"Ah…"

The tension that curled throughout His Wizengamot felt thick and oppressive. Only His voice, curious with just a hint of interested surprise, seemed enough to break the spell that took hold of them. Hold of her.

Hermione's heart was a rattling beast, trapped within the cage of her impossibly tight ribs. The sensation of floating, of feeling out of control, twisted through her belly bringing immediate discomfort and a grimace she could not hide nor repress. His face, Bill's face, with its three long slashes-puckered and red flesh once torn asunder by werewolf claws now healed and raised in a manner to grotesque to be professionally cared for-was painfully reminiscent of another's. Unique and easily recognizable yet drawn and tired. She'd seen that look before, knew it was the face of a person haunted by their mistakes, haunted by loss, haunted by the type of anxiety that only came with running and running and running.

When even hiding was nearly impossible and certainly not worth the effort.

It was a look she'd seen on The Boy. It was a look she'd watched form on Ronald, one that had eventually been twisted by the burden they'd all carried before it led to his desertion during their most harrowing time of need.

So…

What had William deserted?

"I must say," The Dark Lord rumbled, His voice the perfect mockery of casual inspection, "I did not expect you to return."

Hermione released a breath she hadn't realized she'd been holding and only now did the ache of her clutched fingers-fisted tightly among some of Bellatrix loose skirts-register among the kaleidoscope of emotion that filtered through her. Bill was thin, incredibly so, and filthy. His overall appearance didn't seem to bother her company and even Luna remained rather serene in the face of their old beaten down ally. Did they feel nothing for him? Nothing other than the suspicion and trepidation that showed on their faces?

She swallowed her distress, unwilling (and unable) to show weakness surrounded by virtual strangers. She could not afford to feel sorrow here, to show pity toward a traitor-no matter the familial love she had once held for him. No matter how much she'd missed seeing someone else, knowing someone else out there had felt her same fears and convictions.

Convictions that were no longer relevant now that she was but another dog on the leash of her Lord.

Bill's lips opened and closed, their cracked state having little to do with the soft croaks they released. His body language spoke volumes. Where he'd once struggled fiercely he now hung limp, held before His presence by the combined strength of the proud Lestrange brothers. She knew he wanted to speak, could see his will reflected in a gaze that trembled, but Voldemort was an overwhelming presence.

Only The Boy had ever held strong when surrounded by His circle.

She closed her eyes, cowardly, afraid-

"You have to look." Luna whispered. "Give him that. He deserves that."

With a harsh breath, Hermione sucked her bottom lip between her teeth. How Luna could ask her to watch what would no doubt become a circus of slaughter was beyond her.

She couldn't see it, but she could feel Bellatrix gaze upon her. She could clearly imagine her sneer, could sense her mild irritation at Hermione's newfound weakness-

"I'm here." Luna said, her voice a sharp interruption that tickled along the flesh of her neck. At some point, Luna had changed position. She'd abandoned whatever comfort Bellatrix lap had provided to instead settle herself on Hermione's other open side, pushing her further against Bellatrix warmth while providing her own.

"You can open your eyes."

Though her heart refused to settle she found the courage-for was she not the lion she desperately claimed to be? -to open her eyes. From the corner of her narrowed vision she saw Luna's moonlit colored hair, some of it tossed loosely over her chest as her companion rested her head upon her shoulder. In another breath, she risked a glance to Bellatrix.

And there was nothing but predatory interest in her look and downturned lips in a harsh scowl. "You'll give Him your attention."

In those words, so carefully hissed, was an unspoken threat. She would not disrespect Him with residue feelings for a blood traitor.

She was not allowed to destroy herself.

But she found it difficult to feel entirely numb just the same.

"Speak if you're going to speak!" Pius barked, his wand clutched painfully within a whitening trembling grip.

"He was quite rough," Luna tittered, her lips split in a smile too reminiscent of something Bellatrix might have displayed.

"W-who?" Hermione swallowed, her gaze glued upon the proceedings even as Luna forced her grip to uncurl from Bellatrix clothing.

"Bill," Luna said. "He arrived in a frenzy… The Ministry was rather shocked and Bill was rather forward in his insistence for an audience."

With a strangled squeak, Hermione said, "He asked for this?"

"Oh yes," Luna replied. "They took something from him."

"They? The Dark Lord?"

With a withering look, Snape, who had yet to take his seat proper, hissed over his shoulder, "Silence!"

Hermione snapped her mouth shut, six years of ingrained need to obey any Professor's spoken order to strong to subconsciously overcome.

"S-sorry, Minister." Bill hissed, his voice a sharp sudden bark among the soft muttering in the room. His respect for Pius was rather clear in the lingering hiss he expelled, his irritation in his capture and manhandling evident. It seemed like some of his courage had returned and for that Hermione was thankful.

It was enough to bolster her own.

"I have done nothing wrong," Bill tested the words on his tongue and nervously licked his lips, "I was acting in self-defense."

There a moment of silence before The Dark Lord leaned forward, His long unnatural fingers curled over one another in a human act of contemplation, "That was not the report I heard."

Bill winced and shook his head in adamant denial. "I-"

"-Was this not an attempt to murder the Minister and overrun the state with anarchy? I was told by Undersecretary Umbridge that you…" Here, The Dark Lord paused as a raspy sigh slipped past parted lip. "What was it you said, Dolores?"

The woman in question sputtered, not expecting The Dark Lord to address her directly no doubt.

"He.. he came into the office with fists at the ready, my Lord."

"Fists at the ready and…?"

"And he went wild, of course!"

The Dark Lord hummed slightly, thoughtful- "Do elaborate."

Pius gnawed on his bottom lip as Dolores stood from her place before the conjured quill. Her lips were pressed thin in slight smile, one that reflected an unearned sort of haughtiness. Umbridge thought the attention upon her was good, no doubt. Hermione felt that such focus would have been horrible, had she been in her place. Especially after what she'd done the night of the revel.

No, His attention, unless specified otherwise, was probably not the best thing to attract in this sort of circumstance.

"He was foaming at the mouth, practically rabid. He kept screaming 'take me to him'! Aggressive and dangerous!" Dolores sneered, delighted, "Of course our Minister declined the demand."

"Did he now?"

While Dolores puffed out her chest like a strutting turkey Hermione noticed The Dark Lord looked unimpressed with her theatrical explanation. His body language, while refined and confident, almost seemed to slouch under the weight of her exaggerations.

"He was frazzled, certainly," Luna corrected, her voice soft and nearly devoured by Dolores loud proclamation, "Frantic. But I wouldn't describe it as wild. A Sphinx is wild."

Dolores choked on her words as Voldemort interrupted her with but a minor flick of His wrist.

There's a soft clearing of throat as Voldemort sat a bit straighter- "What was that, Ms. Lovegood?"

Luna inhaled sharply and Hermione jerked caught off guard by His sudden interest. "WIlliam Weasley entered the office frantic, my Lord. However, as I told my Lady Granger, I would have not described him as wild. Malnourished and desperate, of course, but not wild."

Dolores trembled where she stood, silent and fuming.

"Oh? Would you describe him as dangerous?"

"He had no wand, my Lord, and if anything, Mr. Weasley was only a tad impolite, nothing incredibly terrifying."

Bill swallowed nervously, his neck bobbing with the motion as he tested the hold of his current captors. He didn't dare speak, maybe there were no words he could use to properly explain his case. Instead, he merely stared, his eyes wide and practically unseeing as they focused on Luna…

And ultimately, on herself.

She held his gaze and shook, felt her spine stiffen as the skin of her marked arm burned and itched. That look, those emotions, the betrayal, the terror… his hurt, his confusion…

It was nearly too much.

"He remembers you," Bellatrix purred, her arm wrapped tightly, possessively, around her waist. "He fears for you."

No, he couldn't possibly fear for her. She didn't deserve that sort of emotion. Not anymore, not as something dark and heavy filled her belly, mingling with her anxiety, and eroding her guilt.

"But there's no need, is there? After all, it's not me you're afraid of."

Hermione swallowed and shook her head, though she barely registered the motion. Bellatrix was right, it was herself that she feared.

"A tad impolite?" He asked, and the tension, the thread of intense focus that held them, snapped as Bill whipped his head back to face The Dark Lord.

"He wanted someone to listen to him, my Lord. He may have… grabbed the Minister by his robes."

"And, where were you?"

"Oh! I was off to the side, my Lord. Keeping Ms. Umbridge safe. She was screaming-"

"How dare-"

Voldemort gave a soft sound, like gravel rolling over glass, and that was enough to cut Dolores off before she managed to croak out another word.

"And," Luna licked her lips, her smile gentle despite the interruption, "I didn't want her to get in the way."

Bellatrix gave a sudden wild howl- "Like last time!"

"My Lord," Dolores snarled, her voice strained, "I'd like to mention that Ms. Lovegood's behavior was very suspicious during the altercation and that I should remind those present that she and the Mud-"

Dolores coughed slightly, a sly cover up for her near slip, but Hermione caught it easily as well as everyone else who narrowed their gaze in the space."-Ms. Granger were a part of a faction meant to defy and destroy you!"

There was a soft undertone of whispering then, though His Death Eaters were strangely quiet throughout the rolling commotion. Still, He let them talk, those who occupied seats on the right, seats that still belonged to some of the… now allied Ancient and Noble Houses.

Though none of them spoke up to give backing to Dolores claims.

Hermione pressed closer to Bellatrix and the older woman gave a rumbling growl of pleasure at the motion but didn't seem bothered by Dolores statement. If anything, the wild grin on her face was more concerning than the uneasy mumbling of their current company. It was enough to ease the tight ball of apprehension that had curled in her chest but not completely erase her concerns. For six years, she'd kept a low profile and to think that this… toad could possibly destroy all that in one afternoon. The thought that she could even damage Luna's reputation with such wild accusations? That was unforgivable.

She would not let this happen. She would not let someone come and destroy the life her friend had created for herself, even if it was questionable, even if Luna had dragged her along. She would not lose this… this… feeling of dark fulfillment. She couldn't let go of the knowledge of arts once forbidden to her, of power she hadn't known she possessed. Of Draco's unneeded arrogance. Of Narcissa's strange affections. Of Bellatrix-

She would never let her go. If Hermione must suffer. If she must feel pain… then her betrothed would as well. They were too connected, too intimately bound by agony, history, and madness. Bellatrix had awakened some wild hungry possessive need within her, one that could not be calmed or eased. One that lacked all manner of control whenever they were together, whenever she tried desperately to fight it, to separate. And now, now that someone was trying to rip that away from her-!

She sneered and narrowed her eyes, all careful neutrality gone, devoured under a suffocating blanket of welcomed fury. Bill seemed taken aback by her look of offense and she found herself unable to process or care how she must have appeared to him. Later, when she had time, she might analyze the violent strength held in her reaction. The way she ground her teeth, the sudden harsh grip she held upon Bellatrix arm-and she made sure to make it punishing. She made sure to curl her fingertips, to sink her well-maintained nails into available flesh and pinch until thin driblets of crimson rose to her unspoken call and Bellatrix choked and snarled sharply at the suddenness of her aggression. For all intents and purposes she must have looked like a properly infuriated pure-blood supporter.

She hadn't realized that Luna's reaction was much the same.

Except, instead of righteous fury her face was a cool reflection of chilling cruelty. That gaze, so intense and often dreamily introspective, carved a path through the audience from The Dark Lord to the woman who had dared make her accusations. There was nothing kind and gentle about Luna then, nothing soft and malleable in the way she took a deep rattling breath. There was something incredibly terrifying about her then, something that eased the wild thumping in Hermione's head and caught her attention undeniably.

Bellatrix was quick to whip out a hand and harshly squeeze her own until her fingers reluctantly relinquished the flesh she'd marked but Hermione barely registered the discomfort. Instead she stared as Luna rose from her seat and inhaled deeply.

Something more was there. Something undeniably indescribably Luna and yet it screamed other just the same. Hermione sucked in another frantic breath when Luna stepped forward. She could feel it, the wild seductive snap of power that crawled down the length of Luna's spine and seemed to spiral around her like ethereal wind. She blinked once or twice, tried to clear her distorted vision, but there was no denying the barely visible wisps of something curling across Luna's shoulders and arms.

Magic.

So thick she could barely think past it.

"Breath," a voice tittered in her ear.

So thick she could practically taste it.

"You have to keep breathing," the voice said again, annoying but familiar. It was Him. It was her. It was no one.

She shouldn't have been able to feel it so clearly. Luna's very essence felt raw against her flesh. The heat it carried was too much, so much more than the flames of her own desperate anger.

"Poor little pet," The voice chuckled softly, all honey and dripping hunger, "The first time it happens it's always hard. Feeling magic. Seeing it. Tasting it."

Of course.

Yet, the pressure seemed to ease and instead of that horrifying metaphysical suffocation relief chilled her sweat-drenched flesh and she finally, finally, remembered what breathing was.

That, of course, meant nothing overall for Luna still stood at the front of their box and her alarming look of uncompromising ferocity did not lessen. No matter how cool and controlled her expression remained.

"Dolores Umbridge, last remaining member of the Lesser House of Umbridge. Do you mean to claim that I, Luna Lovegood, Heiress to the Elevated Noble House of Lovegood, would betray this new order? And in turn, betray my allied Lady?"

There's a wicked finality to those words, an unerring fierce protectiveness and indignation that leaks into the well-practiced phrase of pure-blood etiquette. There was something at work here, some political turn that had the crowd silenced, Voldemort quietly invested, and Bill's eyes bulging.

"I'll have you know that I am related to the Ancient and Noble House of Selwyn and there is nothing 'lesser'-"

"-I am one of His loyal. Marked and acknowledged-"

Here Bill gave out a small whimper, his expression ashen.

"-And still you dare?"

Dolores stood up straight, her hands curled into shaking fists, "And what gives you the right to claim nobility anyway? Granger has done nothing to prove she is in a station of power high enough to bring up the likes of you, a former blood traitor-"

"-You." Luna stated viciously, her lips curled up in a smile most unnatural, "Have offended the Mighty House of Granger, the very First House of Firstborn brethren and in turn you have now offended me." For a moment, Luna paused, thoughtful, then sighed wistfully, "Which, I must admit, is an awfully hard thing to do."

Bellatrix feral laughter was the only thing to crack the oppressive silence thereafter such an admittance, but it did nothing to lessen the heavy weight that hung over them or Voldemort's quirked brow of interest.

"You really are something, ickle Dolores!" Bellatrix yowled, "Offending two houses of rising power! Claiming them blood traitors and pathetic Order sympathizers! Who of the Ancient and Noble House of Selwyn would claim someone like you?"

Slowly Voldemort leaned forward, head tilted, Bill forgotten and left to tremble and sag between the Lestrange brothers, "Do we have a record keeper among us?"

"Our appointed record keeper is absent, my Lord," Snape, still standing, swept into a graceful bow, "But I will substitute."

Dolores gave a bark-"M-my Lord, I am record keeper here and surely you-"

"-I would be silent, Dolores." Lucius drawled. He looked incredibly relaxed despite the overall commotion while Draco peered down with a practiced yet perfectly mimicked grace. "This is not the first engagement of importance you've interrupted, but it is the second you've interrupted in the name of defacing His Chosen."

Dolores bit her lip so hard Hermione could see little droplets of blood form in the indents.

Good.

She had no idea what was going on but Luna, despite her earlier actions, seemed somewhat back to normal-if the gentle smile she tossed over her shoulder was any indication.

"Severus," The Dark Lord said, "Do look into Umbridge's claim into the house of Selwyn."

Now Dolores looked incredibly pale, it made her appear even more ridiculous within her pink preposterous outfit. "My Lord, I-"

"The Lesser House of Umbridge has been continuously supported by the Minister House."

Now sound returned, it came in a burst of sharp mutters and one rambling Pius- "Ms. Lovegood, surely you don't think that I've put her up to such wild ideals?"

"What are we to think?" Bellatrix interrupted, "She is a big fat lump on efficiency and still around to boot."

"Bellatrix-"

"Lady Black, if you would? Wittle Pius? Let's not forget our manners," Bellatrix corrected, wild grin in place as she displayed slick white teeth. "Lest you offend the Ancient and Noble House of Black as well."

"Oh ho, and you would not want that." Rabastan crowed, his grip upon Bill impossibly tight. Tight enough that the man who had been forgotten during the mess winced and cringed.

"There's a reason Slughorn has not been back."

Lucius words were enough to make Pius lower his gaze to his feet as he delicately dabbed at the sweat around his forehead. "I apologize for my impolite behavior but, could we get back to the matter at hand?"

His words were no longer the confident drawl Hermione would have attached to him. Instead Pius seemed anxious, exhausted, exasperated and above all, frightened.

"Naturally," The Dark Lord said, and while His face remained impassive there was a wild glimmer to His gaze, "but you must acknowledge Ms. Lovegood's statement."

Pius swallowed and croaked, "I want no part in Dolores offense-"

"-Pius!" Dolores yelled.

"-Her accusation was uncalled for."

"But not entirely unwarranted." Voldemort rumbled, "So what is the reason you did not attempt to assist the Minister during his attack, Ms. Lovegood?"

Here Luna tilted her head, "He was not attacked, my Lord. Mr. Weasley is weak and barely standing. He did not come upon the Minister with dangerous intention. Yes, upon being denied an audience with you he may have grabbed the Minister's robes but the most he did was get him a little… filthy."

Now she smiled, something sly and amused as she motioned toward the rumpled Pius, who gracelessly stumbled back and brushed off his stained clothing. "The Aurors were summoned and I, as your faithful, would never allow true harm to come to your Minister. The only time fists were flying would have been when Mr. Weasley attempted to avoid capture."

Now, Luna gave an idle cutting glance to Dolores. "That's all."

Voldemort gave a slow nod, "And this is all true, Mr. Weasley? You are here to deliver to me some great message of importance after avoiding detection for several years? One does not return from the land of the missing for simple social visits."

Missing? Bill had been missing?

"I-it is." Bill shuddered, his gaze on the ground, his body sagging once again.

"Luna," The Dark Lord said as He leaned back, eyes closed. "Do what you will."

Now Luna smiled brilliantly, as if she were a child in a candy store. "Thank you, my Lord."

She turned just slightly to face Dolores once more, looking down at her from her position in their box in the perfect imitation of a pure-blood Lady.

"Umbridge, I demand my cut of blood and flesh. You will come on bended knee to my Lady and to me by next full moon or you will be dueled to uphold my house integrity. My house and the House of Granger will not allow unification on any subject until then with Lesser House Umbridge nor the elevated house of the Minister."

To this Pius jaw flopped open and his face was so red Hermione thought he might burst. She had no idea what Luna had just claimed for them, but the general gist was easy enough to grasp. Somehow, they had just shunned Umbridge, a humiliation that must have cut rather deep and wide reaching as several Aurors stepped away from Pius as if he were the literal plague. A political plague to be sure.

Draco took a few steadying breaths before he blurted out, "The Most Ancient and Noble House of Malfoy backs this claim."

It was quickly followed by Bellatrix's gleeful admission of- "The Most Ancient and Noble House of Black backs this claim."

To this Voldemort laughed, a soft raspy sound that sent shivers down Hermione's spine- "How unfortunate. These allied houses will make your endeavors quite difficult for you… and Ms. Lovegood holds their votes."

Now, Hermione exhaled slowly, her gaze steady upon Bellatrix face as she tried to read her, tried to understand the implications of what Draco and her had done but the sudden toss of Bill onto the floor by the Lestrange brothers and the continuing movement away from the Minister was meaning enough.

Luna had done something. They had done something. Something extremely damaging. Something equivalent to choking them. They were taking power away from them with nothing more than a few powerful words and a crafty well done political tap-dance. Those who once felt confident-or in Umbridge case, tolerable-of their actions now had reason to distrust and suspect. It went beyond appointed authority, beyond the power or obnoxious fervor to make things happen. It was all about respect. About the integrity of the human-made brand. Wasn't that how Dumbledore had gained so much power? So much ability to change and determine meager lives and roles? The right to a collective, to well-placed friends and alliances, was an earned one and one wrong move could destroy that. Unknowingly, despite her newness, Hermione had acquired more than just intangible prestige. She had gained social wealth through The Dark Lord, and that was far more important at the moment than any of the galleons she held in Gringotts.

Suddenly Hermione understood, she knew why Castlewater was quick to bow. Being rejected in this new world built through connections was akin to death. No longer being useful to The Dark Lord left you open to a perverse type of vulnerability.

The Lords in their seats on Voldemort's right side were like wolves and vultures, waiting and watching, hungry for their turn to kick aside one more piece and take his place.

"This is... "

"Boring stuff." Bellatrix responded, her voice a whining drone but her satisfaction was clearly shown all over her smiling face.

"Y-yes," Hermione whispered as Luna came back to her side. "Boring stuff."

"Mr. Weasley," The Dark Lord moved on without so much as a nod acknowledgement to His Minister and fury infused Undersecretary. If He was concerned that His most faithful Death Eaters had released a freshly discovered rebel without restraint, He certainly didn't show it. "What have you to tell me?"

Bill slowly pulled himself up, his movements labored and his breathing frantic. He trembled, though whether it was with relief from being released or terror from being focused Hermione did not know. Either way, despite his parted lips his tongue was heavy. He didn't speak, didn't so much as utter confirmation that he'd heard The Dark Lord, as he rose from the floor into a full wavering stand.

Then, with as much pride as he could muster, despite his swaying, he lifted his head so that his gaze of blue was leveled upon the gleaming red reflected in Voldemort's own.

"Help," He croaked at first, his hands balled into fists at his side, "I need your help."

Silence followed, thick and oppressive and Hermione didn't bother to hide her astonished swallow.

Bill continued, "They took them. My family. My brothers. They wanted… they-"

He wavered, his voice cracked in a softly expressed sob, before he fell to one knee. Hermione knew it was more than just exhaustion that forced him to bow. It was the crushing realization that he was broken, desperate, and asking The Dark Lord for assistance. It was the pressure of admitting weakness, of admitting failure.

It was feeling one's personal honor shatter.

The Dark Lord was patient, His expression carefully passive, and were it not for His quirked brow Hermione would have thought Him completely unmoved by the display. As it stood, she knew He was curious.

"We were so tired. We had to stop. The children-my… my child!" His voice tapered off in a panicked wail, only cut off by the sharp hiss of Voldemort's irritation.

"Stand. Address me properly," He drawled, "And tell me what you need."

For seeing His enemy beg was probably delightful. Hearing his pain, knowing that His world was the only point of salvation, must have been exhilarating.

And Bill, poor Bill, could do nothing more than obey. If whatever monster had taken his progeny was still out there, a monster more frightening than Voldemort himself, he would do whatever it took to have them returned, even if that meant a deal with Him. So, he stood, shaky, face sloppy with snot and the moisture of tears, but the jeers and cackling Hermione had expected never came.

They were all on the edge of their seat, watching a rival fall apart.

"M-my Lord," Bill croaked, his throat trembling with strain as he gave up everything in return for something that might not come. "I have… information and in exchange I need… assistance."

He cleared his throat as Voldemort nodded, "The Order has my daughter, I humbly request you get her back."

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

The Order has my daughter-

The Order.

The Order still existed.

Hermione was not alone, not entirely. Out there somewhere, in Great Britain's wilderness, were the remains of The Order, of The Light that had once consumed her, given her hope, pushed her forward-

And her heart didn't pound with the thud of excitement. Her stomach didn't flutter with inspiring realization. Instead, she felt cold, slick with sweat, and painfully aware of what was not yet spoken, of the heavy implications that after six long years The Order's first major movement had been the disruption of Bill's misplaced family. His appearance as a barely functional and frantic father was not the reassuring look of the resistance. It was the look of someone defeated, downtrodden, desperate, and ruined. Without order, without the balance that even Hermione had achieved under The Dark Lord's controlling thumb, Bill had done nothing but run and run and run and at some point, he'd admitted to being tired.

Maybe that was when The Order had struck, when the madness of resistance, of needing to win, had disrupted even the most standard of morals.

"They took his… child?" Hermione whispered, her muscles tense, spine stiff.

"They did," Luna whispered, body pressed close, her own tremble repressed as her tightly clasped hands clenched and unclenched in idle rhythms.

Bill's admission, his information, had done little to lessen the blow of Voldemort's displeasure at hearing actual confirmation that The Order was still an existing entity. His magic had flared out, hot and suffocating-before it reached her Hermione had been confused, why had Snape collapsed into his seat? Why had Pius fallen to his knees? -until she wasn't sure whether it was His fury snapping against her skin like the burning licks of a whip or her own ferocity and horror, boiling her blood within her until nothing else remained but her magic and His power.

His magical projection, despite the calm unchanged expression upon His face as He stood from His throne, was all consuming. The very walls groaned and creaked, the floor rippled with each step, warped like disturbed liquids, and the circle of witches and wizards shuffled back with sounds of distress Hermione had never heard the average adult make. She saw Him move behind the film of trembling red that invaded her vision. She heard Him whisper something incoherent and yet clearly vicious behind the rapid painful thud of her heart against straining ribs. She wasn't sure exactly what happened thereafter, only that He had touched Bill and that Bill had screamed as if his very flesh were being torn from muscle.

Then, suddenly she could breathe again, could think past the raw emotion that had pummeled her senses, only to be replaced with an aching weakness. She felt her body tip over suddenly onto the lap of a rabid eyed panting Bellatrix.

Good, so she hadn't been the only one to feel completely out of control.

Yet, even now, pressed against Luna in the Ministry courtroom, as people milled around them, hushed and subdued, she still shook with a slight sensation of loss and confusion.

"It's His magic," Luna explained, "It's addictive and very expressive, though punishing. You miss it, being around it."

"No," Hermione mumbled, "There's no way I want to feel that sort of rage again. I thought I'd lose my mind."

Luna shook her head, "You wouldn't have. Not anymore, not as you are now."

Then silence, for Hermione had nothing to say to that.

It wasn't until Lord Parkinson wandered by, dabbing at his sweat slick brow after he tossed them a strange look, that Luna spoke again.

"They won't kill him."

Hermione swallowed nervously, holding back words of anxiety. She knew they wouldn't kill him, The Dark Lord had stated as much when He'd had the stationed Aurors take him away. It wasn't that she feared for his life, he was currently a useful source of information and an anomaly to boot-as one didn't tend to ask their enemies to save their loved ones-but she wasn't sure if she… cared.

"They won't let us leave," Hermione blurted as she tried to stuff trembling hands beneath her thighs to ease the shake, "They think we're involved, they think we care."

She couldn't afford to care, she needed… she needed-

"You do care," Luna said.

No. No.

"Just in a different way."

Luna's hand, once preoccupied with controlling her own nervous movements, now took up space across Hermione's knee. The warmth there was comforting in the absence of Bellatrix, who had left shortly after the meetings conclusion to assist in escorting their new prisoner. Naturally, as Hermione moved to follow, Bellatrix harsh shove and chilling command of 'stay' had done nothing to ease the dread that flexed and curled throughout her belly.

"I don't want him to be harmed." Hermione licked her lips, "But…"

"We aren't associated with him, He knows that."

Hermione shook her head, "How are you so sure?"

"He read his mind, a very efficient way of gathering necessary information."

Of course, legilimency was an extremely useful spell to have in one's skill directory. The fact that she had little experience with the art of it only made her all the more uneasy. Bellatrix seemed to infiltrate her paltry barriers with ease but she could hardly penetrate the puzzle that made-up Bellatrix network of consciousness. Could anyone, really? Did she even process thought on a level easily understood by the mundane?

It didn't matter, she had no desire to go about slipping in and out of minds, not yet, not now.

Their conversation lapsed into silence, halted by the sudden activity of Aurors and a red-faced Minister as he swept into the room to heatedly whisper something to a laughing sneering Yaxley. For the most part the courtroom had emptied after Bill's detainment and The Dark Lord's expression of anger. He'd taken some of his Inner Circle-Bellatrix, Lucius, and Snape to be sure-then had motioned others to do tasks with a practiced sort of air. This wasn't their first breach, apparently, just the first having to do with a major face of The Order.

So, what did that make Luna and herself? The fact that they had been left behind-and practically ordered to remain-was pretty telling. Even Draco had abandoned them to the coveted Black House seats claiming he needed to alert his mother of the most recent happenings and then locate a particular owl to send off a vague message to certain individuals. She wished that, for once, he had remained. Even his presence would have been somewhat comforting in the face of unknown implications.

She wondered if Umbridge accusations lingered in the minds of any of the present hovering Lords but their attention seemed focused on the massive doorway that led beyond the courtroom and individual hushed conversations.

"I've betrayed him," Hermione whispered, unable to take the silence as voices faded from her consciousness and the heavy weight of paranoia and shame beat at her mentality, "We've betrayed The Order."

Only Luna's voice seemed to tug her from her self-loathing, "It's difficult to betray something that didn't want you."

Hermione gagged, her voice caught in a tightening throat. "What?"

"They didn't look for you, for us." Luna answered casually, her gaze upon Umbridge, who hovered nearby like a hungry vulture, her lips pressed thin in a smug smile that was tossed their way every so often. Perhaps, from her point of view, she saw them as good as dead due to Bill's reveal.

"Where have they been?" Luna's brow was pinched in a manner Hermione might have found cute if her nerves were alight with mounting anxiety, "Why return now?"

"They thought us dead," Hermione answered. "Certainly, that's the case."

"I never thought you were dead, Hermione. Only waiting to be found."

"You looked for me," Hermione said, merely repeating a fact, as if knowing someone hadn't forgotten her would ground her mania.

"I looked for you." Luna confirmed, squeezing her captured knee possessively in the warmth of her grasp.

Hermione closed her eyes, trying to shut out the stimulus of nervous meandering pure-bloods, "But, that was just for The Dark Lord."

"No." Luna said plainly, "He knew where you were. He always knows. We, however, were not allowed to know, for this very reason."

"The Order."

"The Order," Luna repeated, but her tone was odd, dark and weary, as if the representation of all they had fought for so many years ago, was now just a blight upon their recovering reputation. In a way, Hermione supposed it was. Her existence was difficult, a challenging mess of suppressed memories and unstable future goals. To have all that ruined by misleading assumption seemed terribly unfair. She felt guilty for the thought of that, not because she had embraced her role among His people, but because she didn't feel guilty for that embrace.

She was just too hungry now to return to a life of meaningless resistance.

"They aren't the same, The Order." Luna drawled, her smile in place as her eyes seemed to clear-pushing away whatever building storms that sought to cloud it. "They no longer represent what we once thought we wanted."

Then Luna made an odd sound, some cheerful hum, "They were never what we really thought we wanted."

Hermione cleared her throat, "And this?" She waved her hand out over the courtroom. "This is what we wanted?"

"To be heard. To be free."

"This isn't free."

Luna gave her a look, some odd cross between affection and exasperation, "No, I suppose it isn't. Not in the way that you think you know."

Had they been anywhere else, beyond the watchful gaze of His collective, she might have hissed at Luna in her frustration. Her odd way of speech and complete disregard for the upcoming danger was not helpful. Hermione had an overwhelming desire to understand and process, to ease the twisting knots that curled through her belly and tugged at her in two different directions. This wasn't a question of morality-Hermione knew such a concept was lost to her now, buried under scars and heated lessons of darker magic-it was a question of…

Of what, exactly?

Of loyalty? Of what was right and wrong?-no, that was to close a subject to ethics, to morality, to things that didn't matter in her pursuit of knowledge and need for power. All so she could survive.

Because, she had to remain pragmatic.

"If The Order were here, if… if Ha-" She choked, unable to say his name, unable to think past the buzzing that swept across her mentality and brought to life feelings of discomfort and fear. Fear of The Boy, fear of the chaos he represented now in their world of discipline through pain and carefully cultivated control.

That wasn't right, the feelings weren't right-

"Then things would have remained the same." Luna's voice was a beacon amongst the confusion, a lure to save herself from her mind's own failsafe to act against more traitorous thoughts and actions, and perhaps The Mark's subtle hint that there would be less moments to ponder 'what-if's'. "Children do not have the power to change the world."

No matter how many times Dumbledore tried to make that an indisputable truth.

"I had plans," Hermione laughed listlessly, "Ideas and dreams… if they had won"

Because she couldn't afford to think of The Order as 'we' anymore.

"I never forgot them." Luna said, "They merely have to change."

Into what, exactly?

It was best to change the subject, "Why do you suppose The Order… did what they did to Bill?"

Why did they allow him to run?

Instead of supplying an answer Luna stood, her palm turned up and held in her direction, expectant, steady, and no longer trembling. There wasn't any need to press her for one, really. Hermione knew why. They'd grown desperate. The world was not on fire. Voldemort was not their fabled monster, twisted by Light proposed propaganda into a man of insane platforms and half-worked politics. The Muggles were safe, the Muggle-borns carefully evaluated, and the people patched up and functional. Only a few of them were broken, held together with bandaged pride and salvaged ideals-twisted to fit His purpose-but useful… wanted.

So, those who remained to fight against Him were losing sight of why they needed to.

"Come now, my Lady." Luna smiled gently, something vivid and fearless and that was enough to settle Hermione's hammering heart. "He'll call for us soon."

Hermione took Luna's offered hand and stood but that didn't mean she wasn't skeptical of her statement, "Bellatrix said to stay put so I'll have to ask you to refrain from apparating us anywhere, if that is your intention."

Luna's smile never faltered, "Did she?"

Hermione scowled, "I'm sure you heard that growl as clear as I did. I have no desire to be punished because you're antsy."

"Antsy?" Luna asked, innocently, "I don't fancy myself an ant, Hermione."

"And I don't fancy the idea of being spa-" Hermione clamped her mouth shut. One, because she'd almost revealed something she had no desire to elaborate on in a public space, and two, Narcissa Malfoy had just entered the courtroom.

o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o-o

"What's happening?" Hermione croaked, the work Luna had done to soothe her all but forgotten in the face of the massive doors that led to the Malfoy dining room.

"Less questions," Narcissa snapped, adjusting the lapel of Hermione's outer robe-a nervous habit, Hermione supposed-before she forcibly turned her to face the doors.

"Our Lord has called," Luna said, still rather cheerful despite the mumbled voices that echoed beyond the imposing wood.

"Yes, I can see that." Hermione garbled, still somewhat nauseous from the rapid sensation of apparition Narcissa had demanded they take to get back to the manor, "What I want to know is why for?"

"You are His Chosen, aren't you?" Narcissa drawled, one brow quirked high enough to nearly disappear behind a few loss strands of her normally perfectly held back hair.

Hermione shook her head wildly, apprehension making her feel less like His Chosen and more like a caged animal, "I… I used to be the face of The Order, The Boy's Golden Girl, why would He-"

"One doesn't question His actions, girl." Narcissa hissed, pushing her toward the entrance with a less than gentle shove, "And you've given Him little reason to think you have anything to do with it."

"I don't," Hermione was quick to answer, though the words made her feel… odd. She should have felt ashamed for her admission, embarrassed by her quickness to answer, but all she felt was frustration. "I've been dead to them for the last six years."

Dead to everyone, even herself.

"Then stop your trembling-"

"Ah. I am not trembling, Lady Malfoy-"

"-He will not wait forever."

"Really, must I be here? I need to finish His projects and-"

Then a voice, soft, amused, and yet undeniably commanding.

"Enter. Ms. Granger."

"Go." Luna whispered, fervent, gaze glassy and wide.

Hermione didn't need to be told twice. Before she realized it her hand was already upon the cool wood of the large and heavy doors. She could feel… something beyond the threshold, the heat of magic against her awakened flesh, the addictive pull of His command and something more, something that snapped and hissed and screeched-unsettled, agitated, needy, and feral-

"Bellatrix," The name slipped past her lips and suddenly that wild taste of essence had a title to attached to it—something she knew on a nearly instinctual level- but her mind was torn, trapped between understanding the magic that rubbed across her skin and controlling her body which seemed to move of its own accord.

She stepped into the room and paused, greeted by the sight of His seated council and the robust decor of the dining space. They were settled at the center, held comfortable and together by regal tall cushioned-back chairs and separated only by the antique marble table between them. He sat at the head of it all, with clasped hands tucked against a tipped forward chin. The fury that had occupied His being seemed absent, replaced by the curious pull that bid her to walk forward. With each step, she felt the temperature dip, felt His being exclude a chill that seemed neither purposeful nor accidental. He just was. A natural icy phenomena of commanding presence. She wasn't sure how to explain it, the way He felt as she approached, but it was familiar all the same.

Just as invasive as the last time she'd been near Him.

On the right side of the table Bellatrix stiffened, her lips parted as tongue slipped out to lick her lips in a manner too hungry to be innocent.

Hermione had to repress a shiver.

Narcissa and Luna filtered in after her, their steps practiced and coordinated as they took their seats-Narcissa on the other side of Bellatrix, settled comfortably beside her husband and Luna on the other side of the table across from her, next to Snape. Most of the chairs after that were filled in with those Death Eaters He was generally surrounded by, with only Peter forced to stand, his face twisted in a nervous scowl shot in her direction.

Only one seat remained unmarked and unoccupied, set conveniently beside Bellatrix own, though it seemed impossibly close to Voldemort Himself.

There was no way she was meant to sit there.

"Well?" A voice bellowed from the left, "Are you going to sit or not?"

"Give the bird a chance, eh?" Greyback responded, his presence the most surprising among those seated in the fact that he wasn't. He'd taken up a spot against the wall, his posture sloppy and relaxed, his unsettling smile in place. "This is her first meetin'."

The first voice gave a soft huff of impatience before he drummed his fingertips against the table surface. For the most part Hermione held herself rather well as memories bubbled to the surface of her mind and her belly ached in phantom pain.

"You should be a bit kinder, Dolohov, least you scare the poor thing away." Rowle spoke up, brow quirked and gaze focused.

Focused on her.

With thin pressed lips her gaze narrowed. How could these people, these men of blood and slaughter, so easily accept her presence among them when so many years ago, she had been just meat to be beaten before them?

"Pet," Bellatrix drawled, somewhat slouched in her chair with hands folded over belly. "Come on, come on. Don't make me wait."

She shook herself at that command, her attention stolen as she moved toward the chair. She could not afford to show feebleness here, and the idle thump of fears gained in childhood eased as she drew closer to her… seat. Her seat among His circle. There was no need to be afraid. Cautious, yes, but not afraid. Not anymore.

Not of them, anyway.

"Don't make you wait?" Dolohov grunted. "I have bloody work to do, what does she even need to be here for anyway? She's not with the Ministry."

"I'm the only one that matters, am I not?" Bellatrix asked innocently, eyes wide and glassy, perfect teeth on full display in a grin that seemed more threatening than friendly. "And He called for her, that's good enough for someone like wittle ol' you, isn't it? She is Marked an all."

Dolohov tore his gaze from Bellatrix to watched her move, tracking her as she carefully took her seat. Whatever he saw there, reflected in her expression-for Hermione tried to look harmless, friendly, open yet secure in her place-was enough to make him lean back and swallow harshly.

She hadn't been able to control it, the sudden intensity of her fantasy, the idea of spreading him upon the table before His people with wand against a soft fluttering belly. She'd open him for them, for her and find peace in the action, in the matching scar she'd give him, in the cries that would part his lips.

She took a shuddering breath and blinked rapidly. Now she was terrified for an entirely different reason.

"That's enough," Voldemort said, the rolling husk of his voice, so sibilant and yet controlled, set to capture the current audience. "I have summoned you to speak briefly on your performance this evening."

The men shifted in their seats, eager and attentive while Bellatrix only gave a soft sound of acknowledgement, her hand possessively on Hermione's arm, settled over the word carved upon her flesh. It was enough to distract her, to increase the speed of her breath as she curled her hand into a fist. She wanted to feel disgust, anger… to be reminded of such a thing here of all places and yet she only felt the nagging need to recuperation such possessive ownership.

She bit her lip and swallowed a growl.

"William Weasley's capture was unexpected…" He started, "But not unwelcomed."

Hermione jerked in her seat, felt the heavy touch of something twine about her legs-something smooth and ridged… lukewarm but incredibly alive-and only Bellatrix tightening grip upon her arm kept her from pushing back her seat and crying out as Nagini's head slipped itself easily onto her lap.

The size of her skull, the weight of it… she felt frozen in place, cowed by a flickering tongue and the depths of that animalistic all-knowing gaze. She wasn't sure where the rest of Nagini was-for she knew the snake was massive in comparison to anything mundane-but the intellect in her, nearly muffled by her internal screaming, figured she must be half under the table, and half around her.

Then it started again, soft and gentle… whispers… coaxing-

She blinked and they were gone, devoured by Voldemort's voice, "The Order is fragmented but apparently still functional. I am not pleased."

"Ol' Yaxley said it was impossible. The teams combed all of Great Britain for the missing, and those that remained haven't stepped so much as a toe out of line since being released from incarceration. I'd say there hasn't been anyone in contact with that bunch, or whatever can claim to be left, since your second year, my Lord."

"And yet," Voldemort interjected, "Mr. Weasley somehow invaded the Ministry right under our noses. That doesn't fill me with faith, Dolohov." There was a sound from Him then, like the clicking of a tongue against the back of His teeth, "So how is it then, that Mr. Weasley was able to orchestrate such a debacle alone?"

For a moment, Dolohov paused, his gaze now upon Hermione, "Maybe this one here…?"

Luna laughed, the sound unusually playful among the tension filled space, "The wrackspurts are in your head again, they're making odd sounds come out your mouth, Mr. Dolohov."

There was a chuckle or two, quickly silenced by an idle hand wave from The Dark Lord, but not before Dolohov's face went flushed.

"You're calling my assumption nonsense?"

"That seems to be the case," Narcissa answered coolly, unimpressed, "Granger has no owl yet and she's used the public post in the past. Furthermore, it would be rather difficult to design a plan of this nature without setting foot near the Ministry until today. Wasn't it your team of Aurors that insisted watching her for the last six years for signs of dissention?"

Hermione swallowed a sound of distress and ground her teeth. They'd been spying on her, watching her…. This man-

"And if she hasn't been using an owl? What then, eh? A patronus is just as good for communicating."

Hermione opened her mouth once, twice.

"Halfway across Great Britain? Their last known movement wasn't near anywhere Granger was reported to frequent." This from Yaxley, who entered the room without announcement, "Don't waste our Lord's time, Antonin."

"All I'm sayin' is-"

Hermione slapped her open palm against the table, using her free hand to gain the attention she desperately wanted to wretch from the man that had nearly split her in half so many years ago.

"Nobody wants to hear this prattle," She exclaimed, and while her tone was even her hands were shaky, "I have not been in contact with The Order. I didn't even know anyone I knew was alive until recently. I have been bound, as was dictated to me by the Ministry after the war, to that flat, the surrounding wizarding community, and my job. So, don't you dare sit here and belittle me or the work I've done the last six years to gain my stability."

For a moment, there was only silence and Hermione kept her gaze upon the table and the flesh of her splayed hand.

Lucius broke the silence, "It is somewhat rude to accuse a Lady of treason before her Lord, don't you think, Mr. Dolohov?"

The man in question gave a soft cough, embarrassed perhaps? Or just affronted by her outburst she wasn't sure. "It was not my intention-"

"-Then what was your intention?" Snape scowled, irritated that much was clear, "To waste everyone's time?"

He gawked at the table and seemed to notice that several faces either reflected amusement or annoyance, "Hey now-"

"Rabastan and Rodolphus are watching our prisoner with the junior Aurors. I'd like to give them their orders soon so that we can take action and destroy this nuisance, so if you have nothing important to offer…?" Yaxley made an exasperated motion with his hand, jerking it in Hermione's direction.

Surprisingly, Dolohov cleared his throat before he said, "I do apologize, Granger, it's just… you see…"

That was probably the best she'd get from him, she didn't have the energy to demand something more proper.

"I'll see to your apology," Luna said cheerfully, "In the form of penitence later."

Dolohov grimaced but said nothing more, only turned his grim expression to Voldemort who gave a nod of approval and moved on.

"I am not so naive to believe that Ms. Granger is in fact in touch or assisting The Order, despite her and Ms. Lovegood's former connections. If that were the case, I'd have to suspect Ms. Brown."

"She ain't havin' nothing to do with that lot either, my Lord." Greyback said.

"As I supposed. No, I don't believe anyone here has been in touch at all." The Dark Lord paused in His speech, thoughtful, allowing that statement to linger before He continued, "But whoever they've been in touch with doesn't matter, only that we silence that point of contact and in turn The Order itself."

"Will you execute Mr. Weasley?"

Hermione held her breath.

"Yaxley, what an odd conclusion. You see, Mr. Weasley claims to no longer be a part of The Order, not after the damage they've done to his family. I, in a merciful mood, and of a mind to let him live and consider his request."

The table remained silent, absent of the normal rumblings Hermione had grown used to hearing from the pure-blood elite. Here, there was no questioning, at least not of Him. Here, His word was law, shared thought upon the hive He'd created.

"Mr. Weasley was gracious enough to part with some interesting information." Red eyes moved about the table before they settled on Bellatrix, "Information that may lead to a raid."

Now the mood around the table shifted. Bellatrix was abuzz with excitement. She pulled her bottom lip between her teeth and bit so strongly Hermione swore she saw pinpricks of red pool to the surface.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix croaked. Her magic was a seductive pulse, something that pushed and shoved against Hermione's own until her own body ached with a need for action, to move, to get away, to get closer-anything.

When would this new sense ease?

"It has been a long time since such an act was necessary, but I'm sure you're eager."

"Extremely!" She laughed, that chilling cackle that seemed enough to make even Severus flinch.

"My Lord?" He interrupted, "A raid?"

"Or rescue, whichever title you prefer. You'll be interested to know, Severus, that I am privy to the last known location The Order occupied. Mr. Weasley was more than willing to share it after our… initial discussion."

So, beyond the courtroom walls, when they were alone and Hermione had been trapped, Bill had given him the keys to move forward. She wasn't sure how she felt about that. Or rather, she wasn't sure why she should feel anything about it, even though a part of her whispered it was wrong to feel nothing.

But she'd felt nothing for so long when it came to them.

"Bellatrix, you will take Ms. Granger to the location for a practical test of her ability."

Hermione jerked in her seat, nearly disturbing the eerily quiet snake half lounged across her lap, "M-my Lord?"

From the corner of her eye she saw a small smirk occupy Dolohov's face.

"What is it, Hermione?" His tone was steady, but the intensity of His gaze was nearly overwhelming, made more so due to the use of her first name. The familiarity at which He spoke it was unnerving.

"I would… ask you to reconsider. There are better suited candidates for such a task as important as this."

"No," He answered plainly, "There is no better witch or wizard more suited to this task than yourself. You will prove your ability, you will prove your loyalty, and you will learn more than you could ever comprehend within these walls. It has been sometime since you were called to war, there is much to discovery when you are not restricted by petty notions of magic-based morality."

He spoke with finality and she was His Firstborn. She knew, without a doubt, that she would obey.

"There is an art to completing a successful mission. It is one I know you've experience with." For, she was nothing if not The Boy's Golden Brain, "You will choose your allies wisely, a small team of four or five should suffice, and bring me results. The child is irrelevant-"

Hermione swallowed thickly.

"But not to be disregarded. Should you discover the whereabouts of Mr. Weasley's family it would be in your best interests to collect them. But… not at the sacrifice of The Order's collapse."

Hermione nodded, unable to trust her voice, unsure of what to say. The dread that should have filled her belly refused to come to her call, replaced only by nervous excitement and a chance to finally, finally, use her talents.

"Mr. Weasley, though blood traitor he may be, is a pure-blood nonetheless. His progeny is no doubt redeemable. I'd like to salvage such a thing, if possible, to better the blood of those who may eventually be forgiven in our reign of graciousness-" Here the table chuckled softly, "—and focus of wizarding unity. Do you understand this concept?"

Because, while blood was still important, it was power Voldemort sought. Power through control, power through the manipulation of supposed purity and the careful cultivation of loyal bloodlines. She nodded. She understood Him, more than some of those that claimed to worship Him.

"Failure has never been tolerated among my Inner Circle. It will not be tolerated now. I suspect you are aware that failure will bring discipline."

A discipline that would be much worse than any she could imagine, no doubt. She could see it reflected in His gaze, the unspoken school of thought—she was his Firstborn, His sponsored, His Marked and stolen prize. It was time she proved her worth, her placement, her elevation. This, as well, was just another plot meant to maneuver her into position. To build her worth and wealth in the place where it counts-

Her power.

A power she'd eventually devote to Him.

"My Lord?" Bellatrix said, her tone breathy and curious, "Where am I to take her?"

Voldemort gave a soft sound of thought, "Ah, yes. It's a home, rather familiar for you I suppose. It was under the Fidelius Charm. It's great luck that Mr. Weasley just so happened to be the Secret-Keeper."

The table murmured nervously, no longer statue still and silent.

"They've been there for several years, my sweet Bella. Not comfortably, of course, they move around from time to time, but there they were, hidden away like forgotten filth."

Bellatrix narrowed her eyes and leaned forward slightly, her body language the exact opposite of everyone else's-"Where…? Where have they been?"

Voldemort gave a soft laugh, though it was hollow and chilling, "Why, they've been at the Tonks residence."

Owned and managed a widowed Andromeda Tonks.