Lucius Malfoy stood tensely at the window of the fireplace room, where his family would later join Severus for tea. He had watched his wife set the table with near-perfectionist dedication, repeatedly agitating the house elves with new instructions about the pastries to be served and finally sinking into her armchair with a satisfied smile. He himself had no time to prepare himself in any way for entertaining a guest, especially as it was only an old friend of the family anyway. Certainly, after his last visit, Severus also became something of a watchdog, but that only gave Lucius more reason, if any, not to lift a finger for him.

The familiar behaviour he observed between Severus and Hermione still made him uncomfortable. He didn't have a moment's peace after they disappeared from his sight, and now that he could see them through the window again, he only grew more impatient. Although it was raining heavily by now and the two figures were still quite far away, Lucius was sure that something was wrong. The way Hermione was holding her hand over her mouth, her slumped posture, everything indicated that her mood had completely changed from when she had left. Had something happened?

Before Lucius could sink into angry and worried thoughts, the scene in front of him changed. Only a few metres from the entrance to the house, Severus stopped and placed a hand on Hermione's shoulder. He was obviously talking to her seriously and firmly, because she just stared at him with wide eyes as she kept nodding. He could see from a distance that her hair was falling heavily over her shoulders, that individual strands were sticking to her cheeks, that the cloak had to be completely soaked by now, and that she was struggling to stand upright under the weight. One of her arms was holding the basket of plants that Severus could use for his work, while her other hand was still clenched in a fist against her mouth. Why did she seem so upset?

With an almost tender movement, Severus grabbed her hand and gently forced it down. Then he leant forward, wiped a strand of hair from Hermione's face, placed a finger under her chin - and kissed her. An icy cold feeling took over Lucius, but when he saw how Hermione fought against the kiss with all her might, it turned into hot anger. Stunned, he watched as Snape buried one hand in Hermione's wet hair, forcing her to give in to the kiss. The basket of plants fell to the floor, while Hermione's arms hung down her body as if frozen.

Lucius shook with anger. He barely managed to build Hermione back up after everything Severus had done. She just started to explore her sexuality on her own terms. Allowed herself to enjoy intimacy. It would be a miracle if she didn't retreat back into herself immediately after this scene. He would have never thought of his old friend to be that aggressively predatory.

oOoOoOo

Slowly, he broke away from the kiss. Although he only did it for the distraction, Severus couldn't deny that he enjoyed the feel of her soft lips. Of course she had resisted, had even been horrified by this move of his - and yet. When he grabbed her hair, she stopped fighting, and while not returned the kiss, allowed it. He closed his eyes briefly, then looked directly at Hermione. What he saw surprised him.

"Malfoy's been watching us, hasn't he?" she said matter-of-factly, a hint of a smile playing around her lips. He could do nothing but nod. With a glint in her eye, Hermione bent down to pick up the basket again. "Yes, that should make a coherent picture when we return to the house in a moment. I, in tears, the master of the house even managed to observe a forced kiss - it's clear to everyone involved what happened outside. That was your plan, wasn't it?"

Expressionless, he looked down at the young woman in front of him. Where did she find the strength to keep pushing her feelings aside and look at every situation logically? She had cried the whole way, so hard that he had actually started to worry. Only when her tears subsided and he saw something like fighting spirit flare up in her eyes again did he dare to tell her about his plan. And now the tears and the reason for them seemed almost forgotten, she was able to smile and didn't hold the kiss against him. An impressive quality. All his life, he had done nothing but suppress his own feelings and let his mind rule instead. It was second nature. But to see the same behaviour now in someone so much younger, so much livelier, in Hermione, who was quite capable of violent emotions, left him, Severus Snape, speechless.

"Nothing escapes you," he finally replied curtly. Without another word to her, he turned and walked back to the front door. The respect he felt for her more and more with each meeting mingled uncomfortably with the physical attraction he started to feel recently.

At the same time, he worried for her. What was second nature to him should not become the norm for her. It was a useful survival skill to push down one's emotions and detach from the cruelty of the world, to focus on a plan, a goal, something to do. But he knew himself how hard it was to stop doing it once it was so ingrained in one's behaviour. Hermione should not have to follow his path.

What was worse, he felt a weak part of himself reach out to her. As though she could be a mirror to his own experience, a mirror reflecting a better, more youthful, healthier life. The similarities he saw between them were just as much of an attraction to him as the differences.

He was despicable for even thinking about her like that. Just thinking about being physically attracted to her was revolting enough, but actually assuming she would ever want to have to do anything with him was delusional. He knew that. Just as he knew that he couldn't risk the distraction any serious attachment would bring.

Still. He longed for a true companion.

oOoOoOo

"What happened?"

Slowly, Hermione looked up. She was hanging up her cloak next to the fireplace and drying her hair when the master of the house stepped into the kitchen. She knew that Snape was just taking a quick bath to banish the cold from his limbs, so there was still a little time before the family would have tea with their guest. She did expect Malfoy to use the short break to come to her. She knew that her face still bore the marks of her long crying fit, just as she knew that he had watched the kiss between her and Snape.

She lowered her eyes. She didn't want to lie to him, didn't want him to worry unnecessarily, but for the moment there was no other way. Under no circumstances should Lucius Malfoy suspect that anything other than fear was driving her feelings for Snape. Outside the house, for a ridiculous moment, she had actually felt like a heroine from an old spy film, enduring anything in the name of infiltration. This strange and completely misplaced elation was now completely gone.

"Hermione," he whispered as he stepped close to her, "Something's happened, I can see that. You've been crying."

"If you can see it so well, why are you even asking?" she retorted sharply. If she didn't say it, then at least she could avoid the lie. If he drew his own conclusions, she wouldn't need to make a concrete statement, she wouldn't need to lie to him, pretending that Snape assaulted her again.

"It's all right," he said in the same soft, tender tone, "You don't have to tell me anything, I know. Come here."

Gently, Malfoy pulled her into his arms, placing one of his large hands on her head while the other stroked her back very slowly. Hermione had to stop herself from pushing him away in shame. She couldn't cope with his gentle side, because it didn't suit a Death Eater who served a madman of his own free will. Of course, after all these weeks in this house, she had seen enough of Lucius Malfoy to know that he only showed this tenderness towards her and that he really meant it. But today, for the first time, she deliberately lied to him, pretending something that wasn't true. Not only had she conspired with Snape against him and all the other Death Eaters, she also deliberately created the impression that she had become Snape's victim in order to hide her new relationship with him. Did she even have the right to let Malfoy hug her and accept his comfort? She only just learnt to forget the world around her in his arms during sex, to let go, to relinquish control - and to find comfort in it. She didn't want to give it up, it meant too much to her, but the ever-correct voice inside her was upset.

"Mr Malfoy," she whispered almost inaudibly as she released herself from the embrace. She had drawn the line before, had made it clear to him before that romantic feelings were not possible between them. She would simply draw the line even tighter and forbid any sexual contact. Fundamentally, he was only her master and she was only his slave; there was nothing unnatural about her closing herself off from him. On the contrary, the fact that she opened herself up at all and thought she could be with him on any level was unnatural.

A tear ran down her cheek, followed by many more. She knew that she was lying to herself, that inside she had long since become far too close to Lucius Malfoy to convince herself with her logical arguments. No matter how many times her mind could explain to her that there should be nothing between her and Malfoy anyway, the thought of rejecting him completely hurt.

She turned back to the fire where her cloak was hanging. Very soon, Snape would be finished with his bath and then she would have to watch over the family and their guest's tea time in the fireside room, presentable. She had to stop those tears and get her face back under control.

"I wish you wouldn't draw that line." Lucius Malfoy snapped her out of her thoughts. "Do you really think that's necessary? Are you afraid of me?"

Hermione had to take a deep breath before she found the strength to turn round and look him straight in the eye. "I'm not afraid of you. Still. Snape reminded me today which side I'm on. He's a Death Eater, so are you."

"That again!" he interrupted her, a heated look in his eyes. "We left that behind us long ago, Hermione! Why are you bringing it up again now? What's changed?"

"Nothing," she whispered, still struggling to keep her emotions under control. "But it was wrong to forget all that. I mustn't forget. I must have been mentally deranged to have..."

"No!" he shouted at her all at once, his face contorted into a scowl of anger. "Don't tell me it was a mistake! How can it have been a mistake when you so obviously enjoyed it? Whenever we've been alone in the last few weeks, you've relaxed, even I've seen that. You can forget the nightmare with me. Don't tell me that's a mistake!"

"But it is!" she replied feebly. "I can't forget what's going on outside. I'm lucky that you treat me well, but there are so many other people suffering besides me. It's not right..."

"So selfless!" he interrupted her again, this time with icy cynicism. "The Sorting Hat did well to put you in Gryffindor. Your self-righteous way of asking everyone to share your narrow-minded morals is disgusting. I'm not like you! I couldn't care less how others feel. You can't expect me to bend to your rules! I am the master here."

Hermione's tears dried up. Against her better judgement, his words affected her deeply. Of course, she knew that Lucius Malfoy was no philanthropist and that, at his age, he would probably not be able to change his character so easily. Nevertheless. She had seen a side of him that was human, weak, and dependent. The man standing in front of her now acted as if he didn't have that side. This was the real Lucius Malfoy, the arrogant son of an ancient pureblood family who denied his weaknesses, only cared about himself, and was used to getting what he wanted. The other side of him was there, but he would never admit that it existed, he was too attached to his self-image. He was too proud.

"You are the master, I am the slave," she shot back in a venomous voice. "You have recognised that well. You can do whatever you want. But don't expect me to give in to it."

So quickly that she barely noticed the movement, he grabbed her by the neck with one hand and pressed her against the cold tiles of the wall next to the fireplace. Hermione could tell from his rapid breathing that he was agitated, but his gaze was icy. She returned it openly. Whereas a few minutes ago she had been ashamed to lie to him or betray him, now she felt only contempt for this man who was too weak to admit his vulnerability, and instead had to rely on his power to make her compliant.

"You are indeed not afraid of me," he finally said after a seemingly endless moment of staring. "But you have no respect either."

With these words, he let go of her, turned on his heel, and left the kitchen. Breathing heavily, Hermione rubbed her neck where he held her. Although she couldn't understand how their relationship could so suddenly turn almost the opposite, she realised with her sharp mind that it was better this way. It was the only way. She had a task to fulfil, she had to prepare for the plan to overthrow the Dark Lord. Like Snape, she had to live with the fact that no one around her really knew what she was thinking. For the sake of the future of the wizarding world, she had to deal with being alone.

And suddenly the familiar tiredness was back. The day had been too much and she knew it was far from over.