That night Hermione awoke with a start, the same nightmare reaching into her slumber and dragging her out by her hair into the same high ceilinged room where the crystal chandeliers sparkled red above her, tinged with the blood from the burst vessels in her eyes and a wild cackling laugh chased her sanity into the darkest corners of herself until she was sure it was going to be lost forever. And the same pair of eyes, again and again, seemingly no matter which way she turned her head as she thrashed against the floor, looking directly into her face. It wasn't until her wild breathing calmed that she realised she was cold. The quilt had slipped down to the ground and the cool night air had found its way under her pyjamas. She groped for Ron in the dark but his side of the bed was empty. Hearing smashing glass somewhere in the house below her, Hermione was instantly alert and reaching for her wand on the bedside table. She crept out of bed and cracked the door. She could see the flickering light of a candle illuminating the stairs but everything was now silent. Her heart in her mouth, she tiptoed hurriedly downstairs. The light seemed to be emanating from the kitchen. She paused for just a moment behind the half opened door before she heard an exclamation of pain from her husband followed by one of his more choice curse words. She threw the door open, her wand arm outstretched, before surveying the scene that lay before her.

"What. The hell. Are you doing?"

Ron was standing, red faced in the middle of a mess of glass. In his hand was a can of muggle lemonade.

"I just wanted a drink?" for some reason he phrased it as a question and he was looking strangely guilty.

"Secret lemonade drinker are you?" Hermione asked with a smile.

"Eh?"

"Never mind, it's a muggle joke," she sighed as she summoned the dustpan and brush over to her.

"No, you go back to bed I'll clean this up," Ron tried to usher her out of the door.

"It's ok, I don't…..Ron?" Hermione had noticed a St Mungo's label on a shard of glass, "Is that my fertility potion all over the floor?" Her eyes swept the room and noticed the medicine cabinet was open, her potions conspicuously absent. It was then she saw her vitamin bottle on the worktop, the pills spilled out in a neat pile. Her month's medications had only been owled to her that day so she knew there was nothing wrong with either of them.

Ron held his hands up defensively as he tiptoed over the glass, "Look, Hermione, it's not what it looks like,"

"What does it look like?" she asked acidly as he steered her away from the mess. Why on earth would Ron be tampering with her fertility potion? Ron scratched the back of his neck awkwardly, at a loss for an appropriate excuse.

"What have you done? What were you just doing?"

"Look," he repeated, sitting her down on the sofa, "Look. I've been swapping your fertility potion for lemonade," he said it simply and fast, like he was ripping off a plaster.

In an instant Hermione knew it to be true. That was what the taste of the potion had been reminding her of the whole time. Realisation dawned painfully over her,

"You've been trying to stop me get pregnant? But….what about the vitamins? "

"Muggle contraceptive pills," he muttered, elbows on his knees, his hands over his eyes. He was wearing striped pajama bottoms and an olive green vest. With his shaggy head in his hands, he could have been sixteen years old, "Ginny got them for me from a chemist,"

So Ginny was in on it too, perhaps the rest of the Weasleys. Was the thought of her having Ron's child that awful? So terrible that they had plotted together to prevent it happening. All of them together, having cosy little chats about what to dose her with….the thought that it could have easily been poison sent a chill down her spine.

"Well that explains a lot." This was what he had been getting at last night, obviously. Thinking about his own deception while she had been too worried about hers to even suspect he had been up to anything of his own. She leaned her head back on the sofa and stared at the ceiling to stop her eyes welling up at the sharp stab of betrayal. She had wondered at Ron's seeming calmness at their failure every month, wondered how he wasn't worried that he had missed the Weasley gene that made getting pregnant easier than falling off a broom.

"I know what you're thinking, but it's not like that,"

"Well tell me what it is like then Ronald, because I'm failing to see it for anything other than you trying to stop me getting pregnant!" she took spiteful pleasure in his wincing at her raised voice and sharp tone.

Suddenly he looked up at her, spots of red appearing on his cheeks, "Stopping you? Do you even want to be pregnant?"

"What do you mean? Are you trying to make out that this is my fault?"

"You love your work, love your independence. You spend all of your free time trying to work out how to reverse the law, to get out of this marriage. You certainly make it plain you can't stand me half the time. So don't make out like I've destroyed your dream to be popping out babies left, right and centre!"

"Oh so it's all for my benefit is it? Because I'd be such a bad mother! Don't let Hermione have any children, she'd be a horrible mother, doesn't have a maternal bone in her body…" she was standing over him now, raving. He grabbed her hands and looked up at her with a tenderness that took the wind out of her sails,

"I think you'd be a wonderful mother,"

"What is it then? What's wrong with me?" to her dismay, tears of rejection started to pool in her eyes. Ron stood up and wrapped his arms around her shoulders, touching his forehead to hers,

"Hermione I – I care about you very much. I'd love nothing more than to fall into the fantasy of us settling down and having a family, living happily ever after. It'd be so easy, too easy. But it's not real is it? When we got married, we were barely even talking to each other. Plus we're both still young – I mean, if it wasn't for the law, you wouldn't have even considered wanting children for years yet would you?" she shook her head, realising he was right "when I said how much you love your work, I didn't mean it as an insult, I just didn't want you to have to cut your career short just because the ministry told you to. I thought you'd want to wait until you were Minister for Magic first," he allowed himself a small smile.

"But why didn't you talk to me about it? How long were you planning on carrying this on for?" she pulled away from him, the thought that he had been messing with her body, drugging her without her knowledge warring with the warm feeling his caring words had ignited within her.

He answered her second question first, "I don't know. I thought it was what you wanted too, until yesterday when you looked a bit upset at the result. But then I thought, maybe I was wrong, perhaps you were just annoyed with having the tests. You're still trying to work out how to overturn the law so I assumed that you still didn't want to be married to me,"

Hermione said nothing, not sure how to answer to the unspoken question in his words. Her feelings had certainly changed in their months of marriage - that much was obvious to anyone. And the fact that she had started to imagine carrying Ron's child with anything other than sheer horror, would suggest a certain softening of her views on the marriage law, at least where they were concerned. But he had hurt her so badly in the past. They had been closer than this and still managed to let stubbornness and doubt get between them and pull them apart. The truth was, she was in love with him. She knew it and it terrified her. And for all Ron's saying that he cared about her, he showed little sign of it being anything deeper than that. She certainly couldn't tell him, so she thought it was just better to remain silent.

Ron nodded, his mouth a thin line, misunderstanding her reticence, before going on to answer her other question, "I couldn't tell you because then we'd fail the questions at St Mungo's. I wanted to, honestly, but then it wouldn't have worked,"

"What do you mean?"

"Well they ask you if you've been taking your fertility potion or using contraceptives and if you'd known, you wouldn't be able to answer them properly because of the veritaserum. They only ask me if I've been using contraceptives which I haven't!"

"Very clever Ron," she admitted with grudging admiration.

"Always the tone of surprise," he smiled, although his eyes were still grim as he watched her warily.

Hermione swiped her trembling fingers across her mouth, attempting to wipe away the nauseated feeling that remained even though she acknowledged his plan as a sound one, "It's just…" as she struggled to find the right words, she placed her hand gently on his bicep and pushed him away, "the violation. It's bad enough the Ministry forcing me to take Merlin knows what but you slipping me potions too?"

"You sound just like Gin, she wasn't best impressed with this plan you know," Ron admitted ruefully, "It was only when I told her I'd get some black market potions from Knockturn Alley to do the job myself that she agreed to go along with it. Harry doesn't know by the way, he'd have definitely not let me do it."

Well that was something at least, the thought that Harry, Ginny and Ron hadn't been rejoicing her barren state. He took a step back towards her but she held her hand up to stop him.

"Ron, I've said it was a clever plan, in a few days I will probably be very grateful but for now, just for a bit, I need to process it. It's just a lot to take in. And I think if I stay here, we're - I'm – going to say something I regret. I think I'm going to go away for a bit, until I've calmed down."

Ron nodded and didn't stop her when she went upstairs to pack a bag. When she came back downstairs he had returned to the sofa, his head resting in his hands again, no fight in him. She touched him on the back.

"I'm going to the cabin, I'd prefer you didn't follow me but just in case of, you know, emergencies."

He nodded slowly without looking up. It was only as she span into her apparition that she saw him looking at her, the depths of despair on his face. But at what, she wondered as her feet skidded to a halt on the pine boards of the dark cabin, the argument or the fact that now there really was nothing to prevent their having to start a family together? She sank onto the bed without even turning on the light, staring blankly into the darkness as she pondered that question.

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione flicked through the pages of the Daily Prophet distractedly, her coffee cooling on the table in front of her. She had only been at the cabin one night and the temptation to go straight home to Ron – whether for another row or forgiveness she seemed to change her mind on a minute by minute basis – was starting to make her fingers itchy and restless. She had popped out to get the paper when it became apparent that staring at the four walls of the cabin in the silence of the forest only served to remind her of the last time she had been there, which really wasn't helping her achieve clarity.

She was about to give the Prophet up as an equally unsuccessful venture when something caught her eye. A small story, buried towards the back of the paper, describing the disappearance of one Cecilia McNair, nee Cresswell. Hermione remembered her vaguely as the muggleborn niece of Dirk Cresswell. Cecilia had been three years below them at school and had always been proud of the fact that their family had produced two offspring with magical powers. Hermione only really remembered her at all because of the desire she had harboured to research the girl's family tree to see if there had been any magical ancestry that had caused that abundance of magic in their family. Hermione had heard that she had been married to Allax Macnair as part of the Marriage Law. He had gone to Durmstrang to school and had avoided the wizarding war that had killed his father. Now according to the article, she hadn't been seen for several weeks and although her muggle family were not able to provide any help, Dirk Cresswell's widow was evidently not only close to the girl but judging by the put upon tone of the article writer, not without influence at the Prophet. Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully. Amy Jones going missing was mysterious and concerning in itself but now a second girl had disappeared then there were suggestions of something significantly more sinister afoot. Her mind raced over the possibilities, trying to make sense of the situation as she folded up the newspaper, her hands on autopilot. It wasn't until she placed it on the table in front of her that her eyes began drifting over the adverts on the back pages, taking in the familiar brands of the wizarding world without even noticing them. Suddenly the advert for an Ollivanders Back to School special offer sent a shock down her spine. Not two girls. Three. Mafalda Hopkirk's complaint that Olive Rookwood had resigned from work never to be seen again came back to her, making her feel dizzy. She supposed she hadn't really considered her because she had never much liked the older ex-Beaubatons student who had always seemed to look down her nose at Hermione. She had just assumed that Olive had seen the marriage law as a way to take the place in Wizarding Society that her blood status had denied her, but what if that was not the case?

Frantically she scanned her memory in an attempt to recollect anyone else she knew who had been married off against their will and when she had last seen them as her rapid heartbeat told her what a lucky escape she may have had. But from what? Even if the dark side were taking advantage of the Marriage law and seizing the opportunity to capture the girls and murdering them as a way of controlling the muggleborn population, it seemed a horribly (Hermione shuddered at even thinking of it) inefficient way of going about it. Plus the perpetrators were so obvious – what clearly linked the girls was that they had all married into some of the most notoriously dark wizarding families in Britain. Surely the Avery, McNair and Rookwood families weren't being framed? Hermione's eyebrows shot up towards her hairline at the very idea. And what about Hazeldene and Umbridge? How much did they know about what was going on? Were they complicit or perhaps even the ringleaders of whatever underhand plot had resulted in the disappearance of these girls. When it had just been Amy, Hermione had wondered whether they were helping Avery cover something up, something unpleasant that had happened between the pair. But this? Instinctively Hermione discounted Umbridge as being the brains behind the operation but who knew what Hazeldene was capable of.

Gratitude towards Ron for helping her avoid such a fate prickled at her conscience uncomfortably. If there had been a muggleborn target for a plot, surely she would have been seen as a high prize. Or was it the fact that that these girls only had tenuous roots in the wizarding world, no one to make a fuss about their disappearance that made them so desirable. Surely the Weasleys would have looked out for her even if Ron hadn't agreed to help her out.

As though she had summoned him by thinking about him, she heard a pop of apparition outside, followed almost immediately by the sounds of a tussle and Ron's annoyed shout. She rushed over to the door at the same time as he threw it open, hampered by a large and incredibly angry looking owl that was flapping round his head, talons outstretched and hissing viciously even as he tried to hold on to its leg. Before Hermione had a chance to say anything she noticed in horror the scratches across Ron's hands and forearms. He pushed the owl at her and backed away hurriedly.

"This owl seemed very insistent on getting to you. I tried to stun it but that just seemed to make it even angrier. Serve it right if it had got splinched when I side-alonged it here…." he trailed off sheepishly, holding his hands out by way of illustrating his point. A brief look over the bird told her that other than ruffled feathers, it had not suffered during the journey and was in a considerably better state than Ron. Upon being released, it flew a full circle round Hermione's head before settling on her shoulder and pecking her urgently on the neck until she removed the rolled up envelope that was fixed on to its back.

"Ow – stop it!" she complained, rubbing the sore skin that the bird had attacked and shooing it off with the envelope but it just dug its claws in more sharply into her shoulder until she waved the envelope at it, "Yes thank you I've got it now. Now bugger off before I have a go at stunning you!" It retreated to the back of the sofa where it sat, alternating between hissing at her and Ron. She turned the envelope over in her hands to see what had warranted such fierce protection but it was blank on the outside, save for a hastily inked dragon's egg on the flap which was enough to alert her not only to the identity of the sender but also that he did not want to rouse suspicion regarding the contents of the envelope or for them to be traced back to him.

"Ron – I - " she looked up at him to find he was backing out of the door again "Oh, OK"

He grimaced. "You said you didn't want to speak to me for a bit and I reckon I should let you get on with that. Just pretend I wasn't here yeah?"

Hermione nodded sadly in response.

"Only Hermione? Don't stay away too long will you?"

The catch of vulnerability in his voice floored her. She ran after his retreating form and threw her hands around his waist, leaning her cheek against his back. She felt the tension leave his shoulders as they stood silently like that for a few moments before she reluctantly released her grip from around his middle and allowed him to walk away, which he did so without a backwards glance. As soon as she saw him apparate away she returned to the cabin and to the envelope.

As the owl spread its majestic tawny wings and swooped out of the door that Hermione had absently left open, she slid her finger under the flap and ripped it hastily open. The fact that there was no note inside the envelope did not surprise Hermione and was promptly forgotten when she looked at the slender pile of photographs that were in her hands instead.

It took a moment for the images shifting on the glossy pages in front of her to process themselves into understanding. It was almost as though the reality of what she was looking it was so awful, had such dark potential, that her synapses stuttered. However, her frozen senses returned to her and her mouth dropped open with an almost inaudible pop as she watched the same reel play over and over on the photograph in her hand: The tiny man that her and Draco had spotted in the alley looking over his shoulder guiltily as the larger one of the pair pocketed a sizable money pouch. The person handing over the coin sack was partially obscured in the first photo, no more than a blur of pink to give Hermione a sickening clue to their identity. It wasn't until she flipped to the subsequent photos that the face of their mysterious benefactor was exposed – none other than Delores Umbridge. Suddenly the possibilities of the scheme that she had been imagining just minutes earlier expanded and rearranged themselves. As so often in a crisis, waves of hysteria threatened to overtake her and although, as always, she emerged victorious over her emotions, it was a minute or two before she felt composed enough to fire call Harry and ask him to visit her urgently.

Within minutes he had arrived, a Weasley knitted jumper pulled over his pyjamas and slippers on the wrong feet, his face creased from the pillow and concern equally.

"You know you only have to call and I'll come straight away but this better be good Hermione, Molly's got James overnight and this is the first full night's sleep I've had in ages."

Hermione nodded, the guilt of getting him out of bed only adding to the guilt of knowing that she was about to impart terrible news to him that was likely to not only devastate him personally but create a professional nightmare for him that meant any future lie ins were bound to be distant.

In sombre tones she explained about the missing girls, grateful that he didn't try and interrupt at all while she laid out the facts. Then, more hesitantly, she showed him the photos of Umbridge, wondering as she did so how she could minimise Draco's involvement in the whole thing.

"So who are these two guys?" Harry asked, evidently confused and failing to understand the relevance of the photos.

Hermione sighed, hoping that Draco would forgive her for what she might have to say, "Harry, I know it sounds far-fetched but they are Death Eaters. Disguised or wizards that we have previously never encountered I can't be sure. But I am 100% certain that they are Death Eaters.

"You saw their marks?" Harry had paled visibly and Hermione knew that he too was attempting blindly to calculate the number of splinter cells that there could possibly be.

"No….but, the source of these photos was able to verify it."

"And that source is….?"

"Harry, I'll tell you but before I do, you have to believe me that there is absolutely nothing untoward or inappropriate going on. You really have to believe me."

"Malfoy?" Harry guessed.

Hermione hung her crimson face, nodding shamefully.

"And is there any chance that he…"

"No." Hermione intoned emphatically, guessing the direction of Harry's thoughts. "You don't have to like him but you can be totally confident that he isn't mixed up in whatever this is. I was there when he…discovered them…he was as shocked as I was. If I hadn't been there I think he would have hexed them there in the street. Malfoy is, well if not good exactly, he's definitely not bad. We're working together on something important, something that could help so many witches and wizards. I trust him Harry, and that's going to have to be good enough for you."

Harry nodded, tight lipped, to demonstrate that even if he didn't like Hermione's answer much, he would accept it. Still he seemed to be battling internally with something. Hermine was just on the verge of telling him to spit it out when he spoke at last.

"Does Ron know about it?"

"Please don't lecture me on my marriage." She sighed as he pinched the bridge of his nose, his action belying the calmness of his voice. A nasty voice in the back of her mind whispered to her about how Harry couldn't possibly understand, how lucky he was to have been able to marry for love but she quashed it instantly , telling it firmly that Harry deserved every happiness that life afforded him.

Harry evidently guessed the answer hidden in her defensiveness, taking off his glasses and polishing them on his jumper before continuing a conciliatory tone that made her feel ten times as guilty nonetheless, "I was just asking, I didn't want to put my foot in it at an Auror's briefing."

"Youre going to drag him into this? I thought that now you're back in the office his work for you was finished?"

Now it was Harry's turn to look shamefaced, "Hermione, this could be huge. I'm going to need all the help I can get."

"He knows that I'm doing something that I can't tell him about. The work that Draco and I are doing, Harry it could be revolutionary. But no, he doesn't know I'm still in contact with Draco."

"Well I won't mention his name as the source of these photos or bring you into it if I can help it. Merlin knows, the last thing I want to do is get between the two of you in a row. But speaking as your friend Hermione, you're on shaky ground, very shaky ground."

Hermione gripped the edge of the chair. Everything was spinning out of her control. Pandora's box open and spilling chaos to every corner of her life. Not for the first time she wished for her old time turner back again, even if she couldn't imagine which event she would revisit that would unravel all of the mess that was spooling out around her. Knowing the answers, being right, well that was her thing wasn't it. And if she couldn't even do that any more then where did that leave her? Books and cleverness? It wasn't often nowadays that she even felt clever. Ron back in the field again, back in the path of dark spells and dark intentions. Another hammer blow that she had failed to anticipate. Because he would say yes to Harry, Hermione was sure of it, even if he didn't know her involvement in it. If he got out unscathed, she bargained with herself and any deity that would listen, if he was safe in whatever plot was afoot, she would tell him everything, the whole truth about her and Malfoy, the fact that despite everything, she had fallen more in love with him than ever, she would throw herself on his mercy and beg on bended knees for him to forgive her and please love her back, just love her back and not stop loving her no matter how many mistakes she made. The irony of the fact that she was here in the cabin now, trying to get over something he had done was not in any way lost on her.

Harry watched her shrewdly for a moment before he shook his head and returned to perusing the photos. It was only then that he seemed to realise something.

"Hermione, not that I'm not grateful for this info dump, actually scratch that, I'm incredibly ungrateful. I'd give anything to be back in bed with Ginny, reading the papers and getting croissant crumbs all over the sheets instead of dealing with this headache you've landed on me. But are you going to tell me why you've retreated back to the Heartbreak Hotel here in the woods? I honestly thought we'd seen the last of this place after you finished moping here before. And if you've not fallen out about you spending time with Malfoy then what is it?"

With a deep breath, Hermione proceeded to tell him the whole tale, gratified at least to see Harry's look of horror when his own wife was implicated. After she finished he just sat there for a moment, his expression perfectly neutral.

"You're thinking how clever he was, aren't you?" snapped Hermione, her previous promises to herself to forgive Ron shaken by Harry's failure to be outraged.

Harry stifled a laugh, disguising it poorly as a cough, "Well you've got to admit…..no, ok sorry" he finished lamely as he noticed how unamused she was. Pulling his features into a more serious expression he started again, "So if I've got this right, you're unhappy with him doing something to your body, sorry, your autonomy, without your knowledge?"

Hermione nodded furiously in agreement, pausing in the pacing up and down the room she had been undertaking as she recounted the event to him. Harry took a deep breath, steeling himself, "Hermione, sit down."

He gestured to the sofa and Hermione, full of trepidation, took a seat. What on earth was Harry going to say to her that was so bad he felt she needed to sit down for. Had he been in on it too after all? Perhaps he too thought she'd be better off without children. She realised her hands were trembling and screwed them into tight fists on her thighs.

"I've got one word for you Hermione – Spew."

"S.P.E.W," she corrected automatically, before spluttering in confusion, "S.P.E.W? What has that got to do with what Ron's done to me?"

"I've never told you this before Hermione. You're not going to like it."

"What?" she all but growled.

"All those hats…."

"Just tell me Harry."

"Dobby took them all. None of the other house elves would come into the Gryffindor common room in case they touched one by mistake. They thought you were trying to trick them into accepting clothes. He ended up cleaning the whole common room by himself all year."

"But that was for their own good – oh," Hermione's indignation deflated like a punctured balloon, "and poor Dobby, having to do all of that work."

"Nah, he loved it, I never saw him so happy. But do you see? I'm not saying what Ron did was right but sometimes it's easy to get caught up in these things I suppose."

Hermione nodded sadly. She had fought for years for equal rights for house elves and she could hardly do that whilst thinking she was better than them, deserved better treatment than she herself had dished out. Mortification burned her cheeks.

They just sat in silence for a while, both digesting the enormity of what the other had told them, trying to fight the dizzying feeling of the world spinning faster and faster, no matter how much you begged to get off the ride. Eventually Harry moved, slapping his hands on his thighs and pushing himself up to stand with a groan.

"I'd better go Hermione, this whole mess is going to take a lot of sorting. But errr, what about your….?"

"Mess?" Hermione supplied, "Well there's only one thing I can do isn't there, and I think we both know that."

oOoOoOoOo

Hermione apparated into the dusky garden of their house where the fragrance of jasmine hung heavy in the evening air. She hadn't wanted to accidentally appear right on Ron's lap if he was angry with her. Wiping her clammy palms on her jeans, she strode purposefully towards the house, as though she hadn't just spent the past few hours psyching herself up for this conversation, Harry's home truths ringing in her ears. She entered through the back door into the kitchen, pleased to see that all the mess had been cleared away. It was then she noticed the boxes of replacement potions on the counter.

"I owled the Ministry and told them I had a spell misfire and damaged all your other ones. They sent over replacements this morning. I didn't want you getting into trouble for what I did," Ron said softly from the doorway, "I heard you apparate in."

As she turned to look at him, his eyes rimmed with red, his regretful expression, the need to hug him again overwhelmed her. She crossed the kitchen in two strides and threw her arms around him, feeling him relax into the hug as the warmth of his sigh ruffled her hair.

"I'm sorry" they both uttered simultaneously before breaking out into giggles.

"So what now?" Hermione asked, her head against his chest, unwilling to leave the warmth of their embrace. She took one of his hands into hers, stroking it under the pretence of admiring the healing spells he had obviously performed to remove all traces of damage that the owl had inflicted on him. The cold shards of betrayal piercing her heart had melted away, just gratitude at Ron's ingenuity remaining. He was right about her not being desperate for children yet. Now she knew that there was nothing wrong with her, the urge to get pregnant had faded back down her to do list, "Now I know about it, it won't work any more will it, I won't be able to say I'm taking my fertility potion?"

"Guess not," she felt him shrug, the rapidity of his heartbeat against his cheek betraying the nonchalance in his voice.

"Even if I were to do similar to you, to slip you a contraceptive potion and not tell you, I don't know what the contraindications of the fertility potion and the contraceptives would be…" her mind had run over several possible plans during her sleepless night at the cabin that might work before her logic presented the flaw in them. In the end she had been left with only one realistic course of action. She looked to Ron who, by the slightly pale greenish colour on his face that Hermione recognised from before quidditch matches, had come to the same conclusion.

"Then I guess it's time to make a baby."