Procyon Mask - Chapter 11

A/N: This chapter may be shorter than usual, but I hope you'll enjoy it nonetheless.

"Better."

That's what he says, but his eyes tell a different story. There's a spark of annoyance in them, like he expected her to already know how to do these things, to be comfortable saying them. Like she should be more casual if not flippant about voicing her disdain for her friends, family, everyone she actually loves. Rather than the man she was to pretend to give a damn about.

Barty sighs, running his hands through his hair as Hermione puts the cups and plates back. The same ones she had set out minutes ago as if they were having guests, talking to the damn air.

"You need to stop letting your emotions show through your eyes. It's your biggest flaw right now." And the fact that her lines came out sounding pre-recorded, even if her tone wasn't completely flat.

"And how do I do that? You're the one with experience in deceiving others. I'm just a fledgling actress."

He snorts softly. "As much as I appreciate the praise, Hermione, you need to get your act together." She narrows her eyes at him, not missing the stupid pun he threw into his little quip. "Yeah, that look isn't going to fly. Perhaps you should stand in front of a mirror, rein your emotions in. Or… hm."

His fingers tap along the table's surface and Hermione closes the cupboards, turning back to him. "Or maybe I'm just not up to this playing house thing and you should just break it off with me. Throw me in the dungeons. No imperio or convincing others I'm imperiod necessary. I'll just be your little mudblood Order slave-spy that you send out on occasion to fetch information."

"There's no room for you in the dungeons."

Hermione frowns. "And why is that?"

"It's nothing for you to concern yourself with." His fingers stop tapping on the granite top and she feels a cold dead weight settle in her stomach when his gaze flickers up. Great. He had come up with another idea for her. "Actually, forget the 'demure and quiet' part. You're bloody horrible at keeping your mouth shut."

"Gee. Thanks, Barty. What did you want me to do instead? Be loud and obnoxious?"

"No, at least not obnoxiously so. I want you to overact, take it to an extreme if necessary."

Hermione purses her lips. "Like an airhead?"

Barty shrugs. "Doing something radically different than yourself seems the easiest way around the problem. No one will question if you're under the curse that way. So no more sudden smart ass comments of yours. You're to be pleasant to everyone, even if they're unpleasant to you. Ignore them or take the words as a compliment, whatever works for the current situation."

"In other words if I were to say or even suggest anything remotely intelligent it should appear entirely by accident?"

"Precisely."

She nearly rolls her eyes. "What the fuck, Barty? You had no problem binding me to do what you want. So why bother with this? Wouldn't imperioing me be simpler?"

"As I said before: even under the imperius curse your eyes are too telling." His lips curve down into a frown, his gaze tracking every movement of her body. He knew she was up to something. Or rather that she was still planning to get out of the situation she had found herself in with him. While she couldn't act on anything, the vow didn't stop her from thinking up what other options she might have.

Why else would she suddenly stop with her breakdowns in front of him?

Hermione raises her head, meeting his gaze. "That's only because I was struggling. If I stop my eyes won't be saying anything other than what you wanted in the first place."

His own eyes narrow. "No. Absolutely not."

"Why? It's easier for you and I don't have to feel like I'm betraying my friends of my own will. Everybody wins."

Barty pushes away from the table, opening his mouth as if to snap at her before closing it. He moves over to one of the cupboards, opening it to pull out a bottle filled with a dark amber liquid. The same thing that had been in his coffee cup earlier.

He grabs a more elegant glass this time, looking as if it were made from crystal. For all she knew it was. "Did you want any?"

Hermione shifts on her feet before taking a step forward. "What is it?"

"Just whiskey."

"... Sure."

Barty grabs another of the crystal goblets, closing the cupboards and pouring the liquid into them. He extends his hand to her and she takes her glass from him, careful not to brush her fingers against his.

Hermione sniffs at the glass, but the scent of the alcohol isn't overpowering like she had heard some were. After a moment - and with Barty's gaze still on her - she takes a little gulp.

The liquid runs down her throat, cold and warm at the same time, leaving a soft burn in its wake. It was unexpected, but not unpleasant. The taste however… was dry, almost bitter. It sticks around in her mouth and if it weren't for the tangy aftertaste of green apple, she wasn't sure she would be able to stomach the whole glass.

She lets out a small cough, face scrunching up as she pulls the glass away from her lips. "Don't you have anything more… pleasant?"

Barty chuckles softly. "Unfortunately no. That's all my father left behind and I haven't had the time to restock as of yet." He takes a sip from his own glass. "I would suggest not gulping it down like a cocktail. I don't have anything to mix it with either."

"Sounds bloody convenient." Hermione regards her own glass, wondering if she should try to finish it or not. She doubts cares either way, though.

"Hm," his finger taps lightly on the crystal as he leans back against the counter. "What did you hear from the Order this week?"

Her blood runs cold and Hermione quickly takes a gulp from her goblet, coughing lightly a moment later when she accidentally chugs down more than she meant to. "Just the possibility of new members. The Order is trying to recruit more people, to get them to place their fear aside and fight Voldemort. With the Ministry denying that Voldemort is back still they're having a difficult time of it, though. They didn't give any specific names." Thank God. "The Senior members are going to meet up to discuss the new law passed by the Ministry. There's some like Remus who think it's suspicious for them to be releasing such a law right before the war starts again. That it's all an elaborate setup by the Death Eaters to disarm the general populace and have their attention focused on something else while they continue to work from the shadows. And Voldemort has continued to gain more followers. Namely, werewolves and giants. He's still getting ready for the assault.

"After the last war didn't turn out in his favor they think he's waiting to garner enough forces and followers to just take over the Ministry in one fell swoop. Though, that doesn't stop anyone already inside from trying to convince others to join his cause. Your brethren are quite active in their own missions." Hermione licks her lips, frowning when she comes across the taste of whiskey again. "Everyone's worried about the law. They won't shut up about it."

"Are any of your friends due for their letters soon?" Barty asks, taking a sip from his own goblet.

She sighs softly. "Not quite. Harry has a little less than ten months. Ron has six. Fred and George already got their letters, but they were apparently already with their matches so the law hasn't caused many issues yet for them. Mr. Weasley's main concern is how far the Ministry will go to uphold their new law, and the fact that they're making young people have children right out of school for some supposed righteous goal."

"Well, clearly the rise of squibs is a curse Lord Voldemort put on them for getting rid of him the first time."

Hermione nearly snorts into her goblet as she goes to take a drink. "That's a ridiculous way of thinking."

"I was joking." He's quiet for a moment as she takes another sip. He was always watching her every movement it seemed, studying her… It was unnerving. If she didn't know better she might think he had slipped something into her drink and was waiting for it to take effect. "To be frank it's not that surprising that there's more squibs coming from pure-blood families than anywhere else. There's a lot of incestual marriages between the houses here. The Ministry's thinking that mixing bloodlines and purities that otherwise wouldn't isn't without merit."

Hermione blinks, unsure she heard him correctly. "So what? Don't tell me you're actually in favor of the law?"

Barty rolls his eyes. "No. Not the way they implemented it. Arthur is right that forcing the younger generations to just breed instead of advancing the wizarding world is backwards. The Ministry could have just implemented a law nullifying any current and future marriages permitting incestual relations. You can't just force people to change their views on a whim, even if you dress it up as being 'for the good of the Wizarding World.' It just drives fanatics further into thinking their line of thought is the right one against something unjust."

Hermione frowns, cradling her glass closer to her chest. "As a fanatic aren't you worried about accidentally getting me pregnant if the law isn't abolished before the time comes to consummate our…" she stops herself from saying marriage or any other vile variation of it in her mind. "The law will punish us if I take a contraceptive or something. Or if you force an abortion after the fact… Supposedly.``

Her gaze drops away from his, but she can feel Barty looking at her, watching her fingers twitch against the crystal. She's not sure what she's expecting. But she knows she doesn't want to be with him physically, even if the Ministry said it didn't promote rape. There was no way the Death Eaters hadn't infiltrated the place again, so why keep that part of the law in effect if Barty had just switched her match to use her against her friends? She couldn't make any sense of it.

What could possibly be the reason… Was he supposed to use her in front of the others as some sick form of entertainment? Defile the mudblood, break any last shred of will she might have left by impregnating her and forcing her to carry the little monster to term? She couldn't think of anything else.

"You're thinking vile thoughts again."

Hermione snorts softly, taking a gulp of the whiskey. Somehow the burn feels more tolerable now, almost nice in the way it slides down her throat. Her head feels almost… fuzzy. Like she's floating. "I can't exactly stop them. And you can't forbid me from thinking about it. At least I don't think you can."

"If I could would you want me to?"

"I… don't know. In a way I think it would make it easier, taking away my ability to worry about it. Though, it would make me more complacent to you, I guess. But, I also feel it would kill me. You say you don't want a demure wife, so I'm fairly certain you don't want a brain dead one. But of course, this whole thing is just a game to you. You don't actually give a damn. Which leads me to believe if you could stop me from thinking about anything you don't want me to you would, if you could."

Barty is quiet for a few moments and she partly wishes she could meet his gaze right now to attempt to get a feel for what he's thinking. Though, he seems much better at reading people than her. Must have been all that practice at Hogwarts back in Fourth Year. "Anyone ever told you that your imagination is hyperactive?"

"No, I can't say I've heard that one before. An 'insufferable know-it-all' is pretty common, though."

"Hm." She can hear the clink of the goblet being set on the counter., but nothing else follows it. He's not walking away or moving towards her after finishing his drink. He's just standing there. Probably watching her again.

Hermione bites her lip. "You're not going to answer my question, are you?"

"I'm not particularly worried at the concept of bearing a half-blood. The magic it would hold isn't in question." Hermione blinks, slowly raising her gaze, though she doesn't dare look into his eyes. Expressionless as they usually are. The knife would only twist deeper if she saw them while he spoke. She would rather believe the lie he's dangling above her. "My request to push back that requirement wasn't for my own benefit. Like I said, I'm not needlessly cruel. You'll either take your time to get used to the idea or… you'll break. As you've been doing."

His footsteps sound louder than normal as he walks away and Hermione slowly lowers herself to the floor, cradling her liquid courage as tears slide silently down her face.