The Unfortunates

Ah! Finally an update, right?

Now, a small notice: We’re closing in on the deadline for our movie, so from tomorrow (Friday) and onwards we’ll actually be sleeping on location, focusing on nothing but our film for over a week, which means I won’t have access to a computer and won’t be able to update (nor write) any new chapters for a short while... Don’t know quite how long it’ll take, but I’ll try to have chapter eighteen up at least within the next two weeks! But just so you know, and of course this story will never be abandoned. :) I promise on my dear, beloved brother’s soul! (He means the world to me, so I think you’re safe.)

In any case, that’s why I updated today, so you’d at least get one more chapter before I left for filming. Well, okay, on with it, then...

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CHAPTER EIGHT: BRUISED CONSEQUENCES


“Oh, dear...” Barrette didn’t sound as though she was genuinely concerned at all. “That does look bad, my sweet... Oh, it would probably be best if you just took tonight off and stayed in your room, waited for those to calm down a bit... We can’t have you revealed as a beaten up girl just because a glamour charm might fail during an encounter now, can we?”

Hermione felt that “beaten up” was a bit of an exaggeration, but chose not to comment it.

“Alright, Lilly,” she sighed, her hand lighting touching the nasty bruises as she watched herself in the mirror. It really wasn’t pretty... Draco Malfoy’s finger marks had pressed firmly into her skin, leaving in their trail a series of nasty, red-bluish marks all around her neckline.

“I’ll have someone bring you up some supper,” said Barrette, standing from her chair to leave.

“Oh, there was one thing,” said Hermione just as her “employer” was about to leave.

“Yes?”

“If – if a man named Tiberius Granger shows up and wants to see me, he’s welcome to,” said Hermione, hesitantly. “I’m certain he won’t mind the bruises.”

Lilly Barrette quirked a drawn eyebrow. “Just so keen to see you, is he?”

Hermione shrugged.

“This, my dearest,” said Barrette, “is why you are up here on the top floor, whereas your friend Mandy is on the first.”

And with those words, she left the room.

Hermione threw herself back on the bed.

She should have been grateful, really – she wouldn’t have to put herself on display down in the bar until her bruises were faded, and that was something – but the whole affair had really shook some sense into her.

This “Tiberius Granger”... There was no kidding with what that man was up to. Thanks to him, Hermione now looked as though someone had tried to strangle her. And if she’d said the wrong thing earlier that morning, Malfoy might have ended up doing exactly that – who knew when it came to that lunatic?

This was serious business, what she’d agreed to do for the cloaked stranger. It had seemed so sensible at the time, agreeing to gather information about Malfoy in return for small “tokens of his gratitude”, but now it all seemed very irresponsible and daring.

She was already number three on a list of Wizarding Britain’s most wanted wizards, for gods’ sake – did she really need more hanging over her?

If she asked Malfoy questions again, he would know she was up to something. And then the hands reapplied around her neck wouldn’t leave in time for her to draw her next breath... She’d be dead, she knew it.

Yet... If she didn’t continue to spy on Malfoy, then Tiberius Granger’s ministrations would come to an end. She had no doubt he wouldn’t do a thing for her if she had no information to offer; he had pulled back every time she had answered a question inadequately during their last encounter.

And she craved his touch so much... Hell, she needed it. Nowadays, that had become what little there was of optimism in her life: the thought of him returning to give her a few hours of enjoyment. Hermione so rarely saw Mandy these days too, because of their different status, and she so desperately craved decent company...

Her hand jumped to the bruises again, feeling their soreness. It was real agony; Malfoy hadn’t taken lightly to her questioning. Luckily, she’d distracted him with just the right weapon: His ego. That was all, really, that had stood between her and potential death. The gods knew the Dark Lord and his Death Eaters didn’t take kindly to people who pried too much in their affairs.

--

Gavril made his way slowly into the library. He was really dreading this. If it hadn’t been for that very persuasive British girl, Tonks, he would probably never have done this. But she’d insisted he should try and fix things, and he’d fought a losing argument, really.

Professor Severus Snape was sitting by his desk, working his way through what looked like piles upon piles of books. He looked so intimidating and brilliant where he sat; Gavril was certain this would be a real catastrophe. He didn’t feel comfortable around this man at all.

What did Gavril have to offer, after all? He was just a poor, lost boy, expelled from school by Karkaroff himself, and he’d only gone to Britain with the hopes that here, at least, he could be of some use.

Though sadly, so far he’d only messed it all up. And now Tonks had managed to convince him that this Professor Snape would forgive him if he just apologized properly, man to man.

He approached with caution, treading as silently as he could by fear of that he might disturb the Professor.

“Excuse me – eh – sir?” he said finally.

Snape’s head snapped up and he spotted Gavril. He looked thoroughly annoyed by the realization of who was disturbing him.

“You did not knock,” he said, turning his attention back to the books.

Damn.

“No, I’m sorry, sir, I probably should have –”

“Indeed.”

“I didn’t mean to disturb you –”

“The damage has already been done, hasn’t it, Gavril?”

Gavril sighed. Okay, this wasn’t going to be easy. But gods, he so wanted this man to think he was up to the challenge! Gavril knew he could help defeat You-Know-Who, he simply knew it. All he needed was a proper chance.

That was actually a rather good argument, he decided.

“I’m really sorry about what I did, sir,” said Gavril, gathering all of his courage, “but I only wanted to prove my worth. All I need is a proper chance.”

The Professor turned his gaze back to Gavril then, raising an eyebrow.

“A proper chance, you say?” he repeated, then got to his feet, slamming his latest book shut. “Very well, Gavril, I shall give you that proper chance. Hopefully you will prove more to be useful than you have so far.”

“Oh – thank you, sir,” said Gavril, truly appreciative. “What – what am I to do?”

“You are to accompany me tonight,” said Snape. “I am returning to House of Lilly Barrette’s, and being as paranoid as I am I should rather like to have someone stand guard and be on the outlook for Death Eaters while I – while I conduct my business. Seeing as how you have already shown your face there...”

“Understood, sir,” sighed Gavril, cowering at the mention of his earlier mistake.

“Good,” said Professor Snape. “Prove yourself worthy at that, and I might give you a more challenging task for next time.”

“Thank you,” said Gavril, his heart lightening just a bit at this.

Perhaps Tonks had been right – perhaps all Professor Snape wanted was a little more apparent respect shown. She’d said he was a sensitive man, despite his stern exterior, and that he didn’t take lightly to “newbies” who thought they could do better than him.

Gavril had never thought that, exactly, but he had thought that he at least was as capable as Professor Snape in working for the light; that he could contribute just as much. Perhaps he’d been wrong, then.

Of course Snape had had more experience, this much he knew. And according to rumours he’d heard about the man, he held practically no morals either and was as such not held back by them.

Gavril nodded determinedly to himself as he watched the Professor leave the library.

He was going to do well tonight – and show Snape the proper respect. He’d be a hero, too, just like Potter and the others, if he just fought hard enough. He could do that.

He hurried off through the great estate in search of Mariana. He found his Bulgarian companion seated by a desk, flipping through pages of what looked like names of Death Eaters.

“Mariana,” he said, “guess what!”

“What?” she asked, looking up from her papers at him.

“Me and Severus are going out spying tonight; he’s in desperate need of a hand, and apparently I was just the man for the job!”

--

It wasn’t until half past seven that evening that someone actually thought of bringing Hermione some food, as Barrette had promised they would.

It was Hailie who entered her room, carrying a tray of food and grinning happily.

“Got yourself a few nasty marks there, Mira,” she said as she sat the plate down on Hermione’s desk.

Hermione, who last had eaten during her meeting with Barrette just before lunch time, quickly jumped from her bed and reached for the plate of sandwiches.

“I should have been here earlier,” said Hailie, shrugging, “but I’ve been a bit busy. Loads of people having an early drink, what with it being Saturday and all...”

“No worries,” said Hermione, downing a glass of pumpkin juice.

“So...” Hailie lingered by the door, glancing frequently at Hermione’s bruises. “How d’you get them, anyway?”

“I thought Lilly told you,” said Hermione, looking up.

“Nah, she just said you’d been bruised.”

“Well, it was your adorable Mr. Malfoy.”

“Oh, he’s not my adorable Mr. Malfoy,” said Hailie dismissively, taking a seat next to Hermione. “He was downright rude to me that last time in the bar, remember?”

“Well, better get used to that,” said Hermione. “He’s rather full of himself.”

Hailie was quiet for a moment. Then, as she seemed to have gathered enough courage to ask her question, she said, “So, really – why did he do it?”

Hermione sighed. She couldn’t exactly tell Hailie the real reason, but she couldn’t downright lie either... There were a lot of wrong answers to this question.

“He just got carried away,” she settled for at last.

“Oh,” smiled Hailie, “that’s not so unusual. Just tell him to be more careful in the future. I’ll leave you to eat in peace,” she added, and got to her feet again.

“Thanks,” said Hermione absentmindedly, now turning to her last sandwich.

Hailie opened the door and appeared for a moment to be peering down the corridor. She looked back to Hermione.

“Hey, Mira, I just had this thought... Remember the bloke you told Lilly about; the bloke who wouldn’t mind seeing you the way you look now?”

“Yes?”

“He’s here.”

Hermione felt her stomach do a small lurch – he was back!

“Well, you’d better let him in then.”

Hermione saw Hailie step aside, and seconds later “Tiberius Granger” entered the room, cloaked and disguised as ever. Behind him, however, followed a small man, who was younger too and not cloaked at all...

It was the Bulgarian who’d spoken to her the night before.

“Mira,” said Tiberius Granger silkily. “I believe you remember Gavril?”

The younger man – who apparently was named Gavril – rose a hand discreetly behind “Tiberius’” back.

“Hi,” he said breathlessly.

The cloaked one shot him what had to be a nasty glare – Hermione couldn’t tell for sure, because she couldn’t see his face – then whispered a few words into Gavril’s ear. Gavril gave a quick nod, cast a last glance at Hermione and then left again, closing the door behind him.

The stranger stepped further into the room, scanning it without any apparent interest.

“Barrette mentioned to me that you had a visit from Draco Malfoy last night.”

“Yes,” sighed Hermione, her hand jumping instinctively to her bruises. “He was here.”

The stranger turned to look at her then, and took a few steps forwards before freezing dead on the spot. Hermione knew he must have spotted the bruises.

“And Malfoy did this to you?” he asked quietly.

Hermione nodded.

“Tell me, Mira,” he whispered, “how stupid are you?”

Her gaze jumped to the shadows that hid his face, shocked. “I beg your pardon?”

“When I suggested you try and obtain information from young Mr. Malfoy, I did not suggest that you downright ask him and thus have that beautiful body of yours wrecked now, did I?” His voice was harsh.

Well, two could play at that game – how dared he snap at her like that, after she’d agreed to help him without practically knowing anything about him or his purposes? She was doing him a favour, and at her own risk at that, the least he should do was to show a bit of gratitude!

“For your information,” snarled Hermione, getting to her feet, “I didn’t ask him! He began the conversation himself! I just let him talk, but eventually he seemed to think it was unnatural that I seemed at all interested!”

Okay, so maybe that was a bit of a half-lie... She had actually asked him a few questions, but only after he’d – as she’d said – begun the conversation himself.

“And he physically assaulted your neck as a result of that?” barked Tiberius.

“He’s Draco Malfoy!” exclaimed Hermione. “Of course he did!”

The stranger seemed to calm at this – he didn’t reply at once, but in stead took a few steps closer to Hermione, reaching out a hand to gently touch the marks on her throat.

“It’s not pretty,” he commented darkly; mostly, it seemed, to himself.

“I know,” sighed Hermione. “That’s why Lilly won’t have me downstairs tonight. Usually everyone works on Saturdays, but she didn’t want to show this to people.”

“Yet I was allowed up.”

“Well, I figured it was another story with you.”

He raised his head from watching her throat to her face, and she could just make out his dark eyes observing hers.

“Why?” he asked.

“Well, you’re not really here for the same reason as the rest of the men down there, so you wouldn’t care about whether or not I was bruised, that’s not what you are interested in...”

“You told Lilly Barrette this?”

Hermione laughed. “Gods, no! Of course not. I just told her you wouldn’t care.” She paused, then asked him, “What’s that Bulgarian man doing here, by the way? Who is he?”

“Gavril wanted to come along,” replied the stranger, ignoring her second question. “You should avoid giving Draco Malfoy a chance to hurt you again.”

Hermione nodded.

Tiberius Granger stepped over to her desk, placing a rather large sack of Galleons there. “Did you find out anything at all?”

“I did,” nodded Hermione. “He started babbling when he found out he was late, and he was just ranting on...” She sat down on the bed, focusing on the conversation she’d had with Malfoy, rubbing her temples forcefully.

“He said something about a new project he was working on with his father... I think he called it the Wizard’s Chase –”

“What does that mean?” the stranger shot in.

“I don’t know,” replied Hermione, frowning. “It consists of a series of curses and potions, but I don’t know what it’s for. Draco said the Dark Lord was eagerly awaiting progress, but that it was difficult work and that they were working double what they normally are to get it together.”

Tiberius nodded.

“This is good work, Mira,” he said, getting to his feet again. “If you ever get the chance of doing so without being hurt in the process, please try to find out more about this.”

Hermione nodded.

“Now,” she said slowly, “were you planning on telling me what you need all this information for?”

He simply looked at her.

“Well,” she said, “am I supposed to just go on feeding you information without having a clue about who you are? You could be working for anyone as far as I’m concerned! For all I know, I could be in much worse trouble with you than I am with Malfoy.”

He stepped over to her, so close to she could almost make out his face from underneath the hood’s shadows.

“Now, now. That’s not possible,” he said silkily. “And you can trust me.”

Somehow – Hermione had no idea how – she practically knew she could trust him. She felt as though his eyes, those very dark, emotionless eyes, were telling her he was being earnest. There was not a trace of dishonesty in them.

Or perhaps this man was just very well trained in lying.

“Now,” he said, one hand reaching up to caress her cheek, “I believe I owe you thanks...”

She smiled then, leaning into his warm touch and for the moment forgetting all about whether or not she should trust him. She could worry about that later, couldn’t she? Right now, she was with one of the few positive things left in her life, and she wasn’t about to throw that moment away.

Sadly, she was forced to.

With a loud bang, the door to her room flew open, and Gavril the Bulgarian rushed in with a frightened look on his face.

“Professor!” he panted. “That man – er – Malfoy – on his way up – now – got to hurry –”

“Fuck,” muttered Tiberius, quickly turning his attention back to Hermione.

“We must hurry – is there some other way out than down the staircase?” he whispered urgently.

“Er – there’s a private way out for the girls,” she answered, “on the other end of the corridor. Just use alohomora on the door, it’s usually locked.”

He nodded, then rushed off out into the corridor, gesturing for Gavril to join him.

“Oh, wait!” said Hermione suddenly, stopping Gavril just as he was about to follow.

“I forgot to tell him – tell, er, tell ‘Tiberius’ from me that the Wizard’s Chase is developed by a man named Claude! His last name begins with an A – that’s all I know –”

“I’ll tell him,” nodded Gavril, then rushed off after Tiberius.

Seconds later, none other than Lucius Malfoy – Lucius, not Draco, Hermione realized with horror – was standing in Hermione’s doorway.

“Mira,” he said, grinning nastily. “I can’t help it, I’ve missed you.”

“Mr. Malfoy?” she said nervously.

What did he know? Why was he here now, of all times?

Hermione hadn’t hesitated for a second in helping Tiberius and Gavril escaping; she would always help whoever was fleeing from a Malfoy. The question was: Did he know about her spying on his son?

The answer, as she soon found out, was no.

“I was told downstairs that you would not be seeing anyone today,” said Mr. Malfoy lazily, leaning against the doorframe. “But then a very sweet young brunette in the bar told me that you were in the company of one certain Mr. Granger, and I just couldn’t help but grow curious... So, where is this mystery man?”

“There’s no Granger here,” said Hermione without hesitation. “You must be mistaken, Mr. Malfoy.”

He stepped into the room, eyeing her hungrily.

“You’ve obtained a few new... marks since we last met,” he noted, spotting her bruises.

“It’s no big deal,” she said quickly. “Doesn’t hurt much.”

“Good,” drawled Mr. Malfoy. “Then you are not too wounded to spend a bit of time with your favourite client.”

Hermione raised an eyebrow, hesitantly.

Mr. Malfoy slammed the door shut, smirking.

“Why, me, of course.”


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A/N: There we are... What do you think? Thanks so much to my beta JessiokaFroka, and of course all my brilliant reviewers! Love you; couldn\'t keep it up without feedback after all...!