Chapter 16

Warning: This chapter contains some anal play. If you're squeamish or easily squicked, I'm not forcing you to read this thing, so don't complain! ~Lotm

XVI.

Russel's eyes widened, his lips parting on an arrested breath. For the longest moment he just stared at her, as if dumbfounded. But then he blinked, and licked his lips, and lifted his hands, cradling her face in his palms with the lightest touch. "Good," he breathed, and traced the fingers of one hand over her brow, stroking her skin. "Good... I think I fell for you some time ago, myself."

Hermione looked at him, uncertainty mingling with hope. "You...you love me?"

His hand glided down her nose, then returned to her forehead and stroked along the outside to her cheek. The expression in his eyes was tender, thoughtful. "Yes. I do. I could've settled for a marriage of circumstance with you; you're smart, and charming, and very beautiful. But it's more than that, isn't it?" His fingertip traced the outline of her lips, making her lick them from the ticklish sensation. He smiled gently. "Our minds have meshed, haven't they? All the interests we share, intellectual pursuits, senses of humor...the passion within you that is a match for my own sensuality... Yes, I feel I have fallen in love with you, Jane...and I am deeply grateful to learn that you love me, too."

"Russel," Hermione breathed, overcome with feeling. Cupping his own face, she dragged his mouth down to hers, kissing him. Warm lips, sweet breath, tongues that tangled and slid together...it wasn't enough. She needed more. She felt the strange need to claim him, to mark him as her territory: Property of Hermione Jane Whatever. With an aggressiveness she hadn't known she could feel, she pushed him back from her, breaking their kiss. He gave her a puzzled look.

"...Jane?"

"Bed. Now." A push on his chest got him to move back, then around the arm of the loveseat sofa. He blinked but allowed her to push him again, this time in the direction of the neatly made bed. When he reached the side of the bed, she caught him by his shirt and spun him to face her, ordering, "Strip."

His eyes narrowed for a moment, but not in anger; instead, it was speculation that curved his mouth into a smirk. An elegant shrug of his shoulders and he lifted his hands to his shirt, this time a rich amethyst. He unbuttoned it, tugging the shirttails free of his red-and-blue plaid kilt, either a commercial plaid, or from some Clan she didn't know. Leaving the shirt to drape open over his chest, he sat and removed his black shoes, then his purple knee-socks.

Another smirk, and he stood, reaching up under the pleated folds of his kilt. A bit of wriggling, and he stooped, still smiling, tugging his clean white undershorts down his legs. Like a girl who was teasingly removing her knickers to show to the boys, he carefully didn't expose any part of himself higher than mid-thigh with the maneuver. A twirl of his finger, and the undergarment flung free.

A grasp of his shirt lapels, and he turned his back to her, giving her a sultry look over his shoulder. Rolling the joint, he peeled his shirt down on that side. Then peered over his other shoulder and did the same in a silent strip-tease with his other shoulder. Turning to face her, he let the amethyst material drape over his elbows while he splayed his hands over his chest, caressing himself as she watched his movements avidly. Indeed, Hermione couldn't tear her eyes away from his fingers as they slid down over the ridges of his tightened stomach muscles. Not even when he caressed the wool covering his subtly gyrating hips and thighs did she stop staring at him.

A release of the pin at his thighs, a flick of the belt tongue, and his kilt slipped free, parting over his erection and puddling at his feet. Dropping the belt as well, he resumed caressing his skin. Her eyes followed his fingers until they slid all the way up into his hair, pushing the chest-length, honey-coloured strands back from his face. A lick of his lips, and Russel commanded quietly, "Strip for me."

It would be churlish of her to refuse. Hermione, however, had no intention of complying. The symbol of house Gryffindor was a lion, and her inner lioness was ready to roar, and roar very naughtily. "No. Get on the bed. Now. On your hands and knees."

That arched his brow at her, but he turned and complied, crawling onto the bed. Hermione admired his backside...he had a magnificent male arse, just the right size and tautness; it was a pity he hid it under the loose folds of a kilt...and ran her hands along his flank, over his thigh and rump. Drawing her wand, she flicked it over the cleft of his buttocks.

"Rectumundirenu!'

Russel sucked in a sharp breath, his body flinching. Hermione, glad she'd studied the medical charm, tucked her wand away, grasped the globes of his backside, and lowered her mouth to the nearest curve of muscle. Warm skin met her lips; she felt him shiver, and dusted kisses from one side to the other. Her fingers caressed his flesh, stroking down onto his thighs, gliding up for a feather-light pass over his lightly furred scrotum.

A moan escaped him, in the shape of her name. "Jane..."

"Russel," Hermione purred, gripping and kneading his gluteal muscles. He moaned again. Pleased with his enjoyment, she daringly dipped her head, brushing her lips over his backside again. He smelled clean, thankfully, but then that was the purpose of her spell. Gathering her courage, reminding herself that there were lots of texts discussing how pleasurable this was for a man, she traced the crease between his buttocks with the tip of her tongue.

The groan that tore from his chest gratified her, as did the way he strained back into her touch. She licked him again, this time from testicles to tailbone. Sucking on one finger, she teased the edges of his puckered anus, then gently eased her finger inside, feeling his muscles clenching around her. This was the absolute most daring thing she had ever done, and a few weeks ago Hermione wouldn't have even thought of it, but right now... Right now, she wanted to give Russel exquisite pleasure, and all the literature she'd read in recent weeks suggested that massaging a man's prostate through the rectum...if she could find it...would do just that.

He gasped, as her finger sank as far as it could go. The charm she'd used was one designed to clean internally as well as externally, so all she could feel were soft tissues. Experimentally, she wriggled the tip of her finger. He gasped again, fingers clenching in the flowered duvet. She'd found the right spot, but there were other things she wanted to do to him, and this position wasn't the best. Withdrawing her finger, she caressed his hip, then smacked him lightly. That earned her a frown over his shoulder.

"On your back, middle of the bed," Hermione ordered, feeling a thrill of feminine power when he complied, crawling into position and twisting over. His erection jutted up from his stomach, liquid seeping from the tip. Knees drawn up and splayed to either side, he was a temptingly wanton sight, if a man could be wanton.

"Strip for me," Russel ordered her as she toed off her trainers and moved onto the bed. Hermione arched brow at him, stopping mid-crawl. She was in control today, and it would be best if he remembered that. When she didn't move, he licked his lips and asked politely, "...Please?"

Leaning forward, Hermione licked the inside of his thigh, then purred, "Ask nicely."

His brows rose. "Is that the sort of game you want to play?"

A twist of her head, and she bit the inner muscles of his thigh. "Mine!"

His breath caught in his throat, his eyes gleaming with arousal. Russel's voice emerged deeper and huskier than normal. "...Do you mean that?"

Doing her best to imitate the stalk of a lioness, Hermione crawled up his body until her denim-clad thighs were slotted underneath his naked ones, her fists bracing her weight over his torso. "You are mine, Russel Fawkeson. However long you live, wherever you may go...whoever you might be...you...are...mine." That arched his brow at her, but she wasn't done. "You handed your very life into my control, when you gave me that ring. When you met me in the flesh. When you exchanged all of those secrets with me. You put yourself into this situation just as much as I did, when I donned my ring. You belong to me."

This was a side of herself Hermione didn't even know she'd had, until now. She had known she was bossy, but she hadn't realized she had a dominant streak. Today, it was possible to show it to her husband because he had given her the best reason to trust him: he loved her.

Rocking back onto her heels, Hermione slid her hands down his stomach, veering around his groin. She tickled the fronts of his thighs, then caressed her own breasts. Unbuttoning the cardigan she was wearing, she stripped it off with an approximation of the same seductive shoulder-rolls he'd used earlier. Tugging her blouse free of her jeans, she removed that, too, then traced the edges of her bra-line with her fingertips, licking her lips as she stared down at him.

His hand shifted to his penis, stroking it in a feather-light touch. Hermione caught his wrist, pulling it away from his flesh. "Mine."

He complied, pewter gaze following her every movement as she twisted her arms behind her back, jutting her breasts forward as she worked to free the hooks of her bra. Shifting forward to hold the cups in place, she shrugged out of the straps, then leaned forward and dropped her bra on his shaft. It twitched at the contact of the satiny, intimate material. While he watched, she slid her hands over her curves, playing with the underside of her breasts, tugging gently on her nipples.

A faint rocking motion drew her attention back down to his hips. The brassiere had fallen in such a way that, with a slight movement, he could rub his shaft against the material, stimulating himself without using his hands. Hermione thought about removing the bra, of finding some way of punishing him for playing with himself before she was good and ready. But it was an erotic sight, watching him masturbate subtly via her bra.

Licking another finger, she lowered it to his anus, gently circling the puckered flesh, then probing inside. She heard him inhale sharply, but her attention was on burrowing deeply enough to feel that spongy spot she had found before. The moment he gasped, then groaned, head arching back, Hermione exulted silently, That's the spot... Now, to stimulate the rest of him.

Squirming backwards, finger buried in his depths, she hunkered down, and drew the bra with agonizing slowness off of his shaft. She took care to drag the material over his hardened flesh, stimulating it, and rubbed the tip of her finger against his prostate again. That made him groan again, this time with words.

"Oh god, yesss..."

Tossing the garment aside, she brought her left hand back, wrapping her fingers around his erection. His stomach muscles tightened, and his hand flew up to cover her own. Together, their hands completely enclosed his shaft, and together, they stroked his precum-dampened flesh. Masturbating him with his more knowledgeable assistance was turning her on, but Hermione had a problem. She was still fully dressed, on her lower half.

Reluctantly, she withdrew her hands, pushing his own away from his prick. As he breathed unsteadily, watching her from beneath slitted lashes, she leaned back and tugged off her socks as gracefully as she could, given the awkwardness of her position. His hand came up to stroke his shaft again; Hermione quickly pushed it away, giving him a stern look.

"Do that again, and you'll be in trouble, young man."

He smirked at being called a young man, but dutifully tucked both hands behind his neck. The position made his stomach muscles tense, which defined his abdomen quite nicely. Deciding to reward him, Hermione carefully stood on the mattress and began rotating her hips slowly, subtly. Her hands splayed over her stomach, fingers dipping into the waistband of her jeans, then down over the pockets. Scraping her nails up the placket of the zipper, she popped the button at the top.

Eyes gleaming with interest, he watched her pause to fondle her breasts, then lower them again to tug the zipper down. Another caress of her curves, a shimmy of her hips, and the jeans started slouching their way down her hips. It felt silly to strip for him, and sexy at the same time. She wasn't wearing anything spectacular, just cream cotton bikinis to sort of match her cream coloured bra, but when they came into view, desire burned in Russel's eyes as sharply as if they'd been a thong, or a g-string. Turning, she shimmied again, and the denim of her jeans dropped even further, baring her bottom.

Bending over carefully, balancing herself, Hermione dragged the garment down her legs. Stepping out of the material, she cast her jeans aside, and looked between her legs at him. He was stroking himself, against orders. Rather than correcting the situation immediately, Hermione straightened up slowly, gliding her palms up the insides of her thighs. She knew he was watching her, and it thrilled her. Teasing herself with circling touches against her cotton-covered crotch, she listened to him moan, then slid her hands up to her hipbones.

A hard brush of her palms caused the waistband of the panties to buckle, rolling the material down. She rolled the garment down until it rested just under the curve of her buttocks, then bent over and slipped a hand inside, so that he could see the bulge of her knuckles. Another groan escaped him as she played with herself, until she dropped her head down and peered between her legs again. Russel was now blatantly stroking his erection, swirling his palm over the moisture seeping at the tip for a lubricant. Pushing the undergarment all the way off, she stepped out of it, picked it up, turned, and knelt, pressing the front of her thighs to the back of his.

"I told you not to play with yourself," she drawled. "Hold out your hands."

He smirked, continuing to stroke himself. Hermione pounced, snatching her fingers around his scrotum. He stilled, shock widening his eyes. She hadn't hurt him, but the move had definitely startled him. It was also a warning that she could hurt him, if he didn't obey. Slowly, he released his hardened shaft. Just as slowly, he stretched both arms towards her, wrists almost touching. Grabbing one hand, Hermione wrapped one leg-hole from her knickers around his wrist. She had to double it up to make it fit snugly, though not overly tight. Catching the other hand, grateful he complied, she manacled that one in soft cream cotton, too.

"Now, put your hands behind your head, and leave them there," Hermione ordered her husband. "Hopefully that will remind you to not touch yourself until I say you can."

His mouth quirked up on one side as he complied. He wasn't supermodel handsome, but in that moment, he looked like the sexiest man alive. "Kinky."

"You haven't seen anything, yet," she boasted daringly. Then bit her lip, wondering what in Merlin's name she'd do next. They hadn't been together for more than a couple of months at most, visiting maybe twice a week; that wasn't much time in which to gain sexual experience. The twitching of his prick drew her attention downward, and she smiled. She'd just play with his prostate again, and experiment to see what gave him the most pleasure.

Lowering herself to the bed, she started licking his right knee. He wasn't a hairy man, but his calves and lower thighs were a little furrier than the rest of him. Hermione let the texture tickle her palms, nose and cheeks as she caressed and nibbled his leg. Aiming for a two-location attack, she stroked the front of his shin as she ate her way in little nips and licks down the inside of his glamour-tanned thigh, and by the time she was stroking the top of his foot, she was tonguing the inner crease of his pelvis. Shifting to his left knee, she started the sensual torment all over again.

She was gratified to hear Russel humming in pleasure, as she massaged the top of his foot and licked the joint of his hip and thigh. His leg nudged her head to the left, bumping her nose and lips against his scrotum. Apparently, he wanted her to lick and nuzzle that, instead. Obliging for a moment, Hermione licked his scrotum, then pulled back and blew warm air on it. The lightly furred skin shriveled and tightened, and his penis twitched. She smiled and licked his shaft, then huffed hot hair along that, too.

"Oh god, yes...lick me, like that," he breathed as she did it again.

A quick glance up the length of his body showed his abdomen tight, his biceps flexing as he carefully kept his knicker-tied hands behind his head. Wanting to reward him, Hermione tickled the skin underneath his bollocks, then teased in a spiraling touch around the rosebud of his rectum. When his breath sucked in through his teeth, she moistened her finger and pushed it inside with a gentle, rocking rhythm. Once again, she was invading his body very intimately, and once again, he wasn't minding in the least.

Rubbing gently with her finger, probing for and brushing up against the soft lump of his prostate now and again, Hermione nuzzled his scrotum. The clean but still somewhat musky scent of him filled her lungs whenever she inhaled. Kissing her way slowly up his shaft as his hips flexed restlessly, Hermione looked up at his face when she heard a muffled moan. Russel had brought his loosely bound hands in front of his mouth...and had gagged himself with the crotch of her knickers. He looked like he was in agony, hips rocking, erection seeping, suckling the fabric that was muffling his whimpers of need. Fabric which had been a little damp when it had left her body.

He needed rewarding for such a wanton display of need. Reaching the top of his shaft, Hermione swirled her tongue around the weeping tip, gathering the salty-sweet flavour. A wriggle of her body, and she was in the perfect position to suck him into her mouth as deeply as she could, while swirling her fingertip over his prostate gland. A muffled expletive escaped him; she felt his shaft twitching under her lips, and hastily caught and held the semen spurting into her mouth, riding the flexing of his hips as he whispered the chant of her middle name.

As soon as he was done, she sucked her mouth off of him, trying to avoid swallowing. Extracting her finger made him twitch and moan. She had something else in mind. Crawling up his body, she pushed his knicker-twisted wrists up over his head and claimed his mouth with hers, sharing his jism. He jerked in surprise, groaned with enthusiasm...and the next thing Hermione knew, she was being pinned to the bed on her back in a devouring kiss, her thighs spread by his knees, and her depths being probed by an erection that should've flagged by now, but clearly hadn't.

Growling passionately, Russel ate her mouth in a consuming kiss, pumping into her depths with gentle ruthlessness. He was stronger than her, and held her pinned on the bed underneath him. It wasn't quite scary, but it was thrilling to know he could hold her prisoner. Hermione chose to be confident that his feelings for her wouldn't allow him to hurt her. Still, when he slowed, then pulled out, and ordered her in a husky murmur to get on her hands and knees, she decided to remind him who was supposed to be the boss, this time around.

Smack.

Grey eyes widening in surprise, Russel stared at Hermione. She spanked him again, a firm, stinging blow of her palm to his buttock, arching her brow. "Get on your back! You were supposed to keep your hands bound and behind your head. I don't recall giving you permission to do otherwise, you know!"

Something darkened his gaze for a moment, but he merely smiled and twisted onto his back. His hands helped her straddle and position him, and he kept smiling as she sank down and began rocking on him. A shiver of pleasure caught her by surprise as he clasped his wrists willingly behind his head, submitting to her desires. Moaning, Hermione rode him with a slow-rolling buck of her hips. Being the one with the power, being the one in control, was unbelievably heady.

With the resolve to be in control a little more often...though with the mental concession that he should be allowed his own 'dominant play-time', too...Hermione rode him until she climaxed. Slumping to his chest, she panted, resting. He murmured into her curls, making her shiver anew as she felt his chest vibrating with his baritone voice under her ear.

"...Mistress, may I come, too?"

"Mmm, yes. Do as you like," she directed him lazily. His hands came down to her hips. Gripping them, he thrust up into her, pulling her down into each upward stroke. She thought about nibbling on his earlobe, but refrained; she loved the way he came undone when she did that, but didn't want to spoil the effect by using it too often.

It wasn't long before he was muttering her name. The restrained fervor in his tone, the feel of him grinding into her, the growled chanting in her ear, made Hermione climax, too. Slowly, they both relaxed, content to hold each other. Finally, Hermione turned her head just far enough to nuzzle the base of his throat. "I love you, Russel."

"I love you too," he returned, wrapping his arms around her as she started to shift her weight. She'd been worried that her pleasure-sated body was too heavy, but clearly he didn't want her to move. Content, Hermione closed her eyes and reveled in the soothing pleasure of being held by the man she loved.

...

For the first time, when Hermione Apparated into their hotel room, Russel wasn't wearing a kilt. Well, maybe he was underneath his robe, but it was hard to tell, given how he was covered from throat to floor in stark black. She didn't like the colour on him; it made him look cold and hard, even with the wry curve of his lips on one side. Lifting one arm, he held out another bundle of black cloth to her. It was another cowled robe.

"I'm afraid we won't be having any fun for a few moments. It's time to meet Draco. All three of us will be masked," he added as Hermione shrugged into the cloak. "He won't know your identity, and you're not supposed to know his. It would be best if you didn't speak, either, just in case he could recognize your voice."

Hermione nodded in agreement as she fastened the clasps on the cloak-like robe. Scraping her hair back, she twisted it into a knot and fixed it in place with a spell. "Just a quick in-and-out, then?"

"Ideally, yes. You're not going to be foolish and attack him, are you?" he asked her.

"No. I'm not Harry. Besides, Harry told me Draco couldn't go through with it. Killing Dumbledore," she added in clarification. "Draco Malfoy is an arrogant prat, even an arsehole, but I think he now realizes that what he's gotten himself into is not nearly so glamorous as he originally thought. Somewhere, deep inside, I think he's wishing he could undo the mistake that he made in joining the Death Eaters. Though he's probably having to swallow it down and hide it deep inside, to avoid the Dark Lord's twisted displeasure."

"He is not the only one to regret his foolish decision," Russel murmured. Drawing two silvery objects from a pocket in the folds of his robes, he handed one of the masks to her. "Put this on; I'll Apparate us to the rendez-vous site as soon as you're properly disguised."

Hermione shivered as she complied. There was no strap, so she just lifted it to her face and pressed it to her skin. As suspected, a spell tingled across her flesh, and the mask clung of its own volition. The eyeholes weren't easy to see out of, though not as bad as one might fear; mostly it was cold and hard and uncomfortable, and seeing Russel donning his unnerved her.

"Remember, you're a Death Eater. You fear no one and nothing, save for the Dark Lord. But he won't be there, where we're going." Touching her arm with his left hand, Russel drew his wand. "Wand out, but don't hex anything unless it's attacking."

"Right."

A squeezing surge of magic, and they popped out of the artificially lit kitchenette suite into the darkness of a forest. It took Hermione a few moments to let her eyesight adjust, and by then, Russel was already greeting someone; he'd Apparated both of them so that she faced one way and he faced the other. If they'd entered an ambush, it would've given them a slight edge in defending themselves. As it was, she had to search the shadows under the trees for a few moments more before being satisfied that there was no one in her field of view.

A squeeze of her forearm made Hermione turn around. A silver-masked figure met her stare, most of his lean frame blending into the shadows cast by the branches of the forest canopy. Her heart pounding in her chest, she leaned forward, letting Draco Malfoy murmur in her ear.

"Severus Snape's home is Number 42 Spinner's End, London."

Nodding curtly, Hermione leaned back. Draco's gaze slipped to Russel's masked face, but he didn't say anything, just stepped back. A moment later, he vanished with a pop. Russel tightened his grip, and they, too, vanished from the tiny clearing.

The moment they were back in the hotel room, Russel pulled the mask from his face and yanked the robes from his body, revealing a wine-red shirt and the blue-red kilt from her previous visit. Wadding the two items together, he tossed them from him with a grimace. Hermione removed hers more slowly. The mask had to be tugged off of the face, to get its magical bonds to release. Setting it on the table, she unfastened the black cloak, but her eyes were on her husband's tense figure, standing in profile to her.

He'd scraped his hair back from his face in a tight grip, his eyes closed and his brow pinched in a frown. His voice, when he spoke, was rough with emotion. "I hate my life... Draco had so much potential, and he wasted it on a fallacy! Now he's stuck in a situation he fears...and rightfully so!...where he's near the bottom of the rungs most of the time, and with no hope in sight of ever getting free. And here I am, stuck playing one role to his face, another to the Dark Lord's, a third to yours..." He stopped and cleared his throat, body tense. "That is to say, I'm trying to be the man I think you'd want me to be. The man I'd rather be, if I ever have the chance to be... I just buggered that up, didn't I? Admitting I'm acting, around you."

Hermione wasn't overly surprised by his inadvertent confession. Draping the robe over the mask on the table, she moved to his side and tucked herself against him, wrapping her arms around his waist. She was just short enough to fit her shoulder comfortably under his arm, and rested her cheek against his pectoral muscle. "I didn't think you acted this way all of the time, Russel. You have to be convincing, to be a spy. And yet I don't think all of it is an act, when you're around me."

"Most of it isn't," he muttered, turning and wrapping both of his arms around her in turn. "Well, having to be nice all of the time; I have a bit of a temper, but then I'm in a stressful situation, so it's understandable. But I'm trying very hard to not snap at you. You're not the source of my greatest troubles."

"I believe that a man or a woman can change, if they conscientiously strive to change," Hermione offered. "Even Draco, if he's given the chance."

"Without Occlumency, he doesn't have a chance. Not unless he acts spontaneously, or out of trusting ignorance. I'm slowly befriending him, under the guise of teaching him how to be a proper, respectful Death Eater." He paused, then muttered roughly, "I hate my life... To save a boy who made a deadly, foolish mistake, I have to teach him how to hide his true feelings while he's being cruel and callous towards others."

She felt his mouth brush her curls as he cradled her close, and hugged him tighter in response.

"...The only solace I have from the monster I have to be when I'm being a Death Eater is when I'm here with you, as your husband. You give me ample reason to want to be a better man, Jane, but I can only be one when I'm here in your arms." His voice dropped to a whisper. "I don't want to go back... That a sinner like me has a chance to know heaven, just standing here in your arms, it makes it all the more hellish to have to go back."

There was a strange parallel between him and Harry. Hermione drew upon it for comparison. "Then I'll tell you what I told my blood-brother. Find something positive worth living for, and a goal of what to do with your life, once this war is through. It isn't enough to live only for the thought of bringing the Basilisk Bastard down. You have to know what's worth fighting for, after he's gone. For me, that's living in a world with you, and Harry, and the Weasleys all alive and happy and healthy, able to stride through the world without fear shadowing their every step."

"And your career goals?" Russel asked her, relaxing a little in her arms.

"I'm not sure, yet. I thought about being an Auror, but I'm not really interested in confrontations. I thought about being a mediwitch, too, but I'd be more interested in the research side of things than the actual caring for someone. I'd do it for you, and maybe my friends, but not as a career, I think. What about you? Will you go back to your previous profession, whatever it was?"

"No. I cannot go back. I burnt too many bridges." He held her for a moment, then stated, "Research might be good, though. The only problem is coming up with the funds to do private research; I'm not sure if anyone would be willing to hire an ex-Death-Eater... Speaking of funds, I need you to do something for me."

Hermione pulled back far enough to look up at him. "What? Go to Gringotts for you?"

He smiled. "Smart as ever, I see. Yes. My vault might be monitored, the same as other suspected or known Death Eaters. You have one of your own, right?"

"Yes, though there's not much in it," she warned him.

"I'll give you my key. Visit both vaults, withdraw some of your money, and put it into the same sack that you put mine, to disguise how much you withdrew. If anyone asks, you just found the key."

"How much will you need?" Hermione asked him.

"I'm not sure. At least sixty Galleons, forty of it converted to Muggle pounds. A lot of my basic needs have been taken care of, and I can Transfigure some of the rest," he admitted with a shrug, "but there are certain things that are best bought, not made, or made-do-without."

"I'll go tomorrow," she promised Russel. "When do you think it'll be safe for me to visit Snape's house?"

"I'm not sure. It will probably be spur-of-the-moment, and quite possibly late at night. Actually," Russel corrected himself, "Don't just take the money out of my vault. If anything happens to me, if I'm caught before the war is over, and my efforts aren't uncovered, the Ministry will try to confiscate my funds, everything I own. Transfer two-thirds of my vault into your own."

"I couldn't do that!" Hermione protested, leaning back in his arms with a frown. "That money is yours, not my own!"

He smiled at her. "Jane, beloved, you're my wife. That means all that I have is now also yours. Just as all that you have is now also mine. Though I'll refrain from trying on your bras, I think."

His silliness made her laugh. Shaking her head, Hermione snuggled against his chest again. "I don't want to take your money from you."

"It's not taking it from me; it's keeping it safe for both of us. Besides, you're a Gryffindor, eh?" he teased, tickling her ribs with a wriggle of his fingers, making her squirm briefly in his arms. "That means you'll be honor-bound to give it back to me. Or at least, not spend it all."

"You're placing an awful lot of trust in me," Hermione muttered into his throat, grateful for it even as she warned him.

"Who else can I trust, if not my most beloved wife?" Tilting her head up, Russel sealed his question with a kiss.

...

Floo to Spinner's End now. You have 1.5 hours.

Hermione, disengaged from the rapid exchange of harmless curses and counter-curses that Harry, Ron, Tonks and herself had been exchanging in the parlour of Grimmauld Place, nodded to herself as she lowered her left hand. It was about as much time as she'd expected. More, really. Looking up, she caught Tonks' eye. The green-haired Auror held up her hand, cutting off the spark-flung volleys of the other two.

"Wotcher, what's up?"

"I've got to go to...the place that I need to go to," Hermione stumbled, forgetting for a moment that she couldn't say the name of the location, Secret-Kept as it was. She gave Harry and Ron a pointed look. "You know, to find the book that I'm looking for. I should be back in an hour and a half."

"Be careful," Ron ordered her.

Nodding, she snagged her bookbag, emptied most of its contents onto a side-table, and left the parlour. Pushing open the door to the kitchen, she was halfway inside before she realized she'd walked in on two people sharing a clinch by the aga stove. It was who was in that clinch, snogging each other, that startled her the most. Alastor Moody, and Arabella Figg. After a moment, he jerked and released her, twisting his head to scowl at Hermione with his normal brown eye, and the magical one that was blue.

"...What are you looking at?"

"A...very happy couple?" Hermione offered as Mrs. Figg blushed and fussed with her hair.

"What did you want, Hermione dear?" Arabella asked, clearing her throat.

"I need to use the Floo. In private," she added. A hesitation, the Hermione boldly added, "Um...if you don't want to be like Remus and Tonks, might I suggest retiring upstairs, next time?"

Moody frowned at her. "What happened with those two?"

"They, um...well, they were in the library at the time, and they weren't reading books," Hermione hedged. "If you please, I've got a very narrow window of opportunity, and I need to use the Floo. Privately."

"Where are you going?" Moody asked. His natural suspicion was giving her a headache.

She lost her patience. "To a Secret-Kept place. That means I can't tell you. Now kindly get out."

"You're going alone?" he challenged her. "Why isn't Harry or Ron going with you?"

"...Alastor Moody, if you do not get out of here, I'm going to hex you into a girl!" Hermione snapped. "Sorry, Mrs. Figg, but would you drag him off and snog him somewhere else, so I don't have to?"

"Come along, Alastor," Arabella ordered him, pushing the ex-Auror towards the back stairs. "Now! "

Giving her a doubtful look, Mad-Eye Moody allowed himself to be pushed up the stairs. As soon as she was alone, Hermione drew her wand and cast Floo powder on the hearth. Ready for anything, she stepped into the swirling green flames. "42 Spinner's End."

An emerald whirl, and she found herself spat out onto an aging carpet. Coughing on soot, she smelled musty, stale air as well as traces of smoke from the vanishing fire. Footsteps had her snapping up her wand, looking wildly around the book-lined room for the source of the noise.

"Professor Snape, is that..." Grey eyes met amber brown, both sets wide with shock. "...You! "

The only thing that saved her was that Hermione had her wand out first. She cast a silent spell even as he grabbed for his own, slung at his hip in a wand-sheath. Silvery ribbons snaked out and pinned his arms to his sides. Another silent, wordless command, and she Summoned his wand from his grip, snatching it out of the air as it hurtled her way.

Bound from shoulders to ankles, Draco wobbled, trying to keep his balance, his face a twisted mess of anger and fear. "Damn you, Granger! You're the witch I spoke to! Why are you here? What are you going to do with me? Turn me in?"

That was a good question. A very good question. He wobbled too far, unable to compensate with his feet bound together. Flicking her wand, she caught him with mobilicorpus. That lifted him off his feet, horizontally. The fear increased on his face. Hermione felt a stab of pity for him. She sincerely doubted Russel knew he was here, but her husband would've been absolutely sure of his whereabouts...or at least his stated whereabouts...before sending her here. Which meant Draco had lied to everyone.

A lie about where he was probably meant that he was using this house as a sort of refuge, a place that probably only he, Russel, Snape, and now she knew about. She thought about turning him in, she really did...but the Ministry was still holding Stan Shunpike without a trial, and he was innocent. Merlin alone knew what they'd do to Draco, who was responsible for the attack on Hogwarts. Pity alone wanted to stay her hand.

There was another reason to not turn him over to the Aurors. If he was handed over, the other Death Eaters would realize it. Snape would know that someone had betrayed the secret of his house, and he would doubt it was Draco's doing. That meant Russel could be in serious trouble. Hermione made up her mind, guiding the hovering Slytherin's body over to the sagging, faded fabric of the sofa.

"I'll let you go when I'm done with you, Draco. Harry told me you didn't want to kill Dumbledore, and I think you just got yourself in over your head out of stupid arrogance, and following the teachings of your father blindly, without thought. I'll bet you've been doing a lot of thinking now, though," she added, releasing the spell that kept him afloat. He bounced a little on the cushions, but otherwise looked comfortable enough. Setting his wand on the narrow table behind the couch, she started perusing the shelves. "And rethinking...

"You probably thought it would be grand to be feared as a Death Eater, but you never really thought about what you'd have to do, and the consequences thereof, in order to be feared as a Death Eater. And then there's the fact that your father failed his master and was captured, which put you and your mother's lives in danger from the Dark Lord's wrath. And your mother's life was put in further jeopardy when you were set the task of helping the others invade the school. Having Harry for an enemy probably didn't help, either.

"Now you're stuck in an enslavement you don't want, to a madman you fear, and no way of shielding your thoughts from him...so you're forced to do whatever he tells you to do, with almost no one that you can turn to, because you can trust almost no one. Not exactly the glamorous life you expected, is it? You're not top dog anymore, Draco, and you're not happy, are you?"

A book title caught her eye. The Word And the Will: Mastering Wandless Magic. That would be a good book to take and study. Tucking it into her bookbag, she perused the shelves. If he wasn't such a cold-hearted bastard, Hermione could've admired the man for his broad-ranging tastes. There were literally hundreds, possibly thousands of leather-bound books crammed onto these shelves that she itched to read. It was going to take some time to sift through the titles alone, just to find the Diary, and any books that might pertain to the Protean-Forging Charm she was attempting to create. The Word and the Will would help; if the object was to be held in a pair of gloved hands, it wasn't likely the wizard or witch using the Charm would be able to wield a wand at the same time, after all.

"So, what?" Draco challenged her sullenly. "Do you pity me? Is that it?"

"A little. You did make your own bed, and now you have to lie in it, as the saying goes. But one day, you'll have a chance to come out from under the covers. Even if that means confronting the very real monster lurking under your bed. You'll have a choice that day," Hermione cautioned him, moving further along the shelves. "Either you will find the courage to fight, and free yourself, or you will give in to your cowardice, and join the monsters under the bed."

"What would be worth going against the Dark Lord? They'll just throw me into Azkaban!" he sneered behind her back as she read title after title.

"It doesn't matter where you go, Draco. The one thing you cannot escape from is your conscience. Even in the heart of the Dark Lord's army, you cannot escape the fact that you could not bring yourself to kill Albus Dumbledore. You've been a bully and an arrogant prat, but you're not a killer, and you know it." She found a book that looked like it might have information on combining disparate charms, and pulled it off the shelf to flick through its pages. "If you fight the monsters under the bed, your conscience will give you rest. If you join them, it will torment you until you are left a broken, inhumane wreck. Like your Aunt Bellatrix, foaming at the mouth like a rabid dog, only good for tearing and rending and killing things. That's hardly the sort of son your mother and father would be proud of, I think. And if there's one thing I know about you, Draco Malfoy, you're proud of being a Malfoy.

"If you crawl under the bed with the rest of the monsters, you'll be dragging the Malfoy name down there with you." Shutting the book in her hands, she returned it to the shelf. It didn't contain what she was looking for. Another one higher on the shelves did. Expanding Enchantments. That sounded like something she could study to figure out how to expand the requested Charm into as broad a range of effect as possible.

"What do you care, Mudblood?"

She couldn't quite reach the book in question. Turning her head, she looked for a chair or a stool, and saw movement out of the corner of her eye. Draco had managed to quietly squirm himself upright, and was even now scrabbling his wand off the table behind the sofa. She snatched at her own wand as he fell back out of sight, thumping onto the coffee table.

"Finite argencustoda! "

"Stupefy! "

"Protego! "

The two bolts of energy hit each other and scattered sparks over the furniture between them. Draco had scrambled to his knees, and was using the back of the sofa for cover. Hermione watched him warily, wanting for Russel's sake to get through to him. "What do I care, Draco? You were a good student! You had so much potential, it hurt to see you wasting it. You aimed your ambitions at the wrong place.

"But you made the right decision, and you know it, even though it's landed you in the hell that you're in, right now," Hermione told him, inching carefully towards a nearby doorway that looked like it led to the kitchen. Almost there, almost... "And I believe you'll make the right decision again, down the road."

"Not if I turn you over to the Dark Lord!"

"...Stupefy! " She couldn't let him Apparate out of here and bring back reinforcements.

"Protego! Expelliarmus! "

"Proteg...ahhh! " Shite, she was too slow. Diving into the kitchen after her wand, Hermione heard him shouting another curse, and felt her ring tingling. Magic spattered against Sigurd's chest, but she couldn't see what the spell was, given that he completely filled the doorway between Draco and her. Scrambling for her wand, Hermione remembered what the dragon had done to the last Death Eater who'd threatened her, and thought as hard as she could, Don't kill him, don't kill him, don't kill him!

Sigurd roared and charged halfway into the room. Draco yelped, and furniture crashed. Hermione dodged around his hindquarters, aiming her wand under one upraised wing. Draco had knocked over an end-table and landed on his back, wincing as he clutched the back of his skull.

"Stupefy! "

The reddish bolt smacked him in the chest even as he struggled to protect himself from the dragon's jaws. Draco slumped, stunned by the spell. Sigurd hrrmphed a puff of smoke-scented breath, and vanished. Hermione hurried to the fallen wizard, checking his pulse, and the back of his head. He had a lump from his initial fall, but she didn't think his skull had been cracked, and he was otherwise unharmed.

Taking his wand from him, she recast the Binding Spell, then tucked her own wand away. The Stunning Charm would wear off, eventually. She hoped to be gone before then, but if necessary, she'd recast the spell on him, then remove his bonds before she left. She might even leave him his wand, but not before she was ready to depart. It only goes to show I was stupid enough to think he was helpless, bound like that. Only if I'd bound him directly to the couch, maybe...and even then, I shouldn't ever turn my back on an enemy wizard again...

Knowing her time was running out, Hermione grabbed her bookbag from where she'd dropped it in the kitchen door. Making sure her first two choices were still inside, she turned to look for the last place she'd examined on the shelves, determined to find the diary. It was a few feet over from her position...

Pop.

"...Expelliarmus! Accio wand! "

Hermione slammed into the bookcase, Draco's wand ripping from her fingers as the unexpected impact stunned her. Twisting, she blinked to clear her vision, and froze at the sight of the sallow-faced, long-haired, black-clad frame of Severus Snape, ex-professor. Fear drained the blood from her face, despite the lurching pounding of her heart as he advanced on her. She was dead; she was so dead! If he wouldn't balk at killing Albus Dumbledore, he wouldn't balk at killing her, and she didn't know if Sigurd was capable of blocking the Killing Curse. Somehow, she doubted it.

The tip of his wand pressed into her throat. Black eyes boring with stygian fury into her frightened brown, he curled up his lip in a sneer. "Well, Miss Granger...it seems an unlucky fly has invited itself into the nasty spider's parlour. However did you manage that little trick?" he demanded, digging the tip of his wand painfully into her neck. "Tell me!"

Carefully not thinking about the way her right hand was inching toward the pocket of her jeans, Hermione admitted the truth as reluctantly as she could. "I...tricked Malfoy...sir."

"Always so polite," Snape hissed, sneering with a frightening level of anger and disdain for her as he pressed her into the bookcase with the weight of his body as well as the prodding of his wand. "Always the bloody know-it-all, always waving that hand in the air...always poking your nose into other people's business!"

She eased her wand from her pocket. "Yeah, well, at least I didn't kill my friend and employer!"

He hissed, hauling his wand-arm back. She snapped up her own...and his left hand slammed it wrist-first into the books behind her. "...Did you think I wasn't aware that first one wasn't your wand? I taught you for six years, girl! You cannot outwit me!"

Hermione glanced at her hand; he was too strong for her to break free, and now the tip of his wand was digging into her throat again. Sigurd hadn't appeared, yet; that meant he wasn't about to kill her, though the possibility of what he did want with her frightened her. She did know that she didn't want to lose her wand again...and his wrist was clamped halfway over her bracelet. If she could get him to twist the inner band, she might have enough time to get free with the unimpeded use of her left hand...

...ex Bruj...ezia The faded lettering on the spine of the book under her trapped knuckles caught her eye. The Diary. She'd found the Diary! Not even having to think about it, Hermione thumped the tip of her wand into the spine, enchanting silently as she stared at her salvation. The wizard pinning her to the bookshelves hissed, tightening his hold on her wrist, but it was too late. Even as he drew back his wand to hit her with a spell, the book under her knuckles jerked her forcefully out of his grasp, Porting her away.

She landed with a jarring thump that sent her sprawling painfully to the thinly carpeted floor. The book landed next to her, pages askew, its aged, old-fashioned cover looking decidedly out of place in such a modern setting. Panting, Hermione rested on the floor, slumping not unlike Draco had done after she'd Stunned him. Her wrist hurt where it had been torn from his long fingers, and her neck ached where his wand-tip had dug into her flesh...but she was alive.

Snape. My god, I faced and got away from Snape! Now Hermione understand what Russel had meant when he'd said, I'm alive...I'm still alive... The bastard who had turned traitor and murdered the best of them could have so easily done the same to her...

Lying on the floor, staring at the plain, fire-sprinkler studded ceiling, Hermione frowned. But he wasn't going to, was he? If he'd intended to harm me, surely Sigurd would've bitten his head off? Sigurd didn't show for the first altercation between Draco and me, but then I don't think Draco's heart was in harming me. Not until that last curse. Then Sigurd showed up to defend me. What was it Russel said? To those who are neutral towards me...

Post-battle reaction set in with a giggle. Hermione covered her mouth, but another one escaped. I guess being his best student for so many years finally paid off. If I had been Neville, invading his home, I would probably be dead by now...unless he just doesn't really give a damn about his students, one way or another. Though maybe he'd off Neville just from the sheer memory of all those Potions accidents...

It was useless speculating about the man; he was too complicated to understand. She'd read all of the crib-notes the sixth-year Snape had made. There had been a lot of anger, a lot of hurt feelings, a lot of ambition, and a lot of genius in those cramped, margin-scribbled ideas. No, whatever the adult Snape had wanted with her, it was something complex. Something complicated. Probably, it involved interrogating her, stripping her mind open with his Legilimency, and possibly handing her over to his master, though possibly placing her under the Imperius Curse and sending her back to her friends.

The urge to tremble from her adrenaline-pumped fear had faded, as had the post-shock weakness that had followed it. With some of her energy restored, Hermione pushed up onto her elbow, and remembered the books. Her bag had sprawled to one side, and the Diary to the other. Leaving the bag for the moment, she rose onto her knees and gently picked up the tome.

It wasn't paving-stone sized, or even half a paving-stone, as a number of the older wizarding texts tended to be. It was actually just a little smaller than a standard Muggle notebook, a little narrower in width. The pages were smooth, undamaged by their rumpled landing. But when she leafed through them, they were blank. Guessing there was some sort of spell on them, Hermione turned to the front end-leaf, and saw an inscription written within a series of runes scribed in several rings.

The runes began to spin. Startled, Hermione tried to shut the book, but it stayed open. Lines and symbols glowing, the rings spun this way, some spun that way...and they locked into place, one after the other. Letters formed in the center of the now motionless disk: Avete l'occhio. Non avete la mano. Vedete tutto, ma non fate niente!

Her Italian was rusty, to say the least...she was far more proficient at French, and that was mostly tourist stuff...but there were translation spells in her seventh-year Charms book, back at Headquarters. Rising, noting with relief the spine was no longer holding itself stiffly open, she closed the book and set it on the table, then scooped her book bag off the floor. Expanding Enchantments and The Will and the Word were extracted and set to one side. She'd read them later, during the simmering stages of the Anima Te.

Expanding Enchantments would hopefully be useful. So far, all she'd been able to draft out with her Arithmancy calculations was a twenty foot radius area of effect, and she suspected that wouldn't be good enough for whatever Russel had in mind. It wasn't so much what he wanted anymore that really intrigued her, as it was combining two totally disparate Charms under challenging circumstances...wandless, with a radius effect of likeness to likeness. It would be helpful, of course, to know exactly what object was being affected in advance, which could tailor the spell even further... Yes, she could definitely see herself going into research, if she could find the necessary funds...

The soft bang of an Apparation made her jump, not expecting it. A smile curved her lips as she turned to greet Russel, but the scowl pinching his face made her take a step back in shock. She'd never seen him this angry, before. In fact, he didn't even greet her.

"...Where is the book?" the utili-kilt clad wizard demanded.

"What book?"

"The Lucrezia book! Have you opened it?" he snapped, grabbing her upper arm tightly.

"Yes. You're kind of hurting me," Hermione added. "Could you let go?"

"I ought to turn you over my knee!" He leaned down and squinted into her eyes, making her want to lean back. "You're not blinded. Obviously it didn't react to you like it did me. Where is it?"

"It's on the table...and you're still hurting me!" Hermione returned sharply, lifting her hand to pry his fingers from her arm. He released her roughly and looked at the table. His grey gaze skimmed over the other two tomes and alighted on the Diary. It was almost as if she wasn't there, except that he was insulting her under his breath.

"You total hoser! You could've been killed. I'll have to put this back...what made you choose this book to use as a Portkey?" he asked, gripping the edges of it.

"Because that is the book I was looking for!" Hermione told him. "It was a piece of luck I spotted it just as I needed to leave! I take it Snape reported back to Death Eater Central that I'd invaded and stolen something of his? Or did Draco?"

"Draco wasn't where he was supposed to be. And I had to modify some memories, so that he...they...wouldn't remember your being there! If anyone finds out what I've done...!" He released the book, turning to scowl at her. "Why do you need this book? Do you have any idea how dangerous this is? When I tried reading it, I was rendered blind for a week!"

"Well, when I first opened it, the pages were blank, then on the flyleaf, some rune-warding came up with a message in Italian that I haven't had a chance to translate, yet." Hermione reached for the book. Russel's hand clamped over her wrist, his fingers digging in painfully around the curve of her bracelet.

"Do not open that book in my presence!" he snarled, dragging her away from the table so that he was between her and the tome.

"I wasn't going to! I was going to take it into the bathroom to read it again, then come back and ask you to translate what it said! And would you stop grabbing me?" Hermione demanded, yanking on her arm. She yanked again when he didn't release her, hard enough to make him sway, and heard a faint double-click. "You're not acting like yourself! Let go!"

He didn't reply, and didn't release her. She drew in a breath to demand it again, and realized his hair was caught mid-sway. The tight grip of his hand on her arm had activated her bracelet. He was stuck in time, a minute or two at most. Hermione looked from her bracelet to his face. Realizing the opportunity before her, she quickly reached up with her left hand, feathering her fingertips over the back of his neck. She'd seen the hook-and-loop clasp of the amulet he wore; it was just a matter of pinching it, like...so...

Peeling the ribbon away, she looked at him, searching for signs of any difference. Glamours were instantaneous changes, after all; she could put the ribbon and its pendant back on him before he knew what she'd done, and finally get the chance to see what he really looked like. There was one problem, however: he wasn't changing. Well, that wasn't true; she realized after staring at his green-shirted arms that the little scars were visible on his hands, but nothing else about his appearance had changed. Confused, Hermione reached up to put the ribbon back into place. She couldn't quite manage it with one hand, and reached for his fingers, attempting to pry them from her arm.

Her bracelet clicked.

The wrong way.

Shite!