Sorry it took so long for a new chapter - life got in the way. First, some R/Hr interaction that wrote itself, then on to Severus's meeting with Voldemort. I apologize for jumping back and forth between calling Voldemort "Riddle" and "Voldemort"; he is both, and I want to accentuate that. If you get confused as to why Voldemort is just now learning of Severus's past with Keelyn, remember that Voldemort was "dead" when Severus went to Faery for solace. Also, I explain in this chapter why Keelyn isn't trying to call forth powers in Dumbledore or even Severus - pay attention, because it will be important later.

"Ron?"

"Hmmmm?" More than a little sleepy, despite the fact that Hermione was curled up in his lap clad only in her knickers and one of his old Weasley jumpers, Ron's interest was barely piqued when she lifted her head from the curve of his neck to peer at him with curious golden eyes.

"How is it that you and Ginny know so much about Faery, when neither of you read much or have ever seemed particularly interested in the topic before?"

Ron shrugged and slid one large hand up under the hem of the pilfered jumper, stroking the smooth lines of her back laconically, enjoying the softness of her skin. It wasn't often that they had time like this, what with helping Harry to save the world and keeping him from irritating Ginny with his "hero complex". When it came, when serious, smart and beautiful Hermione curled up in his lap and purred like a contented kitten while he touched her, Ron tried to hold on to the moment as long as possible. Usually, Hermione indulged his whims, for Ron, as clumsy and inept as he could sometimes be, made her feel in those moments all of the things she had been certain she would never feel: sexy, desirable, loved. This evening, however, after a week of revelations that had left all of them reeling, Hermione had thoughts other than how his large hand splayed across the small of her back made her stomach tighten unbearably.

"Ron, a shrug isn't an answer." When he frowned down at her, his cerulean eyes gone slightly cloudy with the first stirrings of lust, Hermione sat up straight in his lap and smacked his shoulder smartly. "I asked you a question, you big lummox."

"Ow, Hermione. You know it turns me on when you make it hurt a little and call me nasty names." When she only huffed at his comical leer, Ron sighed and scrubbed his hands over his face, a habitual gesture that somehow always made him look older. Hermione tried hard to convince herself that she didn't miss the feel of his hands on her skin. "The truth is that Mum has always had a fascination for Faery much like Dad's mad fascination with Muggles. While hers isn't as out in the open as Dad's, one of her favorite and best subjects in school was the study of Mythical Races. An interest she apparently shares with Professor Snape, from what Dumbledore told Harry." Ron and Hermione shared a particularly droll look. Molly Weasley was not particularly fond of Snape, though she did try her best to be civil. Molly's idea of civil, however, was to rarely acknowledge his existence.

"I still don't understand how you and Ginny both like the topic, though. Neither of you is particularly interested in Muggles, like your dad."

Ron chuckled and then glanced deliberately down at Hermione's chest, outlined quite deliciously by the once-hated maroon fabric. "I dunno, 'Mione, I'm pretty fascinated with you, and you're a Muggle."

Hermione returned Ron's grin with a devilish one of her own and did something deliberately that, before a hot summer spent discovering Ron's weakness for bushy hair, golden eyes and lush curves, she would have never dreamt of trying: she twisted her shoulders just enough so that the slightly-too-large V-neck of the jumper shifted, revealing both a bare shoulder and the soft upper slope of one of her breasts. She felt Ron's breath catch, heard him swallow hard and had to give him credit for forcing his eyes back up to her face; that they had gone once more stormy with lust was just an added benefit. What really touched Hermione, however, what had her truly believing that Ron loved her, was that he cared as much about their conversation as about the hot, wicked moments they did their level best to hide from everyone. That he would now ignore her deliberate provocation and his own desire had her feeling much like the cat with the cream.

She chuckled at her own little innuendo and had one of Ron's ginger eyebrows rising in query. "I do believe you just had a naughty thought, Ms. Granger. If you keep that up, this conversation will end up with one or hopefully both of us naked."

"If I get naked, will you tell me what I want to know?" That had both of Ron's eyebrows shooting skyward.

"Love, if you get naked, I'll read Hogwarts: A History without complaining about it."

She seemed to consider this, her head tilted to one side, and Ron had to swallow hard to keep from reaching for her then and there. Whatever anyone might think and despite derogatory cracks he had made to the contrary in the past, Ron found his girlfriend's attention to detail excessively sexy. Her natural inquisitiveness kept him on his toes both in and outside the bedroom. To have her nearly offering to strip so he'd tell her a boring story about his childhood had him silently thanking Merlin once again that she belonged to him. The sound of her voice, soft and amused and a little nervous roused him from his contemplations.

"Ron, if you answer my question to my satisfaction, I'll turn on some music and do more than just get naked - I'll do a strip-tease."

His first instinct was to pump his fist in the air and say something suitably unromantic and typically male. He was, after all, only seventeen, and his hormones rode him hard. However, from the way she'd dropped her eyes to his chin and her hands were fiddling with her hair, he knew the idea made her nervous and unsure. Despite his repeated and often lewd assurances that he found her soft, ripe curves very appealing, Hermione still had trouble believing she looked sexy naked. Ron swallowed whatever crass statement had been about to cross his lips and said, instead, "That sounds like a bang up idea, Hermione-love. How about, though, I tell you the story and then we get naked together?"

She frowned at him, a protest ready on her lips. Before she could voice it, he pressed her cheek gently to his chest and lifted his hands to her hair, sifting it through his fingers lightly, enjoying its silky texture and the way it wound itself around his fingers. He felt her relax, felt her sigh into his collarbone, shivered as she nuzzled his skin lightly with her mouth, then took a deep breath as she settled against him, agreeing to hear what he had to say. "Before I really had any memories of anything, Mum was telling me and Ginny stories about Faery. We were her babies, you see, the little ones who still listened with all we were to whatever she had to say. Bill and Charlie were already away at school, Percy was usually reading and the twins had never been able to sit still long enough to really hear her. Dad, well," here Ron sighed and gently nuzzled Hermione's ear, promising himself he would never get too busy to notice what was important to her, "Dad had seven children to feed in a world growing steadily darker. He didn't particularly have time to listen, either."

"Do you think she told you stories to maybe forget what was happening outside her door?"

"It's possible. Whatever her reasons, Mum shared with Ginny and me what she knew about Faery. Not just the tales told to Muggle children, either, but the danger and the heroics and the few secrets she knew. Of course I always wanted to hear more about the weapons and strategy and war. Ginny always asked for stories about peace and kindness and magic." Ron paused long enough to have Hermione raising her head in concern. He had a funny look on his face, half-stunned, half-amused.

"What?"

"Do you remember storming out of Divination?" Hermione nodded, slowly, perplexed at his sudden veering from the topic at hand. Ron chuckled and tugged gently on her hair.

"I don't suppose Ginny told you that anyone able to harness the power of Wind is considered among the Fae excessively wise." Just when Hermione's expression was heading towards smug, Ron leaned in and whispered, "Or that those who can listen to the Wind can tell the future?"

Hermione jumped as if she'd been scalded. "What? No, that can't be right, that's a load of rubbish."

"I think you'll find that, if you ask Keelyn enough questions, she'll tell you that it's the truth."

"Wait. You said you liked stories about war, while Ginny asked about peace. Are you saying that Fire is associated...and Earth with..." Hermione's voice trailed off when Ron nodded. "But...what about Water? If you're war, Ginny peace, and me the future, what's Harry?"

"It's not that simple, love, or at least not from the way Mum used to talk. I mean, Ginny isn't at all peaceful most times, and really neither is the Earth. I certainly don't always want to go to war." Ron once more looked thoughtful. "You know, something else I just remembered about Mum's stories. While all of the heroes and heroines were excessively beautiful and brave and talented, they all lived a long time ago. I don't think she ever once mentioned someone in the last millennia or so who could call on a whole element."

"Maybe we're just exceptional people, Ron."

She said it with amusement, but Ron smiled a funny, very adult sort of smile, smoothed her hair back form her face and said, softly, "We are, Hermione."

For a timeless moment, she simply looked at herself reflected in the depths of his suddenly too-knowledgeable eyes. She knew Ron was confident that they could save the world. One of them had to be, because Harry was too busy clinging to every moment of happiness he could get, Ginny was too busy being annoyed by Harry's destiny, and she...well. Hermione sighed and stroked her fingertips down Ron's arms, feeling the faint ridges of the scars he'd already earned in the battle at the Ministry, feeling him tense a little, as he always did, as if they still hurt. For herself, Hermione just wanted it to be over so that she could go back to believing in happily ever after. Sighing, she pressed a soft kiss to the corner of his mouth and murmured, "Ron, I love you."

Something about the way she said it, a wistfulness, a tinge of desperation, had Ron hauling her up until they were plastered together like two halves of a whole, and slanting his mouth across hers. She stiffened for only a moment, her small hands clutching at his shoulders, before, with a soft little shiver, she capitulated, her lips parting for the sweep of his tongue. She knew he could make her forget everything but him, everything except that he loved her like no one else had ever, would ever, love her. For now, with the world spinning much too quickly around them, it could be enough.

"You have something I want."

Severus projected mild disinterest and boredom using both facial expressions and a bit of emotional magic by way of his Occlumency, even as his more private thoughts swung immediately to Keelyn at Voldemort's pronouncement. They had managed to settle nothing, really, before he'd been forced away. He had not asked her to wait, as it could be morning or later before he returned, but she had offered anyway, saying simply, "It's taken us eighteen years, Severus. I can wait a little longer." Now, facing the man he still called master across the dingy room of some backwater country home Voldemort and his minions had procured, Severus hoped that Voldemort was not about to ask him to make a grim choice between dearly-bought honour and long-lost love.

"Aren't you even a little bit interested in what you could possible have that I need, Snape?"

"Not particularly, my Lord, as I own little that is not already yours." It was true, though there had been little left of the proud Snape legacy by the time Severus swore fealty to Voldemort at the tender age of nineteen. A mouldering ruin of a manor house on the wild cliffs of Dover, a few foundering businesses in the seedier parts of both Muggle and Wizarding London, and a scattering of magical artifacts whose uses had long been lost were all that Voldemort had gained from his alliance with the Snapes. That he had gained one of the most powerful Occlumens of the age was something Voldemort, in his wild, mad grasp for power of his own, had never discovered. Severus's ability to hide, obscure and even manufacture false memories, thoughts and emotions was something few people knew.

That he had, only recently, managed to teach the same ability to Harry Potter was an even more closely guarded secret.

Voldemort laughed, a cruel, sharp sound, and slouched farther down into his chair, steepling his long, thin fingers under his chin as he regarded Severus. Fear of the man who styled himself the Dark Lord had long deserted Severus, even though distaste lingered for the tall, gangly, emaciated man who wore his evil thoughts like a thin cloak. Blood-shot eyes, pale skin and the sort of disarray of person that often marked the clinically mad but was in reality simply one more clever disguise kept Severus wary of his former master: while Tom Riddle was certainly a powerful wizard, his strength lay not in magical ability but in his sly intelligence and ability to inspire others to unspeakable acts of cruelty. "You do not own this thing, Severus, but you once lusted after it. I have even heard tales that you fancied yourself in love with it."

"You know as well as I that such an emotion is foreign to me." Taking a chance, Severus added, "You're talking about the Sidhe."

Surprise flashed briefly across Voldemomort's face, swiftly chased by shrewd calculation. "So you are acquainted with the lovely Keelyn O'Roarke, who styles herself queen and savior of a race that should have died out long ago."

Severus barely suppressed a frown. Voldemort's one true flaw was his inability to believe that any race had worth save full-blooded wizards. Certainly he didn't mind farming other races for their strengths, like the low country vampires for their cunning or the giants for their fierceness, but Voldemort's ultimate aim was for a race of pure-blooded wizards to rule all of England and, eventually, the world; high aspirations indeed for a half-blood wizard of murky descent. "I don't know about her own beliefs, but both the King and Queen of the Faery Courts are certainly convinced she's the Sidhe of prophecy."

"Hmmm. Have you been privy to a display of any of her powers?"

This was a tricky question. It was possible his loyalty to Voldemort's ultimate goal was once more being tested, as Voldemort could already know the answer to his question. That it never occurred to Riddle that there really was no honour among thieves sometimes amused Severus, and at other times made his double life all the more dangerous; Voldemort expected obsequience from all of his followers, and with his Legilimency, often got it. "I have seen her call lightning and seen her bleed a man with just the sound of her voice, and I have also seen her use her wand to create bluebell flames. If you're asking if I've seen this ability of hers to call forth latent Faery powers, then no, I have not." Severus shrugged, grateful to be able to tell the truth, at least in this. "There is too much history between us for her to trust me completely now."

"But you do know she is capable of such a thing?"

"The children claim she is. Of course, they could simply be under some sort of binding spell or faery glamour."

"And what sort of powers run rampant in the halls of Hogwarts?"

Voldemort was not asking an idle question. That his plans had been foiled again and again by mere children was a constant source of puzzlement and fury for the Dark Lord. He had come to a grudging understanding that Harry Potter defeated him partly because in the casting of the curse to end Harry's life as an infant, Riddle had passed on some of his own powers to the child. However, that the others, but most especially the Muggle-born Hermione, could upend his carefully constructed plots was enough to send the "most powerful wizard in the world" into histrionics.

In fact, since catching a glimpse of Hermione not so long ago via Lucius Malfoy's Mirror of Peering, Voldemort had developed an unhealthy obsession with the girl. It was beginning to worry Severus. What more would Riddle do, when he learned that not only was Hermione capable of thwarting his plans, but she now controlled Wind, harbringer of fate and whisperer of truth?

"I have been told that she has managed to call forth minor powers. For example, a couple of the children have exhibited what Dumbledore calls a Wild Form. Basically it is like they are Animagi without being restricted to one animal form." Severus was careful not to mention which children were capable of such a thing, though bitterness tinged his restraint. He did not keep the information from Voldemort because he wished to protect the children. No, Severus kept this secret because the Order would soon be recruiting those self-same children. How was it that war bred not honour but necessity?

"Minor powers are still powers, Snape. Is she capable of performing this magic trick on adults or is that beyond her abilities?" Voldemort was projecting his eagerness even though his voice remained bland and dry, with that undercurrent of oily hissing that marked his many years as a Parseltongue.

"She says she's certainly willing to try, though the consequences for several have been dire. Three have gone mad, one is in hospital with oozing sores that never heal, and two have died in most disturbing and painful ways." This was not information Severus had gleaned from Keelyn but from Dumbledore. The Headmaster had carefully explained to his staff that while he would support them if they chose to approach Keelyn seeking new powers, he did not recommend it.

"Has she an explanation for why this ability of hers only works on children?"

This would be another tricky answer, for along with his contempt for any wizard or witch not of "pure" blood, Voldemort had a blind spot for the Arthurian "legend". While willing to believe that Merlin was the father of wizarding kind and Arthur the father of Muggles, he had never been persuaded that it was Arthur, not Merlin, who had created the clear demarcation between the two. Why wouldn't it have been Merlin, in his

contempt for the magicless masses, to cast Arthur's line aside? "She claims it has something to do with the Arthurian cycle, my Lord."

"Bah, tales told to children at bedtime." Voldemort paused, lost in thoughts Snape did not try to discern. Finally, he waved his hands in an impatient gesture. "It matters little, I suppose, as long as she's as powerful in other areas as the Fae who have defected claim."

Severus swallowed hard, worry curling unpleasantly in his belly at the thought of what the Fae might have told Voldemort. While most of Faery's powers had diminished over the generations, he wondered if anyone had explained the portent of the prophecy of the Sidhe to Riddle, and if Riddle had actually given it credence. After all, if Keelyn brought Faery back into power with the help of Merlin's line, where, then, would Riddle's grand scheme be? Clearing his throat to capture Voldemort's attention and placing his own worries firmly aside, Snape leaned laconically back in his chair. "While I strive only to please you, my Lord, I do wonder why I've been summoned. Others could have answered these questions about the Sidhe."

Voldemort's gaze went razor-sharp and penetrating. "Yes, they certainly could. You, however, have an advantage they do not. Did you know, Snape, that Ms. O'Roarke as recently as a day ago spoke with her Queen in some distress over you?"

Torn between the need to protect Keelyn and his keen interest in the topic suddenly at hand, Severus only shook his head mutely. Something of his distress must have leaked, however, because Voldemort's smile grew wider and cunning. Cruelty was something at which Riddle excelled and in which he took great pleasure; it mattered little to him whom he tortured or how, as long as they suffered. Voldemort's announcement also worried Severus that Voldemort knew of Keelyn's contact with Blythe. How, exactly, had he come by such intimate knowledge, when Keelyn's method of communication was a secret so closely guarded even Blythe's lover, Zane, knew nothing of it?

"Ah, well, pity, as it seems the lovely Queen has asked Keelyn to seek your counsel in matters of the Hogwarts students' new powers. Blythe seems sure you can help train them, while Keelyn is rather adamant that she stay as far from you as possible. She even mentioned that the two of you experienced a shared memory not long after she arrived at Hogwarts. As touching as I'm sure it was, I am wondering if you can't be of some use to me still." Voldemort leaned forward in his chair, his eyes suddenly intent, and Severus felt the slimy tendrils of Riddle's mind riffling through his. "So we come back to this: you have something I want, Snape, and that something is Keelyn."

"Why, my lord, if you do not believe she can be useful?" Severus knew from the way Voldemort watched him that he did not want to know the answer to this question. He asked it anyway with the kind of fatalism that had made him snarl at Harry Potter even as he strove to keep him safe.

"Well, she can be useful only as long as she doesn't bring the full prophecy of the Sidhe to pass. As to why you, well, call it punishment, Severus, call it fate, call it whatever you like. You belong to me and, as proof that you still believe in our cause, you will bring me Keelyn, preferably alive, so that I may snuff out Faery once and for all."