Title: The Lion and the Beast
Author: BookyJuliet
Genre: Dark, Romance.
AU/CU: Alternate Universe.
Rating: M, for safety reasons.
Warnings: More harsh language.
Word Count: 2,818.
A/N: Things are getting on track, and I have written two chapters in a day, with the third, fourth and fifth already begging to be written. This is going drastically better than anticipated.
Summary: And he says like he is chastising a solder. And she realizes with a little surprise that is exactly what she has become. And she's getting orders, not her grades on a test. There is no extra credit. Just hard facts; and these marks can't be undone. "Yes Sir."
Can You Feel the Thunder?
Hermione's heart was beating in her ears so loudly she couldn't gather her own thoughts as she read, re-read and read again the case file of this character. This person. This new her. Name: Hawthorn, Serena. Blood-Status: Pure. Age: Seventeen, Eighteen on the twenty-eight of October. She is American. She is rich. And she is a member of the largest American Purebred family in Wizarding history. Inside the file is an entire family tree, family history. Notable family members and their occupations. Status in the war: Neutral, uncaring. Voldemort it seemed wasn't a big threat to American Witches and Wizards. Somehow that surprised her. Just somehow.
As she reads the mission briefing, she finds it funny. Funny because she is a Mudblood, a Muggle-born witch. And it is more and more obvious as she reads that whoever this informant is, this unknown wizard and Order member who will be her guide, her only contact to the outside world, is a Pure-blood.
Her heart beats impossibly fast as she collects the envelope tapped on the inside cover, the envelope marked for her eyes only. Opening it, she upends it into her palm, watching as the silver trinkets fall out onto her skin, and she blinks as she examines them. The first is a necklace, the shield that dangles from the chain is dainty twisted-silver and accented by black diamonds and small emeralds is the family crest of the Hawthorn family that she had seen moments ago at the top of their family tree. The initials S.H twisted into the intricate loops, it was no bigger than a quarter in all, and shone dazzling in the upstairs window of the room she no longer had to share.
The second item is a ring, it is also silver, or perhaps white gold, she has no way to tell. It is dainty, fit for a woman who is much gentler on her things than she. But maybe Serena was more gentle with her hands, in the Wizarding Aristocracy, she was probably a born and bred lady, she kept her temper, spoke when she was spoken to, hid her laughs and smiles behind her hand if they were genuine, and was practiced in the art of the sneer that so many Pure-bloods she knew were so good at delivering by birth right.
The band looped around the finger, and supported a heart cut emerald, while a shoot of silver branched off to support a second heart cut diamond, this gem was smaller than the first, but connected. Hermione did not care for this ring. It was too gaudy, too much for her and her simple tastes…but not for Serena's.
Replacing the items back into the small envelope with care, she continued reading on in the case file, quickly getting lost as she drank in the information for a final time. She was a Purebred Witch named Serena. Her family was one of the most affluent in the United States. She was an aristocrat. A lady. And she was in a romantic relationship with the informant whose identity would be rereleased before they left HQ later that evening.
Their relationship had been announced and she was staying at 'the Manor' for the duration of the summer holiday, where she would be getting to know his family, friends, contacts, and trying to gain the approval of them, and the Death Eaters they were in cahoots with. That was phase one. That was her mission. The idea was to get them to like her so much, that when 'tragedy struck' and she was asked to stay away from home for a while, the family would allow her to be with them until the mess was resolved.
At the end of the summer, Voldemort would return. At the end of the summer phase two would begin. But she wasn't allowed to know what phase two was quite yet. Likely, because no one assumed she would make it to the end of phase one. She was just told enough to keep her on her feet, and just little enough that if she was to be tortured for information, she could honestly say she knew nothing more, or less than what was in the case file. She was a spy.
As the sky started to turn, she knew she was out of time. And as she dressed, she remembered how she'd so arrogantly stuck up her nose; how she'd insisted she had experience and could handle it. As she dressed with trembling hands, she doubted she actually could. Doubted she'd survive. Doubted she would see the end of the war, or the end of Voldemort, or the end of anything, except herself. And though she was ordered no contact with Ron, Harry, Ginny, the Twins or anyone else she might want to say good-bye too, she quickly penned them a letter anyway.
It was short, simple, to the point and gave away nothing except that she had been given orders, and had to ship off that evening, and wasn't given time to say good-bye. She told them she loved them, to be safe, and not try to owl her, so as not to compromise her mission. As a foot note, she'd added something about her copy of Hogwarts: A History that was upstairs on the Windowsill, all but forgotten, and asked them to take good care of it for her.
As she looked at it, read it a second time, she felt silly. These could very well be the last words she ever was able to say to any of them, and she was asking them to protect her book. It was very….her she admitted. Very Hermione. But oh so inadequate in saying what needed to be said. For years she had practiced, rehearsed for hours at a time what she would say to Harry and Ron before the final battle. She'd struggled with it, fought with it, scribbled it down angrily, and wept over it after a night terror. But now, all of those words, those stored up words of love, appreciation, and farewell were gone. And in their place was just the last line of something so Hermione Granger, that she was ashamed to read it again.
She quietly stashed the note under Ron's pillow. Ron, who shook out his bedding before sleep in fear of spiders who would find it the second he lifted his pillow in just a few hours' time. And she felt like weeping. Curling up on the mattress surrounded by his scent; remembering the smell of parchment, and his breath in the morning after a good brushing, minty toothpaste and groggy warm eyes that sometimes saw through her, and other times didn't seem to see her at all. And just bask in the scent that she couldn't place as anything other than Ron Weasley, it was special to him, and warm, warm and spicy and pleasant.
But instead, she turned around, bit her lip, stuck her nose in the air with the determination of the head girl she had once been. She shrunk her trunk, stuffed in to the beaded bag, put the file on top, closed it up hanging it from her arm, and made her way for Moody's office with a confidence she didn't actually feel, but determination burning strong in her blood. Bravery. She imagined. Gryffindor bravery.
She'd arrived at his door early, and knocked this time without hesitation. It was too late to hesitate. This was her battle now. This was her war effort. It wasn't the greatest; she wasn't casting spells in battle, saving or ending lives. But this was her gift. The only thing she could do for them. It was her contribution. And it would be every bit as dangerous and require just as much wit as going into battle.
Hermione didn't think for a moment that she actually believed that. She wanted to of course. Everyone wanted to imagine that whatever effort they put into war would be just as important as the contributions of everyone else. Wanted to believe that they were aiding the greater good, whether it was true or not. She wondered briefly if this was an emotion shared by their enemy, the Death Eaters in their sweeping robes, pointed hoods and the terrifying curve of the masks of bone that adorned their faces.
If they looked around them and wondered what the mask to their left or right had done to serve their terrible leader, how many Phoenix's had they killed? How many Muggle's or innocent witches or wizards? And if they were a spy for their side, parading as a Phoenix, did that person in the middle look to his comrades and wonder if what little information he managed to slip over enemy lines was enough to even start to compare to the amount of good their sacrifices and the blood on their hands had done?
It was the gruff clearing of his thought that led her back out of her thoughts with a shock, jumping in surprise, a soft squeak leaving her lips as she turned so quickly she almost lost her footing. Alastor Moody, for his part didn't even blink. But she thought that the curve of his downturned lips read clearly enough that this mission was destined for failure.
"Granger," was grunted in greeting, and she quickly moved out of his way so he could disband the wards protecting his office twisting the key in the door. The key. That surprised her. With all the magic in the world at his finger tips and he still employed a Muggle key to protect his office. "Go in then," his voice was impatient as she complied. "Sorry," left her lips before she could stop it.
Back in this office she noticed with a little start that the unknown person who seemed so familiar was once again in the corner. "I've read the file," she finally stated, before opening the bag, digging until she'd found what she was looking for, and pulled it out, carefully so as not to lose anything before she let it sit on her lap. "I was reading over the information, and I think I can pull this off..." but the crack in her voice gave away her reckless confidence and she quickly hurried on. "But there is one thing…" of course there was. When wasn't there when she was involved.
"This alias, Serena Hawthorn; She's not on the family tree." Her fingers were already fumbling for the parchment on the stack when the voice behind her sounded, and she went stiff as a board.
"Observant, Granger." The words were hissed, like he was speaking through clenched teeth, and had come to the same conclusion she had while in her bedroom. But he stood, and stalked forward into the light, and she shot a look of betrayal at Moody, because things where starting to fall into place and it was like getting smacked in the face with a handful of snow, freezing her blood and stinging her skin; she wanted to be silent. But her brain was already racing a million miles a minuet at the implications because she was Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor Mudblood, and he…he was Draco bloody Malfoy. Slytherin prince, heir to all that was the great Pure-blooded family Malfoy; and her nemesis since first year.
"The family had a rather unfortunate split a couple centuries ago when great uncle blood purity met a muggle and married, and the family couldn't decide on if half-bloods and Muggle-borns should be allowed on the family tree and it was discontinued. Didn't you even read the blasted file at all!?"
She was stiff, her knuckles turning white as she clung to the folder in her lap, her jaw rhythmically clenching, and unclenching as she tried to work out just what it was she could say without getting in trouble, and if Mad-Eye would be too horribly opposed if he was one-less Death Eater informant short. Silently, she was grateful that her wand was in the bag somewhere, and not in her finger tips or she doubted Moody would have had many choices in this decision.
"It isn't in the file," she finally managed to get out, as she kept her gaze on Moody, warm brown eyes were now darkened blood wood, snapping with an intense fire of barley controlled rage.
"Of course it's in the bloody file, Granger! We made sure it was in the bloody file this morning when-"
"No, I assure you it bloody well is not in the blasted file!"
"Great, you get a file for ten seconds and you lose crucial information-"
"I didn't lose anything! It wasn't in the file when it was given to me, I would know if it was because I-"
"Well apparently not since you lost the information-"
"There is no possible way I could have lost information that wasn't there to begin with-"
"Probably compromised the whole mission now, and I bet-"
"Compromised? Compromised. You think I compromised a mission by losing information-"
"Potter and Weasel are probably just jumping at the chance to play hero now and save you from the big bad-"
"That I didn't even have and don't you dare bring them into this! Harry and Ron don't know anything about this mission because I was given order-"
"Since when you did you follow orders? I bet they are listening in outside the door-"
"You're a right bloody git you know that? And it's not even possible for them to be listening because this office is spelled to maintain privacy or the whole bloody Order would be banging the door down because you, Malfoy are as about as trust worthy as a rabid beast you Slytherin-"
There was a sudden pause in the argument caused when Moody slammed a fist down against the desk so hard the whole structure seemed to jump in response. His eye flashing wild as the other whirled in circles that made her stomach flip before she had to look away, back to the face of the blond before her. She could feel the heat in her cheeks. The anger having brought a flush to her skin; she was standing, with no real idea how she got there, the folder dumped on the floor, but luckily not spread out too far. And his face was close to hers, grey eyes snapping with his own rage, swirling like quicksilver, and much too close, so close his breath ruffled her bangs and caused her to make a face of disgust, or discomfort, or maybe a little bit of both all at once.
"Sit down." The order was barked, and she found herself moving so quickly to do so that her elbow smacked into the wood of the armrest, causing her to make a sound in her throat from the pain that shot up her arm, and it took a moment but it seemed Malfoy did too, but with more grace than she had exhibited.
It seemed to take Mad-Eye a long time before he could collect his thoughts, the frown that always seemd to be on his face was deeper somehow than it had been before, and she could tell he was not at all amused by the less-than-professional outburst.
Slowly he held up a piece of parchment, "I believe this is the information that you were denied, Granger." He passed it to her, and she let her eyes skim the in-depth information about the breaking of the Hawthorn blood line, and discontinuation of the Hawthorn family tree. She wants to turn, to look at the face of the blond behind her, and smile as she watches the smirk fade from his face. "It was deemed unimportant until the briefing meeting, and withheld from the file." She wants to turn, and smile, but something in Mad-Eye's demeanor tells her not to move.
She is sure her face says something akin to, 'I told you so'. Sure because she can all but see it reflected at her through one of the many bobbles Mad-Eye Moody keeps on his desk. But she remains still and silent, and figures there will be plenty of time for her to say it to his blond, arrogant face later. When Moody isn't present; and she can't get marked for bad behavior. Then she'll go for it.
"I take it by now, you've caught on to the plan, and so I won't go over the boring details of who our informant is." She looks like she is about to argue and he cuts her off, "No arguments, Granger." And he says like he is chastising a solder. And she realizes with a little surprise that is exactly what she has become. And she's getting orders, not her grades on a test. There is no extra credit. Just hard facts; and these marks can't be undone. "Yes Sir."