A/N: *Hopes you can all forgive how long this chapter took*

*wishes she could just think all the words into existence without all this typing nonsense*

*loves those of you still reading and reviewing*

xx-Kitten.


Darkness and Silence

By Kittenshift17


Chapter Twenty-Nine


Eyeing the arriving Death Eaters with no small sense of annoyance, it occurred to Hermione suddenly that she still only wore her dressing gown, not having returned to the bedroom to change since her fight with Severus during the night. Something all of the men in the room seemed inclined to notice and pointedly stare at. She was uncomfortably aware that in addition to only wearing her house-coat, she was covered in bites, bruises, and smears of blood because she hadn't bathed or treated any of the injuries Snape had inflicted last night except for the burn on her shoulder. Slanting a look of frustration at Snape, Hermione gave a long-suffering sigh that she didn't even have to feign.

"I do hope that living with you won't constantly involve having your friends dropping by, unannounced, Snape," Hermione said tartly before rising to her feet and pulling her hands from Snape's grip. "Honeymoons are supposed to be spent in private, you know?"

"Don't get up on our account, Princess," Rowle smirked, lounging in one of the armchairs and eyeing her like he was utterly amused by her appearance. Given that her hair was probably a frizzy mess, Hermione almost didn't blame him.

"Still in your house coat at this hour, Madam Snape?" Lucius clucked his tongue judgmentally.

Hermione narrowed her eyes on all of them before slanting another look at Severus. He didn't look bothered by their company or their intrusion, and she'd swear there was a wicked gleam of amusement in his eyes when he met her gaze. Scowling at him, Hermione swept out of the room with her nose in the air, not bothering to say another word, though she petulantly wanted to remind him that she's asked to spend the day doing something terribly domestic with him.

"Where's Greyback?" she heard Dolohov ask of Snape before she was out of earshot and Hermione's steps faltered a little when she realized she hadn't seen him since last night when he'd told her that her biological grandfather was actually his brother.

"No idea," Snape drawled in response.

"He's supposed to be here," Dolohov said, his Russian accented voice thick.

"I haven't seen him since the Dark Lord spoke to the two of us yesterday," Severus replied, and Hermione narrowed her eyes before continuing on her way, recalling that Greyback had mentioned having been there when Voldemort had spoken to Severus about the notion of stealing their child for himself.

Scowling, she stomped away up the corridor, intent on changing into something a little more appropriate and attempting to tame her hair. Having barely slept and still having so much of her magic depleted, she was in no mood for facing their current company and it was harder than she'd have liked not to fall back into bed and sleep away the rest of the day when she crossed the bedroom.

She dressed quickly in muggle jeans and an oversized jumper she'd pinched from Ron. Stomping her feet into her slippers and pulling her hair into a messy bun when she tried and failed to make it play nicely, Hermione stormed through the house intent on getting some food in her stomach and maybe a good strong cup of tea into her system, lest she go on a rampage or throw a tantrum.

"You be wanting breakfast, mistress?" Tupsy asked, appearing at her side as she strode through the myriad of corridors.

Hermione almost jumped out of her skin in surprise.

"Merlin, Tupsy!" Hermione gasped, clutching at her chest as she turned to the elf.

"Tupsy didn't mean to frighten you, Mistress," the elf apologized, though he looked amused.

Hermione nodded her head.

"I'd love some breakfast," she said. "You might as well lay something out for everyone, since it seems I am doomed to a life of playing hostess as long as I live here under the Dark Lord's reign."

"At the Dining table, Mistress?" Tupsy confirmed.

Hermione nodded.

Tupsy grinned and disappeared to rally the other elves in the kitchen and she sighed as she remembered that before the break, Professor Flitwick and many of her other teachers had all given them homework. She could hardly continue her research about werewolves without drawing suspicion and she did need to get the homework done. Turning right back around, Hermione hurried back to the bedroom and cracked open her trunk to dig out her books and her schoolbag with all her ink and quills and parchment.

She didn't care what the Death Eaters would think of her. She was in no mood to play the polite hostess today and if she couldn't spend the day with Snape, she might as well do something productive. She expected that at some stage she would need to return to Grimmauld Place and face the firing squad all over again. The longer she stayed away and put off the inevitable, the more that Harry would stew in his rage. She didn't even want to imagine what Molly would say.

No, far better to use the time to get her homework finished and out of the way before term resumed. She doubted she'd have the time or the inclination to do it later in the break and she rather loathed that something that usually brought her joy today felt like a chore. Everything felt like a frivolous waste of time in comparison to the war they needed to wage, and Hermione made a mental note that when she next returned to Headquarters, she was going to give Harry a piece of her mind about getting a wriggle on with finding the horcruxes and destroying them. Not that she wanted to fall pregnant sooner than necessary, but the sooner they got this war over and done with, the less people had to die.

She had thought herself into a positively wretched mood by the time she returned to storm through the living room where the others were still gathered.

"Granger?" she heard Malfoy ask when she stalked right through their midst, ignoring all of them, before letting herself into the dining room. She took up the seat at the head of the table, refusing to pander to the societal norms for such things, and she immediately swung her bag up onto the hard surface and began unpacking.

"What are you doing?" she heard a familiar drawl from the door and Hermione looked over to see Malfoy leaning in the doorway, watching her with a little frown on his face.

"Homework," she shrugged. "And waiting for breakfast. The elves are serving it in a minute."

"Homework?" he asked incredulously, frowning at her like she'd gone mad.

Hermione raised one eyebrow at him.

"What? You think that just because you're a Death Eater, that you're exempt from doing your holiday homework, Malfoy?" Hermione challenged. "I don't think a signed note from Voldemort will get you out of it."

Hisses sounded from the next room at her casual use of their lord's name, and Hermione rolled her eyes.

"You're surrounded by Death Eaters and you're doing homework?" Malfoy asked. "Granger, have you lost your mind?"

"Surrounded by Death Eaters; surrounded by my husband's friends. I can't currently kill any of you, so what else do you propose I do with my time, Malfoy? You lot turned up and ruined the plans I had for seducing my husband back into bed with me, and this homework does need to be done sometime these holidays. And it's this or sit and make small-talk with all of you, and to be frank, I find your company repugnant."

"You know, you're a real piece of work, Princess," Rowle informed her, strolling into the room behind Malfoy and eyeing her like she might be a bit mad and maybe like he rather admired her bollocks.

"Eat me, Rowle," Hermione retorted.

"Oh, I would, Princess," Rowle threatened, shooting her a wicked smirk.

"Good luck with that," she said. "If I don't manage to murder you, I'm sure my husband will. If only to appease the magic of our Vows."

She held up her hand, showing off the still ever so slightly glowing tendrils of magic that wrapped around her wrist like barbed wire.

"Shame, too," Rowle said. "You might have a foul mouth, but I reckon you'd taste as sweet as cinnamon."

Hermione rolled her eyes before flipping open her homework planner and scanning its contents for the many projects she'd been given to work on over the break. She narrowed her eyes when she recalled that she'd been given an insurmountable number of assignments, in addition to begging for extra-credit tasks that she could work on. When she thought she'd be attending Grimmauld Place all holiday, she'd believed she'd need the extra assignments to keep her busy. Merlin, how her holiday plans had changed.

Scowling, Hermione supposed she'd be best served getting the projects for Professor Flitwick out of the way, first, since she tended to be rather good at Charms, and knew that Flitwick's homework would be a good warm up before leading into Arithmancy, Transfiguration, Herbology and then Potions.

"You're really going to sit and do homework rather than talk to any of us?" Rowle asked, strolling over to the table and sitting down at it a few chairs away from the end when he saw how much space her books and parchment took up.

"Yes," Hermione answered. "And I'd appreciate it if you'd shut your mouth so I can focus on it, rather than making small talk with you, Rowle."

"You're a real bitch, you know?" he said, though he sounded wickedly amused rather than offended.

"And you're a real moron," Hermione replied in the same tone. "Do let's end the conversation now, before we devolve to further name-calling and I'm forced to offend you, Superstar."

"Why do you have so many books in this thing?" Malfoy asked, moving over and leaning across the table to pick up a few of her books. "What the hell are all of these, Granger? I'm sure we were only given homework for Flitwick, McGonagall and Snape."

"And Vector, and Sprout, and Sinistra, and Binns, and Babbling," Hermione listed them off.

"What?" Malfoy frowned. "We've got Ancient Runes homework for the holidays?"

Hermione opened her mouth to tell him he was a moron if he didn't know that, but before she could speak he plucked her homework planner up off the desk and began flipping through it.

"What the hell are all these?" Draco asked, his cheeks paling a little as his eyes widened.

"The ones written in purple ink are extra-credit assignments," Hermione told him. "Those written in black, blue, red, or green are assignments due when term resumes."

"Are you sure?" Malfoy asked. "I don't have half of these written down."

"Yes, well," Hermione smirked cruelly at him. "You tend to miss things if you don't bother turning up to class, Malfoy. If you spent a bit more time in our lessons and a bit less time lurking in the Room of Requirement, you might be more aware of the homework assignments you are undoubtedly behind on."

He looked up at her sharply, his grey eyes narrowed suspiciously.

"How do you know where I've been when I'm not in class?" he demanded. "Keeping tabs on me, Granger?"

"You're a marked Death Eater, Malfoy," Hermione rolled her eyes. "The whole school is keeping tabs on you, not the least of which are your teachers. Do you really think, after missing a swath of lessons, that the Headmaster is unaware of your activities? Do you think Snape, as your Head of House, hasn't been fending off complaints and accusations from the other teachers when you don't bother showing up to class? Did you actually think that after attacking Harry on the train at the start of the year, we wouldn't all be keeping a close eye on where you are at all times, either to stage a retaliation attack, or to keep a lookout for more violence on your part? Believe me, I didn't need to confirm that you were in attendance at my wedding as one of the Death Eaters, Malfoy. The Order was already very much aware of that fact."

He looked both panicked and angry when he met her gaze, and Hermione smirked meanly before lowering her eyes on her homework once more.

"Been a bit obvious, eh, Malfoy?" Rowle taunted.

"Fuck off, Finn," Malfoy snapped. "Granger, Potter knows I'm a Death Eater?"

Hermione snorted.

"He's known about Daddy Dearest since fourth year, Malfoy. I don't think any of us were all that surprised that you've followed in his footsteps to become a cruel, foul git. Disappointed, perhaps – at least, I was – but hardly surprised."

"Did you just refer to me as "Daddy Dearest", Madam Snape?" Lucius Malfoy drawled as the other Death Eaters all began filing into the dining room when food appeared on the table.

Hermione looked over.

"I did," Hermione nodded. "And also as a cruel, foul git."

Hermione caught the way Snape smirked as he entered the room behind Lucius in time to hear the insult.

"Well, she's got you pegged, eh, Malfoy?" Rabastan Lestrange said, smirking as he rounded the table to sit by Rowle.

"Disappointed?" Draco asked quietly, frowning at Hermione intently.

Hermione looked over and met his gaze seriously, frowning a little when she realized he was genuinely baffled and perhaps even a little afraid that she'd said she'd been disappointed to learn he'd actually become a Death Eater. She wondered if she ought to tell him why. She wondered if it might be a conversation better received without six other Death Eaters in the room, before throwing caution to the wind and giving it to him straight.

"After I slapped you in third year, you stopped being quite so much of a ponce, Malfoy. You were still a wretched git most of the time in an annoying, school-yard bully kind of way, and you still are, particularly to Harry. But that slap knocked your head out of your arse. During those unfortunate instances since then when you and I have been forced to work together in lessons or on assignments, you acted less of a wanker than you'd done in previous years. Still arrogant, still prejudiced, but a little less of a prat." Hermione shrugged her shoulders, reached for a plate and began to serve herself some food as she spoke. "I suppose I had hoped that one day you might outgrow being such a bastard entirely and make something of yourself that wasn't based on the reputation of your family name. You're hardly stupid, after all. You might've one day made a great deal of difference to the advancement of the wizarding world – something that someone like me could never dream of because I'm smart enough but I haven't the favour of the utterly prejudiced masses. You, Draco Malfoy, could have changed the world for the better. You will have doors opened to you that I certainly never will, and you're smart enough and innovative enough that you could've knocked the dust and the 18th century right out of the wizarding world, allowing us as a society to finally advance."

Malfoy's eyes were wide as he stared at her, still gripping her homework planner loosely and looking rather like he'd been hit upside the head.

"Instead, you allowed yourself to be bullied and coerced into a life of crime and wretchedness," Hermione went on, heedless of the other Death Eaters and the looks they were all giving her; none of them friendly. Even Snape looked a bit like he wished she wouldn't continue. "You've got that wretched tattoo on your forearm, and you are at the beck and call of a maniac, commanded to carry out his bidding, and for what? A misinformed and misguided prejudice against a collection of people who make up our world. I was disappointed when I learned you'd become a Death Eater, Draco, because you threw away your potential for greatness. You could've changed the world. Instead, when the time comes, and your Dark Lord is defeated – and make no mistake, Malfoy, Lord Voldemort will be defeated – you, and the rest of you in this very room, all of you who bear the Dark Mark will be hunted down like dogs. Those of you who survive the coming battle will be arrested, tried for your crimes, and shipped off to live out the remainder of your lives in Azkaban. Of course, after the mass break-out, I suspect the Ministry might be less willing to risk that political nightmare again, and so I expect that a good deal of you – probably you, Dolohov, both of you Lestranges, Bellatrix, certainly – you will all be given the Dementor's Kiss and the hollow husks of your bodies will remain; empty, impotent, and left to rot somewhere out of sight and out of mind. That is the fate that awaits all of you at this war's end. And so, yes, I was disappointed when you became a Death Eater, Draco. I'd have liked to see the man you might've grown to become and the changes you'd have implemented. Instead, I expect I will one day have to testify at your trial when you're charged as a criminal before you're locked up for the rest of your life. It's a tragedy, really, and even now when I look at you that same sense of disappointment fills me as surely as it did when I first spotted you threatening a man and showing him your Dark Mark as incentive that he not challenge your authority."

Silence reigned when she finished speaking and Hermione picked up a bit of toast and bit into it nonchalantly, slanting her gaze from Malfoy and over to Snape. His expression was blank, his eyes slightly narrowed, his gaze fixed upon her and she didn't have to be a genius to know he was angry with her. Hermione didn't care.

"The Dark Lord won't be defeated, girl," Dolohov said after a lengthy silence where all of them looked simultaneously stunned and angry.

Hermione rolled her eyes.

"He will," she assured him. "As surely as the sun will rise, the Dark Lord will fall, and his Knights along with him. The great tragedy of our time will stain the history books, names like yours spoken in disgusted and hushed tones. Years from now, the future generations of the wizarding world, be they pureblood, half-blood or muggleborn will study the very war we are waging. They'll be given assignments on it, just like this one," she pointed to the History of Magic essay she'd been assigned. "They'll be asked to dissect how society failed so spectacularly as to have allowed the same monster to rise up twice, to wage war twice. Students will one day write of Voldemort and his Death Eaters with the same horror that we currently do when speaking of Hitler and his Nazis, or of Grindelwald and his followers. That same revile will fill their thoughts when they learn of the horrid things people like all of you did in the name of Blood Purity when not a man alive in the entire wizarding world can truly claim purity. Merlin, himself, was a half-blood, but you all bleat about it like it matters in the end."

"You dare…" Rodolphus began.

"You think it doesn't matter, what a man has flowing through his veins?" Rabastan interrupted his brother's horror over – Hermione suspected – her statement about Merlin's blood status. "You truly believe one's blood has no bearing on their place in this world?"

Hermione looked over at the man seriously, noting the curiosity in his green eyes. She suspected that he'd never met a witch like her before; someone who so boldly challenged everything he'd ever been taught. He'd spent his best years in Azkaban prison, so she suspected that he was truly curious, rather than angry.

"Tell me something, Lestrange," Hermione said, laying down her piece of toast and lacing her fingers together. "When you were sitting in your prison cell, did your blood matter? Did being a pureblood keep you any warmer in those thin rags as the bitter wind ripped in off the North Sea? Were you better able to withstand the effect of the Dementors every time they passed your cell because of your supposedly pure blood?"

Rabastan cocked his head to one side.

"How would I know?" he asked. "I've only my own experiences to base the knowledge upon. And I've hardly interacted with anyone who wasn't of pure descent that spent as much time in one of those cells as me."

Hermione smirked a little.

"Very well," she nodded. "Then tell me this, you have tortured people of muggle descent, people of pure descent, as well. Did the men and women you slaughtered last night scream and bleed and writhe so very differently from the way Alice and Frank Longbottom did when you tortured them? Was there some notable difference in how well the spell was endured – beyond, of course, the fact that Frank and Alice were trained Aurors?"

Rabastan's eyes widened that she would dare speak of the crime that had landed him, his brother, his sister-in-law, and his friend in their cells to begin with.

"The Cruciatus curse is endured differently by every person," he shrugged his shoulders. "I've seen some muggles endure it better than some pureblood wizards, and some purebloods endure it stoically until the very end. Not that it matters. In the end, that curse can break even the most rigidly controlled minds."

"And when you've opened people's flesh and their blood spills out to stain your hands, is some of it muddier than others?" Hermione asked, raising her eyebrows. "Does that brilliant shade of crimson take on a dirtier hue if it leaks from the veins of a mudblood? Does it glitter with magic when you bleed a pureblood dry?"

His eyes widened in surprise at her blunt and graphic questions and Hermione suspected he didn't know what to do in the face of woman unafraid to get gritty and real with him. Bellatrix might be willing to open people and watch them bleed, and she might be vulgar and cruel, but Hermione doubted that even Bellatrix Lestrange had ever dared to ask him about the blood staining his hands.

"It all just pours out red," Rabastan admitted begrudgingly.

Hermione's mouth twitched on the urge to smile at the bitter note in his tone and the way he narrowed his eyes.

"Then you tell me, Rabastan. If the blood all pours out red, and if it's the strength of a man's character that dictates his ability to endure whatever is inflicted upon him, rather than his descent, does it matter what he's got flowing through his veins?"

Rabastan didn't answer.

He looked rather annoyed to have been outwitted, and he looked a bit like he had just realized he'd made a huge mistake, but he didn't speak. Instead, he served himself a meagre breakfast and picked at it with a frown marring his brow.

"Severus?" Lucius spoke in a low, quiet voice a short time later when Hermione had polished off the rest of her breakfast while the Death Eaters all sat and ate in silence.

"Mmmm?" Snape hummed inquiringly, his mouth full and preventing him from speaking.

"I think that your wife might spell the doom of the Death Eaters," Lucius said quietly, the words coming out a little choked like he couldn't believe he was uttering them.

Hermione hid her smirk at the suggestion, keeping her head down and focusing on getting as much of her homework done as she could. When the meal was over, Draco rose from the table without excusing himself and strode out of the room without a word. No one mentioned it while he was gone.

"Tupsy?" Hermione asked after more than an hour had passed as she diligently worked on her essay while Snape and the other Death Eaters conversed quietly, seeming content to simply sit in each other's company and work through their own thoughts.

"Mistress?" the elf asked, appearing by her right elbow and looking eager to serve her.

"Could you bring out some tea and biscuits, please?" Hermione asked of the elf politely.

"Hungry, Mistress?" Tupsy asked. "You not be liking your breakfast?"

The elf wrung his long-fingered hands together, flapping his ears back and forth in distress.

"Breakfast was delicious, Tupsy," Hermione smiled at the elf. "I just like to snack while I study."

"Better watch it, Princess," Rowle said. "All the snacking will pile itself on your arse."

"I believe that having recently been starved in a cell for three days, I can withstand a few snacks packing themselves onto my arse, Rowle," Hermione said mildly. "However, should I overindulge, I'm certain that climbing the three thousand steps from the Great Hall to Gryffindor Tower every day will be sufficient to budge whatever holiday weight I manage to gain."

Rowle opened his mouth to say something snide, no doubt, but before he could, Dolohov cut him off.

"You could stand to pack on a few pounds anyway, koshechka," he said, his Russian accent caressing the endearment in a way that she was certain must make Alecto swoon. "Take it from bastards who know; there is nothing attractive about looking starved."

"Perhaps you'll remember that the next time you knock me unconscious and toss me in a cell from three days, Antonin," Hermione said without looking up from her essay.

"The only one knocking you unconscious or locking you up anywhere in future will be me," Snape inserted in a low drawl and Hermione paused in her writing to look up at him, her eyes meeting his obsidian pair and noting that he looked both possessive and alluring, and Hermione had to fight the urge to smile invitingly.

"Will that be often?" she asked, her lips twitching. "I do recall that you were whining about my being too heavy for your poor, decrepit back."

Rowle snorted, though he attempted to muffle the sound and conceal it as a sneeze. Snape narrowed his eyes on her for the pot shot about his age.

"I do believe that burn requires an explanation," Rodolphus chuckled, looking wickedly amused.

Hermione grinned. "I made Snape carry me across the threshold like proper newlyweds," she explained.

"Ah," Rodolphus nodded his head, smirking before turning toward Snape. "Weightlessness Charms are your friend, Severus. Believe me, I'd have crippled myself hauling Bella's plump arse across thresholds and up flights of stairs to bed years ago if not for their use… Oh, hello, love."

Right at that moment, Bellatrix Lestrange stalked into their midst and Hermione's brow furrowed in annoyance.

"Another day ruined," she sighed, raking her eyes over Bella scathingly and earning laughter from Rabastan, Thorfinn, Lucius and Severus.

"Did I just hear you referring to me as plump, Rodolphus?" Bellatrix demanded, planting her hands on her ample hips.

In actual fact, for a woman who'd spent fifteen years in prison and only been out a short time she looked incredibly good. Her teeth might be beyond saving, but she had luscious curves for days that Hermione didn't doubt many a man had run his hands over.

"What if you did?" Rodolphus challenged, smirking

Hermione could tell that the man like to play with fire as she watched the two of them interact.

"I would remind you that this plump arse is one you've been begging to cuddle into every night for nigh on thirty years," Bellatrix said.

Lucius clucked his tongue at his brother-in-law. "You're not supposed to beg, Rod. It gives them ideas."

Rodolphus flipped him off though he didn't take his eyes off his wife as she stalked closer before very contemptuously plopping down heavily on her husband's lap. Something that made Rodolphus wince, though he hid the expression by stretching up and stealing a hungry kiss from his wife's lips that almost made Hermione blush. Were it anyone else, Hermione might've thought it cute that after thirty years together a couple could still have such passion. But it wasn't anyone else. It was Bellatrix and Hermione doubted she would ever think a kind thought about the vile bitch.

Shaking her head, she lowered her eyes to her homework once more, intent on finishing as much of it as she could, no matter the congregation of Death Eaters at her dining table. Idly she took note of the fact that Rodolphus and Bellatrix were getting a little carried away, but no one mentioned anything or looked overly put out, making Hermione think this must be common behavior for the two of them. She supposed that if it meant no one had to listen to Bella screeching about something, everyone else would prefer that Rodolphus kept his wife's tongue busy. As long as they didn't mount the table and begin shagging, Hermione didn't care.

Chatter amongst the Death Eaters flowed after that, and they managed to leave Hermione in peace until after almost an hour since he'd left, Draco Malfoy returned.

Hermione looked up in surprise when he stomped up to her end of the table, his book bag from school slung over his shoulder and a scowl on his face. He stomped all the way up until he was sitting in the chair directly to her left before plonking himself down in it and upending his bag onto the table. Quills, ink, parchment, a homework planner and his lesson textbooks all came tumbling out, upsetting some of her things.

"What do you think you're doing?" Hermione wanted to know, scowling at him as some crumbs and debris fell out of his bag, too. She snatched one of her books away before it could be stained when he discovered that one of his inkwells had cracked and was beginning to leak.

"Homework," Malfoy grunted thickly and when Hermione lifted her eyes to she noticed that his eyes were a little red and she wondered if he'd been crying.

"I can see that," Hermione rolled her eyes. "What are you doing snuggling into my pocket to do it?"

Malfoy levelled her a glare as he flicked his wand to mop up the mess made by his cracked inkwell before he leaned over and snatched up her homework planner before she could stop him. She made to reach for it, but he pulled it out of her reach before copying all of the projects she'd listed inside hers and noting them down in his own.

"You'll never catch up on all of them over the break, Malfoy," Hermine protested when she noticed that he was even writing down the extra credit assignments she'd been given.

"Watch me," he grunted, and Hermione raised her eyebrows at his determination.

"I suppose you intend to do so by helping yourself to my notes and my library books, too?" she challenged, scowling when he picked up her Transfiguration notes and began leafing through them.

"Got a problem with that, Granger?" Malfoy challenged before he used his wand to make duplicates of her notes in his own notebooks for each lesson, one after the other copying them down so that he wouldn't have to keep using her books and interrupting her.

"I'm not helping you," Hermione warned him when he finished with her Arithmancy, Charms, Potions, Ancient Runes and Herbology notes before handing them all back to her.

He shrugged his shoulders and opened his Potions homework, apparently intent on working on that one first. Hermione knew that it was his best subject, so she supposed he wanted to ease himself into the work.

"Homework, Draco?" Thorfinn piped up, teasing him as he helped himself to some of the snack cakes and pasties and things that the elves had laid out.

"Got something better to do, Finn?" Draco replied without looking up as he scanned his eyes over the extensive notes Hermione had made during Snape's lessons. "Bloody hell, Granger. Do you actually write down every word of every discussion in class? These are the most extensive set of notes I've ever seen."

"It's all vital information," Hermione frowned.

"And the doodles in the margins?" Malfoy asked, smirking a little when he looked up at her.

Hermione frowned leaning over and reaching for the notes he was referring to. She scowled when she spotted a little doodle of Snape giving a lecture before falling headfirst into a cauldron.

"Ron has apparently been taking advantage of my unguarded notes when I'm in the storerooms in Potions," Hermione huffed, laughing a littler when she spotted another doodle that featured Snape catching on fire.

"Doesn't look like his handwriting," Draco taunted. "Looks like you've been doodling creative deaths for your husband during your lessons with him."

Hermione scowled when, at the other end of the table, Snape stopped talking, looking over at the two of them in question.

"I don't doodle," Hermione rolled her eyes. "And if I were to be doodling the things I fantasize during my husband's lessons, they would be of a more carnal nature."

Draco choked on the mouthful of tea he'd taken, shaking his head at her. Hermione grinned, feeling vindicated before Snape rose to his feet and moved around the table toward her, intent on investigating. She blushed a little when he peered at the drawings impassively before he lifted his eyes to hers.

She held his gaze calmly, though she found herself wanting to get to her feet so she could drag him off to the bedroom and have her way with him.

"Plotting my doom, Miss Granger?" he asked, seeming ever so slightly amused.

"Mmm," Hermione hummed, licking her lips as she eyed him, thinking that she wouldn't even care if he took her right there on the table in front of everyone if she could just have him that minute.

"I was under the impression that your mind tended to wander during my lessons, Miss Granger," he mused, moving a little further around so that he could prop his hip against the table by her chair while he trailed his eyes over her notes once more, apparently surprised by how thorough they were.

"No, sir," Hermione shook her head.

"Never?" he asked, looking wickedly amused as his eyes darted back to hers.

"Not so much as to distract from my note-taking," Hermione offered.

"Swot," he accused, even as Hermione lost the battle she'd been waging to keep her hands to herself.

Reaching out she traced one hand across his stomach and around his back before leaning forward and resting her cheek against his ribcage thanks to the awkward angle while she sat as he stood. He made no move to stop her and Hermione sighed softly, her eyes drifting closed as the hum of magic in her bonds to him tickled her senses, warming her. She snuggled her cheek against his chest, surprised when he allowed her to do so and pleased when she felt him lift one hand before weaving his fingers into her hair.

She didn't know what to make of the fact that no one at the table said a word about it. No one teased her for burrowing into him and no one taunted him for being married to a schoolgirl. Even Malfoy, who sat so close that he could undoubtedly hear the little whine of happiness that escaped her when Snape scraped his nails gently against the nape of her neck, didn't huff or laugh or make fun of her. Hermione didn't know if it was because they understood the magic of the bonds connecting the two of them as newlyweds, or if it was simply that they were surprisingly more tolerant of each other's habits and foibles than she'd ever have imagined, but no one teased them.

Just the same way no one mentioned the fact that Bellatrix was now straddling Rodolphus at the end of the table, snogging him hungrily like she couldn't get enough of the man, even after all this time, no one spoke about how Snape touched her. It occurred to her when she opened her eyes to peer down the length of the table that they really were a family. A twisted, prejudice, criminal family that she rather likened to the German Nazis or perhaps the Russian mod, but a family nonetheless.

Hermione wondered what she was supposed to do about having been invited – forced – into joining their warped little family and what it might mean for her in the future. It seemed strange to be sitting there doing homework alongside Draco Malfoy, and to be able to run her hands over her Professor without being chastised or judged or told off for her behavior. What was more, she wondered what she was supposed to do about the fact that the whole lot of them were making her feel more welcome than her own friends had done since she'd been captured.

Pulling back slowly until she could prop her chin against Snape's chest whilst peering up at him, she widened her eyes a little, inviting him into her mind. She kind of liked the way his lips twitched a little as though he were pleased that she would invite him into her head without fear of what he might find. When he slipped inside Hermione reveled for just a minute in the feeling of being so intimate with him. She didn't know how to project images to him of what she wanted him to see, they way he did, but she did her best, summoning up thoughts of needing to return to Headquarters shortly, imagining him joining her there.

Snape shook his head slowly before he pushed an image of the Dark Lord into her mind, before allowing her to see snippets of the horror and evil he'd committed the night before and how they would likely have to do so again. She frowned at him, curling her arms around him tighter until she clung to him, not wanting him to go off and hurt people when he could stay there with her. Part of her knew that it was a side effect of the magic linking the two of them in marriage and that it would fade with time, but right then Hermione couldn't think of anything worse than being separated from him and she flashed images of all the carnalities she'd like to visit upon his person, wondering if he might be convinced to abandon the other Death Eaters there at the table before ravishing her senseless in their bedroom.

Snape withdrew from her mind with a low chuckle as though her suggestions amused him, and Hermione lifted herself off him to peer at him in confusion. She squeaked when he lifted her up out of her chair until she was standing before he pulled her into his arms, holding her snugly and making her sigh with contentment all over again. Hermione quivered when he nosed the hair away from her ear before pressing his lips her to skin, nibbling her ear lobe teasingly.

"You have to finish your homework before you get a reward, Miss Granger," he drawled huskily, and Hermione felt like he'd hotwired those words straight to her clit.

Merlin, how many times had she wanted to hear him say such things to her? Burrowing her face into his neck, Hermione kissed his skin hungrily, nipping him in punishment for denying her and drawing a low, wicked laugh from him. His hands tangled into her hair, angling her face before he lowered his mouth to hers and Hermione thought she might melt into a big puddle of neediness right there in his arms when he kissed her slowly, his lips moving over hers before parting so that he could lay claim to her tongue.

Hermione kissed him until she was dizzy, and she whimpered when he pulled away. He smirked down at her for a moment before lowering her back into her chair and stepping backward, out of her reach. She almost rose from her chair to follow him before watching the way he leaned over just a little, his finger tracing through the air to capture her attention before he lowered it to her notes and tapped them indicatively.

She got the message loud and clear. He wasn't going to lay another finger on her until she'd finished her homework. As she nodded slowly, her breath ragged and her heart racing inside her chest with just the simple thrill of snogging him, Hermione dove back into her homework with more abandon than ever before.