Chapter 4

Fine, Thanks

Hermione awoke to sunlight filtering through sheer white curtains. She sat up, tangled in the unfamiliar bedding.

"Morning," he said.

She looked at him sitting across from her, in a worn, green armchair. He had an open book in his lap, and the cool practiced expression on his face like he'd never really given a damn about anything in his whole life.

She flashed a smile. "Morning."

"How was your sleep?"

"Fine, thanks." She didn't ask how she wound up there. It didn't really matter. She definitely didn't want to hear about it from him. She didn't like hearing him talk. He had this way, when he spoke, like he always meant something different than what he was saying, or he was quietly mocking. She fought the urge to roll her eyes. Her robes were folded atop the dresser. Her wand set on top of them. She was in her cream, silk slip. She fixed the dropped shoulder strap.

He asked, "Did you enjoy last night?"

"The party was lovely. Thank you for inviting me." In the room there was the chair, and the bed against the wall. Then there was a desk, underneath the window, across from the dresser with a mirror hung over it. She could see herself in it, in her peripheral vision.

"You insisted on removing your robes."

"I remember. I didn't drink that much."

"When I asked you where staying, you said out in the middle of the woods."

"I've been camping. I have no money left for hotels. Besides I rather enjoy the experience."

"You told me that already, last night."

"What's your point?"

"You also said you didn't normally go home with men you hardly knew but you just couldn't help yourself."

"I don't believe a single word that comes out of your mouth."

"What are you afraid of? You can just admit you blacked out."

"I'm not afraid."

"Do you not trust yourself?"

"I trust myself."

They just maintained eye contact a while.

"I'm interested to know: you heard about what the goals of our society are, more or less. Do you agree with our cause, and do you see yourself actively supporting it?"

"I'm really not planning on being here long enough to get involved with anything like that."

"You can be involved overseas. Remind me, when are you planning on returning home?"

"End of summer."

He set the book on top of the dresser and stood. He walked over to sit on the edge of the bed. "Wouldn't you want to know of magic, even if you had no command of it?"

"Would you?"

"I know why you're hesitant. It's gone poorly for wizards and witches in the past who have been discovered. And it's highly discouraged, and it's been historically comfortable to remain as a secret society of elite–

"Not elite, just different. The muggles manage fine, and in fact are quite ingenious."

"Yes we've been over that or don't you remember?"

"What are you hoping to accomplish? Specifically."

"I wish to e."

"That isn't specific."

He smirked, "That's as specific as I'm willing to get without knowing I have your loyalty."

She didn't understand how much of what he was saying was true. And if it was true, how it had turned out the way she knew it did from her time. Because as she understood it, it was a blood purity issue, and it was about gaining power for the sake of power. She wondered what on earth he thought he was doing.

He shifted, and hooked his fingers gently under her chin, so she would look at him. She'd been staring at her hands, clutching the sheets. He lowered his voice, almost like he didn't mean for her to hear, "I can't shake the feeling you're here for me."

Her heart took up racing, and she avoided his gaze. "What a strange thing to say."

"Is it?" He leant in, but paused a moment before pressing his lips to hers.

She stared forward, shocked, and was about to lift her hands to push him away, until he pulled away.

He said, "I'm already late to work. Help yourself to something for breakfast." He left the room, and she shortly heard the popping sound of the floo.

She fell back on his bed, and stared up at the cracks on the ceiling. It baffled her that she felt so far away from herself. It was as if she was solely the entity just outside of herself. That her awareness and her personage were separate. It was the strangest feeling. She needed to clear her head, but at the same time, she wasn't sure she wanted to let go of that feeling just yet. It was restful to give into. Just for a little while…

She recalled that time, in the river, when she was small at summer camp and had fallen out of the canoe. The water had just done with her what it wanted. That's what it felt like. And she remembered not being afraid at all.

She considered that she wasn't stable enough to be on the mission she'd chosen. Perhaps the war, and everything that had happened, had deeply rattled her, and she still wasn't ready to go forward and deal with anything else. She should have waited. She should have healed, maybe. But, to her credit, she thought she already had. She thought she had cried it out. That it was done. That she was past it. She thought it all was processed, and released.

She needed to read.

She hardly picked up the book, the one he'd been reading, and the scheme hatched from the back of her mind.

It was probably the Malfoys who were in posession of the diary, if it wasn't with Tom. She would burn it. Fiend fire. So to destroy what she needed to destroy. It would have to be the whole thing, the whole mansion. That was the safest way for her to do it, to assure she could continue her mission. She'd need a scapegoat, an alibi, and an opportunity.

She got out of bed, and took her wand off her clothes and waved it to make the bed. She headed into the kitchen where she'd stood alone before. She opened the cupboards and made herself some porridge, tea, and had a green apple.

She tried not to think too much more, and just read the book about magical creatures. The illustrations were familiar. It was a textbook used at Hogwarts, from one of the earlier years. She blinked, and a teardrop fell onto the pages, followed by another, and another. She wiped her eyes. They just kept tumbling down. She leant back to not ruin the book.

She cleaned up after herself. apparated to the countryside. She knew it well. She gazed at the dark peaks of the Malfoy mansion. She stood just outside of the protective charms which encompassed the property. She studied them.

She hated that house. Everything it stood for. Everything it reminded her of. It might feel good, and right, to watch it burn. That would be one way to do it. That would destroy whatever Horcrux was inside. That was the plan. She would do it with the intent of causing nobody harm, so she would wait for an opportunity when everyone was out. As for the house elves, they should be clever enough to escape. Their magic was easy and quick. They would be fine.

Everything was going to be fine. Everything was under control.