Chapter 35

Tabain's hand in hers, Hermione walked across the lawn on the south side of her manor, toward where the family graveyard was. A beautiful spot surrounded by trees and a small fence. Her son had grown in the time she'd been gone, representing the family at Voldemort's court. He'd grown a little taller and much heavier, feeling it when she picked him up and put him on her hip. They spent as much time together as possible, feeding the fish in the stream, surveying the farm animals, even walking around the forests where a fungus had been observed by the caretaker.

That fungus, along with a truckload of other things, had to be dealt with. Countless decisions had been put off until her return and she'd been overwhelmed with the things that needed doing. It meant this period had involved much more work than she'd anticipated, but that couldn't be helped.

Stopping by a tree, Hermione crouched down and plucked off the leaf that had become stuck on Tabain's jacket. His cheeks glowed pink in the cool air and he was clearly excited to be outdoors, even if the weather wasn't welcoming. Puddles had formed along the walkway, and Tabian was eager to explore them.

"You are to have a brother or sister," she told him with a smile. Tabain looked at her, but she knew he wasn't completely understanding what she was saying. She tucked one of his dark brown curls behind his tiny ear, felling a rush of love for him. "Someone to play with. Won't that be great? They'll be very little and you have to be very careful, be a good brother and protect them." It might a role he had to take on for all his life, protecting his sibling. But this sibling could be his strength as well. Family was important and expanding it couldn't be a bad thing.

The dowager hadn't been thrilled when Hermione had informed her about this pregnancy, particularly as there would be no marriage accompanying it. It had also been difficult to explain that it wasn't a disaster and that they were actually in quite a good position at the moment. Hermione didn't go as far as to explain the details around how this child came about, the momentary lapse where her loneliness had recognised its ilk in another.

The dowager lamented the option on the forests, but it had been a price worth paying for the alliance they had in return. Granted, the revenue from the trees would not come their way, but power was more important. It wasn't something the dowager readily understood.

"Come," she said and rose, taking the small child's warm hand. "Let's say hello to your father."

The small graveyard was well maintained. It was perhaps the one thing the dowager kept a very close watch on as most of her family was now residing there. Hermione hoped she would never be in a position where she lost a child. As much as Hermione grieved the loss of her husband, the dowager's grief knew no bounds.

This respite would be over soon and Hermione had to go back to court. It had all gone by too quickly, a few moments of sanity in a world that seemed to have to little of it.

Her objective was simple: to keep everything just the way it was. She had her enemies captured and restrained through her alliances, threats and machinations, and all she had to do was keep the status quo. That would be easier said than done as they would seek to get out of the hold she had them in. It would also be wise to pay attention to anyone else who might seek to take advantage of the situation. At the same time, staying out Voldemort's attention. But stability suited him too, and if anyone had people tied up in knots and unable to move, it was him.

Even thinking of going back made her stomach twist in discomfort, but staying wasn't an option. She had to be strong and she had learnt that she could be.

Walking up to the newest grave. Theo's name was written in bold letters on a brown marble stone. It was so unfair he was here, buried and fading from their hearts. As much as she hated it, he was fading from her, the details of his smile, the familiar touch. She'd been holding onto the memories so very tightly, using them to give her strength.

She missed having someone to talk to, tell her troubles to, but it had now become apparent that Theo hadn't done the same with her. He'd kept his life at court hidden from her and she knew it had been to protect her from the ugliness of Voldemort's entourage. But in a way, she felt he should have trusted her enough to handle him confiding in her. Instead, he'd kept everything about what happened at court from her, and she couldn't help feel a bit cheated.

With Tabain, she would have to raise him to survive in such an environment. He would not be an innocent thrown into that place, would instead know the ins and outs of political strategies. Together, they would spend time understanding each house, their alliances and strengths. And if she could help it, he would not have to face that court alone.

Until that time, she had to keep their enemies from their door, even by strong arm tactics if she had to.

Tabain didn't understand what the grave meant and found a branch to play with.

"I hope you are proud of me," she said quietly, talking to the large stone in front of her. "Perhaps not of the moment of weakness." That need for company, for communion with another person had led her astray. She couldn't afford that and couldn't let it happen again. Still, she could not bring herself to regret the child.

There was nothing but emptiness in reply. He wasn't there when she reached out and it hurt to reconfirm it. Each day, he felt more and more distant from her.

The stillness around them stretched. It was too wet for most people to be outside and dark clouds were threatening on the horizon.

Taking a deep, slow breath and exhaling, Hermione's eyes roamed over the script of Theo's name. Astoria didn't understand how much she had taken from them, from Tabain who would not remember his father. The dowager, whose grief would never lessen. And from her, who would never know the comfort of her husband's touch again.

True revenge would probably never be an option. It would mean taking on both Malfoy and Voldemort, an action that would likely destroy their family. The dowager wanted revenge, but Hermione knew it was something they had to give up on. It lessened the blow knowing that someone like Astoria would never understand. She would never understand a concept like justice or retribution. She would never claim her own responsibility.

"Mommy, mommy," Tabain said, wanting her to watch him jumping on the branch again and again. Hermione smiled as she watched him. His life was so simple. The world was his to explore and the people around him loved him. That was how the world should be. How had they managed to turn everything so wrong?

"It will rain soon. We should head back. Maybe we'll sit in front of the fire together and read a book this afternoon. Maybe cook will give us some of her gooseberry jam cake." The affairs of the estate could manage without her for a few more hours.

Tabain ran ahead and jumped in a puddle, the muddy water splashing up his legs.

"Maria will be angry with you if you come back covered in mud."

"Pigs, pigs," he said, indicating he wanted to go see the pig pen. He liked the pigs because they were curious and came over to greet him. Especially now that one of the sows had piglet, who ran in and out of the pen, never venturing too far from their mother.

"Alright, but only for a few minutes."

-0-

It was heartbreaking having to step into the carriage and start the long journey back to the citadel, but she couldn't afford to be away any longer. Ensuring her position was stable, she could probably return home with more regularity.

Moving further away from the estate, she felt the tension return to her shoulders, creep up her back and settle in her very bones. There was nothing she was looking forward to returning to Voldemort's capital. The endless evenings in his company, fearing his rages and moods above all else. Fearing the people around her secondarily.

She particularly didn't want to see Malfoy. In this time away, she still hadn't managed to figure out a way to deal with him, but his objectives had not changed. He wanted this child—needed the child. While she had been recuperating, he had, no doubt, spent him time scheming how to get her to relinquish the child he seeked to claim as his heir. And every day the child grew in her belly, a child he cared nothing for but for what the child could do for him. He wasn't capable of loving, and she refused to let her child be the pawn in someone's game.

Unbidden, the carriage trundled closer and closer to the citadel, through mountain ranges and vast valleys where crops were managed by the people Voldemort had conquered when he took this land—her people. Their situation had not improved, but from what she'd know, it had not grown worse either. There was no strength left in them, no one to fight their cause. Voldemort had been careful in removing anyone who could challenge him, and spies did his bidding in every corner of the land. Then again, no one had true strength. All was as Voldemort wished it to be, the families of his court scrapping over his favor and whatever privileges he metered out.

Eventually, the citadel came into view, it's soaring tower, built one on top of another, grown into a behemoth and sticking out like a cancer against the mountains countryside around it. It was still a long road to reach it, but with each turn of the carriage wheel, she felt her unease grow.