AN: A little heads up, this is probably my most 'T'-rated chapter. Dear Voldie is in it resulting in more language than usual and all those lovely harrowing situations everyone keeps stumbling into aren't pretty. But, hey, this is the longest chapter ever written for ANY of my fics. Going out with a bang:)

Reviews were wonderful, lovely, and STUPENDOUS! Please tell me what you think of the ending: nice, bad, ewww…, why? Etc. The commentary could affect the epilogue… What? An epilogue? Okay…so it's not that done…

This chapter is to everyone who ever reviewed, good or bad, especially to those who kept reviewing. Those were the ones that kept me writing. This is your story as much as it mine.

Last Chapter: Snape "He's served his purpose. You, however, can't die. Because," he looked at him with this overwhelming remorseful face, "it's you. I was wrong all along. It had never been-"

Groggily, he winced as he rolled over onto his back. The floor underneath him was cold and hard, smelling faintly of dirt. Remus then stared up into nothing as the darkness of the room pressed around him. Thanks to his enhanced vision, he was able to make out the walls and the door. His body groaning in protest, he sat up against the chilly stone wall. He rubbed a hand across his face, trying to shake the lethargy that weighed him down.

Taking a deep breath, he managed to stand up. Remus had already deduced where he was at. The dungeons. Now all he had to do was figure out where Hermione was. But, (he stared at the door) he had to get out of his cell first. His steps becoming more sure, he measured up the heavy wooden door up close. It looked dismally impenetrable. Going out on a limb, he grabbed the metal door handle and pulled.

Much to his surprise, it swung open toward him. Then he realized it had only done so because someone was on the other side pushing it in.

"Ah, it looks like he's awake," a razor-sharp voice came through the crack, followed by a stark white hand that wrapped itself around the door's edge to push it all the way open.

Remus instinctively backed up, allowing admittance to the tall, lean figure. Voldemort regarded him quietly before telling the Death Eater that followed him to watch the entrance. A mirthless smile played upon his thin lips as he said, "Please, don't stand on my account."

With a wave of the hand, Remus had the wind forced out of him as he fell back to the floor. He coughed a bit while he regained his breathing. His eyes livid and flashing, Remus resolutely got back on his feet. "Thanks, but no thanks," he answered, hoarsely. "I'd rather stand."

"Very well, then. Dark in here, isn't?" Voldemort finished conversationally. A simple snap of the fingers and light flooded the small space. Remus held up his hand briefly to block out the sudden blinding light.

Blinking away the residual pops of color, Remus looked hard at Voldemort and asked simply, "Where is she?"

His only answer was the other vaguely pointing a finger upward. The Dark Lord's attention was not on Remus at the moment. It had instead decided to linger on an object in the far right corner. "It looks as though Severus left something in here before someone helped him take his leave."

Ignoring Remus, he passed him and picked up a perfectly round, white sphere. He stared at it then his eyes flicked up to match Remus'. "I heard that he finally met his demise. Tell me was it quick or slow."

"Dignified," breathed out Remus. He was tensing all over. If he only had his wand, he'd love to-

"I had so wished to make it as painfully slow as possible. Snape had no dignity left as soon as he joined that fool, Dumbledore, permanently. It's good to hear at least he is no longer wasting space as he was before. I only regret I did not take the opportunity to kill him sooner."

"Seeing as he ultimately stole Hermione from your grasp then managed to help keep her hidden and then escape himself. How dense could you have been to keep him around long enough to pull that?" Remus knew he needed to stay alive in order to get Hermione out of this, but that last part slipped out.

Calmly, Voldemort tossed the orb to Remus who easily grabbed it out of the air. "What you fail to see, Lupin," he raised his hand up in a grasping manner and suddenly, the werewolf felt as though his windpipe was closing in on itself, "is that I'm about to have what I wanted all along. Sometimes, the journey seems so much more trivial when in the end, you reach the destination anyway." The pallid white face came within an inch of Remus' own that was struggling for breath. "Ultimately, I still win."

Voldemort let his hand go lax and watched as Remus massaged his throat which had turned a bright pink color. "You won't succeed, you know. Albus and the Order will find a way. It'll be one more time victory will slip through your fingers."

The Dark Lord seemed to find that amusing. "And how shall he find me? Have wolves such as yourself sniff me out?" He laughed. "Dumbledore," he spat out the name, "isn't the only one apt at fortifying places. I assure you, Lupin," his eyes became hard, "I am always three steps ahead of that old man."

Roughly, he grabbed the front of Remus' dirty, bloodied shirt and began dragging him toward the door. Soon though a wand pointed at him sufficed to haul Remus up the stairs. The orb had been long forgotten back in the cell below.

"Where-where…" Remus struggled to make words as his body was stiffening, movement was becoming impossible. Blinking became a chore.

All the other did was to slightly turn his head to observe behind him. "Don't need you running away," was his only initial response to the uncomfortable position Remus' body had taken. "And we're going on a visit. To someone, I'm sure, you've been very anxious to see."

Soon the hallways and passages blurred together as Remus felt like his neck was going to snap under the strain. He tried to remember the zigzagging way upwards, but it proved to be impossible. At last, a set of double doors were flung open at Voldemort's command, revealing a harrowing scene.

Hermione lay docile on an old, worn-down four poster bed; her arms serenely crossed across her chest as if in death. Minions scurried around her, preparing.

"Don't look so worried," sneered Voldemort at Remus' immobile expression, but his eyes gave away what he was feeling, "she's not dead. Nothing has even happened yet. But we're working on that."

A middle-aged witch with graying hair approached the Dark Lord, bowing appropriately. "My lord, she's ready. Do you wish us to continue?" Her eyes drew their yellowed-gaze to Remus. "While he is still here?"

The strain on his face was too much. He was desperately trying to yell out. Voldemort recognized this. "Speak up, Lupin. Speak up. What is all the fuss?" he taunted before releasing his mouth.

"You bastard, she's not full term. She still has at least two months left. It could-" burst out Remus, causing a few of the Death Eaters to pause. Voldemort waved his hand and Remus' mouth stopped mid-sentence.

"Don't worry about that. Andromeda is taking care of that right now."

The same woman from earlier approached Hermione with a steaming goblet. She ordered the younger witch to raise her head and she did so obediently. Soon she had been forced to down the mixture. A twitch set about her whole body as it set to work. A scream played upon her lips, but the other mumbled firmly to her, "No screaming. No sound. Nothing."

Quietly, as if not to disturb the picture before them, Voldemort commentated. "A simple cocktail of a growth and aging potion. We didn't have her long enough to try it sooner. Not that we would have." He gave a fake reserved look. "Oh, don't think me soft. We could have, but I'd much rather liked them alive. It would have been too much, couldn't have withstood the potion. But now," he grinned, expectantly at the bed, "is a different story."

He brought Remus closer to the bed. The beds of perspiration stood out against the vapid coloring of her skin. He couldn't stand to see her in this pain. All he wanted to do was to just reach out and touch her. His hands were glued to his side. So close and yet so far.

That voice was back in his ear. "It's killing you, isn't it? To see her like this. To have your child treated in such a way. If I had known you two were going to get together on your own, I could have waited for nature to take its course. Not that an impatient man such as myself could have waited for something as slow as that. Obtaining samples of your hair was much faster."

Shell-shocked. Complete and utter disbelief. At those words, his mind wiped blank. He was lying. Voldemort was just trying to get to him. Trying to dig his way under Remus' skin by telling such lies that would hurt him. His slightly widened eyes must have given something way because his mouth abruptly went slack.

"What the hell are you talking?" he gasped out. "It was Severus. Everything pointed to Severus."

Voldemort found his reaction amusing. "Severus? Severus Snape? Now that I think back on it, you could almost make it fit, but no, it was you. Always you. The zodiac sign, your desolation, the teacher relationship, and your werewolf affliction. All this time," he seemed to be laughing inwardly at all of this, "you were with her and you never knew."

His wand reappeared and Remus' heels dragged the floor as he was pulled out; his mouth snapped shut. "Ironically sad. But aren't all Mudblood love stories that way?"

Remus' back was to Voldemort as they left the room. He last saw Hermione thrashing in the bed after something new had been given to her. Horrified, he watched Wormtail enter and stand beside her, stroking her arm. The rat leered up at Remus, waving his silver hand tauntingly goodbye to him. Then his lewd expression intensified as he let his other hand wander over her chest, slightly exposed in her nightgown.

At that moment, Remus was whipped out the door and out of sight. He was mentally beating against the frozen body of his imprisonment. When he got Peter alone, he would wish he had never even thought twice about Hermione. He'd wished Voldemort would have killed him years ago.

Faster than the trip up, they reappeared at the dungeons and Voldemort lifted the spell as soon as Remus was flung back into his cell. With a nudge from his boot, Voldemort rolled the incandescent orb to rest at Remus' feet. "You might like that. Snape surely did." His shadow cut into the corridor's light, leaving half of the werewolf's face in darkness as he slowly leaned forward and picked it up. "Think over the words more closely, Lupin."

A Death Eater rushed up and interrupted the conversation. Voldemort nodded his head and sent the lackey back up the stairs. His triumphant sneer was evident, even in the bad light. "You're to be a father soon." He clanged the door shut as Remus rushed up to it, hoping to catch it in time. Of course, he did not and could only stare as the other opened the slot and said, "Cheers," before banging that shut.

Remus put his hands to the side of his head and sank gradually to the floor. He let the sphere fall beside him. He hardly even noticed as a pushed in button triggered a figure to rotate out from it. Dumbfounded, he picked it up and watched a flicking Megan Hollowell flare to life. Stuttering briefly, she said, echoing, "A-an-an inner darkness heeding the pale one's call. Cycle of mutate forced upon him." She pulsed then restarted her sentence.

This time Remus leaned in to listen. He was sure he thought she had said…no…it couldn't be. They had been told it was a 'cycle of hate.' Yet as he continued to listen, it became clear. She was distinctly saying, 'cycle of mutate.' His mind flashed back to earlier. Voldemort referring to his werewolf affliction as he so put it. Snape constantly saying 'It's you. You.'

After all, it was him. That bastard wasn't spouting a lie for once. Remus felt his body heave in sudden emotion. All this time and he'd never known. All the jealousy toward Snape, all the reserved joy for Hermione, all the self-loathing that it couldn't be himself. Pointless.

With a mighty lurch, he hurled the ball at the wall across from him. It satisfyingly shattered into a multitude of white shining pieces. A bloody fine time to find out.

"We've induced labor, my lord. Her contractions are shortening rather quickly, just as you asked."

"Good, but," the group of Death Eaters flinched instinctively at the 'but', "why is she still under the Imperius? Look at her face. Look at that pain." He gently stroked her grimacing face. "I'd hate to have her miss out on that."

Hastily, the older witch shouted, "Imperio!"

Hermione instantly opened her mouth and gave out a pent up groaning cry. Tears leaked from her eyes as she dazedly pushed herself up in the bed, away from the crowd of onlookers. Her hands pressed to the side of her larger abdomen as the shockwaves of pain kept shooting through. The potion had done its job; she had never looked so pregnant. Her breathing came out jagged as she tried to draw up her legs in a protecting manner. Torpidly, her eyes whipped from face to face while another moan escaped.

In suppressed fear, she whispered, "It's not time. Oh my…" She paused, letting the sweeping pain pass. "Too early."

"No, no, no, no," chided Voldemort. He lowered himself down closer to her level. His hand caressed her stomach possessively. "It's right on time."

She shoved his arm away in disgust, and continuing with that momentum, pushed him out of the way. Daringly, Hermione grabbed a wand left idle near her and waved it around threateningly as she exited the bed. She soon realized the fault in that as she was barely able to stand. Breathing converted to solely huffing, she did not make it as far as halfway, collapsing onto a wooden chair. They both tumbled to the floor.

Hands grasped her as she attempted to thrash against them, but it hurt too much, it was like there was nothing left but the pain. Sobs of desperation filled the room as they placed her back onto the bed. She shook them off angrily, wiping her streaming eyes.

Voldemort grasped her face between his thumb and fingers, forcing her to look at him. "Nowhere to run. No one to call on for help. Dear Lupin is not coming." He forcefully let her go. "Is it time yet?" he asked the group impatiently.

"I believe so, but I need to check her dilation." The woman made a move to separate Hermione's legs which she refused to do.

Keeping them clamped together, she glared down at her and uttered lowly, "Over my dead body." The effect was lost as Hermione nearly screamed out a moan as her back arched upward. She seemed to be trying to crawl away from the pain as she drew up.

The Death Eater commandingly said, "Push. Push, girl!"

"No," she cried back. It was taking everything in the world not to do what they kept yelling at her. Her body was saying it with them. "It's time. Push." Shaking her head, the sweat causing her hair to cling to her reddening face, she shook her head in disagreement. She'd die first. It wasn't happening here.

A swift slap to the face caused the chaos to still momentarily. Voldemort seethed down at her. His red eyes dropped close to hers, narrowing forebodingly. "You filthy little Mudblood bitch. Push or I'll be forced to rip it from your womb."

"Try me," she glowered through gritted teeth.

Raising his wand this time, Voldemort nearly brought it down, yet opted to advance to the end of the bed. "Move," he commanded to the midwife Death Eater as he shoved her out of the way. He placed his hands on Hermione's knees, looking down at her, waiting on her reaction. She kept her eyes firmly closed. With a mighty wrench, he pulled them apart. This got her attention as the night gown slipped farther down her bent legs.

He held the position firmly in place as she struggled. "Negotiations are over. Now push," he growled. Still unyielding to his commands, he raised his wand threateningly. "Push, you whore, or I'll push for you." Nothing. A bright yellow light encompassed her abdomen.

Sitting straight up in the bed, Hermione gave out an ear-splitting scream as her muscles unwillingly convulsed. The sensation continued until she found herself cooperating, pushing along with it. It seemed to be the only way the pain would stop; she would pass out if it didn't soon. Her enduring screams, accompanied by bouts of weeping, echoed throughout the building.

His head jerked upward at the faint high-pitched noise that floated down into the dungeon. None of the other occupants paid any mind to it. Of course they wouldn't have, they couldn't hear it, and not that any of them would have cared anyway. But Remus did. He recognized the sound of her screaming.

The werewolf inside of him equipped him with enhanced hearing. He pulled violently against the shackles that now held his wrists tightly, keeping his arms from reaching out too far. That same wolf had also given him a feral rage that not often surfaced from his usual calm self. It was showing its colors at the moment as he struggled with his bonds. A strong magic held them firmly in place and a low growl threatened to escape as he caught the echo of another yell.

Remus had only himself to blame for the position he was now in. He had duped an extremely dense guard into opening the door and coming inside. What the Death Eater had not known was that Remus had a concealed decent-sized piece from the broken orb. It had been sharp enough to leave a gash on the other's arm, but the attempt was useless as the man's back up arrived and Remus found himself in the same place as before.

Except being forced to stand and being chained to the wall.

Another sound. He tilted his head to the side, trying to pick it up better. It was a crying sound as before, but not Hermione's. Instead, the noise wasn't something an adult human could make. At that realization, he pulled twice as hard at his bindings, causing it to clink and clank loudly. He shouldn't be down here while this was going on. He should be up there. Damn, none of this should be happening here. They should have been at the maternity ward at St. Mungo's. Not here.

The insistent clanging had alerted (and annoyed) the Death Eater on duty. Marching over to the offending cell, he slid open the door's slot, told the occupant where he could shove those restraints, and cursed the man into silence. Satisfyingly, he watched as Remus slumped forward in unconsciousness; his bonded hands the only thing keeping him from falling to the ground.

"Exquisite," murmured a cold voice through the haze.

She slowly drew a hand to her forehead to brush back the hair that lay there. Soon another hand joined hers, this one swept down the length of her jaw. "Remus?" The word was nearly inaudible due to her hoarse voice. But the icy chill that the touch left behind reminded her of where she lay and the fact that Remus was nowhere nearby.

Her head was filled with a fog, her sense of time gone. How long had she been out? The last thing she could recall was the loud crying. She had watched them carry him away, rushed him out of her sight. Then the struggle with the surrounding Death Eaters before succumbing to multiple shouts of Imperio.

Hermione gave a delayed flinch away from the touch before snapping her eyes open and sitting up in bed. Her body ached all over. But she didn't care. Nothing could have diverted her attention from the bundle being cradled in his arms. Voldemort seemed to be gloating down at her as he held it to where she couldn't see. No noises emitted from within the folds.

Eyes stinging with tears from a mix of emotions – anger, despair, and even love - , she opened her mouth to speak, but Voldemort cut her off.

His twisted grin whispered to her, "Not too loud; he's sleeping." He gazed down followed by another triumphant sneer. "I was thinking about naming him Salazar; the only name worth giving a boy who will give such power to the Dark Arts and to me."

"He already has a name," countered Hermione fiercely. "Jonathon. Jonathon Marcus." The fire in her eyes softened as she tried to keep the pleading from her voice as she said, "Let me hold him. I'm his mother. Even you can admit I have that right."

Voldemort's slit nostrils flared. No one told him what to do or how to go about doing it. What did it matter to him really though? What harm could she do? Within the hour, she'd be dead anyway. "Not many people know this," started Voldemort, "but my own mother died in my birthing. She never held me nor even saw me." His voice was devoid of feeling, its tone ever so frigid as he slowly lowered the blankets into her arms. "Call me sentimental."

Gently, she received the warm weight and moved the bit of black fabric back from his face. The serenely sleeping boy was losing the ruddiness in his face which had a tuft of brown hair perched on top. "Hullo," whispered Hermione softly. Admiring him, she let his tiny fist latch sleepily onto her finger. Her gaze roamed eagerly over his features, trying to imprint every little detail into her memory. His profile was so familiar; nothing like Snape's. Tears began to well up again as she placed a kiss on his forehead. "I love you, Jonathon. Don't let him tell you otherwise. Mummy loves you more than anything." She knew she looked vulnerable and weak in Voldemort's eyes. Yet, what he would never understand is that love can do that.

Like a bird's talons, Voldemort swooped down and plucked him from her grasp. "Visiting time is over, Mudblood. Be thankful I was magnanimous enough for even that." He peered down into the folds before deridingly saying, "Almost an exact replica of his dear father. How tragic he'll rot away in the dungeons and never see it."

Tersely, Hermione corrected him, "His father is dead. How can you even say that?"

"How forgetful of me. You've been living under a misconception, of Dumbledore's doing, no less. I assure you, his father still lives, for the time being. Werewolves are frustratingly resilient creatures."

The brow instantly creased at what he said, incredulity written across her face. Surely, he doesn't mean…he's not saying that…that…Remus? It's Remus?

Lifting a tiny hand, he mockingly made it wave goodbye to Hermione. "Wormtail will be attending to you shortly. Don't worry; I'll take good care of him in your stead."

He then turned and began his way out of the room. "No," she yelled out after him. "He's mine. No…he's…m-m," her words ran short as she collapsed into a sob. Pressing her hands to her face, she thought fretfully, I didn't get to say goodbye. Just one more time. Gradually, as she sat there, her grief began to morph into anger. Hermione's motherly instinct was kicking in. The impulse to find her young, take it back, and protect it. There's no need for a goodbye because I'm getting him back. She repeated that mantra as she glanced around the room and agonizingly raised herself out of the bed.

Her plan seemed constructed for failure. Get back Jonathon. Find and free Remus. Escape with both. All without a wand or anyone else. She knew Voldemort wouldn't harm Jonathon, he was too valuable, but would Remus still be…alive? I have to reach him, she thought. He needs to know. Doubt clouded her head. But why would Voldemort lie about that? He has nothing to gain from it. I've got to find Remus; I have to tell him the truth.

She had not gone far before someone appeared behind her and said, "Where do you think you're going? I've got a few little games we need to play before I'm forced to kill you."

Spinning around, Hermione came face to face with the pointed, little nose of Peter Pettigrew. Not even having time to react, he shouted at her, "Imperio!" Then some liquid was pushed down her throat, giving her legs strength, accompanied by something being shoved into her hand. Mechanically, she followed him out of the room, down into the bowls of the building.

Neither of them noticed – well, the conscious one at least – the faint sounds of a tussle behind them as a leer played on Wormtail's features as he massaged Hermione's shoulder, pushing her to go farther and farther down the stairs.

The creak-creak-creak of the heavy cell door opening brought him out of his stupor. He blinked into the hall's light, trying to see who the duo was in front of him. Instantly, Remus recognized Hermione. Her appearance was haggard and most notable of all was the fact that she was clearly no longer with child. Pulling out from the wall as far as he could, he said, "Hermione, are you alright? Where's Jonathon at? Is he okay? Hermione?" She didn't answer. "What's going on?"

"Quit your blathering, Remus. She won't speak unless I tell her to. She won't do anything unless I tell her to and she certainly can't stop herself from doing anything that I say." Wormtail ushered her into the room and closed the door for privacy.

Right away, Remus pulled forward on his restraints as the space became dimly illuminated. Hermione remained a half-step behind Wormtail; her face turned toward the ground, never lifting to look at Remus. "You bastard," he spat out, "how long has it been since she's given birth? How can she even stand after the strain you've put her through?"

"None of your concern at the moment," he replied airily. A vindictive expression twisted across his round face. "You should be more worried about yourself." He pushed Hermione in front of him, so close to Remus. His lips right next to her ear, he said coaxingly, "Show him what I returned to you, dear."

Raising her right hand, the dagger in it caught the faint light and glinted as she displayed it. Wormtail put his hand under her chin and lifted her face. Now Remus could see her blank eyes, clouded and controlled by the Imperius curse. He knew how it must have felt when she looked into his eyes as an uncontrollable, mindless werewolf. The feeling of sudden helplessness swept through him as there was no way to reach her.

Wormtail broke through his thoughts as he continued, "They say it's silver, like this." He held up his own seemingly gloved hand. Advancing on Remus, he roughly grabbed the front of the other's shirt with the metallic appendage. The werewolf could feel his skin heating up as it pressed through the fabric. A maniacal grin lit up Wormtail's face as he easily ripped the material of his shirt. He let his silver fingers etch bright, burning streaks across his exposed chest. Remus breathed deeply against the pain and gritted his teeth, not giving the other the satisfaction of a yell.

He did mutter out, "It takes me being chained up and defenseless for you to grow some. Just like in school, never daring until either James, Sirius or I showed up."

Grasping a handful of Remus' hair, Wormtail brought his head down closer to his level. "I could kill you so easily right now." His hand came back into Remus' line of vision. "I could strangle you before the silver killed you. But I had a much better idea." He roughly let go of his head.

"Come here," he barked at Hermione who had remained immobile throughout the exchange. Striding over, she took a place at his side. "Hold up the dagger." She did. "Now rest the tip of it right here." He placed a shiny index finger over Remus' heart, leaving a smoldering print.

Remus watched in horror as she put the dagger onto the spot and held the point unwaveringly. Her glassy eyes and slack expression remained as resolute as ever. "Now," commented Wormtail, "I have a decision to make. Should I let her kill you outright first – a little more pressure," she pressed the dagger in harder, resulting in a few tendrils coming up from it; Wormtail moved her hair back from her shoulders, slowly pushing her gown's straps off her shoulders and running a finger over her skin, "or should I let you live a little longer only to watch me ravage her over and over again then let her kill you anyway?"

Pulling forward as much as he dared, feeling the sharp blade go in farther, Remus glared at the sick individual in front of him, "You disgust me. I'll die – I'll kill you – before you ever get a chance to even attempt anything." He turned his attention to her. "Hermione, snap out of it. You're stronger than this. Fight against it. Fight."

He thought he saw a flicker of something in her gaze, but Wormtail jumped in, "I forgot how troublesome you always were, Remus, with your gallantry and righteous ways. I'd much rather rape her in peace without your commentary." His gaze roamed her features hungrily before barking out, "Raise the dagger above your head." Now the blade hung high in the air. "Stab him."

Her grip faltered as she seemed to be trying to do two things at once: bringing the dagger back down on his chest and keeping from doing so. Shaking violently, her arm was suspended immovable, not knowing what it wanted it to do. Seeing Hermione breaking, Wormtail yelled commandingly, "Kill him! Kill! NOW!"

On the word 'now', she brought the dagger down; its sharp edge slicing through the air until it found flesh. She plunged it in deep as he yelled out in surprise, not expecting her to do it. The blood poured freely onto her hand and it wetted her gown, changing it to a dark crimson color. He collapsed, gasping toward the floor, as she also buckled and her knees hit the dirt.

Her mind was clearing of the stupor around it and she took in her surroundings for the first time. What had she done?

"Pass the paper around. Quickly now. Remember what's on it."

The members of the Order glanced over the parchment before handing it to the person next to them. Dumbledore had given them all the basics of what had happened and their course of action. They were now memorizing the address for Voldemort's hideout, written in the Secret Keeper's handwriting. Or rather it was a clever rearrangement of Voldemort's script by Snape. Everyone had been told of his death and the events that brought them all together that night. A few members were at the house, arresting the unconscious and collecting the dead, as the rest gathered at a safe house.

"Now," Dumbledore motioned them all closer, "our mission tonight is simple. Infiltrate the premises and rescue Hermione and Remus. If Voldemort," several flinched at the name, "has sped up nature, which I'm sure he has, and then there will be another individual in need of our assistance. We need to make sure no harm comes to her child if he's been born and get him out of Voldemort's grasp."

Nods and murmurs of understanding made their way around the circle. Most of the witches and wizards present were well versed in fighting and older than the one group that stood at the end. Next to Tonks stood Harry and Ron, but a few more, having guessed there would be an assault, had asked to come along. Neville, Luna, plus several other members of the old DA stood determinedly in the line.

After Dumbledore had outlined a quick plan of entrance and attack, they could waste no more time. The moment for planning was gone and now they would simply have to wing the majority of it or else there might not be anyone left there for saving. That thought chilled them as they began to Apparate out of the house, a few people at a time in staggered intervals. Last was Dumbledore to ensure everyone turned out of sight without any trouble.

Appearing in a barren field, beginning to be softly lit by the dawn, the group stood bewildered, looking around the emptiness. Dumbledore joined them, implored them with a hand signal to remain quiet before tapping a finger to his head. Remember was what he said to them. Think about what you read. Complying, they looked around intently. After a few moments, Neville Longbottom motioned excitedly to something he had found on the ground.

They converged on the spot and saw what he was pointing at. A gray steel door sat plainly in between the sparse tufts of grass. Cautiously, Dumbledore opened it, looking down. The darkness swallowed the pale light completely. Nodding solemnly, Dumbledore lowered himself into the opening, asking them to stay put for a bit.

A bright blue spark shot up the shaft, signaling that they could come down. Single file, the Order of the Phoenix descended into the bowls of Voldemort's lair.

The sudden darkness of the room pervaded Hermione's vision as she clutched her hands to her chest, shaking violently. The right one was slick and sticky; it felt sickening against her skin. If she could have seen it, the bright red color would have told it was blood. Fear consuming her at that thought, her arms flayed wildly around her. Finally, she grasped on to a shoe sticking up beside her. Feeling along, a leg followed and then her hand hit something cold pointing upward from an ample expanse. It was the hilt of the dagger; it was the reason there was no more light shining. The spell's caster had died.

It was like some sort of dream she was awakening from. Things were making sense again. Instead of coming down with the dagger and stopping, she had opted to continue swinging it around. Into him. Into Pettigrew. She began to feel sick as she briskly started wiping her hand off on her gown. Her eyes adjusting, she half-crawled, half-stumbled forward.

"Remus," she called out blindly.

"Right here. Right in front of you," his disembodied voice answered. She was so glad to hear his voice.

Grasping a pajama pant's hem, she slowly pulled herself up, using him as a guide. Her hands roamed over his chest, feeling him tense as she touched the sensitive burn marks, until latching onto his shoulders. It was a relief for her to have something to lean on; resting on him as he gently said her name. Her legs were like gelatin. Whatever had been given to her earlier was wearing off and the fatigue weighed down her aching body.

Her hand rested against his face; their breathing filled the space. "Remus, are you hurt?" began Hermione worriedly. "They haven't…I-I- haven't?"

"No," was his speedy reply. "Don't worry about me. It feels like you're about to fall over. You fought off the curse, Hermione, like I knew you could; you've done nothing to me. I'm just glad to see you unharmed."

"Thank God. I can't remember what I've done exactly; it's such a blur." She swayed in place. "It's a good thing one of us can stand," she added lightly before her tone changed completely. Helplessly, she whispered, "Voldemort has him. He's taken Jonathon."

Remus could see her face clearly, thanks to his wolfishly enhanced senses. It was etched with worry and pain; her eyes unfocusedly on him. "I know," he lamented. "He'd waste no time in claiming what he wanted. As soon as I get out of these," he rattled the metal oppressors, "I'll change all of that."

Remembrance lighting up her features, Hermione felt along his perpetually raised arms until she found the cold shackles, a faint memory from before. They were completely smooth, no marks or anything to pry on. "How am I supposed to get these off? They're enchanted."

His head nodded toward the floor, unaware of her inability to see the motion. "Peter's wand is over there. You'll have to unlock them with it."

Hermione looked around, but it was useless. Everything was still shrouded in the thick darkness. No light remained. None spilled out from under the doorframe. "I can't see a thing. Your eyes are better than mine."

"It's directly to the left of him." Remus halted in his directions. "My left…his right…your right…"

"What?"

But with Remus directing, she placed a quivering hand on it, soon producing a faint ball of light, enough to see by, yet not prominent enough to draw unwanted attention. With more effort than last time, they were back face to face, in high relief due to the new shadows. Each of their faces mirrored back looks of exhaustion and a tentative release from concern. She wrapped her shaking arms around his neck briefly before setting to work.

As she tried to crack the magic that held him to the wall, her gaze lifted to his repeatedly, torn between saying something and keeping it to herself. Bringing herself to speak, she started, "Remus, Voldemort said some things to me when he brought Jonathon to me." She paused in the memory. "He's beautiful." A small, teary smile tugged at her lips at the thought. Continuing, she said, "He said that Dumbledore had told me wrong…about the father." Remus eyes shot up at that, but kept quiet. "I mean – he's Voldemort, why should I even take into consideration what he says, so I don't want you to get upset if it turns out to be a lie because," she took in a short breath, "he said the father wasn't Snape, it's–"

"Me," finished Remus, taking her hand in his newly freed one. He brought it to his lips comfortingly, like he'd done so many times before.

She stared astonished at him, wand raised at the other shackle. "You know? But how can you?"

"We had the same conversation and," he added softly, "for once he wasn't lying. He showed me proof. The actual recorded prophecy." He pointed at a mass of white shards. "Those records cannot be tampered with; it can't be made to say otherwise. Snape had written it down wrong, throwing the whole thing off." He rubbed his other released wrist. "It was me all along."

Tears welled in her eyes briefly before she blinked them away. Somewhere between falling and hugging, she entered his embrace as they were able to properly reunite. The safety and strength that his arms held permeated through her body. It was like coming home. Their lips met in the briefest moment prior to Remus breaking apart to say, "Let's go get our son back."

Wand at the ready, he helped her to the door, then held her behind him as he unlocked the door and peered out into the corridor. No one in sight, they soundlessly exited the dungeons.

The fighting was reaching a new intensity as the two disheveled, newcomers stumbled onto one of the main floors. Now they knew why they had met no Death Eater resistance. All of them where in this tight spot throwing curses at an equally large group. It looked like the entire Order had descended upon the place. In the middle of the fray stood Voldemort, holding onto the baby boy with a vice gripe as if some sort of power would leech into him. Spells were flying wildly as the Death Eaters circle tightened and the Order beat upon it. Everything was too chaotic for anyone to notice the sudden appearance of Hermione and Remus.

All too soon though they were brought into the action as Remus forced Hermione down to duck an errant hex. He fired back from his position on the floor, causing the Death Eater to bowl back into some other black robes and topple them all over. A different set of people broke through the mass. Welcoming faces that helped them back to their feet.

Kingsley Shacklebolt and Mad-eye Moody somehow had pushed their way through the crowd. They regarded the haggard duo with differing expressions. "We were just coming to find you, but it looks like you don't need our help in rescuing," said Shacklebolt, yelling to be heard.

Moody grunted in disinterest as that crisis had solved itself and he took out an advancing Death Eater with a swift catapulting curse. "Trying to get to the kid," he stated in a gruff voice. "They're a stubborn lot. Merlin, Potter's going for heroics again." Reverting to a bellow, he ordered a group to quit pummeling some cronies and to, "Help Potter! Back the boy up! He's making it to Voldemort."

Breaking free of the people they were fighting, several Order members including Neville, surprisingly, rushed forward toward a recklessly fighting Harry.

Horrified and feeling completely helpless on the outskirts of the skirmish, Hermione watched Jonathon being swung around with abandonment by Voldemort as he flicked way advancers like flies. Then that feeling of dread doubled as she saw what Moody was commenting on. Harry had somehow made it the closest to the pale towering figure.

"Harry!" she shouted in vain. There was nothing they could do. The only way she was even on her feet was thanks to the arm Remus was holding her up with. She could only clench her fists and watch. It seemed like everyone was too far away. No one was close enough to help. Even Dumbledore seemed to pause from his own battle to stare. The entire battle, the entire war came down to just those two.

Face full of determination, Harry surprised Voldemort from behind, pulling the man down by his robes from his elevated position. They both knew dueling was pointless. Clearly as if by way of a sound system, everyone could hear Voldemort say, "Stupid boy. You will trouble me no longer."

His thin, bony hand enclosed around Harry's neck before the other had time to react, his wand falling away useless. The raven-haired boy clawed at the hand, face reddening. He flayed against the arm. "Rejoin your filthy Mudblood mother, Potter," hissed Voldemort, a cold, confident smile on his thin lips. He brought the teenager's face close to his, "Tell her that 'love' isn't enough against the likes of me."

His words were premature, but his actions were even more so. As he brought Harry closer, reveling in his apparent soon-to-be victory, Voldemort did not notice the other's hand reaching out desperately to the bundle cradled in the opposing skeletal arm. The twisted leer wiped off his face as he realized what was going on.

But it was too late.

Harry had grabbed a wayward arm poking from the midnight blanket.

Then time stopped momentarily as a blinding light filled the space until none could even keep their eyes open. Hermione turned her face into Remus' chest as he clutched her, his head nestled in her shoulder. A powerful wave rocked the hall next, sending everyone to the floor.

Save one.

Only because he no longer stood where he had.

Nothing of Voldemort remained to fall.