PART III: Qui me alit me extinguit.

Even as the waxe dothe feede, and quenche the flame,

So, love gives life; and love, dispaire doth give:

The godlie love, doth lovers croune with fame:

The wicked love, in shame dothe make them live.

Then leave to love, or love as reason will,

For, lovers lewde doe vainlie languishe still.

-Geoffery Whitney, Choice of Emblemes, 183a

"Oy! 'Mione!"

Bill Weasley held his arms wide, beckoning the younger witch into a crushing hug and he kissed her on the top of her head. The winter wind tugged at her scarf as she greeted her friend outside of the grand entrance to Gringott's Bank. It had been a few months since Hermione had seen him last, and he sported a few more scars on his chiseled face, but ever present was the Weasley fire red hair and now a well trimmed beard. He looked like a rock star, and she always found him to be the most handsome of the entire Weasley clan. Her smile was broad as she regarded him with warmth. "How fare you?" he asked in a jovial tone before becoming increasingly more sobered. "Is everything going alright for Fleur?"

The young witch gave a slight nod. "Yes...My aunt has been kind enough to offer food and shelter to Fleur for the time being. Her being part-Veela isn't earning her many friends as of late."

Hermione was careful not to betray her guile as she wove her carefully rehearsed story. It nagged at her, being so deceptive toward Fleur's ex-husband, but she quickly reminded herself what was at stake.

Fleur had owled Bill the night before she departed Hogwarts for the Malfoy Manor, explaining Hermione's wishes to access a particular vault, and Bill, ever thankful for the young witch's help with his injuries from the months prior, spared nothing in offering any aid. Hermione wished for Fleur to come with her to the bank, but Narcissa forbade the Frenchwoman to leave the manor a second time.

And much to Hermione's frustration, Bellatrix was still tightlipped over any and all questions pertaining to the three memories gifted to her for Christmas. The dark witch would quickly sever any conversation that even grazed the topic of Helen, simply stating that the memories were all Hermione needed to see.

Nothing more.

She had so many questions. What Hermione had found most disturbing was the Dark Lord's presence at her mother's bedside. True he was technically Helen's only next of kin, but something just seemed off about him being in the hospital that day.

Upon attempting to probe the dark witch further, Narcissa scolded the young brunette telling her to leave well enough alone, and that Bellatrix would speak on the subject when she was ready to.

Now Hermione was left to her own devices in locating her mother's portrait. And her answers.

Bill grinned, shoving his hands into the pockets of his black leather jacket. "That's good to hear. Believe me she'd be more than welcome back at my place but Mum still won't lift that ruddy jinx. Kara and I have tried everything to lift it. Still haven't imperioused her yet, though that might be the next step..."

Hermione chuckled as he held open the bronze doors of the bank. She shook snow from her coat and scarf as bill lowered his own hood and removed his gloves. "How is Kara doing anyway? She's absolutely lovely Bill."

"Kara? Down right wonderful. No doubt Fleur has told you I intend to propose. Haven't quite found the right time to do it yet I'm afraid. I want everything to be perfect." He shrugged.

They now stood in the grand lobby of Gringott's, the bank a flurry of activity. Goblins flitted about with gravity defying stacks of forms and papers. Carefully they meandered through the crowded building and made their way toward the wing that contained the labyrinth of vaults. Bill merely showed his badge at the security checkpoint and the two friends were allowed entry with no hassle. This seemed odd to the brown haired witch, as she had heard many stories about how rigid the goblins could be with their security measures. She decided not to press the issue and stayed close to Bill and diverted her eyes from the beady ones of the goblins that seemed omnipresent. They flanked every doorway and passage they passed.

They walked side-by-side down the narrow hallway toward the trams. "Oh Bill you needn't worry so much, go with what your heart tells you. Intuition is nature's way of pushing us to make our dreams reality Bill."

"But what if she says no? What'll I do then? I've been working on this beard now for weeks." He playfully ran his fingers over the short strip of facial hair.

"Please as if any girl would be so daft to decline a marriage proposal from a guy like you."

Bill raised one of his fire red eyebrows. "In that case, 'Mione, will you marry me?". The question stopped the brown haired witch dead in her tracks.

"Uh...well, Fleur..." She began to stutter, running a hand nervously up and down her forearm.

"Always knew you to be daft 'Mione!" His laughter rang through the hall and try as she might, Hermione couldn't help but snicker as well. "I kid. I kid. You know that 'Mione. Fleur is a very lucky woman. She told me about what you've done for her, saved her from a life of poverty. Never heard so much happiness from the girl's lips for as long as I've known her. She is head over heels for you!" Hermione blushed at the words. "And I know full well that my little brother and sister have probably been giving you both grief, and it's mostly my fault given my unique condition...last time we were all home, I heard about your row with Pansy. Damn, Fleur's a lucky girl, I wonder if Kara would kick someone's ass to defend my honor."

Hermione grinned slightly, patting the man on the back reassuringly. "Bill it's quite alright, really. Yours and Kara's friendship is more than enough for Fleur and I...only I hope that I truly make her as happy as you claim she is..."

"Times are tough 'Mione, and Fleur needs you. She can be fragile, and this is certainly one of those moments. I know you've done much to help her, and I want to help you both. Keep your chin up 'Mione. Things will get better...for both of you." He stopped and enveloped Hermione in a tender hug. "Let's keep going. We have a purpose here today, and let's see to it that it gets fulfilled shall we?"

"Fleur had written of the particular vault you wished to access." Bill said as they approached the tram that traversed through the seemingly endless vaults. "And I consulted the goblins about it and there's a bit of a problem." He let Hermione sit first before joining her at her side. The goblin sitting at the tram's controls barely regarded the two passengers before shutting the doors of the tram with a snap of his fingers.

With a jerk, the tram lurched away from the station, starting it's descent into deep under chambers of the bank. The myriad of vaults they passed grew increasingly more archaic and decrepit the deeper they went, the tracks twisting and turning unexpectedly at every turn. The tram gained more and more speed by the second.

Hermione absently played with the fringes of her scarf. "A problem?"

"For one, the vault has been untouched for nearly two decades. Most of the vaults here are passed from generation to generation and will have some semblance of account activity. Usually it's the eager heir who will come to open it expecting vast riches and wealth. About ninety nine percent of the time they are left completely disappointed that it contains noting of value. Then the process starts anew as it is passed to the next heir and so on. Some of our oldest vaults belonged to families that are now extinct, and have not been opened in years, thereby earning it the classification of abandoned. Now under normal policy an abandoned vault is to become ministry property after twenty years or so of inactivity, or if it is purchased at a public auction. This is standard protocol. But this vault you wish to see, is very, very old. So old that it possesses a one of a kind lock that makes it an exception to the rule."

Hermione raised an eyebrow. "What sort of lock?"

"One we've never seen before. And can't get open. Must be why the goblins don't seem to care that you're down here. It just doesn't open." The air was growing more damp and foul by the second. Hermione shivered as the temperature also became more frigid, and she instinctively wrapped her scarf tighter around her neck. They must've been miles and miles underground she surmised. Many of the vaults within this chamber were large and adorned with the lavish crests of some of the oldest English wizarding families. Some had actual dragons chained to posts in front of their doors, snapping and snarling at the arrival of the tram. The tram rolled to a stop in front of a particularly ominous looking vault door with an odd knob beset in it's center. It looked hardly different from the knob of a French style door, but on it's edge a small chalice, no larger than a shot glass, was welded on to it. The goblin drove away once they exited the tramcar.

Bill and Hermione strode over toward the hulking door, and he placed a gloved hand on the chalice. "This is the problem. The lock is the only one of its kind. This cup you see is the key to opening this door, from what the goblins say the family that owned this vault were particularly notorious for their purity fanaticism. By that logic this vessel must be filled..."

"With blood." Hermione completed, running a fingertip around the rusted rim of the dusty cup. Etched into it were the words: jus sanguinis.

"Not to be rude but I doubt your blood will do it. Seeing as this family, the..." he peered upward at the chiseled plaque on the top of the door "Gaunt family...were apparently obsessed with being pureblooded."

Hermione ignored Bill's words and reached into her hair, which was done up in a bun, and pulled a single bobby pin from it. Transfiguring it into a hunting knife with a quick flick of her wand, Hermione rolled up the sleeve of her coat and held her wrist directly above the cups open mouth. Her other hand brought the razor sharp edge of the knife to the thin skin of her wrist. She swallowed a nagging lump in her throat and steadied her breathing for what she was about to do.

"'Mione, what in the blazes do you think you're doing!" Bill shouted, lunging for the knife, but he was too late. With one swift slice and a loud hiss, Hermione had cut into the delicate veins beneath and watched as the crimson blood ran down like a torrent into the chalice. Clenching and unclenching her fist, and grasping tightly to her forearm, she milked the fluid from her body. Instantly upon contact with her blood the chalice began to pull the vault handle downward. For an agonizing five minutes hermione willingly bled into the cup, the gears of the elaborate lock turning one by one with each drop until the door finally began to open. Wrenching her numb appendage away from the knob she quickly willed the cut to heal. The pins and needles sensation lingered however, as did her lightheadedness. Bill stood in awe and confusion.

"The lock...you got it open...that must mean...".

Hermione gave a gesture of affirmation. "Jus Sanguinis. Right of Blood. This is my true blood Bill. This is my real family. This is their vault."

"What...how...". Bill was flabbergasted. "Since when…all this time?" He stammered.

The door slowly groaned open and a gush of fetid air blew forth. Hermione choked down impending vomit at the stale smell and held her wand up with a trembling arm.

"Lumos." The tip of her wand burst alight.

The vault was not very large; no more than ten by twenty feet. The air was stale and dry. Much to Hermione's dismay as she scanned the walls with her light, there was nothing but empty pouches, a few pieces of cracked china and some moth-eaten robes. Whatever riches were once held here were picked clean long ago.

"Was there anything you hoped to find?"

"Yes..." The words trailed as Hermione instantly recognized a shadow cast by her light along the far wall. It's shape was unmistakable; Helen's old gramophone.

The brunette crept forward and kneeling down, she reached a trembling hand for the old musical artifact, touching the ornate rim of it's large hornlike speaker. It was exactly as she had remembered it after seeing it figure so prominently in Bellatrix' memories. Leaning against it was a box containing several dusty records, and Hermione's heart seized in her chest as she saw a simple handwritten tag attached to it that read "For Hermione" in flowing cursive. It was not Bellatrix' handwriting. She thumbed the tag idly as tears welled in her eyes. It was going to be a gift.

In that moment Hermione's mind decided to wander, picturing her far younger self nestled in the arms of Helen Gaunt, her soothing voice singing a playful song. She even imagined Bellatrix to her mother's side, smiling affectionately. Her visions then faded to a vast meadow of wildflowers on a warm spring day, as a small wedding party watched Fleur and Hermione exchange their wedding vows. Helen was sitting in the front row, dabbing at her eyes with a satin handkerchief.

The crunch of Bills boots as he moved through debris brought her back to the present.

Reducio...The gramophone and the box both shrunk to the size of dollhouse furniture, and she delicately placed both of the precious objects in her purse before Bill could see what she was doing. Collecting herself she continued to rummage through the boxes and robes that littered the floor. There was nothing to be found. For nearly a half an hour she rooted through the remnants of long forgotten memories. Her searching brought her to the far right corner of the vault until she finally found what she sought. Buried amongst the detritus was her prize, a rolled up piece of canvas. She fished it out from the junk and with quick footsteps, brought it back out to the vault hallway, clutching it to her chest.

"I think this is it Bill...my mother's portrait!"

"Your mother?" Bill asked reemerging from the vault door.

Hermione nodded "Yes. Helen Clytemnestra Gaunt. She...died giving birth to me...and shortly after I was adopted by the Grangers." The eldest Weasley gaped at the revelation. "It's a long story…but that's why I'm able to open this vault. And why I possess the skills that I do. All of this is a mystery I've been slowly unraveling Bill. Each time I learn something of significance, fifty more questions pop up in it's place. And I still haven't the slightest notion of who I am, and what I should become. This portrait will be the closest that I'll get to meeting my mother." Her arms began to tremble as she placed the canvas gently down on the ground, ready to open it. Bill halted her.

"I wouldn't unfurl it here 'Mione. I doubt the dank depths of Gringott's caverns is a fitting atmosphere for a family reunion. There must be a frame in there." His voice trailed as he entered the vault and began to rummage through the junk. A few minutes passed and he returned with a shrunken frame and handed it to the brunette. "Might want to clean it first but I'm pretty sure this is the one. The placard says Helen on it." Hermione found herself smiling at the sound of her mother's name.

"That's her. Oh but I just want to take a peek at it, if you don't mind helping me unfurl it a bit...maybe she won't see us."

Bill gave a laugh at Hermione's childlike enthusiasm. "It would be my pleasure 'Mione!" Bill held on to the free end of the canvas and with great care Hermione unraveled the painting. Her breath caught in her throat as she saw the face of her mother slowly reveal itself; she had light make up on, her auburn hair in elaborate ringlets tied into a half-up half-down style, with a golden Grecian tiara shaped like woven olive branches perched on the crown of her head. Helen wore a silken off white toga, with a pearl necklace resting around the gentle slope of her neck.

"Look at her Bill...she's dressed like Helen of Troy...she looks...stunning.". Hermione whispered while reaching with her free hand to trace the painted contours of her mother's face.

"Wow...your mother was quite the looker!" Bill remarked before cocking his head to the side. "And...she's apparently...sleeping."

"Sleeping!" With a closer look, Hermione could see Helen was indeed slumbering, her head tilted slightly forward, eyes gently shut. Her chest rose and fell in a subtle rhythm. "But we just freed her from this dreadful vault...she should be awake!"

"Best not wake her here eh 'Mione? Who knows how long she's been down here." They rolled up the canvas and with a quick reduction spell the painting, along with it's frame were placed in her bag. Bill gave Hermione a hearty pat on the back. "Let's get out of here. Fancy some dinner before you return to your Hogsmeade group 'Mione? Fill me in on this mysterious family history I know nothing about." Bill shot her a knowing smile. "C'mon...it'll be on me."

"That would be lovely Bill."

The Helen in the portrait continued to sleep soundly, though she was now propped up against the wall in Hermione's dorm room in the Gryffindor tower. Hermione tried nearly everything: talking, screaming, singing, playing jazz on the gramophone...but nothing would cause the sleeping woman to even stir. None of it made any sense and what was worse, Bellatrix wanted nothing to do with it. It hurt, finally having Helen so close, but so completely unresponsive at the same time. Hermione well knew that contained within that frame was the wealth of answers shed been longing to discover for so long. And of course the young soul of her mother whom she was positively dying to get to know.

Her roommates were unsettled by the large portrait of an unknown woman unceremoniously on display in their room. Lavender had taken to covering it with a bed sheet whenever Hermione was out, the gesture, the young witch found to be, like a slap in the face.

One night while Hermione struggled to fall asleep she could hear the voices of Lavender and Ginny in the midst of a heated conversation as they entered the quiet dorm room. They spoke in harsh whispers but it was loud enough for Hermione to hear every word.

"Why does she insist on having that bloody painting in here? First it's her stealing your brothers wife, then her weird behavior; cutting class and disappearing all the time, beating the snot out of Pansy Parkinson-"

Ginny giggled. "Which was bloody brilliant. Seeing McGonagall stun Hermione was classic!"

Lavender continued. "Then she jumps back up to the top of our bloody class again. And still she disappears all of the time. The professors, they don't seem to care! Where the hell do you suppose she got her ruddy paws on this painting? Who is that woman?"

"I dunno. Her lesbian fantasy?"

Hermione's hands were now white knuckled gripping the comforter tightly around her body. She was starting to sweat, her body hot with anger.

"Kinda creepy how it's always sleeping don't you think?" Lavender thought audibly. Her voice was louder, she must've been standing directly in front of the portrait. Hermione tensed underneath the comforter.

Ginny only laughed. "Well I would be too if I was in the presence of bookish Hermione Granger all of the time!" The two girls snorted with laughter and quickly hushed themselves fearing that they were being too loud. Their voices became slightly more distant as they each approached their respective wardrobes to change.

"Did you see the other pictures she's got by her bed?"

"Oh yeah. Not sure who the two women are but she's got one of Phlegm from the tournament. From the bloody Yule ball". Ginny remarked with a snide tone. "Every male, and I suppose Hermione too, was under her Veela spell that year. Hermione should get herself tested."

Lavender stopped her rummaging for a moment, "You don't think they've...done it?"

"Who knows, all I know is from what the Prophet wrote that day…" Ginny began and Lavender said nothing in response. "You know, that article they wrote about Veelas. Apparently they crave sex and they need to have it often to even survive!"

"But wouldn't that mean that your brother Bill..."

"Gross Lav! I don't want to think about that! Only thing worse is imagining Hermione and Fleur. Eww! Now I'm gonna have loads of trouble getting to sleep!"

It took every ounce of willpower left in Hermione not to cast the cruciatus curse on Ginny then and there. Perhaps, she mused wickedly, she'd get that chance in due time.

London coffee shops on a sleepy Saturday afternoon were surprisingly bustling. Having adroitly escaped her Hogsmeade group yet again, Hermione sat in the far corner of the café, mug of steaming black coffee in one hand, and her attention fixed upon the previous day's Telegraph. Several searing op-ed pieces ranted on and on about the sumptuous spectacle that was to be the Queen's Diamond Jubilee later that year. The money to be spent on the whole affair, they wrote, could be better used to help the people. Is this what the country needs? A party? The economy was weakening; hard working people losing their jobs while the crown continues to live in opulence despite rampant rumors of bankruptcy. The value of pounds sterling was falling to it's weakest ever against the American dollar. Military recruitment is down. And the monarch just wants to throw a party, and parliament seems to have no problem with this. The royalists bit back with letters of their own; the monarch would be bringing the people together, the country needs a day of unity and identity. A day to energize the British people. The whole debate upon the black and white pages brought a chuckle to Hermione's lips. The muggles had plenty upon their own plates as well.

Voldemort, it seems, had done his homework.

The Jubilee was a time bomb; it just had to be set.

The date on the paper was 25 January 1999. The New Year came and went with little spectacle, however for the first time in her 19 years of existence, Hermione was finally gifted a kiss as the clock struck midnight. It was magical. The love she shared with Fleur had weathered a rather tumultuous 1998, and showed no signs of weakening. They kissed goodbye while under the watchful eye of Professor McGonagall, out on the courtyard. Hermione whispered into Fleur's ears words of promise and adoration. Six more months, she said, until she was free of the confines of Hogwarts castle for good. Six more months, and they would finally be ready to begin a new chapter of their lives. The great walls of Hogwarts would no longer stand between them, and it would finally be them against the world.

The Dark Lord's words however permeated her thoughts. She had a mission that she needed to fulfill. Once her task was complete, she would walk away. Once the phylacteries were reduced to shards, she would take the hand of the woman she loved, and head off into the proverbial sunset. The world could crumble under the iron fist of war, but as long as they had one another, nothing could pull them apart.

The bitter burn of the black coffee as it slipped down her esophagus brought with it the bite of reality. She needed to focus on her mission. Her training.

Her eyes scanned the busy coffee shop; the many tables were dotted with businessmen and women chewing on scones and washing it down with various species of coffee-like beverages. None of which Hermione particularly cared for, though she did enjoy a nice cappuccino now and again. She held up the paper to conceal her face, as she began her careful descent into a trance-like state. Eyes closed, heart scarcely beating, the only sounds she could now hear, was her metronomic inhale and exhale.

Petrificus totalus.

CRASH! One of the baristas, carrying a tray of muffins and scones, collapsed to the floor with a clatter. Everyone stopped what they were doing at the sound, and several of the patrons rushed to the young man's side.

Petrificus totalus.

Petrificus totalus.

Two more people fell to the ground, and the others slowly backed away, as if the three bodies upon the floor were contagious. Hermione scanned the sports section, soon becoming engrossed in an article about Manchester United.

Colloportus.

Instantly the doors to the café locked themselves tightly on their own accord. Her guinea pigs were effectively trapped in their cage. The World section had several excellent op-ed pieces about the upcoming American presidential elections. If she were American, she pondered, she wasn't sure which candidate she'd be inclined to vote for.

Reducto. Stupefy. Petrificus Totalus. Engorgio. Reducio. Avifors.

The spells fired forth like a machine gun with its trigger taped down and the small café was plunged into utter mayhem; objects and birds whizzing about, coffee cups growing to ten times their normal size, fire erupting out of sinks and basins. People screamed and clawed at the doors in desperation, but Hermione would not unlock them. In fact she simply took another sip of coffee and began to work on the daily sudoku puzzle.

A rather large man, brandishing a stool from the bar, barreled toward the front door, looking to smash it open.

Rictumsempra.

He collided with the glass and crumpled into a fit of giggles as invisible fingers tickled him unrelentingly. Hermione let the insanity continue for ten agonizing minutes, not out of mercy, but because today's sudoku puzzle she found to be particularly vexing.

One by one she petrified each of the patrons

She stood once there was not one person left standing in the café. Bodies were strewn across the littered floor like a child's forgotten toys after playtime. Pulling out her wand, she carefully undid all of the madness; repairing mugs, cleaning the floors, and returning the tables to their upright positions. She was careful to obliviate all of the patrons as well; wiping their minds clear.

"Alohomora" she aimed the bolt at the door and gently pushed it open. As she crossed the threshold to the cold London streets she whispered, "Finite Incantatem."

Instantly everyone stood up, a bit unsure of how they got on the floor in the first place, but they continued their day as if nothing had ever happened.

The staccato clip clop of her boots on the cobblestone streets ticked in rhythm with her rapidly beating heart. She was nearly ready, though she had one more activity planned for this weekend. Bellatrix, whom she hadn't seen in weeks, was going to take her on her first raid. And upon learning where the raid was to take place, Hermione suddenly found herself feeling very, very excited.

A/N: Thank you muchly to Wirenfeldt Jr. and sexyoutlaw for helping to clear up my confusion over the locking spell. You guys rock!

A/N 2: Remember this is an AU fic. In real life, I understand that the Queen has not had her Diamond jubilee yet. The political pieces Hermione reads in this chapter are simply for dramatic effect and in no way reflect any of my political leanings. Just in case anyone finds a problem with it.