January 2003

When Draco stopped crying, Hermione withdrew her hand from his face, sat back and studied him soberly.

His expression grew guarded and bitter as he looked back at her.

Her other hand was still on his shoulder. They stared at each other in silence for several minutes. Even the air between them felt raw.

She had him. She'd done what she'd been ordered to do. But she had no idea how she could demonstrate it to Moody or Kingsley. How on earth was she supposed to demonstrate that she controlled him?

"If you're loyal to the Order, why keep climbing rank?" she finally asked.

His eyes were like mirrors. His expression mask-like again. He smirked at her. "It was obvious that my offer was only accepted out of desperation. The Order of the Phoenix as an organisation may be bound to keep its word, but Moody and Shacklebolt are strategists. Claiming they could get me pardoned if the Order won was almost laughable. I assumed that once I outlived my usefulness, you'd blow my cover so that the Order could take advantage of the disorder following my death. Therefore," his mouth twisted. "I tried to position myself in order of maximise the potential fallout."

Hermione's hand on his shoulder tightened.

"Why kill Gibbon?"

His eyes narrowed. "I was wrapping up unfinished business. He'd offered suggestions for how my mother should be punished."

"So you dismembered him?"

Draco's expression was suddenly cold as ice. "How many spies do you have?"

"None with as much access as you. Why did you dismember Gibbon?"

He was silent for several seconds. "I wanted to see if I could get his Dark Mark off. I tried to find a way to do it before my mother died. Since I was killing him anyway, I decided to try again. It didn't work though. I can't find a way to get the fucking thing off."

Hermione stared at him doubtfully for several seconds. Whole truth? Half truth? She wasn't sure.

"Why kiss me?" he abruptly asked. "What was the point—in all this?"

Hermione's eyes dropped for a moment; when she looked up, he was still studying her.

"I didn't know—that you were supposed to die from your runes. Apparently it was obvious, but I didn't realise it."

Draco laughed. It was dead-sounding.

"They didn't expect me to succeed in healing you. Once it became clear that you weren't dying, and you were continuing to climb rank and appeared to be trying to remove your Dark Mark, the Order concluded that you were trying to position yourself to overthrow your master. That you had been aiding the Order simply to play both sides against each other because you want to be the next Dark Lord."

He gave another quiet, dead-sounding laugh. "Did you think so too?"

"No, I didn't. But because I healed you, I am regarded as compromised. I—I'm—no longer—I'm not—my opinions are no longer considered reliable. I was given until the end of the month to demonstrate I could control you. I think—" Hermione gave her own bitter laugh. "I think it was just their way of letting me say goodbye."

"So that was a goodbye fuck? Payment for services rendered?" His mouth curved into a sneer.

"No. It was—" Hermione's jaw trembled, and her eyes dropped away. "I—it was—that wasn't what it was."

Her fingers twisted in the fabric of his robes and she stared at him. "Why didn't you have me make an Unbreakable Vow when I offered?"

The corner of his mouth twitched. "I wasn't interested in not being betrayed by you simply because I made you incapable of it. After all, I'm sure Shacklebolt and Moody have more than enough to damn me without you."

Hermione gave a short nod. She felt as though there were something lodged in her throat. She looked away for a moment and then back into his eyes. "I can't—I can't choose you over the Order. There—are so many people relying on us. Britain's all that's left of the Resistance. I can't choose you over all Muggle-borns. There's nothing—there's no hope for them if the Order loses."

"I know." His voice was clipped. His eyes glittered as he stared at her, his expression vicious, almost mocking.

That was all he said.

Her hold on his robes loosened, and she gave a disbelieving laugh.

He didn't even want to live. He wanted revenge; he wanted to die. Caring for her was a disappointing twist for him—it wasn't enough to make him want to live.

She'd just made it worse. That was all she'd done.

Because Severus and Moody and Kingsley hadn't told her. They'd made her think it was real. That it was forever.

So she'd play her part convincingly.

But it didn't matter—it never mattered, because Draco had always known.

She tried to breathe as she absorbed it.

She opened her mouth and then closed it. Draco smirked and looked away from her.

"Alright," she finally said mechanically, nodding faintly. She felt as though she'd been knifed; reality cold as tempered steel had been driven in and dragged through her core, and she was left to bleed to death from it.

She swallowed.

"They said—" her voice broke, "they said they'd let me warn you, before they expose you. I will come. I'm sorry."

He didn't react. Not even a flicker. He was just cold.

She looked up at him, taking in all the details of him that she had memorised; his hair and sharp cheekbones, the intensity of his eyes, his thin lips and straight white teeth, the precise lines of his jaw, and his pale throat disappearing in the black collar of his shirt. The fabric was twisted; she reached out and straightened it. "I am—so so sorry, Draco."

She withdrew her hand and started to turn away. There was no air in the room. She kept trying to breathe, and there wasn't any oxygen at all.

She thought she might faint.

"So, what happens to you, Granger, after you choose the Order?" Draco's voice casually interrupted her.

Hermione blinked and turned her head back. "Me?"

"Yes," Draco caught her chin and tilted her face up toward his so that she was looking into his cool silver eyes. They were narrowed as he studied her. "What happens to you?"

"If you—die?"

He gave a short nod.

Hermione hadn't even considered the question. Her focus had been on trying to find a way to keep Draco alive past January. She hadn't even given thought to what she would do next if she failed.

"I don't know," she said with a short hysterical laugh. She pulled her chin free. "They already mostly replaced me in the hospital wing." She shrugged, spreading her hands. "Maybe they'll just offer me to the next spy they recruit."

"Don't joke. I want a real answer." His voice had an edge of fury to it.

Hermione looked back up at him and scoffed. "I promised myself to you, Draco. I swore it. Now and after the war. I didn't make anymore plans."

His expression flickered as he looked back at her, and then hardened. "I thought you didn't want to die; surely there is something you're looking forward to."

She smiled bitterly. "I don't—have anything left. I'm spent now."

Draco was silent. Hermione pressed her lips together and started to stand. She wanted to leave. The room was growing vaguely luminous.

"I'll swear an Unbreakable Vow," he said abruptly. "Whatever damn thing Moody wants. Would that qualify as a sufficient demonstration of control?"

Hermione looked back at him sharply. His expression was cold, but his eyes burned as she met them.

"You would do that?" she asked, disbelieving.

He looked exhausted, but there was an edge of something still seething in him. "Let Moody know. I assume he's still willing to act as Bonder."

Hermione nodded slowly, still staring at him in wide-eyed disbelief. He sighed and reached up and brushed across her throat, his thumb ghosting along the side of her neck. Hermione felt her breath catch.

"Why? Why offer?" she asked, studying him.

He snorted and withdrew his hand. "I realise now, I didn't take everything into account. It didn't occur to me I may have made you marketable."

He looked away from her.

"Oh," Hermione said.

The Malfoys are closer to being dragons than they are wizards. They do not share. They are obsessive about what they regard to be theirs.

She felt tempted to laugh. She swallowed hard.

"Alright then." There was something else she should say. "I'll—I'll let Moody know."

He gave a short nod of acknowledgement.

He didn't say a word as she stood up and gathered her satchel. His hand twitched forward as she turned to walk away. He didn't look at her as she stepped through the doorway. When she pulled the door closed, he was still leaning against the wall, staring blankly at the floor, so pale he could have been a ghost.

Hermione stood outside in the rain for several minutes trying to regain her bearings. She drew a ragged breath.

She felt as though she were on the edge of a precipice, and she still wasn't sure if she was going to fall from it.

She took another deep breath and apparated to Spinner's End. The windows of the house were dark. She sat on the step in front of the door.

She was soaked to the bone when the door behind her abruptly opened.

Severus stared down at her with a cold expression. She huddled away.

"Is there a reason you're endeavoring to contract pneumonia on my doorstep?"

Hermione stood up and looked at him. There was rainwater streaming down her face. "Wizarding folk are immune to pneumonia."

He rolled his eyes and opened the door wider. "I'll assume this is urgent. Given your lack of invitation."

Hermione cast a drying charm on herself as she stepped through the door and followed Severus into his sitting room.

He flicked his wand carelessly and started a roaring fire in the hearth without glancing at her. Then he began gathering up strewn books; there were piles on the sofa and armchairs. He started returning them to the crammed shelves where they belonged.

Hermione's hands were aching with cold, and she held them out toward the flames for several moments before she spoke.

"It was Narcissa," she finally said. "She was the reason."

"Really?" Severus' skeptical voice came from somewhere behind her.

"Tom had her in a cage when Draco returned from school after fifth year. She wasn't let out until Draco killed Dumbledore. Is it true that she nearly died when she was pregnant?"

There was a pause. Hermione listened to the sliding sounds of book covers shifting against each other and the faint thump as the books bumped the back of the shelves.

"It is," Severus said after a moment. "It happened near the height of war. Lucius believed he was going to lose her. Even after Draco was born, there was a period when he wasn't sure she'd survive."

Hermione nodded. "Draco said Lucius made him swear he'd always take care of her. He said he tried to send her somewhere safe, but she wouldn't leave without him. Did any marked Death Eaters die suspiciously, the way Gibbon did, back before Lestrange Manor burned down?"

The sound of reshelving stopped.

"Now that you mention it, there were several who disappeared. Travers, Pettigrew, and Jugson most notably." Severus' voice was on the other side of the sitting room.

Hermione stared into the fire. "He was trying to find a way to get the mark off so he could run with her. Spying was always just revenge."

Severus said nothing and continued reshelving. Hermione wondered if he believed her.

Compromised. Unreliable. He probably thought she was just there to beg.

"He said he'll make an Unbreakable Vow; whatever Moody wants."

There was silence. Then a hand wrapped around her shoulder, and Severus turned her suddenly to face him. His onyx eyes glittered in the firelight. He appeared to be taking in her appearance for the first time. His expression was aghast.

"What did you do?"

Hermione looked up at him, her gaze steady. "I accomplished my mission: I made him loyal."

Severus touched the side of her head. Her braids had been pulled apart and the sections hung haphazardly. She flushed and jerked her head away from his hand. His hold on her shoulder tightened, and he herded her further into the light, tilted her head back and stared at her, his nostrils flaring.

Hermione didn't want to be looked at. She tried to twist away. "Can I use your bathroom? I couldn't go back to Grimmauld Place like this, and I didn't—I didn't have anywhere else to go."

Severus' hand on her shoulder tightened for a moment, as though he were hesitating. His mouth was pressed into a hard line, then he started to speak as his eyes darted down over her again.

Hermione turned her head away to avoid watching his face, hunching her shoulders and curling defensively inward. His hand on her shoulder released, and he slowly stepped back, gesturing down the hallway.

Hermione turned without a word, and walked out of the sitting room into the small bathroom near the kitchen. As she locked the door, she stared in the mirror; she looked so pale she was nearly grey, but her lips were reddened and bruised. Her braids looked like a bird's nest. Her shirt was torn; she hadn't noticed it when she had been redressing.

She shoved her trousers and knickers down and banished the mixture of blood and semen collected there. It had grown cold against her skin, and she hadn't been able to ignore it. Not in the shack. Not in rain waiting for Severus. It was just there, as a cold reminder against her flesh.

Her hands were shaking almost violently as she jerked her trousers back up. She repaired the tear in her shirt and then reached up to remove the hairpins still holding up her hair.

Her lips were trembling, and the corners of her eyes pricked as she rapidly unbraided her hair and then carefully braided each side. She was not going to cry. She was not. She kept repeating the resolution. She tried to occlude everything she didn't want to think about, but the walls wouldn't stay. She bit her lip as she coiled the long braids carefully at the base of her neck and repinned them.

She stared at her reflection again. She was thinner than she'd been when she'd first seen Draco in March. Her cheeks were hollowed, and her collarbones stuck out starkly. She bruised easily.

Stress had carved her away, bit by bit.

She reached into her satchel and pulled out a small jar of Murtlap essence, spreading it across her lips she watched the colour slowly fade away. Then she dabbed at a few spots along her neck.

She walked back out of the bathroom. Severus was in the kitchen; there were several small cauldrons bubbling. When he turned and saw her, he immediately snatched up a several vials and came toward her.

"Take these," he ordered.

Hermione looked at the vials placed in her hands. Draught of Peace to make her hands stop shaking, a contraceptive potion, and a pain relief potion.

"I don't need this one," she said, handing the contraceptive back. "I've already been taking it."

Severus' expression barely rippled as he took it back and slipped it into a pocket.

"What happened?" Severus asked after she downed the Draught of Peace. His tone was softly murderous.

Hermione avoided his piercing gaze and unstoppered the pain relief potion. "I don't know why you're upset. Didn't you expect this to eventually happen from the very beginning?"

Severus was silent for several moments. "I've been on call, the evening you first went, and every Tuesday morning until my shift in the labs."

"Oh. I didn't know that." She glanced around the room, wondering why no one had told her. Then again, apparently they didn't tell her anything. A useful tool.

She had thought Severus at least had regarded her as more than that. She pressed her lips together.

There was small barrel of Dragon Claw Ooze on the worktop; she stepped over and looked at it. It was Peruvian Vipertooth: expensive, good for restorative potions, strengtheners, and gave an additional kick to pepper-up when dealing with Black Cat Flu.

She removed the cork and sniffed it.

"Hermione, what happened?"

She stilled and replaced the cork. Severus almost never called her by her first name.

She looked over at him coolly, but her jaw trembled uncontrollably. "I told you he wanted me. Today he gave in."Her eyes dropped away. "It was just—abrupt. He didn't know that I—hadn't—before. I was afraid if he knew, he'd stop. Last time—when he kissed me and I—hesitated—he—he didn't come back for over a month. So I couldn't let on. I was afraid he'd never come back if I did."

Severus said nothing.

Hermione pressed her hand against her collarbones. "He was so upset afterward, I thought he might actually faint. Then everything just poured out of him. I don't think he's ever told anyone before. He started crying when he told me about Narcissa. He's been waiting for us to sell him out. That's why he kept climbing; he figured the more important he was, the greater the blow for Tom when he died."

There was a silence punctuated only by the faint bubbling of the cauldrons.

Hermione didn't know where to look. She didn't know what to do. She could feel Severus staring at her, his eyes skeptical.

Compromised. Unreliable. She bit her lip and turned away.

After a minute Severus gave a low sigh. Hermione looked back at him, her heart rate shooting upward.

"If he's suicidal, why is he offering to make an Unbreakable Vow?" Severus' expression was unreadable.

Hermione's mouth twitched, and she twisted the edge of her shirt in her hands. "Well, now that he can't deny the obsession to himself, I don't think he knows how to let go of it. Now that he's given in. I don't think he has any kind of moderation in how possessive he is, even before he got the runes. I may not have made an Unbreakable Vow, but I swore myself to him. He regards me as his. I think—I think that's what changed things." Hermione looked away, twisting her fingers in her hands. "Will you—will you tell Moody? I don't think he believes anything I say now. But—I did what I was told to. So, you shouldn't—you can't—don't make me—"

Her hands started shaking again.

"I'll speak to Moody," Severus said. "You did enough. I didn't expect that you would—" his voice faded for a moment. "If he agreed to make the Unbreakable Vow, that is more than enough."

Hermione nodded repeatedly, glancing blindly around the room. "Alright. Alright. I'll go then."

"You will wait," Severus said firmly.

Hermione stood, feeling awkward and out of place, and he stared at her and seemed on the verge of saying something. He reached towards her but stopped when he got within an inch of her shoulder. He curled his hand into a fist and withdrew it, still peering down at her.

"Are—" he blinked and started again, "Would—"

Severus appeared to be at a loss for words for the first time in his life. His mouth twitched repeatedly.

"Do you—wish to..." he trailed off for a moment. "Do you want to talk about—it?"

Hermione stared at him, horrified. "No."

He looked visibly relieved, gave a short nod and glanced around the kitchen. "You're not injured—are you? Do you need me to—"

"He wasn't violent," she said sharply, cutting off Severus' question. She folded her arms around herself and jerked her head. Her voice was very tight, as though her throat couldn't relax. "It was just—abrupt."

Severus looked down and straightened the cuffs of his robes for several seconds. Then he turned sharply and swept over to the cauldrons, flicking his wand over several and then swirling their contents with the stirring rods. He peered down at them.

He waved his wand, summoned a set of vials from a cabinet and ladled the potions into the vials, stoppering them all with practiced ease. Severus turned toward her and his expression flickered, revealing a grief that Hermione had only ever caught glimpses of.

He walked toward Hermione and stopped less than a foot in front of her.

There was pause. He looked down and shuffled the vials in his hands. "These should relieve any residual discomfort from the—breaching."

Hermione felt her face grow hot and stared at the potions in his hands. She recognized them. Expensive pain relief.

"It's not—that bad," she said, avoiding his eyes. "Besides—I can make my own potions, Severus."

His expression grew cold. "You are allowed to have other people care for you. I know you well enough to know you wouldn't make these potions for yourself, because too many of the ingredients are imported. Take them, unless you prefer I send word to Minerva about what you did today."

At the threat, Hermione snatched the vials out of his hands and shoved them into her satchel. She looked up to find Severus still staring down at her. His expression was unreadable.

"What is it?"

"Are you alright?" His voice was soft.

Hermione stood staring at him. No. She wasn't. She hadn't been in—she didn't know when she'd last been alright. She didn't know how to be alright anymore.

Severus' expression was visibly concerned, and it made Hermione flinch and bristle inwardly. She had parents. Parents who were alive and happy, even if they wouldn't ever remember having a daughter. She had parents. She didn't need new ones. She didn't need more people who 'cared' for her by telling her she was making the wrong decisions. She already had Minerva, Harry, and most of the Weasley Family doing that.

"I'm fine," she said stiffly. "I wasn't trying to make it seem like I did anything monumental. I just needed a bathroom so I could fix my hair."

He sighed. "You—" He hesitated and fell silent.

"What?" she asked, her throat contracting with dread when he stayed silent and just kept staring at her with an expression of conflict in his eyes.

Was it not enough? Maybe an Unbreakable Vow still wouldn't be enough. Was there something else she could do? She swallowed repeatedly and tried to think, twisting the strap of her satchel tightly around her fingers. Maybe—

"You are without a doubt the most exceptional asset the Order possesses. I am sorry for that."

Hermione's hands stilled, and she stared at him for a moment. Then she choked and burst into tears.

He stood watching her cry for a several minutes before hesitantly resting a hand on her shoulder.

The next week, Moody accompanied Hermione to Whitecroft.

They stood together silently in the rain until the door swung open, and the shack slowly bled into view.

Draco stood framed in the door, staring at her.

Hermione walked toward him, the uneven tread of Moody's steps behind her. When she reached the steps, she paused and looked up at Draco.

He didn't meet her eyes as he stepped back to give them space to enter.

He looked gaunt. Tired. But she could feel his gaze on her.

If Moody had any reaction to the shack, it was not visible in his expression. He glanced around at the walls and then studied the floor for a strangely long time.

Hermione looked down; as her eyes swept across the room she noticed with horror that there were spots of blood on one of the floorboards. She wasn't positive, but she thought it was approximately where she'd been on the floor when she and Draco had sex. She looked up sharply. Draco was also looking at the floor and appeared to have just noticed it too. He paled noticeably, and his expression grew black as he looked up at Moody, who was still silently studying the floor.

Hermione felt ready to die from the embarrassment, while Draco appeared to be on the verge of exploding with rage by the time Moody looked up from the floor and stared at Draco.

The air was tense. Deadly. Like a forest going abruptly silent. Defined by what was absent. The air between Draco and Moody was deathly cold. Hermione's heart was pounding as she stood between them. Neither had their wands drawn, but Hermione felt as though an unexpected sound might cause them to whip them out and Avada each other.

"You'll make a Vow?" Moody asked after several moments of silence.

"Isn't that why you're here?" Draco said, sneering.

Moody gave a sharp nod and then, with deliberate slowness, drew his wand. Draco's expression tensed further, but he didn't so much as twitch.

"Take each other's right hands," Moody instructed in a gravelly voice.

Hermione lifted hers, and Draco reached out and took it. His eyes shone silver as his fingers wrapped around hers.

"Kneel," Moody said after a moment.

Hermione dropped to her knees, and Draco did the same across from her. Moody lowered his wand and rested the tip against their conjoined hands.

Hermione stared at Draco and her hand shook in his. "Will you, Draco Malfoy, aid the Order of the Phoenix in defeating Lord Voldemort to the best of your ability?"

His eyes met hers. "I will."

At his words a thin tongue of red flame issued from Moody's wand and wound its way around their hands. It was hot enough to burn, but neither of them flinched.

"And after his defeat, will you promise never to claim his power or become a Dark Lord?"

Draco didn't hesitate. "I will."

A second flame twisted itself around their hands.

Hermione gripped his hand for a moment longer and then let go. The strands of flame tightened around their hands for a moment and then sank into their skin. As Hermione drew her hand away, it almost felt as though there were threads joining them that snapped as their hands parted.

There was a pause, and Draco stood and stared at Moody again.

"You can go, Granger. I believe Moody and I have things to discuss," Draco said without looking at her.

Hermione hesitated.

"Go, Granger," Moody said. "You can return to the safe house."

Hermione turned reluctantly and left. Draco didn't look at her as she pulled the door shut. He was glaring at Moody.

Moody returned to Grimmauld Place an hour later. Hermione was waiting on the stairs. She didn't expect him to tell her what he and Draco had discussed in her absence, but she hoped he'd at least give her some indication.

He stared at her for a moment after closing the door. "Good work, Granger."

Then he walked further into the house without another word.