Contrast

A/N~ Major thanks to all of you who reviewed my last chapter. Also I absolutely have to share with you that over at GrangerEnchanted.com I won for Best Kiss! I even got a banner for it! Super Sweet! If you voted for me, THANK YOU SO MUCH!

Okay, I tried to up-load it, but my damn banner won't show up! If you want to see it, head on over to http://www.grangerenchanted.com/enchant/index.php.

I also want to thank those of you who have been waiting so patiently for my chapters to arrive. I know I have been taking longer than usual, but there are two reasons for that. 1) It is becoming somewhat more difficult to come up with plot twists and turns, as well as just figuring out what is going to happen next. Sometimes I think I overestimate my imagination and writing ability and 2) My outlines have started becoming longer the more my story goes on, therefore my chapters are longer, causing me to take longer to type them up. I will try to keep the time in between chapters no longer than two weeks, I promise. I know what it is like to be really into a story and wait for seems like forever for the next update. Just know I am always thinking of my dear readers while conjuring up the next chapter.

To those of you religiously reviewing my story, as well as to those who are first-timers, I can never ever ever thank you enough for all of your kind words. I feel like I can never find the words to express my gratitude. I feel like a dolt for not coming up with some extravagant way of telling you how much I appreciate it and how overwhelming it is. So many of you have told me how good I am with words, but after I read all of the reviews, I honestly never know what to say! Saying thank you over and over seems so trite, but know that I say it from the bottom of my heart!

* * * * *

Hermione sat alone in the dimly lit drawing room of Number Twelve, Grimmauld Place, Order of the Phoenix Headquarters and the current residence of Harry, Ron, and Hermione. Though both Ron’s and Hermione’s parents had been against it, the three of them had agreed upon living there after school. Hermione had convinced her parents to leave the country, knowing that there was a possibility that Voldemort could go after them, and the Weasleys had placed the Burrow under the Fidelius Charm with Lupin as their Secret Keeper. The trio had opted for Grimmauld Place because the Order had decided it was the best place for Harry to be, and of course Ron and Hermione vowed to be at his side, and it also provided the required space for the training that Moody had insisted they take part in since they were determined to fight in the war.

Harry had been the most reluctant to return to his inherited dwelling, but when Hermione had put it into perspective for him by telling him he needed a place to live that was unplottable and safe. When he argued that the Burrow was just as safe, Hermione told him that Sirius would have wanted him to continue to use Grimmauld Place as HQ and his home as well, if only until the end of the war. Harry had begrudgingly agreed after that.

When they had arrived at the house a few days after school ended, Harry stood in the long entrance hall for 15 minutes, merely gazing sadly at the peeling wall paper, the worn carpet, and the cobwebs that had returned after the extensive cleaning everyone had done two years ago. When Hermione called out to him softly, her heart aching for him, he focused his teary eyes on hers and gave her a weary smile before telling her that their first task was making this place more livable again.

That had been nearly 8 months ago. Harry, Ron, and Hermione had spent the first month doing exactly what Harry had said, cleaning and repairing the dilapidated house. It was much easier than the first time, for Kreacher had finally succumbed to his old age and died while they were in their final year at Hogwarts, therefore, there was no constant interruption in the form of the house elf getting in their way.

Another task of theirs was making two of the many rooms into a library and a training room. Hermione had adopted the make-shift library at once, making herself responsible for organizing it and cataloguing all of the books they had accumulated over the years from Hogwarts, given as gifts, and obtained not so legally, as well as the ones that were already in the house. Hermione used the library to find valuable spells to use against their enemies, trying to find various ways Harry could defeat Voldemort once all Horcruxes had been destroyed, learning beneficial healing charms, and any other information they needed. It wasn’t exactly Hogwart’s library, but there were a good amount of books, including many on Dark Arts. Every once in a while, Harry or Ron would join in her research, but most of the time, the library was where Hermione would seclude herself.

The training room, on the forth floor, was where the three of them spent a major amount of time. It consisted of a weight set, a punching bag, exercise tools on the wall, a cabinet in which a boggart they had named Chaos was kept, and a large empty area that they practiced and perfected numerous defensive and offensive spells, charms, and curses. Moody, who was their trainer, had demanded that they not only show agility and strength mentally, but physically as well. Needless to say, Hermione was about as excited about the “physical” aspect as Ron and Harry was about the “mental”. After many months, days, hours, all three of them had grown to appreciate their training sessions, well, except for those days when Moody would be unsatisfied with their performance and intentionally push them to the point of exhaustion until he was finally pleased.

Hermione had felt sharper and more knowledgeable than ever. Even Ron and Harry showed a more widespread understanding of magic than they ever did in school and developed an ability to quickly think on their feet, a quality that Hermione had yet to completely accomplish, damn nerves. They had become highly proficient in non-verbal incantations, most forms of transfiguration, apparition, and Occlumency. Along with the magical preparation Moody had taught them for war, he also instilled mental readiness in them.

“Don’t get emotional.” He would lecture. “Dramatics don’t belong on the battlefield. Do you think those Death Eaters give a damn about how you’re feeling at that moment? No, they see it as a weakness, an opportunity to take you out. You must harden yourself, you must remain detached, you think only about the task at hand and nothing else.”

In addition to their minds being developed for battle, their bodies had been conditioned as well. They worked out as often as they could, lifting weights, jumping rope, and learning hand to hand combat, “just in case” Moody told them. Harry and Ron, who had both grown a number of centimeters, also became stronger and more athletic, staying lean as they always were, but now it was because of the muscles they had refined, not the cause of genetics or being underfed.

Hermione’s body had also changed. Gone was her little belly, which she had secretly liked, but Moody did not, for he had been fond of poking at it sharply until it vanished. Now her stomach was flat with a faint outline of her abdominal muscles. Her legs and arms had been treated in the same manner. Any amount of baby fat that she had left on her while in her final year at Hogwarts had been burned off. She was toned sinew now, but not disgustingly so, like those female body builders she had seen once on the telly. Hermione had promised herself that once her breasts started to disintegrate, then she was putting her foot down. Thankfully that hadn’t happened yet.

While they weren’t working out or planning strategies, Harry and Ron would disappear for days at a time, sometimes a week or so, in search for the Horcruxes that Dumbledore had told Harry about. Hermione had gone with them twice, a few months ago, but when at both locations, Death Eaters showed up right as Harry had pocketed parts of their master’s soul, and they had to fight for their lives, plain and simple. Although the Killing Curse was being shouted, the three friends had not resorted to using any Unforgivables, but that didn’t change the fact that they did use some significantly dark magic. At the last battle, Hermione narrowly missed being cursed, causing her to fall hard on the ground, which slightly disoriented Harry and Ron, who instantly checked to see if she was okay, forcing them to duck at the last moment in order to avoid being killed. When they finally found a window of opportunity and were able to disapparate, they arrived back at Grimmauld Place bloodied, dirty, and sweaty, but alive and forever changed. All of them had hardened a bit after that day, sure that while they hadn’t exactly used “Avada Kedavra” they had shouted out many “Sectumsempra” curses, and were well aware that there had been a few Death Eaters bleeding to death, perhaps dead, by the time they left. Grateful for Moody’s teachings, the three of them realized that it could have been them instead. After that, Harry and Ron had asked Hermione to not go with them anymore on their hunts for the remaining Horcruxes; they said she was a distraction, that if they got into another battle, they would be too worried about her. Hermione had brought up the fact that she was going to have to fight eventually, but Harry said that the whole Order would be with her, having her back, and he knew that when the time came she would be a better fighter. Hermione had to agree; she didn’t want to be the reason her best friends were hurt or killed.

So instead, Hermione settled on helping them through research and destroying the Horcruxes Harry and Ron returned home with. She also organized the weekly Order meetings they had with all of the members. Of course she couldn’t do anything about the spontaneous gatherings that happened almost every other day, but she did cook dinner at night and fed who ever happened to be at the house at that time. There were some meetings that she didn’t take part in, but that was only because Harry had told her that they were just to catch the other members up on what she already knew, and there was no need for her to be there when she could be doing some valuable research. She figured Ron only went to them because he was sort of like Harry’s second in command.

Glancing down at the open book on her lap, Hermione knew that it was no use trying to read it; it just wouldn’t hold her attention. She had come to the drawing room after dinner that night, intending to take advantage of the few moments of free time granted to her only occasionally. It was the first night in two weeks that she wasn’t researching, training, or taking part in an Order meeting. Harry and Ron were in the training room getting in some extra workouts, and none of the other Order members were coming and going in the Headquarters as they usually did, leaving the house miraculously still.

Normally, Hermione would be immensely enjoying the quiet alone time that had been granted to her, but for some reason she was restless. She couldn’t quite explain it, but the placid atmosphere told her something was about to happen and she just couldn’t put her finger on it. It was for this reason that she couldn’t concentrate on what she had been literally yearning to do once she wasn’t too busy or too exhausted.

Sighing heavily, Hermione shut the book and placed it on the small table next to the sofa. She stood slowly and walked to the middle of the room, stretching her tired bones and muscles sinuously, softly moaning at the pleasurable sensation. Harry, who had taken over their training sessions when Moody was unavailable, pushed her extra hard yesterday, and although she was fit, it didn’t prevent her from still getting sore every once in a while.

Hermione gazed at the large room, taking in the olive green walls and dark green curtains that doxies used to inhabit. It still looked shabby, as the whole house did, but at least it wasn’t as bad as when they had moved in during the summer before fifth year. Her eyes swept the room, examining what, if anything, she needed to take care of. One of the cabinet doors next to the fireplace was falling off the hinges, the furniture should be dusted again, and there were a few cobwebs in the high ceiling’s corners. She could fix those problems in the next few days. She spun on the spot, looking for any thing else she had missed. And then her eyes fell upon it, hanging proudly and taunting her; the Black Family Tree.

While in the room, Hermione’s gaze often, and unwillingly, sought out the tapestry, as though it was silently beckoning to her. She would automatically focus on his name, stitched in shimmering gold thread against the green velvet, mocking her. “Draco Malfoy”. Hermione wrenched her head away quickly, cursing at herself. It never failed, she always found herself looking at it at least once every time she was in this damned room. Stupid piece of ugly fabric! Now she was going to unconsciously think of him, and she hated it when that happened.

It had been 8 months, 3 days, and 5 hours since she had least seen him, and a few days longer since they had spoken, After that morning in the corridor, he didn’t speak to her unless it was absolutely necessary, and his voice was always cool and distant, his unemotional silver eyes never meeting hers. Of course Hermione did not go out of her way to speak to him either, and she delivered her words to him in the same tone of voice he used. She would never give him the satisfaction knowing that he hurt her that day.

Last she heard, he had become a Death Eater straight after arriving home from school, living up to daddy’s expectations and earning Hermione’s instant disappointment and resentment. He had taken the easy way out, made the decision that would ultimately doom him. He had aligned himself with the enemy, became one of them. He had become her adversary, he was who she fought against, he was opposed to everything she stood for, everything she was. And now she hated him just as he hated her.

Bent on distracting herself, Hermione was trying to think of something to do besides reading to keep herself occupied, perhaps going up stairs to the fourth floor and working out with Harry and Ron, when the walls suddenly shook with the unmistakable force and bang of the front door being slammed. As if on cue, Mrs. Black started screaming her painted head off, and Hermione stomped her feet in frustration. Everyone in the Order knew not the slam the door for fear of setting of the bigoted loud-mouth, but obviously someone thought it was beyond them to have a little courtesy. Damn noisy gits!

Hermione dashed out of the drawing room and barged down the stairs, her thundering footsteps being drowned out by Mrs. Black’s shrieks.

“Filth, nothing but filth in my house! Blood traitors, Half-bloods, Mudbloods!”

Stepping off the last stair, Hermione approached the howling portrait, rolling her eyes and closing the flung open curtains while mumbling “Shut up.” Hermione held the rich fabric shut until the shouting had subsided, the ear-piercing screeches leaving their mark on Hermione in the form of a growing headache. When all was quiet again, Hermione made her way down to the kitchen where she suspected the inconsiderate prat who caused the ruckus had gone.

Walking down the set of great stone steps, Hermione begun speaking, not bothering to wait to see who she was addressing.

“What’s the big idea making all that racket? You know Mrs. Black…”

Hermione’s forthcoming words faded into the air when she entered the kitchen and saw two black robed figures, their skull masks resting on the table. The appearance of her former Potions professor, Severus Snape, was not the cause of Hermione’s abrupt muteness, no. It was the other black clad person that had Snape’s arm wrapped around him, supporting him. It was the sight of Death Eater Draco Malfoy in the heart of the Order of the Phoenix headquarters that shocked her.

Within seconds, Hermione withdrew her wand and pointed it at Malfoy while glaring at him coldly. He merely smirked at her, his metallic eyes sparkling at the challenge.

What the hell was going on? Why did Snape bring him here? Is Snape really loyal to Voldemort and they came here to kill her? Where were Ron and Harry? Why hadn’t they come down at the sound of Mrs. Black yelling, an obvious sign an Order member was here? Were they doing something other than working out, something boisterous that absorbed all of their attention? What were those skull masks made out of, Paper Mache? Did Voldemort have them make their own masks? Did they get Arts & Crafts time? Damn it Hermione! No amount of training would ever rid her of the incessant questions that flowed through her head when nervous.

“What the fuck is he doing here?” she asked Snape, her eyes placed unfalteringly on Malfoy.

Instead of answering her, Snape pulled out a chair from the kitchen table and helped Malfoy sit down, his smirk instantly morphing into a pain filled grimace. When Snape was sure that Malfoy was supporting himself, he finally turned his attention to Hermione, her wand still firmly threatening Malfoy, daring him to make a move, his damned smirk in place once again.

Snape cleared his throat impatiently, and when Hermione shifted her steely gaze to him, he rolled his eyes at her, clearly annoyed.

“Miss Granger, I suggest you put your wand down and fetch Potter immediately.”

“No,” Hermione said defiantly, “not until I know why that evil, poor excuse for a human being, piece of shite is here.”

As she said this, Hermione once again stared hatefully at Malfoy, feeling triumphant when his eyebrows rose as he registered what she had called him.

“You were always too curious for your own good.” Snape replied critically. “If you must know, Draco has been a secret member of the Order for some time, and a spy for us as well, much like myself. If you will get Potter down here, I am sure he will explain it to you. Now, if you would do the honors…”

Hermione felt her arm drop slowly as she digested what Snape had just told her. She looked at her former professor disbelievingly, searching his bored expression, his dark eyes for some kind of sign that he was lying, but she knew he wasn’t. He simply crossed his arms across his chest and watched her expectantly, waiting for her to summon Harry. With another glance at Malfoy, whose mocking smirk was now replaced with a boastful leer, she saw him nod his head at her slightly, confirming what Snape had just said. Hermione felt her shock and skepticism fade as she admitted to herself that Snape was telling the truth. Now she could feel fury in her rise as she realized that Harry had lied to her, he had kept secrets from her, he had taken advantage of her trust, and now, he had made her very angry.

“Harry James Potter, get your arse down here this very fucking minute, damn it!” Hermione yelled at the top of her lungs, her demand shaking the walls, causing Snape to shake his head in distaste and Malfoy to produce a cheeky grin. Off in the distance Mrs. Black was screaming again about the contamination of her house.

Hermione heard the sound of two sets of footsteps thundering down the many sets of stairs throughout the house, only pausing on the first floor to mollify Mrs. Black, and then continue down to the kitchen.

Turning to the entrance, Hermione glared as Harry came in first, his unruly black hair tipped with wetness from sweat, his green eyes dancing with amusement, a boyish smile on his face, and his clothes displaying evidence of his workout. Ron followed him, beaming lopsidedly, his appearance resembling Harry except his red hair, which he hadn’t trimmed since leaving Hogwarts much to Mrs. Weasley’s dismay, was in a small ponytail at the base of his neck.

Hermione knew straight away why they were smiling like they were daft. Once they had gotten over hearing it, the loved it when Hermione swore, telling her it was dishy and saucy to hear vulgar profanities coming from their otherwise ladylike best friend. It wasn’t until she went off on them one stressful day for leaving her to clean all of the dinner dishes did they admit that it was also intimidating, and sort of scary sometimes. They finally deduced that she was foul-mouthed only when she was letting her fiery passion get the best of her, such as right now.

When Hermione saw Harry and Ron’s eyes quickly take in the scene in the kitchen and their smiles fade and their expressions become serious, she knew that they discerned what had brought on her colorful choice of words.

“What happened?” Harry asked urgently as he made his way past Hermione to stand in near Snape and Malfoy. Snape answered him in a monotone voice, dripping with contempt as he had to answer to the boy he had despised since first laying eyes upon him.

“We were on a mission and met up with some of the Ministry’s newly appointed Aurors, their new policy being hex now, ask questions later.” It was no secret that the Ministry had adopted a new way of fighting in the war. They had become more volatile and unmerciful, claiming that they would be responsible for the downfall of Voldemort, and not the “vigilantes” that they were fond of calling the Order. Instead of there only being two sides fighting against each other, there was now three, although the Order, who had some Ministry employed members, and the Ministry avoided each other at all costs. Snape continued.

“They got a few Death Eaters subdued, and a particularly nasty cruse caught Draco-”

“It just grazed me.” Malfoy interrupted boldly.

Snape eyed Malfoy sharply, warning him to not defer his explanation, before going on.

“The force of it knocked his hood and mask off, so they must have recognized him, confirming the suspicions they have had of him since he left school. He cannot return to the Manor for it will surely be under surveillance by now. We returned to the Dark Lord before arriving here, and I convinced him that Draco should go into hiding for the time being, so he can heal properly. As far as I am concerned, this is the safest place for him to stay. I also believe that it is time to reveal his position in the Order to the other members, and he should start attending all meetings, not just the private ones.”

“Private meetings?” Hermione questioned, shooting an irate glare at Harry. “The ‘you needn’t worry about this meeting Hermione, it is just a run-down of what you already know. Why don’t you just keep researching and I’ll come get you when we’re done’ meetings?”

Harry looked at Hermione, guilt swimming in his eyes, as he nodded at her, but his face was still set in stone, wearing what he called his “battle mask”.

“Hermione, could you hold off on letting in on me for a moment?” he asked before speaking to Snape again, ignoring Hermione’s huff of outrage.

“What was the mission?”

“We were to obtain certain Dark Arts books that the Dark Lord does not have in his possession from a private office in Diagon Alley; the same books that the Order retrieved a week ago and is currently in your library. The Dark Lord had yet to find they were missing and up until tonight believed they still resided there.”

“And you are not hurt?” Harry asked, his voice strained as though it pained him to ask.

Snape narrowed his eyes at Harry’s question and glared at him before answering.

“Unfortunately no, I escaped unscathed, unlike Draco.”

Harry turned his head and studied Malfoy thoughtfully. Hermione was astonished to see Harry look at him without a hint is mistrust in his eyes. It was quite unnerving and she wasn’t sure she liked it.

“Malfoy, are you hurt badly?”

“I am fine Potter.” Malfoy said, waving his hand dismissively. “Like I said, it just grazed me, my ribs and leg to be exact.”

“Let’s see it then.” Harry told him.

“I would, but I am sure I wouldn’t want to cause Granger to faint at the sight of blood.” He said, his voice mocking Hermione indirectly. “It is well known that Granger is a cream puff, and has probably not been faced with the physical toll war can take on a masculine and brave bloke such as myself.”

“Harry,” she said, refusing to address the arsehole off to her side straightforwardly, “You know I have seen my fair share of blood since the start of this war, so there is no chance I will be swooning when shown a couple of small scratches, which I am sure they are, from a pompous pretty boy who probably cried like a little girl when he received them.”

Harry switched his attention from Hermione, who held it while she was talking, back to Malfoy to see if he had any objections. Malfoy merely shrugged and carefully removed his black robes, wincing as he did so, and revealed a white Oxford shirt and black trousers underneath. The right side of his shirt was soaked with crimson, and Hermione could not help the inaudible gasp that escaped her. It was definitely more than just a scratch. When Malfoy lifted his shirt, he presented them all with a long deep gash that was still bleeding, although not as profusely as it must have been when he first received it. Snape must have casted a quick spell to keep Malfoy from bleeding to death, but was unable to heal it completely. Hermione tore her eyes away from his ivory smooth skin and delectably defined stomach marred with smeared blood, and looked at Harry whose face still remained expressionless.

“Bloody hell. What kind of hex was it?” Harry asked Snape.

“It was actually a Severing Charm.”

“So the Ministry is fighting just as dirty as Voldemort now.” Harry stated roughly.

“Before too long they’ll be using Unforgivables too.” Ron added, speaking for the first time since entering the kitchen.

“Won’t we all?” Harry responded, his eyes growing weary at the knowledge that sooner or later, they would have to use the Death Eater’s spells against them in order to win the war.

Silence descended upon the room, no one speaking. Both Snape and Malfoy must have known what it was like to use Unforgivable curses, the practice being such a huge part of being a Death Eater, and Hermione couldn’t help but wonder if they ever regretted it, what would happen if they refused or only pretended to use them. She already knew, to keep Voldemort and his followers trust, they must have had to take part in casting them, numerous times. Had either of them been responsible for the deaths of those she knew, the injuries of those members of the Order who had the unfortunate opportunity to meet up with a group of Death Eaters? She knew Snape hadn’t hurt anyone in the Order, but what about Malfoy? She knew nothing.

“Sorry to bring down the cheerful mood in here,” said Malfoy sarcastically, breaking the foreboding quiet, “but I do have a gouge on my side and leg that doesn’t exactly tickle.”

“He needs to rest.” Snape told Harry. “He requires some healing potions from my personal stores. I will return momentarily.”

Hermione’s eyes followed Snape as he walked out of the kitchen. Seconds later they all heard the front door open and close, for no one in the kitchen had yet to speak. Hermione was too busy absorbing everything she had just heard, all she had learned in the span of a few minutes to say anything so soon. Of course, she was still incredibly furious at Harry, and she could feel the impact of the whole night just adding to her temper.

“Well,” Harry said, all eyes in the room focusing on him, “I guess you need a bed. We can put you on the third floor; we have an extra room up there. You can have the room across from mine.”

“Fine, but I will not have you sneaking into my room in the middle of the night, desperate for a shag when Weasley here won’t give it up.” Malfoy drawled.

“I’ll try to restrain myself, Malfoy.” Harry replied sardonically. “Ron, you get one side, I’ll get the other, and we’ll help him up the stairs.”

Ron nodded his head and moved to Malfoy’s non-injured left side as Harry helped Malfoy stand and flung Malfoy’s arm around his shoulders for support. Ron copied him and they slowly started walking to the stairs, Hermione’s best friends avoiding her glare as she watched them through narrowed eyes. As they passed by her, only Malfoy’s eyes met hers, and he actually had the nerve to smirk at her yet again.

“Boys.” she called out right as they reached the foot of the stone steps that led to the first floor.

Harry and Ron turned to face her, involuntarily causing Malfoy to do the same. They finally looked at her, both appearing apprehensive.

“After you get Malfoy settled and Snape returns to take care of him, I would like for you two to meet me in the library.” She told them sweetly, but neither boy missed the venomous undertone of her voice.

They both mumbled their affirmation and exchanged a knowing look before they continued their journey up the steps. Hermione knew that now they were well aware of just how pissed off she was, and apparently so did Malfoy.

“You tossers are in so much trouble.” Hermione heard him say, his deep voice full of taunting humor floating down the stairs and enveloping her senses.

* * * * *

Hermione paced the library on the second floor waiting for her two “friends” to arrive with anticipation. She knew that exactly 7 minutes ago Snape had reappeared at Grimmauld Place; arms full of potions, because she saw him swiftly pass by the open door on his way to the next floor. She also knew Harry and Ron were more than likely stalling, probably practicing what they were going to say to her, or just nervous at the idea of incurring her wrath. Hermione snorted. They could only delay the inevitable for so long, and nothing would extinguish her burning anger until she yelled it out.

As her hip bumped the table as she walked into it for what must have been the fifth time, Hermione let out a loud “Fuck!”. Stupid Harry and Ron, it was all their fault that her cherished night off had been ruined and now she was going to have a big ugly purple bruise on her body just because the string of events that happened tonight all started when they lied to her and now she was all frenzied and running into inanimate objects in the middle of the room despite knowing exactly where it was and she was thinking in run on sentences! Damn it and damn them!

Okay, so perhaps seeing Malfoy again had put her on edge more than she was willing to admit. She had accepted the decision he made, understood that he was the enemy, and acknowledged that she may have to fight against him one day. It had been clear and simple that and she never questioned it. But now, in the span on 10 minutes, all that had changed.

But suddenly it wasn’t so incredibly wrong to yearn for him during those long sleepless nights, to fantasize about him when she was alone and aroused, imaging it was him touching her and not herself. She didn’t have to be completely disgusted with herself that she still wanted him even if he was her rival. She no longer had to be so damn frustrated and outraged that her hate only fed the desire that she still felt for him. She had abhorred him, wanted to hurt him, and craved to fuck him. Hermione had come to terms with being a perverted degenerate, as long as she never acted on it. She had learned to live with her abnormal urges and reluctantly confirmed what Malfoy had told her, he was her disease, and she would want him no matter what. It was sickening, dangerous, and undeniably stimulating, but she was safe knowing that the chances of her ever coming into contact with him again were slim, so she thought that her fantasies would stay just that.

And now all that had changed. She had to be in the same house with him, her bedroom was on the same floor, just down the hallway. Hermione knew what she would have to do. She would have to focus on her hate, adopt her own battle face, give nothing away as to what she was really feeling, and only hope that he no longer wanted her as she did him.

The creaking of the boards on the second floor landing announcing Harry and Ron’s arrival brought Hermione out of her reverie. If she was going to reprimand them for what they did, she needed to have nothing else on her mind threatening to distract her. Hermione cleared her head and waited for them to appear.

Harry and Ron entered to room, closing the door behind them, looking sullen and refreshed. Hermione noticed that they had probably taken quick showers and changed before meeting her. Their skin was slightly pink, their hair was dripping beads of water on to their shirts, and the scent of soap assailed her nostrils. Ha! Trying to get on her good side by not being smelly, huh? Well, it wasn’t going to work!

Hermione willed her face to remain unexpressive as she soundlessly pointed to the chairs place around the table. Harry and Ron nodded and sat down without argument. She stared at both of them for a moment, taking in just how much older they looked. They have lived the life of men, but were still boys, only eighteen years old, and yet they carried the burdens of someone twice their age. Hermione felt her heart soften, and her icy exterior melted just a little, but when she saw Harry’s eyes light up with hope, she immediately reverted back. Just because she loved them didn’t mean she still wasn’t very upset.

“Just what in the fucking hell were you thinking Harry?” she yelled suddenly, causing Harry and Ron to slightly jump from surprise.

Harry and Ron looked at each other wide eyed before averting their eyes completely, neither looking at one another or Hermione. It was rare when she would yell at them, so it was understandable that they weren’t quite sure how to handle it. Ron began jiggling his leg under the table in nervousness and Harry started shifting uncomfortably in his seat.

“Fuck it.” Harry mumbled as he put his hand in his pocket and withdrew a pack of cigarettes. He put one in his mouth, lit it, and handed it off to Ron who accepted it thankfully before he lit his own.

During these dark times, the three of them had selected different ways to deal with the stress they were enduring more often then not. For Hermione, it was profanity. There was just something freeing about using words that were considered inappropriate, especially when most people thought her a well-behaved goody-goody. She would cruse, she would put together graphic combinations, and she would even make up variations of the words when it just didn’t seem like enough. Harry and Ron even confirmed that she could cuss better than them at times.

For Ron, it was wanking off. Hermione had suspected it when they had first moved in and Ron was adamant about having his own room, which he would retreat to for about 10 minutes and emerge flushed yet oddly relaxed. At first, Hermione figured it was just hormones, but when he would disappear after an argument or returning from a battle or a hunt for a Horcrux, she realized it was what he did to release his pent up anxiety. Her suspicions were confirmed when she made the mistake of opening his door and walking into his room with out knocking one day and saw him sitting on his bed, his trousers around his ankles, and his hand stroking himself vigorously. The moment Hermione registered what she was witnessing; she fled from the room as quickly as she could while Ron only just noticed that she had intruded upon his “quality time” with himself. They couldn’t look at each other for a week, until Harry, who Hermione was quite sure Ron told about the whole debacle, told them both to get over it. He said it was human nature and everyone did it. Ron laughed a little too hard, Hermione blushed and suppressed the mental image, and all was well again.

Harry’s stress relief was probably the most surprising. A few weeks after leaving school, Harry acquired his first pack of cigarettes, from where Hermione did not know, and since then he was never without one. Initially, Hermione had been disappointed in him, and didn’t fail to tell him so, but when he confided in her that it calmed him down and when she had the responsibility of vanquishing one of the most powerful wizards ever then she could tell him what to do but until that time she could just piss off, Hermione let it go. Harry also relied on working out as an outlet, and could usually be found in the training room after a stressful day.

Eventually Ron added Harry’s comforts to his own. He would often be working out with Harry when not in his room, and could be heard regularly asking Harry for a cigarette. Every once in a while, when she felt on the verge of a nervous breakdown, Hermione would nick a fag from Harry and smoke in between long sentences littered with vulgarities, while Ron and Harry watched and listened to her rant with smiles on their faces.

Hermione watched as the boys took long drags and threw sidelong glances her way, waiting for her to continue berating them.

“So, Malfoy is a member of the Order and is working as a spy for us by being a Death Eater?” Hermione asked even though she already knew the answer. She just wanted to hear Harry confirm it.

“Yes.” He stated simply.

“Since when?”

“About a week before school let out.” Harry told her, avoiding her piercing stare.

Hermione turned her focus from Harry to Ron.

“And you knew about this the whole time Ronald?”

“Yes.” He said quietly.

“And you both have been keeping this from me for 8 fucking months?” Hermione asked, her voice rising with the end of the question.

“Yes.” They both answered simultaneously.

“You two are bloody fucking twats!” Hermione accused, her right index finger pointing at them, convicting them of their crime. “I can’t fucking believe this! If I hadn’t found out tonight, would you ever have told me?”

“Eventually.” Harry said, blowing out smoke and shrugging.

“Fucking brilliant! Why didn’t you tell me?”

Harry looked Hermione in the eyes for the first time that night, revealing his regret. He stubbed out his cigarette in an ashtray before speaking.

“We needed another inside bloke and Malfoy was willing to do it, and we know, given your history with him, and your big caring heart, you would be against it. We, Malfoy and I that is, agreed it would be best if you didn’t know for a while.”

“So you fucking lied to me, kept me in the damned dark, held important information from me, because you and Malfoy, worried about setting off the poor, sympathetic Hermione who wouldn’t understand, became total and complete fucking pricks instead?”

“That’s not fair Hermione.” Ron interjected, standing up, disposing of his cigarette and coming to Harry’s defense.

“Oh shut the fuck up Ron! You are just as much of a fucking arsehole as they are, you fucking enabler! You are both traitorous tossers! ”

Harry pushed his chair out violently and stood up quickly, his emerald eyes ablaze with defiance and power.

“You are overreacting Hermione! We did it for your own good. I am sorry that you feel betrayed, and I am sorry you had to find out this way, but I am not sorry that I didn’t tell you. Malfoy is playing a major part in bringing down Voldemort by giving us crucial knowledge, and the less people that knew about it, the better. We wanted to wait for the right time to tell you, but now you know. It is better this way, finding out now rather than later, because we don’t have to hide anything from you anymore.”

“You never had to Harry.” Hermione said angered more by the harsh tone of Harry’s voice. “I wouldn’t have interfered because I would have known it was an integral part of our victory in this war. I am not as naïve as you think, nor do I care about Malfoy that much. You could have told me, you should have, but instead you led me to believe Malfoy had become a devoted Death Eater. I learned to hate him more than ever; I was prepared to fight him, to maybe even kill him.”

“I should hope so. You did think he was Voldemort’s follower for fuck’s sake.” Ron said jadedly.

“It is just that I had developed that mentality, I was ready to carry out all I had anticipated for, but now it turns out that he is a part of the Order, and a fucking spy for us at that! How am I supposed to feel now? The animosity I have felt towards him for 8 bleeding months isn’t just going to go away. How can I fucking trust him Harry when I barely even did before all this shite?”

“You will just have to learn, like we did.” Harry responded bitingly.

“You have had 8 months to learn to trust him, damn it! 8 months of hiding this from me, of lying to me, of taking advantage of my trust! What in the bloody fucking hell am I supposed to do with that?” Hermione yelled.

“Get the fuck over it, just like Ron and I did!” Harry snapped at her while Ron nodded his head in vigorous agreement, the angry bitterness coating Harry’s words reflected on his face.

Hermione knew they were talking about her and Malfoy’s relationship. Ron had taken it harder than Harry. After he had learned of it that morning in the hallway, Hermione told him all that Harry already knew. Ron called her a liar, a traitor, and a scarlet woman, and then he didn’t speak to her for a month. Of course he had been mad at Harry as well, but he was on speaking terms with him after a few days, where as he treated her like a stranger, a mere person he had chosen to ignore. Hermione had never been more devastated. Recalling the memory, she figured that what she was experiencing right now must have been how Ron felt. Hermione knew she was being a hypocrite.

Sobering at the thought, Hermione sighed deeply and sat down in the chair she was standing in front of. Harry and Ron did the same, and when they were all seated around the table, Harry retrieved his pack of smokes again, passed one to Ron and got another one for him.

“Can I have one of those?” Hermione asked, pointing to the lighted up cigarette.

“Sure.” Harry said, extracting another one and igniting it for Hermione before giving it to her.

“Thanks.”

The three of them sat in silence for a moment, smoking and avoiding each other’s eyes. They hadn’t argued like that in years, hell, she couldn’t remember the last time they had yelled at her or when she had been so furious at them. Hermione knew that although they went about it the wrong way, they really did have her best interests at heart. Maybe 8 months ago, before Hermione had become hardened by war and blood and death, she would have tried to put a stop it Harry’s plan. She knew the danger that went along with being a spy, as well as the consequences of what would happen had Malfoy been found out by Voldemort, and she would never wish that upon anyone, well not then anyways.

Harry and Ron loved her just as much as she loved them, and they hadn’t meant to piss her off so royally. Was that why she could never stay mad at them for more than a day? Damn human emotions. Hermione was beginning to think Moody had the right idea by teaching her to chuck them into the bin when it was called for.

“Okay Harry, Ron.” She said softly, bringing their attention back to her. “I suppose I understand why you kept this from me. I am still pissed off, and you better make it up to me, but you are forgiven. I guess you could say we are even. Just don’t ever do anything like that to me again. Promise?”

“I promise.” Said Harry, who was now smiling.

“Yeah, me too.” Added Ron happily.

“Okay, good.” Hermione stated as she stood and put out her cigarette. “Now, I am going to try and salvage what is left of my night off and you two should do the same.”

The boys chuckled softly and each placed a kiss on her cheek as they passed her on the way to the door. Ron opened it and made to leave, but not before glancing back at Hermione, his blue eyes shining brightly.

“I do love it when you swear Hermione, even when you are yelling at me.” He told her.

Hermione laughed lightly.

“Fuck off Ron.” She replied, smiling.

Ron laughed again and left the room, leaving Hermione alone with Harry, who was now looking at her with serious curiosity. Was there even such an expression? Hermione supposed that with Harry, there was no telling.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” she asked him.

“I am just thinking about something Malfoy said.”

“Tonight?”

“No,” he said, “it was when we were still at school, after he approached me about being in the Order.”

“What did he say?” Hermione asked quizzically.

“Well, he said that if you two were ever going to shag again, you would, and I couldn’t do anything to stop it.”

“Oh Harry…” she started.

“Wait,” he said, holding up his hand, halting her, “I suppose he is right, but that doesn’t mean that I am okay with you having it off with him again. I would rather you didn’t. Just because he is in the Order, and I trust him, doesn’t mean I fancy him or the idea of you two being together.”

“Nothing is going to happen.” Hermione reassured him, hoping to reassure herself as well.

“I sure as hell hope not, but you are going to be under the same roof with him, your room is near his, and he is a slimy git who only thinks of himself, so I can’t help but wonder. Can you honestly say nothing is going to happen, Hermione?” he asked, his gaze searching hers, pleading with her.

Hermione wanted to tell him she could, but something inside her, the part of her that told herself she would never lie to her friends again, wouldn’t let her.

“No, as unlikely as it is, there is always that one little chance.” she said quietly.

Harry nodded and smiled at her. He walked to the door, and right before he stepped out, he turned to Hermione once more.

“Please try your damnedest, for mine and Ron’s sake. And if anything does happen, I don’t want to know about it.”

After Harry left the room, Hermione sighed, wishing she had gotten another fag from Harry. No amount of cussing was going to calm her nerves tonight.

Hermione retreated from the library and returned to the drawing room and her discarded book. She settled down on the couch comfortably, preparing to read, but as soon as she started on the first sentence, she knew it was a lost cause.

Hermione devised a plan instead. She would be civil to Malfoy, but that was it. She would avoid him as much as she could, not seek him out. She would heed Moody’s lesson, and leave her emotions out of it. She would be detached and think of nothing else but what the moment required of her. If he wanted to shag her again, she wouldn’t let him, her desires be damned. She owed it to Harry and Ron, and she owed it to herself. No matter how much she wanted, and fucking hell did she want, she wouldn’t give into him, she wouldn’t weaken…she hoped.


* * * * *

A/N~ Okay, so I know not much happened in this chapter, it was sort of a transition chapter. Please don’t be angry, it had to be done. I tried to give you all something good. Did it work? At first I wasn’t happy with the way this chapter had turned out, but then I reconfigured a few things, rewrote a more than a few lines, and now I am completely satisfied with it.

One thing I wanted to point out, the reasoning behind naming the boggart in the cabinet Chaos. Well, Chaos was a Greek primordial that was a non-gendered deity of nothingness from which all else sprang. Pretty fitting right? Did anyone else get that?

I hope you liked the chapter. What will happen in the next one? Muhahaha, I guess you will just have to wait to find out. You have my word that it will be worth the wait!

*Blows Kisses*

Roberta