Disclaimer: Harry Potter is not mine. Anything you recognize from JK Rowling's books is not mine. Anything you don't recognize is either mine or a typical fanfiction plot device. The Call of the Blood and the concepts associated with it are my creations – please email me if you wish to use them or a derivative of them in a story. Or, at the very least, place an acknowledgement in the author's notes of your own story if the concept inspired you.

Partly inspired by the Marriage Law Challenge on WIKTT. See Chapter 1 for full disclaimer. Author's Notes at the end.
Warning: This fic is SS/HG and includes character death, descriptions of abuse, and adult situations.

Cloak of Courage

WendyNat

Chapter 20

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Severus tried to get his sleep-fogged mind to follow his wife's near-hysterical exclamations. Even as his arms tightened around her, her frantic words echoed in his head: "Blood of the friend… Blood of the friend, bound in red! The Book of the Blood, it's red – a red binding – Ron's blood… Ron is the friend, not me! The key is in that book!"

She turned her head to face him and their eyes locked, noses inches from each other. He realized belatedly that he was holding his breath and he let it out hurriedly, pulling her against his chest.

Dear Merlin.

She was right. They had been looking at the prophecy incorrectly the entire time… assuming it was Hermione that it referred to. But after what they learned tonight… of course. It was the Book of the Blood, containing Mr. Weasley's blood… the key was in the book, not in the blood of his wife. He felt a wave of relief rush through him and his arms loosened slightly, the intensity of his grip shifting from alarm to comfort. Relief… it would not fall on Hermione's shoulders, then, what had to be done. He had been on edge since learning of the Call's hold on her – tenuous though it might be. With her part of the prophecy now negated, he could argue more eloquently for her to stay far from the field of battle.

"I believe you're right, Hermione," he said softly, in the velvety tones that helped to calm her. "The key must appear in the Book of the Blood." He felt her burrow closer to him, her face pressing against his chest, and felt the hot wetness of her tears. "It will be well, Hermione. It will be well." The familiar words caused a memory to surface in his mind – himself, sitting in his office that fateful evening so many weeks ago, facing her red-rimmed eyes across his desk… his irritation at her ignorance… his reluctant admiration of her courage… his desperate attempt to sway her from the path she had chosen in her naivety.

Thankfully, she had listened, though it had been touch and go for a time. The alternative… he shook his head slightly, his throat swallowing convulsively as he recalled what he had been ordered to do, that night that he followed her from Hogwarts. The night she had sat in his office, confessing with blunt words her purpose in leaving. To learn the Dark Arts… to attack those who were masters of the Art…

…to gain her revenge.

Her words from that evening echoed in his ears… The only way to fight fire is with fire. His arms, still wrapped around her, trembled as he recalled his response to that statement.

That is perhaps the most asinine thing you've said here this evening, Miss Granger.

And now he knew… he had been mistaken. The greatest Dark power of their time… the Dark Lord… and the key to defeating him lay in the darkest of the Dark Arts books… the Book of the Blood. Written using the blood of a friend… and bound in deep red.

It appeared that she had been correct, after all. The only way to fight this fire would be with fire.

They both slept fitfully, and rose before the sun began to peek over the horizon. Severus announced his plan to see Dumbledore as early as possible and Hermione had no objections.

Severus stared at her across the table – she was picking at the breakfast they had ordered from the kitchens, her eyes shadowed. Whether it was a result of the aftereffects of the Call illness or the revelation of the Book's origins from the evening before, he did not know.

"So Viktor was there. When Ron was killed." Her voice broke slightly and she paused a moment before continuing. "He's… he's definitely in league with the Malfoys, isn't he? And has been?"

Severus put down his teacup, scowling. "So it appears. I do not know if he's pursuing his own agenda or following orders… I predict a little of both."

"Right." Hermione was silent once more, absently winding a few strands of hair around her fingers. Suddenly, she froze and stared down at her fingers, wrapped in her hair. "Oh, Gods… I forgot… how could I have…" She looked up at him in alarm. "Severus – your hair…"

"What are you talking about?"

"Your hair – they tried… wait-" Standing, she raced out of the room and returned a moment later, a parchment in her hand. She handed him the letter and watched his face as he read. "Your hair was stuck to the ring. With a sticking charm. I… I knew it was yours, somehow…"

He body went still as his mind raced. He had no doubts that Hermione's assumption as to the identity of the hair was valid – one of the side effects of the blood bonding. But how… he was always very careful… How could Lucius, in particular, have-?

An image sprang to his mind… Adrian Pucey, clutching at Severus… the boy's blood soaking into his robes, hands grasping, knocking aside the mask, pulling his hair free of the hood with frantic hands…

…and then Lucius, dragging the boy's body to Nagini…

"Lucius took it from Pucey's hand, no doubt."

Hermione's mouth formed an O in understanding. "Then…"

"Yes. Lucius may use it for Polyjuice…. I'm certain that he didn't send you the only hair." Severus frowned, digesting this new information.

Hermione nodded. "I… I'm not sure how, but I just knew that it was yours."

"The blood bond, most likely," Severus replied absently, inspecting the parchment with a detailed eye. "This appears to be in Lucius' hand, though it could be Draco's. They are rather similar."

"In more ways than one," Hermione said sourly. Severus flicked his eyes up to look at her and nodded gravely as he put the parchment down on the table.

"The hair concerns me a great deal, Hermione. I believe that you would be able to tell if it were truly me through the blood bond, but…" Severus frowned, thinking. Polyjuice was the obvious danger, and he said so aloud.

Hermione shrugged. "Well, the easiest thing to do would be to just establish a code word. If I'm suspicious, I'll ask you for it." Severus stared at her in confusion and she sighed. "I guess it's just a Muggle thing. It's to keep kids from being kidnapped – the parents set up a codeword with them so if someone they don't know comes up claiming to be sent by their parents, they can be sure it's really true."

Severus thought for a moment. The idea had merit… they could choose something that no one would guess... that no Death Eater would guess. Perhaps some Muggle phrase. And if the imposter did not have the codeword, he trusted that Hermione's emotions would flare enough to alert him to the danger. "Intriguing… it could work."

"Right. How about Eastenders?"

"Pardon?"

Hermione laughed. "It's a Muggle show… television show. It's an evening soap-" She chuckled again at his expression and shook her head. "Never mind. You have no idea what I'm talking about."

"For which I'm eternally grateful," he said with a slight sneer. He had seen televisions occasionally during his forays into Muggle London, but the appeal was lost on him. It was rather like a wizarding painting, but the characters couldn't speak with you. What was the point?

The laugh lines around her eyes disappeared as she cleared her throat and looked down at her plate. "Severus… if we were wrong about that part of the prophecy, what-"

He held a hand up, stopping her. "Wait… we must go speak with Dumbledore. It's pointless to go over this twice, Hermione." He stared at her sternly – she could drive any topic into the ground, and he wasn't in the mood to go over it any more than he had to that morning. Doubtless there would be a partial Order meeting called to discuss this new development with the Book of the Blood.

And doubtless there would be an even smaller meeting called to discuss the implications of Hermione's Call. A meeting of three. He had tried to think of a way to avoid sharing the information with Dumbledore, but it would be too dangerous to keep that knowledge from the Headmaster. If something should happen to Severus… Hermione would have to be watched – and guided - carefully.

Her voice penetrated his thoughts. "All right." She sounded a bit petulant, but at least she agreed.

Hermione's Call. He took a deep breath, exhaling slowly. He remembered all too well her reaction the week before when she had found out about the Blood Loyalty pledge, and he had a sinking feeling that he knew what she intended if Moody refused to perform the Blood Rites. Gryffindors. It wasn't even clear that that would definitely be needed… prophecies could be taken to mean anything, in truth… though he had no idea what other meaning that could possibly have. Blood Rites will conquer the shadow…

"Pointless, remember, Severus?" Hermione said gently and he shot her a quelling glance. She smirked at him and he scowled. Impertinence. But she did have a point.

"It is… difficult… to push from my mind."

"I know. I have the same problem." Hermione took a bite of toast and sat back in her chair, watching him thoughtfully as she chewed. There was something else he had to discuss with her – something of grave importance, if she was going to avoid completely succumbing to the Call.

"Hermione…" He took a deep breath before continuing. "You must never perform an Unforgivable or Blood Rites. I told you - the stronger you are, the greater the lure. The Call is hovering now – waiting… it will not want the thread to unravel. It wants to move in, to become a part of you… it will urge you to thicken the bridging, to complete the linkage. The more you learn, the stronger the urge will become." She had an odd expression on her face.

"The voice…"

Severus was instantly alert. "Voice?"

Hermione stared down at her plate, not meeting his eyes. "Sometimes it's memories, memories of things I've said… sometimes it's something else. Like what I told you last night – I'll hear that sometimes. They will pay. I will make them pay." He felt the fine hairs at the base of his scalp stand on end at the cool way she spoke the words. "And then other times I hear your voice… it grounds me."

He frowned in confusion. "My voice?"

"Yes. Each step seems but a small one. It… helps me resist the urge…. But it gets stronger sometimes. The urge. I- I don't know if I can always hold it back. It's rare, I don't feel it all the time… but last night-" She stopped and turned her head away.

"It has only a toehold for now, Hermione. If it gains complete control… holding it back is exponentially harder. Now, you only feel it rarely. If you complete the Blood Rites, or cast Avada… it will settle into your nature fully."

"Do-" She raised her eyes to look at him. "Do you feel it, all the time then? The urge?"

He nodded sharply, one long finger tracing the edge of the teacup in front of him. "Yes. At times it is stronger than other times, but it is always there. Like a presence, in my blood, in my mind. Wanting to be satiated. As I told you, there are things that can be done to keep it… dormant. But it never goes away. It's the ebb and flow of the tide…"

"I don't feel it at all, usually…"

"That would change, should you complete the linking. It is as if you… willingly open yourself to the Call, accept what it has to offer. And then, there is no turning back." 

                  *                                 *                                 *                                 *                                 *                                 *

Hermione's breathing was unsteady as she finished telling Dumbledore of her revelation the evening before. Blood of the friend… Ron hadn't deserved that. No one did, of course, but least of all him, whose only crime was in his choice of friends. And his giving nature… protecting her without thought to his own safety. The feel of a hand touching hers startled her and she turned to look at Severus with a grateful smile, knowing how he felt about public displays of affection.

Across the desk, Dumbledore sighed and rubbed his eyes. Hermione turned back to look at the old wizard, unsettled when she saw how… tired… he looked. It hit her then – Albus had been in a war situation for a great deal of his life. First Grindelwald, then Voldemort… and, on top of that, juggling the responsibilities of Headmaster.

"Headmaster? Albus?" she said tentatively. Beside her, Severus had averted his eyes, his face a blank mask as he stared out of the window in the Headmaster's office.

Ignoring her, Albus raised his head and fixed his eyes on Severus, who continued to gaze out of the window. "You confirmed… the blood is that of Mr. Weasley?" Hermione swallowed hard.

"Yes." Still, Severus did not turn his head from the window.

"Blood of the friend…" Dumbledore sighed heavily and stood from the desk, going to a cabinet in the corner and withdrawing what Hermione recognized to be a Pensieve. He carried it back to the desk and sat, placing the Pensieve in front of him. Pulling his wand out, he murmured a ward releasing incantation. She raised her eyebrows at that.

Glancing up at Hermione's curious face Albus smiled slightly and nodded. "No doubt Harry told you about this Pensieve… I thought it would be best if I began to ward it, as there are now some particularly dangerous memories held within."

"The prophecy," Severus said in a flat voice. Albus nodded, his keen eyes on his Potions Master.

"We will need to speak with Moody, Severus, about these new… developments."

Hermione frowned and sat forward, watching as Dumbledore drew a silvery strand from his temple with the tip of his wand and placed it into the bowl. "Headmaster… Albus… what about the other Ord-"

"No."

The word was cold, hard, and clipped. And came from Severus.

Hermione glanced from her husband to the Headmaster, and stared at the old wizard incredulously as he nodded in agreement. "Severus is correct. The rest of the Order cannot know. Well… perhaps I should emphasize that Harry cannot know."

Severus gave a bitter laugh and stood, releasing her hand as he wandered over to the window. Not turning, he commented, "Emphasize it well, Albus. She needs to understand why she cannot share this with her dear friend."

Hermione frowned at the tone in Severus' voice, and her frown deepened when she turned back to the Headmaster. "This must be kept quiet, Hermione. Your Call… the Book of the Blood… to reveal one would inevitably lead to the revelation of the other. Harry cannot know of your brush-"

"It is more than a brush, Albus," Severus interjected fiercely, tossing a glare over his shoulder that would have caused a lesser wizard to quail.

"Yes, Severus. Hermione, Harry cannot know of your… closeness to the Dark Arts. To the Call of the Blood."

Hermione scowled and looked away from both men. "So, once again you decide to hide things from him. When will you see him as an adult? The future of the wizarding world rides on his shoulders, and you keep important information from him."

"It is necessary, child."

Severus' voice cut the Headmaster off. "For now, Hermione. It is necessary." She raised her eyes to look at her husband and frowned. "Trust us on this."

Not taking her eyes off of her husband, she heard a creak as Dumbledore sat back in his chair. "When the Final Battle draws closer, Hermione, he will be told. But, before then… Harry Potter being tempted by the Dark Arts cannot be risked, no matter the cost." 

A sudden intensity Severus' black gaze made Hermione catch her breath. No matter the cost.

A half-forgotten conversation rose in her memory, searing her mind.

"But, Harry-"

"Would be far more upset at the thought of his best friend turning against him, embracing the Dark Arts, than at the thought of his best friend becoming yet another victim of the Dark Lord's plots."

No matter the cost.

"Your death would be preferable."

You cannot bring back the dead.

More memories rose…

"That's why it was so essential that I not fall under the Dark, wasn't it? Just in case Harry would be tempted…"

"It would be much more difficult for Potter to resist. He is a powerful wizard. More powerful than he realizes…"

They were right. It couldn't be risked. The realization hit her, weighing her down… her friend… she would have to hide this from her friend…

"Besides his strength being a greater lure for the Call, there is the matter of his link to Voldemort," Dumbledore said. "We do not know what effects that could have over his will, his ability to resist."

"Not to mention what effects the casting of an Unforgivable during that ridiculous Ministry fiasco could have," Severus bit out.

Dumbledore sent him a reproachful look before turning back to Hermione. "The simple fact is… Harry Potter must not be taken by the Call."

Hermione shook her head. "But he's stubborn… he could resist it, I'm sure… maybe, since we need someone to perform the Blood Rites… why shouldn't he be-"

"No, Hermione. It cannot be risked." Dumbledore's voice sounded hard and final, and Hermione opened her mouth to speak when Dumbledore raised one bony hand. "You think me to be cold, calculating. You are half right. Calculating I am, but cold I am not."

Severus spoke from the window. "It is unlikely that Potter could withstand the lure of the Call, for the reasons we mentioned. He would try to resist and be driven mad in the process."

Driven mad? Calculating I am, but cold I am not. While she didn't trust the Headmaster, she did trust Severus… and even she could see that the dangers were great, if Harry were to fall to the Dark Arts.

Hermione swallowed hard. "So… then I guess it's up to me, you, and Moody to read in the Book of the Blood and find this key-"

"No. Moody and I will do it."

To her surprise, Dumbledore spoke. "Severus, perhaps-"

"No!" His voice was a hiss, full of suppressed fury. Hermione glanced at Dumbledore and saw him shake his head minutely. She understood his message – this was not the time.

Silence fell in the room. Hermione looked down at her hands and sighed, her lips pursed in annoyance. She knew better than to try to broach the subject now, while he had his heels dug in and his determination at its highest level. And not in front of the Headmaster. But it would be broached.

If the thread is no longer crossed, if it is not built upon, it eventually falls apart.

She knew Severus hoped the thread would fall apart, that she would avoid the Call altogether. Whether it was because he was concerned about her, or simply did not want to deal with the effects of it in his wife, she could not say. She hoped it was the former.

But, knowing what she may have to do… if it came down to the final battle, the final confrontation, and the Blood Rites must be performed… if Moody refused – as he had indicated he would – something would have to be done. She would not lose Severus. Certainly not because he ignored the Blood Loyalty pledge and accepted the retribution of the Call. Not if it was in her power to save him, to keep him from sacrificing himself. She would not allow it. And, thus, she could not allow her connection to the Call, the tenuous bridge that was being built, to collapse.

The thread would not fall apart.

She would see to it.

                  *                                 *                                 *                                 *                                 *                                 *

Later that evening, Hermione watched as Severus slid into bed. For its rather depressing beginnings, the day had gone quite well. She had left Severus alone to mark papers and joined her friends in the Gryffindor Common Room. Seamus and Lavender had been out for much of the time, to Hermione's relief. Parvati was easier to deflect without Lavender's additional prompting and it gave her more time to talk to Ginny in private. And Harry.

Harry. Every time she looked at him, she remembered the conversation from that morning in the Headmaster's office, and though he did nothing to make her feel awkward she felt as if her guilt must be written across her face. It also reminded her of the strange feeling she had had ever since recalling those earlier conversations with Severus concerning her study of the Dark Arts…

As a result, she had returned to their chambers a bit earlier than she had expected and took the time to work on her Transfiguration project. She was now able to transfigure a puff of smoke into a tiny pellet… and if she didn't pack the molecules too tightly she could even make the pellet larger – about the size of a golf ball. Severus had been suitably impressed with her progress, though Transfiguration wasn't a particular skill of his. He was one of the few wizards she had encountered that was more adept at conjuring than Transfiguration.

She remained standing for a moment, staring at him silently as he settled into the bed. Finally, the thought that had been playing in the back of her mind since the meeting with the Headmaster that morning could no longer be repressed.

No matter the cost.

She had to know. 

Your death would be preferable.

"You lied to me, didn't you? You weren't going to let me go that night." He did not answer her, but his eyes grew shuttered before he looked away. "Severus… you said it yourself – it would be better for me to die than to be used against you. When you told me, that night, that you would let me go if I just listened to you… you wouldn't have, would you?"

"No." Almost inaudible, his voice lacked its normal sarcastic tones.

"What was the plan, then?" She sat on the edge of the bed, watching as he fought with himself over the answer.

"Dumbledore would have attempted to speak with you. And if that was still not successful…" His voice trailed off.

She nodded, so calm that she surprised even herself. "If I insisted… you were supposed to kill me, weren't you?" Her tone was matter-of-fact. 

He paused for a moment and then turned to face her, regarding her silently until he finally answered, in an indifferent voice, "Yes."

With that one word, the mark on her thigh burned and a tumult of emotions flooded her… and she knew – it was the blood bond… fear, anger, and despair?… roiling, wild… Gods, how can he show none of this on his face? she thought in wonder. She reached out and touched the mark on his shoulder, tracing it lightly with her fingertip, smiling slightly when she felt his emotions settle.

Nodding, satisfied, she extinguished the candles with a word and settled into the bed next to him. She wasn't sure if he heard her whispered, "Thank you," but she thought he might have.

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A/N: Thanks to everyone for reading and reviewing the last chapter!! It was a big one, and this one is not only shorter but a bit more of a transitional/setup chapter, so I hope no one's disappointed. There is more going on plot-wise than may seem apparent at first. Anyhoo – please review again!!

It's late and I'm about to keel over with exhaustion, so I'll have to add individual responses tomorrow night.

Many thanks to the artists who drew fanart for me – I'm incredibly flattered and in awe of the artistic talent…

And, FYI, Snapesforte has offered to host an illustrated version of Cloak on her website once it's complete. As we iron out the details I'll post more about that.