Good evening. Well, it has been a while. I am so sorry. By the end of a long fic like this, I feel like I've run a marathon creatively, which is why I am really leaning on reviews heavily to get everything done. That is not entirely why it has taken me over two months to get back to this, though-work has been more stressful than it usually is due to my increased responsibilities, and now I've got a medical issue requiring some additional tests. With any luck it will be nothing major, but I won't know until this week.

I want to thank all the reviewers so, so profusely. Really, you have cheered me up immensely. I am so thankful that you've kept reviewing, or you've come on to review lately, piped up to say you enjoy the story. I really needed that. It gave me the incentive to come back and wrestle with what I already had down, and to finish the major scene in this chapter. Your reviews do matter a great deal. I will try to reply as per normal after I post this, but just a general broadcast THANK YOU is due. So, after the long wait, I hope you like it! Let me know. Thanks ever so much for sticking with me and this story.

"Mind the step, Harry."

"Thanks."

Harry hated the dependence on Draco. They had actually had a fight over Draco's good behavior, of all things—Harry couldn't stand how Draco wasn't being his snarky self, but was instead treating him as if he were wrapped in glass wool. Worse still was the lurking suspicion that Draco had been Cruciated by the Dark Lord on his behalf, begging for his blindness to be lifted. Draco had been disappearing with regularity to 'visit home'. He offered the excuse that his father was unwell, but Harry didn't miss the tremors in Draco's hand one evening after he returned home and was helping him navigate to the kitchen.

"I have good confidence in this salve," Draco said, leading Harry to an armchair in the sitting room. He had banished the chairs that Lord Voldemort had used and the one he had imprisoned Harry in, replacing them with another set from the attic. There was a lingering musty smell to them that didn't seem to stay vanished, but Draco was pants at housekeeping spells, and there weren't any house elves to do it for him. Harry didn't make any complaint, however, and Draco had to be satisfied with the effort. Considering how infrequently he had extended himself on behalf of anyone before this whole situation with Harry, he concluded he was doing all right.

"Forgive me if I don't share your optimism."

Harry had endured the potion whose chief component was hippogriff urine, the lotion that made him feel as though someone was sticking hot needles in his eyes, and another potion that had caused him to vomit violently for a half-hour. Still he was bumping into things and incapable of seeing more than the very brightest of lights.

"I had help from Snape."

Harry said nothing, but his mouth set in that thin, mulish line that Draco knew meant he didn't approve. There was no use rehashing that argument either: Voldemort had won. That was it. Harry had to recognize that, and choose to move forward with a different kind of life. The thought of what Voldemort would do if Harry refused to bow to him when that time inevitably came was the kind of thing that gave Draco stomach ulcers and kept him awake at night. It was pointless in Draco's opinion to hold fast to some ideals about not using Dark magic when the world was suffused with it, and likely to remain so for the foreseeable future.

"Keep still." The admonition was unnecessary, as Harry was sitting so stiffly he could have been a statue. Mentally gritting his teeth at Harry's stubbornness, Draco began to carefully apply the salve to the seams of Harry's eyelids. "Blink. Blink more. That's it."

The salve spread out as it warmed and began to cover the surface of Harry's eyes: a thin, yellowish film that sparked slightly as it melted in.

"There's an incantation as well."

"Of course there is," Harry grumbled, but he was not feeling up to arguing at present. He had lately begun to wonder about a lot of things, and the prospect of permanent blindness was distressingly one of the least upsetting. He was more concerned by Draco's tight-lipped responses to his questions about what was going on in the world, and reluctance to share the details of his comings and goings. Draco still refused to give him back his wand, and the book reading spells were scant consolation for the complete upheaval of his life.

"Permano simul inconsutilis…permano simul inconsultilis…"

Harry's eyes began to glow with a yellow light from within, causing Draco to nearly stop the incantation in surprise.

"Draco, something's happening—it's growing lighter," Harry said, the first flash of real optimism coloring his tone. Draco finished the incantation and waited, his eyes fixed firmly on Harry's face.

"I can see you! Well, you're kind of blobby and pale, but it's clearing up…" Harry was truly cheered by the realization that his brain was actually processing images, not simply bright light.

Draco bit back the sigh of relief that threatened to escape. "Thanks a lot."

Harry couldn't help the broad grin that broke across his mouth. "You did it! Well done, Draco!"

As Draco's features came into focus, Harry realized that he looked decidedly worn down, dark rings under his eyes and wrinkles that hadn't been apparent before. Impulsively, Harry threw his arms around him, a sort of spontaneous thanks for not giving up on his eyesight. As he did, he became aware of Draco's body heat…the faint scent of his cologne…and the slight rasp from his invisible, blond five o'clock shadow. The sensations hit him intensely, like a slow motion film, and he pulled back, just that bit too slowly. His head turned involuntarily to look at Draco as he did so, and their eyes locked for a millisecond before Draco tilted his head just enough so their lips met.

It was sweet. It was a bit uncertain. It was…perfect. Harry's mind aimlessly tumbled through the realizations, the pleasure of the kiss satisfying in some nameless way. His conscious mind reasserted itself as though this were a flag of danger: It is madness!

"I can't do this!"

Harry broke away, a burst of accidental magic flaring without any control, stunning Draco. Harry stumbled back wildly, his brain not used to all the visual input again after its sustained absence.

"I can't do this," Harry said again, his gaze darting wildly around the room as Draco stumbled forward, trying to shake off the stunner and fully regain his senses. His eye fell on Draco's applewood wand, and without stopping to think Harry grabbed it and tested it with a brief flick before he glanced one last time at Draco, who was now fully compus mentus again and whose expression had changed to pure panic.

"Harry, don't!" Draco tried desperately, afraid of where Harry would try to go.

"I'm sorry," Harry said, disapparating from view.

"Carefully, now…smooth and steady drips, just, so…"

Hermione was glad she had cast a steady hand charm on herself before beginning the process of titrating the Mala mujer nectar into the cauldron. Severus was intent on the swirling potion, wisps of steam that would have made any other person hot and sweaty having no apparent effect on the potions master. He had insisted that the nectar would be most potent if added by the hand that had collected it, and Voldemort had waved her off, his attention fixed on a missive from Evan Rosier.

"That's it, keep going like that," Severus barked, reaching for the tincture of Akenati fungi that he had been steeping for a month. "I will stir—this is likely to bubble a bit."

That was an understatement. The potion seethed, large bubbles forming from the bottom of the cauldron and only just prevented from bubbling over by Snape's rapid stirring. Finally he finished adding the tincture, Hermione's hand still steadily dripping in the nectar for one, two, three more drops. She pulled back carefully, watching with held breath as Severus slowly withdrew the stirring rod and set it down. As the potion slowly ceased its circular motion, its color changed to a very pale lemon yellow, a golden sheen on the surface.

"That looks stable," Hermione said, raising her eyes to meet Snape's.

"Of course." Severus' self-satisfied air was probably well deserved. "Now it only requires the placenta."

"Do you have any news on Neville?" she asked in a low voice as she carefully set aside the dropper. While Voldemort was otherwise engaged, it was never wise to assume his continued absence.

"I have spoken with Mr. Longbottom," Severus confirmed in his maddening manner of dribbling out information.

"And?" Hermione's voice was tinged with more than a hint of demand, more evidence of her husband's influence. Mentally Severus conceded that she was far less onerous in her demands than was the Dark Lord.

"And it is possible that he may be useful in the greenhouses. Without Pomona there are certain tasks that are…languishing. While I would not trust him within a Quidditch pitch distance of a potions lab, he does have a certain degree of capability in Herbology."

Hermione let out her breath. "My husband has no objection to Neville working in some useful capacity."

Severus raised one eyebrow at her. "Do you think I would have even spoken with Longbottom without the Dark Lord's approval?"

She raised her chin. "And who do you think is responsible for that approval?"

Severus nodded once in the briefest of acknowledgements. He had no doubt who was responsible for Neville's 'rescue', if it could be termed such. He would just have to ensure that Longbottom had little contact with students until he was certain that the effects from Lucius' mental tortures were not going to cause problems. He could not resist needling her a bit, however, drawling his next remark as he cleaned the stirring rod with precision.

"I suspect you will have more difficulty with persuading him on the subject of Potter." Severus straightened suddenly, a grimace crossing his face. "I'm being summoned. Don't. Touch. Anything."

Casting a swift stasis charm, Severus exited the room in a swirl of robes.

Voldemort's eyes narrowed in irritation. Evan Rosier was due momentarily to report in detail on his progress uncovering the traitors in his ranks. Such tidings were never shared via any communication that could possibly be intercepted, but Evan was not at his immediate beck and call. Instead, he was forced to listen to the mistress of the manor and her concerns about Lucius. Narcissa Malfoy had apparently discovered her long-forgotten backbone and was insisting that Lucius was gravely ill. Voldemort was tempted to hex her just for the audacity to insist on audience. He would be quite glad to move permanently to his own home. He interrupted her angst-filled discourse impatiently instead.

"And what is Bella's opinion of your husband's condition?"

Narcissa's eyes twitched to the wand he drew from his sleeve, but she forced herself to look back at his face when she replied.

"Bella does not find any evidence of a curse, my lord. We are at a loss to determine what is happening to him—our healers cannot provide answers, my lord. I knew you must be told…"

"I want to see him."

Narcissa bowed her head. "Immediately, my lord."

Hermione left the potions lab. She was glad that their own house was nearly completed. Malfoy Manor remained an oppressive environment with the traitors yet to be unmasked. Every Death Eater was a potential enemy, and while some she privately held as more likely to be culpable, she would be ill-advised to push anything without proof. Her head throbbed slightly, proof of the stress the potions were putting on her body. On her last visit Miriam had advised Hermione to avoid strenuous spellcasting, which is part of the reason their house was not yet done. Voldemort would not let her lift a wand to help, and he was increasingly busy as the remaining vestiges of his opponents were being arrested due to the omnipresent tracking charms.

All Hermione wanted at this point in the day was a hot cup of tea, the only headache remedy she was allowed, and a warm fire. Or Tom. His magic soothed hers as much as hers did his nowadays.

It was not to be.

As Hermione exited the potions lab of Malfoy Manor, she heard a large commotion further down in the dungeons. A large and noisy crowd was making its way to one of the larger chambers. As she drew closer, she recognized Antonin Dolohov a few heads further on, and overheard snatches of conversation that chilled her:

"Well and truly caught now, he is!"

"Should be some fun before the Dark Lord is told—"

"It's his end, it is…"

Hermione was grateful for the dim light and her cloak. With her hood up, no one recognized her. She caught sight of Evan Rosier briefly, making a split second decision before allowing herself to be swept into the chamber with the rest of the raucous crowd.

The scene that met her eyes was every bit as bad as she had feared. She saw Fenrir Greyback, Antonin Dolohov, Calvin Yaxley, Gabriel Goyle, a few Snatchers and other scrum. Bellatrix had Harry, and he was not in good shape. Bella was cackling madly, casting another Cruciatus on Harry before continuing to gloat over the circumstances of his capture to the breathless spectators.

"Wittle…icky…Potter…thought he could sneak into Hogwarts again!"

Bellatrix's wand flashed with each pause, searing Harry's back with lacerations on each pass. Hermione's brain worked furiously. If Severus had been at Hogwarts, he would have known, but he was here working on the potion. It was possible Harry was apprehended in Hogsmeade, in which case no one who was able to do anything would know about it. Hermione edged slightly forward, hoping to get Evan's attention. Her ploy worked, and she exchanged a wordless glance with him before stepping forward, throwing her hood back as she did so.

"What is going on here?"

Hermione's voice was sharp, authoritative; and it carried throughout the dim recesses of the dank room where Bella held Harry under her wand. There was a murmur of surprise, and Hermione let her wand slip down her sleeve into her fingers.

Bellatrix looked up from Harry, who was prostrate on the floor, his face and back a mass of contusions and gashes.

"Well, well…if it isn't the Dark Lord's dirty bride! What an esteemed audience for our interrogation today." Bella paused to twirl around at the audience, exchanging glances with Dolohov and Greyback. "She can have no qualms about detaining her husband's biggest mortal enemy, wouldn't you say?"

Bella turned back to Hermione deliberately, her wand held with false nonchalance. "Or do you? Have qualms, that is?"

"Actually, I do." Hermione did not miss the way Dolohov's eyes narrowed at her pronouncement. He had not forgotten his punishment after their duel.

A chorus of derisive snorts and laughs greeted that proclamation. Hermione continued nonetheless, deliberately ignoring Harry and keeping all attention fixed on her. "You claim affection for my husband's wishes, yet I noticed you have not called him. If indeed this person is of such interest, why have you not summoned him?"

Evan Rosier was making his way behind the crowd, toward the door. He had no way of summoning the Dark Lord, but this was not a collection of folk who were entirely committed to his cause. There were very good reasons he kept company with this motley band of thugs and fools, and it looked like this would be the deciding nail in their collective coffins.

"The Dark Lord will be told, after we have determined this filth's—" she kicked Harry hard in the ribs, "—purposes. He does not disturb himself with the interrogations, does he? Lets all of us do his dirty work." Bella paused, aware of the effect of her words on their audience. Hermione knew that one of the things Evan had reported to Tom was how the agitators were stoking resentment by pointing out how little the Dark Lord involved himself with the prisoners nowadays. Of course, they conveniently forgot that this was because Tom was occupied reshaping the Ministry of Magic and overseeing the Wizengamot, as well as drafting new laws.

Hermione met Evan's eye again, letting her wand slip past her fingers, now clearly visible in her hand. "Are you saying Lord Voldemort isn't personally invested in his program of change? That he doesn't do enough?" Her voice was cold, her manner arrogant. "My husband explains his actions to no one."

There was a rumble as Hermione said Voldemort's name. Everyone present knew exactly what Hermione was accusing Bellatrix of, and the danger of contesting the Dark Lord's wife. Bella's eyes narrowed, and the angle of her wand tilted noticeably.

"How dare you accuse me of treason! ME! The Dark Lord's most faithful! She who rotted in Azkaban waiting for his return! The one who has served him more sacrificially than any other! And you, no more than a jumped up Mudblood that I tortured MYSELF before the Dark Lord took notice of you! Who are YOU to be elevated so far above your place?"

Evan Rosier knew that the Dark Lord would want to know about this immediately. He was still close enough to the door to sneak out with the aid of a Confundus charm, and he moved with the agitation o the crowd, inching toward the door. He was obviously not the only one betting that this would not end well, as others were attempting to surreptitiously leave the room. Fenrir Greyback closed the door with an ominous clang, folding his arms across his meaty chest.

Hermione hoped that some of the Death Eaters present would have the sense to summon Voldemort, but probably they would not. Dolohov hated her, and Yaxley's face was a mask of indifference. She held her wand at the ready now. She had dueled Bellatrix before, alongside Ginny and Luna—but this time, she had the benefit of Tom's training behind her. Bellatrix could be beaten in a duel. It was less certain how many would throw their wands in, however, there was no backing down now, with Harry broken on the floor. There was only one right thing to do.

"I am the Dark Lord's, in more ways than you will ever be."

Bellatrix snapped, a shriek of rage escaping her lips as the first curse flew from her wand.

Now thwarted in his progress to the door, Evan moved immediately to plan B. There were only four Death Eaters present, and one would have to be placed under an Imperius to summon the Dark Lord. He shifted back under pretense of seeing the unfolding duel between Hermione and Bellatrix more clearly, but instead he surreptitiously drew his wand. The closest Death Eater was Calvin Yaxley…he just had to get close enough to cast the spell.

Hermione deflected the curse from Bellatrix and cast two of her own. Bella was fond of twisted little jokes in dueling, like hitting her opponents with a sidesplitting curse and following it with a laughing jinx. Hermione had to avoid being hit, even if it meant sacrificing an opportunity to end the duel. This would be a battle of endurance. She was admittedly less agile now, and her head throbbed, but the focus required by dueling aided her, allowing her to focus her mind and her magic to powerful effect.

Bella nimbly dodged her curses and threw another, causing Hermione to jump to the side, the hem of her robe singed a bit. Bellatrix cackled gleefully, and Hermione's eyes narrowed. Let her see what she has wrought, she thought, channeling her magic and letting it stream from her wand with a kind of furious precision. A loud hiss filled the air as the serpent she conjured took shape, sinuously slithering around the room toward Bellatrix.

"Hasím hia psæ! Psæ taen!" The consonants would never slip smoothly from her tongue, but Parseltongue was passable enough for Hermione now, the benefit of Voldemort's tutelage and insistence on all the time with Nagini before the snake's death. The audience shrank back at this reminder of the Dark Lord's tutelage, but it was not enough to cause Dolohov, Yaxley, or Goyle to lay a finger to their Dark Marks.

The conjured serpent clutched Bellatrix tightly, causing the witch to shriek in anger. From the corner of her eye Hermione spotted several wands being drawn, and she cast again, this time a line of fire that rapidly ringed the room, her voice ringing out, clearly in anger. "No! This is between me and Bella! A witch has the right of vengeance when her mate bond is challenged!"

Evan used the opportunity provided by the crowd's collective step back from the flames to wrangle his way forward, just behind Calvin Yaxley. That was quite clever, Evan thought to himself when Hermione claimed infringement of her mate bond. She was casting the whole thing as a bitches' quarrel, thus securing the temporary stays of the wizards' wands and incentivizing them to view it as a type of entertainment. She had provided them with a plausible excuse, something that could be passed off as light folly, instead of the treason that it was. Clever, because no witch, no matter how great her tutor, can hold her own for long against an array of wands brought to bear against her.

Evan had little doubt that Hermione would hold her own long enough. Now, he just had to be sure her husband knew of this. He gripped his wand tightly, prepared for the initial, strong blowback as he cast the Imperius.

"I did not do it, Father, I swear! I—swear!"

Lucius Malfoy thrashed on the bed, sweat beading on his forehead as broken screams interspersed with his fevered denials of whatever past misdeed he was reliving.

"He has been like this for hours, my lord," Narcissa said anxiously, wringing her hands.

"Quite." Voldemort's tone was clipped, but there was little doubt that something was seriously wrong with the wizard. "Severus, we require a more trained eye in Herbology. You know what to retrieve."

"Yes, my lord." Severus bowed and exited the darkened bedchamber, glad that the Dark Lord had the sense to cast a silencing spell on the room. Voldemort ignored Narcissa Malfoy, training his wand on the thrashing Death Eater before him. Lucius had his flaws, which he had well mapped at this stage, but this did not bear the hallmarks of a latent, newly awakened curse. He sensed no Dark magic through his wand, merely a profound disturbance in the man's inner magic.

"This is not a curse," Voldemort clarified, his brow smoothing as the vague suspicion in his mind coalesced into a more solid hypothesis. "Something has grossly disturbed his magic, but it is not a spell. I believe I may know what it is."

Voldemort cast Morsmordre, clearly calling "Draco Malfoy" before he dissolved the spell with a single slash of his wand. It was a few minutes before Draco appeared, looking more haggard than usual. Voldemort put it down to nothing more than Draco's latest failed attempt at restoring Potter's sight.

"Draco. I want to see exactly what happened when you retrieved the Mala mujer." Voldemort Conjured his pensieve from thin air, placing it with a wave of his wand on the closest table.

"Yes, my lord."

As Draco was pulling the memory from his mind with a black wand, Severus returned, carrying a bulky, rectangular parcel. Voldemort's attention was fixed on Draco—something was not quite right. Severus' return snapped his attention away from Draco, and he angled his neck slightly to the side in a gesture of impatience. Severus removed the covering hastily, and the resulting portrait subject blinked at the sudden reappearance of light, then his brows furrowed heavily.

"Professor Beery. It has been such a long time since we have spoken. I wonder, could you perhaps describe for us the signs of dementia induced by accidental contact with Mala mujer?"

The professor's expression hardened appreciably. "It has been quite a while, Mr. Riddle. However, I suspect you know more than I about the means by which such a condition could be produced."

Evan was not disappointed in Calvin Yaxley. The wizard's brow instantly began to sweat as he fought back mentally against the curse. Lord Voldemort did not choose the weak. Evan could not see it, but Calvin's eyes darted around briefly, trying to determine who was attempting to Imperius him. Evan poured more magic into the spell, forcing Calvin's hand to stop in its quest toward his pocket and the reinforcement of his wand.

Bellatrix was not held long by the snake, a vicious cutting spell causing the serpent to disappear in a wraith of smoke.

"Jumped up bitch," she snarled, casting with a ferocity that saw Hermione temporarily relying more on defensive shield charms than offensive spells. Bellatrix falsely thought she was gaining ground, and Hermione willfully poked her temper again.

"Don't you mean 'knocked up bitch'?" she asked, prepared for Bellatrix's instant curse in reply. She dodged it with more agility than she had displayed thus far, and landed Voldemort's acid drops curse on the witch at full power. Bellatrix turned her head at the last second, screaming in pain as the droplets burned through the flesh on her cheek, eyelid, and temple.

Evan now had majority control over Calvin's body, although the wizard was still fighting him hard. He forced the wizard's right hand to begin traveling toward his left. Up, up. Now at his wrist. Yaxley was profusely sweating now, a droplet at his temple catching the dim light from one of the torches on the wall. Evan would have to hurry—someone was bound to notice, and soon.

Bellatrix was aware now of just how far Hermione had progressed in her dueling capacity since the battle at Hogwarts. She was less certain of victory now, and that made her meaner, angrier. She began directing curses at the baby as well as Hermione, the real source of her rage revealing itself.

There was a thrum in the air, the precursor to someone else laying a wand in or one of the duelists landing a permanent blow. Hermione's vision blurred briefly, causing the bond to hum inside, its latent magick agitated, sensing a dangerous situation. Hermione did not want Tom to come to her rescue again. She wanted to prove that she was able to take care of herself; and further, that she was prepared to defend her husband against the traitors within his ranks. She took a few more chances with her offensive casting, feeling the sting of a slicing hex but landing a debilitating blow to Bellatrix's hip, crushing the top of her ilium with another bone rending curse from the Maleficium.

Calvin Yaxley's hand was inching up the sleeve of his robe, his index finger shaking as he resisted touching the Dark Mark. He was only vaguely aware of the duel before him, his world narrowing to the sharply insistent voice in his head and the scrambling, mad refusal of his own mind. He was losing, could feel his finger moving toward his skin, that electric tingle from the nerves as flesh came into close proximity with flesh. Finally, his finger made contact with the Dark Mark, the charge of magic galloping and roiling under his skin evoking twinned sensations of pain and pleasure, echoed savagely by the voice telling him 'Well done' in his head. He was wildly angry at that, angry enough to throw off the curse with savage intensity, his hand flying to his wand as he spun around, looking for the perpetrator.

"Who did that? Who was it that Imperiused me?"

The little sideshow distracted the duelists not in the slightest, the realization dawning across the room like a wave that Yaxley was shouting about someone using the Imperius to force him to call the Dark Lord. Antonin Dolohov withdrew his wand in an instant, as did Gabriel Goyle. Evan took the opportunity provided to Imperius Goyle instead, whose mind blanked far more easily than had Yaxley's. Evan used Goyle's bulk to interfere with Dolohov, who appeared ready to cast at Hermione.

Bella's expression darkened, and Hermione knew that she was not going to stop with the possibility of hurting her so very close at hand. Both of their wands were flashing with a rapidity that few could match, and Hermione reinforced the magical flames keeping others from interfering by means magical or physical. She could feel Tom now, knew he was coming, and this would be over. She was prepared to let him deal with her, and intellectually knew that she needed to protect herself and the baby despite her own desire to prove herself better than this witch. Bellatrix must have sensed her resignation to defense, desperation rending her irretrievably committed. The witch charged her wildly, shrieking like a banshee, brandishing her wand and a knife—a knife Hermione recognized from that awful day in the drawing room of the Manor.

"You don't deserve him!"

Hermione cast an Impervious charm, causing the knife to ricochet off her, and giving her a chance to land a deep cut across Bella's shoulder, the Exsculpo an unforgiveable dark curse. Bella drew back to attack again with her knife, and Hermione prepared to deflect it. There was a compression in the magic of the room, the creation of a gap that Tom would fill in an instant, and it would be over.

Hermione's vision blurred as her shield was assaulted by a spell from Bellatrix's knife, the witch grappling with her wildly, their wands hissing with the force of the spells they were casting at each other. She was not sure if there were a spell Bella was casting, but she was forcing her wand through Hermione's personal shield, her wand jabbed directly at the baby. There was no choice any longer. Hermione twisted her wrist and aimed.

"Avada Kedavra!"

The words left her lips, but it was Voldemort's voice that rang out. Two jets of green light left two wands, but it was the spell from the Elder wand that permanently ended the existence of Bellatrix LeStrange. The witch fell away from Hermione, her face frozen in a rictus of surprise. There was something in her frozen eyes that Hermione could not bear, so she snapped her gaze to Tom, who was staring down the occupants of the room with the eye twitch that only boded death or dismemberment for those responsible for placing it there.

"WHAT is going on here?" Voldemort's eye traveled down, taking in the broken body of Harry Potter before him. "Who is responsible for this? Yaxley!"

The Death Eater in question stumbled forward, bowing grotesquely, suddenly, under the force of the Dark Lord's wand. "My lord! I summoned you as soon as it was obvious that Bellatrix intended serious harm on your lady! She claimed right of a mate bond infringement, my lord—we all thought it was to be a petty duel—"

"SILENCE!"

Yaxley quivered on the floor, the subject of an instant Cruciatus, which Tom then generously spread to all present in the room, save his wife. That Potter received some measure of it, he ignored. He would get to the bottom of that mess later—he was more concerned by Evan's presence. While the room was full of twitching, writhing wizards, he turned his attention to his wife, taking her by the elbow.

"You are unharmed?" His voice was tinged with suspicion. He could feel something tickling through her aura, but it was stable enough.

Hermione was breathless and a bit queasy from casting so heavily. Her magic was disturbed and Tom could sense that. "Yes. I think you will be less than pleased by my account of these events."

Tom's response was to turn up the power on the collective Cruciatus. She had almost forgotten that he was on the warpath, so intent was he on ascertaining her state of health. "Indeed."

He let go of her and grabbed Yaxley's chin, forcing his face upward even as his body twitched with the Cruciatus. "Legilimens!"

Yaxley was the first to fall as green flashed yet again from Lord Voldemort's wand.

"You are wearing a hole in your new carpets, my lady."

Hermione ignored Evan utterly. She had been banished to their new home, Tom being unequivocal in telling her that her presence was a danger to his temper as he dealt with what was left of his traitorous followers, and Harry. It had been a bloodless bloodbath, Tom's towering rage decimating the traitors before he ordered the remainder to be trussed up and held, the loyal Death Eaters summoned to oversee the clean up of the event. Hermione knew that Evan had given his full report to Tom immediately before their departure, and she worried that it would precipitate another dangerous loss of control before Tom dealt with Harry. She could only hope that Tom was not insensible with rage any longer, and could celebrate the victory of the plan to have Evan unmask the turncoats in his ranks.

"I cannot imagine why Madame Strout is not here, although I am less than certain as to the necessity of her presence. It is merely a backache."

Evan thrummed his fingers on the table, then pointed markedly to the tea Hermione was supposed to be drinking, as it included a calming potion. "I believe she will be sent here post-haste from her engagement with Lucius Malfoy."

"Why on earth does Lucius Malfoy require Strout?" Hermione turned to pace again, ignoring Evan's wordless command to drink the calming potion. The only person who had any ability to persuade her to do anything was her husband. She stopped in her tracks, aware of just how much power Tom held over her. But, she reasoned, she held the same amount of sway over him, and they were both very much still their own persons. A brief outward hiss of breath gave evidence that the temporary pause in her pacing was causing the spasms in her lower back to intensify. The pain was becoming hard to ignore, and the only thing that seemed to help was walking vigorously.

Evan was prevented from giving an answer by Tom's arrival, followed immediately by Miriam Strout and Severus, who clasped a vial of potion that wasn't even cooled yet, wisps of steam rising from the vial. Tom didn't even greet her, simply seized her forearm roughly, his magic demanding that hers fuse with his.

"Good evening to you as well, husband," Hermione said tartly, but her magic welcomed his. It soothed the jagged edges that had begun to manifest in her aura over the past hour, a phenomenon that she had never experienced before.

Voldemort let loose with a string of curses in Parseltongue, his aura visibly crackling with licks of black flame from the extent of his anger, which caused Severus, Miriam, and Evan to shrink back. He looked the white-faced Madame Strout directly in the eye, saying, "It is too late. Her labor has begun and the curse has activated. We shall have to mitigate it instead."

Hermione, who had not missed the violent upheaval in her husband's magic, was stunned to be told she was in labor. "I haven't had any contractions—"

"Have you been in pain?" Voldemort asked impatiently, not waiting for a response. "Here?"

His fingers unerringly sought out the disturbance in her aura, the precise point in her lower back from which waves of pain were periodically emanating.

"You know I have," she said, meeting his eyes for the first time since his return. He raised his brows in wordless, smug reply. "You really are a smug bastard."

Hermione's attention was fixed on Tom, so she missed the expressions of horror on the faces of Evan Rosier and Miriam Strout. Severus Snape, having been more exposed to the couple's striking familiarity, was unfazed. A miniscule uptilt at the corner of Voldemort's mouth was the only hint that she had penetrated his anger. "I will remind you yet again, wife, that my parents were married before I was born."

"Ah!" The pain was stronger, more twisted, because she wasn't moving. "I need to move."

Voldemort's brow wrinkled again. "Then we shall move."