Good afternoon! Sorry this has taken so long, but I have been sick and really wasn't able to do work, much less write. I am now swamped by grading so those hoping for a quick update after this will be disappointed. I'm afraid I only managed review replies for chapter 31, sorry to all who reviewed chapter 30 previously. I have too much work to catch up on this weekend to keep going with that so it's going to have to lie as-is. I am posting this and then burying myself in my real work, so please reward me a bit with some reviews. :) Thanks, you are the best! Enjoy.
June 22, 1996
"Severus, sit down, please."
Severus slouched into his usual spot of inquisition in Albus' office, ignoring the clacking devices that always gave him a headache if he were in this office for too long.
"Turkish delight?" Dumbledore asked lightly, proffering the candy dish to Severus' scowl before popping a piece into his mouth. As he sucked on the candy, he observed, "I do believe the Muggles are exploiting the calming properties of rosewater with this candy—quite clever of them, really."
"I DO hope you haven't summoned me here to philosophize on the rationale behind Muggle candymaking," Severus sneered, and the Headmaster straightened behind his desk.
"Of course not, Severus. Tell me, how is our favorite megalomaniac coping in the aftermath of the Department of Mysteries? Something tells me he isn't best pleased to have lost so many of his minions in one go."
"He's quite pissed, as you well know," Severus snarled. "I don't enjoy being tossed about under the Cruciatus for something I haven't done, and it seems to be a frequent occurrence over the past three days."
"I realize that he is hard on you," Dumbledore said in that offhand manner which always drove Severus slightly mad. 'You know, but you do not care,' he thought to himself.
"What has he specifically said about the incident? I need to know exactly how he has responded to the event itself," Dumbledore said, and Severus noticed that the Pensieve was out on the table. Fuck.
"If you want to see my memories of recent events, just ask for them instead of pussyfooting around," Severus snarled. "I do have brewing to do now that the little whelps are going home at long last."
He strode over to the basin, steadied himself, then carefully pulled the memories he was willing to share and dropped them into the bowl. If he were lucky, Albus would view them alone and he could have some ruddy peace for a few minutes. He felt Albus' hand on his shoulder, and he mentally swore to himself again. Of course he wouldn't be granted a respite.
"Shall we?"
The question was entirely unnecessary. Thankfully Dumbledore saw whatever he wished to observe relatively soon, apparently most interested in how Voldemort responded in the immediate aftermath of the battle. Together they watched him excoriate, punish, threaten, and torment the Death Eaters in the room, including Severus.
"Held off by a bunch of children! Disgusting, wet-behind-the-ears teenagers who barely know the difference between Levicorpus and Liberacorpus!"
And so it continued in a similar bilious rage until Albus tapped his shoulder and pulled them both out.
"Thank you, Severus. I would appreciate it if you could keep informed of the Dark Lord's interests in not just Harry, but also his friends. I fear your Occlumency lessons with Miss Granger must continue."
Severus snorted at that. "While she may be the only one of the three of them with any natural aptitude for it, I expect the Dark Lord will continue to focus unwaveringly on Potter."
"And yet she is the only Muggleborn of the three, and therefore the most vulnerable next to Harry. I will do my best to obscure whatever Harry may be about in the coming year from his companions, but Miss Granger is clever enough to piece it together on her own. It is vital that she be able to protect even her suspicions from any mental attack of the Dark Lord, should such an unfortunate fate befall her."
As unlikely as he hoped such an event to be, Severus acknowledged the necessity with a curt nod. "At least she is able to close her mind off in some manner. I do hope you are not rescinding your decision that the Chosen One and the buffoonish Mr. Weasley must soldier on without the benefits of Occlumency?"
Dumbledore gave him a catty look. "Of course not, Severus. You know how I hate to waste your time."
With a huff and a swirl of his robes, Severus removed himself from the office, leaving Albus alone with his thoughts, most of which centered on Miss Granger. She had been older when he had met her first, so there was still time. A sudden thought seized him, and he made his way to the fireplace, placing a Floo call to Kingsley.
"Ah, Kingsley, sorry to disturb you. I wanted to ensure you had checked on the wards on Granger home."
Kingsley Shacklebolt's face swam into view in the flames, his voice carrying clearly. "Yes, Albus, I checked them myself. She's placed a blood ward around the property on her own, which, combined with the Fidelius charm and Protego Salvia we have cast, renders it quite safe."
Albus' mouth twitched into a kind smile. "She is quite a clever young witch. Thank you, Kingsley, this reassures me greatly given the recent unpleasantness."
"Happy to help," Kingsley said, then signed off. Albus got off his knees and dusted his hands together. At least that was one concern laid to rest.
He was quite certain that Tom had recognized Miss Granger when he saw her for that brief second in the Ministry Atrium. Whether Tom thought it was the girl herself or a descendant, he didn't know. But one way or another, he would ensure that Miss Granger was adequately prepared for the trial she didn't even know she faced.
"Insomnia again, Potter?" Draco pushed away from the shadowed wall of the house, not bothering to look at the Chosen One, his head craned back as he looked at the stars.
"You would know," Harry replied calmly. "You're out here often enough."
He didn't respond to that, abruptly changing the subject instead. "Is it any wonder that I'm such a natural at flying? Even my namesake is perpetually on a broom."
Harry would have ignored Malfoy as usual if the boy's voice had its usual snide tone, but it sounded like a simple bit of musing aloud, so he felt it safe enough to respond. He looked at the constellation Draco, but didn't see it. "I don't follow," he said, casting a sideways glance at Malfoy.
"Ursa Minor, Potter! It looks like a broom! Sweet Salazar, how the fuck did you ever pass Astronomy?"
"Hermione," Harry replied quietly, which shut Draco up. Even he had the decency to not bring up the subject of Gryffindor's golden girl after learning of her marriage. Harry's thoughts turned dark every time his mind wandered down that road, wondering what Voldemort could possibly have done to her, or be doing to her.
"It does no good to imagine it, you know." Draco's voice was thick and dark. He stopped craning at the stars to look frankly at Harry. "You don't know what he's like."
"That's where you're wrong," Harry said, his fists clenching involuntarily. "I DO know. I've had that madman in my head for my whole life. I've only gotten the privacy of my own thoughts since the battle at Hogwarts, and now I almost wish for that connection back so I could see what he's done, how he's treating her."
Harry's voice was low and insistent, but Draco's eyes narrowed. "Fuck that, Potter. You don't know what he's like to his followers. You've always been his enemy, the one he wanted to destroy from birth. You haven't a clue what he can be like to his supporters."
"Are you saying Hermione is a supporter now?" Harry asked, rounding on Draco as if readying himself for another confrontation. He itched for some form of physical violence, a release for this tension and sick meanderings of his thoughts over what Voldemort had actually done to Hermione.
"Don't touch me," Draco said icily. "I may have few privileges here, but saying who can and cannot touch me is one of them."
The sharp, bitter cold of Draco's voice was like an audible slap to Harry. He had never given much thought to Malfoy's many different tones, but living with him for months had given him a different set of lenses through which to view him. He was clearly miserable, missed his family, and was also terrified of what Voldemort could do to him. He hadn't realized that his posture was so aggressive, and instantly felt ashamed of himself. Draco was still wandless, and very much dependent on the Order for his life. The fact that in some ways he was the same miserable git wasn't something he could control, and Harry knew better than to take advantage of the situation. He forced his fingers to relax, in an odd way thankful to Draco for stopping him from losing his temper. "Sorry."
Draco stiffened momentarily, then inclined his head minutely. It was the closest thing to an acceptance of Harry's apology that he was going to get. When he spoke, his tone was slightly softer, the only bit of conciliation Draco was going to offer.
"As I was saying, Potter—you'd best consider how long he's had to work on her. Granger has brains, and he is a brilliant wizard. Whatever he wants from her, he's going to work on every little thing that makes her tick. He'll tear down what he doesn't like, and build up what he does like. And that's the best you can hope for from what he's doing with her."
"He's never been concerned with anyone but himself," Harry argued, but Draco turned finally to fully face him, the blunt expression on his face stopping Harry cold.
"What the fuck would you know about it? He knows his followers better than anyone else, and he knows how to use them to get what he wants. Whatever he wants Granger for, it's nothing so trivial as to do with you."
That smarted a bit. Harry had never considered himself to be arrogant, but spending so much time with the arrogant Draco Malfoy was making him realize that he did tend to frame things as a two body problem between him and Voldemort. Now that the connection between them was broken and the Horcrux inside of him destroyed, Harry wasn't sure if that was entirely true anymore. Shifting his feet from the uncomfortable direction of his thoughts, Harry changed the subject.
"You can't tell me that Vol—He Who Must Not Be Named has ever planned on getting married, having a family, settling down for the postcard shot on the front cover of The Daily Prophet with the wizarding world spread out at his feet. He's only ever been concerned with torture, abuse, and power."
Malfoy's face contorted, a mixture of expressions flitting through, as if he were trying for a sneer but didn't quite have the heart or the energy for it. When he did speak, his voice was low and somber. "He's a master Occlumens, and a master of Legilimency. He's spent a lifetime making wizards and witches forget their own names. Whatever he let you see, he wanted you to see. You need to get over this notion that you're an expert on the Dark Lord, Potter—or he's going to nail your head to the Ministry gate within six months."
Draco made to go back in the house, and Harry felt oddly as though he'd lost an important battle. Wanting to reclaim what ground he'd lost, he shot back, "Well at least I'm not number one at the head of his 'Traitors' list."
Draco paused at that, turning his head slightly back to answer him. "I don't think for one minute that I'm number one. If I were, I'd be dead already."
"Dead…dead…he'll never do it…Death Eater…oh come on Remus, surely you knew…missing…dead, dead. No, I'm sorry, but this is a dead end, I'm afraid. I'm sorry I couldn't be more help, but any current Unspeakable wouldn't do it either."
Professor Slughorn handed the list back to Remus, and Harry sighed. Professor Slughorn had been very busy helping Poppy Pomfrey with all the patients, but most had been healed and moved to safe houses, and now they were in the process of transferring the few who remained to private locations. Madame Pomfrey would continue to provide long-term care on a rotating basis, but Slughorn was going to fade into the woodwork again unless they could find a use for him. Harry had overheard Professor McGonagall talking to Professor Sprout about it, and he couldn't help but agree with them.
"I understand, Horace. I had hoped there might be one, but given the nature of those times, it's hardly surprising." Remus drew a hand over his face. The moon was waxing and he was stretching thin again, like a rubber band ready to snap back. It was exhausting on top of the strain of living in hiding.
"Remus, I have heard rumors from reliable sources that an amnesty is being considered," Horace said quietly, aware that Harry was speaking to one of the few remaining patients, Cho Chang. "Things are looking…rather grim at the moment."
"I doubt my status would be significantly improved, Horace," Remus replied. "Surely you are not considering it to be an honest offer?"
Horace Slughorn looked sad and a bit hesitant. "I do wonder what purpose it would serve for him to continue punishing people if he had, in essence, won what he was after."
"But his aims, Horace! It's unthinkable, the way he's looking to track children!" Remus broke off as Harry returned, exchanging a tightlipped glance with Horace before Harry started speaking.
"Professor, you said one of those former Unspeakables was missing—does that mean he's not dead?"
"Well, that particular wizard was taken into the Department of Mysteries fairly early in his career. One of my House, you know—quite a clever chap. Particularly good at disappearing from view." Slughorn had adopted his lecturing tone, which was more promising than the flat denial earlier, in Harry's mind.
"Evan Rosier," Harry read from the parchment. "What happened to him?"
Slughorn's brow furrowed. "A very unfortunate set of tragedies. His son was a Death Eater, killed by Alastor Moody. Then something happened to his daughter. No one quite knew what, but he and his wife simply disappeared from view after that. I believe they might have moved to the continent. Terribly sad."
"But he is still alive. Presumably." Harry's voice rose slightly, and Remus reflected that Harry's unguarded optimism was quite possibly one of his better character traits.
"My dear Harry, he is in hiding. If he doesn't want to be found, you won't find him! Now, I must go help Poppy with those potions—sorry to not be of more help."
Professor Slughorn walked away and Harry turned his attention to Remus.
"We can find him, Remus. We just have to look in the right place," Harry said with determination.
"Well, it isn't as if we have any other options, Harry," Remus agreed. Privately he thought it a very worrying sign that Horace Slughorn had even mentioned the rumored amnesty. If Horace had mentioned it outright, others were surely considering it in private. He would have to seek another meeting with Severus.
"You need to eat."
How he knew she was awake was a curiosity niggling in her brain, so she asked him. Her eyes were still closed, her breathing had not changed appreciably, she didn't think, so how did he know she was awake?
"I know you."
Oh. She wasn't sure if she had said it out loud or not, but he probably would not risk Legilimency in her current state. Hermione finally opened her eyes; slowly, as if unsure of how the process worked, her brain moving faster than her voluntary muscles. She pushed herself slowly upright, a small exclamation of surprise escaping her lips as he actually walked to fetch a tray for her.
"That bad, is it?" she asked in a voice that was fainter than she liked, nodding her head slightly at the tray he carried.
"Do not push me," Voldemort replied testily, sitting down on the bed himself so he could watch her. "Eat, or Verity will punish herself again."
"Don't," Hermione said, not wanting to hear of the house elf punishing herself. A small sigh was her response to the first bite of the warm stew. "This is good."
He didn't respond, so she ate in silence, doing her best to confine her study of her husband to a few brief glances in his direction. He sat in that tightly coiled manner that was reminiscent of contained violence, and it didn't surprise her when he sprang up from the bed and began to pace, the energy needing some form of release.
"I'm still so bloody jumpy!" Voldemort said suddenly in a raised voice. "I've ensured you are recovering, I have vowed not to punish your magic again in such a way, and still this—this weight presses on me! Why won't it stop? What part of the vow have I not satisfied?"
He was agitated and furious, his fingers flexing as if about to summon his wand so he could begin hexing things to bits, his pacing now spasmodic.
"Tom," Hermione called, quietly, from the bed. He looked over to her and saw her arm outstretched, hand open, waiting. He crossed to her soundlessly and took her proffered hand, the contact profound. She brought her other arm around him, embracing him as best she could from their awkward positions, he leaning over her. She almost hesitated to speak, but he had to begin to understand himself better. "It's not the vow you made at our bonding. It's guilt."
He pushed away from her almost violently, but didn't leave the room, instead resuming his interminable pacing.
"I don't feel guilt!" he said stridently. "I have never felt guilty for anything I have done! I believe your mind must have been addled from your injury. I shall summon that damn Healer again, she missed something in her incompetence."
"Please," Hermione said, holding her hand out to him again. She was tired, but to see him lash out so defensively meant she was very near the mark indeed. He was snapped back to a teenage level of angst, and it made him more volatile, his temper at a lower flashpoint. She could almost see the battle that raged within him before he finally took her hand again, and she let her fingers caress the side of his hand as she held it with the other. They sat like that, quiet, until she tried to reach out to him just slightly with her magic.
"No." His voice was hoarse, as frayed thin as his patience. "It's not wise—not now."
"Oh." Hermione's eyes slid closed, stayed that way for a fraction of a second longer than she would have liked before she forced them open again. "That's too bad. I enjoy that."
"As do I," he admitted before lapsing into silence. Hermione was almost asleep again when he interrupted her slide toward dreams. "What did you mean when you said it wasn't necessary?"
His fingers were tense, a reflection of the coiling self-recrimination at asking about such a nonsensical thing, something so utterly forgettable—
"I've chosen to stay with you. It wouldn't be possible, for me, to give you more respect than that," Hermione said tiredly, pulling on his hand to ensure he met her eyes as she opened them to look at him. "That is all I meant. I won't leave you."
"You can't leave me," he retorted cruelly, instinctively, but her eyes called it the lie that it was.
"It's not about you finding me if I left."
Her eyes had closed, her chest slumping as if saying it had required all the air in her lungs. Voldemort's mind whirled, the incongruities of what she had said playing over and over in incomprehensible layers in his mind. Muscles in his cheek and brow twitched, as if his face couldn't decide which countenance to adopt. He required space, distance, a distraction. He was about to leave, certain that she had fallen asleep already, when she spoke again suddenly.
"What is it about you that draws forth such portentous statements right at the edge of sleep?" she complained, the levity in her voice completely defusing any desire to misconstrue her meaning. Mentally he folded. How could she be resisted, his golden Gryffindor?
"It is a particular gift of mine," he admitted, pressing a kiss to her temple. "Sleep."
"Stay with me, for a while."
"As you like."
It conveyed indifference perfectly. If only he were sure that was what he wanted.
"Three weeks without spell casting, then a gradual increase. Prenatal potions are advisable if you insist on pushing her magic once she has recovered, it will prevent dangerous swings in her magic. And your magic will be extremely delicate for the next five to six days—you are to perform absolutely no magic, nor to allow anyone to perform any on you," Miriam Strout said sternly, switching her attention from Lord Voldemort to Hermione. It seemed prudent, given the Dark Lord's reaction to prescriptions of what he could not do.
"What about my pregnancy?" Hermione asked. She had not been awake very often for the past few days, but she wanted to know exactly how far along she was, and what to do and not to do. Miriam Strout threw her a brief, tight smile. Now that she suspected whose baby the young woman was carrying, it was harder not to view it as a total disaster.
"The baby is healthy. You are a bit over four months pregnant," Miriam said. "Everything is fine. Your placenta is intact and the baby's magic was unaffected."
"Contact with magical objects?" Voldemort pressed, his eyes flicking to meet Hermione's. She knew perfectly well what he was thinking of—Nagini.
"As long as no disruption to them is taken in her presence, it should be fine," Miriam replied. Personally she would prefer to exclude them from Miss Granger's—bollocks I don't even know what to call her, she thought impatiently to herself—presence, but it was clear that Lord Voldemort had a preponderance of such things about the place and therefore would not take kindly to that very conservative treatment suggestion.
"And magical contact with her bondmate?" Lord Voldemort asked, his voice dangerously lower.
In her week as a 'guest' of He Who Must Not Be Named, Miriam had realized that the type of marriage between the Dark Lord and the former Miss Granger was of a highly unusual type, doubtless some obscure bond that was rarely if ever used today. However, it was made abundantly clear by Severus Snape what the penalty would be for enquiring, so Miriam had restrained herself admirably and did her best to provide the young woman with some respite from the demanding pressures of the Dark Lord.
"It would be impossible to say without knowing precisely the type of bond involved," Miriam replied. It was the most cautious answer that could be offered.
"What sorts of ill effects would manifest from such contact?" Hermione asked after taking in the familiar tightening of Voldemort's jaw.
"You could suffer a milder case of whiplash to your aura from the connection," Miriam explained, and Hermione sat up straighter on the bed.
"Let's find out then," she said, "Please."
She knew better than to hold out her hand to him, as he would perceive that as manipulative and would refuse on principle because of the presence of the Healer. She simply waited. He was the one to ask about it, so it made sense that he had a vested interest in the outcome.
"I do not encourage that, Hermione, as it could be extremely dangerous—" Miriam began.
This was, of course, a perfect push for Voldemort, who detested the woman. Hermione had realized over the past few days that Miriam Strout did not recognize him as Tom Riddle at all. In addition to the physical changes that had been wrought from the Horcruxes and his reincarnated form, Tom had effectively killed his old persona with his steadfast adherence to the new name he had chosen for himself and his long absences from Britain. She had been surprised that the Healer didn't recognize her, but Voldemort had coldly informed her that he had Obliviated her shortly after his graduation, removing all traces of meeting either of them. It explained why it had been so difficult for Dumbledore to track him. She wondered how many other people he had Obliviated or simply eliminated. It was worrisome that she was growing numb to the implications of such thoughts.
"Yes, let us see what happens," Voldemort said, one brow raising minutely at the faint challenge in his wife's eyes, a flicker that was terribly satisfying for some odd reason. He didn't dwell on it now, simply clasped Hermione's hand and let his aura run in a gentle trickle over hers. The Healer had whipped out her wand to monitor them, but this did not concern him in the slightest. The woman was terribly bad at defensive spells, and he had no concerns that she would be able to do anything to either of them. No, this was about the pair of them, his hawkish eyes fixed on hers.
"You are holding back," he commented, his aura curling around her gently. The answer was plain both in her mind and on her face: she simply didn't have enough control to risk her aura bleeding into his.
"As she should!" Miriam said, and Hermione felt him wandlessly cast a Silencio at the Healer, whose lips continued to move for a few seconds before she snapped her mouth closed.
"You're not supposed to cast around me," Hermione said, and he smirked.
"At present we are connected, so you will not feel any backlash," he said smugly, then turned his head to look at the Healer. "I believe that is a sufficient answer to my query, Madame."
Hermione felt him end the silencing spell, then he slowly withdrew his aura from hers, leaving her feeling a bit cold as she reaccustomed herself to her depleted aura. He was as adept at separating their magics at a paper thin level of intensity as he was at doing so when both of their magics were raging full throttle.
"Now, Madame Strout, I am afraid your time with us has come to an end," Voldemort said, withdrawing his wand and Summoning hers to his hand within a half second. "I'll have to ask you to walk outside with me, Madame Healer. As per your advice, I would hate to cast in my wife's presence."
There was a slinky undertone to his voice that was highly unpleasant, which was exactly what he intended. Miriam Strout's eyes widened briefly, then she pressed two kisses on Hermione's cheeks in farewell. "Obliviation, I hope," she whispered into Hermione's ear, then straightened. "I'm ready."
"Faes hi takēm kātha," Hermione tried, the consonants slipping in an unfamiliar way in her mouth. The corner of Voldemort's mouth turned up nonetheless, and he obligingly leaned down so she could whisper into his ear.
"Please Obliviate her and let her go," she begged, and he pulled back slightly to look at her, then leaned forward so his lips were perched by her ear.
"It is fias for males…but yes, I will Obliviate her, little mate. I do not care to waste talent unnecessarily." His lips caressed the shell of her ear in the briefest of kisses before he straightened and left the room with the Healer.
Since she had no idea how long he would be gone, Hermione decided to review some of her notes about the Souteni potion. It felt like she had spent more time in this bed than elsewhere. She walked slowly toward the study, the hisses from Nagini a bit like a worried mother.
"I'm fine, I'm fine," she sniped at the snake, who put her large head on her knee as soon as she sat down, her tongue flicking out as if to check that she was intact. "You're worse than a dog, Nagini!"
That seemed to offend the serpent, because she slithered away toward her favorite spot on the hearth. She didn't go to sleep, however, her watchful yellow eyes tracking her every move. Hermione found it was pleasant to let her thoughts run over potions theories, almost relaxing. She was surprised when Voldemort returned in relatively short order with Severus Snape in tow.
"Don't get up, pet," Voldemort said as she made to rise. "Severus is here to discuss the Souteni potion."
"Madame," Severus offered with a polite bow. He wasn't sure how the Dark Lord would expect his wife to be addressed, but this seemed to be acceptable. Hermione stole a glance at her husband, but his face gave no clues as to how she should address her former professor. Was he still the Headmaster?
"Headmaster," she offered with a polite nod in return. She did not miss the brief flicker of amusement in Voldemort's eyes that she had correctly guessed Snape's current status.
Severus, my wife has been studying my research notes and doing some research of her own. I would like to start by hearing your opinions on the matter, then we shall see what Hermione has to offer. I expect this won't take too long, as my wife is still recovering."
The unspoken command to not waste his time was clear to Severus, although he was uncertain as to how the Dark Lord was envisioning using the potion.
"Well, I have identified several versions, all of which are significantly lacking in terms of a proper ingredients list," Severus began.
As he talked, his eyes flicked several times toward his former student. She seemed to be recovering, but the interplay between herself and the Dark Lord was dangerously fascinating as the three of them discussed the reasons for various ingredients that were reported in the versions of the potion. He knew that the young woman was a good Potions student, but somehow in the past year she had grasped some nuances of advanced Potions theory that he never taught in the classroom. Listening to the pair of them talk with an obvious degree of familiarity about the subject made it clear that it was the Dark Lord himself who had expanded her horizons, but when had he done so? It seemed a lot to take in over the short few months she had been under the Dark Lord's control.
Severus realized the conversation was lagging and made to hurry things up. "I have a list of proposed ingredients which are obtainable, those which will be more difficult to obtain, and those which are not known to be extant any longer."
He offered the list to the Dark Lord, who perused it briefly before passing it to Hermione. He didn't miss the start of surprise on her face as she read the bottom of the list.
"Mala mujer…this isn't unobtainable, is it?" Her eyes flicked to the Dark Lord's, who eyed Severus in turn with an uncanny expression.
"Please inform my wife as to the last known curators of that plant, Severus."
He was too amused for Severus' taste, but the former Miss Granger was looking at the Dark Lord as if expecting an explanation from him.
"The last known specimens of this plant were possessed by Herbert Beery, a professor of Herbology at Hogwarts; Fa Hong, a Chinese herbalist; and Sycamora Septimus, an American…oddity. All three are deceased. The plants were most certainly destroyed due to the manner of death for two, and it is unknown what happened to the third collection of specimens."
"It was Professor Beery's plants which disappeared," Hermione said decisively, and a thin line appeared on Severus Snape's forehead. He wanted to ask how she knew that, but he bit his tongue.
"Assuming that we obtain a specimen, the nectar must be obtained for the potion. It will balance the effects of the Akenati fungi," Severus commented.
"We will obtain a specimen of the plant," the Dark Lord said confidently, flicking another secretive glance to Miss Granger. Severus didn't know what to make of that, other than to speculate that perhaps the Dark Lord had allowed her to see Longbottom. It was an open secret now among the inner circle that the Longbottoms had probably inherited a specimen. Unfortunately, no one knew where the Longbottom residence was located—thus Neville's current situation.
"If we do, we will have to investigate how to obtain the nectar successfully," Severus said, "But for now obtaining the Akenati fungi and a dragon's tear will provide enough of a challenge."
"About that—I believe the dragon species might make a difference to the potion," Hermione said quietly. "It would be best served to be a species with which you have…an association of some kind."
"I will obtain it myself," the Dark Lord assured her. "And we both know where I will obtain it."
Hermione sighed. Clearly Voldemort was not interested in enlightening Snape as to the particulars of their marriage at present, and was taking far too much pleasure in teasing him. "I don't believe I could offer much in the way of particular insight, other than as it pertains to harvesting the Mala mujer nectar."
"Ah, pet, but we have yet to discuss the purpose of the potion," Voldemort said. "And that will certainly influence its composition."
Severus himself was not entirely certain of what the Dark Lord was hoping to achieve, but he had an idea. It seemed grossly improbable, if not downright impossible. The Dark Lord was not prepared to enlighten them fully today, it seemed, as Voldemort drew his wife to her feet and continued to speak.
"I believe that is a question best left to another day. My wife is still recovering, so her proper introduction to more of my Death Eaters will wait for another day. Severus, I wish for you to show me the state of the dungeon passageway wards at Hogwarts. You may return tomorrow and debate the use of amphibian versus reptilian skin."
"Your wife can speak for herself. I am not so tired I cannot carry on a conversation," Hermione said crossly, but Lord Voldemort ignored her. Severus was astounded that the Dark Lord tolerated this behavior, but it was just another odd, uneasy ripple across his mind. There was something deep and dark in play between the pair of them, and it was not explained by her capture. He resolved to ask Lucius how he was getting on with his father's journals.
"My wife needs to rest," Voldemort commanded, his tone and posture indicating an expectation of his dictate being followed. He was walking his wife out of the room, their bedroom again obscured by a set of wards and concealment charm so they appeared to vanish through the wall. "Unless, of course, you wish to extend your time as an invalid?"
"If I had my wand…" Hermione began, but he silenced her with a single finger to her lips.
"You would try to get my attention. You do not need to try. You always have my attention. Now, rest, or I shall have Nagini lie on top of you to ensure you do so."
"At least let me read!" she protested, and he pressed a book into her hands as he pushed her onto their bed. She glanced at the cover and said, "I don't want to read about the care of reptiles!"
He laughed and left her with the Muggle book. The bastard.
"For fuck's sake, Potter, stop pacing."
"Piss off, Malfoy." Harry replied, but there was no real heat in it. It had become simply tedious to spat with Malfoy.
The fact that Harry had drawn babysitting duty with the sulky Slytherin was because no one trusted Harry to keep an eye on the comings and goings at the gates of Manor since finding out about Hermione's…situation. The Order feared that either Harry or Ron would charge in if they were allowed near the gates when the wards changed. Instead he was stuck at the perimeter of the Malfoy estate, where Draco could see if the wards were 'flexible' or not for him that day. Apparently Lord Voldemort had instituted a rolling series of changes on top of the Malfoy wards, and there were only certain ones which might allow Draco passage. Thus the original plan to attack in concert with a planned attack on one of the reeducation camps had become a bit more fluid, and therefore more dangerous. Now they were simply trying to find a pattern, and pick a rolling set of dates with the most distracting targets for the ancillary attack. The delays frustrated Ron and Harry no end, but they agreed it was the plan with the best chance of success, so they bottled their irritation and waited.
"Any luck?" Harry asked Malfoy, turning his head to look at the platinum blond, who was slouched against his preferred tree to wait. Malfoy only had a limited facility with wandless magic, but that spot allowed him to check the wards with a simple pass of his hand.
"Nothing yet," he said glumly. If Harry didn't know what a total prick Malfoy was, he would say he was almost…sad.
"Why are you doing this anyway, Malfoy? Why haven't you skulked off to bury yourself somewhere until this is all over, gone to your French cousins without a backwards glance?" Harry asked, quitting the pacing for a minute to look, really look, at Malfoy. He had lost some of the gauntness that he had worn like a shroud when they first took him in like a stray mutt, but he still didn't look wholly well.
"I told you already, Potty—I want my life back. The one where I could go about my daily business without a fucking nutcase taking over my home and threatening to kill me on regular occasions," he muttered, making another anxious pass over the wards with his hand. "This would be a lot fucking easier with a wand, you know," he snarled, but Harry ignored the common complaint.
"Maybe if you weren't a bloody repentant Death Eater the Order might consider giving you one," Harry retorted.
"Still haven't gotten a new wand, eh?" Draco observed with a nasty smirk, eyeing the familiar black hawthorne that was now Harry's wand.
"It's not like bloody Ollivander is still in business, is it?" Harry snipped, pacing again.
"Or maybe you just like having your hand on my wand, Potter," Draco said, and Harry pressed him up against the tree trunk in a heartbeat, the familiar wandtip pressing into Malfoy's jugular.
"Don't," Harry said coldly. "Or I reckon you can still perform your job in spite of a castration hex."
"So focused on my family jewels, Potter. One would think you'd fancy a look at them."
Harry laughed and stepped back. "I never took you for a pouf, Malfoy."
"In your dreams, Potter. Merely making an observation."
"Yeah right," Harry said, about to resume his pacing when the gold coin in his pocket began to heat up. He caught Malfoy's eye again, this time all business.
"A bunch of them are about to leave. If the wards are going to change, it will be now."
Malfoy put his outstretched hand over the wards again, and the slight shimmer as they changed was visible for a split second. Draco felt around carefully, probing enough to see what it was but gently enough to avoid detection. He had become a master at this little technique over the past few weeks.
"I can get through this," Draco said, raising his head to meet Harry's eyes. It was time.