Lord Voldemort
Her spy training instantly clicks into place. Hermione doesn’t react.
Granger. Malfoy tries again.
Hermione feigns the most innocent, confused expression.
Frowning, Malfoy releases her and falls back, his face impassive and cold as the mask he wore.
“ArchGeneral, what have you brought me?” Voldemort’s voice booms down the hall.
Hermione stiffens imperceptibly. It’s hard not to flinch in the presence of Lord Voldemort.
Draco Malfoy pales slightly. He doesn’t know who Hermione is. What she is. He isn’t prepared for Voldemort’s questioning. Hermione drugged him and burrowed his Dark Mark for her own scheme. Voldemort would deem him careless. Unfit to be the ArchGeneral.
“My Lord.” Hermione curtsies. She knows she looks like a daughter of darkness. In the green and black. “It is an honor.”
She is lifted into midair.
She quells the panic. This is only the beginning. It will get harder and more dangerous each passing day. Dumbledore had faith in her. Snape has protected her and guided her. Somewhere out there, Ron is missing her, and her parents are alive. They all depend on her. On this to be convincing.
In the periphery of her vision, Malfoy shuffles his feet.
On the long table, Nagini perks up her head.
“Interesting. Interesting.” Voldemort rasps, his eyes two bottomless slits.
She worried about Nagini identifying her through her scent, but Snape said her body has changed and deteriorated so much that her scent wouldn’t be recognizable. She asked Virginia about this. The Himalayan viper broke out of her regular reticence and assured Hermione that Nagini wouldn’t be able to expose her.
On either side of the table, silence has fallen among the Death Easters.
Perhaps it’s rare for Voldemort to find something interesting. And to say it twice aloud. Bellatrix finally looks up from her glass half-filled with a red liquid. Hermione hopes it isn’t bloody. Dolohov’s gaze emanates a hunger that brings back Snape’s warning about being a broodmare. Yaxley and Rookwood sit straight as ramrods, silently waiting.
“Who are you, girl?”
“My Lord, I am a descendant of Salazar Slytherin.” Hermione says it again in Parseltongue.
A collective intake of breath slithers across the room.
The Parseltongue would be hissing and seething to everyone but her and Voldemort. Bellatrix leaps from her seat, those shadowy eyes bulging, her protruding chest heaving wildly.
Hermione hears Malfoy taking a step back. Now he can be sure she isn’t Hermione Granger.
Another test awaits, and she is ready.
“Legilimens!”
A yowl is ripped out of her. Voldemort’s legilimency is as painful as Nagini’s bites. She thrashes in the air, losing track of time. She almost begs.
Voldemort only sees what she wants him to see. Snape has taught her well. Her mind is even more unbreakable than when Malfoy performed legilimency on her months ago.
All these years, she has remolded herself for this exact moment. Dumbledore was the mastermind. Snape is the teacher. And she is the executioner. Their plan will tip the scale of this war.
As the legilimency recedes, Hermione slumps on the floor, her limbs spasming. No one helps her up.
“Very well.” Voldemort says in Parseltongue.
Face down and sprawling, Hermione’s lips curl.
“Well done, ArchGeneral. I shall overlook your indiscretion.”
Hermione pushes herself up. Behind her, Malfoy bows.
Voldemort turns his attention back to her. “Did you inherit your last name from your Muggle father?”
She contorts her face in all the disgust she can manage. She’ll get better at it. “Unfortunately, my Lord. As you’ve seen, he died in my hands.”
“Yes. How about a new name? A noble family name. Black.”
Hermione didn’t expect this. This would surely anger Bellatrix. She doesn’t want to make an enemy of that woman.
Bellatrix whips her head to Voldemort, entreating him, “My Lord! We don’t know where this filthy girl comes from!”
“Do you doubt my legilimency, Bella?”
Bellatrix bleats, slouching and sliding into her chair, “My Lord…”
“ArchGeneral, make Miss Black acclimatized to your manor. You are dismissed.”
Bellatrix’s eyes bore into Hermione, promising violence. Dolohov intensely studies Hermione one last time before Malfoy grabbing her wrist and Apparating away.
“Who are you?”
The second when they stand on solid ground, Malfoy has his wand thrusted upon Hermione’s throat like a sword.
Hermione scans her surroundings. Speckless marble tiles, polished mahogany cabinets, paintings with just the background and no animated figures, and the gargantuan chandelier bleached as the moon. It’s morning, but the curtains are drawn, the chandelier the only source of light, coloring everything a ghastly white.
“It’s none of your business, ArchGeneral.” Hermione says expressionlessly.
Malfoy sneers, his teeth flashing. “Answer me, Miss Black. When I read your mind, you hid your Parseltongue. You’re very good at Occlumency. Good enough to deceive the Dark Lord?” He pokes her with his hand. “What other secrets are you hiding?”
“Where’s my room?” She asks softly, “Or are you defying the Dark Lord’s order?”
He regards her for a moment, slowly withdrawing his wand, his lithe body still in a predatory, lethal stance.
“No. I will not.” Malfoy gives her a cruel, appraising look. “Whatever you’re shielding in your mind, I will find out. Aunt Bella has her eyes on you now. You don’t want to pique my interest.”
Hermione offers him a saccharine smile. Malfoy tenses, his eyes brazenly roaming on her face, as if looking for some vestige of what lies underneath. Her blood chills. No, she’s overthinking this.
Why did he call her Granger? Snape said the scars and her physical deterioration have made her beyond recognition. Malfoy can’t possibly see through it. Maybe she should cut her hair, just to muddle her features even more, though Nagini’s venom has already discolored it. She’s been unwilling to change her bushy hair, the only thing she keeps since the graveyard.
She doesn’t look away. Or show any weakness. “My room, ArchGeneral.”
Malfoy turns on his heel, his cloak sundering the air.
Minutes ago, Hermione couldn’t fathom living with Malfoy. Yes, her cover demands her to get close to Voldemort’s Inner Circle, and being in the Malfoy Manor is a coincidence. A nuisance that has caught her off guard. But why did Voldemort put her with the ArchGeneral? Why did he bestow the Black family name on her? To rein in Bellatrix? Malfoy hasn’t been the ArchGeneral for long. Having her on Malfoy’s side would strengthen him against Bellatrix and the old Death Eaters. Malfoy will threaten Bellatrix’s influence once he becomes stronger. Is Voldemort planning to transfer more power to Malfoy?
Hermione will have to ally herself with someone within the Death Eaters. Would Malfoy be a wise choice? When she gets a chance to contact Snape, she should ask him about this.
“Your room.” Malfoy says unceremoniously. He can’t be pleased at a new occupant in his own home.
She caresses her snake carcanet, and Virginia wiggles alive. The viper drapes around her neck, flicking her tongue at Malfoy. He seems more bemused now, his brows knitted.
“She is Virginia.” Hermione says. Virginia lunges forward. Malfoy doesn’t budge, slightly bored as the forked tongue of a venomous viper is a breath away from him. She warns, “Virginia, play nice.”
This entire time, Malfoy’s eyes don’t leave Hermione. Unmoving and glacial, an iceberg amid the dark ocean.
“The Dark Lord will Mark you. Imminently. Do you have a steady hand for the Killing Curse, Miss Black?” His voice is deliberate, quiet and deadly as the Curse itself.