Hermione stared.
“—to warm my cold heart,” he said leering. “A memory to keep me motivated.”
“What do you want?” she asked in a stiff voice. She started mentally calculating likely options. Maybe he'd make her strip. Or suck him off — she'd never done it before, she'd surely be terrible. Or come on her face. Or maybe he wanted her to stand there and let him curse her. Or just get to backhand her across the face in retribution for third year.
“You don't sound very enthusiastic,” Malfoy said. "I'm offended, truly."
Hermione tried to restrain herself from glaring at him.
“Would you like me to kiss you or just stand here and let you hex me?” she inquired in the most demure tone she could manage.
Malfoy gave a barking laugh. “My goodness, Granger. You are desperate.”
“I'm here. I assumed that was obvious.”
“So true,” he said nodding. “Well, I'm all dueled out for today. Let's see if that mouth of yours is capable of doing anything but talking.”
Hermione thought she might vomit, and the revulsion must have shown on her face. Malfoy smiled cruelly.
“Kiss me,” he said in clarification. “As a demonstration of your sincerity.”
He smirked at her, and didn't move. He just stood there, waiting for her to approach him.
Hermione's whole body felt drenched with cold terror at the thought of reaching out and touching him. Of having him touch her with those cold, pale, murderous hands of his.
Of pressing her mouth against his.
Standing near him without having her wand pointed at his heart felt as vulnerable as exposing her throat to wolf.
She hesitated. “How do you want me to kiss you?” she inquired.
“Surprise me,” he said, shrugging.
Surprise him. Well, that was an opening; an opportunity she had to capitalise on. She analysed him quickly.
He was goading her. The entire conversation seemed to be intentionally trying to make her angry with him. To see her writhe under the power he had over her. This kiss was probably intended to seal her animosity.
He expected her to be resistant and proud, unable to squash her hatred; so he could trick her into fueling her own punishment and keep her distracted by her emotions.
She couldn't give it to him.
She steeled herself. She would not lose.
She drew closer to him, studying his face carefully.
She had never been so close to him before. For someone so “eager” for her, he didn't look it. His irises were contracted. His eyes mostly grey. He seemed — amused.
The coil of fear in her spine felt like a needle being driven down her back. Her heart was beating so forcefully it felt as though it were bruising itself against her ribs.
She slid her arms up around his neck and pulled him down toward herself. He smirked and permitted it.
When their lips were almost touching she paused, half expecting to find a knife buried to the hilt in her stomach.
There was a brief moment of stillness between them — breathing slowly. Close enough for the air to ghost across each other's faces. His breath smelled like juniper, peppery and sharp like a fresh-cut evergreen. She studied that deadliness and coldness of his eyes. She wondered what he saw as he looked back.
Murderers are still men, she told herself.
Then she gave him a slow, sweet kiss.
She imagined how she'd do it for someone she felt affectionate toward. Sliding her hands up into his hair as she deepened it. She teased his lips with her tongue, and murmured slightly against his mouth. He tasted like gin.
It was clearly not what he had expected. Apparently surprises weren't really his thing. He stilled in visible astonishment the moment their lips softly met, and after a moment jerked away from her.
His eyes were darker now.
Hermione wasn't sure if she were pleased or concerned by that detail.
Her heart rate slowed somewhat.
His amusement had vanished, and he suddenly seemed to be considering her more seriously.
“You don't fight much, do you?” he abruptly asked.
“No. Most of my work is outside of raids,” she admitted, not willing to detail what she did. She was there to get information, not give it.
“Do you know occlumency?”
“Yes. Moody trained me,” she lied. “I haven't had much practice, but he said I was fairly solid at it.”
“Well, that's a relief. It would be a problem if you were ever picked up and they found the details of this arrangement in your mind,” he said with the most serious expression she'd yet seen on his face.
Then he sneered. “I hope you don't mind if I check for myself just how good you are.”
That was all the warning he gave before driving abruptly into her mind.
Hermione's shields were already up, and the force with which he drove into them was enough to make her head resound like he'd struck a gong inside it. He kept shoving forcefully against her walls, again and again, until she was gasping with pain as she kept him out. Then he paused, and she nearly stumbled.
“You're surprisingly good at it,” he said, looking as though he actually were surprised.
The compliment caught her off guard. Abruptly, he smashed into her mind again. The brief respite had been a feint. She was insufficiently braced for a renewed attack. He found a weak spot, and sliced through it with the speed of an arrow.
She tried to shove him back out, but he quickly moved so far into her memories she couldn't. She could barely even slow him.
Then abruptly, without even pausing to look at anything in her mind, he wrenched himself back out.
She nearly fell over backwards but caught herself, gripping her forehead as she gasped from the pain.
“It's a common trick,” he said casually, not looking as though his assault on her mind had required any effort on his part. “After an intense attack, when an occlumens thinks it's done, they relax slightly. It's the perfect opportunity to get in.”
Hermione was still catching her breath and couldn't respond, so he continued, “If ever you're under interrogation by a truly accomplished legilimens, you'll never keep them out with the sheer strength of your mental walls. If you were a minor member in the Resistance, they'd probably just kill you rather than go to the effort of getting in. But you're an Order member. Potter's Golden Girl. If they ever get their hands on you, they'll probably bring you to me, or Severus, or even the Dark Lord himself. I'm afraid you're going to need to brush up on your occlumency skills.”
“How?” Her voice sounded rasping. She hadn't known it was possible for a mental attack to be so powerful. No wonder Harry had hated his sessions with Snape. Her mind was in agony.
“The trick is letting them in,” Malfoy informed her.
“What?”
“Put in a bit of effort, but eventually pretend to give way. Once they're in, give them false memories or distract them by feinting toward something of less importance. You'll never keep the Dark Lord out of your mind, but if he thinks you're weak, he'll assume victory. You'll have to give up something valuable enough to seem legitimate. However, it's a way to keep the things that matter most hidden.”
Hermione's brain churned as she considered it. Of course, there had to be more to it than just mental walls. There was no way Severus could have deceived the Dark Lord for so many years simply by refusing to allow him to access his mind.
“Spend time thinking about it. If I'm looking for information on Potter or Weasley or the Order, what can you give up that will seem like the biggest secret you've got? Legilimency is like setting someone's house on fire. Minds instinctively bolt to protect what's most important to hide. You have to train yourself to do the reverse. Rush toward what doesn't matter. Practice pulling those memories around in your mind like you're hiding them. I'll try again next week.”