I'm back! Wow, six weeks-so very sorry to you all. I was absolutely buried with year-end work. Really unbelievable stuff going on at work, all very good for me with just about the highest visibility I could get-but it meant I have been exhausted for the past five weeks. I am just back from a wonderful holiday with my family. I did not even check email, no writing, just a complete battery recharge. And here I am, finally able to finish this chapter that has sat half-written for the past five weeks! I apologize profusely for the delay, and I thank those of you who have messaged me to ask how I am, as well as all of you who wrote marvelous reviews. You are the absolute best readers out there, and I am SO appreciative of you all. I won't prattle on any longer, but I thank you profusely for your marvelous words of encouragement. We will push on to the end over the next few weeks together! Enjoy!
Hermione steadied herself for the landing, intent on keeping upright and prepared to cast a cushioning charm if it didn't seem that she would be able to do that. Wherever she was, at least it wasn't raining, the late afternoon sun tinting the remaining few leaves on trees a deep, burnished orange.
"I wasn't sure if you'd come."
Hermione turned at the sound of Harry's voice, noting that he had his wand in hand.
"Are you going to Stun me now, Harry?" she asked softly, holding her hands up to show that she wasn't holding her wand. She started to walk toward him, but he held up his wand and shook his head. He had to stay focused. "I'm sorry, 'Mione, but this important. It's about Ron."
"Where are my parents, Harry?" Hermione asked, taking a deep breath and forcing her voice to remain calm even as another uncomfortable tightening of her abdomen made her suddenly grateful that Tom had called for Miriam Strout. She wanted to soothe the baby inside her, pat her tummy and tell him all was well. But it wasn't. She needed to make as much sense as she could of what Harry wanted before Tom arrived, as he inevitably would.
"They're with Kingsley, Hermione. You'll get them if you convince him to reverse whatever he did to Ron," Harry said firmly.
"Harry, you know he won't agree to do that," Hermione began, but Harry cut her off with an impatient wave of his hand.
"I know that he's on his way, and I know that your parents matter to you. If he kills me or the Weasleys, or doesn't remove that curse from Ron, Kingsley will be sure your parents remain safely out of your reach forever, Hermione." Hermione gasped, but Harry continued, "I know you have some sort of…relationship with him, and you're smart enough to find some way to persuade him to do this."
Hermione recognized the stubborn glint to Harry's eyes, and began again carefully. "Why would he care about Muggles, Harry, even if they are my parents? He hasn't let me see them, has he? As far as he is concerned, I have no family."
"Then why was there a Confundus charm placed on their whole town, Hermione?" Harry asked bluntly. "I went with Kingsley to fetch them, and I picked it up. Kingsley didn't notice it after being around the Muggle prime minister so often. Why would Voldemort have done that if he didn't care at the very least about your feelings for them? He's a complete fucking bastard, but obviously you've come to some sort of agreement to leave your parents alone."
Hermione felt tears threatening, and angrily swiped her eyes with her fingers. She would get Harry to understand. "I don't know why there was a Confundus charm on the town, Harry. Maybe it was something that Dumbledore did. Regardless, you assume an awful lot if you think I can persuade him to end something that he has justified as deserved punishment."
"Since when do you think he has the right to be judge and jury, Hermione? Or do you subscribe to the farce that is the Wizengamot now that he is at the head of it? Have you really lost so much of yourself that you think he's justified in what he does?" Harry's tone was angry and incredulous at once, and Hermione stiffened.
"Harry, you have very little idea of who he is," she said quietly but fiercely. "And you know me very little if you think I would approve of everything he has done—but it could have been worse, Harry!" She paused for breath, her body quivering with indignation as she prepared to speak again, but she felt Tom's wrathful aura descending. She raised her hand in a 'stop' gesture to Harry. "Don't move. Let me talk to him, please."
All of the leaves on the floor of the forest clearing swirled in a sudden tornado as Voldemort arrived, his wand pointed straight at Harry, who raised his wand in return.
"Harry Potter. I see you've figured out that you inherited more than Peverell's cloak." His voice was deadly soft, and Hermione felt the malice beneath it.
"Tom, please." There was a quiet plea in her tone that he caught as he looked at her to be sure she was apparently unharmed. Hermione was simply grateful that he wasn't casting first and asking questions later. Harry caught Hermione's use of Voldemort's real name, but his attention was fixed on Voldemort.
"Yes, my inheritance has proven very useful. I understand now exactly how you did some of the things you managed while you were at Hogwarts." Harry said, his hand steady as he pointed his wand at Voldemort.
"Not all, Harry. You are still brash and impetuous, aren't you? That is what has brought you here now—the same rash behavior that killed Sirius Black, isn't it?"
"Don't talk about my godfather," Harry said quickly, refusing to be baited. "This isn't about him. This is about Hermione, and what she owes a friend."
Neither Hermione nor Tom missed the use of the singular, but Voldemort was clearly intent on keeping the upper hand, and Hermione couldn't permit that.
"You said this was about Ron, Harry. What do you want?"
"It's irrelevant what he wants," Voldemort said, the sibilant, low hiss a menace of its own. His eyes slid to meet Hermione's, and she saw his wand twitch slightly. They both knew that if she drew her wand, it would be over. The fact that she refused to side with her husband over her friend caused her insides to twist with pain, because he would only see it one way—as a betrayal.
"Harry, I know you have no intention of harming me or my parents. You want to remind me of what I owe Ron," Hermione said, the keenness of the knife's edge she was balancing on threatening to cut her. "The life debt."
She felt the echoing churn of Tom's aura in response to that, but couldn't bear to look at him. Between the acid bubbling in her stomach and the return of the tight pain around the baby, she could only focus on Harry.
"That's right," Harry agreed, his eyes still fixed on Voldemort, whose wand was oh-so-ready to begin cursing. "I want you to remove the curse you placed on him. Hermione owes him."
"But I do not," Voldemort said acidly. "I owe him exactly what he received—a painful death for injuring the very friend—" he practically spat the word—"that he purported to save, and from an arrangement that suits us very well." He swept his arm toward Hermione, a deliberate invitation for her to join him. The stakes had just been raised in what he would consider to be a public manner.
"Tom." Hermione walked two steps closer to him, but couldn't afford to let him touch her just yet. "It is a life debt."
Voldemort's eyes narrowed, and Harry shifted on his feet slightly. This could all go very wrong at any second, but he didn't have anything left to lose. He held his breath and waited. Perhaps he was destined to die like his parents. Nothing was turning out the way he thought it would.
"And do you owe a life debt to Mr. Potter as well?" he finally asked harshly, the flare of his monumental anger swamping her defenses momentarily and allowing him a brief look in her mind. "Of course, Nagini," he said scathingly, haughtily straightening himself before returning his full attention to Harry. When he was certain he had Potter's full attention, he markedly moved his wand down, the acerbic nod letting Potter know he would acquiesce, despite his base desire to do otherwise. For now he had bigger problems, starting with his wife.
"Okay," Harry said, more to himself than them, cautiously letting his wand dip slightly. "I'll bring him out."
"Get on with it," Voldemort snarled. Before Harry could move his wand, however, Hermione finally stepped up and made contact with her husband.
"You won't harm them either," Hermione said forcefully. "Promise me. They have done nothing but suffer. They are no threat to you," she added with a whisper.
Voldemort felt the crash of her aura as an inaudible exclamation point to her demands, and he wordlessly dismissed her concerns with an irritable apathy that she would understand clearly through their bond. Now that she had touched him, he was far more concerned with her state of health, which ratcheted his fury off to further inglorious heights. He was even more pissed with himself when he realized he didn't have the urge to Crucio her, but merely berate her for her idiocy in grabbing that portkey!
Harry, who had been startled into inaction when Hermione had finished crossing the final distance to Voldemort and begun whispering intimately to him, cleared his throat and moved his wand into position, markedly careful to point it away from the oddly intimate pair. He turned slightly and murmured a spell, the light from his wand disappearing into the woods. Within a few minutes, a trio of figures approached, revealing an anxious looking Molly, a resolute Arthur, and the grayish, waxen form of Ron levitated between them. Hermione could not help the small noise that escaped her lips, Harry's throat clearing drawing her attention back to him. "Molly—" she began, but Mrs. Weasley shook her head mutely, tears glimmering.
Voldemort didn't even give them warning, a dark jet of greenish black hitting Ron's body with enough force to cause it to spasm. Molly cut off a garbled shriek and Arthur pointed his wand at Voldemort defensively.
"Good luck reversing the Draught of Living Death," Voldemort said nastily, his attention turning with lightning speed to Harry Fucking Potter, the biggest pain in the ass since Dumbledore himself walked the earth. Harry had his wand pointed at him as well. The laughable nature of the two wizards opposing him rendered the situation farcical, but Tom was keenly aware of Hermione's pain and was beginning to feel the twinges of the bond anytime he thought of doing anything other than getting her to Strout posthaste.
"I wouldn't try anything, Tom. If I don't show up to retrieve Hermione's parents, she will never see them again—and Polyjuice won't work," Harry said bravely.
"Just let them go, Harry," Hermione said fiercely, the scope of her anger giving Voldemort his first treat from this mess. His mouth twisted into the semblance of a smile, an unholy amusement lighting his eyes as he began to speak.
"I expect her parents to be delivered to Malfoy Manor within the hour. Or you can expect every cave in Northumbria to be collapsed without heed to the petty secrets they hold."
Molly blanched at his words even as she worked steadily with her wand over Ron, making sure that the curse had been removed and they just had to deal with the effects of the potion. She nodded to Arthur and Harry, who let out the breath he'd been holding. He hadn't thought it would work, and so cleanly, but there must be some honor left in Hermione. He nodded to Voldemort, even as his rational mind screamed that it was inhuman to turn the Grangers over to the Dark Lord and he had no intention of doing so.
But Voldemort wasn't done yet. With a flick of his wand he had the Weasleys imprisoned in a bubble of black smoke. They could neither see nor hear, but he only needed a moment.
Harry let out a cry and cast immediately at Voldemort in return. It was Hermione that batted away Harry's hex, much to both Voldemort's and Harry's surprise, her wand in her fingertips before Harry's spell had left his wand. Tom stilled her with a touch on her wrist, tilting his head slightly while holding up his wand slightly in a gesture of non-aggression to the foolish Harry. Harry wasn't sure of his chances if Hermione was going to defend Voldemort, so he had no choice but to hope it was a sincere gesture.
Voldemort tilted his head, the odd amusement still plain in his features. "One thing more, Harry. Who planned the attack on my wife today?"
Harry was dumbfounded. "What attack? I left Ollivander's right after I spoke with you, Hermione."
"Snape and I were attacked when we left after I got my new wand," Hermione said. Her abdomen was too tight, the muscles not relaxing the way she knew they needed to.
"I would never—" Harry began, then was caught unprepared by Voldemort's unspoken, "Legilimens!"
Tom didn't need much time. Harry's mind did not provide much resistance, as he knew it well already. It was as Harry said, he and Draco left immediately through the back alley. Snarling, he broke the seconds-old connection and flung Harry to the ground, annoyed that the boy still possessed enough good reflexes to nearly land a curse on him in the process. He flicked Harry's wand away and floated over him, certain he had Harry's attention.
"Don't think this is the last time you will see me, Harry Potter. The next time you are in my presence, you won't have the benefit of a life debt from my wife to save you from the rich retribution you have earned this night."
Voldemort turned his entire attention to Hermione, who was mightily distracted by the pain that she could no longer dismiss as merely stress. He took firm hold of her and they both disappeared into streams of fast flying smoke, soon gone, along with the smoke bubble that had imprisoned the Weasleys. Arthur and Molly came out with wands drawn, Ron's form still buoyed gently on a bed of air. Harry ran a shaky hand through his hair as Molly rushed to hug him, offering solace briefly before returning to Ron. Arthur let out a breath of relief to find him in one piece.
"Thank you so much, Harry. We will take you with us to France. I can't tell you how just yet, but we'll find a way."
"Get him to Madame Pomfrey," Harry said, clasping Arthur's hand quickly with a quick nod of acknowledgement before pulling into himself and returning to Kingsley and the Grangers. He'd think about what Voldemort had meant later, after he told the Grangers everything else about Hermione. They deserved to know.
Draco stepped cautiously through the wards. He was aware that his mother was all but hiding in her own house, caught between the demands of her sister and his father, but he was far more interested in the presence or absence of the Dark Lord. Lord Voldemort had the uncanny knack of turning up in the most unexpected of places within the manor, and he was ill-prepared to deal with any repercussions from what Harry was up to. He increased his pace, crossing to the doors of the conservatory to avoid the steady thud of someone's footsteps. Some cretinous Death Eater like Rowle, doubtless. He was interested in more canny prey: namely, his father.
The hall was deserted, the library equally so. That left his father's study. Draco made his way down the shadowy halls, keeping a light hand on the walls as he went. The wards might provide a glimmer of warning if the Dark Lord was indelicate in passing through. He had one final hallway to cross when he ran into Severus Snape, who loomed out of the shadows so quickly there was no avoiding him.
"Draco."
"Snape."
There was a moment of silence while they sized each other up in the dimly lit hall, then Snape nodded minisculely to the right. An empty parlor, as Draco recalled. He opened the door and silently followed Snape into the musty room, saying nothing as Snape cast privacy charms so they would not be overheard. Snape wasted no time in getting down to business.
"Are you still in the company of Mr. Potter?"
"I am, usually," Draco hedged, causing Severus to study him for a split second. Draco had noticed that the headmaster's arm was in a sling, an unusual event in and of itself, but he was behaving with an urgency which he had rarely seen. His sense of ill feeling about Harry increased.
Severus was prodding for good reason. He went in for the kill. "I have good reason to suspect the Dark Lord will be demanding his head on a platter, and very soon, if the fool manages to survive whatever encounter with the Dark Lord which he may now be having."
"Fuck!" Draco said, and Snape did not miss the gleam of silver in Draco's eyes nor the heat in his expletive. Severus was quite certain now as to his suspicions about the young Malfoy. Given Lucius' cagey behavior, it was imperative that Draco be made aware of the full heights of his father's possible folly.
"I do, of course, have other information which might be valuable to those desiring to see the boy with nine lives continue his irritating existence…" Snape's tone was offhand. He knew full well that Draco would do whatever was necessary now to save Lily's son, no matter how worthless his hide had become.
"And what do you expect in return for this favor?" Draco was well aware of just what Snape was offering. He thrice cursed his ancestors for putting him in this position, and his fucking father for whatever he had done. It could only be something to do with Lucius—he and Snape were thick as thieves at times and at each other's throats at others, intertwined as poisonously as nightshade and hemlock.
"A reminder to the Dark Lord of my loyalty…and the potions ingredient of my choice, at the time of my choice." Snape held out his wand expectantly, ready for the requisite oath making.
The worth of an unspoken potions ingredient was incalculable. Snape could request the most fantastical, difficult to obtain, and expensive ingredient, and Draco would have to produce it.
"Done."
The oath was quickly made, the bitter cost only coating Draco's throat momentarily before the urgency of Harry's situation pressed again on his amygdala. His former head of house wasted no time attempting to couch what he was going to say in hopeful terms.
"I have reason to suspect that your father has involved himself in an uprising amongst the purebloods being stoked and perpetuated by your aunt," Snape continued mercilessly. "I have no doubt that, if blame for the attack today on the Dark Lord's wife does not find its proper place, Mr. Potter's life will soon be at an end. I expect you know what to do with that information."
Draco nodded, his proud eyes not breaking contact with Snape's. "I do."
Severus let out a gust of breath as Draco slipped silently from the room. There was little chance of this turning out well for all involved. He only hoped that Draco's steely determination could turn the consequences to their proper home.
Light spilled beneath the door of his father's study, a telltale sign that was invisible to all but the family, and probably the Dark Lord. Draco squared his chin and prepared himself. Lucius had had little to do with him since Draco's false defection, the weight of Lucius' own failures exerting a harsh enough toll that his father had little interest in the groveling game he assumed Draco was playing for the Dark Lord's benefit. Lucius' sole subsequent communication via owl simply stated that he wished Draco to avoid heaping further trouble on the family, which could only mean that Lucius himself had been tasked with something of tremendous importance. Far from being relieved to not bear the burden of upholding the Malfoy name, Draco feared that at last his father had gotten in over his head.
"Father."
Draco slipped through the door and closed it with a wordless gesture, seeing Lucius face to face for the first time in many months. Lucius looked up, the brief flit of surprise on his face one that could easily be missed if you didn't know him well. The cool hauteur he usually affected settled on his features, and Draco nodded formally in return.
"It has been a while since we have had a chance to speak."
"Indeed," Lucius said coolly, closing the black leather tome in front of him with a snap. Draco noted the title, one he had perused before: Mind Magicks. He let his eye track across the entire contents of the desk, causing Lucius to raise his nose. "Was there a particular reason you are now gracing us with your presence?"
Here we go, Draco thought. He had wondered if his father would not be hurt by his lack of communication, and it appeared he was. He let his gaze idly flick up to meet his father's, affecting a nonchalant air as he said, "It's rather difficult to hear the true story of how things are proceeding when one is forced to dwell in the gutters. I had the opportunity to take some air, and I took it."
Lucius' eyes narrowed. "And I suppose your task, whatever it may be, is going just splendidly, is it? Absolutely nothing noteworthy to report?"
A chill entered Draco's tone as he replied. "If the Dark Lord is satisfied, you have no reason to doubt it."
"Quite."
Lucius stood with sudden alacrity, a subtle reminder that he was still a fraction taller. "And I suppose it is the Dark Lord who will not permit you to discuss your work with your flesh and blood, hmm? Or is that simply your own push for relief from the demands of the Malfoy name?"
It was an old argument, and one which Draco had habitually lost. He refused to be drawn into it again, however, and changed the subject. "How is Mother?"
Lucius broke eye contact. "Well enough."
"You mean she is cowering from her sister and hiding from your cronies," Draco spat accusingly. "I wouldn't even know where to begin looking for her, that's how overrun this house has become with the worst sort of scum."
"You would know, wouldn't you, boy?" Lucius said, his head snapping up to meet Draco's angry gaze.
"I know that Bellatrix is stirring all sorts of dissent and she is trying to drag Mother along with her," Draco retorted.
"You know nothing of the kind," Lucius said snidely. "You roll about in the mud with the vermin on orders from the Dark Lord and leave the real business of changing the wizarding world to the adults in the room."
"And what would you know about that?" Draco said quickly. "At least I've got enough sense to avoid pissing off the greatest Dark wizard of all time. Whatever Bellatrix is up to, I doubt it has the sanction of the Dark Lord!"
Lucius crossed over to Draco, who held his ground. When he spoke, his voice was low and menacing. "Stay out of affairs that don't concern you, Draco."
The door opened and Severus Snape drawled, "Oh, look. A father-son moment. Shall I conjure a handkerchief for this touching reunion?"
"I was just leaving," Draco said, purposefully breaking eye contact with his father. Lucius had the same dogged look about him that always boded ill. He wondered what exactly he was doing, messing about with mind magic and whatever Bellatrix had cooked up. Despite the time he had already spent, there was nothing for it—he would have to hunt down his mother. He heard Snape's clipped tones as he left the room—"Is there nothing better than this piss brandy? It's been a hell of a day, and it's not over yet."
There was scant enough time left, so Draco took the risk of summoning his house elf, Bulstrap.
"I need to know where my mother is, urgently."
"Young Master! I is delighted to serve, delighted—the times we have had, Young Master—"
Draco managed to hush the elf and find out that Narcissa was ensconced in the shabby Yellow Saloon in the previously unused west wing of the manor. A stray ribbon of irony lanced through him at the thought that this was the wing his parents had set aside to be his own when he married and began a family, to renovate as he chose at that time. He stifled a bark of laughter at the thought, turning the handle and finding that his house elf had neglected to mention that his mother had company.
"Drakey-wakey is home! Come to pay a call on your mummy, Drakey? Do tell if you've finished that business for the Dark Lord."
Draco maintained an impassive expression.
"Not at all, Aunt Bella. I was here and wanted to say hello to Mother."
Bellatrix stood languidly from the arm of the chair from whence she had been looming over her sister. His mother looked ill at ease, the dark circles under her eyes a testament to the strain she was under.
"Draco, how glad I am to see you." Narcissa held out both hands to her son, and he had no choice but to cross and kiss them both, eliciting a small smile from his mother. "Bella, do be a dear and run along while Draco and I have a chat."
"I'm sure he can't have much to tell, Cissy," Bella observed, tapping a fingernail on her arm. "I haven't heard anything good or ill about him, so he can't be doing much at all, can he?"
Draco turned his head and said calmly, "I don't suppose your opinion matters if the Dark Lord hasn't seen fit to mention it to you, does it?"
Her eyes narrowed as the barb hit its mark, but she wandered in the general direction of the door nonetheless.
"Keep an ear open, Cissy, while your son plies you with tales of his derring-do. I'd hate for his empty boasts to result in nasty repercussions…to the Dark Lord or any other interested parties."
With that threat, she slipped through the door. Draco doubted she had gone far, however, and cast a privacy charm before speaking again.
"What are you doing, Draco?"
"What I must," Draco replied honestly enough. "I'm more concerned about what Father is doing, and how Bella is involved."
Narcissa gripped his wrist hard. "Never mind about that. Just keep yourself safe, Draco. Whatever the Dark Lord has you doing, keep doing it. It's out of everyone's eye, which makes you safe no matter what happens."
"No matter what happens?" Draco said, disbelief lacing his tone. "You cannot be foolish enough to involve yourselves in—"
"Don't say it, Draco!" Narcissa said shrilly. "There is a lot of talk, a lot of agitation—it's nothing we can't handle, nothing we haven't ridden out before, but this time it's uglier, more virulent…"
"Stop, Mother. Just stop it right now, and walk away," Draco said firmly, grabbing her hand and removing it from his wrist. "I'm not a child any longer. I know how these games play out, and the pawns rarely win."
"Your father and I have protected you when it seemed impossible to emerge unscathed," Narcissa said forcefully. "We have experience at reading these situations. Trust that we will do what we must to come out right in the end."
"If you truly believe that you're as much of a fool as Father; or perhaps you're just as crazy as your sister," Draco said hotly, then smoothed back his hair in frustration when he glimpsed her shock. "I'm sorry. My temper is short these days."
"We all have a short fuse," Narcissa said, studying her son carefully. "Are you sure all is well…?"
"Of course. I must go now." Draco stood and ran his hand through his hair again in a gesture of carelessness, then tucked his wand back up his sleeve. "I will try to be better about letting you know how I'm doing."
"Yes, do that."
Narcissa watched her son's tall frame vanish through the doorway, her brow wrinkled. He was hiding something. She was sure of it.
"I did not believe I married a fool."
Voldemort's cold rage was terrifyingly intense. All of the carefully repressed, deeply held feelings of anger and betrayal were allowed full reign now, and it bled through with abandon to Hermione as he pulled them both through Malfoy Manor's wards with less delicacy and more brute force than he normally used. Hermione noticed that he didn't let go of her as they appeared in their bedchamber, despite the deep lashings of his magic against hers.
"I was fine," she insisted, pushing back both magically and physically. "I could handle Harry."
"Yet your parents are still missing, aren't they?"
Voldemort's cold, snide tone registered a chord deep within her, and Hermione let out a chuff of breath as the muscles in her belly tightened again. He snarled in irritation and sat her down forcefully on the bed, turning away to cast the Dark Mark barehanded with a hiss of Parseltongue and "Severus Snape".
"If you infused the potion into your wand, how can you do that barehanded?" Hermione asked, and he snapped his fingers.
"It is infused in my skin as well," he replied, grasping her chin and lifting her face. "Why?"
The question was clipped, but in no way cold, and had nothing to do with the Dark Mark. No, it was bleeding with passion and anger, which, a part of her brain clinically reflected, was its own sort of progress, or symptom of something.
"He doesn't deserve death for disagreeing with you."
"When will you trust my decisions?" It was an almost feral complaint, backed by the sheer magnitude of his magic as it roared against hers.
"Have you come to believe in trust, then, Tom?" Hermione paused, waiting for him to cease his painful clawing at her magic. She had no doubt that if her magic had not grown due to his aggressive training, she would have been injured by it.
"If you think to hear me state to the nadir to which I have been forced, you will wait long for a cold day in hell," Voldemort replied frostily. She knew what he meant—he was forced to trust her, because she was the only one able to help him.
"You must have some other plan left," Hermione observed, resting one hand on top of her stomach as they waited for Snape. "I cannot be your last refuge. Something else from the Egyptians or Nepal, perhaps—I do not know enough yet to be sure."
"You are damned arrogant, Madame," he said coolly, although his magic subsided somewhat into a dull roar. "Do tell why I should keep you after all of this madness is finished."
"I am the only one who is always completely honest with you," Hermione said, gently clasping his hand and removing it from her chin. "And I love you."
She could practically feel the flicker that evoked as it skittered across his aura. "Your manner of displaying it leaves much to be desired."
They both knew that was a lie.
"I hope Strout arrives soon."
"This time she will be placed under an Unbreakable." Voldemort's expression hardened again as the door handle turned. Hermione sighed as his hand dropped from hers, the baby kicking hard as his father's aura pulled away. So unbelievably strong and yet so unbelievably broken.