Hermione let out a puff of breath, looking back at the photograph in her hands with a mixture of wonder and fear on her face. She flipped the picture over, looking for any sign of who it may have come from, before turning it back to face her. The picture was taken as the child had begun to smile – his lips going from a straight line to full teeth, his cheeks filling and rounding out as he grinned at the camera, breeze tussling his hair. She reached up with a finger on her other hand, gently touching the side of his face, shaking her own head in disbelief.
"I don't understand," she said. Rabastan fell back into his own seat, sprawling his arms out on either side as he stared at her and the child.
"What don't you understand?" he asked tiredly, his own bones suddenly feeling too heavy to hold up.
"How did this..." she gestured at the boy, and Rabastan raised an eyebrow.
"Should I draw you a diagram?" he answered, "You see Granger, when a mommy and a daddy love each other very much they share a special hug..."
"I know where babies come from, Bast," she interrupted, gracing him with a withering look, "I just... My understanding was that Roddy and Bellatrix hadn't been...hadn't done anything intimate for quite some time prior to his incarceration"
"Well, all it takes is once," he shrugged, wrinkling his nose at the thought of bedding the deranged witch. Hermione shared his expression, as she shook her head.
"But, really? How...how messed up were you all at the end?" she asked. A cold shiver slipped down his spine, and he shook his head. The end of the war contained memories that were mixes of truth and terrified delusion, where everyone was out to save themselves. He could remember much of what he'd done, but at the time he'd been emotionally shut down, insulating himself from feeling anything as all he felt was pain – physical and mental.
"I'm not sure I can answer that," he said after a long pause, lips frowning. She cocked her head at him curiously, small frown bending her own lips. He sighed, "I'm not... It's just... I was a mess from Azkaban. We all were. And we came out into this world where this person was controlling us with mostly cruelty when he used to use bribery, and it just made things so much more... More. I remember what I did, I remember why I did it, but there wasn't much of me left"
Her expression softened then, and she nodded, "I understand. After we'd spent so much time running around and finding the horcuxes, and after...this..." she turned over her arm, "The only thing left was survival. And fear. And sometimes, I didn't know which one of those was going to win"
He nodded, stomach clenching anxiously at the long buried memories surging up towards him, "I suppose it's entirely possible Roddy could have slept with Bellatrix, if only to feel something other than pain and anger"
Hermione settled back a moment, face pensive as she looked down at the picture, chewing on her lower lip. She tapped her finger next to the child's face before shaking her head, standing up to cross the room and grab a book out from a bookshelf next to the fireplace. She muttered to herself as she brought it back to the desk, dropping it down and flipping open to a page in the back. Her eyes widened and she shook her head more sharply before turning it to him. He followed her finger down to the name it pointed at.
"Tom Marvolo Riddle," he read, raising a quizzical eyebrow at her. She favored him with an unimpressed look in return.
"Really?" she asked, and he furrowed his brow, looking back down at the picture more closely. It was of a young man, handsome with dark hair, square jaw and hazel eyes, tiny hint of a smirk around his lips as he stared at the camera. It was a face he recognized, though it had been less distinct when he'd known it, and he blinked.
"Voldemort?" he asked in surprise. She nodded sharply at him.
"I guess you never heard the whole story," she acknowledged, "Your precious Dark Lord was a half blood, with a bone to pick against those he thought did him wrong. His chosen name was an anagram of his real name"
Rabastan let out a harsh breath, leaning back in his chair, repeating dumbly, "We followed a half blood on a quest for blood purity"
"He was, by all accounts, very charismatic. It was, apparently, very difficult to turn him down, though I suspect blackmail was involved as well," she replied, "Many people were taken in by him, and in turn they brought others to his cause"
Rabastan nodded mutely, looking back down at the picture. He tilted forward again before grabbing the photograph of the child, comparing the two, "Do you think...?"
She nodded and then shrugged, "I mean, there are enough similarities"
"But that smile..." he started.
"It's all Roddy," she finished, "I know"
The two stared at the pictures side by side for a few minutes, before she looked back down at him, brow furrowing, "I don't know how to ask Roddy about this"
Rabastan shook his head, "I don't think we should"
"But, what if it's his child?" she argued. Rabastan shook his head again.
"What if it's not?"
She chewed her lip again, staring back down at the photograph, "I have an idea. I think I know someone who could help us"
She picked up the photograph, walking towards the front of the office, before pausing and looking over her shoulder at him, "Are you coming?"
Rabastan jumped to his feet, grabbing the second picture, and following her out into the hallway. Their journey was short – she lead him into the Master suite, making sure to close the door behind her. He raised an eyebrow in her direction, "Keeping a hostage, Granger?"
She let out an amused breath, "No. Nothing quite so interesting"
He followed her through the main bedroom of the suite to the sitting room, which he found to be lined with almost as many bookshelves as the study. An amused grin crossed his mouth as he turned around to look at the hundreds of books lining the walls, "I think you have a problem"
"I have a lot of problems. Bibliophilia is probably low on the list of ones you should be concerned about," she responded glibly, crossing the room to a picture hanging on the wall. It was a gilded frame that was covered with black velvet drapes, hiding the subject from view. Glancing over her shoulder at Rabastan she said, "Brace yourself. He's even snarkier in death"
Rabastan raised an eyebrow as she pulled the silver cord that opened the curtain, and a small laugh escaped his lips, "Snape?"
The portrait was a more favorable characterization of the dour man, with less lank appearing hair, nose that lacked the same profound hook he'd had in life, and skin that appeared warmer than he recalled him having. His expression, however, was one that only the former spy could have worn – a mix between irritation and contempt, twisting his lips even in the afterlife. The painted face turned to look at him, pulling back his upper lip in derision, "Oh, delightful. Another Lestrange"
"Severus," admonished Granger, and Rabastan chuckled harder.
"Severus? You're on a first name basis with this sly bastard?"
"Rabastan!" she shouted at him, and he held his hands up placatingly.
"Alright, I'm sorry. I just...In your bedrooms? Really?" he asked.
Hermione sighed, turning to glance up at Snape, "It was hung in Hogwarts for a few years, but he was driving McGonagall spare and there were some...protests, given his dual roles in the war. No one seemed to know what to do with him, so I offered to bring it here. He hung in the study for a few weeks, until I was caught between setting him or Roddy on fire because of the constant arguments. So I put him here in my sitting room, and this is where he stays"
"In the relative silence that I was denied during my living years, no less," responded the potions master, "It's almost worth the night time interruptions-"
"Alright, we're here for help, not for a discourse on my personal life," interrupted Granger.
The sneer transformed into a smirk, "The insufferable-know-it-all needs my help? Will wonders never cease"
She favored the painting with a withering look, "I swear to Merlin, whenever I find out who commissioned your portrait, I'm going to make them rue the day they incorporated that phrase into it's canvas"
To Rabastan's surprise, the surly man laughed, the expression frightening on his face, "What do you need, Hermione?"
"This is going to be a little awkward," she confessed.
"Ah, a true change of pace from the norm of me hanging in your sitting rooms, waiting to be stumbled upon by lost and naked boy toys," he retorted.
"Fine. Do you know if Roddy and Bellatrix had sex prior to the end of the war?" she snapped, chestnut eyes flashing at the painting.
Snape's painted eyebrows lifted towards his generous post-mortem hairline, "I see"
"Did you?" she probed, shoulders drawing back tightly.
"No. Not that I was privy to their personal life, but Bellatrix was quite smitten with the Dark Lord"
Hermione's lips pressed into a thin line, before she raised the picture of the boy into his view, "What do you think of this?"
The portrait became silent for a moment as he surveyed the photograph, "That looks like a child"
"Ten points to Slytherin," she replied dryly, "Who do you think the child looks like?"
"I'm assuming this isn't a trick question," he answered, black acrylic eyes searching the picture.
"Well, clearly he's half Black," answered Hermione, "The question is – does he look more like Tom or Roddy?"
Snape's mouth became a thin line, "If I had to guess parentage, based on amorous desire alone, I would probably choose Voldemort. But, he does have some of Rodolphus's features"
Hermione sighed, nodding, "That's what we thought, too"
"Where did this come from?"
"We got a letter today...Well, actually two letters. One had this picture, the other had a picture of a mask and a dark mark" she confessed.
"Who were they addressed to?" he questioned.
"The mark was addressed to Antonin. Do you recall who the picture of the child was addressed to?" she asked, turning to Rabastan.
"It was addressed to Roddy" he answered.
Hermione grimaced, and nodded, "Do you recall if there was a return address?"
He shrugged, "I don't, but I didn't look that closely"
"There wasn't one on mine," she answered, before pulling the other picture out from his hand, "Do either of you recognize this mask?"
Rabastan leaned to look at it more closely, while Snape's eyes narrowed in his painting, "I don't"
Snape cleared his throat, "Neither do I, but that's because it wasn't one of ours"
"Pardon?" asked Rabastan, looking back at the picture.
"Our masks were cast in bronze, and decorated with silver and black paint overlay. They were designed to absorb the light," lectured the dead man,"You can clearly see light reflected off the top of this one. It's a good likeness, but not one of ours"
Hermione chewed her lip again, turning to look at Rabastan with a question in her eyes, asking haltingly,"Is your...is it?"
He paused, looking back at her before he dropped his eyes to his own wrist, covered by a long sleeved shirt, "They were... You know what they looked like. They were made from pure dark magic, Hermione" he answered softly.
"I know. But I have to..." she gestured helplessly, embarrassment on her face. He nodded, rolling up his own left sleeve. The mark had twisted down into an angry, red scar with black lines streaking through it, no longer resembling the feared symbol. He stared at it, trying to remember what it looked like when it was whole, trying to remember what it felt like. A sharp pain radiated from his wrist to his elbow and he winced, before it eased away again.
Cool, gentle fingers brushed against his forearm, and he jumped in surprise at the touch. Hermione had moved closer, rubbing her thumb over the old mark, "Does it still hurt?"
He hesitated, before nodding, "Sometimes"
The warmth in her eyes made him draw back, pulling up to his full height, tugging down his sleeve even as he curtained off his own feelings. She dropped her hand to her side, stepping away in unconscious response to his withdrawal, pulling in a breath before her face schooled closed, "Mine, too"
"Things to be grateful for from beyond the veil. No more burning mark on my arm, and no more emotionally stunted dunderheads to listen to," drawled the painting behind them. Hermione groaned, glaring back at the portrait.
"Turpentine works just as well on magical artifacts as it does on muggle," she swore at him. Snape laughed in return, and she yanked the curtains shut again. Rubbing a hand down her face, she looked back up at Rabastan, and shook her head.
"Bast, I need you to be honest with me," she hesitated, anxiety fluttering over her features before she continued, "Do you miss being a Death Eater?"