AN: Thanks so much for your continued readership and all the great comments. It really does help me get through any writer's block I face. Special thank you to my alpha reader: ladeedaa and beta reader: astrangefan without whom I couldn't provide quality content. Enjoy!

Parseltongue

Hermione's eyes fluttered open as her stiff body stretched like a cat - arms over her head, toes pointed down. "Mmmm," she moaned as her back cracked. It felt heavenly. She heard an amused snort somewhere above her.

Her eyes darted up where she saw Draco looking down at her from his place beside her on the bed. He was flipping through her beat up copy of Pride and Prejudice. He'd propped himself up against the headboard of the bed, right next to her.

"Welcome to the land of the living," he drawled. "Let me see your neck."

Hermione's brain was still fuzzy from the potion-induced nap, and it took her a minute to realise he was talking about the scratches that he'd so deftly healed. She reached up and pulled her hair to the side, extending her neck for his perusal.

He placed a gentle hand under her chin and looked her over before nodding. "Mostly gone. If I'd had my kit, I could have managed it without knocking you out."

"Kit?" Hermione asked.

"Since Fourth Year I've kept a medi-kit on me. It was a habit instilled by Snape," he explained. "I prepared all the potions in it. I managed a very good healing balm that didn't have the drowsy side effects."

Hermione was impressed. She wished she'd been able to know Draco before the War. There was so much about him she'd never even considered. To be honest, past being a rude git who was good at Potions, she hadn't thought much of him at all.

She reached up, instinctively to touch her neck. "Don't touch," he admonished, reaching down and tipping her chin up again. "Much better," he said.

"Thank you," she replied, her voice still a bit scratchy. Her mind instantly went back to what caused her panic attack in the first place and she sat up abruptly, her hip bumping Draco's.

"I assume this is what sent you into a panic," Draco said, reaching over and picking up her post which he'd clearly gone through. Kingsley's letter was on top, but the rest of the post had been opened.

"You opened my mail!" she accused, her brown eyes darting up to meet Draco's somewhat amused grey ones.

"Yes, I did," he said, shrugging. "And besides Kingsley getting cold feet at the first sign of losing his political capital, there wasn't much to read. Potter's coming over to translate, The Prophet is full of rubbish, and apparently Oliver Wood wants in your knickers."

Hermione blushed a full crimson as her eyes nearly bulged out of her head and she sputtered at him. She hadn't read Oliver's note yet and snatched the post from Draco's hand immediately.

"Was it the idea of going on a date with Wood that caused you to rip out half your throat? If so, I certainly understand." His tone was not light enough to land as 'uninterested' as he'd clearly intended.

Hermione scanned the letter quickly.

Hermione,

It was so nice to reconnect. As you know, I find myself in London with little to do. I was wondering if you'd like to join me for a drink tomorrow evening. Flourish and Blotts after? Let me know,

Oliver

She sighed with relief. It hadn't been that bad. She didn't know why she was so embarrassed. If she wanted to go on a date with Oliver bloody Wood, she'd go on a date with him. The problem was she didn't really want to go on a date with him, and the reason was staring at her while she read his note.

"I'm sure he's just lonely," she mused, her face still flushed as she shoved the letter back into its appropriate envelope. She'd send her regrets later.

"I'll bet," Draco said, his lips tightened into what could only be described as a frown. "Then, if the prospect of dating the worst Keeper in Quidditch history isn't what led to your attack, please don't tell me this pathetic waffling by the Minister did it."

"He has a great deal of power, Draco. For now, I am able to appeal to him to listen to me, but what if enough political opposition is mounted? He's not a dictator. He can't protect the Department if there is a movement to put an end to the project." Hermione explained swallowing hard as the thought occurred to her again.

"I can't send you back there - you or Theo. I can't." Her eyes met his and it was all she could do to keep from crying - something she swore she was not going to do. The last thing Draco or Theo needed was to have her weeping over them like a sentimental Hufflepuff.

He looked back at her, his annoyance gone, replaced with a look she'd call affectionate if it were anyone else. He lifted his finger to her chin once again, angling her face up to his. His eyes were dark again, that gunmetal grey hue they always seemed to take on when he became intense, "Granger…"

But before he could finish Theo clomped up the stairs and into the room. "What are you two doing," he asked, indicating between the two of them with his finger. Hermione realised she and Draco were still sitting next to each other on his bed, close, staring at each other - intimate.

"Oh, nothing," She said, picking up the post and slipping out of Draco's bed. "I've got some research to do before Harry gets here." She nearly ran from the room.

When she got to her bedroom, she dropped the post on the desk near her bed and then fell upon it, heaving a great sigh. Harry was exactly what she needed. There was no way she'd find herself falling into Draco's intense, stomach clenching gaze with her best mate there to keep her focused on the task at hand. And she really needed to focus. She had about fifteen irons in the fire at once and the absolute last thing she needed was a distraction.

Hermione decided to wait to look at the older Death Eater memories with Harry. That way she wouldn't have to watch them twice. She wasn't going to dwell on the fact that it had a lot to do with not wanting Draco or Theo to be subjected to that entire thing again and she most certainly did not want to go in alone.

She was surprised when both Ron and Harry showed up in her parent's large family room. They both tumbled out of the Floo with cautious smiles upon their faces and Hermione quirked an eyebrow at them. "Has Ron learned Parseltongue?" she asked, testily.

"Now, Hermione," Harry said, his tone cautious. It set her more on edge. He was 'managing' her the way he was prone to doing when he was about to do or say something she wouldn't like. "We just thought it might be best for both of us to be here since you and I'll be occupied in the Pensieve."

Hermione's lips set into a pout. "You think we won't be safe?" she demanded.

Ron put his hands up in a placating manner. "It's not that," he said. "I'm sure you and Harry are just fine. It's training. It makes me feel better to be here, that's all."

"Unbelievable," Hermione said with a huff as she stamped her foot in frustration. "Fine. Stay. But leave them alone. Don't go starting an argument while Harry and I are working."

"Ouch," Ron said, clasping both hands over his heart as if she'd stabbed him. "I'm wounded, Hermione. Would I ever pick a fight with Malfoy or Nott?"

"Yes," she replied tersely. "You would."

"Fine," Ron said, standing up, stick-straight as if he were about to salute at any moment. "I, Ronald Bilius Weasley, do solemnly swear that I will, in no way, bother the two prats upstairs."

Hermione rolled her eyes but was appeased.

"Besides, I'm bored," Ron pouted. She cracked a smile.

"Well, if it is work you are in need of…"

"Oh, no," Harry cut in. "Ron brought his own homework. Two weeks worth of back paperwork and he will finish it," Harry said, eying his best mate seriously.

"Yes, dad," Ron replied glumly.

"Alright, shall we?" Harry said, turning back to Hermione.

"In a hurry?" she asked.

"To tell you the truth, I'm half hoping I don't remember any Parseltongue at all. It sort of freaks me out to think he is still in there," Harry admitted.

"He's not," Hermione assured. "It's like I said, if you remember it, it's just like remembering the lyrics to a song you heard as a child. It doesn't mean anything."

She led Harry out of the room - leaving Ron to the couch with his paperwork - and into her father's old study. "It's here," she said, needlessly as the pensieve was obviously the most out of place thing in the room. "I've got Theo's in it already."

"Alright," Harry said awkwardly. "Let's do it."

Hermione took a deep breath and nodded, taking Harry's hand in hers and diving back into the memory she'd rather have forgotten. She heard Harry gasp at the site of Theo and nodded. "He was in terrible shape. Apparently, it was common. Draco said Theo used to get beatings like this regularly when he was home which is why he spent most Christmases at Hogwarts."

Harry's lips were set in a frown as they watched the memory unfold. Hermione grabbed his arm as Voldemort entered the memory. She could feel the tension radiating off her best friend. She knew she'd been preoccupied with Draco and Theo, the specifics of her cases, and the escaped Death Eaters possibly heading toward them to do Merlin knew what. That preoccupation made her forget that all of this was probably deeply traumatic for Harry.

Harry had nearly died trying to rid the world of Voldemort. The wizard had made him an orphan, destroyed his childhood, and tried to kill him more than a half-dozen times. Harry had finally defeated the black cloud that had clung to every aspect of his life. For five years he'd worked to rebuild his life in his own image, on his own terms, free from that oppression. Yet, here he was, five years later, facing the potential that Voldemort wasn't truly gone, but just on hiatus - like he had been many times before.

"Harry," she whispered, tears clinging to her eyelashes as the realisation hit her at once as they watched Voldemort approach the battered Theo and begin speaking.

"I'm fine," Harry said, but she knew it was a lie. He wasn't lying to her, though. He was trying to convince himself.

She didn't want to press him, especially not at the moment. Voldemort was taking Theo's trembling arm in his hand, and she knew Harry needed to focus. Harry tipped his head closer, moving in slightly, to prepare to translate.

"Haa shaa saatha haaa seeeaathh sshhhheeehfaaas thaaaa faa shaaaa. Hee seeeth fasha saaatha ssseee shhheee thaaaa."

Immediately Harry's eyes widened and he looked to Hermione. "I did it," he said, almost as if he'd been preparing all along to be useless in the task of translating the curse.

"Do you need to hear it again?" Hermione asked, eagerly.

Thank fuck! Something was finally going their way.

Harry shook his head. "No, I understood it. Let's get out of here, I'll write it down."

Hermione immediately pulled them from the pensieve and called to Ron who was still sitting at her father's desk. "Ron, can you give me that pen and paper?" she asked, indicating toward the left side of the desk where a neat stack of printer paper was situated.

Ron dutifully followed her orders, a hopeful look in his eyes. When Hermione nodded, Ron sighed with relief before returning to his seat.

Harry scratched out the curse inelegantly on the paper before handing it over to Hermione. "Honestly, I'm used to quills by this point," Harry admitted. "I hope you can read it."

Servant bound to the Master, bound by blood and magic from this day to the end of time. The Master's will becomes the servant's will even in death. Morsmordre.

Hermione's mind raced. It was fairly straightforward. He must have utilised a Dark Curse and bound it to the individual with a sealing spell in Parseltongue. It was interesting what Voldemort had apparently been trying to achieve with his directive. Mind control. But it, apparently, had not worked. All the Death Eaters - even the most insanely loyal - still possessed their own minds. Voldemort was never able to control them like puppets. It did appear he'd tried.

"Let's look at Draco's memory just to be sure the curse is exactly the same," She suggested.

Harry nodded. As Hermione got Draco's memories ready, she heard a creak of floorboards behind her and turned to see Theo standing in the doorway.

"I'm sorry," he said, a grimace on his face. "Draco didn't want me to tell you, but his pain is escalating."

Hermione frowned. "And yours?" she asked, already so used to these men that she could read the pain on their faces.

"Seven," Theo admitted.

Hermione looked to Harry and then Ron, both of whom looked back at her, confused.

"I need to take care of this," she said to her friends. "I'll be just a minute."

"We can help," Ron offered.

"No," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Do your homework, and Harry, can you finish setting up the pensieve?"

"Sure," he agreed. Hermione smiled and followed Nott out of the room.

"He's at an eight," Theo breathed. "He is desperately trying not to scream out in pain. I didn't know what else to do."

"You were right to get me," Hermione said. "The research is important but not as important as managing your pain. When did it start?"

"About fifteen minutes ago. It started as a few pangs of sharp pain but escalated to a constant throb."

"Okay, go on and get in bed," Hermione instructed as they entered the room. She saw Draco curled up into the foetal position, shaking and her heart hammered in her chest. It physically shook her to see him in that level of pain. He was biting onto his pillow, and she immediately went to him.

Pushing the hair out of his eyes, she took his vitals. Everything was high. His temperature, his heart rate, his blood pressure. She was going to have to give him the potion again. She calculated how long it had been since he had it last and decided it was low enough risk not to beat herself up over it.

"Draco, hold on," she cooed. "I'm going to give you the Sleeping Draught. I just have to get it." He said nothing but his pale grey eyes looked into hers and she thought she read relief in them.

She made quick work of spooning out the potion and getting it into his mouth. "Swallow," she instructed. It took him a moment, but he finally did, and within moments his entire body relaxed, and he passed out.

Hermione sat there for a moment watching him as her heartbeat levelled out. She felt completely at sea when he was in pain. It clouded her brain. She didn't know how to manage the new, terrifying thoughts intruding on her professionalism, but she knew they were there and they weren't going anywhere. Draco was in her head, somehow, and she had to figure out how to navigate that irksome affection she had for him while trying to save his damn life.

Standing up, she went over to Theo's bed. He, usually, was the party that experienced the higher-level pain. When Draco was at a four, Theo was at a five. When Draco was experiencing an eight, Theo was usually already passed out or convulsing, but as obvious as it was that Theo was in pain, he seemed to be much more in control of it than Draco this time.

"Shall we try the high dose pain potion instead of the Sleeping Draught?" she asked. Theo nodded.

"Are you okay?" Theo asked as he watched her trembling hands dose out the potion.

"I'm fine," she lied.

"No, you aren't," Theo replied.

"I don't like seeing him like that," Hermione admitted, her voice barely above a whisper. Instead of pointing out that Hermione had seen Draco 'like that' more than a half a dozen times at that point, Theo nodded.

"Neither do I," he said. "It makes me feel helpless. Draco has been a pillar of strength for as long as I've known him. Even in his pompous, spoiled twat days he had something that set him apart, made him stronger, more in control. As he spent more time with the Death Eaters, training with his Aunt, learning to protect his mother, he became almost mythic to me in his ability to remain in control of himself. When I see what this Mark does to him it makes me think - what will it do to me?"

Hermione gave Theo his potion and sat down at the edge of the bed. "I will fix this," she promised. "And when I do, neither of you will have to be strong for anyone but yourselves."

Theo smiled a sad smile. "I don't want you to think you've failed if you can't save us from Azkaban. The Wizengamot had all the information you do, and they didn't care."

Hermione knew that, but she was unwilling to accept it. "I will do it, or I'll die trying."

"That's what I'm afraid of," Theo finally said after a long pause. "If you destroy your life to save his, Draco will never forgive you."

"Theo, let me worry about Draco. I will find a way to free both of you."

"I want to believe that," Theo admitted. "Sometimes, I lie in this room, and I think about what life could be like after we are free. I think about Draco having a future, me finding Pansy - finally telling her that I've been in love with her since we were five-years-old. And as much as I know it will hurt when the dream ends - I still like to dream it."

Hermione smiled a watery smile, her eyes filling with tears again. "Dream it, Theo. I know that this world has taken so much from you, it's hard to trust that someone can change anything, but I will."

She knew she sounded arrogant, and she was operating on nothing more than her own confidence - because at the moment, she hadn't a clue how she was actually going to save them - but she believed in every cell in her body that if she didn't do this, she'd never live with herself.

"How's the pain now?"

"Five," Theo said. "I'm okay. You can go back to work."

Hermione made sure both men were tucked in comfortably before going back downstairs and into her father's old office. "Ready?" she asked.

"Uh, yeah," Harry said. "I considered just going in without you, but I didn't know if you needed to view the memory again too."

"No, that's okay," Hermione said. In reality, she really didn't want to relive this memory. "Let's get it over with."

Hermione and Harry dived back into the pensieve, this time - once again - in the middle of the Malfoy Drawing Room. "It had to be here," Harry muttered.

"I know."

She saw Harry taking in the scene. "Is that…"

"Yes," Hermione said bringing him over to the corner of the room where Narcissa was being held in place by Dolohov. "Draco's induction was punishment for Lucius, it was a spectacle. Voldemort moved himself into their home partly as a show of dominance and partly because he was so angry with Lucius for his failures. He'd already been a bit suspicious of Lucius for pretending to be Imperius'd during the first war. Not to mention, some of the lower-level Death Eaters were jealous of the Malfoys. So, this was all a great show and Narcissa was made to watch."

"I don't understand why anyone would want to join this cult," Harry admitted. "Their own leader doesn't seem to even like them."

"Cults are funny that way," Hermione said humorlessly. "At the time, Draco was proud to be chosen - well, you know what rot he was raised on. But the main reason he joined was that his mother was very obviously in mortal danger if he did anything to displease Voldemort."

"I get it, Hermione," Harry said, obviously realising she'd slipped into campaigning on Draco's behalf.

From this vantage point, next to Narcissa, Hermione could tell how well chosen the spot was for her. From this angle, Draco looked at his most vulnerable, still barely more than a boy, his thin arm extended, trembling, to Voldemort.

She sniffed and immediately regretted it. Harry's penetrating eyes stared at hers for a long moment before moving back over to the scene. They both watched as Draco was given the Mark, and Hermione pulled them out with his soul-searing cries echoing in her ears as they came out of the pensieve.

"It is exactly the same," Harry said. "It's the exact same line in Parseltongue. I don't understand. There's nothing profound or special about it. I don't know why he chose that particular language to say what is essentially 'you work for me now'."

"He has a reason for everything, but I agree. I don't know what his reasoning was," Hermione admitted.

"I have the initiation of Malfoy Sr., Macnair, and Dolohov here. I just want to see if the Initiation and incantation are exactly the same or if they are different in some way," Hermione explained. "Do you need a break?"

"I do," Ron muttered from the desk.

"Then do your bloody paperwork the day it is assigned," Harry shot back. Hermione huffed an amused chuckle at them both.

"You sound like me," she accused Harry.

"Too bloody right," Ron agreed. "I swear, it's like I've got Hermione in my ear even on the job!"

Harry ignored him. "I'm fine to continue."

"One thing," Hermione said, turning back to Ron. "Draco is under the effects of the Sleeping Draught. He should be out for the next several hours, but in case something were or Theo were to experience elevated pain pull us out immediately and call on Padma."

Ron nodded and Hermione took Harry's hand in hers and they both descended into the memory of Lucius Malfoy, June 15th, 1974.

They were not in the Manor this time. Harry and Hermione's feet touched down on soft, green grass in a clearing surrounded by a dense forest. There were a handful of Death Eaters gathered in a semicircle wearing thick black robes, Death Eater masks, and tall pointed hats. It reminded Hermione very much of the pictures she'd seen in American history books of the KKK - black instead of white.

"Where is he?" Harry asked, looking in all directions for their subject - Lucius. Hermione craned her neck, turning a full circle before she saw him just at the edge of the wood to the left of the gathered Death Eaters.

"There," she said, pointing. They walked closer toward him. He was much younger, probably closer to Draco's current age. Hermione had always thought Draco looked just like his father, but seeing Malfoy Sr. at the same age, she could see that Draco actually favoured his mother quite a bit. Lucius' jaw was square, masculine and his eyes deep set. He was a very attractive man, but he was also harder and less pretty.

Draco, on the other hand, had his mother's more angular face. His jawline was strong but narrower, his high cheekbones giving him the kind of look Hermione had seen walk the London runways. Sirius. Now that she thought about it, Draco was the type of handsome that Sirius was, only much blonder and less mischievous.

Hermione shook the thoughts of Draco from her mind and focused back on the scene in front of her.

Lucius looked scared, but like he was masking it with years of good breeding. He was quickly joined by two other men about his age but he paid them no mind. His focused eyes scanned his surroundings and waited.

A few moments passed before a hush settled over the few people gathered and Hermione felt a cool breeze against her skin.

"What…" Harry said, turning toward the direction of the wind.

Voldemort. He looked so much different than he had when they'd come face to face with him in their days at Hogwarts. He wasn't quite Tom Riddle. The handsome boy who had framed Hagrid for opening the Chamber of Secrets was long gone, but he did still possess a nose - or at least some semblance of a nose. His skin was pale but not yet grey, his eyes still that horrifying red.

"Friends…" he hissed, but the hiss was stronger than it had been in the Spring of 1998, the last time they'd seen him. "Tonight we welcome three new members to our ranks."

The Death Eaters gave a grunt of approval. "Three strong candidates from impeccable homes, long, pure blood lines."

Hermione saw Lucius' fear slip from his face. It was replaced with pride. His spined straightened and he walked further out of the shadow of the trees he'd been standing in. The two men next to him followed suit.

"Luciussss," it sounded like a hiss again. "Come." Lucius followed the order automatically, his gait confident as he moved toward the centre of the clearing where Voldemort had stopped. The Death Eaters moved in to watch.

"Lucius Abraxis Malfoy, you are about to join a collective of Witches and Wizards, brought together with the purpose of preserving the Wizarding race. From this day forward, you will live in service to The Dark Lord. You will use your place in society to promote the will of The Dark Lord."

Lucius nodded eagerly.

"Your arm," Voldemort instructed.

Hermione held her breath as she waited for the moment Voldemort sealed the oath. Harry held her arm tighter as he listened closely.

"Haa theeee shhaaaa faaaa saaaa. Hee seeeth fasha saaatha ssseee shhheee thaaaa."

Immediately Lucius' screams echoed against the trees surrounding the clearing and Hermione pulled Harry up to leave.

When they emerged, Hermione turned expectantly to Harry. "Did you get it?"

Harry nodded, and grabbed the paper hastily, scribbling down the Parseltongue he'd heard.

Servant bound to the Master, bound by magic from this day forward. Morsmordre.

"Okay," Hermione said. "The actual curse is obviously different. The English Oath is different as well." She walked over to her father's desk and pulled out her notes journal. "This is what he swore Draco and Theo to uphold."

"You are about to join a collective of Witches and Wizards, brought together with the purpose of preserving the Wizarding race. From this day for the rest of your days, you will live in service to The Dark Lord. You will come when called. You will provide anything The Dark Lord requires of you. You will use your place in society to promote the will of The Dark Lord."

"The oath got longer for Malfoy and Nott," Harry said.

"Exactly."

"And I'll bet you have a theory as to why," Ron said, having totally abandoned his paperwork. "Let's hear it."

They knew everything at this point, she might as well bounce ideas off them. Biting her lip, she sighed before telling them the theory she had about why the reaction to the Dark Energy at Hogwarts had been different for the older Death Eaters and why it was New Death Eaters who had been so motivated to break out of prison and seek out Voldemort's Energy across the ocean.

"I think Voldemort was disappointed with the Death Eaters after he killed your parents, Harry, and seemed to have died. I think he felt they did not keep up their end of the bargain to serve him after they believed he was gone, and he wanted to make sure that any new Death Eaters were even more under his heel - even in the event of his apparent death."

Harry looked over the oaths again, both the English and Parseltongue. Hermione took the moment to write down the English oath from Lucius' initiation.

Ron read over them as well. "Yeah, he adds more language about remaining in service until they die, not until he dies. And the parameters of the oath are more strict."

Hermione nodded. "All incarcerated Death Eaters are feeling drawn to the Energy, but the younger ones have taken a more specific and strict oath. It's why the magic in their Marks is turning on them."

"Look at this," Harry said, pointing to the paper. "The Parseltongue curse for Lucius is 'bound by magic', but for Malfoy and Nott it was 'bound by blood and magic'. He changed the curse somehow."

"Blood oaths," Ron said, his mouth agape in horror.

"But I didn't see any bloodletting at all in the initiation," Hermione said, her brows furrowed. She was wracking her brain to figure out how the initiation could have been a blood rite with no blood.

"You wouldn't have to," Ron explained. "Obviously Voldemort wasn't giving over his blood. The man was so paranoid, he'd never part with even a drop of his blood. There are two kinds of blood oaths. There are blood oaths made with the exchange or letting of blood upfront. But there is a second kind that you rarely ever see. I only know about it because I wrote a paper on it for my Auror Exams years ago."

Hermione stared back at her friend as if he'd grown another head. Ron referencing a paper he'd written - years ago, that he still remembered?

"No need to act surprised. I do, occasionally, read and remember." Ron wasn't too put out, though, and she could tell because he winked at her and continued with his point.

"The second kind of blood oath can only be broken with blood. People don't usually utilise them because there is much less control. Someone who makes such an oath usually does not want to give the other party an option to break it. However, these kinds of oaths are made because bloodletting can be very dangerous and with someone as obsessed with not dying as Voldemort, he'd want to get the same power of a blood oath without that risk. He probably concentrated the curse to require the blood of a muggle virgin or something - someone who would never willingly actually give their blood to a Death Eater.'

Hermione's eyes widened. She stepped back and gulped in a breath.

Someone who would never willingly give their blood to a Death Eater.

"Hermione, no." Harry said, his voice stern and she looked up into his bright green eyes to see that he was not going to entertain her newest forming theory.

"Harry…"

"No, Hermione," Harry said, shaking his head. "I know exactly what you are thinking and that is not going to happen. We don't even know if this is the kind of blood oath Ron's talking about."

"Huh?" Ron asked, looking back and forth between the two of them.

"Hermione!" Hermione was pulled directly from her argument with Harry by Theo's panicked cry from upstairs.