Here we are again! Loads going on in this chapter of the story! I hope you enjoy. Oh, and to those who have pointed out my huge Luna mistake, thank you. I'm going to be having my beta go through and I'm positive she'll remind me to fix it. My bad. To all my readers in the US, have a good Memorial Day weekend. It's a hot one here! Thanks for all your reviews, alerts and faves – very much appreciated as always. Enjoy!
LCailan
CHAPTER SIXTY-NINE
The moment she shut the door of what had formerly been Blaise's office, Lavender let out the breath she had been holding. It seemed like she had been holding that same breath for an ageless time.
For a few moments she stood in complete stillness, taking deep, cleansing breaths. Blaise's scent still lingered in the cool air as if he had just been there. Closing her eyes, Lavender focused on the task at hand and then walked with purpose towards the back closet, finding the book just where Blaise had instructed her it would be.
Wrapping her fingers around the black, leather volume, she stood and closed her eyes, willing herself to Apparate closer to the Minister's corridor. Nothing happened.
Lavender stifled a groan of frustration for she dreaded having to make her way through the empty corridors without using magical means. Perhaps Neville had put a block on Apparition within the building. Or maybe there was some sort of magical ward…
But now that she had gotten into the building under the guise of 'packing up some of Blaise's things' there was nothing to do but go forward. Taking a deep breath and gripping the book more tightly, Lavender took a deep breath and opened the door leading to the empty, marbled corridor.
Each shuffle, each distant thump and thrum, ever single muted sound made her jump but she had already determined to do this thing for Blaise. It wasn't like she had much choice anyway. Her husband was a madman and she feared him.
Hours later
The marbled corridors within the Ministry of Magic were silent. No one was about except for the old watch wizard who always stayed a bit after hours to make sure all was well before going home for the night. All was shrouded with heavy shadows.
Neville felt uneasy as he moved behind Hermione towards the door to his office. He wasn't why he felt like something wasn't right. The Ministry of Magic headquarters held no warm memories for him – he was certain of that. He would never forget what had happened in the Department of Mysteries so many years ago. He would forever hold it in his heart as he had the death of his parents and the reason they had never had a chance to life full lives.
Shuddering, Neville stopped when they both reached the entrance to his door.
Hermione had begged him to take her to the Ministry, to his office, so that they would have complete privacy. He had wanted to argue that there was no one at home and that she was safe to tell him what was on her heart but she had begged him with tears in her eyes, terrified that someone might overhear.
In the end he had given up and together they had Apparated to the Ministry Headquarters hand in hand. Hermione had offered no conversation and the silence dragged on and on, adding to the uneasiness that shrouded Neville's heart.
His office was as he had left it, books and papers scattered messily atop his desk and a dirty teacup with the remnants of his special leaf blend in the bottom. The room was scented faintly with ginger. A small, overstuffed sofa occupied the wall near his bookshelves and he led Hermione there, helping her to sit.
She was pale and drawn, staring listlessly at nothing and for a while, he sat next to her, having taken her icy hand in his to warm it.
"I need you to tell me what you can, Hermione. I know you love me. But you don't trust me. I can live with that as long as we can try to move forward. If you'd just try…"
She gnawed her bottom lip and a sudden blooming of color appeared there. Neville saw her nod faintly.
"I know," she whispered. "I'm going to try, Neville. I'm going to tell you all those things that happened at the alienage."
He waited but she only sat there, worrying her lip. A sound from the doorway made them both jump but it was only the cleaning staff.
"All's well, Minister?" said a stooped, little wizard as he quickly emptied the trash bin and tidied up the room a bit.
"Quite good," Neville lied hoping that in spite of his turmoil the reply would be assuring. "No one about?"
The wizard smiled as he stood by the doorway to leave again.
"No one for a few hours, Minister. Just Mr. Zabini's wife came to get some of his things. She's been gone a while now."
Neville bid the older man good day and then sat brooding about his decision regarding Zabini. It was just another thing to add to his growing mountain of unease.
"Hermione."
His gentle whisper seemed to awaken her from whatever trance she had been in and she looked at him blankly.
"Do you need anything?"
His offer was met with silence but Neville felt helpless to say anything else and he waited with baited breath. Hermione shook a bit before speaking; clasping his hands tightly in her icy grip.
"I know you might not understand," she began. "But there was a time when I had no choices. There was a time when I was no better than the rubbish in your bin. Because of my blood; because of who I was."
She was shaking still, anger making her voice tremble.
"They came one night, broke into our flat and whisked us away to that God forsaken alienage like we were nothing but animals! When we arrived…they…they separated us and took the Weasley men away. It was the last time any of us saw them. They…they would send the ones they found useless to the Dementors. A-and children; they took the children especially."
Her thick hair masked her pale face so that Neville could see nothing.
"Lily was only four and she was so small! They…I heard them say they would send her to the Dementors but one of the Officials…he was different than the others."
When she gazed up at him Neville was cognizant of how deeply she believed what she was saying even though he could offer nothing but skepticism.
"You're talking about Malfoy."
The derision made Hermione tremble and he was helpless to stop himself even in the face of the pain he was causing her. She clenched her jaw.
"Yes."
"Forgive me if I don't believe he could possibly be any different than the rest of the scum that worked for the Ministry."
"He was! Those others hurt…the children. Shoved Albus around making him cry! I defended Lily and they…I remember how hard they knocked me to the ground and it was Malfoy who took pity on me! He spared Lily from the Dementors!"
Neville's face was a darkened mask of disgust.
"And what did his pity cost you, Hermione? After all, this is Malfoy we're talking about. When has he done anything not to his benefit?"
Even as he spoke the nasty, cold words he could see the sudden shimmer of tears in Hermione's eyes.
"Nothing!" she spat defensively before curling into herself, not allowing his touch.
The silence was long and thick with tension. It was a long time before Hermione could speak again and her voice was broken.
"I didn't mind the beatings. I could deal with the hunger, pain and loneliness. I didn't care that Pansy Parkinson seemed to hate me more than she hated anyone. I didn't care until she took Lily!"
When she looked up, her face was a tearful mask of despair and quiet rage.
"Wouldn't you have done anything to help her? Wouldn't you have given your very life? I only did what I had to and I had little to offer but my..."
Neville wished he knew each and every one of the flickering emotions in her eyes. He wished he could make all her pain go away; he wished he could take it upon himself because he loved her too much to see her suffering this way. She took a deep, shaking breath.
"No matter what you might say, Neville, you'll never understand what I went through. You'll never know what it was like in those alienages, suffering the way I did, the way we all did-"
Her words struck a nerve but Neville wasn't certain why. He only knew that he felt resentment radiating from each and every syllable and he loathed it.
"Why would you say I don't understand? Because I'm pureblood?" he asked mockingly. "Because I didn't suffer like you did, Hermione? Bollocks! Don't you ever dare imply I don't know suffering!"
She glared at him and her reply was a strangled cry.
"I never did! But you weren't starved, beaten, tortured, and starved some more! You weren't made to feel like nothing! You weren't…"
She faltered and more tears fell as she struggled for words.
"As a woman and a Muggle-born I had little to offer anyone."
Her voice was strained with emphasis and Neville felt her clear warning: do not interrupt. He was indignant but remained silent as she continued.
"And Malfoy had been watching me. They all said so. Some of the women…they were jealous. They would have wanted him to…favor them because offering a Death Eater Official your virtue seemed like such a small price to pay for safety. And…I knew that."
Neville felt rage flow through his veins as if it had replaced the blood that had been there only moments before.
"I was ashamed," she whispered. "But I offered myself to Malfoy. I thought he was different and I…I became his mistress, his lover, whatever it was he wanted in return for the assurance that Lily would be safe."
Her eyes shimmered in the shadows but they were full of certainty. Neville stared at his wife, stunned at her admission.
"You want to help me?"
Draco's echo of Ginny's words rang out in the dusty room and it sounded incredulous though he did not remove his hand from her grasp. Somehow it felt good to have someone else care – someone besides Hermione.
His heard thudded dully.
"How could you possibly help me without tarnishing your reputation and everything you've built up since the war ended?"
Now his words were tight and bitter but Ginny paid no mind.
"I don't have a reputation to uphold," she replied. "Nor am I weighed down by the guilt of loving a man who is not my husband."
Draco turned, wincing as he heard her say those words. It was true wasn't it? He might have felt guilt for putting Hermione in such a position but it couldn't nearly be like the burden of guilt she felt, could it?
Bloody shit. His mind was spinning.
"Listen, Potter. I appreciate your offer," he said flatly and with unmistakable stubbornness. "But no one can help me now."
Ginny had let go of his hand and watched him from her side of the room, shaking her head.
"She loves you," she whispered. "But she has a duty to the people and to her husband. I don't envy the choice she'll have to make but I love her like a sister and I won't make it harder for her. She wants you safe and I'll do what I can do make sure that happens."
Draco stared, hearing the irrefutability in Potter's words. He sighed with a flicker of fear but mostly with resignation. In the end what could it truly hurt? He had already ruined Hermione's life and he was wanted man. Sooner or later he would die or be captured and killed.
"So…?"
Ginny relaxed and he saw her wand spark in the thickening shadows of sunset.
"So…no one knows you're here and I can make sure it stays that way," she said quickly. "You're a prisoner in this house but I can make sure you don't have to be."
His gray eyes widened in shock and curiosity, in spite of his determination not to trust her.
"You've gone bloody mad," he hissed. "I'm a dead man the first time someone recognizes me! You don't know the things I've seen; how many of those I grew up with and called acquaintances die before my eyes simply for bearing Voldemort's Mark."
Ginny pressed her lips together.
"There are still ways to fool people. I know Charms and loads of them; I was quite good at doing them in school. A hair color change, a Disillusionment Charm…a few Glamour Charms…"
She paused, surveying Draco and he felt like she was considering him as a bloody project of some sort. As she waved her wand quickly he felt himself shifting if only slightly, the feeling making him a bit dizzy. His eyes fluttered closed and he wasn't sure how long it was before he heard her voice once again.
"You can open your eyes now."
Draco did and took in her confident expression. For a moment they stared at one another and he could feel Potter's silent assessment of the handiwork she had done.
"Now all you need is a clean shirt and proper trousers," she said decidedly.
"Potter, I don't know what this is bloody about but-"
He raged at her as Ginny led him to a dusty, cracked, full-length mirror and what he saw reflected there rendered him silent.
"Bloody hell!"
The man looking back at him was a touch taller, just a bit leaner and had a head of neatly combed, dark brown hair and a closely trimmed moustache. His lips and eyes were his own but in the ways that counted he could easily blend into a crowd.
His heart leapt. Could this mean a chance at long-awaited freedom? Would he be able to venture among witches and wizards even for a moment and not be in danger? Would these Charms last long enough for him to take in a breath of fresh air?
And – oh God – would he be able to finally meet his own son?
At that thought Draco stared hard at his reflection, willing himself to not cry.
"Brilliant," he breathed. "It's me…but…not me."
"You're welcome," came her cheeky reply. "All you need now…"
She quickly waved her wand, muttering something under her breath and a moment later she leaned up on her tip-toes to set a black fedora atop his head before handing him a pair of wire-rimmed spectacles which he put on.
"There," she said with a nod of satisfaction.
"And who, pray tell, am I supposed to be, Potter?"
He saw her reflection smiling in the cracked mirror.
"Why, Etamin Black," she said. "An old, rather un-talked about member of the family. Sirius' favorite third cousin."
The look Draco shared with Ginny in the mirror was one of pure bewilderment and awe.
Hermione couldn't look up, not wanting to see the disgust that she could hear in his voice.
"So you willingly allowed him to take your pride and virtue in exchange for Lily's safety? You offered yourself to that soulless, disgusting bastard and he accepted, didn't he?"
Hermione wanted to tell Neville the truth – that Draco had resisted at first but that would have meant sharing with him that a part of her had wanted such a horrible, disgusting thing. She said nothing about that and forged on tremulously.
"Women were raped there all the time; no matter where you turned, women were abused. Even when we lived in the flats…"
She shuddered thinking about that long ago day when they had heard of the poor witch who had hung herself…
"And what Malfoy and I had…it wasn't as awful as some of the other exchanges that I heard about at the alienages. Some of the Officials beat the women they claimed to be protecting. I was lucky; Malfoy wasn't nearly as awful as some of the others. I cleaned his house and…and I was a maid to his wife. It was good…in some ways. But awful in others because when I returned to the alienage at night the other women would whisper about me and mock me. So you see I was being attacked by my own simply for trying to protect those I loved. And I was hated by the Death Eaters because of my blood status."
Neville's face twisted with distaste though a part of him felt flooded by sympathy. Still, it was so difficult to show it!
"And then you became Malfoy's whore and got pregnant with his child? Is that it? Will you pretend that it wasn't rape?"
His words were a challenge and it took everything in Hermione not to fiercely defend Draco in the face of such misconceptions.
"I told you, it wasn't like that! He wasn't-"
Her weak words were interrupted by the white-hot rage of Neville's sudden explosion.
"For bloody fuck's SAKE, Hermione! Listen to yourself!"
He leapt to his feet, startling her into a pathetic, choked sob. His eyes blazed as he whirled on her, trembling with rage.
"I won't do it! I won't listen to you extol the virtues of that evil, selfish devil of a man! It's madness!"
Hermione also stood facing her husband furiously.
"It's not! I told you he never hurt me! It wasn't like that!"
"So how was it?" he yelled. "Was it bleeding marvelous, Hermione? Was there candlelight? Beautiful music? Romance?"
He was being hateful and it was the first time in all their years together that she had ever seen him this angry. It broke her heart; it reminded Hermione of all the pain she had suffered during the war. His words mocked the truth for there had been no romance in what she had shared with Draco. No, during the war, at the alienage, all those months in Kensington – there had been no love. Just two, desperate people clinging to hope in a black, hopeless world. It had been twisted, dark, passionate…needy…but never loving. Love had come later; love in such a hopeless existence would never be something Hermione could explain.
She blinked hot tears away.
"It wasn't like that either," she sobbed.
"I'll tell you how it was! It was rape!"
Over and over Hermione shook her head, defending Draco's actions without saying a word and infuriating Neville further.
"I know you want to paint it differently because of Leo, because he was born out of such an abhorrent union but it was nothing more than a pathetic wanker taking advantage of a woman who had nothing else to offer. I hope he's rotting in Hell, Hermione. I really, really do."
She was sobbing quietly, broken and cold, helpless as to what she could do…what she could say to continue the painful conversation. She knew that the rest of the truth would be nearly impossible to share but…
What's it matter now? He already hates me.
Neville was pacing furiously across the small space by his large desk.
"Why, Hermione? Why did you lie to me all these years? Why not just tell me the truth?"
She choked back another sob.
"Would you have married me?"
He stopped and turned to face her.
"You weren't fair to me; you never gave me the opportunity to choose, did you? Now, I guess we'll never know."
Tears continued to stream down her face as she weakly defended her actions. In any other moment, with any other person she would have been fiercer but gazing at Neville killed all the anger she might have felt. He loved her, cared for her, protected her after Draco had left. His love was pure; he was the man that she never should have been hurting and yet…
Oh, Neville!
"I didn't want to hurt you," she whispered achingly. "I didn't want to jeopardize Leo's future knowing who his father was…in this…in this world no one would accept…"
She put her head in her hands, her voice muffled.
"I don't want him to grow up in shame!"
But she felt guilt because she loved the man who would cause her son shame; she loved him with a passion she would never love another – not even her own husband.
Neville stood rigid, his face a hard line.
"I don't give a bloody damn who his despicable vermin of a father is! He raped you and abandoned you and this discussion is over. We won't speak of that filth again."
Hermione reached out with trembling fingers, willing her mouth to form the words.
"We have to talk about this! We have-"
Neville cut her off, moving towards the small credenza that stood nearest his desk where he kept the teapot. Hermione was froze by the love she felt for Draco and the devastation she felt at hurting Neville the way she was.
No matter where she turned, there were no real choices.
"Neville, please."
His hands shook as he stood facing away from her, head down.
"Stop, please. I can't take anything else right now, all right?"
She sniffed hard, swallowing back another plea as he heard thudded wildly within her. It would change everything if she knew, Hermione was certain. If Neville knew that Draco still lived and that she loved someone else-
"I was afraid you might be ashamed. I thought you might not love me the way you had…"
She faltered for the right words with which to express her agony, her face hardened and her eyes shining in the dimness of the lighting. His words were bitter when they came.
"You say you didn't want to hurt me and yet each night you lay in my bed, each night you held me in your arms and you hid this dirty, despicable secret! You should have told me!"
"Because you're taking it so well!" she cried back, both irritated and furious with his inability to see reason.
Neville turned then sighing with futility. The sound was heavy with resignation.
"I want to understand, Hermione. But you can't…really think that just like that, I'm going to be all right with this. I understand you did what you had to do. I understand…but it's still shameful."
Hermione flushed with embarrassment and the last remnants of her earlier fury. The intensity of emotions left her weak.
"I'm sorry…I'm sorry for hurting you. For everything I've kept from you. I was afraid; how many times can I say it? I never wanted you to react like this."
Something flared in the depths of his eyes.
"How would you have me react?" he asked bitterly, though his tone had softened some. "Would you have me say it's all right? Would you have me embrace the idea that you lay with a Death Eater willingly doing whatever it was he wanted? Do you want me to believe that Malfoy is a good man? That you loved him? That he didn't abandon and abuse you?"
Fresh tears leaked from her widened eyes.
"He is and he didn't," she whispered weakly.
"None of them are any good! They're bloody Death Eaters! You have no idea how stupid you sound! They destroyed my parents' lives! They killed Ginny's parents! They murdered your fucking husband! They destroy and they take and they…"
He gave up, limply falling against the table, rattling the cups, saucers and the empty, ceramic tea kettle that was sitting there. Hermione didn't care any longer if he hated Draco or not; she didn't care about anything but how he was feeling about the truth.
"Neville, I don't want you to hate me."
The words were watery but determined and he let out a chortled sound, like a bitter laugh."
"I could never hate you," he whispered in defeat. "Merlin knows I want to though."
For a moment Neville stood stiffly and then Hermione watched him as he mixed a few tea leaves together to make into a brew, his fingers trembling at the task. When he spoke, his words were muted and possessed a harried quality.
"What are we going to do? I can't…if anyone finds out about this! If anyone finds out I've been helping those Death Eaters…and that my wife's child's father…"
Hermione could only describe his tone as full of horror. She knew that now was not the time to stop speaking and slowly she stood, going to her husband.
"Neville, I told you the things I told you for more than one reason. I'm worried. I'm worried about this Ministry and the job…and you. I'm worried about you."
Neville had put the water on for tea, adding in a few ingredients from his small stockpile of dry goods. Finally, he looked at her.
"Why?"
There was an unmistakable sour tone to his voice.
"Because people know my secrets, that's why."
Softly, Hermione recounted the meeting she had with Lavender offering details of their conversation she had not been able to share with Neville before.
"Something…something told me that…she's resentful and nasty. And Blaise…I don't think he thinks highly of either of us. I don't know why but the both of them resent me."
Neville had been listening though he remained silent.
"I need to be alone."
The demand was a gentle one but it still caused Hermione's heart to ache.
"Neville-"
"Please, Hermione. There's too much on my mind. I can't deal…I can't deal with all of this right now. Please, just…leave me be."
The magic tea kettle began to whistle merrily.
Draco stared at Ginny skeptically finally having been able to tear himself away from his reflection in the cracked looking glass.
"You mean I'll be able to come and go?"
Ginny sighed.
"If you are careful."
Draco considered her words thoughtfully, running his finger across the top of the glasses for a moment.
"When Bellatrix Lestrange ran the Ministry of Magic at Voldemort's right hand she had everything watched. The Floo Network, the Wizarding Wireless, Apparition points…"
He sighed.
"Zabini is the reason I'm on the run, Potter. I'm safe here and I hate to admit it but I'm bloody terrified of what might happen if I leave."
His words begged for a guarantee that Ginny could never offer. She only took a breath and continued haltingly.
"Zabini no longer works for the Ministry. If you feared his influence you don't have to anymore. Neville got rid of him only this morning."
Draco's stormy eyes widened.
"Bloody hell," he whispered and then for a few seconds there was only silence. The night had fallen and outside there was the soft song of the night creatures. "So that means I can just…go?"
He wondered at the possibilities, frozen with confusion and uncertainty. Ginny rolled her eyes.
"Well, I won't let you run around London willy nilly if that's what you're thinking. You're going to come with me."
"Where?"
"Ireland. To see my husband."
Draco's eyes had narrowed.
"Why?"
"Hermione may not have told you but she convinced Neville to help those Death Eaters trying to escape Zabini's clutches. Dozens of them are waiting at the newly built shelters funded by the British and Irish Ministries."
"She mentioned that she'd been helping," he admitted thought his voice was weak. "I felt so guilty when she told me. I'm afraid she's doing it just to make sure I'm safe."
Ginny put a sympathetic hand on his arm.
"Be glad someone loves you that much."
Knockturn Alley, London, England
There were still rumors that Fenrir Greyback's ghost haunted the Werewolf's Tabernacle. Some said he was in the basement, scaring away any unfortunate soul who would wander there. Others whispered that the public hanging ordered by Blaise Zabini had been a fraud and that both Bellatrix and Greyback had escaped to regroup and attack the newly formed Ministry anew.
Months had passed and the proprietor of the tavern had sold it and soon after it had fallen into disuse.
Still the strange, wooden sign hung outside of the rotting front door and the windows showed tables that had never been taken away. No lights shone within long abandoned establishment but it looked as if it might open if not for the dust that covered everything in a thick layer. What had once been one of the central hubs of activity lay silent and desolated. Now that the war had ended, British wizarding commerce had once again begun to flourish but Knockturn Alley and many of its regular inhabitants had become a nuisance, a mere stain on the face of the new wizarding society.
The sun had set in the village, swathing it in blue and purple shadows and nothing moved along the broken, cobbled streets of Knockturn Alley but a single soul which moved stealthily towards The Tabernacle, looking to and fro to make sure he was alone.
Yes, the rumors about Greyback would always run rampart.
Only Blaise knew the real truth about what had happened to the man turned wolf for it had been he who ordered the two sensationalized public executions. He had made sure that Bellatrix had died for her war crimes and at the same time stared her in the eyes moments before her death as if to say 'I have won.'
But Greyback…he had been a different story altogether.
Bella had been loyal to Voldemort; her faith in him had never been shaken. Indeed, even at the moments of her overly cruel death she had never once begged for her life and in that way stolen some of what would have been Blaise's complete satisfaction. She had died clutching fervently to whatever shreds of dignity she had left. That had been no surprise unlike what Blaise had learned about Fenrir Greyback…
Greyback, it turned out, was a man who had claimed no loyalties. He was purely an opportunist and a wily man at that, worming his way into whatever situation would benefit him the most. Blaise had known him during their days at the Ministry when he had first started and the man had been ruthless, without conscience and willing to do anything to ensure his own well-being. He had been a bloodthirsty, hedonistic creature.
Blaise pushed open the rotting wood near the brass door handle of the Tabernacle and the door flew open easily enough.
He still is.
After all, who didn't need a man like Greyback on his side? Blaise was no fool. He had let Greyback live in exchange for as much loyalty as the werewolf was willing to offer.
They had struck an unholy union.
The room was musty and hot, smelling faintly of ale and old cigarettes. His boots stirred the thick dust but even in the coming night shadows Blaise could see that the floor had been tread on and recently too.
"Greyback!"
There was a shuffling from somewhere in the back where the kitchens had once been located. Blaise heard a thump and then a creaking sound.
"Commander Zabini."
The greeting was of caustic silk, dark and thick as if it was made of the very shadows that enveloped the room.
"How good that you've paid me a visit. We lowly Death Eaters so infrequently receive such a privilege nowadays."
Blaise stopped in the middle of the room turning to all four corners as Greyback refused to emerge from the darkness. He had always preferred shadows to the light.
"I haven't come to chat, Greyback."
The chuckle that ensued was raspy, like the sound of something unused and rusted. It held notes of disdain.
"Indeed is that not always the truth? What is it you need from me?"
The air around Blaise stirred and he caught a whiff of dust followed by something rotten and unwashed. The sky outside of the grimy had lost its purplish pink color and was now a thick navy. Night had come completely and Blaise felt a growing unease at his proximity to the werewolf.
"Are you scared Commander?"
The glee in Greyback's growled hiss was unmistakable and with a slightly trembling hand, Blaise reached for his wand so that he could find relief by its light.
"Lumos!"
Greyback laughed again as the blue-white light danced on the edge of Blaise's wand tip.
"Do you find strength in light, Commander?"
"Stop playing games!"
"Is life not one big game? Did you not love the chase? All those months trying to catch Bella and me?"
By the light of his wand Blaise could see Greyback's bloodshot eyes and the scarred, twisted face under a gray, scabby beard. His wild hair was matted with dirt and all manner of disgusting, unmentionable things and when he smiled Blaise saw rotted, gray, pointed teeth.
Fighting against tides of fear Blaise leaned forward menacingly.
"Don't think I won't execute you in a second if I see fit!"
The werewolf seemed to choke a bit on his laugh.
"If you had planned on it you would have already done so. After all, I am still mortal and can die just as easily as anyone else. You had captured me and yet you allowed me to live. It appears that I am still useful to you, Commander and because of that I don't believe that you will harm me."
Blaise's fingers tightened around his wand as his irritation grew.
"Perhaps I should have taken care of you at the same time as Bella."
"But you did not. Shall we dwell on the unfortunate past?"
"You work for me!"
Greyback sneered at this.
"Pshaw. I work for the almighty Galleon. Is that why you loathe me so? Because I am loyal to no one? Or is it the fact that I am not afraid of death, Commander? Does that make you furious?"
Blaise's face turned down in a scowl.
"You're a fool!" he said with condescension.
"I am many things but I am no fool. While all my former comrades have fallen because of their loyalty to Voldemort, I still live simply because I understand that true loyalty means sacrifice. And I refuse to sacrifice my life. It's those men, Commander, that are fools. Those who sacrificed for Voldemort and those who sacrificed for you."
Greyback fell silent for a moment and then cocked his head, watching Blaise with poorly veiled amusement.
"I think you hate me because I am the same as you except that I do not put on pretenses. I know I'm a soulless, hypocritical bastard and I embrace it. You should too. After all, you have sacrificed nothing and you still live simply because nothing is worth your loyalty."
Blaise saw red and he yanked Fenrir by his torn, dirty lapel.
"I'm bloody tired of your mind games!"
"Ah, but I find them endlessly titillating!"
Blaise felt Greyback tense and then go limp in his grip, backing away a bit.
"Have it your way. What is it you want, Commander?"
His words were dry and caustic and all amusement had faded from his leaden, glittery eyes. Blaise took a few calming breaths and then pushed himself away from the stinking man who so intensely gazed on him.
"The Minister for Magic is about to have an unfortunate accident."
"Ah, such a shame," replied Greyback.
"His wife will be alone and vulnerable."
Blaise smiled.
"I want you to check in on her."
Hermione was frozen in place as she waited for Neville to say something – anything – so she would no how to proceed. The heaviness of the secrets her heart still harbored caused her breathing to grow labored.
"Neville, there's more I have to tell you. I can explain why I'm so worried. It's not just Lavender and Blaise it's also how deeply I'm involved."
He turned while reaching for the used teacup that sat on his desk, the cup he used each day and that everyone knew was his. Time stopped for Hermione as she watched this seemingly innocent movement but after it started up once again it had taken on a strange, nightmarish quality.
His fingers wrapped around the white ceramic and at the same moment Hermione was aware of his body stiffening in one violent movement and a strange, keening sound that surrounded her.
She only realized a moment later that it was Neville's scream of pain. She watched as his fingers opened and the cup fell to the ground, shattering in a brilliant shower of white porcelain and he followed, tumbling towards the ground, unconscious.
Hermione dropped to her knees, cradling his impossibly lifeless body in her arms.
"Neville! Neville, please!"
Her voice was tight with shock and fear. He was moving, mumbling incoherently but unable to say anything of substance, to let her know he was all right. But Hermione didn't need to hear Neville say he wasn't all right; she knew it.
The tea cup.
The tea cup had been cursed.