This was the woman who had tortured Neville's parents into insanity, the one who had killed Sirius – but she wasn't supposed to care. They were on the same side now, both Death Eaters, they were family.

She clasped the proffered hand. "It's nice to meet you again, Mrs Lestrange," she said sincerely.

"Again?" demanded the older woman. "I do not remember ever knowing you."

"We have met before. Go seven years back … you remember the raid on the Department of Mysteries where you failed to retrieve a prophecy for your – our Lord?"

"If I remember?" shrieked Bellatrix, "I certainly remember! How could I forget how my Master was disappointed with me? How could I forget being thwarted by that … that boy! Potter came after me – after I killed my worthless cousin – even tried to use the Cruciatus curse on me!"

"Did he?" asked Hermione in shock. Harry had never told her about that. Sure, he had mastered the three Unforgivables with startling ease during their Auror training, but she could never have imagined Harry had attempted to cast that curse when he was fifteen!

"He didn't do it right – didn't mean it – he had obviously never used an Unforgivable curse before, did not know how to do it. Still, it hurt ... but only for a second."

Hermione did not know what to think of this newly revealed side of her former best friend. Recovering quickly, she went back to the subject.

"Well, then, perhaps you remember a bushy-haired girl among the team of children Ha— Potter brought with him? That was me."

It was Bellatrix's turn to be shocked. "You were a friend of Harry Potter?" she exclaimed in disbelief.

"Yes, I used to be a very close friend of Harry's, actually … but no more, as you can see. Otherwise I wouldn't be here, would I?"

"Oh, this is fantastic!" Bellatrix exclaimed so suddenly Hermione jumped back a little. "You know Potter – he trusts you! So you'll help us defeat him, right?" she demanded, her breathing becoming shallow with excitement.

"Certainly, if that is what our Lord desires," replied Hermione. She would prefer if it wasn't her hand that held the wand that would kill her former best friend, but she would set a trap for Harry if she had to. She knew it was one of the reasons why Voldemort had accepted her into the fold.

"Great! We'll finally be rid of the infuriating boy – oh, Master is going to be so happy …" A hint of pink coloured the woman's livid cheeks and her eyes had suddenly acquired a strange lively glint.

Hermione noticed Bellatrix still called Harry a boy, and she neglected to correct her, as Harry was certainly no longer a boy. Bellatrix was almost boiling with excitement, it was visible. Hermione gave the older woman an indulgent smile. The Dark witch definitely wasn't as insane as the rumours claimed, but her sojourn in Azkaban had made her a bit ... impatient.

From what Hermione had heard of her, Mrs Lestrange had always been a woman of strong emotions, devoted to Voldemort body and soul – that was what the Light called 'fanaticism'. That, and her easily excitable personality, which reminded of a child who had not learnt self-control. Or perhaps she had unlearnt it in the boredom and anguish of Azkaban …

In any case, Hermione understood Bellatrix, and she could not blame her. She even felt some pity for her.

Hermione and Bellatrix became somewhat friends, after that conversation. Being the only two women in the circle of Death Eaters, each had a particular respect for the other, and they understood each other rather well, despite the differences between them.

Bellatrix had decided to overlook Hermione's non-wizard origins only because her Master had told her to do so, and her Master was always right. To Bellatrix, the Dark Lord was absolute authority. Hermione, on the other side, chose to distance herself from the people she had formerly considered as friends, and therefore, the crimes Bellatrix had committed did not concern her anymore. After all, I am one of them now, she told herself as she thanked Bellatrix for her offer to drop by at her house for a cup of tea.

Miles away, at number twelve, Grimmauld Place, Harry Potter suddenly felt sick as a searing pain spread across his forehead. His scar was burning so violently it felt like someone had stabbed him in the head with a knife. And at the same time, Harry felt a peculiar sensation ... a feeling of happiness, of triumph.

He did not know where he was, he did not even know who he was anymore. All he knew was this feeling of triumph and jubilation, and he was laughing ... laughing insanely, maniacally ...

He heard a distant voice calling his name … "Harry!"

"HARRY! HARRY!"

Harry opened his eyes, and realised that he had fallen off his chair and lay on the floor, his scar throbbing painfully. Ron was standing over him, looking very worried.

"What happened, Harry? Was it You-Know-Who again?"

"He's really happy," gasped Harry, sitting up shakily, taking deep breaths to repress his nausea. "Something really good has happened … an accomplishment that surpasses his wildest expectations …" Harry spoke, but the words weren't his own, even as he knew they were true.

Ron stared at his best friend who was, once again, reading You-Know-Who's mind.

Upon arriving at the Wildrose Den, Hermione felt exhausted, after all the tension and emotions she had been through during the day, and wanted nothing more than to collapse on her comfortable four-poster bed and to sink into a deep sleep. Hence, she removed her clothes, hid the Death Eater garments under her bed – she would find a better place to keep them later – and put on the lavender-coloured nightdress she had been wearing every night ever since she had received it.

She glanced into the mirror. The silk nightdress looked very pretty on her, accentuating her curves nicely.

Hermione put out the lights and crawled under the covers, rubbing her left forearm distractedly as she thought about the day's events. I am a Death Eater. She could hardly believe this ...

Sleep eluded her that night, as Hermione tossed and turned, tormented by doubts and fears. Had she done the right thing? What if she got caught? What if –

There was a loud crack as someone Apparated directly into her bedroom. Hermione searched the nightstand for her wand ... she found it and aimed it at the dark figure approaching her bed.

For the first time, Hermione found out what Snape had meant when he had told Fudge about the Dark Mark being a means of distinguishing each other for the followers, and the significance of Voldemort's words: The Mark will signal to the followers that you are one of them. Hermione now knew it worked the other way around, too. For in that second, she felt a tingling sensation in her left forearm, and instinctively she knew she was in the presence of a fellow Death Eater. But she did not have time to think about it.

A hand seized her wrist, prying the wand away from her, and pinning her hands above her head. Hermione recognised the touch of her aggressive lover and relaxed slightly. In fact, she was glad to see him, now more than ever ... if there was someone who could make her forget all her problems, it was he.

"Now, now, was that any way to greet a guest, Hermione? Where are your manners?"

Lucius, it seemed, could not resist the chance to give her a fright, to have her as his trembling captive for a moment, as a reminder of the time, not so long ago, when they had been enemies, an Auror and a Death Eater …

"Is this the way a civil guest would act?" she retorted, no longer feeling tired at all.

"I never could resist the opportunity to have a bit of fun; the Dark Lord understands this about me," he drawled.

The Dark Lord. Like Draco was always talking about his father, Lucius did the same about the Dark Lord, as though the Dark Lord's opinion was the only one that mattered, as though Voldemort was absolute authority … which, to him, she suspected he was.

"Now, really, why are you here?" demanded Hermione, slightly annoyed.

"Why, Hermione, can't a man visit his mistress to, er, wish her a good night?"

"Yes, I'm sure that's why you are here. To, uh, 'wish me a good night.' Really, Lucius ..."

"You are correct, that is not the only reason ... I knew this nightdress would look alluring on you," he said suddenly, before leaning down to kiss her. Hermione fell back on the bed.

"You're not leaving?" she asked in a tiny voice.

The previous weeks, he would come to her house when it pleased him and leave a few hours later, never staying for the night. He would kiss her in farewell and Apparate back to his manor, because his wife would become suspicious if she didn't find him in the house when she woke up.

"I do not see why I should."

"But your wife …"

"Narcissa believes that I am out on business for the Dark Lord." He smirked. "If the Dark Lord himself approves of this, does it matter much that she doesn't? Narcissa needs to learn to accept what she cannot change. She might be dreadfully unhappy, of course, but she knows her place … and I'll remind her if she ever forgets."

Hermione smirked at that, too, but not without a hint of unease. She didn't care what he did to his wife – even if, by the malevolent glint in his grey eyes and the cruel amusement in his voice, she guessed it had to be something painful – as long as he didn't do the same to her.

Lucius Malfoy was a man who sought to control everything – and everyone – around him. Hermione knew he would not hurt her as long as she was under his control. But if she opposed, challenged, defied or disobeyed, or, heaven forbid, cheated on him … then, she had no doubt he would not hesitate to use any means – highly brutal, violent ones – to put her back in her place. He wouldn't ever take no for an answer, Hermione knew that much. He would not tolerate disloyalty or disobedience.

She wouldn't be surprised if he used the Unforgivables on his wife when she refused to do as he said. He was the Master … and he would have made a fine Dark Lord.