Good evening wonderful readers! I can't seem to avoid weekly updates. I am not going to even offer the hope of more frequent posts unless I've gotten a few chapters ahead again. I have had zero time to reply to reviews but I promise you faithfully I will reply to you all tomorrow. I did want to post this now however and see what you all think of it. Lots of fun twists in this and the next few chapters. For those who have long wondered what the potion does, there is another hint here. The answer is coming quite soon... :) Thank you all for reading & reviewing, and as always, everything you recognize does not belong to me, alas, but to JKR. Enjoy.
"This is bloody ridiculous!" Harry said, crumpling the Daily Prophet in his fingers. It was more than a week old, it being difficult to avoid the tracking charms that were placed on all owls nowadays. "I can't believe she would say half of these things!"
"Harry, she has been under his thumb for coming up on five months. It is possible that he has convinced her to say whatever he wants her to say," Remus commented in as neutral a manner as he could.
"That's not like Hermione, and you know it," Harry retorted sharply, and Tonks fixed him with a stare, her hair turning red.
"Enough, Harry," Tonks said, exchanging a glance with Remus. "May I have that, please?"
Harry handed over the paper and Tonks produced her wand, waving it over the specific section that described the details of the amnesty. The paper glowed blue, and she exhaled deeply.
"Remus?"
Remus did the same thing, as well as Andromeda. The paper glowed blue for all of them.
"Harry." Remus slid the paper across the table while Tonks juggled Teddy, who needed a nappy change and was making that fact known.
"What is this about?" Harry asked.
"To see if you're eligible, Potter," Draco sneered, pushing back from the table. "Don't bother on my account, I am well aware what colour it will be."
Malfoy left the room as Harry waved his wand over the paper. It glowed red.
"Damn," Remus said softly as Tonks shifted her attention to the baby and left the room, putting her hand on Remus' shoulder as she passed.
"I'm sorry, Harry," Andromeda said, then stood from the table. "Let me see if I can talk Draco out of his sulk."
"You're not seriously thinking about taking them up on the amnesty, are you?" Harry asked Remus incredulously.
"There's a meeting later today for the Order to discuss it," Remus said. "But Harry, if you aren't eligible, I'm sure that will weigh heavily on people's comments and decisions. And if we have all been willing to face death on the subject, I hardly think the promise of living under He Who Must Not Be Named's thumb is appealing."
"Right," Harry said, his mind spinning. "Look, I will take Draco out and get out of your hair for a bit. You should be able to discuss this in private without resorting to Muffliatos and making things more awkward than they already are."
Remus' breath puffed out and he sat back in his chair, his hands falling to his lap. "Thank you, Harry. That is a very mature offer. I believe we will take you up on it."
"Not at all," Harry said earnestly, even while his mind was reeling from the sudden increase in pressure on him. He was putting them in danger, this little family. He would be responsible if anything happened to them. He had to talk to Draco about something he'd been considering ever since Tonks had suffered under Voldemort's wand, and now was as good a time as any. Besides, they could take a little detour through St. Mungo's again. Maybe today would be a lucky day.
"Let me guess, today will be the lucky day, you just know it," Draco said sarcastically, but Harry ignored him. The fact that he'd had to bring Draco along a few times on this admittedly improbable quest was irrelevant. He had to keep trying, if only for his own sanity. Nothing made sense anymore, and he just knew that Hermione was the key.
"What has got your knickers in a twist this time, Potter?" Draco asked as they hurried down the street, both carefully concealed with heavy glamours.
"Visiting hours are from two to four, and it's nearly 3:30," Harry said.
"You're mental, you know that right?" Draco asked, and Harry briefly grinned before recalling that Ron had said almost the exact same thing to Hermione once. He stopped smiling at once, earning him a brief look from Draco before he disillusioned them both and cast a notice-me-not charm.
They were both quiet as they moved toward the Janus Thickey ward. Draco had been a couple of times with Harry, so he knew exactly what witch they were watching. She was middle aged, hard to tell from this distance, but Harry was looking for visitors. Thus far he hadn't seen any, as far as Draco knew, but he had managed to weasel out of an orderly that the woman did receive visits occasionally.
It was a few minutes before they could slip into the room with someone else. This time it apparently was Harry's lucky day, because there was a wizard visiting the witch in question. Draco heard Harry's indrawn breath, and was surprised when Harry nudged them both out the door at the next opportunity.
"What? I thought you wanted to talk to him, sweet Salazar knows what reason," Draco hissed, but Harry just shushed him.
"We need to change our glamours, then we're going to argue in the lobby as he's leaving, all right? Just let me get close to him and I'll manage from there."
"What in the bloody hell are you planning?" Draco demanded as Harry got them into a broom closet, then pulled forth his wand to change their glamours.
"Just shut up and do it, Draco!" Harry said, meeting Draco's gaze. His look was so earnest that Draco felt himself caving against his better judgement.
"Fine, but if you fuck this up, Potter, I swear to Godric Gryffindor I will kill you myself," he muttered, watching as Harry's features morphed to resemble his own somewhat, his hair changing to a light brown. He presumed that his own hair was light brown as well, and they were both middle-aged if Harry's appearance was anything to go by.
"Let's go," Harry said, and they made their way toward the lobby at the same time as the wizard who was just exiting the Janus Thickey ward.
"I told you that great aunt Muldiva wouldn't leave you out of the blame," Harry said loudly, nudging Draco hard in the shoulder. Draco picked up the hint and shoved him back a bit harder, replying, "Only because you threw me under the hippogriff to try to save your own measly inheritance!"
They continued this loud arguing as they walked past the wizard, and Draco shoved Harry into the man as requested.
"Watch where you're going!" the wizard said coldly, straightening his robes and leaving swiftly through the doors to the street.
"It's not as if you were innocent in the subject," Harry said to continue the fake argument, but his attention was fixed on the wizard who was moving rapidly beyond the glass doors to the street. He and Draco safely crossed the threshold themselves, avoiding all but eye rolls as they continued to bicker into the street toward the closest apparition point.
"What the bloody hell was that about?" Draco demanded as they reached the nearest alley.
"This," Harry said, pulling a Muggle GPS device out of his pocket. "There, near Surrey. Do you know any of these places on the map?"
Draco looked at the names on the map, then glanced up at Harry. "I know a pub in this town," he said, and Harry handed him the wand.
"Then sidealong us there, please. That wizard knows something that I need to know," Harry said, tight-lipped. He didn't like handing the wand over to Malfoy, but it wouldn't be the first time. Draco seemed to consider for a minute, then he nodded.
"Okay."
The apparition point was a fair slog on foot away from the GPS signal, so Harry removed two brooms from his robes and offered one to Draco. "We have to get to this house before he finds the device and destroys it. I don't know what it looks like. Race?"
"Still eager to lose, I see," Draco said, taking the broom decisively.
"You wish," Harry said, and they set off.
True to form, both Harry and Draco were fast flyers, the rough location on the map narrowing quickly as they zoomed toward the small town of Longworth. Fortunately the beacon was still giving off a good signal, something that might not have been the case in all parts of Great Britain. Harry could only hope the wizard's cloak had been handed off to a house elf who would not think to check its pockets for a while. They found themselves outside a warded property, a large house visible from the gates. Draco took note of the name carved on the gatepost—Rosier. He put a hand on Harry before he could attempt to demand or force entry.
"Hold on, Harry. You need to explain this whole thing to me before you attempt to barge in there," Draco said, dragging Harry to the side.
"I don't have to explain myself to you," Harry said heatedly, but Draco simply pushed him back against the stone with a hand firmly fixed on his shoulder.
"You're going to bloody well explain what you're doing trying to see one of the Dark Lord's former Death Eaters," he said urgently. "If this is the house of Evan Rosier, you should know that he was part of the Dark Lord's first group of Death Eaters. Called themselves the Knights of Walpurgis back then, but the fact remains that he's sympathetic to the Dark Lord. So before you go throw yourself at his feet like a bloody gift, you'd better explain to me exactly what it is you're hoping to get out of this man!"
Harry pushed off Draco's hand and ran his fingers through his hair. "Fine. That witch in St. Mungo's is his daughter, and I think she is there because of him. So I don't think he's particularly loyal to him now. He used to be an Unspeakable. He either knows something about the ritual that was used in Hermione's marriage or why no record of it was in the Ministry—Flitwick pried that much out of Slughorn before he crawled back into the woodwork."
Draco thought furiously. This was a very big risk to take, given Harry's status. Still, he would be better off to direct what he privately thought was Harry's folly in pursuing the subject than to abandon him and have him go off half-cocked again. He ground his teeth together, a nervous habit, then made a decision, looking back up at Harry as he did so.
"Fine. But let me go in. Use your cloak and stay behind me. I can play the pureblood Death Eater card to get in. And give me my wand. You don't come out unless I say, is that clear?"
"I don't like that plan," Harry began, but Draco's eyes darkened into that mercurial swirl that indicated his rising temper.
"Well you aren't getting in there without me, Potter. These wards are very specific: you have to be with a pureblood to get through. So it's my plan or nothing—and you can bet your arse that as soon as that former Unspeakable finds your little Muggle device, their daughter is going to be moved from St. Mungo's. Tick tock," he said harshly.
Harry gave Draco a measured look, as if sizing up the likelihood that Draco would do what he said. Finally he flipped the wand into Draco's waiting palm. He didn't like having to rely on Malfoy, but he had proven himself to be a credible aid at Malfoy Manor, and he was in the same boat as Harry.
"Fine, I agree," Harry said as he fished his cloak out of his pocket. "But you're a pushy git."
"You've known that for years," Draco drawled, relieved that Harry had agreed.
Amazingly, the plan worked. Harry checked the GPS as a supercilious house elf went to fetch his mistress, and saw that the dot had moved elsewhere. Damn, he thought to himself, but it was too late to back out now.
"Madam Rosier, it's a pleasure to meet you," Draco said, placing a perfunctory kiss on her hand.
"I'm afraid my husband has just gone out," Olivia replied haughtily. "Your business, whatever it may be, will have to wait for another time."
"Actually," Draco improvised, "I would like to speak with you, if I may. It's about Hermione Granger, the Dark Lord's wife."
Neither Draco nor Harry missed the way Mrs. Rosier paled briefly at the mention of Hermione's name, but she rallied herself ably enough.
"I'm sorry, I can't imagine what you could possibly wish to speak with me about concerning that mudblood. Now, if you please, I'm a busy woman."
She stood and made to exit the room, a clear sign of dismissal. Draco didn't even have a chance to say anything before Harry was throwing off his invisibility cloak, crying, "Wait!"
Fuckity tit bollocks! Draco thought as Mrs. Rosier turned around and blanched at the sight of Harry Potter in her drawing room. Incredibly her attention shifted to Draco, and she demanded,
"What are you doing, boy?"
Draco tensed but Harry kept speaking, ignoring Draco entirely. "Please, Mrs. Rosier! Hermione is one of my best friends and now she is married to the Dark Lord, and the entire world I've fought for is collapsing all around me. I know your husband can find out something about how that came about, I know he was an Unspeakable and associated with the Dark Lord during his days at Hogwarts. Please, help me to understand why my best friend has found herself in this situation," Harry pleaded. "What would you do if it were your friend?"
Mrs. Rosier's expression crumpled slightly. She sat in the closest chair, which Harry and Draco took as a slightly encouraging sign. When she spoke, her voice was quiet.
"I won't pretend that I haven't read about your exploits, Mr. Potter, although I am surprised by the company you are keeping." She paused, as if considering what to say. Finally, she spoke again, a hint of steel in her tone. "Mr. Potter, I assure you that I am well aware of the obligations of friendship, and if you'll forgive me, I find Hermione to be a far better friend to you than you presently suppose."
When they left the Rosier estate, Draco was dumbfounded and worrying over how he could spin this for the Dark Lord, and Harry was trying to think his way through the perplexing, brief conversation which Mrs. Rosier had held with them. Draco had figured out quite quickly that she was under a magical vow, asking oblique questions that hinted at a very permanent bonding of some type between Hermione and the Dark Lord, and even more puzzlingly, an acquaintance with Hermione on the part of at least Mr. Rosier and possibly Mrs. Rosier as well.
"I have the feeling that she was giving me a scolding for doubting Hermione," Harry said, and Draco lifted an eyebrow.
"She definitely was, Potter, and if you don't get a few more brain cells together I swear I'm going to leave you here tied up in a neat bow for Rosier when he returns."
Mrs. Rosier had made it clear that her family were hardly on speaking terms with the Dark Lord, but this did not mean they would not convey the news of their visit. Draco had to present the information to the Dark Lord, and quite soon, otherwise all of his careful maneuvering would be for naught.
"I don't understand—what little she said almost sounded like she had met Hermione, but they aren't on good terms with him so how…?"
"Just forget it for now, Potter," Draco hissed. "We have to get out of here."
Harry realized that Draco was correct. "Right. Meeting then…maybe they'll let you…"
"Don't," Draco gritted out. "Our wand, Potter."
Harry accepted the wand that Draco slapped into his hand, his brow still furrowed in thought. "Right. Hold on."
"Yes, I read it, Harry," Ginny whispered. "I don't know why you are so shocked that she might have said anything like that. She's been completely in his possession for well over four months."
"But she's smarter than that, Ginny! She knows it's just a load of bollocks, that he's just trying to win people over with as little fuss as possible now that he's cut down enough of those brave enough to fight back," Harry whispered back.
Draco was across the table and pretending not to listen to their conversation, but it wasn't like there were many other options for seating in the crowded, damp cavern. Ginny darted a look at Malfoy and Harry could tell she was contemplating casting a Muffliato, but Harry pressed on, distracting her.
"Hermione must be working against him on her end. Whatever he's managed to do to her, I can't believe that our friend that we've known for the past seven years has been so badly subsumed by him."
"Harry, I know how you feel, but you don't know how charming he can be. Don't think any less of her if he's managed to manipulate her."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but wisely shut it again at the flash of anger in Ginny's eyes. She was pale with dark circles under her eyes, and he was painfully reminded of her experience in her first year. She waited to be sure he wasn't going to open his big mouth again, then continued quietly, "We all want to get Hermione away from him, but you must see it's just not possible right now. We have enough on our plates avoiding Snatchers and all the hidden tracking charms. They are showing up in food now, Harry! Do you understand what that means? Pretty soon our choices will be to starve or steal to eat."
Harry hadn't known that was happening. Andromeda took care of the food in the house, and she hadn't mentioned it. But of course Remus and Tonks must know. Harry swallowed hard and looked up, straight into the eyes of Draco Malfoy. He knew about it, too. Harry felt suddenly angry that Draco hadn't told him, and was even more convinced that he had to speak with Draco tonight. There was a thump and a hush fell over the somber, small assembly.
"Thank you all for coming," Arthur Weasley began. "This meeting has been called to discuss the amnesty offered by the Ministry of Magic, and to review the current strategies we are employing to resist He Who Must Not Be Named. As these are both weighty subjects, I appreciate your patience in holding your questions until the bare facts, as we know them, are laid out."
For the first time, Draco was allowed to stay for the meeting. Apparently the fact that he was still a persona non grata like Harry was enough to convince the remaining naysayers that he posed no threat to them. Kingsley Shacklebolt stood and began in his deep baritone.
"The amnesty being offered by the Ministry has already been taken by some, as you know. I managed to speak with Horace Slughorn before his return to Hogwarts as Potions instructor. He has suffered no apparent retaliation, but he also has a personal history with He Who Must Not Be Named, as well as many connections within the pureblood community. Likewise, Garrick Ollivander has resumed work as a wandmaker, and has been allowed to sell wands without restrictions. It is difficult to know if he has been subject to any form of coercion or retaliation, as he was unwilling to speak to Filius for any length of time. Furthermore, it has been made clear that some—" here he paused to look at Harry, "—are not eligible regardless. It is not clear how known members of this Order will be treated, especially those who are known to have participated in attacks on Ministry facilities. The press is friendly to the current regime and is not likely to report on any injustices that might be inflicted on those who accept this offer. On the other hand, it is possible that press reports naming those who partake in the amnesty will provide some measure of public scrutiny and protection, limited in scope though it may be."
Filius Flitwick stood and began to describe how the amnesty was being handled by Gringotts, and was interrupted by Amos Diggory, who had a question about the Ministry's processing of amnesty claims. The meeting was quickly degenerating into an argument, with some vehemently opposed to the amnesty, others clearly considering it, and others asking about rumors of an impending closure of the magical borders. Harry caught Ginny's eye and asked quietly to the side,
"How is Ron?"
"Madame Pomfrey doesn't think he will last more than another month at best, maybe five weeks. Even with the Draught he's…he's not well," she finished brokenly, and Harry felt like a right bastard for taking the coward's way and asking her instead of waiting for the interminable meeting to end and ask Madame Pomfrey himself. He stood and made his way toward the cave entrance, Draco making his way to his side.
"We can't stay with the Lupins," Harry said quietly, stealing a sidelong glance at Malfoy. "It's not fair to them."
"Been wondering when you were going to say that, Potter," Draco said, more than a hint of tiredness in his voice. He really needed to do something about his wand problem, as it was getting more difficult to leave the house without notice for his weekly reports to the Dark Lord. If he and Potter took off, he'd have to deal with Harry to get a wand to use.
"We'll have to get you a wand," Harry said, which caused Draco's eyebrow to quirk up in surprise, but he said nothing. They had reached the cave entrance now, and they were startled to a stop by a tall, slender form enveloped in the twilight.
"Neville?" Harry asked incredulously as the wizard turned and his profile became obvious.
"Hey, Harry," Neville said in a pale imitation of his self-conscious manner. He gestured toward the cave, where raised voices could be heard. "I just can't handle that many people right now."
"I understand," Harry said, taking in Neville's too thin frame and the barely perceptible shivers that seemed to persistently wrack his body. Neville flinched visibly at the sight of Draco, which caused Malfoy to throw up both his hands in a gesture of peace. Neville looked like he was about to throw up, and his hands twitched, his jaw clenching and unclenching once. Draco's brow furrowed briefly before he smoothed his complexion into a mask of calm.
"I'm not my father, Longbottom," he said, but Neville still edged nervously away. "I'll be over there, Harry," Draco said, gesturing to the side of the cave entrance with a jerk of his head.
"I saw your grandmother in there," Harry offered neutrally, hoping his friend would calm down a bit. "I hope she is doing well."
"Yeah…yeah, she's fine. Babying me, but I'd rather that than…well, I don't know what," Neville finished somewhat lamely. "She gave me my grandfather's wand to use. I've been practicing a bit, just simple spells…but it calms me, just being able to do magic again, you know?"
"Yeah, that's good Neville," Harry said encouragingly, "I hope I'll see you again soon, yeah?"
"Maybe so, Harry. Take care of yourself," Neville said with sudden fierceness. "Be careful who you trust."
"I will, Neville," Harry said solemnly before walking away. Somehow he didn't think Neville would accept even a handshake from anyone in his current state.
Severus Snape was irritated. This was hardly a rare occurrence these days, but the piecemeal, inexperienced staff he had managed to cull together for his second year as Headmaster were demonstrating precisely why an experienced teaching staff was absolutely essential for the proper running of the school. Today alone he had to sort out no fewer than twenty detentions, break up three impromptu duels in the hallway, and talk his skittish transfiguration professor down after the seventh years left him in tears. Quite frankly, he had had enough, and he had therefore pressed his luck by asking for a meeting with the Dark Lord to see if he could perhaps do himself and Minerva McGonagall a huge turn.
It was extremely late in the evening, and Severus knew there was little chance of speaking to the former Miss Granger. Their last two meetings had been with the Dark Lord, all focused entirely on the Souteni potion and comparisons of the stability of various bases that Severus was brewing in accord with the magical variations the Dark Lord's wife had elucidated from her extensive research. Given the lateness of the hour and her pregnant state, it was improbable that she would be present at this meeting.
"My lord," Severus said, performing the requisite bow of obeisance.
"Severus. Do have a seat."
Snape tossed his robes back before taking the indicated seat. It was uncomfortable, of course, but this was to be expected. It was rare that the Dark Lord offered the mundane comfort of a cushioned chair.
"How are things at Hogwarts?"
The Dark Lord's gaze was as perspicacious as ever, and Snape steeled himself to begin his recitation. He spoke calmly, but the content of his speech was sufficiently forceful to impress upon the Dark Lord his supreme displeasure with the current state of affairs. When he was finished, he paused, waiting for Lord Voldemort's response. The Dark Lord watched him throughout, steepling his fingers together lightly before they collapsed into a haphazard pile of digits on the desk before him. Finally, he spoke.
"What precisely are you asking me to do, Severus?"
"I am asking for your permission to reinstate Minerva McGonagall to her former position," Severus said, then held his breath. The Dark Lord had not performed Legilimency on him since that gut wrenching day, but he always expected it. Perhaps now that he had the full measure of his flaws the Dark Lord was less interested in the crevasses lurking in his memories.
"And would you happen to know the whereabouts of McGonagall?" the Dark Lord asked softly. Severus hated these sorts of games, but it was part of the price to be paid for merely asking.
"I believe she is in your keeping, my lord," Severus offered neutrally.
The Dark Lord's eyes were hooded but amused. "So she is…I believe she is in a dungeon somewhere around here. Let's go have a look, shall we?"
Severus took a quick breath in and stood to follow the Dark Lord down to the Malfoys' dungeons. He sincerely hoped that his friend had not been tortured, as he wasn't sure she could withstand such physical treatment at her age. He held his peace, however, by dint of long practice; simply followed Lord Voldemort toward a disused part of the dungeons.
"Ah, here she is. I had quite forgotten about her," Voldemort said in an offhanded manner that was cruel by its very neglect. "Perhaps you would like to inform her of your proposal yourself."
"Of course," Severus said, watching as the Dark Lord removed the wards on the door. He doubted that Hermione herself had been aware of the woman's imprisonment here, as the wards the Dark Lord had set were of a decidedly confounding nature. But then again, perhaps she wasn't even allowed down here without accompaniment. He shook his head minutely to clear it of such woolly thoughts as the Dark Lord's wand waved for the last time and the door squawked open. He realized that this could be quite dangerous for him if Minerva behaved in any way as if he were there to rescue her instead of negotiate with her.
"Minerva?"
The room itself reeked, and the witch in question was sitting on her haunches on the barren floor, mercifully at some distance from the chamberpot which from the look and smell of it had not been attended in weeks, if ever. The witch in question didn't acknowledge him at first, though her lips were moving with such soft words it was impossible to hear what she was saying. Then, as if her synapses were firing seconds too late, she looked up at him and blinked.
"Severus. I wasn't talking to you, what are you doing here?"
Severus realized that the isolation had played havoc on her, as well as the implied nutritional depravities and general dour lack of hygienic accommodations.
"Minerva, I would like to ask you to come back to teach at Hogwarts."
The Dark Lord had remained in the corridor and was out of sight, which perversely made Severus' job harder. He had to convince the Dark Lord that Minerva was of sound mind, and able to teach. He clasped her hand and said more loudly, "Do you think you could do an old colleague this favor and return to your post?"
Minerva blinked at him twice, and Severus took the opportunity to pinch her hand, which caused her brow to furrow. "Well?" he demanded in a slightly antagonistic manner, casting his eyes to the hall in the hope that her brain was following enough to understand what he was trying to tell her. Finally he saw a spark in her eyes, and she gripped his hand in return, reality finally dawning.
"Is it over, then?" she asked in a hoarse voice, bringing her other, skeletally thin hand up to cover his.
"For all intents and purposes, yes," Severus said bluntly, and hoped that the witch's good sense would rule the day instead of her Gryffindor brashness.
"Very well, I accept," she said.
"A wise decision, Madame McGonagall. It takes true intelligence to accept the amnesty I am so graciously offering."
Minerva's courage seemed to falter at the sound of that voice, and her hands trembled around his as Lord Voldemort entered the cell. Severus could see the careening hope for the best of two very disparate outcomes crash and burn in her eyes.
"Just one formality, if you please," Voldemort said softly. A thin, awkward silence fell; and Severus watched as the elderly witch visibly steeled herself, then abruptly dropped Severus' hand and stiffly sank to her knees, her posture erect and proud. Snape could do nothing to make any of it easier, watching as she clung to her pride for a few silent, stubborn seconds before her gaze dropped from Voldemort's waist and her head bowed slightly.
"Acceptable."
Severus wondered if that sibilantly hissed word would torment the witch for the rest of her days.
"You'll be pleased to know that your former Head of House has accepted my amnesty," Voldemort informed her as they walked to the dueling chamber.
Hermione nearly stopped walking, but smoothly continued after a momentary pause. She was shocked that McGonagall, of all the professors, would accept the amnesty. She wasn't so naïve as to think it was due to that ridiculous article in the Prophet.
"What caused that change of heart, I wonder?" she idly commented.
Voldemort shot a sideways glance at her. "Perhaps it was the weeks spent alone in the dungeons which persuaded her."
Of course, Hermione thought to herself. "What else did you do to her?"
She almost instantly regretted asking, as he actually turned his head to look at her closely. Mentally she sighed at herself. She hated giving him the reactions he wanted from her, and knew that he would always needle her about topics where they disagreed. It was simply his way, and far preferable to him using his wand.
"Absolutely nothing, pet. Her own mind did the convincing for her. I'm sure Severus appreciates having a qualified Transfiguration professor back."
"Hmmm, undoubtedly," Hermione commented. He didn't explain why and she didn't ask. It was far too early to hope it was a permanent change in the way he treated 'guests'. "With whom am I dueling today?"
"Walden MacNair. Given your fond memories of his father, I thought you might enjoy yourself."
There was no one else in the dueling room today. Hermione had wondered if there were a particular reason for this, but Tom had offered the explanation in an offhand manner during one of their walks in the garden: sometimes they were simply busy with other duties which took priority. He didn't mention his other reason, but she had deduced it anyway. Sometimes he confounded her opponents in the duel's aftermath. The only logical reason was that he didn't want his followers to have an accurate idea of her abilities.
"My lord," Walden MacNair said, bowing as they came to a halt. He straightened before adding, "My lady."
Hermione was still not used to this form of address, but Tom had not indicated that his followers should address her in any other manner, so most of the Death Eaters had adopted it as the default form of address.
"Walden," Voldemort said with a curt nod. "How is the purge at the paper progressing?"
To his credit, Walden MacNair didn't even bat an eyelash in Hermione's direction as he replied. "Three reporters have been sacked for embellishing their reports in unfriendly manners, and one has been remanded to the Ministry for being an unregistered Animagus."
"Very good," Voldemort replied, unsheathing his wand. "You may begin."
Hermione was waiting patiently in position. She was growing more ungainly, the baby offsetting her balance in a manner that required her to adapt her dueling style constantly. She suspected half of the reason Voldemort was continuing these little sparring sessions was to see how well she adjusted to the changes in both her physical form and her aura as the baby grew.
MacNair tried to strike first, as she expected. She parried it and launched a few strikes of her own, keeping an eye on him. He was quick but not as quick as she was, but he made up for it with the strength of the hexes he was casting. Her shields were taking quite a buffeting and it meant she would have to win quickly or he would knock down her shields.
Movement from the corner of her eye caught her attention and she stopped the transfigured creature just in time. Ah, he was one of those—an opportunist. He was transfiguring small items to attack her. It reminded her of the dirty trick played on Herecles' broom, and her lip quirked in the tiniest of smirks. Several candles from the candelabra were transfigured into brooms, which began beating him about the head. MacNair incinerated two, but Hermione kept them coming, adding in a stinging jinx and then a Stunner that he barely rebuffed.
That got his attention enough that he unleashed a creative water spell Hermione had not seen before. The natural choice was fire to fight back, and Hermione used Fiendfyre. She was able to control it quite well now, funneling more of her magic into the spell and forcing MacNair's jet of water back. She was unprepared for him to transmute it to a jet of fire. The flames wrestled and snarled one another, and Hermione had to put more magic into the spell to maintain control. Hermione felt her aura fluctuating, which made fine control difficult. The flares in intensity of her magic was causing her wand to heat dangerously for the first time beneath her fingers. She could see spidery, glowing lines at the tip, and pushed hard to end it, causing MacNair to shield himself as her flames roared around him. She drew the spell down as Voldemort slowly clapped, nodding to his wife.
"I believe you win again, dear."
Hermione wanted to inspect her wand, but didn't want to do so in front of MacNair. She doubted it had missed Tom's attention either.
"Walden, well done! You were quite clever to transmute your water into fire so quickly. Thank you for providing a good challenge to my wife," Voldemort said, nodding in appreciation.
"I am pleased to be of service, my lord," Walden said, drawing near to the couple. Hermione noticed that he had inherited her former roommate's aquiline nose, and perhaps her eyes as well. He did bear a striking resemblance to his father overall, but she could see parts of Sophie in his countenance.
"Very good," Voldemort said in a clear dismissal, but MacNair was not done.
"My lord, if I may—you should see this."
Walden MacNair held up a scroll of parchment, the standard foolscap with grey ink that was used for first drafts of articles for the Daily Prophet.
Voldemort read the article quickly, and it was obvious that it angered him.
"Has this actually occurred?" he demanded when he looked up, his eyes like red flames.
"Perhaps those responsible for oversight have perhaps been distracted by…other matters?" MacNair's eyes slid to Hermione, and Voldemort's expression turned icy.
"I see."
"I am honored to keep my ears open for further distractions from your goals, my lord," MacNair offered smoothly, and Hermione thought to herself, Yes, he is definitely Sophie's son with that amount of scheming to advance himself.
Voldemort's expression was cold. "You will suppress this article and others like it until I have investigated."
"Of course, my lord. I live to serve you."
"It will have to be replaced."
Hermione's heart twinged as Voldemort replaced her wand in her palm. This was her first wand, and now it was damaged. It felt like another tie to her past was being dissolved, another link to that joyous time when magic was new and only happy.
"What caused it?" she asked. "Is it because of my pregnancy? I have read about hormonal fluctuations in my aura but this seems an extreme reaction to that. It's hardly possible that witches are having to buy new wands every time they have a child!"
"No, kitten, I believe it is because you are a special case, and I am pushing you very hard. Regardless, you will have to visit Ollivander's, and soon." He tilted his head to the side, studying her, then ran his hand down her cheek. "I know it is your first wand. We could ask Ollivander about repairing it if you would like, but you will have to get another one to serve you even if it can be repaired."
"I would prefer that, thank you Tom. I am glad you understand—but of course you still have your first wand as well."
"It is very familiar," he admitted. "And it has done great magic for me."
Great, if terrible, magic, Hermione added silently. But it had been used to heal her, to defend her, and as such she couldn't be so hypocritical. To get her mind off her maudlin thoughts, she asked the first question that popped into her mind. "How is the Elder wand different from your original wand?"
Voldemort pulled her between his legs as he leaned against his desk. "That is a very interesting question. I believe I would describe it as a 'no nonsense' wand. In that respect it has a passing resemblance to my original wand. As for the other…nuances to this wand, suffice it to say that you would neither recognize nor appreciate them."
His humorous tone told her that her question had amused him. "I don't know, I would say I'm able to appreciate the nuances of your wand quite well," she retorted.
"Is that so?" he said, casting a glance at the clock on the wall. "Show me then," he purred, his hands sliding under robes which had crept up unbidden.
As he was shagging her senseless from behind, her palms flat against the desk, Hermione's hand brushed a small, carved black box she had not noticed before against the dark, carved border that decorated the edge. She felt a tremendous amount of magic from it, her fingers brushing it as a moan escaped her lips and Voldemort suckled on the tender flesh of her neck. The combination of their joined auras, the aggressive way he was using his 'wand', and the magic at her fingertips made her come so hard she almost thought she was having a contraction.
"Too soon," she gasped as Voldemort came with a hoarse shout of his own, then pressed a kiss between her shoulder blades as he withdrew and cleaned them both up.
"I'll take that as a compliment," he said, helping her straighten up and insisting she sit on the couch. "I will be back later. I'll send Verity with tea, and perhaps you could speak with Narcissa about the preschool program during your tea. I'm most curious to hear what she has to say about the current state of affairs."
"Yes, that would suit me nicely," Hermione agreed. She had found Narcissa to be relatively painless to talk with, even if she was a bit of a frightened rabbit around Voldemort. She did a good job of hiding it, granted, but she had little tells in her body language that betrayed her. At least Voldemort had not inflicted both Lucius and Narcissa simultaneously on her. She was still holding a grudge against the elder Malfoy for her 'visit' to their Manor in the company of Harry, Ron, and the foulest Snatchers imaginable.
"Do try not to tweak her nose too much, pet. This is an important program, and one you truly support, if you'll recall."
"I am perfectly capable of being civil," Hermione said. "Go back to your war, and don't kill anyone."
"Yes dear," he said sardonically before leaving the room in a swirl of black smoke.
"Drama queen," Hermione muttered to herself, getting to her feet as quickly as she could manage and making her way back to the desk. She wanted a closer look at that box.
The box was carved with many wavy, intricate markings. Hermione found it did not give any magical signature at all when she picked it up, which was strange. She was quite certain that it had possessed a strong signature when she had bumped into it twice during their quick little interlude. She turned the box over and looked at the bottom, using a Lumos to illuminate the carvings more clearly. In one corner, she could make out a carved feather. It was painted red.