Chapter Nine

Hermione's mind went blank as she looked up into the imperious face of Lucius Malfoy. "Good evening, Minister," she began, wondering how on earth to explain herself.

His grip on her arms was steady but firm. "Why, Miss Granger, I must say this is a pleasant surprise, popping into my office at such a late hour." He smiled down on her with eyes that would freeze fire.

"Well, I ... y-you see, I was..." she stammered, willing that supposedly brilliant mind of hers to think!, while the second most dangerous man in Britain waited for an explanation of why she had Floo'd into the Minister for Magic's private ante-chamber.

"As charming as your blushes are, my dear, I don't quite understand." Lucius' handsome face grew hard, and he leaned in closer. "What are you doing in my office, Miss Granger?"

She closed her eyes. "I was working late, you see, and I meant to return to my office, and entered here accidentally, sir."

"I see." He looked at her closely. "Well, accidents happen. But I do worry that you are working yourself so hard." Solemnly, he glanced at the clock. "It's very late."

"Yes, sir, well, I was wanting to work on my speech, and the Ministry is so quiet at night and..."

"And you thought no one would be around to see what you were up to, didn't you, my dear?"

"I'm not up to anything!" She could hear the fear in her voice, and Lucius' eyes narrowed. Her flimsy panic was as transparent as tissue paper, and at her thin protest his expression grew calm, almost friendly.

"I would never presume you were, my dear," he answered, his voice a soft, viper-like sound. "You understand more than most the necessity of innocence. What is the old Muggle saying? You must be like Caesar's wife, above reproach? After all," he said, drawing closer. "Life is so precarious without the protection of one's patron."

"Yes, sir," she whispered, feeling sick.

"So, I know you'll tell me the truth," he said, a gentle smile gracing his patrician features, "about what you are doing this evening."

Suddenly, he spun her around, reached into the pot on the hearth and pinched the tiniest amount of Floo powder between his fingers. Throwing the dust into the fire, he said clearly, "Quavonos!" A bright green burst of flame was followed by the ghostly image of Severus' office. Hermione could clearly make out the smooth, dark lines of the ostentatious desk.

With a sinking heart, Hermione ventured a look into his face. He was looking at her solemnly. "Paying a little late-night visit to your old Professor, were you?"

"No," she said, breathlessly. "Well, yes, I was going to speak to him..."

"You and His Excellency have seen a lot of one another as of late, haven't you? Admit it!"

"No, sir, not at all," Hermione replied, too quickly. "I had to ask him a question about foreign policy, but he wasn't there."

"At this hour? No, I don't suppose he would be. He is a nefarious wizard, to be sure, but dedication to his job is not one of his vices." Hermione trembled as Lucius released her arms. He walked over to his desk and sat, steepling his long fingers beneath his chin.

"You've made quite a name for yourself, haven't you, Miss Granger?" His eyes, flinty as chips of ice, regarded her steadily. "One might say that you've taken the Quaffle and flown with it. I admit I've allowed you more leniency than was perhaps prudent, but I am not without my little indulgences."

"I've...I've tried my best to please you, sir."

Lucius stilled. "Have you?" he asked, a whisper of a smile playing across his lips. His eyes narrowed again. "Yes, you've done very well for the Ministry. Then again, the penalties for failure are rather, shall we say, incentive enough?"

Hermione tried to calm her pounding heart, but she was sure he could hear it from his desk. "I try not to think of it in those terms, sir," she said, trying to smile. "I prefer to think of the good I may achieve, more than the consequences of potential failure."

"That's good," he purred, and tilted his head flirtatiously. "Because Azkaban never lies, Miss Granger."

She froze. "Pardon?"

He stood and walked slowly around his desk. "When a prisoner arrives at Azkaban, the first thing the prison does is assign them a prison number. It is a binding identification; once assigned, it remains with you for life. You do remember your prison number, don't you, Miss Granger?"

Haltingly, she nodded. At his silent prompt, she whispered, "G-Gebo 77 Isa 96 Kenaz Degaz Berkano."

He nodded. "You were adept at Ancient Runes at school, were you not? Gebo, the rune representing greed, loneliness, obligation. You see, Hermione, Azkaban assigns your prison number based on your magical properties, your personality, your past. It studies you, it reads you. It knows you."

Lucius drew nearer. "And therefore, I know you. It is all there, Miss Granger. Azkaban has written you large for all the world to see." With his wand, he drew her prison number in the air, until large, fiery runes were emblazoned between them. "Isa represents treachery, betrayal, plots. Kenaz, instability, exposure. Dagaz tells of completions, blindness, hopelessness, and Berkano of anxiety, carelessness, deceit."

The runes and numbers faded, until the air was clear between them. He regarded her mildly, but his tone was hard and as cold as his grey eyes. "I hope you do not plan to visit these traits upon the one wizard who stands between you and wearing that number for the rest of your life."

Hermione swallowed. She didn't bother trying to hide the tremour in her voice. "No, never sir. You may rest assured of my loyalty and gratitude to you."

He lowered his gaze and smirked. "Oh, I think that is a given." When he looked up again, his eyes swept over her body possessively. "And I have to ask myself: what would you do to prove your loyalty to me, Hermione? What would you do to show me that I can trust you?"

Hermione closed her eyes and tried to look relieved. "Whatever assurances you need, Minister, I will be happy to provide."

He favoured her with a slow, hot smile. "I had a feeling you might say that, my dear. So I will be happy to oblige you." He raised his cold eyes to hers. "Tell me what you and Snape are plotting. Now."

Her eyes flew open, and she gasped as she saw Lucius begin to rise from the desk again. She'd been sure he would demand sexual favours from her, claiming her body as a right. Such a thing would have been bad enough. But instead, he seemed determined to focus on conspiracies. He had truly worked himself into a terrible state since their last conversation. And now she was certain that nothing she could say would convince him she was not plotting against him.

Because she was, of course. She was indeed plotting against Lucius, against Voldemort himself...not alongside Severus or any other living person, but with the help of dual portraits. What if, in his paranoia, Lucius became determined to find out all she had been up to? Whether he chose Veritaserum or Legilimency, in a few seconds she might become an open book to him. She backed up, her heart racing as Lucius advanced on her.

Suddenly, a soft chime sounded in the room, and Lucius whirled around with a curse. He indicated a door to their left with a wave of his hand. "Go into that room," he commanded, clearly furious with the interruption. "Do not make a sound or you will be on the next boat to Azkaban, I promise you."

Hermione moved to obey him, feeling numb with fear. She found herself in a small closet. It was dimly lit, but Hermione could still make out several large, expensive-looking cloaks hanging on pegs across one wall. She cancelled the lights, plunging herself in darkness, but when she turned back toward the door, she got the shock of her life.

The door was transparent. Everything that was going on in the room was plainly visible. She wondered wildly if the Minister even knew of this little eavesdropping room. It was possible that he didn't; after all, he came here to deposit and retrieve his cloaks. He had never had reason to be here in the dark with the door closed. It occurred to her that this might be one of those secrets even ministers didn't know about.

As she stared through the transparent door, she saw Lucius tidy his robes and make himself presentable. "Enter!" he barked, smoothing his platinum hair. Hermione watched in astonishment as Pansy sauntered into the room, surreptitiously looking around. "Good evening, Miss Parkinson," Lucius said, his voice as smooth as always. "What on earth are you doing here at this late hour?"

Pansy, dressed to kill in a red leather robe tight enough to be legally declared skin, rewarded the Minister with a smile so rich and knowing Hermione filed it away for future use. "Good evening, Minister," she said, her voice throaty. "I was actually looking for Hermione. I'm here to escort her home, and someone said they saw her in this area." She paused, and turned her full battery of sexual charisma onto the Minister. "But seeing as she's not here, how fortuitous that I've found you instead."

Hermione watched in fascination as Lucius' grey eyes boldly swept over Pansy's lush curves. "And why is it fortuitous, Miss Parkinson?"

"Please, Your Excellency, call me Pansy. After all, we're old friends," she purred hot and deep within her throat. She took a step closer to Lucius, whose expression changed from distracted to intrigued in a matter of heartbeats.

His eyes grew heavy-lidded as Pansy closed in and traced the pattern on his robe with a long-nailed finger. "And what causes the Minister for Magic to be working in his office at such a late hour? Affairs of state?"

At the word 'affairs,' Lucius' eyes widened, and some secret understanding seemed to pass between them, making Lucius more guarded and Pansy more smug. It was fascinating, really, thought Hermione. These bloody Slytherins had a moral compass set so differently from everyone else's.

"Yes, affairs of state can be quite tiresome, and much more trouble than they're worth," he answered.

She smirked and moved closer. In a husky whisper Hermione had to strain to hear; Pansy cooed, "But necessary, Minster. Never forget that. Aggravating as they may be, certain affairs must be tended to, and allowed to mature to fruition. If not, their absence can be remarked upon, and the consequences can be dire. Especially since their objectives are working. No," she said, sliding her arms around his waist, "affairs of state aren't worth the extra paperwork to dissolve them."

"You may be right, Miss...Pansy," he replied, and his eyes fluttered closed as she shamelessly caressed him. "Perhaps all they need is a reminder to mind their own affairs."

"Absolutely," whispered Pansy, and they fell into a searing kiss that made Hermione's eyes grow wide, then close tight in a grimace. Gods, the last thing she needed to see was Pansy bloody Parkinson and Lucius Malfoy snogging away like fourth-year Hufflepuffs.

They kissed hungrily for several minutes, all growls and groans and grinds, until Pansy pulled away with a gasp. Not so much as a blip of makeup was out of place. Hermione made a mental note to ask Pansy how she did it.

Pansy was smiling her hot smile at Lucius, and she breathlessly answered, "I'll bet your affairs of state don't give you that kind of incentive, do they, Lucius?"

"No," he answered, his voice ragged and dark with arousal. "But sometimes even the Minister for Magic has to settle for less than his due."

She laughed as she swiftly unbuttoned his robes, all the while seeming to take all the time in the world. "That's a shame, Minister. You deserve the best. Always." She tilted her head while his head fell back. "After all, why should the Minister for Magic dine on pig's trotters, when he can experience Filet Mignon?"

Oh, thank you, Pansy, thought Hermione, then chided herself for being insulted. She wasn't thinking anything of the sort a moment later when Pansy dropped to her knees like a Knockturn Alley whore and commenced giving Lucius what, judging by his groans and gasps, was the blowjob of his life.

Hermione watched the train wreck playing out before her, praying for a chance to slip out of the office unnoticed. At last, Pansy grabbed Lucius' arse in a possessive grip and turned him so his back was toward the closet door. Silently, Hermione opened the door and peeked out. Pansy, with one eye to Lucius' reactions, removed her mouth and began to stroke him with long, sinuous pulls, making the wizard gasp and call out her name. She waited until his eyes were closed, his head flung back in ecstasy, then mouthed to Hermione, "Go! Then she started back on her five-star blowjob, adding loud moans, which apparently sent Lucius on a real tailspin.

Hermione didn't hesitate. Creeping over to the door, she silently let herself out. From outside the door, she heard noises like furniture being scraped, and Pansy's throaty laugh, then the gruff sounds of grunting copulation. Gods, Lucius sounded like a boar when he had sex. Pig's trotters, indeed.

She took off at a run, her heels making terrible clacking sounds on the shiny black floor. This might be her only opportunity to follow Lugubrious' directions and find the portrait of Aloysius Everard. There was no telling how long Pansy and Lucius would be at it in his office. Hermione had implicit confidence in Pansy's sexual prowess, but less in Lucius' staying power.

From the RCMC, Hermione moved quickly through the transom door and down the staircase off the peripheral hallway until she reached the back door to the Floo Room. From there it was easy to figure out which store room held the ancient portraits...some wag had scrawled "Old Soldiers' Home" on the door.

Inside the dim and dusty room, portraits sat propped haphazardly against bare plaster walls five or six frames deep. Hermione pointed her wand and said firmly, "Accio Everard."

Amidst a clatter of wooden frames, one frame popped out and bounced into the air. She caught it awkwardly, then trained her wand light over the slumbering countenance of Aloysius Xavier Everard (1729 - 1852).

"Headmaster? Headmaster Everard?" Calling his name repeatedly did nothing to wake him, nor did shaking his frame like a toy. At last Hermione remembered to speak the password.

He opened one eye blearily. "Come back tomorrow" was his unhelpful reply. It took much more shaking and several more shouts of "pumpkin pasties" before he woke up enough to contribute anything useful.

"So you are Dumbledore's best shot. His first and last device, and all hope riding on your skinny shoulders. Is that the way of it, girl?"

"Yes, sir," she replied as evenly as she could. First pig's trotters, now skinny. She might have told the portrait off if the stakes weren't so high. "And I actually should have all the pieces soon...with your help, of course."

"And then what? Do you know what it does yet? Were you even told how to put it together?" She shook her head mutely. Everard pursed his thin lips. "Well, I do not know much, but I happened to overhear that, when the pieces are close at hand, they recognise each other."

"Recognise each other?" she echoed. "How will that happen?"

"You said you have several pieces already. Did you not notice this trait?"

"No," she replied, surprised. "I...I'm forced to keep them in plain sight in my flat, but I store them far apart from each other so nobody sees their resemblance and asks questions."

"Very good," murmured the portrait. He yawned suddenly. "Well, all the best, girl. Good luck." Everard seemed on the verge of falling back to sleep.

"Sir!" she called again, an edge of panic in her voice. "The piece? Do you know where it is? Is it here at the Ministry?"

"Eh?" He roused himself once more. "Yes, yes, it was put into my charge. Last time I saw it, it was in the Department of Magical Accidents and Catastrophes, on Level Three. Brewster used to have it, but perhaps it has changed hands since I was moved here." He blinked and gazed sadly around the store room.

"Level Three. Brewster. Thank you, sir. Oh...your friend Lugubrious said to say hello, and he would welcome a visit from you some time." She moved to prop him back amongst the other portraits, her mind already planning the back route to the next department, when his voice brought her up short.

"They burned our portraits, burned our books," said Everard, his voice infused with sudden heat. "They burned down our school...eleven hundred years in the making!...and rebuilt it in the image of that monster. Though they may try and paint a benevolent face on their deeds, every day the courtrooms below ring with the cries of the accused, innocent but for an accident of birth or situation. History will show this as a horrible chapter in our already-bloody legacy." He paused, and she thought she saw a new glint in his painted eyes. "Fight them, girl. It starts with you. Fight and win."

In the end, the piece had been exactly where Everard had said, in the office of some assistant director named Brewster. The man had actually been using it as an ashtray. She dumped the dog ends and ashes and slipped it into the pocket of her robes before hurrying out again.

As she raced back upstairs to the upper levels, her mind began to replay the other part of her conversation in the Foreign Minister's office. Severus loved her, Lugubrious had said. He loved her. For a moment, she was tempted to dismiss the portrait as being either spelled to subterfuge or merely delusional. That thought rotated around to Ron, and what he might have told Severus about the night she miscarried. And that thought brought her right back to Severus, and their confrontation in the hall.

She had been so ready to kick him permanently out of her life, but now...

He loves you.

But could she love him again? Could she risk everything she had to do, everything she'd been trusted with finding, on his faithfulness? Was she actually listening to her hopeful, foolish heart as it entreated her to give him another chance?

She skidded to a halt near Lucius' office just as it swung open. Pansy stepped out, looking as if she'd done nothing more taxing than take a fag break. As she approached, however, Hermione could see a bright hard gleam in the dark-haired woman's eye. She walked with a long stride that would have been considered a swagger had she been a man.

She passed Hermione without even slowing down her stride. "Come on, you. Home."

Hermione uneasily fell in step beside her Parole Officer. They walked down the long hall in silence; Hermione kept casting hasty glances behind her, as if expecting any moment for Lucius to appear and screech, "Off with her head!" Hermione rubbed her forehead; she was cracking up.

Finally, the silence became too much and she ventured, "Pansy..."

"Not now," came the terse reply, and Hermione shot a worried glance at Pansy's face. She was smirking; in fact, Pansy Parkinson looked pretty damn pleased with herself.

The air outside felt a little heavy; it would rain soon. Pansy, freed from the Ministry walls, stopped and lit a cigarette, taking a huge drag and blowing the smoke into the air.

Without looking at Hermione, Pansy said, "You know, Granger, you really are a pain in the arse."

"I'm sorry, Pansy, I was just..."

"Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong. Gods, you Gryffindors are so bloody predictable." She turned to Hermione and looked at her with something akin to pity. "You've got it bad for him, don't you?"

Hermione shook her head. "You don't understand! I Floo'd into his office accidentally, and suddenly he was questioning my loyalty and I..."

"I'm not talking about Lucius, you dozy bint! I'm talking about Snape."

The breath left Hermione's lungs in a gust. "Snape? What are you talking about?"

"You don't have to pretend with me, Granger. I can even understand the attraction, really I do. Hell, half the Slytherin girls used to fantasise about him in school." She shrugged. "He's a powerful man, now. Rich, well-situated, brooding. I can understand why you'd be attracted. But If you had confided in me, you wouldn't have nearly gotten your sorry arse sent back to Azkaban. I could have told you he's out of town."

Hermione tried to look guilty. "I'm sorry, Pansy. I didn't want anyone to know."

Mollified, Pansy said diffidently, "It's nobody's business." She eyed Hermione keenly. "Even the Minister's."

Hermione looked into Pansy's unreadable eyes and felt her stomach flutter with something akin to hope. "You mean you were willing to save me..."

"Don't flatter yourself, Granger," she snorted, looking at Hermione with a sneer. "I saw you sneak into his office..."

"Saw me?"

Pansy gave her a withering look. "Yes, the Trace Spell? The one all parolees are given?" She rolled her eyes. "We went over this the first time we met. Don't you remember?"

Hermione gulped. She did now. "I see, so you..."

"...traced you as you Floo'd into Snape's office. Then the next thing I know, Lucius is coming back to his office."

"I've had run of the Minister's office since I started working here," replied Hermione defensively. "I had to get in to try and see Severus tonight, and that was the most discreet route." She grimaced when she saw the other woman's look of disbelief. "It was a calculated risk. How was I to know Lucius keeps such odd hours?"

Pansy regarded her a long time, as if trying to decide whether or not to believe her. "Anyway, when I walked up to the door, I heard him asking you about visiting your old professor."

"Well for Merlin's sake, why didn't you come in right then? Why didn't..." Hermione shut up. She knew why Pansy didn't try to prevent him from walking in on Hermione. She just wanted to hear her say it.

Pansy scoffed, "What was I supposed to do? Grab Malfoy out in the hall and screw him while you snuck out? I'm not in the business of shooting myself in the foot to save idiots like you, Granger."

Sullenly, Hermione bit back, "Then why did you?"

Pansy stopped in her tracks and looked away, as if she hated being forced to acknowledge her own agenda. "Let's just say I overheard our esteemed Minister tell you basically to put out or ship out to Azkaban, and I thought of a way to kill two birds with one stone." She shrugged, and the hard gleam returned to her eyes. "Well, we all have our little weaknesses, Granger. Yours is Snape." She favoured Hermione with a cool look. "Mine is Lucius."

There it was. "You mean you interrupted me getting threatened just so you could get your leg over?" Hermione demanded.

Pansy's eyes narrowed. "Well, don't sound so put out about it! I saved your scrawny neck by getting my leg over! You don't have to worry about being carted back to prison, and I've got an invitation to one of the special private Revels tomorrow night." She smirked and smoothed the front of her robe. "Very exclusive. Only the inner circle is invited. Well, them and several other morsels to be sampled. And thanks to me, you're not on the menu. Anymore," she added archly, with a secretive smile. "I'm not sure Snape will be relieved or disappointed with that. I'll guess you'll never know."

Hermione's brain refused to picture Severus participating in a Revel with some faceless witch. Instead, she quipped, "That must have been a hell of a good blowjob, Pansy."

The other woman waved her hand airily, making the cigarette smoke boil up like a scudding cloud. "You'd be amazed what well-executed fellatio will do for a wizard's philanthropic nature," she replied dryly.

Pansy turned and started walking again. Hermione practically skipped to catch up, her heart suddenly light for the first time in days.

"Thank you, Pansy. I mean it. I really didn't mean to..."

"Shut it, Granger," Pansy said mildly. "Look. I don't know what's going on between you and Snape; none of my biz. But I have a little first-hand knowledge on what it's like to want someone." She looked away with an imperious sniff. "No sense in being punished for something you didn't do, seeing as you just wanted to be with someone else." She brightened. "Besides, I've been wanting to get in Lucius' robes ever since ... well, let's say ever since I realised I was never going to get into Draco's. Your little romp gave me the perfect opportunity to do it."

Hermione rolled her eyes. Typical, typical. She was surrounded by the most unrepentant bunch of opportunists known to mankind. Slytherin's House symbol should have been a blackmail letter instead of a snake.

As they neared her building, Hermione ventured a question that had been on her mind. "Well, was it all you hoped it would be?"

"What, sex with Lucius? Well, to be perfectly honest," Pansy said, lowering her voice, "It wasn't exactly the Mighty Chief of Staff I was hoping for."

The two women giggled helplessly. "So that's why your makeup still looks fresh," Hermione remarked.

"Actually, that's a handy little spell I learned my last year at old Hoggy. I'm surprised you didn't learn it."

Hermione's heart ached a little at the thought. "Well, I was a little busy that year. You'll have to teach it to me."

Pansy eyed her critically. "We have to start with your hair first. Your Number Three is looking a little wayward right now."

Hermione reached up and felt the tangled mess of hair that had gone the way of all flesh while sprinting up and down stairs. A quick glance in the window of a darkened building made her cringe. "Merlin, I look like I've been riding on a charmed door," she muttered.

"Charmed what?"

"Nothing. A little work joke," Hermione replied. "I'm just punchy." She gave Pansy a wry smile. "This evening has been, shall we say, a little more surreal than usual."

Pansy laughed darkly. In her usual patronising drawl, she replied, "Circe, I hope you make more sense when you give speeches. Let's go. Gods, I need a drink after all that, Granger. What have you got at home?"

Standing in the middle of his private study in Malfoy Manor later that night, Lucius Malfoy's thoughts turned to Hermione Granger and what business she could possibly have had in Severus' empty office.

She had clearly been lying when he confronted her with the facts; he doubted she was even capable of telling the truth. Look how well she took to her position. She was a natural-born liar, willing to say anything to save her scrawny neck.

And Severus. Merlin knew that Severus could not care less about his own job, but what might he and that irritating little Gryffindor be planning behind Lucius' back? Oh, he had observed them closely at the Ministry function. To some, it might have appeared they had been fighting, but Lucius had seen the spark that passed between them, the sort of spark that never extinguishes, but smolders until it bursts into flame.

He wiped his upper lip, and realised with a start that his hand was shaking. Everything was falling in place now. He was too close to achieving his goals to have them scuppered by this meddlesome witch. The Dark Lord could always induce Severus to return to the straight and narrow path, if need be.

Granger was another matter. The responsibility for warning her against collusion fell on Lucius alone. He needed someone to supervise her more closely, with a firm hand. He had anticipated that somewhere along the line, he would have to remind her of everything she had to lose the next time she sought to deal with him dishonestly. It had merely occurred sooner than expected.

After a few thoughtful moments, he conjured a Patronus. "I require your security expertise," he dictated in a hoarse whisper to the glowing peacock, "as well as your powers of persuasion for a certain ... fractious parolee of our mutual acquaintance. Come to the Ministry office tomorrow morning for instructions."

The Patronus sped on its way, and Lucius breathed easier. It was a good plan; it should be enough motivation to keep her in line until the day he had no further use for her.

After that, Hermione Granger's fate would no longer be his concern.