Doing it for the Order *Complete*

BY : Desert_Sea
Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female > Snape/Hermione
Dragon prints: 67465
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or any other characters/things/places created by J.K. Rowling. I make no money from my fan-fiction.

A/N: Hey peeps, this is my version of 6th year HP (HBP). Some elements are canon compliant and others are my own. I hope you enjoy it, DSx

P.S. If you read and enjoy it, the story has been nominated for ‘Best Hermione Characterisation’ in the Haven Awards. If you would like to vote for DIFTO and some other fantastic stories including a few by the lovely OracleObscured please follow this link Thank you for your support, DSxx

Chapter 1 - Doing it for the Order

Someone had died.

There could be no other explanation. She’d never seen any of them more melancholy—as though the colour had been sucked out of all three, leaving them washed out and sombre grey. Professor McGonagall tried to smile as Hermione entered but it was nothing more than a brief cinching of her puckered lips, making her appear even more ominously grim. Dumbledore’s eyes, too, were devoid of their usual sparkle, dark pockets of skin hanging beneath them like tired drapes.

The news was bad. Was it her parents? She hadn’t spoken to either of them for over two weeks. Had something happened?

The final figure in the room, as dark and rigid as a pewter bust by the window, was Professor Snape, whose black eyes flickered away as soon as they met hers, focusing instead upon the grey sky beyond the panes.

“What’s happened?” She glanced apprehensively between the three, wondering who had been tasked with delivering the news.

An awkward silence ensued during which Professors McGonagall and Dumbledore exchanged meaningful glances, while Snape continued to glare out at a morning that was as bleak as his wintry gaze.

“It might be best if you take a seat.” Professor McGonagall nodded to the chair in front of Dumbledore’s desk, folding her hands into a nervous knot.

As Hermione sank into the chair, crossing her arms in an attempt to ward off whatever was coming, she noted that none of them chose to join her, remaining standing in the oppressive silence which only served to deepen her dread.     

“Miss Granger.” Dumbledore’s tone, when he finally addressed her, was grave and ponderous, as though his words were being released with reluctance.

Hermione sighed inwardly. She couldn’t help feeling that it was quite unfair of them to be drawing this out.

“No one has died.”

Her shoulders sagged as she blinked out her relief. Clearly he’d read her expression. “What is it then?”

His own expression remained stern.

“The Order wishes to discuss something with you. Something extremely serious and,” he delivered a sideways glance in Snape’s direction, “. . . exceedingly . . . delicate.”

McGonagall’s eyes widened as she stared at the carpet. Hermione took it to mean that Dumbledore’s words were an understatement.

“As you know, the Order’s actions have managed to elevate the level of disharmony within the Dark Lord’s ranks. And whilst it is useful to our cause, it has driven Voldemort to take extreme measures to establish the loyalty of his followers. The most recent demands are . . . disturbing . . . to say the least.”

He paused and inhaled deeply, his roving gaze finding no support from McGonagall or Snape who continued to intently regard their chosen segments of carpet and window.

“Miss Granger.” Dumbledore sighed, leaning on his desk with both hands. “You already know that Voldemort has perpetrated some heinous crimes against Muggles—the latest being a string of attacks against Muggle women, some of which have made the papers.”

Hermione nodded slowly.

“It turns out that this is part of a Muggle decree that has been issued in an attempt to enhance his reach and weed out the traitors within his ranks.” His gaze lingered on Snape this time, another sigh further deflating him. “In fact, he killed one of his most trusted followers last week for failing to comply.”

“To comply with what exactly, Professor?” Hermione shifted position in her seat, struggling to see what this conversation had to do with her.

Dumbledore swallowed with difficulty. She’d never seen him so uncomfortable.

“Voldemort has ordered that all Death Eaters should have unprotected intercourse with as many Muggle women as possible—in an attempt to augment the Magical bloodlines.”

Hermione was taken aback. “Doesn’t that go against everything he despises about race mixing?”

Dumbledore raised a shaggy eyebrow in acknowledgement. “It seems he’s realised there’s more power in breeding out Muggles than attempting to maintain the sanctity of pure Wizarding bloodlines.”

Hermione had heard some horrific stories about what the Death Eaters were doing to Muggles. She was afraid for her own family and friends and, admittedly, she was also afraid for herself.

“You mean rape, don’t you?” she stated boldly. “They’re raping Muggles.”

“Yes,” Professor McGonagall interjected, her green eyes flashing with anger. “They’re raping Muggles.”

“And is there something you wish me to do?” Hermione’s eyes swept around the room, looking for verification. “Warn them? Protect them?” 

Dumbledore pinched the bridge of his nose in a manner that made Hermione wonder if it was he from whom Snape had acquired the habit.

“Professor Snape is our only means of access to Voldemort’s plans.” Dumbledore spoke quietly into his palm. “He is the reason Harry is still alive. He is the reason we are all still alive. And . . .” He dropped the hand to regard Hermione directly. “The Professor is currently at great risk from Voldemort’s latest decree.”

Hermione’s gaze lingered on Snape. He hadn’t moved from the window—his ghostly face so starkly illuminated that it appeared devoid of features, all except the grim seam of his mouth and distant, coal black eyes. In reality, she barely knew the man. He was exceedingly private and conversed in a manner that vacillated between derision and sarcasm, making it impossible to foster any sort of connection, no matter how superficial.

So Snape was at risk. When wasn’t he?

“Perhaps you should explain, Severus?” Dumbledore addressed him resignedly.

Professor Snape didn’t respond. It was as though he hadn’t heard—or his mind was drifting elsewhere. After a protracted silence, he blinked slowly and turned to face her. If she hadn’t known better she would have read his expression as one of contempt as, crossing his arms, he took a step forward.

“I carry an enchantment. It ensures that I conform to the decree—mandatory intercourse—one Muggle per week.” The words were delivered in a monotone, each sliding out in an unhurried, matter-of-fact manner that made it difficult to believe they were discussing his sex-life—if it could be considered as such. “The enchantment requires a different Muggle each time. If I fail to deliver . . . I will be . . . eliminated.”

His words were cold but their meaning was colder. The death of Snape was synonymous with the likely death of Voldemort’s greatest enemy, her best friend, Harry Potter. It was serious.

“Surely there are plenty of Muggle . . . prostitutes that could be . . . recruited?” Hermione tried to be discreet but finding the appropriate words was difficult.

“The Dark Lord forbids entry to such establishments. Men tend to talk when they’re . . .” He hesitated. “Brothels are not secure environments for sensitive information. The Dark Lord has spies to ensure that we do not seek out such company.”

Hermione shifted uncomfortably. She wasn’t used to conversing with Snape for this length of time and certainly not over the current subject matter.

“Well, I would hardly know of such things,” she responded dismissively. And immediately wished she hadn’t.

One black eyebrow arched before his gaze turned hard. He glared at Dumbledore. “I think we’re finished here,” he ground out before turning his back on her.

Dumbledore raised a hand. “Now, now, Severus, we will bring this discussion to a conclusion. However, it is important that Miss Granger be made aware of the proposal.”

“There is . . . no . . . proposal.” Snape kept his back to her, spitting his words out like chips of black ice.

“Not wishing to appear indelicate, Miss Granger.” Dumbledore’s cheeks were flushed as he appraised her over his spectacles. “But . . . when you suggested that you would ‘hardly know of such things’ . . . were you indicating that you are, perhaps, still a virgin?”

“What do you mean ‘still’?” Hermione replied tersely, looking at Professor McGonagall for support.

Minerva’s expression was one of such pity that it drove Hermione up from her seat.

“Tell me what’s going on right now,” she demanded, her voice quaking with a combination of fear and embarrassment. “Or I’m afraid that I’m going to have to leave. I don’t appreciate the status of my . . . my hymen . . . being discussed so openly. And . . . and . . . there being an insinuation that being a virgin is somehow . . . improper.”

“Let the girl go,” Snape hissed.

Dumbledore approached him, grasping his elbow firmly. “Severus. There is no other option. You know that yourself. We have exhausted every one of them. She must be told.”

“Told what?” Hermione’s voice rose with tremulous unease.

“Miss Granger . . .” Professor McGonagall stepped forward, reaching out a hand toward her before allowing it to drop resignedly to her side. “There is one solution to this . . . to this dilemma.”

Her mouth twitched as she wrestled with how to phrase her next statement.

“A Muggle-born witch—a witch with two Muggle parents—will satisfy the conditions of the enchantment.”

Hermione’s eyes widened before her jaw clenched in realisation.

“But, such a witch is also imbued with the innate capacity to magically alter herself—to deceive the identification component of the enchantment.”

Her mouth opened and closed twice before Hermione managed to make a sound. “What are you saying? That I could be the one to . . .” She glared at Snape’s vacant back. “And because I can impersonate different people, it could be me . . . every . . . time?”

Professor McGonagall shook her head apologetically. “You are the only member of the Order with such a unique . . . profile.”


“You are the only one who could be trusted to perform such a role.” Professor McGonagall emphasised the word ‘trust’. “We’re so sorry to ask this of you, Hermione.”

She did look genuinely aggrieved.

Hermione backed away from her. “Why can’t he pick up someone at a club and screw them like everybody else?” she rasped, her throat constricting as she drew her arms even tighter around herself.

Professor McGonagall’s face dropped, her cheeks shuddering under the weight of the admission.

“It is the ‘unprotected’ part that poses the greatest risk. If they don’t agree, he would need to Obliviate them.”


“So . . . It would be rape, Hermione. Surely you can see that,” McGonagall implored her. “And the more Professor Snape engages with others, especially Muggles, outside of the Order, the more risk there is to all of us.”

“But it’s okay for me?” Hermione choked. “For me to be raped instead?”

“That is not what we are asking of you.” Professor McGonagall took quick steps forward and grasped her by the hand. “Never against your wishes.”

“But I don’t—“

“I will find another . . . solution.” Snape whirled around to face them. “This is my problem. It is certainly not Miss Granger’s.”

“Severus. There isn’t another solution.” Dumbledore fixed Snape with his intense gaze. “I believe that your preference would be to suffer at Voldemort’s hands . . . rather than to force such an unconscionable decision upon Miss Granger but I’m afraid this is not about your preferences. Your life is too valuable. Harry’s life—the future of the Wizarding World—requires your survival. And you deserve to be protected.”

Hermione saw the strain in Dumbledore’s face. He’d asked a lot of the dark wizard and obviously felt responsible on some level for the danger he’d placed him in—and for his current predicament.

She thought also about Harry, about the peril he faced on a daily basis and how much more extreme it would be if they no longer received vital information about Voldemort’s whereabouts and his plans via Snape. Could she live with that on her conscience? Knowing that she was responsible? Were her sensibilities even worth it?

It did seem selfish in that moment. And although she was on the verge of being sick, she knew she had to do what was best for Harry.

“I’ll do it,” she murmured.

All three turned to face her.

“I’m sorry, Miss Granger?” Dumbledore inclined his head.

“I said I’ll do it.” She raised her trembling chin.

Then as the tears started to fall she pointed a finger directly at him. “No one . . . can know.”

Turning, she stormed out the door, feeling very strongly that someone had died—it was Hermione Granger, she’d lost her inner child.





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