Hello wonderful readers. Thank you to all for the magnificent reviews and new faves/follows. I will try to catch up with some of you via PM review replies but I'm knackered right now and just want to post this for your reading pleasure heading into the weekend. I apologize for any errors I may have missed (see: 'knackered' above). Do let me know what you think of it all, and thank you so much for reading!
The day had started as normally as any other day at St. Mungo's Spell Damages ward, and Miriam Strout was trying yet another potion which might help Gilderoy Lockhart. Of all her current patients, he was the one with the most potential for recovery, she felt, and thus she spent a lot of time researching and trying various things that would definitely cause no additional harm.
The doors to the ward burst open and Miriam Strout looked up from the cup of potion she was trying to get Mr. Lockhart to imbibe. Two wizards cloaked in black strode in, followed by a wild-haired woman whose wand flicked the doors shut again.
"You!" The wand was pointed directly at her, and Miriam set down the cup and drew herself to her full height, which was taller than this diminutive Death Eater. "You're Miriam Strout."
"This is a hospital, not a den of thieves. There is nothing and no one here of interest to you," Miriam said icily.
"Oh, that's where you're wrong, pet! The Dark Lord wants to see you," Bellatrix said as one of the wizards gripped her arm, the other removing her wand with a wordless Expelliarmus. "Now."
Miriam Strout found herself in a situation which she never expected—being brought face to face with the Dark wizard causing the world to unravel and reknit itself. Her work was hardly revelatory or critical, and for the most part both sides of the war had left St. Mungo's alone, respecting the neutrality of healers. Thus she had no problem taking on Death Eaters, within reason of course—but she insisted on respectful treatment as much as she was able.
However, she found all of her previously held convictions about how to handle those she privately considered to be bullies evaporated in the face of being in front of Lord Voldemort himself. He practically radiated power, his movements brusque as he appraised her bluntly, taking in her somewhat rumpled appearance and wordlessly accepting her wand from Jugson as Bella forced the Healer to her knees. He dismissed them with a flick of his hand, impatiently gesturing for the woman to get to her feet again as the door clicked closed.
"You have been called here in your professional capacity. Are you prepared to uphold your sworn oaths as a Healer?"
He had his wand in hand, the way he paced completely predatory, although he seemed a bit agitated. Miriam thought about it for a split second, but unless it was the Dark Lord himself requiring aid the answer was an easy one.
"Of course."
"Come with me."
The Dark Lord swept through a pair of double doors that had been concealed, impatiently waving away the charms over the doors. Miriam felt herself pass through a set of powerful wards, then saw a young woman prone on a bed, apparently unconscious. Lord Voldemort proffered her wand without a word, but the expression on his face was warning enough to attempt nothing except her duties.
Stranger and stranger, Miriam thought to herself, but the real surprise was when she got a good look at the girl.
"This is Hermione Granger," she said before she retrieved control of her brain.
"I am aware, Madame! She is also your patient!"
Miriam felt immense sympathy for the young woman—Helga only knew what had happened to her. She got to work immediately—she was under a stabilizing charm, a powerful one at that.
"What happened?" Miriam asked in a clipped tone as diagnostic spells began to fill the air.
"She reacted poorly to a spell," the Dark Lord said in a cold tone, his arms crossed over his chest, wand tip bobbing slightly. Miriam chanced a look at his face and hurriedly went back to her spell casting.
"Of course…" Mental note, do not ask He Who Must Not Be Named to explain what he has done… A routine spell flashed its results in front of her eyes, and she had no control over her mouth again.
"She's pregnant!"
Another quick look and Miriam resolved to keep her commentary to a minimum. She could practically feel his antagonism crackling, her experience with spell damage victims giving her an increased sensitivity to magical auras. His was off the charts, hostile and virulent, and she had no desire to draw it toward herself.
"The baby is stable…but her magical core is—I'm not sure—it could be damaged or just heavily, heavily depleted…"
"What do you require to aid you in healing her?" Voldemort asked impatiently.
"I won't know until the stabilizing charm is removed," Miriam said, her wand trembling.
"Are you certain that if you do so, she will survive?" he asked icily.
"Not yet," she said, overcoming her momentary hesitation as he moved more swiftly than should be possible in her direction, uncrossing his arms so his wand was free. Her heart stuttered briefly, but he ignored her, casting the Dark Mark into thin air, then speaking in a strange hissing manner. The only thing recognizable was "Severus Snape".
Drawing a steadying breath, she continued with more advanced charms, her frown deepening.
"Well?" he demanded, flicking the Dark Mark away again with precision.
"I'm not sure—based on these results, I'd say it's almost as though her magic rebounded on itself."
"And is it treatable?" He was still pissed, and Miriam was suddenly aware of the precariousness of her position.
"If it isn't?" she asked, finally daring to look at him directly.
"Then you die as well, so I suggest you bring your considerable expertise to bear." His tone was as cold as the arctic tundra, and equally forbidding.
There was a knock at the door of the outer chamber, which broke the tense shock that had frozen Miriam in place. The Dark Lord strode swiftly to the outer chamber, flicking the outer door open with his wand to allow Severus Snape to enter.
"My lord?"
The summons had been urgent, the pain in his arm more intense than anything he had felt in recent years. Severus bowed low, but Lord Voldemort ignored him entirely, simply bade him follow to the next room.
The scene before him was shocking, but Severus had years of practice disguising his immediate response to anything that Lord Voldemort presented to him. The matronly woman in the lime green Healer's robes was working over Miss Granger, sparing him only the briefest of glances before resuming her spells.
"My lord?" The question was unchanged, but Severus' voice had dropped in volume and timbre, instantly conveying his implicit readiness to assist with whatever was required of him. The Dark Lord turned half away from the Healer in question, and said quietly above Severus' shoulder,
"My wife's magic has reacted poorly to a constraint I imposed on her. I would like for you to consult with the Healer as to whether or not the Plotësoj potion could be used in conjunction with Madame Strout's auroral casting."
"Of course," Severus nodded, then approached the bed alongside the Dark Lord.
"My potions master is ready to assist you with any potions that may be of use," Voldemort said tightly, and the Healer glanced up briefly at Severus, finishing casting her diagnostics before she looked at him fully.
"Headmaster."
Her tone was clipped, but Severus expected no less under the circumstances. Voldemort was difficult to deal with under any circumstances, but clearly this situation was a mistake, and that always made him worse.
"Madame Strout. If you could inform me as to some of the particulars of…" he paused and his eyes flicked to the Dark Lord's, before he cautiously continued, "Ms. Granger's condition, I can offer some suggestions for potions which may be brewed immediately."
The Dark Lord's temple ticked at the mention of Miss Granger's former name, but he didn't correct his servant. Miriam Strout cast another glance at He Who Must Not Be Named and looked back at the headmaster.
"She is free of any potions at present, but her pregnancy will restrict the options available," Strout began, and Severus had to work hard to restrain the jolt that passed through his system at that second shock to his system. His synapses fired at record setting pace, leaping to the obvious conclusions. The Souteni potion, marriage to Miss Granger, a baby…he kept his eyes down, flexing his clasped fingers slightly as his brain shifted to the immediate need: eliminating certain potions from the list of ones she could possibly take.
"It would help if I knew a bit more about how she was put into this state," Strout said, wisely confining her gaze to Severus instead of the Dark Lord. The last thing Severus needed was for Lord Voldemort to murder the most qualified Healer to help Miss Granger before the deed could be accomplished.
"Suffice it to say that Ms. Granger's magic was constrained," Severus said, unwilling to speculate about the circumstances under which such constraint would have been imposed.
"What else was she doing that day? Had she been using her magic actively, excessively? Pushing limits in any way?"
Severus gave her marks for keeping her questions directed to him instead of Lord Voldemort. Severus' eyes flicked to the Dark Lord's again, and he felt the push of Legilimency. The thought was literally planted in his mind: She was pushing her limits earlier when I was training her.
"Ms. Granger has been undergoing training which does require her to push her magic, yes," Severus said cautiously. "She has not responded poorly up to this point." Another quick eye flick confirmed that he had guessed correctly.
Whatever Miriam Strout thought of this she wisely kept to herself. Her eyes glanced off Lord Voldemort, then she returned her gaze to Severus.
"Well, while theoretically this is acceptable during pregnancy, should the expectant mother experience multiple drains on her person: magical, emotional, physical—then a dangerous depletion may occur. For a witch of Miss Granger's caliber, constraining her magic under conditions of stress could be enough to cause such a depletion. Given the circumstances, it is my professional opinion that Miss Granger can recover, given sufficient support and recovery time."
The baby, Voldemort hissed in Severus' mind…a disturbing blip given that Severus was practicing the highest level of Occlumency he had due to the Dark Lord's volatile state.
"And what of the child? Has it been affected at all?"
"Miss Granger has done what most expectant mothers would do instinctively—her magic protected the baby at the cost of her own magic. Hence my prescription for support." The witch was teetering on dangerous ground now—Severus could tell from the way the Dark Lord's eyes were flashing with fire.
"Could her recovery be accelerated via use of the Plotësoj potion in conjunction with your auroral casting?" Severus hoped that this reminder of Madame Strout's skill would spare her a date with Lord Voldemort's wand, which was at the ready in his hand.
"Yes, I imagine it would. I trust you would be able to obtain the necessary ingredients for that potion?" Miriam Strout was well aware of the regulations on potions ingredients these days, so this was a mild rebuke about the lack of such supplies for St. Mungo's.
"It will take four hours to brew, my lord." Severus took the witch by the shoulders to remove her immediately from the Dark Lord's presence. "I'll go over the specifics of the potion's ingredients with Healer Strout now to make sure that the composition of the potion will be perfectly complementary to the auroral casting."
Voldemort's jaw was tight and his eyes were smoldering. Severus let out an audible sigh of relief when they were allowed to pass over the threshold unscathed…for now.
Voldemort was three hours into Severus' actual brewing time. It was straining the limits of his self-control to refrain from cursing the impudent Healer, whom he had ordered to stay by Hermione's side while Severus brewed the potion. It was only the knowledge that she was the expert in auroral healing that stayed his wand. He had had to leave the room, leaving Nagini to keep an eye on the woman. Frankly his expertise was more in the realm of tearing people apart, not putting them back together…except himself, of course. It had all seemed like too much bother until now to be concerned with the finer details of Healing, and he couldn't afford for things to be screwed up any further. The fact that it was his own loss of control that had caused the entire chain of events was just the fucking cherry.
"My lord," Rowle bowed swiftly as he entered the meeting room. "There has been a disruption at the Ministry."
"Your arm," he demanded icily, pressing his finger with more force than required to Rowle's Mark, the hiss escaping from the unfortunate Rowle's lips a sign that he had chosen pure pain for this summons. Yaxley, Dolohov, Lucius, and MacNair all arrived within minutes. Voldemort rounded on Yaxley as soon as he appeared.
"What is going on at the Ministry?"
"My lord, Dolores Umbridge was confronted by a group of protesters regarding the new compulsory education program for children younger than eleven years."
"Protesters? Inside the Ministry?" His voice was dangerously low, but there was nothing for Yaxley to do but continue.
"Yes, my lord, by the fountain of Magical Brethren."
Voldemort's wand flashed, and Calvin Yaxley found himself thrown about by a little variant of the Cruciatus which suited the flavor of the day. He frankly didn't fucking care if it left permanent marks on the man.
"I do not expect my Ministry to be overridden by protesters!" Voldemort hissed as he flicked his wand away with equal fervor, stepping past Yaxley's quivering form to impale Lucius with a deadly glare. "Lucius, explain how such a thing came to pass!"
Lucius Malfoy nodded his head with the appearance of far more calm than he in fact possessed, his voice taking the soothing, wheedling tone that he employed so well. "My lord, the protesters were women with small children—they had been invited to the launch of the program. The Aurors cannot not possibly detain them for long without causing a tremendous backlash."
"So they are still in custody?" The possibilities of bloodletting curled through his consciousness, but this would hardly be conducive to the slow and steady takeover that was underway. He cursed the machinery of respectability at times like these, but in order for his reign to last, he had to secure it with these infernal trappings of order.
Dolohov spoke in lieu of Yaxley, who was still attempting to get his breath on the floor. "Yes, my lord. The Aurors have them in holding cells, with their children. However, they will not be able to keep them for much longer."
"If my lord is willing, I have a suggestion which could be seen to be responsive while in fact still advancing your agenda," Lucius offered.
"Proceed," Voldemort snapped. His head was beginning to throb—of course the Aurors would be impotent to deal with irate mothers, unless he was willing to commit magical genocide to enforce his dictates. While temporarily satisfying, that would present its own problems down the road. He hoped, for Lucius' own sake, that the suggestion he was about to offer had merit.
"Thank you, my lord. I believe that a few changes in your proposals for these new compulsory educational centers will make them far more palatable to the wizarding public, while maintaining the core ideals which you have striven so long to share with the wizarding world—"
"Get to the point," Voldemort bit out, his wand twitching dangerously.
"Replace Dolores Umbridge as head of the program. She is not a very…maternal woman, and you are asking mothers to entrust their cherubs to her, figuratively speaking. By choosing a more maternal witch to assume leadership of the program, you will convince these mothers that you understand their concerns. Additionally, I recommend restructuring some of the magical talent exams you are planning to use as 'exercises', and sell them as a means of encouraging magical talent from a younger age. The Ministry will still receive the test results, allowing filtering and continuous monitoring, but it will be done with the parents' implicit permission."
Walden MacNair cleared his throat, and Voldemort transferred his attention to the Death Eater whom he had put in charge of the Daily Prophet.
"It would also be circumspect to publish an article on the need for such targeted development with young magical children. St. Mungo's own research does support this, so it would be favorable for the Ministry to flaunt that. I believe it was buried under Fudge given the difficulties with Mud…Muggleborns," he hastily amended.
Voldemort paced, then cracked his neck. He fixed MacNair and Lucius with a look, then said, "Craft a series of vignettes about mother and child experiences at the centers. Lucius, set up a test center as a model, with a carefully picked group of children, including some children of 'fence sitters'. Let the wizarding public read about what a happy place these centers will be."
"Just so, my lord," Lucius said with a respectful nod of his head. "It is simply that the public desires to cling to its ignorance."
"Well, Lucius, I am sure your own wife would be happy to take on such a role, yes?" Voldemort said, his expression cruel.
"Of…of course, my lord—although Narcissa is not the best at running large entities…"
"Antonin!" Voldemort barked. "Whom among our present hangers-on would be suited for such a role?"
Dolohov's mouth twisted into a cruel smirk. "Actually, my lord, I do believe Bellatrix has the organizational capacity for such a job, if not the public…persona required."
"I don't think so," Voldemort snapped. "I suppose that is your new job, then, Antonin—identify and win the cooperation of the person best suited for the organizational job for these centers, and get them on board. You have one week to submit a list of candidates. I trust you will look under every rock for likely candidates—including those who are perhaps otherwise recalcitrant to cooperate."
He rounded on Lucius. "In the meantime, Lucius, your wife will be the public face of the program. If that requires Bella to be the organizational brains behind the scenes, I will ensure her participation." He rounded on the entire room, which now included a vertical Yaxley. "That is all on that matter then. And Calvin, you'd best ensure that Pius says exactly what is necessary to let those mothers know that next time they are assured of a different outcome should they dare protest one of my decrees. I think a few personal calls to their cells before releasing them should be sufficient. Let's just say, I'm sure an orphanage would be less tedious to run."
The doors opened and Voldemort held his hand to the side, ready to curse anyone for interrupting without substantially good cause.
"My lord," Bella bowed breathlessly, "there has been an attack on a Ministry outpost—the Archives."
The vague pain in his head coalesced into a persistent throb. He would cheerfully immolate every member of the Order of the Phoenix if they were before him at the moment.
"You're dismissed!" Voldemort barked at those gathered. "Oh, and Dolohov: fetch Greyback. I want werewolves augmenting the Aurors on a rotating basis immediately for the holding cell detainees. Let the mothers get a taste of the stench of wolf while they wait for their release."
The dark haired Death Eater nodded on his way out, and Voldemort fixed his attention on Bellatrix.
"What damage was done?" he asked coldly.
"A list of retired Unspeakables was taken, among other things," Bellatrix said, and Voldemort's brow furrowed as she continued, "What could they possibly want with such a thing?"
"Leave it with me," Voldemort said. He would have to think about it, but it was never acceptable to admit to his followers that he didn't know why his opponents did something. At present, however, he was a bit distracted by the situation at hand. "Any casualties?"
"Some Snatchers, my lord, but none of theirs."
Voldemort's wand hand twitched, and Bellatrix was thrown to the floor by the force of his Cruciatus. Unfortunately, being Bella, she enjoyed it, the froth of saliva on her mouth annoying him. He stopped and she fell at his feet, panting as she prostrated herself.
"Thank you, my lord—I deserved to be punished for conveying such horrible tidings, I know." Her voice was breathless in a manner reminiscent of arousal, not pain, and it disgusted him that she would lick his feet to grovel if he let her.
"Punish those responsible. Do it well—I don't want anyone to give up that easily in future unless their wand is taken from their cold, dead hands. Make it understood that this type of cowardice will be severely punished."
She did brighten at that, raising herself to her knees. "It will be done well, my lord."
The doors opened again, and Voldemort was quite certain that the pounding pain localized behind his eye was going to manifest itself as a spontaneous Avada if the next person to walk in had further bad news, especially of the sort that didn't involve an immediate possibility of bloodletting.
It was Severus Snape, looking as cool as ever despite the fact that Voldemort knew he had to have been hunched over a steaming cauldron for hours. "My lord, the potion is ready."
"Bella, go to work," Voldemort said with a grimace, sweeping past her without a backwards glance.
"That was fucking brilliant," Ron said, exchanging a high five with George before both registered the disapproving look their father was sending them.
"It was a successful effort, but we are a long way from reclaiming either Neville or Hermione," Kingsley Shacklebolt said ponderously. "And we must give credit where it is due—Draco did alert us to the existence of this repository."
"Only because the ferret's father has been greasing palms at the Ministry since before he was in nappies," Ron retorted. "I'm surprised you acted on it, given the source."
"He has few other options, unless you think You Know Who has suddenly sprouted a charitable, forgiving nature," George said. He was less opposed to the ferrety Malfoy after learning of Malfoy's denials about Harry when the three were held at Malfoy Manor, and thus was more prepared to give him a slight amount of wiggle room.
"Still seems awfully suspicious to me," Ron groused. "I don't doubt Daddy Dearest could have paved his way back."
"Mr. Weasley, our reports state that You Know Who has issued orders that young Draco is to be brought to him directly in the unexpected event that he reappears. Apparently the report of Draco's refusal to curse any of you in the Room of Requirement has reached his ears. It is likely that he holds Draco directly responsible for the destruction of Ravenclaw's diadem. It is only the longstanding belief that he is dead that has spared him a considerable wizard hunt."
The familiar tone caused Ron's ears to redden, and he looked at his former head of house. There was not one hair out of place on Minerva McGonagall's head, despite this being the first time since the battle that her former students had witnessed her plying her wand in a way that showed an altogether different side to the staid professor.
"Draco is coming along well. Tonight's raid is proof of that. Now we have to focus on business and work on tracking down these Unspeakables. There must be one who would be willing to help us breach the Department's record hall," Tonks said.
"It won't be easy," Kingsley warned. "Some of them are likely to be dead, and others will be extremely good at hiding. It won't be simple to find one who is willing to assist us."
"And this will only tell us exactly what sort of bond You Know Who has used on Hermione. It might not be a bond that is easy to break," Arthur said gently. Nonetheless, his son's shoulders slumped visibly, and the adults exchanged looks. This was not something that anyone would wish on such young people, barely past the cusp of wizard adulthood.
"Well," Minerva began, arranging her robes with a swish. "I know one person who should be able to tell us where some of these people are—Horace Slughorn. At least six of these names are members of his little club. I suggest we start with him!"
"What are the immediate risks when you remove the stabilizing charm?" Voldemort asked, halting immediately beside Hermione's prone form on the bed, Severus at his elbow with the potion.
A puzzled expression flicked briefly on the woman's face, though it was quickly schooled again into a professional mask. "Her magic might fluctuate dangerously. I will do my best to stabilize it while the headmaster infuses the potion directly to her stomach. Once her aura has settled, I can begin the auroral casting."
"I will take care of the stabilizing," Voldemort said abruptly, not bothering to look at the woman.
Miriam Strout was in a difficult position again: if she refused, she would be punished or killed, but she was obliged to point out that this would not work.
"I'm afraid I cannot perform the auroral casting with someone else's magic buoying the patient's—it would not work."
"This will work," Voldemort said coldly. "Remove the charm. You will see what I mean."
Miriam exchanged a helpless glance with Severus Snape, but that man was waiting impassively, his potion and wand at the ready. She felt obliged to try one more time, being as conciliatory as possible—"My lord…"
"DO IT." His tone was quiet and fiery at once, his magic snapping along his skin.
"Very well."
Not quite sure what was going on, the witch raised her wand and prepared for the worst. Before she cast Finite Incantatem, her wand bobbled briefly as the Dark Lord perched one hip on the side of the bed, clasping Miss Granger's hand and forearm smoothly in his own. His wand he left in his lap, and he murmured something under his breath. Miriam's wand was already on the downward swing, and she dissolved the stabilizing charm cleanly.
What happened next was singular in her experience. Instead of having the hairpin fluctuations that would normally accompany this type of magical injury, Miss Granger's aura, thin and reedy though it was, was uniquely stable. The Dark Lord was still murmuring something under his breath, but Miriam could detect no traces of his aura. Confused, she swept her gaze to Snape, who remained impassive, and impossible to read.
"I will begin the auroral casting now," she informed them, more for Snape to know that he should begin infusing the potion than anything else. The Dark Lord paid her no heed, his attention fixed on the witch on the bed.
The colors that swirled through the air were beautiful, arcs pulsing and flaring in the manner which had given this type of healing its name. Severus had never seen it performed, but the magical energy that was swelling was like a slowly expanding bubble, requiring considerable finesse on the part of the caster. She increased the power of the spell as Miss Granger's magic began to respond to the potion that was seeping into her system, and finally she felt Lord Voldemort's aura. However, he was able to keep it out of her way, in a manner which she would not have been able to duplicate herself, removing himself in minute increments from Miss Granger's magic as it recovered slowly through the sweeps of Miriam's wand.
"There," Lord Voldemort said suddenly, his head snapping up. "You are done."
Miriam's wand faltered again under the force of his stare. "I would prefer to bring her a bit further along—"
"No. She will recover faster without additional interference." His wand was in his hand so fast she missed it, but she did not miss the recoil from her spell as he cleaved the connection, the precision of his shielding of Miss Granger and himself the picture of deadly elegance. Severus Snape had his own wand in play reflexively, the shielding against damaging spells instinctive. Miriam bore the brunt of it, causing her to collapse to the floor in pain.
"Next time, Madame Healer, I suggest you do as I say the first time, especially when you are treating my wife," Lord Voldemort hissed, taking a vindictive pleasure in the way the woman's face blanched even more as his words registered. "Severus, escort our guest to the dungeons. She can recover there until I have another chat with her before I may allow her to return to her normal occupation."
"Of course, my lord," Severus said, mentally sighing. He had tried, but sometimes the stubborn had to learn the hard way.
Once again Hermione found herself returning slowly to consciousness while Voldemort was at her bedside. This time, however, she felt her hand clasped in his own, the steady pulse of his magic like a second heartbeat beneath her skin.
"What happened?" she asked, her eyes still closed. She didn't have the energy to open them, and she was softly comfortable like this, enveloped in a warm, dark cocoon.
"Your magic rebounded into itself," he answered quietly, his thumb making one pass across her palm as he continued to hold her hand.
"The baby?"
"Fine," Voldemort said. Was his voice slightly hoarse, or was it her imagination?
"Good." Hermione opened her eyes briefly, looked at him. "I'm tired."
"Yes, I know." There was another, slightly stronger beat of magic from him, and Hermione's eyes sank closed again.
"That feels nice," she murmured drowsily. "Want you to know something…I don't blame you."
"What?" he asked, rather sharply, his thumb hesitating over her skin.
"It's what I expect from you," she said, trying, but failing, to open her eyelids. She didn't recognize that he had flinched, his fingers ceasing their strokes entirely. "I just wanted you to know, it isn't necessary."
"Why not?" he asked, but she had already fallen asleep. He sat, motionless, for a long time beside her.
"Severus, I trust this is important."
The Dark Lord was seated by the fireplace in his personal study, his pet snake's head resting on one knee, a glass of what looked like firewhisky in hand.
"My lord, I would seek an audience this late in the day for nothing less than an urgent matter."
Voldemort took a sip of his whisky, his attention fixed on the flames. "Speak, then."
"I find it difficult to obtain the properly qualified staff for the school," he said. It was best to address these things head on. "I was wondering if you would consider offering an amnesty to Hogwarts personnel in light of the restructuring that is going on in magical education."
"How likely is it that those involved would take advantage of such an offer?" Voldemort said darkly.
"There are those who would find it difficult, yes, but your recent conciliatory gestures to Muggleborns will aid in swaying some who would prefer not to be enmeshed in outright warfare."
"A return to cloak and dagger warfare? I don't think so." He took another sip of his drink, even though they were both well aware that it was a bad idea for him to be drinking given the cocktail of potions he required.
"Not exactly, my lord. But there is a certain amount of pragmatism that must come to bear as you obtain more easy cooperation from the wizarding public in general. The subject of your marriage will spread eventually, and if you present it properly, it will do even more to stabilize the wizarding world's opinion of your program of change."
"I will think about it," Voldemort said. "Is that all?"
Severus had absolutely no intention of pushing it, so he replied, "No, my lord."
The Dark Lord finally swiveled his head to fix Severus with a discerning look. "Not a single word about my wife's pregnancy and the Souteni potion? I'm not sure if I'm disappointed in or pleased by your astuteness, Severus."
"As my lord wishes," Severus replied smoothly, nodding his head politely.
"Ah, Severus, Severus…this is why Bella and the others are so jealous of you." He tipped his head back against the high back of the chair, his pale throat exposed. "You have truly taken the time to know me. I do believe I want you to speak to my wife, and soon."
"I am yours to command," Severus replied, aware that Voldemort was at the end of a very short tether.
"I certainly hope so, Severus."
This last was said with a sharpness that sent a vague tingle of unease up Severus Snape's spine. One could take nothing for granted with the Dark Lord.