And to chapter 10. One more official chapter left, then the prologue, then it's done and back to work on Second Heir.

It was midday, midsummer, and only a few short days after Timothy's third birthday. It was all passing by too fast, and Morena still didn't have the ring. Morfin was still implanting false ideals about Muggles and witches and wizards whose bloodlines weren't entirely pure. Timothy was a little older now, more comprehending. He was growing up quickly, and Morena believed he was probably rather smart for his age. Smart or not, his mind was still in its spongiest of states, and Morfin was still pouring those horrid ideas on it for him to absorb.

Now, Morena was pacing on the floor of the front room of the little house as she listened to the voices of her son and his stupid stupid stupid father drifting through the windows. Timothy was more apt to hold onto things these days. Morena's own mother had started teaching her to read at around three, if she wasn't mistaken, and Timothy would probably be learning himself in no time. For now, though, he was learning other things, things that his father held as true, things that Morena would have liked to hex him for. No three-year-old child should know the meaning of a word as hideous as "mudblood", not one, nor should they think that half-bloods are any less magical than purebloods, or that those who tolerated Muggles despite their pure herritage should be.

She was losing her temper now. It was growing harder and harder to hold onto it. Every time she heard her son use the word mudblood, she could feel a dagger so sharp that it was nearly invisible stabbing into her side, making her want to scream. It was wrong. Wrong, wrong, wrong. She couldn't bloody stand it.

Morena tugged at her hair as she debated finding the invisible dagger so she could go outside and stab Morfin through the eye with it. It was what he deserved. In fact, he deserved a hell of a lot worse than that. He deserved something she couldn't bring herself to do, a curse she couldn't bring herself to use on another living being. Avada Kedavra, she could have used. Morfin didn't deserve death, that would have been to easy, too painless. Morena still remembered, from the one time she had been hit by the Cruciatus Curse (courtesy of Gellert Grindelwald), how it had felt like someone had stabbed thousands of knives into every bit of flesh reachable, while one person took hold of her arms and the other her feet and tried to stretch her beyond her breaking point. That was exactly what that man deserved. She knew though, that in order for something like that to work, the caster of the spell had to mean it with every fabric of their being.

That was a type of thing that Morena couldn't possibly mean to do to anyone, no matter how well she could fathom the thought it in her mind.

Morena stopped by the counter of the kitchenette and leaned herself against it. She rested her left elbow on her right hand and chewed at her thumbnail. Her right hand clenched around the skin covering her elbow every time those words drifted into her window, particularly when she heard her son's voice saying them. She could have tolerated it to a certain degree if he was older, perhaps around ten, as that would mean they were thoughts he was thinking for himself. Now, though, they were simply thoughts being implanted into his brain by means that she didn't approve of.

Her hand twitched when she glanced over at the dish drainer and saw a knife there, a sharp steak knife, more than sharp enough to – no, no, no, she had to stay calm. If she was ever going to get out of working for that bloody bastard Grindelwald, she had to stay calm until she could get that ring, even if it meant Morfin mysteriously dying of a heart attack durring her son's first year at Hogwarts and her prying it off of his hand. That was years for now, and while she wasn't sure if she could put up with him for that long, she knew that she would have to. For Timothy. Regardless of how badly the man treated him, she couldn't kill Morfin and have Timothy be aware of it. For her to allow him to witness something like that would be twice as bad as Morfin's belief in the harshest form of corporal punishment. She didn't care how it would be done, how she would get that ring, except that it would have to be done in a nonviolent manner or in a way her son would never know about. So either Morfin would have to be unharmed or she would have to kill him while their son was away at school. The latter was years away, but the first seemed impossible.

She rotated her thumbnail away from her mouth and bit instead the side of her hand to keep from yelling. Her head was positively pounding now, with a headache with a rhythm as steady and as heavy as that of a bass drum that she had no way of getting rid of. Morena couldn't even stand hearing that man's voice anymore, nor could she stand looking at him, knowing that he was the source of corruption.

Morena continued biting at the side of her hand and pinching her elbow nearly enough to make it bleed as she listened to them. She didn't dare go outside to summon them in, she would wait until they both came back in. She would calmly send Timothy to his room (he referred to his corner of the back room as "his" room) and have a nice, civil little talk with Morfin. Yes, just a talk. That was all she needed to do. Tell him to cut the crap and act like a real father before she lost her temper. Morena was generally fairly patient – she had to be for as long as she had put up with her own father – but she knew what did happen when she lost her temper, and she knew what would happen then.

She knew she would practically become possessed by her father – maybe not as strong an entity, maybe not as willing to attack, but definitely angry enough to give up everything.

So, as the two of them walked through the door, Morena pretended to be doing dishes. She listened to the two of them talking. She was aware of how well they got along. Timothy was too young to understand that his father's methods of punishment for him weren't exactly… conventional, so he was always the one who apologized, reinforcing Morfin's belief that it was the best possible method for the boy, and making it destined to keep going on. It was a never-ending cycle that would never stop. Morena learned quickly that nothing she could say would do anything, not anything. The idiot's skull was too thick for any of it to get through.

After a few minutes, Timothy went off into the back room of his own accord. Morena glanced over at a clock on the wall; it was about one in the afternoon, which was generally when he decided to lay down for a nap. Morena glanced back behind her, saw that Morfin was paying no attention, and headed quickly into the back room.

In the back of her mind, a little voice just had to keep reminding her that if she did lose her temper with the man looking out the window at the front of the house, this might very well be the last time she would ever see her son.

She took in a deep breath as she stood in the doorway, willing her feet to propel their way forward. Timothy was already lying down, half asleep.

"Hello, Mummy," he said drowsily.

She smiled, kneeling down next to him. "You know you're not supposed to wear your day clothes to bed."

"But it's comf-terble," he protested in a voice of utter anguish.

"Oh, all right, I'll let you get away with it this time." He gave a yawn in response. "Could you do me a favor, sweetie?"

"What is it?"

"Stay in here for a little while. I need to talk to your father about something important."

"Grown-up stuff?"

"Yes, grown-up stuff. Can you do that for me?"

"Mm-kay, Mommy. I was gonna go sleep anyways."

"I noticed." She stood up and ruffled his hair. "Sweet dreams."

He yawned again. As she turned to leave, a small voice followed her: "Mum?"

"Hmm?" Morena turned back around with raised eyebrows and looked down to see Timothy sitting up against the headboard of his small bed, looking slightly perplexed about something. She kneeled back down next to the bed. He looked at her very seriously, more serious than she ever thought it was possible for a child of only three to look. "What is it?"

He gulped, took in a deep breath, and said, quite plainly, "Do you love Daddy?"

The question hit her like a blow to the stomach with nearly enough force to knock her off of her balanced kneeling position on the floor. The question was so straightforward that she had to struggle to understand it. Why would he ask something like that? Of course, he had to notice she never even slept in the same room. She had never thought he would ask, not for a long time, but he was a curious little boy. All children were curious in their own way, they always said the strangest things, asked the oddest questions, especially at those times when their parents least expected it.

Morena could distinctly remember asking her mother the same exact question when she was five. Her mother hadn't taken any time to answer at all, wasn't taken aback by it. She had simply smiled and said simply, "Of course I do, darling." Morena had taken it to heart then, thinking her mother would lie. But thinking back, Morena remembered doubting it in the back of her mind, for the woe and wryness of her mother's smile, for the weariness in her voice when she said it. While only in her mid twenties, her mother had looked to be in her late thirties, utterly defeated, and it was all because of Albin Serran, all because of her father. Perhaps she hadn't noticed the changes, perhaps she had. Morena hadn't noticed any in her own reflection, but she tended to avoid any reflective surfaces for the fear that she might.

Morena knew now exactly why her mother had been able to answer so quickly; she had prepared an answer. Maybe if Morena had asked when she was only three her mother wouldn't have been so prepared. Maybe, but she wouldn't ever know.

"Of course," said Morena, unable to keep the surprise out of her voice despite trying to. "Why would you ask something like that, sweetie?"

He looked at his knees woefully. "Daddy said mairge in wizard families isn't about love, it's for 'keeping the bloodline clean.'" Morena felt her fist clench and unclench. "And 'e said tha' was the only reason you were married. I thought Mums and Dads were s'posed to love each other."

"They are," said Morena. If this was one thing she could influence her son on, she would. She wouldn't let him get into her situation, in a marriage with someone he didn't care about just to keep the bloodline full of purebloods. "They really are. Timothy, listen to me," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. He looked up from his knees. "When you get older, you remember this, for me. Don't base who you decide you want to spend the rest of your life with on what their blood is; it'll only make you miserable. Your father isn't always right about everything, you remember that. If anything he says seems strange to you at all, you can ask me about it."

He nodded. "But you do love him, don't you?"

Lying to Timothy killed her, particularly when he put on the puppy dog face. She shut her eyes in a moment of intense debate with herself and replied when she opened them. "Of course I do, sweetheart. You don't worry about it. You've had a long enough day already."

He nodded and lay back down. "Mm-kay. Love you, Mommy."

Morena smiled as she stood up, feeling her lips curve up into the same woeful manner as her mother's had after that question. Morena knew she should have expected it and felt rather stupid for not being prepared. She bent down and kissed her son on the forehead. "I love you too, sweetie. Now get some rest." She straightened up and turned to leave again, halfway wishing that small voice would call her back again so she wouldn't have to face the inevitable task of confronting Morfin, or so it would be delayed for another few minutes at the least. However, when she reached the door and paused, she heard nothing but the faintest sounds of breathing at the far side of the room. She looked back at her son before walking into the front room and shutting the door behind her. She looked around and spotted Morfin. Her fists clenched again, but she swallowed the lump of insults and harsh words in her throat and spoke as calmly as possible.

"I need to talk to you."

Strumming his fingers on the round kitchen table, he didn't bother looking up to reply, though his tone was somewhat suspicious. "About what?"

Morena walked cautiously over to the table and sat down at a chair across from his. She crossed her arms on top of the table and held each one firmly to it with the other's hand, hoping it might help prevent her from reaching for her wand at any point in time. God forbid she should hex him after lying to her son like that. He'd know the truth then, and that would be the worst possible thing for him. Some things were better left unsaid.

"About what? I'm not waiting around for you to talk all day, woman."

"Fine," she said bitterly. "About what you've been telling m– our son. He just told me you said marriage in wizard families had absolutely nothing to do with love, is that correct?"

"I did," he said. "Wha' of it? The boy deserves to know the truth, don't 'e?"

Morena shut her eyes. "How bloody daft are you?" she asked, managing to keep her voice calm. "Hmm? He's three years old, he's not going to understand something like that. He was in there worrying about whether or not his mother and father even cared about each other."

"I suppose you lied, then."

"Of course I did! Telling children things like that can have permanent damage on their minds! If he grows up into a Muggle killer, it's going to be on your shoulders, not mine. And batting them around like a bloody lunatic doesn't do anything good, either, while I'm at it."

The disbelieving scoff she received in reply made her have to dig her fingernails into her arms to help her keep her mouth shut. "It's teachin' the boy, innit? He 'adn't had to be punished in nearly a month for nothing, so he's behaving a right side better than a year ago. I'm only doing what's best for him."

"What's best for him isn't permanently damaging his psyche and making him think that the only people worth the space they take up in the world are purebloods!"

"Oh, so you're a Mudwallower now, eh?"

"No, you bloody idiot, have you ever heard of me talking to them? But I don't want my son turning into a murderer when he's older because he thinks he should be one of the only people allowed to live! The way you're going about things, you're practically training him to be the next Emeric the Evil," said Morena. She flinched when a fingernail punctured her arm and loosened her grip a little.

"Yeah, well Emeric had a good idea for the world then. Him and that Grindelwald bloke alike, and it seems even Albus Dumbledore in'nt goin' to catch 'im. And he's just as much my son as 'e is yours, if not more. Oh, sure, he goes running to his Mummy when his Daddy's mean to him, but he never takes more than a few minutes to come back to me, does he?"

"It doesn't matter what parent is the favorite of the child, what matters is what's best for him, and telling him that Muggles don't deserve to live is going to make him want to get rid of them, and that's definitely not best for him, that'll get him landed in Azkaban before he graduates Hogwarts!" Morena could hear her own voice raising now, but found herself incapable of lowering it.

"I'll teach him whatever I think he needs to know, he's my son."

"You're not teaching him the most practical information."

"It's what my father taught me, and it's what I'll be teaching him!"

"Oh, and you turned out perfect, didn't you? Chucked out of Hogwarts in your third year for attempting to murder a quarter of the student body, that sort of behavior is perfectly suited for today's society! Then hexing a Muggle and getting sent off to Azkaban yourself. Do you really want your son to end up in a place like that?"

"If it's for the good of the Wizarding World, then yes!"

Morena stood up now, clutching the edges of the table. "You're a moron. A stupid, lunatic moron. I don't care what it's for, I don't want my son to end up having his soul sucked out of his face by a bunch of ragged floating black curtains with hands!"

Morfin stood up at this, pointing his wand at Morena as he did. "I'm not going to listen to you talking to me like this, I'll raise my son however the bloody hell I feel like raisin' 'im!"

Morena withdrew her own wand. "Might I remind you that I know how to block spells and you don't? That's something we learn in Hogwarts in our fifth year, you see, so you wouldn't know that, would you?"

There was a long silence before either of them moved, spoke, did anything. However, it was right when Morena waved her wand and spoke the incantation for Expelliarmus that the door off to the side opened a crack, so neither of them ever heard it. Morfin looked over to where his wand had landed, quite a few feet behind him – Morena still wasn't good enough at controlling the spell to allow her to direct it back to her.

She suddenly heard all of the pent up anger coming out, as though she were only a helpless bystander listening to it all with no power to stop it.

"Blood traitor," she said slowly. "Blood traitor, you call me? Well you know what? You know the bloody hell what? I am. You're right, I really am." She laughed as she watched his face contort with anger. "I would have never married to keep the Serran family bloodline pure if I wasn't forced."

"Your parents are dead, who the bloody hell would have forced you!"

"Oh, you'd be surprised my reasoning–"

"Keep your mouth shut."

Morena gripped her forehead at the sudden, loud, forceful voice she heard within.

How long have you been listening?

"It just started to leak through. If you mention my name, he's dead."

Morena's heart almost stopped. She knew exactly what Grindelwald meant by "he." Her eyes shot back to the door quickly, so quickly that she didn't see that it was open a little bit, or that two wide, terrified, turquoise eyes were looking through the crack. "I wanted that ring. That damned ring, that's right. I know how much it's worth, I knew you had it. I came home from Hogwarts to find my parents dead, and I thought, what have I got to lose? I suppose I wasn't in my right mind. Suppose I'm still not. Seeing the bloody, mangled remains of what was left of my parents would have been more than enough to do it. I got roped into staying without killing you to get it because of Timothy. I care more about him than you ever will."

Before she knew what was happening, her own wand had been wrestled from her hands and thrown across the floor to the other side of the room. She felt like someone had just snapped her spinal chord. There was no way she could win without that wand, no way. She could see it laying there, the polished ebony shining in the summer sunlight that crept in through the opened windows. Morena heard a noise in her throat, a helpless sort of noise, before a sharp pain came to her right cheek when it was backhanded. She flinched.

"I don't think that's so. If you cared about him, you'd have kept your bloody mouth shut, you blood traitor. You – woman, you get over here!"

Morena reached the kitchenette quickly. "You come over here, why don't you?" she asked, keeping her eye on him and her hand on the counter, near the steak knife she had spied upon earlier. "What's the difference where we have out little chat? Humm? Come on, then. I dare you. Get over here."

Morfin started over, definitely preparing to strike again, but she was quicker. When he was within swinging range, she ducked, grabbing the knife, and thrust the blade of the knife into his leg. With a bellow of pain, he fell to the floor on one knee. Over his swears, Morena heard a slightly higher pitched yell.

"Daddy!"

Her head turned her head to the door and she froze when she saw her son running out to fall down by his father's side. Amongst the voices, the one she heard suddenly inside her head was much louder, loud enough to pound a headache into her skull by sheer force.

"GET TO HEADQUARTERS."

Wh– what? Now?

"Yes, now, dammit!"

Morena knelt down next to her son and grabbed his arm. "Timothy –"

He wrenched it out of her grip. "Don't touch me!" he shouted at her with such force that Morena recoiled a little, though beneath the anger of his yell his voice was cracked with hurt and utter devastation. "You hurt Daddy! Blood traitor! You hurt him! You said you did love him, you liar!"

"Sweetie–"

"Go away! Leave Daddy alone!"

The words seemed sharper than even that knife had as they plunged their sharpened blade into her heart and twisted it around. After a moment of trying to ponder the words, looking into her son's wide, hurt, utterly betrayed eyes that were leaking a constant stream of tears down his cheeks, her mind gave up on her. She could still hear Grindelwald's voice inside her head yelling at her to get to headquarters before he had to come there and retrieve her himself. Morena's knees unbent themselves, and she wasn't even sure if it was her controlling them as she stood. She Apparated to the other side of the room quickly and picked up her wand.

She wasn't entirely sure how long she stood there watching her son and his father. She had only stabbed him in the leg – he would be fine. Morfin pulled the knife out of his steadily bleeding leg after a few moments and made it to his feet. He looked at her coldly.

"You heard the boy. Even he doesn't want a stinking blood traitor for a mother. Get out."

And that was when she nodded without protest and Disapparated. She was almost positive she had heard a small voice say, "But Mummy –" just before she did, but when her feet landed on the floor of the old house that had served as her "headquarters", she knew it was already too late to go back.

And collapsing on the couch she realized, and her stomach gave a jolt at the thought and seemed to disappear: It was too late to ever go back.