Wow, only 1 day late! Busy week here, I hope you were all well. I will get right to review replies after this. I will warn you that this chapter is dark, and might be unpleasant to read. Mind magic is nasty stuff, and add in Voldemort and Harry's little tete-a-tete...ouch. Just wanted to give you a heads up. To quote LV, "I only ever do what is necessary." Let me know if it was everything you dreamed/thought/worried it would be.

Voldemort did not even use his wand, a simple gesture of his hand propelling Harry awkwardly forward until he sat woodenly in the chair opposite him, clearly deprived of all movement of his limbs. Voldemort's attention snapped to the four of them. "Well?"

His raised eyebrow eloquently expressed his irritation at their continued presence, and Hermione was the only one exempt from its implicit warning. Severus whirled into action as a consequence. He grabbed Lucius by the arm, who seemed to come to his senses, haughtily removing his arm from Snape's hold and pulling down his jerkin.

"Yes, my lord. Draco?" Lucius' voice trembled, ruining the effect he was trying to achieve with the haughty tone.

Hermione saw how white Draco's knuckles were, and she caught Voldemort's eye. He saw it too, his wand ready to flash, like a lit match next to a fuse. Lucius laid a hand on Draco's arm, forcing him to break eye contact with the Dark Lord.

"Draco, my son, let's finish this."

Lucius' tone was wheedling, conciliatory, and more than a touch panicky. The quietly desperate air of his father must have finally sunk in, because Draco's fingers relaxed infinitesimally. His attention shifted to Hermione, and she pleaded with him wordlessly to comply. Whatever he saw in her brown eyes must have reassured him slightly, because he nodded jerkily and straightened his own jacket, composing himself before bowing briefly to the Dark Lord and allowing Lucius to drag him from the room with one more sycophantic bow. Severus arched an eyebrow in question, then bowed his own exit at the Dark Lord's wordless glance. Hermione looked at Harry, who was clearly discomposed but trying manfully to remain calm in his motionless, stupefied state.

"I'll come back here." Hermione did not phrase it as a question, her way of stating that she would see Harry's condition when Voldemort was done with him.

"Of course, my prize," Voldemort replied, catching her by the forearm and pulling her down so he could kiss her in a thorough manner. Her cheeks flushed hot, she broke the kiss before it got too heated, the weight of Harry's unspoken opprobrium heavy in the air.

"Do be careful of our son," he said silkily as she drew back, his hand stroking her ripe belly lazily once before he released her, his eyes fixed on Harry. Hermione exhaled, knowing exactly what Voldemort was doing. She turned to Harry, wanting to say something to him but not knowing precisely what. Harry's jaw was tight, and his eyes moved, staring past her shoulder, as if she weren't in the room.

"Watch your mouth, Harry James Potter," she said quickly by way of warning him, then left the room before she could witness the start of what Voldemort was going to do. She'd rather not hear how he was going to begin paying Harry back for all the trouble he had caused.

When Hermione left, Harry felt the breath shudder out of him. He didn't deny that it felt like the worst sort of betrayal to see Hermione lose herself however briefly in Tom Riddle's lascivious attentions. He had never thought of her in that way, but the sight of Voldemort taking full pleasure in the control he had over her made him sick. Rationally he knew that Riddle was only doing it to get at him, but his emotions were hard to control.

Voldemort held up his hand, turning it as if holding a doll, which turned Harry's fixed gaze directly onto him. He tilted Harry's head slightly to the side, sardonic amusement on his face.

"I see Draco hasn't bitten you yet. Tell me, Harry, would you like it if I ordered him to do it? To finally claim you?"

"That's none of your business," Harry said with as little expression as he could allow to bleed into his voice. "And you can't order him to claim me. I know enough about Veelas to know I have to be willing."

Tom's feral smile was back, and he was in Harry's mind before he could blink, his wand held at an inquisitorial angle. He riffled through Harry's memories of Draco, from his first sullen moments at Andromeda's house to his care of Harry after bringing him to this house. A gasped cry of pain escaped him before he could cut it off as Voldemort left his mind harshly. He sat back against his chair, the tip of the Elder wand dipping down again as he laughed at Harry.

"Oh yes, Harry, you have to be willing… Have you learned nothing from dealing with Slytherins? Exactly how far has Draco burrowed into your mind already? Was it not suspicious when he went along with all of your plans without complaint? Did you not stop to wonder when you felt your attraction to Ginevra falling away? He has probably been assaulting your senses since the moment he recognized what you were. How long will it be before you are begging him for his cock?"

The litany of jibes was nothing more than Harry had already asked himself. A flush slid up his throat at the crude, mocking words, but he remained silent. Voldemort continued to taunt him ruthlessly.

"Yes, he's already gotten a hold of you, I can see it. You don't like it, but his instincts are a powerful thing, Harry, driving him to do whatever it takes to make this palatable for you, to make you see him as more than a spoilt little boy used to getting his own way. He's molding himself into whatever you need him to be, with the express purpose of getting you to beg him to put his cock in you so he can bite you and seal your fate. He'll have you writhing with want, begging, until he graciously accedes and thrusts himself into your arse—and you won't mind the pain because he will be all you can think about. And when you can't stand the pleasure he's giving you with his cock, when your ass squeezes him tight as you come from the unbearable pleasure, he will sink his fangs into your pretty throat, injecting you with venom that will forever change your magic and your mind. Do you know what that means, Harry?"

Harry wanted to look away, but found that the ability to move even his neck had been taken away from him. He sat, tight and hot with anger, unable to look away from the wizard who had tormented him almost from birth.

Voldemort leaned forward, a malicious, cruel expression in his eyes. "It means you lose your inheritance, Harry. Your magic changes permanently to accommodate your Veela mate, to be compatible with his. You will, in essence, become a Malfoy by magic, and anything you inherited from Godric Gryffindor will be forever lost. It will be the end of the Potter line—I've made sure of that, and good riddance."

"Fuck you," Harry said hotly, the heat rising to his cheeks as his anger forced its way out by the only means available to him.

"Crucio!"

It was quick but effective, his body spasming in the chair as his eyes rolled back in his head from the agony igniting his every nerve. Voldemort stopped the curse, his wand sinking gracefully back to the padded arm of the chair.

"Now Harry," he said softly, "we must observe our manners. Do try to remember what my wife said."

The flat, featureless moor was covered with snow, and there wasn't a sign of human habitation for miles. Draco shook himself free of his father's hand, striding forward toward an unseen destination. Hermione shook her robes as a pretense to cover the dizziness caused by the long distance apparition as they followed the tracking spell on Draco. Severus eyed her suspiciously, but she swept her head up and made to follow Draco. Her attempt at independence was stymied by the thick snow cover, and Severus cast a stabilizing charm on the snow before she could do so, catching her arm before she fell.

"Thank you."

Snape ignored her, his attention fixed on Draco, who was slowing about thirty yards ahead.

"It's here," Draco said hoarsely. "I can't get through because Harry isn't in there any longer."

Severus turned to Lucius. "Lucius, do you have enough control over the boy to force him to incapacitate his grandmother and not resist our entry?"

Lucius nodded. "Yes. He will fight me, but I can keep him out of the way, and get Augusta Longbottom stupefied by his wand."

"Do it."

The cold words came not from Severus Snape, but Hermione Riddle. If Draco, Lucius, or Severus had had any doubts about whose side she was on, they were gone now. The headache thrummed steadily in her skull, but Hermione's face was coolly determined. "Draco, when we get in, make sure Augusta is secured, then keep your wand on Neville. I don't want any trouble if he breaks free from Lucius."

Draco nodded, and Hermione's cool gaze swept over Lucius to Snape. "Severus, you and I will tackle these protective spells as soon as Lucius has Neville compliant."

"Of course, my lady." There was real, measured respect in his tone, and Hermione was grateful that they had bridged the awkward transition from former student to his lord's wife.

Lucius settled himself into a cross-legged pose on the snowy ground, then closed his eyes and clutched his wand tightly as he began mentally calling to the Longbottom boy.

"Gran?"

The world tilted in a freakish way, all colors bleaching out to black and white and a hundred shades of grey. Neville shook his head, but it wouldn't clear, the grey fogginess persistent and sharp.

"Gran?" he called out again in a more panicked tone, but silence was the only reply. The details of the room faded away until he was surrounded only by a grey mist, his words echoing emptily as he called out for someone, anyone. Finally a figure began to emerge from the mist. It was hard to make out who it was, the edges of the figure blurring. For a wild second he thought—

"Papa?"

The dark edges began to sharpen, the dark shadows solidifying into well-cut, expensive robes. Neville's heart hammered as he looked up into the eyes of Lucius Malfoy.

"Neville Aloysius Longbottom, you've been a very naughty boy, haven't you?"

Neville's breath seemed to go wild all at once even as his knees hit the carpet, his head bowing from the strain of the magic pulsing through his mind.

"Yes, master. Please, forgive me, master!" One part of him still raged against this…this, monster, even as the sick platitudes fell from his mouth.

He felt a hand grab and cruelly twist his hair, an unbidden cry of pain falling from his lips. "All will be forgiven, pet, if you just do two things for me…"

"I have him."

The quietly murmured words from the Malfoy patriarch were what they had been waiting for.

"In loco congelata, quem tremeret seorsum, et tendunt arcum—" Severus pinned the protective spell fiercely, forcing it to abandon its efforts to fling them away unaware. For all his derision of 'tedious wand waving', he was quite adept at spellcasting, and this showed it. Hermione waited for him to ruthlessly squelch every protective aspect of the protections, then brought her own wand to bear on the wards. She was unaware of the picture she presented to Draco, her wand flying with the whiplash speed that had only been seen in the Dark Lord himself, her magic a powerful undercurrent to the massive magicks that Severus was capably wrestling to submission.

Lucius remained on the ground, his eyes closed as he forced Longbottom jerkily to his feet as the first shudder of magic sounded an alarm in the house.

"Neville!"

Neville swung around to face his grandmother, exactly as she would expect him to do. His face was oddly blank, however, and Augusta had enough presence of mind to bring her own wand up against her grandson.

"You're too late, Augusta."

The words were haunting, born as they were on Neville's voice, and Augusta parried Neville's—no, the monster's curses—as her lips prayed for help from Phineas, someone, anyone. The magical protections around the house were shuddering wildly around them, and Neville got her under her arm with a Stupefy, causing her fall sideways, jarring her hip hard on the sewing table on her way to the floor.

Neville almost blacked out, the surge of magic through his mind causing him to cry out again in pain, stumbling to his knees next to his Gran.

"I'm sorry Gran, I'm sorry," he managed to whisper before Lucius viciously yanked on his hair, his whole body jerking backward as if someone were actually there pulling his head back with a snap.

"Now, now, Neville, that was very naughty. You will have to be punished."

The screams of his parents began to echo again through his head, rising dizzyingly in volume. He didn't realize it was his own screaming.

"Ah." Voldemort's sigh of satisfaction was quiet, but it echoed through the room as Harry struggled to regain control over his breathing after the Cruciatus. Every nerve twitched, but he couldn't afford to ignore Voldemort. "I had forgotten how satisfying it is to Cruciate you, Harry."

Harry's body twitched again momentarily under the Cruciatus, but Voldemort simply laughed. "Come now, Harry, do not tempt me so! I did promise my wife to leave you mostly intact, at least this time."

Harry eyed him steadily, forcing his breathing to even out by sheer willpower. It never helped to be subservient to Riddle in his experience. "I don't think any less of her for succumbing to your lies. Ginny reminded me that you can be poisonously charming when you wish to be."

An unholy amusement lit Voldemort's expression. "And you think I have been poisonously charming to Hermione?" He laughed once, then flicked his wand, images and sounds filling Harry's mind. "Allow me to show you otherwise. You underestimated her, Harry, and you took her for granted. I assure you, I found her quite…challenging in her own way."

Harry was blinded, the sensation of falling into a Pensieve possessing his optic nerves with a suddenness that made him want to vomit.

He saw Hermione falling to the ground, an expression of pain on her face while her mouth moved soundlessly.

Harry knew this curse, felt the chill ignite more fevered twitches from his own abused nerves. The memory continued unrelenting, tormenting him.

Hermione screamed in pain when a hand with elegant fingers drove a dagger into her shoulder, the blood pouring from the wound as an equally elegant voice continued talking.

"Do you recognize this dagger, Hermione? I found it in your body, exactly that way, the night you arrived."

She was crying, begging him to stop. He didn't.

"Legilimens."

She resisted him. She resisted him! Harry's mind gloried in that for the briefest of seconds until he saw her again twitching—by his feet. She was intriguing: a combination of pain, fear, anger, and iron will. This was different, new…so hardened! She was in such immeasurable pain, her body convulsing and straining so hard it was a wonder she didn't snap a bone, her hair soaked in her own blood, which spurted out in odd intervals when the right combination of muscles clenched hard under the curse.

"You bastard!" Harry ground out through his teeth, and had his own head thrown back by the Cruciatus again for his trouble.

"Behave, Harry," Voldemort admonished, pulling him ruthlessly into another memory.

The room blurred, transforming into a rubble strewn street.

"You think me ignorant of the Muggle world, girl? I know it far better than you."

He shoved her against a tumbled down wall, the fear in her eyes warring with her stubbornness. Voldemort's voice was harsh, unyielding.

"I know what you've been through, Hermione. I know exactly what sorts of things you have been through little witch…you are just. Like. Me."

"I'm nothing like you." Her voice was brave, but it trembled.

She was lying. He could see it in her eyes.

The world blurred again and Harry found himself in a field, watching two figures writhing under curses from impassive, slightly distant figures.

"Stop! Stop!"

He viewed her dispassionately. This is what it took to break her to his will—so be it.

"I think not."

She fought back admirably, but she was no match for him. He broke through to grab her wand mid-cast, absorbing the energy of the curse with some effort.

"Temper, temper, Hermione…or do you really want to be responsible for this?"

He felt it all: her helplessness, her anger, her fear, her unwilling, uncompromising desire, that finally, FINALLY turned to its proper place. Him. Her magic was offered, a delicious, endless bounty, all for his taking.

Harry jerked as he left the memories, his mind racked with phantoms of feelings from the submission of his best friend to the menacing wizard opposite. Voldemort leaned forward, his lips ghosting into an approximation of a smile.

"You didn't know that, did you, Harry? That she fought me every step of the way. That she twisted and turned this way and that, seeking with all her might to avoid falling into my power. You thought her so weak, so gullible. Did you honestly think she bound herself to me without knowing what it meant?"

Harry's conscience pierced him with guilt, because that is what he had thought. He was dizzy from the force of Voldemort's memories, and his magic was crawling like a thousand ants on his skin from the proximity to him, the anathema cultivated by the Horcrux he'd harbored causing him to feel unclean, not entirely himself.

"I think you would stop at nothing to get your way," Harry replied, his voice quavering. "And you don't care whom you trample in order to get there."

Voldemort sat back, regarding him with pity. "What a fool you are, Harry Potter. My wife bound herself to me in an attempt to save you and the Longbottom boy; and in the process she delivered you both right into my hands."

Hermione felt Severus' magic shudder as the protection charm fought back. Her respect for his abilities grew as he twisted his magic with it, bluffing the charm in a way so that he again grabbed it fully, keeping the charm from activating with a cunning feint. She felt inside herself, almost as though Tom, Voldemort, was there, his hand on top of hers as she cast. Remembrances of his magic shivered through her casting, quiet susurrations that led her unerringly to the lynchpin of the wards. She began to hear a shrill screaming, tuned it out because she had to.

"I've got it," she said quietly, her magic falling through the ward, causing it to crack and dissipate with an audible whoosh.

"Well done," Snape said shortly, drawing his own wand down as the charm vanished along with the wards. The screaming was unremitting, and Hermione realized that it was coming from inside the house.

"It's Neville." It was Draco, speaking in a low tone beside her.

"Stop it," she said forcefully, watching Snape cross to Lucius, still cross-legged on the ground. Lucius' eyes flitted open, mocking her briefly.

"Ah, time to go, I see."

The screaming stopped abruptly as Lucius got to his feet. Hermione stole another glance at Draco, but his face was as guarded as his thoughts. Lucius played with his wand as if conducting an orchestra, belying the tremendous energy he was pouring into the effort of controlling Longbottom.

"Open the door."

Inside the house, Neville got up, obediently closing his mouth and moving to the entrance hall as his grandmother watched him, stunned and motionless on the floor. He couldn't hear her anymore, the compulsion to obedience overriding every native thought.

"Ah. Neville."

The twisted, distorted part of him that held him in thrall forced a "Master," from his lips as he prostrated himself at the feet of Lucius Malfoy.

"Enough, boy. We want to see the gardens."

Neville stumbled upward, tripping over his own feet in his haste to get to the back door and show his master the yard. He cut his lip on his teeth without realizing, his lower lip bloody as he beamed again at his…monster.

He shook his head, and Lucius twitched his wand, causing Neville to moan and stumble. "Quickly, Neville. You do want to please me…"

Neville's fingers fumbled for the latch of the door. He was vaguely aware of other figures there, but none so dark as the Other, the one he feared even more than his master. His master would protect him, reward him, give him relief from the pain throbbing in his skull.

Hermione bit her lip as Neville winced, the blank lassitude Lucius was forcing on him overtaking him again swiftly. Neville, Neville, I'm so sorry! His brief spurts of rebellion gave her hope that he could recover with enough help. Lucius hadn't fully broken him. It stung briefly, the realization that Neville would have been better off if it had been Tom who had dealt with him exclusively. Neville would never have been deceived as to his intentions.

They moved swiftly to the back of the garden, where a large hawthorne hedge threatened to overtake a ramshackle garden shed.

"Let us in."

Neville cowered. He didn't know what he wanted, didn't know what he meant.

"I…can't," he said in anguish, feeling the lash of pain. "I don't know what it is! I don't know what's back here!"

Lucius twisted his wand and Neville crumpled to the ground. Draco stepped over him and cast an incantation, poking carefully.

"It's a blood ward." His tone was flat but businesslike, his body shivering not from the cold but an impatience that practically screamed, 'let's get this done!'

"Mrs. Longbottom," Severus said, testing the ward himself as Draco disappeared briefly, returning with the levitated form of Neville's gran.

Lucius wasted no time in cutting Augusta Longbottom's thumb, flexing the stupefied digit back so there was a brief spray of blood toward the gap in the hedge. There was a flex of energy as the ward collapsed, and Hermione was grateful that the elder Malfoy had used some restraint in releasing the ward. It reminded her of Abraxas' flinch at Tom's entrail-expelling curse—the Malfoys were not as cold-blooded as they seemed. There were some graphic descriptions in some of Tom's texts of the ways in which blood wards could be brought down, and she suspected the method used had more to do with the squeamishness of the ward breaker than the effectiveness of the approach. As well it was doubtless impractical for Augusta to use something terrible for a greenhouse she would have to visit on a regular basis to care for the plants.

"Allow me," Lucius said graciously, but he really meant, 'allow Neville'. He forced Neville to his feet and through the entrance to the greenhouse, the rest of them following save Mrs. Longbottom, whose thumb was still bleeding into the snow.

"Episkey," Hermione said as she passed her hand over the spurting wound, hardening herself against the look of betrayal in the elderly woman's eyes. "I'm sorry."

She didn't look at her again. When she stepped into the wet warmth of the greenhouse, she recognized a number of rare specimens. Neville looked stunned, as if he couldn't believe that his gran had kept this from him for his whole life. Given his love of Herbology, it probably felt like the worst kind of base betrayal.

"Relax your hold on him," Hermione ordered, making her voice imperious while her heart pounded. Lucius nodded agreeably, but there was a hard glint in his eye that said he still did not approve of her, of her position. She ignored him, turning her attention to Severus and Draco.

"Draco, find the mice. There will be a cage with mice around somewhere. We need them. Severus, dragonhide apron and gloves."

No one needed to be told to stay away from the plants. Hermione recognized the Mala mujer, its needled leaves and slow, hypnotic movement. She was certain she would not be able to manage a flower harvest in her pregnant state, and was thankful she did not have to try. All would depend on the mice, but she would wear the protective gear just in case, as she had to get close to release the mice.

"Here they are."

The cage held at least a dozen mice. After donning the apron and gloves, she picked one by the tail and looked up at Snape.

"At least six."

Severus nodded. "Perhaps a seventh, to be sure."

Well aware that Lucius and Draco were watching her with interest, Hermione stepped carefully toward the swaying plant. It was more mature than the young ones that Professor Beery had allowed her to help tend, and therefore more dangerous. She pushed the ache from her headache to the back of her consciousness, seeking that steadiness that had always helped her with delicate tasks. Godric knew she had gotten plenty of practice with that thanks to her husband. On the plus side, it had more blossoms, which increased the odds that they would get what they needed.

She could feel the rhythm of the plant now, stepped carefully forward with the mouse held gently in her gloved hands. It was like a dance, and she delicately dropped the mouse at the base of the plant and eased back just as carefully, only registering Neville's indrawn breath as she withdrew to a safe space just beyond the reach of the plant's limbs.

A collective hush settled over the waiting wizards as the mouse ran to the base and gnawed slightly at the plant. It looked like the mouse would certainly die, limbs moving with increased tempo, their syringe-like leaves whispering close enough to stir its fur. The mouse continued to chew, however, and finally the plant stilled, allowing the mouse to run straight up the stalk and to the nearest flower, where it chewed and happily sucked down the nectar therein. Hermione quickly held out her hands for the mouse, which ran eagerly to her as she stepped again into the safe area as the plant shook off its stupor and began moving once again.

"One."

She did not even look at Snape, who took the mouse without question. She knew what was happening—he was killing it and extracting its stomach in stasis, the precious nectar contained therein. He was intelligent enough to do so in a shielded manner, so the other mice did not know what happened to it. They were used to cage mates disappearing, or they ought to be.

The second proceeded in the same manner as the first. The third failed, a large leaf impaling it ruthlessly before it could make a dent at the base. She put a new mouse down, aware that the plant was a bit agitated now, then breathed a sigh of relief when it returned with a full tummy. The next, too, was successful. The sixth was not.

By this point the plant was looking annoyed, its pace of swaying stepped up markedly. Hermione checked again, but no, this was the only specimen of Mala mujer in the greenhouse.

"I'd have divided it had I known…" Neville whispered hoarsely before Lucius cut him off with a strangled noise.

"And so you shall when we are finished," Hermione said softly, selecting a timid mouse from the corner of the cage next. It took its time creeping around the base, before finally chewing at a spot hidden from view, finally receiving its reward of nectar, and its unfortunate end.

"One left. I don't think a seventh will be possible." She darted a look at Snape, who nodded in acquiescence. It was a safety measure only, the seventh—and highly unlikely to be acquired at this stage.

Although it pained her to do it, Hermione took a mother from the cage. Her babies were large, and could probably fend for themselves. The nursing impulse would impel her to succeed, however. She moved quickly with the plant, dropping the mouse off at the base with no impediment. She had to dodge a leaf swipe on her way, but made it safely back to watch the plant and mouse.

Lucius felt the beginnings of a thrill as the notion that they had actually succeeded began to permeate through his brain. He would resume his esteemed place by the Dark Lord's side. He would no longer have to deal with Bella's rantings and wild schemes, secure in his position once again. He could exert influence, suggest policy decisions. He could hold his head high once more!

Hermione watched the mouse tentatively nibble, her beady eyes darting around as she did so. She was cautious, wary, but the promised reward was too great to ignore. She sipped heavily from the cup of the flower, but not so much that she lost her footing on the way back down. Now came the hard part: retrieving her.

So lost was Lucius in his relieved, fevered imaginings that he did not notice the slight lessening of his control over Neville. It was not lost on Neville, however, who waited, a slow, murderous rage boiling up slowly through his system as he was torn between watching his tormentor and letting his starved eyes rove over the rare plant specimens surrounding him. The harsh jerk of the wand and obligatory pain caused his focus to snap to one object only. The world narrowed to the two of them: the wizard who had unmercifully tortured him for months, and his nearly broken victim. Neville didn't know where the idea came from, he just knew he had to do it, he HAD to. He shuffled closer to him, his eyes dull and vacant even as his brain whirled with the fever of revenge. Closer…closer…

Hermione was focused intently on the plant, unaware of Neville's creep. She began to move with the plant, her hands cupped in front of her with the promise of safe harbor to the mouse who waited at the base of the plant. Finally there, the mouse hopped eagerly into her hands as Hermione swiftly ducked her head, the leaf missing in its swipe. She began backing out carefully, keeping the mouse safe in her hands.

Neville's mind timed the undulations of the stalks, the bright, deadly green pinpricks of the leaves that were sharper than a falcon's talons and the source of unremitting, drawn out pain. There!

Time slowed as Neville shoved against Lucius, bumping him against the table, against the plant. Lucius was startled by the action, as was Draco, two wands leaping to action to subdue him, as Hermione cried out, a leaf impacting the dragonhide apron over her stretched belly with a vicious thwack. Severus' wand flashed, burning the leaf entirely as Hermione completed her journey away from the plant. Neville felt the vicious twist of pain in his mind, causing his knees to begin to crumple. It nearly obscured his view of the leaf that brushed through the elder Malfoy's hair, the kiss of the leaf against his neck like a brightly illuminated spot of tunnel vision for the millisecond it took to occur.

"Are you intact?"

Severus' grip was hard on her arm, and Hermione passed the mouse to him unthinkingly, reaching behind her with shaking hands to untie the apron. The needles from the plant were still embedded in it, piercing through the dragonhide slightly.

Neville closed his eyes against the unremitting pain, and so missed Lucius' annoyed flick of his hair from his shoulder as he stepped again to a safe distance from the plant…but inside his mind, in that secret, rebellious place, he laughed and laughed. Lucius ignored him, his attention focused entirely on the Dark Lord's wife, his pulse again hammering uncontrollably as panic threatened. This could be the end of them all, this one prick of a plant bringing success crashing down in a hollow mockery of a victory!

"I'm fine," Hermione said, moving her outer robes aside to reveal a piece of Muggle Kevlar hugging her frame, the remainder of the Mala mujer needles protruding from it as she ripped it off. Her voice was disgusted as her stare pierced Lucius Malfoy to the core. "Apparently Muggles are good at some things."

"Now, shall we discuss what I promised you the last time we saw one another? Speak up, Harry, or else I shall find some other way to amuse myself."

Harry did not miss Voldemort's fingers curling lazily around the Elder wand again. "What do you want?"

Voldemort seemed in a rambling mood, which boded well for Harry's continued survival if the past was any indication. He just needed to keep him talking and assuage his considerable ego. As much as it pained Harry to admit, he realized that Draco's return was his best hope of coming out of this encounter relatively unscathed. As such, he said a fervent prayer to the gods that Draco would get back quickly from his unspoken errand.

"What do I want?" Voldemort paused as if savoring the word. "I already have what I want, Harry…you must know this."

Harry would have shaken his head if he had been able to do so. He felt his magic, frustrated and impotent without a means to vent it. He clarified through tight teeth, "What do you want with me?"

A barely audible breath left Voldemort's lips. "I find your dueling…lacking, Mr. Potter—although I do find it interesting that you use a different wand now."

It was a simple thing to find the memory of his wand breaking in his mind, and he flinched as Voldemort left his mind again, eyeing him speculatively. Harry's eyes tracked the black hawthorne wand that Voldemort produced from thin air. The gesture was reminiscent of a Muggle magician, but so much more sinister given that Harry knew exactly how much talent was required to Conjure a specific item from an unknown location.

"This was formerly Draco's wand, was it not? He has a new wand from Ollivander. Applewood and a Veela hair core. Do you know the meaning of applewood, Harry? No, I doubt you would…you have never been a very studious fellow, have you? It's love, Harry. Fertility. Constancy of affection. Rather appropriate, is it not? And you now master his old wand! How the fates conspire against you, Harry Potter. Is it galling to know that the very thing that you taunted me about, I possess in abundance?"

"That's where you still have it wrong. Love is not a possession. It's a gift you give." Harry looked him in the eye as he said it, and didn't miss the shiver of anger in Tom's eyes.

"Crucio."

The curse was harder for every increased degree of softness in his voice. Harry screamed, and screamed, and screamed. He couldn't help it; his whole world compressed to one of pain.

"What do I want with you, Harry? Why, to teach you. My wife believes you can learn. Shall we see if she is right?"

Harry gasped as he was suddenly propelled to his feet, the chairs vanished and the room lengthening in a manner that made him dizzy. He felt his wand pressed into his hand, his body executing a mockery of a bow yet again.

"Now, Harry, do pay attention to my instruction. Perhaps you might live to see more than the end of my wand."

Hermione was tired, the relief from finally retrieving the Mala mujer nectar overshadowed by the painful costs to get it. She had to speak to Tom about releasing Neville from Malfoy's clutches, but before she could do that she had to see if Harry had, by some miracle, survived his hour with Voldemort without dying. Her headache was threatening to make a vicious comeback, so she let Severus side-along her back to Draco's house, setting her feet with determination upon arrival.

"Draco, let me."

She felt Draco following her at a scant pace, doubtless incapable of leaving the question unanswered despite any repercussions that he might face in doing so. She felt the shimmer of Tom's wards, breeched them without thought and continued into the sitting room, which had been transformed into something else entirely.

"Tom."

She hadn't the energy to shout, and it would have hurt her head anyway. Voldemort pulled his wand away from Harry, who quivered, his wand fixing about aimlessly.

"Come on, then! I'm still not afraid of you!"

His voice was hoarse, his body wracked with bloody lines and burns, and the telltale convulsions from the Cruciatus. Hermione realized suddenly why he wasn't attempting to cast, the words tumbling out as her mind made the connection.

"He's blind."

Draco tore past them both, folding Harry into his arms, his wand whipping quickly as he cast diagnostic spells, basic healing spells, warming spells on his mate.

Voldemort cracked his neck, his expression dispassionate. "There are none so blind as those who will not see. Come. We will leave Draco to pick up the pieces as best he may."