Hellooooooo everyone. I warned you all of slow updates, but even I wasn't expecting it to be this long! ;-; I've been busy, sadly, and have barely written for months. Thank you all for waiting so patiently and leaving reviews. If you read What We Know of War, expect an update for that as well before the month's end.

When she finally awoke she was alone. Her head pounded with a vicious headache, and her mouth was so dry she sat up, her throat burning with thirst. She noticed the glass of water waiting at her bedside and took it, walked straight to the bathroom and poured it down the drain. She refilled it and drank deeply, so quick that water slopped down her throat.

The night before came back in flashes—she swallowed abruptly and set the glass down.

She remembered waking up, suffocating on her nightmare. Pansy had been there and had stayed with her for an hour, soothing her. Draco had been nowhere to be seen—she'd been too preoccupied to notice or care, but now it struck her as odd. She wondered if Pansy knew why. Eventually, she had asked Pansy for a Dreamless Sleeping draught, and Pansy had obliged readily.

The door opened and she turned to see Draco stepping in. He approached her rapidly, taking her face in his hands, his eyes scanning her face.

"How are you feeling?"

She didn't reply. He nodded, as if he'd expected that answer.

"I told Lucio you're ill. He sends you these."

He made a motion with his hand and a lovely little bouquet of flowers from their garden appeared, still as fresh as the morning dew. Hermione took them, her heart aching with love.

Draco kissed her.

"You did extremely well last night, sweetling. Extremely well."

Her voice was dull but soft. "Thank you, my Lord."

He stroked her cheek with a finger gently. "Is there anything you'd like to do today?"

"I want to rest." Her voice was hoarse—had she screamed in her nightmare? Or after taking the Sleeping Draught? She couldn't remember but her throat hurt and her entire body ached quite badly. She felt heavy with the events of the night before. And hollow. So hollow.

"Then rest," he said, and picked her up easily into his arms, brought her to the bed and sat down with her still in his hold.

"I know it was a lot to ask of you in one day. But I knew you would do it." He squeezed her shoulder. "I couldn't be prouder of you."

Indignation flared within her but she maintained a neutral expression because anything else was too much effort. She barely moved in his hold. He stroked her arm, staring at her avidly.

"What do you feel?" He asked.

She stared at the wall, shivering in the cold air.

"Nothing."

That was actually true. The pain and torment of the night before were curiously gone. She wondered distantly if her depression was returning to full strength. Had it ever really left? At least, since Lucio had been born, she had felt more like herself again. But that had come on so gradually, and the horror of her reality hadn't changed one bit except for the fact that now she was more firmly tied to her unwanted husband.

Draco squeezed her arm gently—she wasn't sure if that was the answer he wanted or not, but he said nothing.

"There will be more, sweetheart," he said eventually, breaking her tired silence. "Remember that. Don't waste your energy on what's dead. Your emotions will only hinder you. Pay them no attention. But your anger, your fury—there's power in that. Keep those in your pocket for the right time."

He had said as much, before.

'Learn the right time to start your fires, little bird.'

He kissed her temple. "I've got to go to the Ministry at five. Come with me."

She shook her head, unable to stomach the thought of him having Pansy prep and dress her for an outing, for the smiles she'd have to force, for the attention and the eyes that would follow them wherever they went. She anticipated an angered reaction, or a reminder of their deal and reached out, put her arm around his neck, buried her head in his chest.

"I'll do it next time," she said. She felt his pause, the surprise in his stiffness, but that was gone immediately and he melted into her touch.

"You will," he said, but his voice was gentle.

She swallowed, afraid of what she wanted to say next.

His hand stroked her back.

"Stay with me," she whispered for the first time in their marriage, in their entire acquaintance, and meant it. If he left her, she was afraid of having another nightmare. Of having to get out of bed and see her son and feel the invisible blood that coated her hands thickly as she held him and pretend nothing was wrong. Of looking George in the eye at the dinner table, and knowing they now shared a terrible secret, and that it was very likely the first of many. Of feeling so hollow that she would rot out from the inside until there was no meat to hold her body together, and her flesh would dry and wither, and she would slide apart.

Draco responded at once, summoning two pillows to arrange underneath them. She rolled onto her side, curling up into a ball, and he hooked his arm around her waist and pressed her to him, his blood thrumming in his veins.

Finally.

His other arm snaked between her pillow and hooked around her throat—not to choke, or to suffocate—he held it around her there loosely to support her head with his arm and she preferred that, needing to feel pressure on and around her. If he had even decided to lie on top of her she would have let him, feeling that she might just fade away. If he could hold her as tightly as he was now, if she could feel his heat bleeding into her body, she must be real, and she would take it. Anything, anyhow, to hold her together.

The face of the dead young woman wouldn't leave her mind. Hermione shut her eyes tightly, until all she saw was white. But the face returned—and when she saw the captive in her mind again, she bore not Danielle's face but her own, and it was Hermione's own voice that she heard as the captive's screams echoed in her mind.

She flinched so sharply she awoke, not even realizing she had fallen asleep again, not knowing how much time had passed—Draco was still there—she breathed heavily into his chest—his hand was on the back of her head, his arm wrapped around her waist, cradling her into him.

She was damp with sweat, close to hyperventilating.

"Shh," Draco was whispering, stroking her. "I'm here. Let it fade, little bird. You'll feel nothing eventually."

He kissed her forehead, rubbing her back slowly and murmuring to her until her breathing calmed down.

She awoke hours later, a different set of arms wrapped tightly around her. Hermione shifted, blinking slowly, her heart already beating faster.

"Don't be afraid, my Lady," came Pansy's voice from behind her. Hermione immediately noticed the difference in her slender, smooth arms to Draco's massive, muscle-hardened arms. She relaxed. Pansy squeezed her gently.

"My Lord had to go to the Ministry," Pansy said. "He ordered me to look after you until he returns."

Hermione nodded.

"Lucio?" She whispered. Her voice was hoarse. "Is he up yet? Where is he?"

"He is asleep, my Lady," Pansy said. Her voice was smooth and sad. "My Lord sent him to bed early before he left. Lucio wanted to see you but I wasn't sure—"

"Not like this," Hermione said quickly.

Pansy quieted, and they lay there in silence for a while.

"I'm sorry I couldn't tell you," Pansy said eventually.

Hermione turned around in Pansy's hold to face her. Pansy let her go.

"You knew?"

"I was aware there was a prisoner—I thought at most he would have made you watch as he tortured her. I didn't know he had planned something different."

"Don't be sorry," Hermione said. "You were following orders. There was nothing you could have done."

"George wasn't up for breakfast," Pansy continued. "So it was just Lucio and I. George went with my Lord to the Ministry."

"Do you know why they went?"

Pansy shook her head. "No. I'm sorry. Draco only told me to expect him back around ten."

Hermione glanced at the clock on the other side of the room. It was almost ten.

"Where was he when I woke up from my nightmare?" Hermione asked.

Pansy stared her straight in the eye, her own suddenly wet.

"I'm sorry."

So she did know. As much as Pansy's words made her want to shiver, she figured it was better than lying to her, but now she was full of questions and more uncertainty towards the intent of her husband's actions.

When Draco returned, he pulled Hermione to the kitchens to have something to eat although she had no appetite still. George had bowed to both of them and then went off to his room. Draco sent Pansy to her own quarters.

After they had eaten, Draco carried Hermione to the library and sat her down on one of the large sofas by the fire, but by then Hermione's energy had returned and she had grown restless. She stood up, her arms crossed tightly, and headed to the fireplace to warm herself. Draco followed her.

"How are you feeling now?" He asked.

"Better."

"That's good to hear." His hands were on her shoulders, massaging them. She so badly wanted to shrug them off.

The fire crackled loudly. He had found a knot by the nape of her neck and dug into it, kneading it. Hermione's head fell back, her expression a mixture of pain and relief. She let him guide her down onto the thick, plush carpet before the fire and lie on her stomach so he could straddle her and massage her better. Hermione supported her head on her arms.

"Why did you have me use a dagger rather than magic to kill her?"

He didn't falter. "The dagger creates more of a spectacle, don't you think?"

"Since when do you care about that?" She bit her lip and sighed as his hands traveled to her back and continued to knead her flesh.

"I'll confess it was more for me than the others." He bent forward to kiss her shoulder, whispering huskily in her ear. "The sight of you in all that blood… I can't take my mind off it."

"Why the dagger, Draco? Why have it made for me? Where did it even come from?"

"I needed it," he said simply. "You're not allowed to use your wand yet, and I needed an artifact with the blood of a prisoner on it."

"For what?"

His hands had gone lower down to her ass. He lifted her robe. She was nude underneath. He playfully slapped one cheek hard.

"For a surprise. Now spread your legs and let me taste you."

Hermione kept them shut.

"Not until you tell me what the surprise is."

He gripped her thighs tightly. "Open your legs, wife."

She tried to get up but couldn't. She turned her head to look at him suspiciously, dread gripping her heart.

"Is this about your Horcrux?"

"No," he said simply. "This is about yours."

He wrenched her thighs apart and flipped her over onto her back. She was too wrapped in shock to fight. He held her down with magic as he pushed a pillow under her hips and spread her open with his hands, his tongue greedily taking in the wetness that had collected between her legs as he had massaged her.

Your Horcrux.

Your.

Her head swam. He nipped at her inner thigh gently and she startled, trying to wrestle against his magical binds.

"No."

"It's too late," he said, pausing in his attentions to her body. "It's already begun. And you don't get to decide on this. I said I would still reserve judgment for things I believe are in your best interest, and this is one of them."

"You're ridiculous—Draco…why?"

His index and middle fingers busied themselves at her clit, rubbing slowly.

"If I'm going to live forever, you are, too."

And he silenced her and dove back in.

Lucio rubbed at his eyes as Father led him down the hall.

"Is mummy okay?"

Father smiled down at him, his hand wrapped around Lucio's small little fist. His hand was big and cold. And strong. Sometimes, when he held Lucio's hand, it would hurt. Lucio didn't mind. He liked to be brave and squeeze back, hoping one day he would be as strong as him.

"Of course she is. She's a little ill, but she wanted to say goodnight."

"Oh. Did you give her medicine, daddy?" He remembered the tonics and draughts that mummy or Pansy would have him take whenever he got ill. They worked, but they tasted dreadful.

"Plenty. I want her to get better."

They entered the bedroom. It was dimly lit inside. Lucio ran to the bed, where he could make out the shape of someone lying down.

"Mummy!"

He reached her and threw his arms around her, kissed her cheek. She shifted, opened her eyes—they appeared very unfocused but Lucio didn't notice.

"Hello, my love," she said, and smiling, kissed his cheek. In the dim light the bruising around her wrists and the fresh bite on her neck barely covered by her hair went unnoticed as well.

"I missed you," he said, nuzzling her cheek.

"I missed you too, darling," she said softly. "But I don't want you to get sick, too."

Her arms were warm and tight around him.

"Will you read to me?"

"I can't," she said. "I'm sorry."

"Pansy will read to you," father interjected. "Your mother's very tired. Say goodnight and it's time for bed."

"Can't I sleep with you?" Lucio asked.

"You're a big boy now," father said. "You need to sleep in your own room."

"Just today?" Lucio pleaded. "I want to be with mother."

"You'll get sick like me," mummy said. "And you'll have to take lots of medicine."

"I don't care," Lucio said.

"That's enough," father said sternly. "Now say goodnight."

That was father's angry voice. Lucio knew not to argue with that tone. It scared him, too.

Saddened, Lucio kissed her on the cheek. She squeezed him tight—she wasn't as strong as father. She never hurt him. Father had told him once that mummy was strong in many different ways, and Lucio had wondered what that meant, since father had not said exactly how when he had asked.

"Goodnight, mummy."

"I love you, Lucio," she said. There was a little shake to her voice—he thought it was because she was sick.

"I love you, too."

He slid off the side of the bed. Father led him to the door. Lucio lingered just past the doorframe.

"Will you play with me tomorrow, mummy?"

"Mummy's got to pose for her portrait tomorrow morning," father said. "But after lunch, she can."

"Promise?"

Hermione sat up slowly. "Of course, darling."

Father shut the door then.

When Draco returned to the bedroom, he magicked his clothes away and went straight to the bed. His Imperius had kept Hermione restrained to the bed, eyes still unfocused and slightly vacant.

"I'm sorry I had to do that," he said after he ended the spell and she sat up and stared at him accusingly with wet, angry eyes. "I wasn't sure how you would act without assistance."

"You didn't have to do anything."

"You're still too emotional," he said. "Control it better, and maybe he won't worry about you all the time."

She went still. He watched as his words sank in and she reached the devastating realization that yes, he had used Occlumency on his own son.

Monster, her glare accused.

I know, sweetheart, I know.

He felt almost sympathetic. But his eyes told her something else.

I may be a monster, but I'm not the only one anymore, and I'll make sure you never forget it.

As if she knew his exact thoughts, her glare smoothed into stone. He watched her avidly, his Medusa—beautiful, haunted—deadly.

"You don't trust me," she said flatly. "I made a promise and I said I would join you. I've obeyed you. I killed for you. And you can't even trust me to interact with my own son."

"I wasn't sure what to expect from you," he said. "That's the last time I'll use the Imperius on you. I swear it, Hermione."

She watched him, expressionless. He turned and went into the bathroom. She heard the shower begin to run. Hermione turned onto her side, holding herself.

That's as close to an apology as I'll get for now, she thought. But he still thinks he was right to do it.

And was he?

After the news he had given her—after pinning her down and using her, her emotions had been warped with shock and anger. Pansy had knocked on the door before Draco had even finished—an unspoken rule had been broken—but she had told him Lucio was worried about his mother and refused to go to bed until he had seen her. Draco had sworn gently and let her go; she had been about to leave the library, preparing to go see her son when he had placed her under the Imperius and ordered her to wait in the bedroom for him to return.

She had been numb, trapped, wanting to rage against the magic that held her.

'If I'm going to live forever, you are, too.'

Eternity with Draco. The thought made her feel more hollow than ever. How far along was he in the process of making her Horcrux, then? Did this mean he had already made his own? She eyed him carefully now—he had disrobed upon entering the room, and she saw no discernible sign that marked him as a Horcrux-haver….but then again, she didn't even know the signs. Were there even any? Voldemort had been disfigured and transformed only because of the horrendous number of Horcruxes he'd made—if Draco only made one, could he still appear totally normal?

Research was needed here. If she asked, would he tell her? Did their library have anything useful on the subject? She wasn't sure—she had never thought to look before.

Then there was the dagger. An artifact with blood of the innocent. That was clearly part of the process. Her face went hot with anger—he had tricked her. In getting her to agree to join him and play her part, he had forced her into something undisclosed that she never would have wanted if she had known beforehand.

I'll make you pay for that as well, husband. And I'll fight to the last to make sure that Horcrux isn't completed.

Draco emerged from the bathroom, wet, a towel loose around his hips. He dried himself off and came into bed beside her, sitting against the headboard, his hand reaching down to where she lay to stroke her curls.

"There's no use running from it," he said gently. "It will happen."

"You tricked me."

"There was no other way to get you agree."

"I didn't agree. I never would."

"That's why I had to, little bird. How could you be my equal if you stayed mortal? I won't have you leaving me."

"You should have let me die the first time I tried to kill myself."

His hand went still.

"I won't trick you again."

"Don't condescend to me, because we both know you'll still do it," she hissed, turning quickly to glare at him. "Don't you tell me I'm your equal and then blindfold me again, bastard."

He held her by the throat gently. She stilled.

"There's my firebird," he murmured, dark adoration in his eyes.

"Neither of us needs to live forever," she said. "You, especially."

"Why not?" He asked. "When I've got everything I want in you, and a line of enemies to taunt and play with, and coin enough to see us happily through several lifetimes? I intend to enjoy it for as long as I can, and I will. We will." He gave a low chuckle, bent down to kiss her. He bit down on her lower lip, felt her gasp of pain. He licked away a bead of blood. "You know how greedy I am, Hermione. Don't pretend this really surprised you that much."

She stared at him, her lower lip red. Her pulse was steady and calm in his hand.

"How do you make a Horcrux?"

He smiled and said nothing.

"I'll find out," she said. "One way or another. I'll ask Nott if I have to."

His hold on her neck tightened painfully.

"What he knows about Horcruxes couldn't fill a thimble," he said, drawing his face closer to hers. "And you're not to touch him without my order."

"I never said anything about touching," she said through grit teeth. "But perhaps he was right—he would make a kinder husband than you have been."

It was getting hard to breathe. She could feel her face turning red. But her words had worked—she recognized jealousy in Draco's eyes.

"You'd prefer him, would you?" He asked in a low voice that made her skin crawl.

"He'd answer my question."

His lips curved. "You'd have to fuck him to get your answer."

"A small price to pay."

Something gleamed in his eyes. Approval? More jealousy?

He spoke after a moment of tense deliberation.

"I didn't want to tell you the process because I wasn't sure you could handle it. It's awful, my love. I did it easily for my Horcrux. But you're not like me. Not yet, and I fear it might ruin you if it isn't done carefully."

"When did you do it?"

"Here and there," he said. "Doesn't have to be done all at once. I'm sure you've noticed my absences over the past few months."

His grip on her throat had relaxed slowly, but he didn't let her go. Hermione inhaled gratefully, never breaking eye contact. His eyes were on her lips.

"All you've ever done since the moment you trapped me with you was try to ruin me," she said.

Draco smiled ruefully.

"No, sweetheart—I wanted to break you, not ruin you. But not completely—just enough to drill it into that head of yours that this was your fate. Why would I want to ruin you? I'd lose every aspect of you that makes me want you and made me choose you."

He nuzzled his face into her throat.

"The Horcrux tears at the soul. It takes a piece of it, transfers it to the vessel of your choosing. It turns you. I barely even feel it now that it's done, but it might be different for you since you're still so…human."

He said the last word affectionately, kissed her pulse point in her throat afterward.

"That's why I worry. That's why I want you to control your emotions. That's why I had you kill last night, and why you'll do it again. It will hone your soul to horror, and help you resist what the Horcrux might want to strip from you." He kissed her there again, nibbled gently on her flesh. "I won't rush the Horcrux—you'll have plenty of time to prepare, and I'll lead you through it step by step."

"What did it take from you?" She asked, almost breathless as his teeth continued to worry at her throat. He paused and his tongue smoothed over the irritation he'd created in her skin.

"I had nothing left for it to take, so it gave me something in return." Hermione tensed, her hands on his chest.

"What was it?"

"Besides immortality?" He chuckled. His tongue licked a slow, heavy stripe against her throat again. Hermione shifted, uneasy, but his hands had latched on to her and kept her still easily. Hermione held her breath—had the Horcrux made him stronger? He bit gently on her throat again.

"Let me in, little bird," he said, almost sing-song. "Let me in."

"What was it?" She asked urgently. Her heart pounded.

"Knowledge," he said, his voice rich and insidious. "I know Longbottom found you."

Hermione froze.

"And you didn't tell me, wife."

He bit her harder. She jerked.

"Draco—"

His hand was on her throat again, squeezing. Hermione struggled against him.

"I know what he said to you."

"No—please!"

"I know your plan."

In one effortless, startling movement, he had pinned her against the headboard, his hand still around her throat. Hermione writhed, trying to free herself, terror clogging her throat.

"Draco, stop!"

He gave her a crushing kiss. When he pulled back, she was gasping for breath, her face a dark red. She kicked out frantically.

"You thought you could deceive me forever? You've only succeeded in separating yourself from them more. Why would they want you back now, after what you've done? When your soul is tainted and torn from the Horcrux, there'll be nothing left for them to love."

There was a red tinge to his eyes when he came in close to her face, snarling. Hermione shrank back, pushing at his chest, but he was made of rock and she was nothing but a weak, worn twig that would snap in half the further she pushed back.

"Now you're going to be the one to destroy Longbottom," he said. "It's only fitting, I suppose. I killed Potter, and you'll squash their pathetic resistance for good when they see you cut him down."

"No!"

Fuzzy black spots danced over her vision. Hermione shook her head as if that might clear them away.

Will he finally kill me this time?

Draco was at her throat again, his free hand groping at her breast, then moving down to busy itself between her legs, having pushed her robe open to gain access there. Again? She whimpered in pain. He was probably still angry he had been interrupted earlier.

She pushed at him again, glancing wildly around the room, tried to open her mouth to scream for Pansy—the door was already open a fraction—when?

He bit sharply down on her neck and she grunted at the stab of pain.

"Don't—what are you doing?"

He didn't answer, and drove his bite in deeper. Hermione screamed with what little air she had left, writhing against him. A grotesque horror dawned over her as she felt him begin to suck at the hot blood that began to leak from the wound—she felt about to pass out—she glanced at the door one more time, and saw a darkened figure dart away. Her first oxygen-deprived thought was that it had been George, but George was tall, and this figure was much shorter.

No. He had seen.

No, no, no.

Something cracked inside her. A small crack, but enough for a leak.

That was all she needed.

Draco moaned at her throat, his fingers busy inside her despite the fact that she was dry. She tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked gasp. The pain, fear and hate merged and flared. She felt the heat of her blood as it ran down her throat, the suction of his drinking, the kindling of fire underneath her ribcage like a hearth lighting up at last in a long-abandoned home.

If he didn't let her breathe right now, she was going to pass out, or die. She couldn't tell, but the sluggishness of her mind wasn't a good indicator—she wondered what color her face was now. But the power, however meager it was, flowing through her right now, called her to action immediately.

She reached up to put her hands on his shoulders, and shoved, harnessing magic behind the movement, because she might not have his physical strength, but she could emulate it through other means. He fell onto his back on the bed, almost falling off it entirely, but caught himself. She took in deep breaths quickly, rushing off the bed, lightheaded with her first taste of conscious magic and his suffocation. She fell on the first step but scrambled back up, breathing deep, feeling her head clear slowly.

He had sat up now, his eyes furious and shocked, his mouth red and slick with her blood. She caught his eyes darting down to her hand to see if she had somehow taken off the ring, but the ring sat on her finger in its permanent spot and he met her eye, astounded and

afraid.

She looked down at her hands. They were shaking. Blood still ran down her neck—she felt a little dizzy.

She walked up to him. He sat there, unmoving, as she brought her hands to his neck, cupping it between her hands. His pulse was steady under her touch.

He was in awe. Wary. Still furious.

"How did you do it?"

"I don't know."

She pulled back one hand, stared at it, as her thumbnail hardened and turned into one long, deadly talon.

He watched and smiled. His teeth gleamed.

"Go on. Do it."

She had not expected him to goad her on. She had only wanted to frighten him. Now, with his permission, she could turn one of her longest-held fantasies into reality. She looked back at him. He was staring at her talon appreciatively.

"You know that won't fix anything."

"I know," she said. "But it'll feel good."

She positioned her talon on one side of his neck.

He stared up at her, the fury gone. Somehow, he looked more adoring than ever in his cold, cruel way. His lips curved. He took her other hand and kissed it.

"Goodnight, sweetheart. I'll see you in the morning."

Neither broke their stare as she slashed his throat, and his blood ran over her like a waterfall.

Hermione found Pansy and Lucio in his nursery. Lucio was asleep in his bed and Pansy was pale and anxiously waiting by the door. She saw Hermione, drenched in blood, and covered her mouth, rushed to her.

"What's happened?"

"He ordered you to stay here after he brought Lucio back, didn't he?"

"Yes. Even if you called." Pansy shook her head. "I felt you call. I wanted to go but there was a barrier at the door and I couldn't Apparate. I'm sorry."

"It's okay," Hermione said.

"How did you get away?"

"I'll tell you later." They rushed into the bathroom. Pansy set to healing Hermione's neck at once.

"He drank my blood," Hermione said, nausea twisting inside her. "He drank it."

Now that the adrenaline and her high from the magic had worn off, everything was hitting her at once.

"He's bitten me before, but he's never drank from me like that." She blinked back tears. "I thought he might actually kill me then. I couldn't breathe."

Pansy hugged her tightly. "I'm so sorry."

Hermione gripped her arms. "Did Lucio leave this room at any point?"

"Yes," Pansy said. He said he wanted a snack—I couldn't summon one or leave to get him one and the Toffee wouldn't come when we called for her. He said he'd grab something and come right back so I let him. When he came back he wouldn't talk and I don't even think he'd eaten anything."

Hermione's stomach sank.

"I knew I saw someone at the door."

Pansy's face went ashen.

"…Where is he, my Lady?" Pansy's eyes were on Hermione's blood-soaked robe.

"In the bedroom."

"You did this?"

Hermione went to the sink and peeled the robe off—it had been so saturated, blood had smeared onto her skin underneath.

"I gave him a small fraction of his due. He'll be back tomorrow morning, he said."

"I'm sure," Pansy said faintly. "He told you about the Horcrux."

Hermione nodded. She was staring down at her hands again.

"I used magic," she whispered. "I'm not sure how. I felt it again…inside me. Even though—"

She brought her hand closer to her face and angled it to view the ring better. "I don't understand. Not yet. But it saved my life."

"You saved your life, my Lady," Pansy said. "Magic has no mind of its own."

Hermione turned on the shower. "I don't know how I can face my son now."

Sensing that Hermione wasn't looking for an answer to her statement, Pansy slipped out of the bathroom and waited until Hermione emerged. Pansy had summoned a set of clothes for her to change into. Hermione wiped at her eyes, utterly fatigued.

There was another bed for Pansy nearby. Pansy looked too on edge for sleep.

"If you need anything, I'm right here," she said, squeezing Hermione's hand.

As she crawled into the bed, Lucio shifted like he was about to wake. Hermione reached out and hugged him to her carefully.

"Mummy?"

"Yes, my love."

He rubbed at his eye. "I had another bad dream."

Dream?

"What was it?"

"Father was hurting you," he said. "I saw blood, mummy. I was scared."

"It's okay," she said softly, stroking his hair. His cheeks were sticky as if he had been crying before she had arrived. Her heart ached. "It's okay. I'm here."

"Did Father really hurt you?"

Hermione hesitated. "Yes, my love. He did. Your father is not a good man."

He never has been.

"Why?" Lucio asked.

Oh, my love, she thought sadly. I could go on and on. But you're too young to hear it.

She began to hum an old song softly to lull him to sleep. It had been a favorite of hers once. Little Lucio drifted back to sleep almost immediately, and Hermione held him close, staring out the window until the sun rose, and even Pansy had fallen asleep, and she felt rather than heard her husband's resurrection. His presence sank heavily back into the house as if he had never left it. Her ring seemed to sense it, too—it pulsed weirdly three times, just as she heard a knock on the nursery door at six in the morning.