I do not own anything in the world of Harry Potter. Many, many thanks for my amazing beta, Selek! This is my first attempt at HP fanfiction. It is complete and runs 25 chapters. PLEASE review.

CHAPTER 1

July 1995

Voldemort had plans. Great plans. Grand plans. Plans in which he - he alone - was destined to rule all of Wizarding Britain, and, then the whole Wizarding World. But first there were wheels to set into motion. Wheels to grease. Wheels to grind. Wheels within wheels. Oh, twisting, turning, burning wheels!

Calling his Inner Circle was simple. So simple. The merest brush of his awesome power. The slightest of touches against the Dark Mark. His mark. And they would come! And came they did, willy-nilly, wheeling and tumbling about, fighting for the right - as was only correct - to stand beside him, their rightful master.

He gestured amiably, indicating that his seven - seven, seven, seven - The magical number comforted him. His seven favorites were to sit at table with him. Not a round table, no. No, not like Arthur of Legend, poor Muggle fool. That would imply they were equals, which they were most definitely not. He grinned to himself at such a thought, a most terrifying sight. No, no, only he, only the magnificent Lord Voldemort, could sit at the head of this table. This table, rectangular and of dark ebony, around which his favorite seven, the magical seven - like his seven horcruxes - sat awaiting his orders.

Malfoy, Thickneese, Pettigrew, Nott, Crabbe, Goyle, Avery - all sat at this table, flanking along both sides. He graciously allowed the rat that was Pettigrew to sit at the far end. The disgusting creature had, after all, aided his return.

His words, when he spoke, were like the washing sound of storm driven waves. "My children, I have plans, ways, of dealing with the Muggles and their Mudblood spawn."

Nods, muttered agreements, and encouragements rang around the table, and he kindly allowed it.

"Unlike Muggles and Mudbloods, we, you and I, know about honor and family," he stated. "Only we understand that family and loyalty are all important." He smiled as his followers sat taller, straighter in their seats, accepting his words as gospel.

He frowned then, throwing fear around the table. "What have you seen in the Daily Prophet about family lately?"

Pettigrew, eager to curry favor, piped up, his squeaky voice carrying the length of the table. "You mean the articles on the decline of magical birthrates? They fear our kind is dying out."

"Explain, man!" shouted Nott.

Avery, too, exclaimed, "Can this be true?"

Grinning at finding himself the sudden center of attention, Pettigrew elaborated. "The number of live births is greatly decreasing as more and more Pureblood women are having stillbirths. And of those children who survive, fewer of them are showing magical ability. In fact, Squib birthrates are at a historical high." He glanced briefly at the Dark Lord, who made a graceful gesture of encouragement. "Healers at St. Mungo's believe the problem is a genetic one due to the Pureblood tradition of marrying only other Purebloods."

Lucius had seen this first hand. Over the years, he and his beloved Narcissa had lost four children, and Draco, while handsome, was often a disappointment. He sniffed audibly and raised a cynical brow. "What are they suggesting to remedy the problem?" he asked coolly.

In a quiet tone, Crabbe added, "Is there anything that can be done? We simply cannot allow our world to die out!"

Pettigrew preened under their attention. Imitating his Lord, he gracefully gestured before him. "The Healers believe that only an infusion of new genes will solve the problem. They are suggesting that Purebloods marry and interbreed with Muggleborns - better still with Muggles - to save their bloodlines."

"How would you know of this?" Goyle scoffed in disgust.

"Our Lord has offered me a place of residence with Snape," Pettigrew answered. "He reads a lot, and I often ask his opinion."

"You ask Severus nothing," retorted Goyle. "You're terrified of Severus; you always have been. You're making this up! I know for a fact that you can't even read!

"I can too," shouted an apoplectic Pettigrew. "I just have some trouble. It's called dyslexia. It's a common enough reading problem." He added softly, "Snape has been helping me with my reading."

"Snape? He wouldn't help the likes of you," Goyle sneered.

Spittle flying, Wormtail replied angrily, "Yes, he is! I'm staying at Severus' home, and he is teaching me."

"Only because our Lord forces him to!"

Thickneese entered the discussion. "No matter, friends," he told them calmly, "what Pettigrew says is accurate. I've read the articles myself." Having settled the matter, he turned to his left. "My Lord, what plan do you have, for I know you must have one, to turn this to our advantage?"

As all eyes focused on Voldemort, he began to lay out his plan. "Goyle and Avery, you will begin a campaign in the newspapers and wireless to stir up the masses to near hysteria about this issue." He shifted his attention now to the others. "Crabbe, Nott, and Pettigrew, you will plan an attack upon Azkaban to free your brothers and sisters."

"Surely, there is more, my Lord," Malfoy said quietly.

"Oh, yes," Voldemort hissed, "Pius, Lucius, you will draft a most cunning piece of legislation, which you will then force through the Ministry. In short, we will declare that in order to save our kind from extinction, all Muggleborn witches between the ages of 18 and 30 must marry a Pureblood wizard between the ages of 30 and 80. These marriages must produce a pregnancy or child within the first year and another to follow within the next." He smiled as the full measure of what he had just devised sank in. "These marriages will supposedly be for the protection of the Mudbloods from the murderous and recently escaped Death Eaters."

"Yes, my Lord," Thickneese said slowly, "and if these marriages are required to take place via the most ancient of forms, these Mudblood females will then become chattel of their husbands, which will place them under our control."

Malfoy frowned. "I do hate to see our bloodlines polluted, my Lord," he said, "but if these facts from St. Mungo's are accurate, I must admit that I see no other alternative."

August 1995

Severus Snape smiled at the Dark Lord. It was a mere quirk of the lip, a slight twisting of one corner of his upper lip. But the Dark Lord took it for a huge grin. "Yes, that's right, my brothers," he urged them with a gracefully extended arm, his wand held loosely between his fingers. "Even Severus smiles tonight."

As one, the dark group laughed at their Lord's humor; it would be death not to do so. "Tonight," the madman cried, "we will begin our crusade, our fight for our honor, for our rights!" He reached out an impossibly pale hand and placed it on the shoulder of Lucius Malfoy. Moonlight glinted on his hand, outlining his long, nearly skeletal fingers as they gripped Malfoy's cloak. "We begin this night with the purging and purification of our world!"

Cheers rang out and echoed around the standing circle of Death Eaters. The full moon cast its pale, cold light upon the old cemetery. In the early hours before dawn, a nearly impenetrable fog began to rise, ringing the circle of dark cloaked men and women. The cries of battle choked off immediately as the Dark Lord, with a careless flick of his wand, called for quiet. "Pius, Lucius, have you completed work on the legislation we discussed?"

"We have, my Lord," Thickneese was quick to answer.

"Excellent!" he replied. "You will both go now before dawn and force the Ministry to approve." He grinned, a terrifying sight.

"Yes, my Lord," Thickneese and Malfoy spoke in unison. They bowed and immediately apparated away.

"Crabbe, Nott," Voldemort called out. "You will lead a group to release my faithful followers from Azkaban."

Smiling with demented delight, Nott nodded briskly, and Crabbe bowed deeply to his master. Together they picked the majority of the night-clad followers to join their group before apparating away.

Again, the self-styled Dark Lord raised his voice and spoke. "Avery will form the rest of you into small groups of two or three. You will be given a list. Seek out these -" A quick wave of his wand produced a scattering of several small scrolls, which fluttered down like oily drops of sin. "- known blood traitors, Mudbloods, and Muggles, and kill them." The remaining Death Eaters crowded about, eagerly reaching for the lists.

"Pettigrew, Severus, you have a special task. Kill the Muggles," he told them grandly, "but do not harm the girl. Bring her to me. I have plans for her."

When the madman handed Severus a smaller scroll, the professor quickly unrolled it, scanning its contents immediately. He blinked and ground his back teeth. The name was Granger.

"Choose another to go with you, and take young Draco and Gregory as well. It is time to test them," the Dark Lord told them. He smiled grotesquely and waved a casual hand at the young men. Having delivered his commands, Lord Voldemort flicked his wand and vanished.

Draco, his hair glowing in the cooling moonlight of approaching dawn, shivered involuntarily. He gave Gregory a weak smile, but the other young man was grinning wildly with the promise of a great adventure.

With a greedy grasp, Pettigrew snatched at the paper as Severus tossed it towards him. "Goyle," he called, "Gregory Goyle, will you join us?"

"Of course, Pettigrew," the older Goyle answered. Approaching the small group, he clapped his son and namesake on the shoulder. "How many of us have the pleasure of teaching our sons direct, hmm?" He smiled benevolently at the boys. "And afterwards, I'll treat you all to drinks at the Three Broomsticks."

"Severus, Severus!" Pettigrew squealed with delight. A thin line of spittle escaped his mouth and slid down his chin. "Severus, you do know the girl's address, don't you?" He grabbed at the professor's sleeve, but taller man jerked away in disgust.

"What girl? Let me see that," Draco demanded as he snatched the paper from the hand of the one-time rat. With hooded eyes, the young man scanned the paper. Twice he read the contents while the older men looked on. "Our orders are to kill Granger's parents," he stated. One stormy grey eye twitched, and his Adam's apple bobbed. "I mean, we are to kill the Muggles, the Mudblood's parents," he restated.

"Brilliant!" Gregory responded, playfully shoving his friend.

Draco smiled tightly and clenched his back teeth. "Yes," he replied as if by rote, "we'll kill her parents."

Professor Snape's eyes narrowed. Draco didn't appear as keen on killing as Gregory and his father. Perhaps there was still some hope for the boy. He turned and, peering down his long nose at Pettigrew, retrieved the paper from the boy. Producing a ball point pen from the cavernous pockets of his robe, he quickly scribbled something on it. Then he thrust the paper at Pettigrew. "Here is the address. If any of you see the girl, use the dormious spell to put her to sleep," he instructed them, noting with satisfaction the look of relief in Draco's eyes.

"Why's that, Severus?" questioned Pettigrew. Suspicion clouded his eyes. His nose twitched with the phantom whiskers he had worn for more than a decade.

Severus' face clouded up and lightning gathered in his dark, dark eyes. Draco and Gregory had seen that look before. They flinched and stepped back from the coming storm. The angry man snatched the paper out of his questioner's hand and shoved it into his pocket. "Because, you fool," Snape spat, "if the girl sees me with you -" Repugnance rolled off his tongue with the last word. "- she'll realize that I am a Death Eater." With a swirl of his ink black robes, he strode away from them.

A frown formed between Peter's beady little eyes, but before he could utter a sound, the elder Goyle spoke up. "Pettigrew, the girl needs to believe he's loyal to Dumbledore. He must maintain his cover so he can keep spying for our Lord," he explained. "Besides," he added, "didn't our Lord just say he wanted the girl unharmed?"

Pettigrew nodded vigorously. "Yes, yes, that makes sense," he muttered. "On the count of three, we'll apparate to the Muggle's home. The address is 1691 Bumblebee Lane. One, two, three!"

With a firecracker pop, Severus apparated into the Granger's back yard. He knew he had only a few minutes before Draco, Pettigrew, and the Goyles realized why they were unable to apparate to the right place. He had no time to lose; the sun was already rising. He must find the girl now, or it would be too late.

Muttering an unlocking spell under his breath, Severus simply opened the kitchen door and stepped into the home. He didn't expect to see both Doctor Grangers. Apparently like the girl, Hermione's parents were early risers. Dr. Sue Granger, dressed and ready for work, was skillfully whipping up a breakfast fry. Wearing a grey business suit, Dr. James Granger was sitting at the kitchen table drinking his morning cup of tea and reading the latest edition of Log Home Living.

Severus' unannounced entrance was met with raised eyebrows. "The girl," he urged in a gravelly tone, "where's your daughter?"

Frowning, Jim Granger, his deep brown eyes taking in Severus from head to toe, stood slowly, smoothly to his feet. "And just who the hell -"

"He's Hermione's teacher, the spy," Sue said with a calm façade as she turned off the stove. She set the frying pan aside and laid a soft hand on her husband's shoulder. "What's wrong?" she demanded.

"They're on the way here now to kill you both and take the girl," Severus told them bluntly. "I've managed to delay them for a few minutes, but - "

Wand drawn, Hermione slammed open the kitchen door. "Someone breached my wards!" she yelled breathlessly. Seeing that it was only her professor standing with her parents, she smiled sheepishly and slipped her wand into the waist band of her pajama bottoms. "I'm sorry, Professor Snape," she told him as she tucked a wild strand of hair behind her ear. "I just felt my wards -"

Hermione's next words died in her mouth as Snape grabbed her by the arms. "I'll get her away to safety," he calmly told her parents. "I am sorry -"

"What?" Hermione frowned. She attempted to pull her arm out of his grasp, but he only tightened his grip. "Let me go," she demanded. "You're hurting me." Her eyes darted wildly back and forth, her imagination running rampant.

"No, Kitten," Jim said tenderly. His words were soft, but his tone contained a steely edge. Removing her gently from Snape's grasp, he hugged her fiercely, cradling her head to his chest.

Sue pulled her only child from her husband's embrace and hugged her soothingly before stepping back. Her pale blue eyes pooled with tears as she kissed her daughter fervently on the brow. "You will go with the professor, and you will obey him. Do you understand?"

As she let go of their precious daughter, Jim Granger turned coffee colored eyes on Snape. He shoved his daughter into Severus' arms. "You will get her out of danger and take care of her." It was an order.

Pop! Pop! Pop! Pop! It was the unmistakable sound of apparition. Hermione's eyes flew open. She knew with overwhelming clarity what was happening. "Death Eaters!" she whispered harshly. She swallowed convulsively, panic threatening to set in. "You can apparate us all out of here, can't you?"

"No, Kitten," Jim told her, "he can't." Jim Granger reached into his suit jacket and pulled out a pistol. Methodically, he checked his Walther PPK.

A knock on the door sounded loudly, echoing in Hermione's ears; she was nearly panicked. "No!" she whispered, and the sound was a sandpapery rasp. She turned and clutched Snape's robes. Tears flowed freely from her eyes, as she begged him in whispered tones, "Please, please, you have to save them, too."

"Hermione?" Jim called out loudly towards the door, "did you forget your key again? Hold on, Kitten. Don't beat the door down. I'll let you in." All the while, he continued with deadly calm to check his gun.

"Hermione," her mother told her gently, matter-of-factly, "if these Death Eaters find all of us gone, they'll know your professor warned us. They'll know he's a spy." She smiled tenderly as she explained. "If his cover is blown now, the whole war could be lost."

Jim Granger, his cold, dark eyes blazing, stood resolutely with one hand on the door knob and one hand holding his gun. "Sue, when I open the door, be prepared." He gave Snape one last glare and nodded at Hermione. "Get her the hell out of here, now." Then with utter coolness, Jim opened the door.