He looked over at her, and his expression grew vicious and disdainful. His eyes were glittering. “Since that wasn't a plausible reason, I had to come up with something I'd ostensibly want from the Order. So — a pardon. But I knew that would hardly be believable either. I knew I'd need a contact; choosing a girl and acting like I had some sort of interest seemed like a pragmatic solution. A way to play into the Death Eater narrative.” He gave a thin smile. “But most witches in the Resistance were too much of a risk; hot-headed and out in the field so often there was a good chance they'd get picked up in a skirmish, and I'd either get my cover blown or I'd be cycling through contacts constantly.”
He swallowed and his mouth twisted. “Then I remembered you. I thought for years that you'd died, but Snape reported you were the Order's healer. When you occurred to me, I thought I'd found the perfect solution. You were kept in safe houses; there wouldn't be much risk of you being picked up or killed, and you were pragmatic enough that you'd go along if you thought you were saving your friends. It
He sneered. “As if I would have betrayed the Dark Lord for a chance to own you,” he said, rolling his eyes. “I knew they'd send you with instruction to try to make me fall for you — to assure my services and ensure I wouldn't tire of you or change my mind. But — I figured, you'd been such a bitch back in school, and you'd hate me so much for killing Dumbledore, I was sure you wouldn't succeed. I honestly thought it would be funny to see you try.”
He stared down at the floor.
“But you did — you outmanoeuvered me,” he said. “Or maybe I was just too tired and grieving to keep pushing you away. It hardly matters. You won.”
He sank down against the wall and shut his eyes.
Hermione studied him skeptically as she pulled the rest of her clothes back on. She wasn't sure what angle he was trying to play with this — concession? Confession?
The part about her was believable enough. It fit with everything she'd noted about him. But she was doubtful of his claim that his mother was his true impetus. She'd considered the possibility countless times and dismissed it.
“Really? You switched sides because your mother died?” She snorted loudly with disbelief as she stood up. “Her death was hardly your master's fault. And what? Before that you just ascended his ranks by accident? Didn't really notice for five years and then oh — golly, what? The anniversary of her death passed, and you got so melancholy you couldn't help but reach out to us?”
She was baiting him. She was sure it would piss him off. Maybe — if she goaded him enough, he'd actually tell the truth for once.
His eyes snapped open, and he grew pale with rage. “Fuck you, Granger.”
Hermione flinched. The skin on her back and shoulders felt scratched raw in places, and her lower abdomen ached faintly. She could feel his semen pooling in the fabric of her knickers, and there was a stinging sensation between her legs. She swallowed and forced herself to ignore it.
“You are a Death Eater,” she said coolly, crossing her arms as she stared down at him. “Do you expect me to forget what you've done? To imagine you became so high ranking because of that delightful personality of yours? You killed Dumbledore. You've murdered my friends. You torture people to death. And what? You think invoking your mother changes that? It's not a matter of having an expiration date on grief. If you expect us to believe you blame it on your master, perhaps you shouldn't have spent an extra year supporting him before deciding to come around to our side. After you started this war. After you
He stared at her, his face twisted with fury as he reached down and ripped open the sleeve covering his left arm. Exposing the stark, black tattoo there.
“Do you even know why I have this?” he asked, his teeth flashing as he sneered at her. “Did you ever stop to think why?”
He stood up and stalked across the room toward her. “After you and your friends had my father thrown into Azkaban, the Dark Lord went to my house.” Hermione's eyes widened as he continued. “I wasn't even home from school yet. When I got there, he was waiting for me. He had my mother in a cage, in our drawing room. He'd been torturing her for nearly two weeks.”
His breathing was ragged and uneven. “Do you think it's a choice when the Dark Lord tells you to take his mark? You sold yourself to save the people you care about. Well, so did I. Did you expect me fail intentionally as a Death Eater when I wasn't even the one who would suffer for it? Killing Dumbledore and climbing the ranks was the only way to get her out.”
Hermione felt herself grow pale. “I didn't know.”