Good evening. I do hope Fanfiction sends out the chapter update sooner than they have been doing. It used to be pretty speedy, but lately it has taken ages for the notification to go through. Ah well, writer's quibbles. We have had family visiting, which slowed down the pace of my writing.

So many wonderful reviews greeted the last chapter! You are all marvelous. I will be sending replies shortly, as is my habit, so if you receive a reply you can pretty well guess that this chapter has been posted first. You'll be happy to know that I have some really big upcoming scenes already written. These are the kind of thing that grabs you and you have to get it down immediately. I am pleased with how things are coming out, but I would love to hear your thoughts again from this chapter. Thank you so much for reading, reviewing, favoriting and following. :) Only 224 reviews more and I hit 1000! Wow! Thank you to all reviewers for helping with that!

Hermione turned around, taking in the scenery stretching for miles around them: the barren trees, the gently rolling hills. She turned expectantly to Voldemort, her face a mix of puzzlement and curiosity.

"What is that I'm feeling?"

Tom watched her hold out her hand toward the ground, her magic seeking the tie instinctively. "You already know," he replied, nodding to her hand. "Your instincts are sound, faes hi takēm kātha. Follow them."

Hermione closed her eyes, letting her magic unleash itself through her fingertips. The corner of Voldemort's mouth turned up as he watched her, felt her magic pulling her forward, completely ruled by her instincts. She was a magnificent creature, so responsive to her magical instincts: and she was his. The deeply held feeling of satiation at such possession never failed to please him. She paused, her hand held out expectantly over the ground. She turned to meet his gaze, then said, "Here."

"Use your wand to raise it."

She nodded, the new rowan requiring more of a firm hand than her old wand. The earth began to move, funneling away in rivulets on all sides of the large stone that slowly emerged from the dirt. She felt Voldemort's magic filtering in, the detailed carvings on the stone exposed by his wandwork. Finally the entire stone was above the ground, the runes and symbols glowing with magic.

"It's a foundation stone of some kind," Hermione said, meeting Tom's gaze again before she placed a hand on the stone. The symbols glowed brighter, and she felt a fillip of magic from their baby as well. "You found the place origin of my Pictish ancestor?"

He nodded, placing his hand on the baby and reaching out to their son with his own magic, as if he needed to remind him of his connection to his father as well. "You did not think we would remain at Malfoy Manor forever, did you? It is time to reestablish your links to your heritage."

Hermione knew there was a deeper reason than his prejudices. "Too many people know where you are from."

He lifted her head gently and gave her a kiss. "Precisely. Stand back, petal."

Voldemort plied the Elder wand with caution. Ancient warding magicks were tricky things, but he needed to carry the bulk of the work rather than depend on Hermione's magic. It would be too great of a magical stressor for her, likely triggering more early labor, which they could ill afford under the circumstances. She was into her seventh month now, but it was still too early for the baby's birth. His wandwork was restrained at first, his mind working through the puzzle of the wards. He preferred to tease out ancient magicks in Parseltongue, it being a very base and earthy magick, but Pictish was usually violently antagonistic to it. Pictish it is, then. His lips moved, tonguing the harsh consonants quietly at first, then with increasing volume as he was certain he was moving in the correct direction through the basing of the long dormant wards.

Hermione watched the ground shake slightly as earth began to move in every direction, crudely hewn stones exposing themselves to light for the first time in centuries. She reasoned that her presence in would help rather than hinder, and since he had not dismissed her from the vicinity she presumed she was correct. There was a tremor and a rush of a strong wind, and Voldemort frowned at the feedback from the wards, his brow creasing.

"Let me," she said suddenly, placing a hand on the stone she had pulled and holding her other hand out to Voldemort. He didn't stop speaking in guttural Pictish, but he allowed her to place her hand over his wand hand, her magic overlaying his own with the native familiarity the wards would embrace. When they steadied, she let go of the foundation stone, carefully withdrawing her wand. It felt right, and Voldemort let her join in, his own wand and magic preoccupied with the herculean task of resurrecting and vastly strengthening wards that were not his own. Hermione closed her eyes again, feeling her way through the wards as she had done before, her wand plying itself in delicate spirals and whirls, weaving in and dancing through her husband's more forceful, aggressive reshaping of the latent magicks. It worked somehow, the delicacy of her ward making meshing harmoniously with Voldemort's outpouring of strong, dark magic. Her spells actually intertwined with his, the magicks weaving together in an odd harmony nearly as soon as they left their wands. Hermione flicked a glance at Voldemort, who seemed to note the oddity as well, but he continued ruthlessly, forcing the wards to respond to him despite the fact that they were not of his blood.

All of the foundation stones were come to light, triskeles and representations of various creatures moving suddenly with the weight of magic being forced upon them, and called from them. Hermione could feel the stones' antagonism toward Tom's magic, soothed it with her own and even their child's, the baby's outburst of magical energy like a prancing lightness that shot like lightning through her wand and into the stones. There was another sudden breeze, this time like a light summer wind, and the stones suddenly accepted their casting, the resurrected wards breathing in the new layers and shimmering with acceptance when they both drew down their wands.

"The wards accepted you because of the baby," Hermione said.

"Perhaps," Voldemort replied, drawing her close and kissing the top of her forehead before he looked at her. "The important thing is that now I can work with them by myself. It is time to kick Lucius from the safety of our company."

His voice was contemplative, and Hermione was certain it had something to do with the Mala mujer. She had to manage a talk with Draco without her husband's presence, because he might be unaware of exactly the weight of what his father was expected to do. All of her readings about the plant suggested that its properties were highly coveted, and it was the plant that was likely responsible for the Longbottoms' disappearance, not a Fidelius charm. It was little wonder that Tom was so irritated about his failure to find the family yet again.

"And put more pressure on Draco as well," Hermione retorted. "Both of them will be in fear of failures when you are no longer using the convenience of their ancient wards for your own purposes. You really are shameless with the lengths to which you will go in order to extract useful work from your followers."

"The Malfoys are spoiled for choice. In order to perform to their highest level, they must know there is no safety net for their failures."

"Will you admit that you have never performed ward raising like that before?" she prodded.

"Tsk tsk," he scolded playfully, tapping her nose with his finger. "I thought I was the only one who required ego stroking, pet." He gave her a quick kiss again, silencing her further thoughts on the subject. It was an incredibly painless method of shutting her up, and had pleasant side effects that rippled through their magics.

"Tom…" Hermione began when he let her go, walking away from her to suss out sightlines from the ruined outlines of the building, the wards happily humming underfoot for their new master and mistress.

"I believe there may be ample Muggle niceties available for your parents in Dundee," he remarked, his mind mapping the property, the layout of the house he would craft, the way he would incorporate his own ancestral land claim without disrupting the distinctly Pict-flavored ley line and node. It would not have been his first choice, but circumstances being what they were, it was distinctly superior to the alternative.

"How far are we from Dundee?" Hermione asked, and he smirked slightly. Distraction achieved. Perhaps there were some minor benefits to having her parents still intact. They had pissed him off with their questions about what they were going to do with their house and business, but Hermione had thankfully shut them up before he hexed the ignorant Muggles. As if their petty Muggle possessions in any way compared to a tenth of what he had in Gringotts alone!

"It is in that direction," he said, pointing firmly southward. Far enough that they won't know where we are precisely, and close enough for Hermione to visit, should she find it…necessary. He did not understand why such a thing would be desirable, but since he had recovered them for her, he reasoned it would be necessary to tediously wean her from them. The gains made in the disintegration of her friendship with the Boy Wonder made it a worthwhile trade, in balance, even if they were fucking annoying to manage.

"What will you construct first?"

She was closer than he realized, his head turning minutely to acknowledge her presence. Whether it reflected the level of easiness between their magics or the fact that he was growing increasingly dependent on her stability was unclear. His mood turned dark at that thought.

"The dungeons."

Hermione fingered the expensive brooch that nestled at the closure of her robes, just between her clavicles. The pair of intertwined snakes were the symbol of Salazar Slytherin, an heirloom piece that Tom had recovered and considered for a Horcrux. Although she knew empirically that her plan was the most sensible, she didn't know how she would pull it off. Tom had agreed only on the barest of terms, which meant that he could come in at any time. Therefore, it was important that she get the discussion off on the right track.

"The Rosiers, Mistress," Verity announced, pulling the doors closed with a thud. She had purposefully turned herself away from them, the flare of her robes charmed to float around her ankles as she slowly turned around.

"Evan, I am pleased to see you again. And Olivia. It has been a very long time," Hermione said softly, but with a lift of her eyebrow and such erect posture that it was clear who was to defer to whom.

"Madame," Evan said politely but a bit stiffly, while Olivia simply stared at Hermione, her pureblood socialite mask slipping just a little. Hermione could tell they were surprised to face her instead of Voldemort, and she let a few awkward seconds pass before she spoke again.

"I requested to speak with you both before my husband arrives. I believe he can help your daughter—and he will, if you agree to help him."

There was a flare of anger in Evan's eyes, and Olivia laid a hand on his arm as if to restrain him. He ignored her. He spoke in a low, disgusted tone.

"He's the one who caused her injury! He has no interest in helping anyone but himself."

"Really? Because I was under the impression that your daughter was trying out potion variants on herself, against the advice of more experienced potions masters; and in doing so, she subjected herself to unknown repercussions." Her voice was kind but firm, and she pressed on despite Olivia's shocked gasp. "Please, Evan, do tell Olivia if you have known about this for the past twenty odd years without saying a word to Madame Strout. A word which, I might add, may have helped in her initial treatment had it been known."

"No, no! I had no idea," Evan insisted, looking at his wife with genuine shock on his face. "She said she was done with that, that Severus forced her out…"

"I dismissed her." The inky black tones of Severus Snape matched his dramatic entrance from the shadows. He regarded the Rosiers with disgust. "You took her at her word, rather than ask me, her halfblood Potions Master. She broke the vows of her apprenticeship by testing her potions on herself without my supervision, and then continued her work under your noses in your own house. You let your blood prejudices cloud your judgment, and because of it, your daughter has suffered needlessly for decades."

Hermione drew a deep breath. "Olivia, I know that my reappearance now, my time spent at Hogwarts with yourself, Evan, Tom—it's all a lot to take in. But I spent the first six years of my schooling with Severus Snape as my Potions instructor, then DADA instructor. While harsh, the Severus Snape I know would never be anything other than diligent for any student in his care. I remembered that he had mentioned offhand once during a detention how a foolish apprentice had gotten herself poisoned as a result of testing potions without supervision—and when Tom told me the circumstances behind Christine's accident, I asked Severus if she were the apprentice."

Olivia looked to be crumbling, her fingers worrying the edge of her skirt in the same way she had done as a teenager. It felt odd to think that she had shared a dorm room with this woman when they were both teenagers. Evan had stiffened and his face was a mask, but Hermione knew he had to be reeling from Severus' statement.

"Fortunately, the Dark Lord is merciful," Severus intoned, his tone laced with vengeful malice. "I assure you, I would not volunteer to help you."

"I would not go that far," Hermione said acidly, tired of the Slytherin posturing and obsession with revenge.

"…Yes, let's not go that far."

The dry voice of her husband had all three paling, aware that flippancy was not prized in the presence of the Dark Lord. Hermione hated not knowing how much he had overheard. It was pointless to fret anyhow, as he would extract whatever price he deemed necessary from Evan before he deigned to help his daughter. It was so typical of Tom to twist a favor needed into a service gratefully rendered.

"My pet." Voldemort greeted Hermione as he glided into the room with his typical predatory fluidity, his attention turning instantly to Evan and Olivia. "Ah, the Rosiers. Again. I am sensing a theme…Severus," Voldemort nodded to the Potions Master. "I do hope the school will go on despite your temporary absence."

"I'm sure the deputy Headmistress has things well in hand," Severus replied acerbically.

"Hmmm…" Voldemort idly turned, claiming Hermione's hand for his arm almost as an afterthought. "I see that I have come in too soon, pet. Clearly Evan is struggling to process what you have told him, and poor Olivia is so beside herself she is nearly worrying a hole in her pocket. Now, you see, Evan will be forced to admit he was wrong in my presence, which is nearly as inadvisable as committing a wrong against me in the first place—isn't that so, Evan?"

Voldemort had let go of Hermione's arm at this last, drifting over to stand quite close to Evan, whose head was bowed as he thought through the situation. He was wise to quickly speak.

"I was, perhaps, too hasty in my judgment…" Evan began in a low voice, but Voldemort was not going to let him away with all so easily.

"Perhaps?"

The furious anger that bubbled up at Evan's last visit was back, this time unchecked. He had Evan on his knees instantly, his back arched from the sheer power Voldemort poured into his wand. Hermione looked at Olivia, who seemed torn between impotent anger and absolute fear. She shifted her attention to Snape, who was also paying close attention to Olivia. Clearly he decided she required a firm hand, because before Hermione saw it, Snape had pressed Olivia down into a chair. It was then that she saw Olivia's hand release the wand in her pocket, a sight that had been obscured from Hermione's view. She was grateful for his quick interference for Olivia's sake. Tom would not have been kind. At the moment he was entirely occupied with Evan, however.

"Have you ever seen me maliciously waste magical talent?" Voldemort demanded, then flicked his wand, sending Evan sprawling on the floor. "Never mind. I do not have to explain myself to you anymore today than I did twenty years ago. Get up."

Evan stiffly pulled himself from the floor, warily eyeing Voldemort. Hermione could hear the wheeze in his breath, and she felt a dangerous shiver of magic from Tom. He was really angry. She put her hand on Olivia's other shoulder and exchanged an uneasy glance with Snape. The Potions Master was nearly rigid with retribution. Hermione thought that he must have suffered significantly in some form from Evan Rosier's influence on Voldemort if he was this vested in seeing Evan Rosier humiliated.

"You were behaving…erratically…I thought you were not being as cautious as the situation warranted—and you never spoke to us anymore, brooded by yourself—" Evan was speaking deferentially, but Tom's anger flared higher. Hermione recognized the tactic: confess before he discovered still more dangerous ideas in your mind.

"Silence!" He pinned Evan to the wall with his wand, arm outstretched. "You DARE to speak to me of such gross doubts? Of ME? The greatest Dark wizard of all time? Crucio!"

Evan was unable to flex against the curse, causing untold damage as his body tried futilely to move against the wall. A loud crack of breaking bone caused Olivia to shudder to her feet, shoving free of Hermione's and Severus' grasp.

"Your followers would not doubt you if you had ever talked to them! All he ever did was stay in that hellhole assignment in the Department of Mysteries, and you never rewarded him, never let him advance!"

Olivia continued bravely as Voldemort turned, his wand fixed on her now. Hermione withdrew her wand from her sleeve, aware of the nasty undercurrent running through Tom's magic now.

"You, madam, would have done better to heed my wife's caution. Oreclauso!"

Olivia's lips melted together in a hideous fusion of flesh. Hermione could see her throat working, but any screams were trapped as her mouth literally disappeared.

"Stop!" Hermione's tone was sharp, but Tom's magic was ferally tinted with dark intent, and he lashed out unconsciously, a roar of flame encircling the three of them. Olivia was terrified, but Hermione's wand whipped to confront the flame with one of her own.

"Psaē!" she hissed in Parseltongue in desperation, reaching to grab him by the forearm. His magic was cresting, full of snarls of anger and tinted with a loss of control that was very dangerous. It was difficult to overcome the instinct to back away with her own aura, but she did not, instead embracing the wildness of his magic. She nearly fell to her knees with the impact of the crash against her aura.

"Tom, this is not you."

It was said between the two of them alone, and finally his eyes met hers, the spark of control back. Their flames merged along with their auras, the roar of his magic fading into hers until she felt him take over both spells, turning the flames into a wall of ice. He dropped his forehead to touch hers, the red flames of anger in his eyes banking and cooling.

"It is what I could have been."

He let her go, back in regulation of himself. The ice wall shattered in a thousand droplets as he moved away, his wand again readied at Evan Rosier. Severus' face was frozen in that way he had of concealing his reaction to something unexpected from the Dark Lord. Olivia looked ghastly, but Hermione hardened herself.

"Obliviate." It was quiet and quick, but no one could know what had just passed between her and Tom. It would be a miniscule gap, likely swallowed up in the greater terror of Tom's curse in Olivia's mind. Severus' attention was riveted on Evan, who in turn was looking at Lord Voldemort. Hermione tested the curse on Olivia delicately with her wand—it was something she could reverse given enough time, but now was not the time for experimentation.

"It will be okay," Hermione promised in a whisper, causing tears to stream down Olivia's face as her eyes sought hers. She moved away from Olivia quietly, not wanting any excuse for Tom's wand to fall on her again.

Voldemort's attention was fully on Evan now, his wand flaring to hold Evan's head up as he commanded him, "Tell your wife exactly what you were doing for me in the Department of Mysteries for all those years, Evan. I release you from your vow."

Magic swirled through the air in green sparks at Voldemort's words, and Evan cleared his throat roughly.

"I couldn't leave the Office for Time Regulation. I was in charge of monitoring for any unusual activity, anything out of the ordinary." His gaze swiveled to meet Hermione's. "I was the one who authorized your use of a Time Turner in your third year."

"And why did you do that?" Voldemort's wand twitched, and Evan landed with a thud on the ground, painfully pulling himself upright with one hand.

"Because I was under an Unbreakable Vow to facilitate the time travel of any Hermione who should petition for it," he gasped as Voldemort lifted him up with one hand under his chin.

"YES. And that vow remained in effect. You therefore knew I was not dead, and you knew that Hermione Granger was one and the same as Hermione Girard. And yet you did nothing, even when I returned." He threw him back to the floor in disgust.

"I did not know for sure, and you had not returned even when she used the Time Turner," Evan replied. "I protected myself and my wife."

"You let your emotions about your daughter cloud your judgment; worse, you nurtured a grudge because of it instead of using reason." Voldemort's voice dripped with disgust. "You weren't worthy to be Marked. That wizard—" he jabbed a finger at Severus, "—truly earned his place."

He turned away and met Hermione's eyes across the room. "This is not possible. He still has not learned." He flicked his wand and Olivia's mouth reseamed itself, the flesh twisting in a gruesome manner until Olivia heaved a gasping breath through her again open, if bloody, mouth. She instantly fell on her face, crying, "Thank you, my lord, thank you—" through her tears.

Hermione did not know what to say. This was not how she thought it would play out. She had been certain that the Rosiers would be so eager to retrieve Christine from the prison of her mind that they would grovel, do anything to make it happen. She was struck dumb, mutely pleading with Voldemort to reconsider as she tried to reason out why he was behaving so.

It was Severus Snape who broke the tension. At a nod from the Dark Lord, he swept over to Evan's kneeling, broken form. He leaned down and whispered malevolently, "Behold the power of ignorant prejudice."

Voldemort gestured for Hermione to leave the room with him, Severus sweeping forward toward the double doors.

"Wait!"

Hermione caught the small quirk at the corner of his mouth before Voldemort turned around. He didn't break contact with her, bringing her back around with him. He didn't say anything, merely leveled his cool gaze on Evan Rosier. The satisfied hum of his magic suffused through the air like incense, although she was probably the only one who could sense it. You planned this, she thought incredulously.

"I offer my most humble and abject apologies for ever doubting your actions, and beg you to relieve yourself of your grievances on my person through any manner you choose."

Evan's language was formal, as was his posture. Hermione was sure he had a broken arm, but his rigid pride was evident. This was an old code, the basis for Tom's Knights.

"Evan, no!" Olivia said brokenly, but Voldemort silenced her immediately. He tilted his head, and Hermione saw Severus fold his arms across his chest out of the corner of her eye. Apparently he was ready for the real show. Hermione tensed, aware from the rapid thrum of Tom's magic that he was preparing to cast. He broke away from her as he spoke quietly, finally.

"Bow, Evan Engenulf Rosier. Bow, and remember all you have forsaken."

Unbelievably, Evan prostrated himself, the awkward angle of his arm a testament to the pain he must be enduring to do so. The whip crack that sounded loudly in the room was all the more stunning for the sheer absence of a tangible whip. Nonetheless the evidence was there as a line seamed through his shirt, a red line evidence of it as it stung and burned its way through his flesh. Evan bore it stoically, and Tom's wand lashed again, this time placing a long laceration across the top of his shoulder and down his back. Hermione turned her head away, unwilling to watch as Lord Voldemort plied his wand with the vicious retribution which he felt Evan Rosier had earned. Finally she heard him cease, the wet rasp of Evan's breath reedy and troubled. Voldemort leaned down, his voice a mere breath in Evan's bloody ear.

"Now, are you prepared to serve me?"

Evan raised his head minutely to meet Voldemort's gaze. "In all things."

Voldemort raised his chin. "Very well."

Olivia was horrified, but Hermione could perceive the resolute air in Evan's countenance. Her husband drew back, again coolly clinical as he surveyed the broken pair. "You will return tomorrow, and you will bring Christine, and Madame Strout."

"Yes, my lord," Evan said hoarsely, bowing his head deferentially.

"The price is high, Evan." Voldemort's cold reminder stopped Olivia, who was stumbling forward to help her husband as much as possible.

"I live to serve you, my lord." Evan's eyes were clear, resolved.

"Yes, you do. Do not forget that again."

With that less than subtle reminder, Voldemort swept from the room.

It was difficult to know how to broach the subject of what had happened during the Rosiers' visit. Hermione found herself waiting for Tom to come to their bedroom late in the evening, unable to sleep without talking about the frenzied loss of control he had experienced. She was certain he was avoiding her for the same reason, but she was determined to remain awake until he came back. She had instructed Verity to bring her tea every twenty minutes, and to waken her if she fell asleep in the interim. Thus far she had sent back six cups of cold tea, but she was doggedly determined that they would talk about what had happened today.

When he finally reappeared in their chamber, it was clear that he had exhausted himself again, his magic subdued and washed out like the pale pastel colors of a sunset in the immediate aftermath of a sea storm.

"Was it wise to deplete yourself so thoroughly after the events of today?" Hermione saw no merit in wasting time getting to the heart of the problem. He turned his head slightly toward her as he waved his wand over his robes, changing into his nightclothes.

"I see no purpose in this discussion," he said aloofly, but she noted the tremor of his hand as he placed his wand on the nightstand.

"Don't play games with me," Hermione retorted sharply. "We both know that you were out of control today. I want to know what happened."

He turned away from her entirely, his fist clenching and then smoothing out, his gaze fixed on it absentmindedly. "It is a strange thing, this new flesh. Visceral impulses crawl beneath the surface, teased forth by events, whispered contacts with things best forgotten... There is a reason no other Knights survive."

His hand clenched into a fist again, then relaxed as he felt Hermione clasp him around his waist, laying her head between his shoulder blades, the baby pressing into his lower back.

"Tell me."

His head dipped down in acknowledgement of her request. He brought his hand in to clasp her arm, welcoming the calm fusion between them. It was so easy when their magics were at rest, more difficult if either were experiencing a heightened peak alone.

"The Dark Mark is a solution to a problem. I knew I wanted to bind my servants to me, but the magic I used to bind my Knights left me too exposed to their emotions. It is part of why I traveled so extensively after Hogwarts."

He did not need to explain further. Evan had to be left intact, to protect her. Hermione closed her eyes against the flood of warmth through their bond, from her to him. He tightened his grip slightly on her arm, the rush of acceptance soothing him.

"Do you not find my emotions troublesome, then?"

He thought carefully before replying. "Your emotions are difficult to understand. You forgive me far too easily, and extend grace with such apparent ease. They are entirely foreign to me, but not…unpleasant to experience."

She was quiet for a bit. He seemed more secure in their bond, and with their relationship. She, on the other hand, was confronted more and more with the often brutal methods he employed to get his way in the wizarding world. Just because he was not killing wizards indiscriminately did not make him a pleasant person to contest. She felt the brush of his mind at the flicker of disquiet from this thought, and he lifted her hand to place a kiss on her fingers.

"I do not mind you arguing with me."

Her breath whooshed out, warm against his back. "I know."

He settled her hand against his heart, the steady thump his quiet way of reminding her that he was as human as she, not a monster. She tucked her head back in against his back and decided to change the subject.

"Did you work on the house?"

"Mmmmmm." He didn't mention that he had used the remembered rage to force the structure and wards to incorporate the ruins of the Gaunt homestead as the basis for a different wing. Pict and serpentine magicks were co-existing now in the bones of the structure, the wards a completely different kind than had been seen before. It was trickier than anything he had encountered, but it seemed fitting for their odd harmony as a couple. "The rest of the building will go up quickly now. The wards are completed."

Her hand stilled in its quiet stroking of his stomach.

"And what of Lucius when we leave?"

He turned around to face her now, his hands sure on her belly. When he looked at her, his expression was serious.

"Severus needs the Mala mujer, and Lucius will deliver it or die. I will tear apart the entire country if necessary to turn out the Longbottoms. I don't believe we can wait for this little one to reach full term, between your early labor and my..." he trailed off, the tic of his temple the only sign of his anger at the weakness his body now suffered.

Hermione pinched the bridge of her nose. "The potions required to make him ready for birth will endanger your control even further."

He lifted her chin. "It is a risk I am prepared to take."

"This is a mistake."

Severus ignored her and turned in a tight circle, awaiting Lord Voldemort's return with Lucius Malfoy. Hermione pressed on regardless.

"I am quite certain that Lucius will not be able to deliver. If he had been able to persuade Neville to show him the location of the house, Lucius would have already delivered it."

Snape raised an eyebrow at that. Privately he felt that Lucius' obsession over the means of Hermione's time travel and marriage to the Dark Lord was the best evidence of his failure, but he kept his thoughts to himself. "If that is true, what do you propose? The Imperius curse is not third party permissible, and the type of mind games that Lucius has been playing have likely only hardened Longbottom's resolve to resist him."

Hermione rubbed the persistent ache behind her forehead. Voldemort had wasted no time in consulting Miriam and Severus after the healing of Christine Rosier, and as a consequence she was now taking three potions to help speed the baby's lung development. The potions left her with frequent headaches and sometimes blurred vision, but when Voldemort had come dangerously close to another lapse of control in the presence of Evan, she agreed the danger was too great to ignore. Evan was now burying himself in the scrum of lower level followers, those who aspired to Death Eater status but had not been granted the Mark. He would ferret out the truth about the rebellious among the Death Eaters with deadly precision, aided by his years of experience with less than salubrious items and spells in the Department of Mysteries.

"I'm missing something…there has to be an easier way to do this," she muttered to herself.

"Calm yourself. The Dark Lord will not appreciate you being in an irritable state."

Severus' unctuous, pragmatic drawl irritated her more than ever today. Irritable state, ha! He had no idea what irritability looked like.

"Try dealing with my parents, who are being impossible about finding a new home in Scotland…" she muttered under her breath. Her parents were being unreasonable in the extreme. They didn't want to sell their surgery, they were upset about selling their house, they didn't like Dundee, why couldn't she erect magical protections like Augusta's on their house, why could they not know where she was going to live...the list of complaints was endless. She had been tempted to sic Voldemort on them again, but only in her weaker moments.

"You'll forgive me for not finding your Muggle relations' ire comparable to your husband's," Snape replied with maddening calm. "They should be grateful to still be among the living and under the protection of the Dark Lord's house."

Severus' words echoed in her brain. The protection of the Dark Lord's house…

"That's it!"

Her feverish exclamation unexpectedly punctuated Voldemort's arrival, a decidedly wan and unkempt Lucius nervously in tow. He looked at her pointedly, clearly about to speak.

"I know what we need, or rather, whom we need," Hermione said quickly, preempting whatever her husband had been about to say and ignoring Severus' eye roll. "We need Draco."

Voldemort stilled Lucius with an upraised hand, the elder Malfoy's jaw snapping shut prudently before he could say whatever had been about to leave his mouth at the perceived threat to his son. "Explain."

"My parents. Draco found my parents and Harry at Neville's house. He tracked Harry there. He can get past the Mala mujer enchantments."

Hermione's eyes sparkled from the pleasure of solving the problem, eliciting a brief flash in Voldemort's eyes before he turned to the elder Malfoy. "Well, Lucius, let's go collect your son, shall we?"

Lucius stammered something unintelligible, following blankly behind them into the Floo. Hermione gripped Tom's arm harder as they arrived, the disorientation of Floo travel exacerbating her headache. He cocked his head at her in question, but she shook her head in the negative. She was fine. She had to be.

"My lord," Draco said, hastily bowing before the unexpected presence of the Dark Lord in his home. He paled when his father followed them, then Severus Snape.

"Draco. Your assistance is required to fetch a potions ingredient."

Draco's gaze darted to Snape, who shook his head minutely. Hermione did not see Harry, but she did see the flare of mercury in his eyes when Voldemort issued his command.

"Of course, my lord." Draco bowed again subserviently, and as he rose Hermione could see that he was struggling between asking what to do about Harry, and fearing to draw attention to his presence somewhere in the house. Tom's attention, however, had already snapped along to the necessary details.

"Lucius, I trust that your hold over the Longbottom boy will be sufficient in close proximity to gain entry to the greenhouse."

"Yes, my lord," Lucius said hoarsely, stealing a quick glance at his son although he kept his head bowed. "I will deliver the plant."

"More to the point, you will deliver my wife and Severus to the plant…and if you do this, all will be well." Voldemort turned, raising Lucius' head with a firm grip on his chin. His eyes gleamed red as he spoke. "I will hold you personally responsible for any injury to my wife. Am I understood, Lucius?"

"Yes, yes my lord. I live to serve you." Lucius clasped his arm fervently over his chest, his countenance a bit crazed.

"Of course you do." Tom's tone was cool, cutting. His attention whipped to Severus.

"You are responsible as well."

Severus nodded with far more acuity than Lucius possessed at present.

"My lord—" Draco began, but he was interrupted by another voice.

"Malfoy, I—"

Harry stood stock still in the doorway, his fists instantly clenched by his sides as he took in the four additional figures in the room. Draco's eyes flashed pure silver as Hermione's mouth dropped open slightly.

"Ah, Harry. It has been so long since I've had the pleasure of your company." Voldemort settled himself with a swirl of his robes into a chair by the fireplace, the Elder wand dangling lazily from his fingers. It was the casually elegant pose that reminded Hermione of a snake mesmerizing its prey. "Please, do sit. I have been looking forward to a little chat with you. Rest assured, Draco, Harry will not be left alone while you run your…errand."