"And the cage? What does your mother think of that?"

Draco's chuckle was drier than parchment. "She doesn't know."

"Your father?"

His eyes rolled of their own accord. "It's quite the shock if he leaves his room on any given day."

From the corner of Draco's eyes, Snape's sallow face tightened. Standing with his hands clasped behind his back, the old git hadn't moved since stiffly directing Narcissa out of her own drawing room. He'd Apparated with them from the Dark Lord's Hall, demanding to talk to a barely-conscious Draco. Draco had regained some of his senses in the minutes since, laying on the familiar velvet chaise, tracing the intricate molding on the ceiling with half-lidded eyes as he listened to the fire sputtering in the hearth.

It was amusing, pretending the man standing before him didn't exist. He could sense Snape's patience fraying, threatening to break his oh-so-practiced composure. In the laboratory, he had always carried an air of precision, of clinical indifference. It had been a long time since Draco had seen the man crack in any way.

"Let me get this clear." Snape's voice was low, imbued with a characteristic sneer. "You discovered an important family heirloom without your parents' involvement. And you proceeded to call a meeting with the Dark Lord to demonstrate its capabilities to him."

"Is that so surprising to you?" Draco drawled. "I did something of importance without Mother or Father looking over my shoulder—you should celebrate my renewed interest in joining the Dark Lord's circle."

Snape's eyes narrowed, a flicker of suspicion—or calculation—passing through his gaze. "The Dark Lord will be surveilling you closely after today," he warned. "If you have something the Order wants, it's something he wants too."

"All the Dark Lord wants, I give him. I am a dedicated servant. If you're concerned about your standing because I would threaten—"

"No."

"Then why this fascination with the cage? Oh, perhaps you're ashamed of your own half-blooded roots. No heirlooms to showcase, only stupid potions and experiments to offer him. Is that it?"

"Be silent. What are you hiding?"

Draco opened his mouth, then closed it. It wouldn't do to say too much. As much as he yearned to provoke the old git… he swallowed. I'm not hiding anything. The words lingered on the tip of his tongue as he shifted his gaze out the window.

The birch tree was toppled, its branches scattered over the grass like toothpicks. Tonks's handiwork.

I'm not hiding anything. It wouldn't even be a lie anymore. There was a hollowness in his stomach, a cavity that throbbed with something so awful he wanted to laugh.

He met Snape's stern gaze with well-practiced indifference. "What makes you think I'm hiding anything?"

A noise of irritation emerged from Snape's throat, and his wand was pointed at Draco in the blink of an eye. "Legilimens."

Snape's presence forced its way into his thoughts, rifling through his torture-addled mind before he had a chance to prepare. If Voldemort's Legilimency was a knife tearing into his memories, Snape's was a razor blade, cutting through his scalp with terrifying precision.

The world tilted sickeningly as half-formed visions flashed before Draco's mind—and then, with a lurch, the duel with Granger, the body-bind, his mother calling him.

No.

Snape seized on his panic, rifling deeper.

The Prolixus cage in the corner. Recording the dimensions, the curvature, the space between the bars under the moonlight. The oily stench of Prolixus, wafting toward him, drawing his forehead into a frown.

Cracking open the glass door to spy on an unguarded Hermione tending to the Valerian in the greenhouse. Her voice recited a series of runes, the sound carrying over to him like a soft hum. Teiwaz… Othila…

The delicate heat of her neck, her soft hair tickling his arm. The yearning to draw her closer, to melt the deluge of confusion in her eyes into desire—he could bear it no more. Her lips yielding beneath his…

Snape withdrew abruptly, shock etched across his features. For the first time in his life, it seemed like Draco had caught the man off guard—albeit unwillingly. Draco groaned, his gut twisting as he massaged his temples.

"The… Granger girl." Snape said it slowly, each word intoned like a threat.

"It was—"

"I know exactly what I saw."

"—a diversion."

"Was it?"

"Yes. I enjoyed it. Sufficiently."

"Care to explain why you didn't turn the Undesirable into the Dark Lord immediately?"

"It was late at night."

"Don't. Lie. To. Me."

Snape's hiss would've sent panic coursing through Draco's veins if he was still in school. He would've been sweating with fear, palms clammy beneath his robes...

But they weren't at Hogwarts anymore.

Draco was pleasantly surprised to find that he felt nothing—no alarm, no dread—even as Snape glared down at him from his periphery. It was freeing, he mused, to have nothing left to lose.

"It's the truth," Draco said. Finally pulling his gaze from the ceiling to Snape, he slid his hands under his head on the chaise, the motion deliberately blasé. "I never turned the Mudblood in. So what? If you want to bring me to the Dark Lord now, go ahead. Why don't you?"

Snape's expression darkened. "I'm asking the questions here. Why didn't you bring her to the Dark Lord? Answer me."

Dropping his legs off the chaise, Draco sat up. Pain surged through his body, but he stifled a grunt.

"It's simple, Severus," he jeered, drawing out the S. Snape's eyes flashed, fingers twitching on his wand, but Draco pressed on. "A man has his needs. Even a man who's not in the bloody Death Eater ranks. The Mudblood was in the right place at the right time. Who was I not to indulge?"

Snape's mouth twitched like he'd tasted something foul, but he kept his eyes trained on Draco.

"You kept her." It wasn't a question.

"I did only—"

"Don't tell me you developed… an affinity for her."

"Of course not!"

Draco cursed the pounding in his chest. It was nerves—it was just nerves.

"How long did you keep her?"

"It was simply—"

Snape didn't let Draco finish his sentence before dipping into his mind again with a flick. His mind already splintered, Draco barely had time to process the intrusion before Snape pulled back.

"What the bloody hell was that for?"

"You fool," Snape snarled, his voice rising. "I didn't take you for a complete and utter fool, but perhaps I should've! Your mind is far too weak for you to be fucking a damned Undesirable, let alone harboring Hermione Granger under your belt for an entire week!"

Draco bristled at the insult. "Weak? Have you forgotten that I evaded the Dark Lord's probing today?"

"You take sheer luck for granted. Need I remind you who stopped him before he could continue his probing?"

"Oh, I see. It was you. And now you'd like me to shower you with my undying gratitude," Draco retorted, his voice ringing with bitterness. "Thank you, Severus , for protecting me! While you could be poisoning me, humiliating me in front of Amycus and Yaxley and the rest of your cronies, you chose instead to help me today!"

Snape made a frustrated sound as Draco pushed himself off the chaise, his body groaning with the effort. Propping himself upright—no small feat—he confronted the man eye to eye.

"Did you do that today as an apology? Why'd you stop the trials, anyway? Did it lose its glamour, watching someone drink the poison you masterminded? Or was it because I dirtied your pristine laboratory with my presence? Perhaps you decided that—"

"You forget yourself. That has nothing to do with this."

"Stop acting like you've done something noble when all you've done is prey on those unluckier than you and revel in our misery, you sadistic piece of shite! You're an absolute coward of a—"

A snarl—a noise nearly inhuman—burst out of Snape's throat.

"Why do you think you're still alive, you ungrateful brat?"

His voice was a growl, crashing over Draco's. He flicked his wand—a Silencing spell—but Draco deflected it.

"You dare curse me in my own home?"

"Yes, I dare. I don't have time for your childish hysterics. Listen to me, Draco. Listen," Snape hissed, taking a step forward. It cut through the air, his name, and Draco shook his head with a glare. "I am the reason you are alive, and I will be the reason you continue to stay alive—"

"Like hell you are."

"—but your pathetic mental defenses will be the death of both of us, now that I've failed to turn you in for keeping—and losing—the top Undesirable of the regime!"

There was something in Snape's voice that made Draco bite back his next retort, staggering in a breath instead. Rolling Snape's words around in his mind, he stared into the man's face. The git wore a familiar expression, a dark scowl as if he'd been forced to teach Potions to another unruly group of first years. He was irritated—that was to be expected. But was that… desperation that Draco had heard in his voice?

Had he heard his words correctly?

He wasn't sending him to the Dark Lord.

Snape, the Dark Lord's right hand man, was committing treason.

It was so unbelievable that Draco barked out a laugh.

"Is this some trick?"

Ignoring his comment, Snape pressed his lips together, his eyes traveling over Draco's shoulder into the distance, eyes roaming around in space as if deciphering a complex diagram.

"Practice your Occlumency. Every day. I will test your shields. And you will grovel at the Dark Lord's feet. You will have a change of heart about your contributions to the regime, and you will work both your sorry feet off for a chance to rise in his ranks again. That's your only way forward."

Draco scoffed. "Since when are you my mother?"

"You will go on each and every mission the Dark Lord requires soldiers for. Your duelling skills should far surpass those in his outer circle. I will plant some seeds to… expedite the process. There will be many pureblooded daughters interested in the Malfoy heir; you can have any of them. You can have all of them, for all I care. However, you must ensure that—"

"What the hell are you going on about? I won't be any part of this… this thestral-shite pile of a plan."

"—none of their families will demand marriage. That would cause unnecessary complications. Reintegrating into the pureblood social circles will give you enough incentive not to arouse suspicion. You will be surveilled with every step; therefore, your attitude will need to change overnight as if you've just had a painful dose of reality. You're lucky the cage has started you on this new trajectory—now you only need to continue it."

"I'm not doing anything you say."

His words landed petulantly, having no effect. Snape continued without pause.

"That story should be sufficiently sound. You have a motive, enough opportunity, and fortunately, a family name to back you up. What I—you—don't have is time. You'll need to move quickly, or it'll be for naught. Right now, the Dark Lord has more on his mind than scrutinizing every new recruit… this may be enough."

With that, Snape finally took a breath, tearing his gaze away from the walls to fix Draco with a stern look, one that would have preceded certain detention back at Hogwarts. Draco squared his shoulders.

"I won't—"

"You will do what I say and not ask questions. Disobey me, and I deliver you to the Dark Lord for judgment."

While Draco didn't doubt that, annoyance still clawed at his chest. Why did the frustrating man want him to climb the ranks? Was it, like Subimperium, just another way to satisfy his craving for control?

"Why are you using me like—like you have some grand, secret plan? You've crawled your way to the top of the regime—what more do you want?"

"Does there need to be a reason? No amount of power will ever satisfy a hungry man. That's something you'd do well to remember." Snape crossed his arms, looking bored.

"But you said it yourself—I'm a liability to you. My weak mental defenses."

"There's no such thing as reward without risk."

"But…"

"Ah, now you think I'm hiding something. You're suspicious of my loyalty to the Dark Lord, aren't you?" A smirk turned Snape's expression into a taunt.

"You're doing this behind the Dark Lord's back—of course I'm suspicious."

"I assure you, I am loyal. No one can question my hard work, my dedication to the regime. " Snape chuckled, a low, mirthless exhale. "You, on the other hand, will need to prove it."

"The distance… around fifteen meters. Amplification charm round trip… two and a half seconds wandless. I still need to test my wandless ratio…"

Hermione muttered to herself as she turned to watch the Murtlap tentacles dissolve into the glowing blue fluid.

"Do they need to be completely liquefied before turning down the heat?" Tonks asked, looking up as she poked the cauldron with the stirring rods.

"Yes. And turn it down immediately after so it maintains its potency."

"Aye aye, captain."

A half-smile flickered on Hermione's face. Tonks was trying to cheer her up again. Everyone else might think I've gone insane, but at least she'll have my back, Hermione thought, as she turned back to murmuring half-formed thoughts to herself.

Despite everything, Hermione was grateful to brew a batch of Wolfsbane again. Well, technically, she wasn't doing any of the brewing—she was supervising, since Tonks had insisted that Hermione conserve her magical energy, despite Fleur and Susan clearing her the day before.

You needed eight units of blood. That curse wasn't a joke, Hermione. They're rushing you because they're waiting for you to fix every damn thing that's gone wrong over the last week.

Tonks always had a special talent for cutting through the bullshit. As much as Hermione wanted to brush her concerns off, her own body revealed the truth. She had attempted to stand up the night before and had immediately fallen, her sorry arse only saved by the fact that her bed was right behind her.

She felt antsy and useless—her mind kept jumping to her to-dos. And the list was only getting longer and longer—it started with warding the Dagenham Order House, as well as the Bromley and Redhill safehouses. Thank Merlin Flitwick was covering everything to the east. Then, there was calculating the discrepancy ratio for all the spells she'd recorded at Malfoy Manor. Ah, that one was important.

Actually, she'd need to pay the storage facility a visit at Bromley, first, to adopt a new wand. Then she could pull her experiment back on track— well, as on track as it can be, now that I've missed the eclipse. The Occultation of Ceres might have a similar effect, but I need to run the numbers…

"Disillusionment round trip… two seconds flat. Also need…"

Tonks, accustomed to Hermione's muttering-thinking, adjusted the flame on the floor of the bedroom-cum-potions-lab. Footsteps interrupted Hermione's thoughts as Fleur entered, her elegant features scrunched into a frown.

"'Ermione, you're needed. It's urgent." Her voice was sharp, bordering on shrill.

"What? What's happened?"

"Bill, he is calling for you. At Windsor. They 'ave entered ze wards already—the Death Eaters 'ave entered."

Hermione's heart plummeted. Scrambling to her feet, she made it two steps forward before a wave of dizziness washed the room with darkness. Her ears rang for a protracted moment and when her vision returned, Tonks had stood up, reaching for her.

"Are you kidding? She's in no condition to go," Tonks said, grabbing Hermione's arm. "She doesn't have a wand, either. I'll go."

"'ermione needs to go. Bill sent ze Patronus for 'er."

"She can't fight!"

"Ze Death Eaters, they are not there anymore. They 'ave already left. There is no fighting. Bill, he wants to discuss with 'Ermione."

"Then why can't he come back first?" Hermione asked, finally steady enough to speak. "I don't have a wand. I'm only more of a risk in this state."

Tilting her head in the slightest angle, Fleur stared coolly at her. "But you should see what your leetle white-haired boy 'as done, no?"

Something hot flared in Hermione's chest. She didn't recognize it as anger until she saw Tonks's outraged expression.

"He's not my white-haired boy, Fleur," Hermione said, before Tonks could reply with something harsher. She took in a deep breath, pushing back the flood of emotion that threatened to overwhelm her. She couldn't lose her temper, not when things were already strained to their limits. "Tell Bill I can't go. It's not negotiable—I can barely stand, let alone defend myself if anything happens."

Fleur sighed, a long, stretched-out breath. She turned around, shaking her head silently as she walked away.

In reality, her white-haired boy had infiltrated her every waking moment as soon as she returned from unconsciousness.

Your blood was clotting like nothing I've seen, Susan had explained, her forehead wrinkling with the recollection. We tried all the normal reversals but nothing was stopping it. You're lucky Fleur studied up on Dark curses last year—she found the countercurse before you went into cardiac arrest.

The first time Hermione saw Fleur after waking up, she couldn't ignore the pity in her gaze, the delicate, sad creases in the corners of her eyes.

You saved me, Fleur. Don't… don't look like that.

'Ermione, you—I'm very sorry.

For what?

We could not get you earlier.

I know the protocol, Fleur. It was too much risk to endanger someone else to rescue me, I understand it.

We did not know zat was happening. We thought 'e would be…

What?

We did not know. If we 'ad known, if I 'ad known, if only—

When Fleur had pointed at the line of hickies Draco had left, the irregular, brown bruises still visible on her collarbone, she'd flushed. Embarrassment, along with understanding, came crashing down on her like a bridge collapsing.

It wasn't—it wasn't like that, Fleur.

It took a few minutes to reassure Fleur that whatever she had assumed was wrong, and it took longer to explain what had actually happened.

You… let 'im? And you… told 'im about Prolixus? Ze cage?

Hermione could understand Fleur's bewilderment. After all, as she'd described the deal, she couldn't find a way to describe it that didn't paint it as a half-baked scheme laid by a desperate, selfish witch.

But perhaps that was exactly what she'd been. She had been desperate. Selfish. She had trusted Draco, in a moment of weakness. But hadn't he done the same? Hadn't the greenhouse been a secret, a risk of his own he hadn't needed to expose?

She'd reciprocated with the man holding her prisoner, and there was no undoing it. Only time would tell if it had been foolish, or necessary.

Remember, she reminded herself, you don't even know what happened to him. Vanishing the Prolixus cage might not have been enough—the Death Eaters still saw you and Tonks flying away. He could be in Azkaban, for all you know. Or... worse.

The uncertainty haunted her in the evening as she lay in the healing room of Order House Three, watching the streetlamps reflect off the cotoneaster shrubs outside as her body groaned with every breath. She didn't ask Susan to Silence the basement room, even as the footsteps above resounded late into the evening. The sounds of her fellow Order members performing their duties were almost distracting enough to drag her thoughts out of the viper pit of emotion.

There was so much to do.

Bill was talking to her differently. She'd thought he might understand—after all, they'd built up an effective partnership over time, running half of the Order's operations together. But that very partnership seemed to have regressed months, years, as soon as he'd heard she'd trusted a Malfoy.

You encouraged him to take the cage to Voldemort. You thought he would help you, being in your debt. I see. I see.

It was clear from the slow, controlled way he spoke: he was holding back the accusation that she'd returned changed, somehow, no longer the careful, deliberate Hermione Granger he once knew. So, Hermione thought, it was true: trust took years to build and a single mistake to destroy.

I'll find Secret-Keepers for all of the exposed houses, Bill. I'll put them all under the Fidelius as soon as I'm cleared. That was part of the plan.

We've been exposed for several days now. This needs to happen quickly. But we're tight on manpower. Tighter than ever.

I'll ask Tonks to help.

Tonks has taken over Werewolf Protection—she can't go on warding missions simultaneously.

Then I'll ask Justin.

He doesn't know the Fidelius. Look, I'll find someone… I can… I can call in Flitwick. Kingsley'll be peeved, but it can't be helped.

For the first time in a long time, Hermione felt like a burden.

She put herself on autopilot. She went numb after Windsor was breached. The aftermath was grim: four Muggleborn orphans taken from the safehouse had been imprisoned at Hogwarts, according to Bill's report. After he came back, he'd shared the news with a bleak, resigned expression, never looking Hermione in the eye.

The day after, she warded properties and ran Muggleborn committee errands with a fervor that had Hannah asking if she was using a Speed potion. During the evening, she locked herself in her room, running wandless-wanded spell tests until exhaustion took her under its soft wing, snuffing all thought from her mind.

She continued her relentless pace of work the next week, and then the next.

It was only in this way that she could avoid dwelling on her time at the Manor.

It was only in this way that she could forget about the four Muggleborn children she'd led into prison; it was only in this way that she could run from the guilt that threatened to swallow her whole.

Then, three weeks later, she saw Draco Malfoy's smirking face in the Daily Prophet and it all caught up to her.