Chapter 36
It took five days of effort to make his wand.
It was one day of carving the wood, one day of speaking to Ollivander about the potion needed to preserve blood inside of a wand and to dry the branch. One day to brew the potion and another for it to mature. One hour of trying to get her blood out with a needle instead of a knife, and then a minute of bleeding from her frustration-induced knife wound into her potion beaker.
She'd been right. Since they'd bonded with blood and magic – a nicer way to describe what had happened – her blood was the perfect fit for his wand. It gave her a kind of perverse sense of pleasure, a kind she immediately felt ashamed for, that a part of her would be with him, defending him when he died. A safeguard in case the magic was too strong and required her to be there to help him survive. In a way, she would be. But it wouldn't be enough.
Each day, the thought of leading him to his death was consuming her. Hermione had made her decision, but it was almost as if he knew she had. Each day when Voldemort came back to her he would pull her into his lap, not minding her increasing weight, and would read to her with a hand on her belly. He'd kiss her ears and lips and cheeks. Then, when her defenses were lowest, he would show her the ring he'd given her once again and ask if she would wear it. She'd almost said 'yes' the first time, and if he hadn't given her a satisfied look when she took it from his hand the ring would be living on her finger now.
That fifth day, after the varnish had dried at Ollivander's safe-house the night before, she sat in the room and spend hours making it perfect. She polished it, sanded it, varnished it again, and then polished it again and again. It was like she was preparing his last meal; she needed it to be perfect, because it very well may be the last thing she would do for him.
Hermione really didn't want him to die, she admitted to herself sadly. It wasn't as if she hadn't tried to think of other options, really – if they were locking her up in Nurmengard then why not Voldemort? Because having two all-powerful wizards in there really didn't need to happen, and because his supporters would likely still be alive. Voldemort had a habit of coming back to haunt everyone, and if he were left alive after being brought back to life … No one would believe he could die.
The second was obvious: her opinion didn't matter in this. There was no one in the UK, no one in charge who would hesitate to kill him on sight. Or order him to be killed on sight. Regardless of her own personal preferences, Voldemort and his Death Eaters were viewed as terrorists. Terrorists were not negotiated with, and Voldemort would never surrender without a fight. It was war, and war only ended one way.
As she sat there, her polishing rag running over the wand again and again, she felt the magic in the wards shift and realized Voldemort was coming home for the day. She hastily stashed the cloth and polish in the cupboard and stood in front of the door with the wand hidden behind her back. Nagini came and sat up next to her, waiting attentively for his entrance.
Voldemort blew into the room with his robes flapping behind him, but immediately smirked when he saw her and his familiar standing there.
"A man could get used to such a … regal reception," he told her with a smile. "A wife waiting here as her husband enters … I'm not a sentimental man, but it's quite a pleasant sight. Have you decided to accept my ring?"
Hermione's stomach clenched. "No, not quite. Today you're going to release the wand oath with me."
His brow rose. "The wand?"
Hermione brought it back from around her back and held it out with both hands. It was pale, and long. She'd based the length off of his current wand and made them identical. The handle was simple, just because she didn't want to practice anything more intricate on the wand she'd give in. It was simply stained one shade darker for the handle and carved a separation between the wand point and the handle. It was simple, but she thought it looked just fine.
"Wood? Core? Length?" he listed off as he approached, looking at the wand carefully to decide if he deigned to pick it up.
"Norway Spruce, my blood, 13½"," Hermione recited firmly, watching his eyes flicker to hers as she mentioned her blood. He reached for it, and she moved it out of his range. "Ah ah ah, I need this to ensure you'll remove the oath."
"And how do I know it's a wand and not a carved piece of wood?" Voldemort inquired, patiently holding out his hand. "I need to test it."
She bit her lip. "You promise to release the oath if the wand works?"
"I am currently trying to earn your loyalty, little witch," Voldemort rolled his eyes. "I give you my word, you will have your oath removed."
There was a moment when she hesitated, but he kept his hand outstretched in front of him until she finally relinquished the wand Voldemort. He weighed it in his palm, tested it in his grip, and then flung a spell at the bed. The bedposts instantly seemed to shudder and grow four short, menacing-looking restraints. Hermione blushed and looked back to Voldemort.
"It's a good wand," Voldemort told her, nodding his praise. "Just as willing as my own, although distinctive."
She gave him a weak smile. "I told you our blood would work for each other."
He pocketed the wand and swept her into his arms, his face lit up by a snarky little smile. "You did, and I know just how much my witch likes being right. Shall I tell you something?" He leaned in closer his lips at her ear. "I love a smart woman."
Hermione pushed him away reluctantly. "The oath first."
Voldemort sighed, but traded the new wand for the wand he made the oath with, his yew wand. "I can't convince you this is not in your best interests, can I?"
"You still have the collar," she pointed out. "And …."
His fingers found her chin and lifted her eyes into his soft gaze. "What is it?"
She'd been thinking about this since the night before. She didn't want to feel guilty about what she was going to do, but it couldn't be helped. What she could do, what she wanted more than anything, was to collect memories of the man who she'd one day need to tell her children about. Something to show them.
"Once this oath is removed, it would make me happy to wear your ring."
There was a moment, a brief flicker of warmth in his gaze. Then he promptly took his wand and placed it on hers. Using her wand as a starting point, to moved his hand in four swift motions.
"Et adimpletur in juramento," he recited. Her wand hand felt much freer immediately, and refreshed as if it had been briefly dipped in a cool stream then returned to the warm, sunny environment. Then it was her turn. She put her wand on his, made the four motions, and spoke the words. "Et adimpletur in juramento."
Their oaths were removed and her heart felt just slightly lighter. Her breath left her in a sigh of relief, making Voldemort roll his eyes. That motion prompted a hug, a tight embrace where Hermione threw herself at him. It was a grateful hug, only ended when he chuckled at her and she withdrew in mild embarrassment.
He didn't let her go far. With one hand, he held her by the waist to his one side, and with the other hand he reached into his pocket for the familiar, often presented wooden box.
"You will wear my ring?" Voldemort said, offering the box again. "Not because of some gratitude, but you truly want to?"
Hermione bit her lip. "Should I feel guilty for wanting to even though I want you to lose the war?"
The superior smirk met Voldemort's face. He plucked the little ring from its case and slipped it on her finger. "It doesn't matter if you want that or not, little witch. I will not lose, and you will be mine forever. Don't feel any guilt for taking what I most want to give."
Hermione nodded, taking his words to heart. It was a comfort – he knew, regardless of what happened, that she wasn't on his side. Still, he put this beautiful, unique ring. It was beautiful. A swirl of tiny diamonds, then and the center of the large swirl was a larger, more obviously perfect, diamond. The ring sparkled on her now happily heavy finger.
"Are you going to wear a ring?"
"It is not traditional in our circles," Voldemort told her firmly. "I will not ostracize my followers for your pride, witch."
Hermione had heard that response every time he'd presented her with the ring, and she'd internalized it by now. More and more, she was coming to realize while she may love him, she could never be happy with him. The feelings she had for him made her want to overlook all his flaws, all their differences of opinion and just be with him. But that's not how life works. Love, in this case, was not enough because Voldemort had no idea how to love back. He loved her, cared for her, but it was a selfish love. He had no idea how to be a partner to her, no idea how to compromise, no idea how to open up. It didn't make the guilt of betraying him any less, but hopefully it would make the loss hurt somewhat less when the time came.
Hopefully, one day she would be able to move past him.
He brought her back from her thoughts with a tender kiss on the lips, so tender she sighed into it. She tried to avoid stroking his ego, but right then she just couldn't help it. It ended with a smirk on his part, ruining the mood and earning a glare from her.
"Don't be that way," he teased, pulling one of her curls. "I'm allowed to enjoy this moment."
"Oh, yes," Hermione huffed. "It'd hardly be a victory if you didn't bask in it."
His eyes danced with mirth. "Exactly."
"Now that I'm wearing your ring and have been cleared by the healers, am I allowed to go back for the last bit of school?" Hermione quirked a brow. "At least for review and exams?"
"Only the NEWTS matter," he waved his hand dismissively. "I told you, I can have tutors here in a moment."
"I don't want them hurt either, you know," Hermione huffed, cupping her belly. "You act like I'm endangering them."
He cupped to her lovely face and pressed a kiss to her pert nose. "Of course not, little witch, but you aren't accustomed to my number of enemies. I cannot be too careful with the most precious thing in my care."
Hermione inhaled sharply as his words thrummed through her core. The possessive affection weaved through his words was enough that her heart clenched, and her face grew red with her inappropriate thoughts. Jumping to the tip of her toes, she pulled his face to hers and devoured him.
"Mmmm," he hummed against her lips before they parted. "Most precious."
Hermione pulled away for only a second to respond. "I'm going back."
"Hmmm," Voldemort captured her mouth again. "Fine. But more celebrating."
She smiled against his mouth, briefly relishing her own victory, before Voldemort just stole her thoughts by moving her to the newly transfigured bed. It would be used many ways that night.
She'd barely entered Hogwarts for the first time in a month when Severus arrived in her room. He had a grave expression on his face, clearly pinched in tension. "Miss Granger, you returned."
"Of course," she said with a tilt of her head. "What's wrong?"
He closed his eyes and sighed loudly. "I recommend you return to the Dark Lord. Immediately. Remaining here may prove … perilous."
"No chance," Hermione huffed. "I am finishing my exams."
Severus grimaced at her. "Unfortunately, I predicted that. If you truly wish to remain here, we will need to present you in the Headmaster's office. The aurors want a word."
"What?" Hermione's breath quickened. "Why …?"
Severus unfolded the newspaper from under his arm and presented it to her. A giant photograph of her, pregnant and standing right next to Voldemort. He had her hand clasped regally and affectionately within his own, a smile clear on his face until he turned in the direction of the camera with a harsh, murderous glare.
She knew exactly when the picture was taken – a reporter had been chased from their meeting with the Eastern Europeans. Evidently, he'd either gotten away or hidden the film from his camera. Its caption read 'Hermione Granger, best friend of boy-hero Harry Potter (left) shown pregnant and on the arm of Voldemort (right) at the annual meeting of the Eastern European Magical Union.'
She looked at the article to find it just as bad.
HE-WHO-MUST-NOT-BE-NAMED MARRIED?
This week marked the annual meeting of the Eastern European Magical Union, held this year in Poland. While it is always a divisive meeting, no one expected the appearance of the dark wizard known only as Lord Voldemort. Exactly what was discussed between the dark wizard and the leaders of our fellow European Ministers is still unknown, but what we do know is that he arrived with muggleborn and best friend of his nemesis Harry Potter, Hermione Granger.
Since last month when we released the news of Miss Granger's scandalous pregnancy, the magical community has been speculating about the identity of her child's father. Many suggested it may be Harry Potter himself, in a continuation of their tryst during the TriWizard Tournament. Others have seen Miss Granger on more than friendly terms with Malfoy and Black families' heir Draco Malfoy, sparking rumours that the child may well be his.
This photograph is evidence of a much worse reality. The leader of the Death Eater movement within Britain is becoming a father with the best friend of one of his worst enemies. The shocking five decade gap in their ages should be a cause for worry, but that is not all. According to inside sources at the Ministry of Magic here in Britain, Hermione Granger was married December 31st to none other than He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named himself! Married!
Is Hermione Granger under the Imperius Curse, or are her power-hungry ways finally showing themselves? How did the two adversaries meet? Will he Ministry issue an order for the arrest of this pregnant muggleborn? The Prophet will keep you updated as the situation unfolds.
No news yet on how Harry Potter has taken this devastating betrayal. For the reactions of fellow students and ministry officials to this heartbreaking reveal, continue on page 5.'
Hermione's hand was clenching the paper tightly, almost too tightly, in her hand. This was it. Her life was, essentially, over. No one would forgive her after this, no one who didn't know ahead of time. She checked the date, and her worst fears were realized – this had been printed two days ago. Whatever damage this news could do had already been done while she was hiding away with Voldemort.
"I guess it was too much to ask, to have it hidden a bit longer," Hermione murmured sadly. More firmly, she spoke to Severus. "The other students?"
Snape replied monotonously. "Many believe the Prophet's article. Others believe it is too ridiculous. It is a small minority in this school who do not wish you ill now, and it is only because Potter and your other friends are denying the article vehemently."
"They're lying to protect me, huh?" she sighed. "Should I deny it too?"
"Refuse to comment." His eyes were hard. "Do not deny it, as it may anger the Dark Lord, but do not confirm it. Ambiguity is your friend."
"And the aurors?" Hermione asked, looking up now. His black eyes comforted her. "Will they give me truth serum?"
Snape gritted his teeth and snarled. "If they have any wish to live, they will not. Veritaserum is dangerous in expecting mothers and their children."
Hermione smiled at his protectiveness of her, although guiltily, and placed the newspaper on the bed.
"I wouldn't put it past them," Hermione sighed. "Shall we go then?"
Severus gave her a slight bow of the head and led her from the room. It was extremely unfortunate that the Headmaster's office was one of the highest in the school, because with her ever-growing belly it had become much more difficult to keep her footing. After tripping for the third time on the moving staircase, Severus sighed in irritation and wrapped his arm around her torso, like he was prepared to lift her.
"Wha-?" Hermione jumped.
He looked tense. "I will not have you injuring yourself. Either let me help you this way or I will use magic to lift you all the way there."
That decision was easy. His sure support kept her from falling again, although he often took too much of her weight. Especially when the staircases moved. He released her only once they were at the door to the Headmaster's office. For a moment they just looked at each other – Hermione was looking for comfort, and Severus was providing what empathy he could with his eyes – and the unspoken words brought some form of peace to Hermione's heart. Together, then, they entered the Headmaster's office.
Within minutes of them entering the office, one of the gossiping, weasels of portraits had gone off and the aurors came blazing through the Floo. Madam Bones, Minister Scrimgeour, Kingsley Shacklebolt, and two others came through the Floo like the most high-profile processional. Dumbledore's office was full with people.
"Aurors," Scrimgeour ordered immediately. The two lower-ranking wizards, wands drawn, approached me. "Miss Granger, surrender your wand."
Hermione complied, although only with her vinewood wand. Her other one firmly stashed in her other pocket, she smiled innocently at the Minister. "Sir, may I sit? I'm getting quite big, you see, and it's a little tiring to stay up."
Madam Bones gave her an uncomfortable smile, while the Minister looked just disgusted at the simple mention of her pregnancy. "If you'll agree to come with us to the Ministry, Miss Granger –"
"Scrimgeour," Dumbledore interjected with a stern voice peeking out from behind his polite smile, "as a student and a muggleborn, we both agreed I needed to be present."
"If she agrees to forego that little defense, it would go a long way to proving her innocence," Scrimgeour defended immediately, glaring at Hermione with venom. "Well, Miss Granger?"
It was obvious that, while Dumbledore had somehow managed to gain their civility, Scrimgeour was already convinced of the Prophet's version of events. For once, completely true, but inconveniently. Hermione sighed and just sat herself in one of the padded chairs in front of Dumbledore's desk, audibly breathing out in relief when the weight stopped being applied to her feet.
Properly situated, she smiled fakely up at the Minister. "It seems like this will take a while. Why don't you have a seat?"
The Minister glared. "I'll stand. Amelia!"
Madam Bones produced a bit of parchment. "Miss Granger, we're here to collect evidence. It's not a formal interrogation, but your responses will be recorded and used if found relevant to any current or future investigation. Is that alright?"
"No," Hermione glared, "it's not. But do I get a choice?"
Madam Bones ignored her protest with a small grimace and set up the parchment and Dicta-Quill. Once it had been set up, Scrimgeour reached into his jacket and produced what looked like an original copy of the photograph that had been posted in the Prophet to slam on the Headmaster's desk. "Miss Granger, this is you next to You-Know-Who, correct?"
"Yes, it is."
Bones placed it in her hands. "Can you remember the situation wherein this photo was taken?"
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Madame Bones, I am aware that this was taken at the Council meeting two days ago. Can we get to what you really want to know? Do I support him? Not in the slightest. His agenda is self-important and lacks the fundamentals of human compassion and decency. Harry's my best friend – have I betrayed him? No, I haven't. Have I done anything illegal? I don't think so, but I have killed a Death Eater who was using the Cruciatus on a family of muggles."
Madame Bones' eyes were wide.
"Now, how about the gossip?" Hermione continued angrily. "Unfortunately, the father of my child is nobody's business but my own and I refuse to name him publicly. As far as I'm aware, being pregnant is not a crime. Anything else?"
They exchanged glances with each other, then Amelia looked towards her again. "Miss Granger, whose ring is on your finger?"
The entire room looked down to the ring twinkling on her finger. Reflecting the various lamps in the room. Dumbledore gazed at her quizzically.
"The man I'm bonded to," Hermione admitted awkwardly. Ambiguity. Snape told her to be ambiguous.
Scrimgeour gave her a victorious sneer. "Answer it properly. Who is your husband?"
"I told you, I refuse to name him," Hermione said firmly. "I have no obligation to answer you."
Scrimgeour placed a certificate on the desk, most likely a copy. "We know about your bonding, Madam Riddle. There is no record of you being bonded to Voldemort, but we do for a man named Tom Riddle. A man that hasn't been seen in fifty years."
The paper placed in front of her was a record of the bonding magic between her and Voldemort, under his given, birth name.
"You've produced proof that Tom Riddle is my husband," Hermione pointed out. "So why are you asking me?"
Scrimgeour glared at her. "You-Know-Who is a wanted criminal and we want your information on his whereabouts!"
Hermione gave him an innocent look. "You-Know-Who? You think he's my husband? Why would You-Know-Who marry a muggle-born like me? You must be confused, Minister."
She heard one of the aurors snort, and smirked to herself as Scrimgeour glared over her head at the offender. When Scrimgeour looked back, she returned to an innocent face.
"You just admitted to being married to Tom Riddle!" Scrimgeour roared, waving her certificate around. "Tom Riddle must be He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named, admit it!"
She gave a genuinely confused look. "You think my husband, Tom Riddle, is Voldemort?"
Madame Bones gave a longsuffering sigh and pulled Scrimgeour back. "Miss Granger, if Tom Riddle is not You-Know-Who, then why were you with You-Know-Who rather than your husband at the Eastern European Magical Council?"
"He asked me to."
Hermione saw the shock on their faces. "He offered me my freedom to appear with him publicly. I took it, and now I'm back for school. Obviously, appearing publicly is his way of forcing me out of society and into the Death Eaters, but I'm not going to join him."
"So, you were kidnapped by You-Know-Who?" Madame Bones asked specifically.
"Yes." Hermione agreed, refusing to add specifics.
Scrimgeour continued to glare. "We only have you word for that, Madame Riddle. Was there anyone present for this kidnapping? Anyone who we can actually use truth serum on?"
Severus stepped forward and placed a calming hand on her shoulder. "I can speak to that."
"Professor Snape," Scrimgeour observed coolly. "And how do you fit into this scenario?"
Hermione watched as Severus and Scrimgeour leveled their imposing glares at each other. It was held for a minute, a long 60 seconds, before the Minister looked to Dumbledore. Almost as if for protection. Hermione saw the telltale amusement in Severus' eyes at the victory.
"Severus is Miss Granger's advanced tutor," Dumbledore informed the Minister kindly. "After she became pregnant, we thought it'd be better if she worked to take the adult NEWT this summer, before her children are born. He takes her on many trips to collect potion ingredients and expand her knowledge. It was on one of these trips where Miss Granger was taken."
Scrimgeour wasn't having it. "And it wasn't reported?"
"We were informed," Dumbledore said slowly, "that if we wanted Miss Granger returned, we would need to keep this matter secret. I apologize for the secrecy, Minister, but we made a decision based on how violent we know Voldemort to be. It was for Miss Granger's own safety, you see."
This back and forth went back for a while. Whenever Dumbledore passed it off to one of them, Hermione and Severus would give specifics but the general lie belonged to Dumbledore. He spun them all around his words and eventually, Scrimgeour relented.
"We'll add Miss Granger's kidnapping to the list of charges for You-Know-Who," he finally relented. "If she remembers anything more, like where she was held, please contact us. And for any future kidnappings, please refer them to the auror department immediately."
"Of course, Minister," Dumbledore twinkled kindly. "Thank you for coming personally to see to one of our student's safety."
All the aurors left through the floo, one by one, until Madam Bones remained. She came close and wrapped her arms around Hermione, hugging her tightly. Hermoine froze in shock.
"I've wanted to do that since Dumbledore told me," Madam Bones said with a firm smile. "I'll do my best to discourage the press. Best if no one believes this, right?"
"Thank you."
It wasn't her who said that, but Dumbledore. The aged Headmaster got up to shake Madam Bones' hand goodbye like he wasn't jumping in front of Hermione. If she'd needed defended, she would have called his move defensive. But since it was an Order ally, a friend of Dumbledore, and someone who was offering her help, Hermione only felt confused as to why. It was almost as if Dumbledore was keeping her from speaking with Bones.
"We greatly appreciate you keeping a lid on things on your end," he expressed gratefully, giving her a grandfatherly grin. "You'll keep me informed?"
"Of course," was the ready reply. "Take care of her for us, alright?"
"You have my word."
Dumbledore's idea of taking care of her was to bring her to the Great Hall for breakfast and put her on the dais for everyone to see. The open hostility of the room took her breath away as it was choked in her throat.
"Good morning, everyone!" he called. "If I might a have a few minutes of your time, there are some concerns I need to address.
"Miss Granger and I have discussed the recent article in length," Dumbledore told the school to whispered wondering. "After an inquiry by both myself and the Ministry, I believe her innocent of association with Voldemort, and ask that you ignore the recent article slandering her character."
He then levelled his gaze at the students. "I will also remind you all that fighting is not tolerated in this school."
Translation: I know you're all going to start dealing vigilante justice to the wife of the Dark Lord. From Severus' glower, she knew that it was a poor choice of words, if not just a horrible way to handle the situation. Doing that seemed to validate all the rumours; if Dumbledore himself sees there's a reason for us to attack Hermione, then there's some truth to the article, isn't there? It was sound logic, in the circumstances, and from breakfast onward the Slytherin friends she'd accrued and even Ron and Harry started escorting her to classes.
Her powers helped with all the magical abuse, but she couldn't see the physical attacks coming. Weasley Wizard Wheezies products found her everywhere, and trips and shoves were now standard. There was always someone there to catch her if she was physically tripped or hurt, so the babies never got damaged, but it was still dangerous for the attacker. More than once, Nagini made an appearance from her bookbag and started to lash out at the offender.
Because of Nagini, Hermione was forced to banish the snake back to Sayre mansion and ask her friends for help. Megan spoke in her defense to the Hufflepuffs, who were more than willing to believe one of their own. Harry widely proclaimed his unwavering support, causing most Gryffindors to think twice about attacking her. Ravenclaws were only deterred when all the Heads of House started treating her bullying with zero tolerance.
It was a relief, both to her swollen feet and her paranoia, to finally make it back to her quarters in the dungeons for the night. Then, just when she'd relaxed on the bed ….
"Occlumency, now."
Snape appeared in her door like a vampiric visitor, his expression merciless. That was until he saw her belly-up on the bed. His expression turned from severe to self-congratulatory.
"Wishing you hadn't returned, Miss Granger?" he smirked. "You'd think after being pregnant for so long a woman would understand the fatigue that comes with it."
"I'd be fine if people hadn't been attacking me all day," Hermione griped. "I'm only tired from being on my guard the whole day."
His smile turned predatory. "Well, you have a little while longer to go. Occlumency lessons. Now."
She just groaned and threw her arm over her face. "Do I have to?"
"Yes."
"But my feet hurt," Hermione whined, wiggling her feet like a small child. "I've been walking all around the castle!"
Severus rolled his eyes. "Come to my office, and massage some Soothing Balm into them for you."
Hermione looked at him in disbelief. He stood there, calm and collected as ever, offering to do such a humble and intimate thing. It surprising warmed her heart to know he would, just for her.
"You, Severus Snape, would lower yourself to massaging my feet?"
"Could you reach them on your own?" He quirked a brow at her bulging belly, making her flush in embarrassment. Snape felt his lips twitch as he saw her red face and had to restrain himself from the explicit thoughts rampaging through his mind. That, however, did have a bearing on his next, probing words. "Contrary to popular belief, I do know how to treat a witch. Shall I … show you?"
Although he heard the innuendo in his own words, Hermione remained annoyingly oblivious. She smiled at him sweetly, like her heart was in her very smile. His heart throbbed annoyingly.
"I've known for ages how kind you are, Severus," she said with a softly. "Others will see it too, once this war's over."
Thus ended his daily attempt at wooing her. He extended his hand and raised his increasingly-heavy which from the bed. "Alright, enough of this Gryffindor sentimentality. Let's heal your feet, and then you will have no excuses to forego lessons. Come along."