The Self-Writing Parchment

by beaweasley2

Hermione finds a mysterious piece of self-writing parchment in Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that writes: Tell me your deepest desire. Thinking it's a trick, she says, "Take me to my soul mate?" and she suddenly finds herself at Severus Snape's feet.

37. Chapter 37

Self-Writing Parchment

To quote Severus, Gryffindors are never subtle, especially when they want you to see things their way. And it's time to face the Dark Lord… What's the saying? To pay the piper.

~o 37 o~

Insistences and Consequences

They arrived in a wooded area. Hermione immediately turned, scanning her surroundings, trying to determine where he'd taken her. They were in a forest… pine trees and oaks mostly… she could see bits of dark blue… possibly a lake or loch, through some of the tiny gaps between the tall trees and underbrush.

Severus grabbed her hand roughly, aiming his wand at her wrist, and activated the Skrewt shell bracelet. She cried out from the sharp, prickling vibration and tried to jerk her arm free. When he let go, she shook her wrist as he aimed for her neck. "Please don't," she started to say but was cut off as the necklace vibrated – the sharp, stinging sensation making Hermione's eyes water. "Why?"

"You are not leaving me again," he snarled. "Damn it, Hermione, you should have trusted me!"

"I do trust you!" she cried out, wondering why he was suddenly being so horrible. They'd talked about it – she'd shown him her memories…

"I know you do," he sighed softly, then growled out, "Come with me," sharply as he grabbed her arm and dragged her along the path into the trees.

"Where are we?" she asked, wondering why he wasn't taking her to the Dark Lord. Not that she was looking forward to that meeting.

He completely ignored her question, but his fingers relaxed a fraction as he led her deeper into the trees.

They had only gone about a few feet when Cillian appeared, running toward them on the path. He forced her to stop, and his fingers relaxed a bit, although he didn't let go of her arm. She thought she heard him hiss, "Appearances," softly, but wasn't sure. His eyes were like cold obsidian, his expression set in a satisfied smirk, but he'd said before that sometimes he acted a role for appearances sake.

"So you found her," Cillian said, stopping in front of Severus.

"Obviously. She chose to return to me," Severus said in an immensely satisfied tone. "I need you to keep an eye on her for a while."

Cillian looked at Hermione through narrow eyes. "And you still trust her?"

"Oh yes, I trust her. The Skrewt shells are active – she can't leave – and she has no idea where we are, so your security is still in place," Severus said, adding quickly to Hermione, "Remember what I said to you – I expect you to try harder." He looked up at Cillian. "Now, I have a graphorn to harvest and a boy to get," he said and disappeared with a loud crack.

Hermione was incensed; Severus had said he was going to let her friends go… but if he was actually going to harvest the beast… Did she really trust him? Could he trace Harry somehow? He'd never lied to her, ever, that she could recall. Harry and Ron were sure to have gone to the new campsite by now – if the campsite was still going to be in the same place… Did she inadvertently show him the picture of the camp's location?

"What did he mean, he has a graphorn to harvest?" Cillian snapped at her.

"When Severus found me I was – there was a graphorn, and my foot was stuck…" she stammered, not sure what to tell him and not wanting to lie to him either.

"Where did you go?" he demanded, grabbing her arm roughly. "We've been searching everywhere for you!"

"Places I thought Severus might go – I was scared." She tried to free herself but his grip tightened. "I was trying to get away from your sister and Bellatrix Lestrange… I didn't know where to go, or what to do, so I went to the most obvious places I know, hoping Severus would find me," she rattled off and tried jerking her arm free again. "You're hurting me!"

"You nearly got me killed – never mind what the Dark Lord will do to Severus," he snarled, his glower murderous.

She sucked in a huge gulp of air and asked, "What do you mean, 'What he will do to Severus?'" fearing the answer.

"What do you think I mean?" he snarled. He tugged on her arm to make her walk with him. "What did you think your stunt would accomplish? The Dark Lord will question us both, and our answers had best impress him or we'll suffer his wrath."

She swallowed the hard lump that seemed to suddenly be in her throat. "What do you mean both? Severus and me?"

He turned on her. "Me. Severus. And you." She took a step back at his vehemence, and he advanced on her. "Who did you think I meant? Severus and I are both responsible for you. We shall have to answer for your escape and where you've been and whom you spoke to – if you spoke to anyone – and why it took a day and a half to find you!" he snarled, looming over her threateningly. "So far the Dark Lord has been lenient with us, but his tolerance has limits – ones I don't like having tested or pushed to far."

Hermione cringed at his statement. She didn't want him or anyone to suffer for her actions. "But it wasn't your fault. I was being chased and was afraid for my life – I – you can't be punished for what I did?"

"Do you want to bet?" Cillian sneered, his normally warm brown eyes cold as he glared at her. "HE's a harsh master – one to be obeyed,or there are consequences – severe consequences."

"Then why do you follow him?" she asked, wondering how someone as intelligent as he was could remain loyal, even after everything he knew first hand.

"I have no choice," he sneered.

She shook her head. "We always have choices! Everyone has choices."

"Well, I made my choice a long time ago, and once a Death Eater – always a Death Eater," he said with a dark smirk.

"But that's not always true, is it?" she asked. "I mean it would be possible to serve two masters? Muggles did it—"

"I've made my allegiance clear, I'm his – a loyal follower," he said angrily, turning away to continue down the path, making her stumble after him.

But even in his anger she could detect a hint of resignation in his tone, as if he felt there wasn't a way out. "You could always change sides, help the Order…"

"No one leaves the circle. No one defies the Dark Lord and lives."

She stopped short, gaping at him. Severus was right?! There was resignation in his tone as if there was… regret. 'Try harder...' his voice echoed in her mind.

Cillian jerked on her wrist, hard. "Keep walking."

She stared at his back as she followed him, wondering how she was going to get him to see she was right. The trees thinned suddenly, and Hermione found herself walking through the snow toward a rather large, grey slate manor house. A low rockery surrounded a front garden area of perfectly sculpted box hedges, bare roses and vine covered arches with small benches. Down the center, a stone path led up to the front door. Come spring this would be really lovely. She looked up at Cillian; he was full of surprises. "Your home," she said softly.

"One of," he said, then quickly added, "Come on, let's go," as he made her start walking again.

"Whom exactly do you want to win this war?" she asked.

"The Dark Lord is winning," Cillian said with a snort. There was a bite to his words, but there was a subtle inflection again as if he was resigned to an inevitable outcome – one that hadn't even been decided yet.

But the prophecy said equals. Harry had a fifty-fifty chance to beat the Dark Lord. Hermione believed it; deep in her heart she knew Harry's chance was better than merely fifty-fifty because good always won over evil… "And yet, Harry escaped from him twice," she said. Four, if one considered the possessed Professor Quirrell… and the soul in the diary their second year… but she didn't think Cillian would count those. "And he eludes him even now, the Order is still fighting and the Muggle-borns are—"

"Being rounded up and eliminated," he said darkly.

"Not all of them," she stated. The Order is growing and the DA is too; if she were to believe everyone who was with Harry and Ron.

"You think we're not being effective – that we don't know what we are doing?" he challenged her. "We have the upper hand, Hermione. We control the Aurory and the Ministry of Magic as well as Hogwarts. Even the main shopping areas are under his control now, like Diagon Alley, Hogsmeade and the Temple Bar Gennel."

They entered the house, and he stamped his feet on the doormat inside the entry hall. He looked into the room on his right, smiling for a moment.

She paused to look into the room briefly and saw a woman with softly curling brown hair in a long, flowing, wine-colored robe and a hunter green cashmere wrap, sitting by a window engrossed in a book. Hermione looked up at Cillian, wondering who the girl was. "Behave yourself until Severus returns."

"But not everyone is just falling in line, are they?"

"And how would you know? You've been locked away in your castle," he said sharply.

"I read the papers."

"We control the Prophet, as well," he scoffed at her as he turned to enter the room on his left, and Hermione followed him into a sizeable, well-appointed Drawing room, barely taking time to register the plush French provincial formal antique furnishings. "All I'm saying is that there is resistance. Right is right, and no matter how tightly you try to squeeze your fist, people will slip right through your fingers. And those who know what is right will stand up and fight for it."

"Not everyone, some cower like mice," he said, turning on her. "You'd be surprised how many beg for mercy and do as they are told."

"And I know that there are those who rebel against tyranny and the insane genocide of Muggle-borns carried out by a mad man," she countered.

He stepped closer to her, leaning forward as he snarled, "You dare call the Dark Lord a mad man?"

Hermione involuntarily took a step back. "How can you be around him, listen to him, and still think he's sane? He's the most manipulative, narcissistic evil person I've ever—!"

"He isn't evil!" he shouted. "He wants to purify our race – to make the wizarding world a better place."

"That's bullshit! Is it a better world in which thousands are killed – innocent children are murdered in their beds? Killed simply because by some chance of fate they have magical ability but their parents don't? Muggle-borns are not stealing magic – they are born with the ability! We're not an abomination! We are born this way – magical," she said emphatically. She could see in his eyes that he wasn't going to argue that point with her. "The problem is that the Dark Lord's better world includes genocide! Of innocent people – of children! He's crazed, demented—"

"He's brilliant! The strongest, most powerful wizardI've ever met. He knows more about the Dark Arts than any wizard before him…"

She stepped closer to him. "According to Dumbledore, he underwent so many dangerous, magical transformations, delved so deeply into the Dark Arts, that when he resurfaced as Lord Vol—"

"Don't say his name!" Cillian snarled loudly, almost a shout, cutting her off even before she made the 'd' sound. He glowered down at her, his dark eyes narrowing dangerously. "Never say his name."

"Fine—Tom Riddle, the Dark Lord, ole Snake-face," she said, unfazed as his expression darkened."His name is Tom Marvolo Riddle – his real name. His mum, Merope Gaunt, named him after his father – his Muggle father. I bet you didn't know he is a half-blood, did you?"

"He's not—"

"Were you in the graveyard the night he came back – the night Harry escaped him – for the second time? Did you see the name on the gravestone, the one he tied Harry to? That was his father's grave," she said, and he scowled at her, his one eye narrowed a bit more than the other, as if he might be trying to ascertain if what she was saying was true. "Tom Riddle was a student at Hogwarts. Did you know that? I do. He was in Slytherin. He'd been a Prefect and was Head Boy his seventh year. He used to be a handsome boy – I've seen pictures of him!"

He looked away from her. She'd been around him enough to see that he was conflicted – angry yes, but something else as well.

"He's a hypocrite! Based upon his own blood-purity guidelines for elimination the Dark Lord himself an undesirable! His mother, if she were alive today, would be severely chastised for lusting after a Muggle – for debasing herself with that Muggle, Tom Riddle, and defiling herself with mud."

Cillian turned to glare at the windows. Maybe he already knew that the Dark Lord was a half-blood. "I wouldn't be surprised if he had a narcissistic personality disorder, he's mental – a megalomaniac and you think he's brilliant?"

Cillian whipped about to face her again. "He is brilliant!"

"Have you ever really sat and analyzed him and his actions – really looked at this wizard you so revere? He has delusional fantasies of power, omnipotence – immortality, and he's fanatically preoccupied with issues of his personal superiority, his power, his prestige – he's the vainest person I've ever met!"

"Enough," Cillian shouted. "Keep your opinions to yourself." He turned, stormed across the room and through another doorway.

Hermione, incensed that he simply walked away from her, followed him, continuing despite his demand for her to stop. "He regards himself as superior to everyone; he has an inflated sense of his own opinions and cares nothing for those of other people. In fact, have you ever seen him care about anyone but himself and his bloody snake? Does he have any real friends – I don't mean loyal supplicants or followers – real friends? Or have you ever seen him with a human love interest? And I don't mean women he uses to service his needs – lovers. Even when he's being nice, it's calculated and manipulative so he gets what he wants."

She stopped in the center of the large room, and Cillian turned sharply to face her. "Do you really want to live the rest of your life under him as your master? Once he conquers the wizarding world, what's to stop him from abolishing all government and making himself tyrannical ruler of England and putting Muggles in their rightful place! Or who do you think will be sitting on the wizarding throne?"

"He never said anything about abolishing the government," Cillian snapped. "And he put Pius Thicknesse as Minister of Magic."

She let out a sharp bark of laughter. "Of course he did – he put a puppet into the position, and that left him free to move about without the restrictions of civil office while his puppet handled all the mundane things. But who is really in charge of the Ministry? Certainly not Minister Thicknesse! He answers to the Dark Lord. I bet Thicknesse doesn't make a move without groveling for permission."

"He has a lot of things to do," Cillian stated loudly, "or haven't you noticed we are fighting a war!"

"Yes, he has plenty of people to handle the mundane things. He appointed Devon Yaxley as head of the MLE and in charge of Muggle Infiltration Defense. He put Morgund Runcorn as head Auror – not that they're looking for Dark wizards anymore – they're hunting down innocent citizens. He put Wesley Westmore as head of Magical Transportation, and Blaine Macnair is head of the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures!" she said equally as loud. "He appointed Barcus Mordaunt as assistant head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission, under Dolores Umbridge – I bet she's a loyal follower too."

Cillian just chuckled condescendingly. "Not that old crone, no. She's just a supporter, believes like we do."

"I bet," Hermione said contemptuously. "She's a contemptible hag."

"What is all this arguing?"

Cillian and Hermione both turned to see two women enter the sitting room, one obviously the mother of the younger woman. The older one had short, wavy brown hair, kind brown eyes, and wearing a white blouse under an embroidered waistcoat and dark pink wrap with tan trousers. The younger woman was the one Hermione had noticed earlier reading by the window. She was very beautiful with a heart shaped face, her brown hair falling in soft curls past her shoulders, and a slender yet shapely figure. Cillian's face softened. "Just a disagreement, Juliet, don't be concerned," he said, his tone forcefully modulated to be respectful to the lady, before he tuned and glared daggers at Hermione.

"But you were arguing about him," the younger woman said, moving toward Cillian. "Is everything all right?"

"Yes, everything is fine," Cillian said politely with a smile that belied the angry tension in his frame. "A difference of opinions."

The younger girl turned to look at Hermione. "Who's this?"

Cillian looked at Hermione as if not sure what to say. "This is Severus' girl, Hermione."

Hermione extended her hand. "Hermione Snape."

"Dianne Henley," she said, shaking hands. "And this is my mother, Juliet."

Hermione shook hands with Juliet and was surprised that when they touched there wasn't that faintly subtle quiver-pulsation she'd expected that happened when magical people shook hands – that aura most magical people possessed. The woman didn't have innate magical energy – she was a Muggle – a Muggle staying in Cillian's home. "A pleasure to meet you," she said politely, smiling at Juliet.

"Are you the girl Severus married, then?" Dianne asked.

Hermione turned to Dianne. "Yes, we hand-fasted last August."

"I heard it was a lovely affair," Dianne said, her soft brown eyes openly regarding Hermione.

Hermione tried to keep from rolling her eyes. "It was extravagant, flowers and fairly lights everywhere… The Dark Lord walked me down the aisle and gave me away."

Dianne cringed at the idea, then carefully controlled her face into a polite smile. "What about your father? Oh, sorry. Is he still alive?" she asked, curious, indicating they should sit. Cillian looked at Hermione pointedly, his eyes narrowing as he shook his head, warning her.

"My father is a Muggle," she said, glancing at Juliet quickly to see her reaction. The woman did look surprised – as did Dianne. "My parents did not attend – but then considering the company, it was probably for the best."

"Oh." Dianne nodded solemnly, her eyes sympathetic but curious. "I'm sorry they couldn't. I hope they are happy for you."

"Oh, bother," Cillian exclaimed and stormed from the room.

Hermione excused herself and ran after him, finding herself back in the long foyer as Cillian exited the house out the back door. She followed him out onto the ornate patio at the rear of the house, the door slamming shut behind her as she called out to him, but he didn't stop. She stormed forward and exclaimed accusingly, "She's a Muggle-born!" pointing behind her at the bay windows of the sitting room.

Cillian stopped, spun about-face and glared at her. "Yes, I know what she is. Her parents are Muggle-born," he snapped.

"What are you doing with a Mudblood, Death Eater?" Hermione asked, accusingly.

He narrowed his eyes, and she could feel the animosity radiating off of him; his cutting stare had the force of a blade. "DO NOT CALL HER A MUDBLOOD," he growled out forcefully.

"Well she is, isn't she? To all you Death Eaters she's the scum of the earth – an undesirable – lower than mud. Her very existence is the reason for this war – her infiltration into your world."

"You don't know anything," he spat, his body rigid and his hands fisted tightly.

"Don't I?" she asked, knowing she was pushing too hard, pressing her luck.

"No!" he snarled, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "You don't know anything!"

"Of course I know – I'm a Muggle-born, too! People like her – Mudbloods like me! Arrested, sent to Azkaban – Kissed and left floating in the sea to drown," Hermione said with delicately intoned sarcasm. "Or aren't you a part of all that, Death Eater?"

Reflexively he drew his wand, his glower darkening as he stared at her enraged.

"You love her, don't you?" she asked, trying a different tactic. "Is she the person you hinted to me about when we were alone in the Library?"

His eyes narrowed into a scowl as he stepped toward her and growled out, "That's none of your business." His wand shook in his clenched fist.

"Yet you hide her away in your house, keeping her and her parents here as what?" she asked, lilting her head slightly to the side. She could see that he was conflicted again; if this had been a casual conversation he might have admitted his reasons, but he was too angry, too upset to trust her here and now. "Is Dianne your mistress?" she pushed.

She must have struck a nerve. "For your information she is NOT my mistress – she's my – my… And Juliet and her husband – you – this is none of your business."

Hermione took a step closer to him, and he backed up accordingly. In the last four months they had developed a report between them, a trust, almost a friendship. He'd been honest to her when she'd asked him about his past, his friendship with Severus, and his school days. He'd even shared a few recollections and anecdotes with her when they'd been alone in the library. And she was either going to lose that friendship or bring him over to her side of this conflict. "That's quite a risk, hiding undesirables. What if you get caught? What if he finds out? What if one of your brethren finds out? Or your sister gets suspicious about the real reason you won't consider a respectable match? Then what? Aren't you supposed to be trimming the Mudbloods and undesirables out of proper wizarding society, eliminating them or turning them over to the Muggle-born Registration Commission for incarceration or elimination?"

There was a flicker of fear in his eyes at the mention of the MRC.

"Why won't you admit it – you hide her because you love her. People like Dianne are not undesirable. She didn't steal her wand or steal her magic. She's not an immoral pretender or a charlatan…"

"No she didn't," he admitted. "She's a witch."

"But you know it's wrong, don't you – that he is wrong?" Hermione pushed. She could see the confliction in his eyes, she could see that he agreed but wasn't going to admit it. "He may have originally had good ideas; things you felt were needed, that had to be done if the wizarding world were to come out of the shadows. Originally, you may have agreed with some of his opinions, even shared a few. Or you go caught up in the fervor…" She noted that he relaxed a fraction, his shoulders not as tense as before as he looked at her, his face flushed with either embarrassment or anger, she couldn't tell – probably both. "But somewhere along the line you began to question, to think, to realize that maybe he wasn't right about everything. That maybe he wasn't what you thought he was…"

"I knew very well who he was and what he stood for," he said. He inhaled, his chest expanding, then relaxing as he let out his breath. "I was enthralled by him – everyone was. Marcus was right, he was…it was a long time ago. He was winning. It was join or—"

"Be killed," she finished for him. "You're not the only one. There were many who were swept up in his cause the first rising."

He opened his mouth to say something and then snapped it shut.

"And then he demanded more, took more and assumed that those loyal to him would want what he did," she said. It was how the books and the articles about the Death Eater trials described the rise of the Dark Lord. "He was charismatic, said what you wanted to hear, drew you in and once in – you were trapped." His eyes narrowed again. "But there is a way out – not that I am suggesting leaving him, but to choose that when the time comes you'll stand up for what you want – what you believe in. There will be chances, opportunities that if taken, even cunningly, will ensure that our side wins. That Harry wins. If you take those chances, you will come out on the right side in the end."

"He – I can't," he stammered. "This is all hypothetical and impossible."

He was listening. He didn't hex her or shut her up. Maybe Severus is right – he's ready. He just doesn't know whom to trust. "No, I know, I… In the end it will come down to him and Harry. It's why he's so afraid of Harry – why he has to be the one to kill him. It's more than an obsession – and there are some of his followers who don't understand why – but I do. I know." His eyes narrowed and his lips pursed. "Did it never occur to you that maybe there are darker forces involved – the Fates – a prophecy? He has to face Harry – it's his destiny."

There was a momentary flicker, a widening of his eyes that was immediately concealed behind a stony mask, but she saw it. Maybe he had heard about the prophecy, or he might know what Severus knew. "Dumbledore believed that Harry had the power to defeat the Dark Lord – he banked on it. He put everything he had into preparing him – and me – for this task… to vanquish the Dark Lord for good. I believe that Harry can do it."

"Enough!" he snapped. His lips twitched, but the next instant he was sneering once more. "You don't know what you're talking about – leave me alone." Cillian turned and sprinted across the grass.

Hermione tried to follow him but he was a fast runner. Just as he disappeared into the trees, she suddenly crashed, face first into what felt like a solid wall. The magical boundary shimmered unyielding where she'd impacted with it, and she fell back several feet, landing on her bum, knocking the wind out of her.

"Oh my god!" Dianne dropped to her knees, placing a hand on Hermione's back, helping her to sit up. "Are you all right?"

"What was…? I hit… a barrier?" she stammered. The magic was strong, impenetrable and had been completely undetectable.

"It's the shield. It surrounds the house. Cillian and Severus can pass. I can too, but it's for my protection," she explained as she helped Hermione stand. "It's best not to try leaving again unless you're escorted."

"Okay, I won't," she said as she straightened out her jumper and wiped her hands on her jeans. "I was only going to follow him—" Hermione felt her face flush slightly. Of course there's a shield.

"It's disconcerting, I know, but really it's for our safety," Dianne said with a lilt of her head and an apologetic smile. She stepped back and regarded Hermione critically. "What were you fighting about now?"

"The insanity of being a minion loyal to the Dark Lord and making choices," Hermione said truthfully.

Dianne's eyes became frosty and narrowed. "You're Potter's friend – one of…" Her eyes widened and she took a small step back. "But he said you were yielding," she said and then looked at the trees where Cillian had vanished. "You're not, are you? You still believe… and you – he… No, he can't – he can't!" she said, her voice becoming frightened, concerned, as she slowly moved away from Hermione. "If he does, he will die – the Dark Lord will kill him!"

"If he's wavering it's a good thing," Hermione said, but Dianne wasn't listening to her as she backed up to where the boundary was.

"I'll talk to him. He just has to calm down, that's all," Dianne said, hurrying across the grass as if nothing was there. She turned and ran, following Cillian into the trees.

Hermione watched her go with a sense of jealousy. She stood there, staring at the same spot, willing Cillian to come back.

"You won't be able to go in there," a man said behind her, making Hermione turn sharply in the direction of the voice. "It's their private place." He was a short man, easily five inches shorter than Juliet, with a round face and eyes framed by worry and laugh lines. He motioned for Hermione to go with him back into the house. "It's cold out here, come back inside where it's warm."

Reluctantly, Hermione followed him inside. Mrs. Henley was standing in the hallway, smiling at Hermione sympathetically. Hermione smiled back, at a lost what to say.

"How about a nice cup tea and a slice of fruit cake?" Mrs. Henley offered.

"Okay," Hermione said with a shrug.

Hermione wanted to be near the back door for when Cillian returned, so they joined Hermione in the large sitting room. The fine room had two large bay windows that let in plenty of light and handsome maple and walnut furniture. Mr. Henley walked over to the fireplace to light a fire, as Hermione and Juliet sat in the chairs closest to the bay window nearest to the door.

"How do you know Cillian?" Mrs. Henley asked as a rather tall house-elf wearing a knit shawl over an old dress and slippers appeared with the tea service. The elf kept her ears down and back with her head bowed, and Hermione thought she detected a concealing spell on the creature. "Thank you, Ella," Mrs. Henley said, and Ella nodded and shuffled from the room.

"Sweet old lady," she said, checking the pot. "Efficient, but won't say much to us."

Hermione smiled at the comment, curious about the house-elf's attitude and clothes but said nothing, answering the first question instead. "Cillian's like my bodyguard-protector at school," she admitted, hoping that they wouldn't want too many details.

Mrs. Henley smiled as she poured the tea. "Yes, Cillian is quite protective," she said, and looked up. "Milk?"

Hermione nodded. "Yes, please." She accepted the cup. "How long have you known Cillian?"

"Since… it's been what, Andrew? Seven years?" she asked her husband as she fixed his tea.

"They had been dating three or four years before this Dark Lord remerged, and he forced us into this safe house," he said with a slight bit of resentment in his voice. "Of course, it's for our safety. Those Death Eaters know about us, and we'd be killed for having two magical children."

"Annabel is thirteen years younger than her sister, but she's like Dianne," Mrs. Henley said with a slight twitch of her lips, handing Mr. Henley his tea. "Imagine our surprise. Our little boy isn't though – he's normal."

Hermione tried not to smirk or roll her eyes at the comment. Normal. Not magical. A Squib? "Are they here as well?" she asked but Mr. Henley shook his head.

"They were sent abroad," Mrs. Henley said, then clamped up at Mr. Henley's warning glance.

Hermione set down her cup. "No, it makes sense; it's very dangerous for Muggle-borns right now," she said, feeling sorry for the couple. "I had to send my parents abroad – for their protection. It's really hard. I miss them terribly, but I know they're safe."

"So your parents are Muggle-born?" Mr. Henley asked.

Hermione shook her head. "No, I am."

Both their eyes widened at her admission. "But you're at Hogwarts?"

She nodded, looking away thoughtfully. "I suppose you could say it's under extenuating circumstances," she said and looked at them. "I'm the Dark Lord's prisoner, of sorts, and married to Severus Snape… He's headmaster now. I – it's – the Dark Lord wants me available to him and under his thumb…" They looked confused, so rather than explain, she simply said, "It's complicated."

"It's all complicated nowadays, although it's hard not knowing what's going on," Mr. Henley stated. "Oh, we get word occasionally, mostly from Cillian, and there is an owl that brings us the Times on Sundays, and Dianne gets the Daily Prophet, but Cillian warns us not to believe everything we read in that publication. And once in a while Cillian picks up our post and brings it to us, so we are so cut off."

"So, Cillian and Dianne…?" Hermione prompted, hoping that her guess was right.

"Nice enough bloke. Loves her, he does. They would've been married… but… well, he shows up suddenly two years ago and tells us we have to go into hiding. My partner, Jack – he's the watchmaker – he and Oliver are running the shop. Cillian told us that when this is all over, he'll fix things… but it's not going to end soon, is it?" Mr. Henley asked, but although he was smiling amiably, there was a sadness to his voice.

They talked about the wizarding world, the events that they knew to be happening, and Hermione was surprised by the amount of information they had. However, the Henleys spoke in terms of Dianne's world and their world, as if the wizarding world was a completely separate plane of existence that only magical people could cross. But Cillian said they were Muggle-born – not that they were Muggles? He'd been adamant.

~C~

Cillian walked part way around the circumference of the stone pavilion and stopped, arms crossed, staring out across Derwent Water towards the far shore. This view, looking at the placid blue lake surrounded by the Lakeland Fells, was normally one of his favorites on the island.

He remembered climbing Catbells frequently as a child, delighting in the view back towards the island that only he could see, thanks to the magic that had been placed upon it. The thought that there was such a secret place, in plain view of all those ordinary Muggles walking up the hill alongside him, had thrilled his younger self. It was one of the many ways that had made him feel powerful and special as a young wizard.

But now the serenity of the lake before him did nothing to soothe his thoughts. His mind was in turmoil. He should never have allowed that snip of a girl to go on like he had. I should have cut her off or silenced her, except she'd said so many of the things that had plagued him over the last year, well, two years, if he was honest with himself.

He scuffed his boot in irritation and leaned against one of the stone columns of the colonnade and crossed his arms again. He had blindly followed his brothers into the inner circle of the Death Eaters at eighteen, ready to fight for wizard supremacy. But after the Dark Lord fell and peace returned, he realized his folly – that and he'd met Dianne. She was several years younger than him, a knobby-kneed teen the last time he'd seen her at school, turned into a beautiful lady…. It took a year for her to agree to even go out with him. And when she saw his Dark Mark for the first time – it took another six months to prove he regretted it, that he didn't hold to those ideas any longer.

But there was no way out. The intermittent irritation from his Dark Mark on his arm flared slightly, and he kicked the pillar behind him at the reminder. At least he wasn't being summoned.

He let his gaze travel over the shoreline, wishing he could simply hide here at his great-grandfather's 'cottage' until the war was over.

Except no one left the Dark Lord. No one. It was suicide.

He looked down at the snow-covered ground. In spring, the area around the pavilion would be thick with irises. Dianne loved irises.

As if his thoughts had summoned her, he heard her soft voice call out, "Cillian," and he turned his head. She approached him cautiously, unfortunately well familiar with his temper when he was truly angry or upset, as he was now.

He took a deep breath as he shook his head, and she came to him. He pulled her to him once she was within arm's reach, and held her tightly with his nose buried in her hair. Lemon verbena. She always smelled like lemon verbena and lavender.

"Cillian, you can't, you know this," she said softly into his chest.

It was her greatest fear.

It was his deepest wish – to leave with her and her parents and never return.

But after what had happened to Karkaroff, Cavendish, Lundergan and others, she had refused to go with him to Ponsitano, Italy. Of course she's right, there is nowhere on earth I could go, he thought with a heavy heart. Not even the deepest part of Brazil or the remotest territory of Australia. That, and he did love his family; his desertion could – would cost his family their lives. And he loved Dianne's family, enough to risk everything to protect them.

Several months later after the Dark Lord's return, he'd put most his wealth in a Muggle bank, transferred all his lands under a false name and forged the needed documents. Mr. Henley had helped him. To thank the man, he had abducted his family, sent the two youngest children to stay with their relatives in Germany, and deposited Mr. and Mrs. Henley and Dianne here, to this island, little more than a prison, one Mrs. Henley and Dianne compared to the attic an Anne Frank had written about.

Cillian had then hidden the Henley's house under the Fidelius Charm. He then altered the memory of Andrew's two employees into thinking they ran the business for him (under the assumed name of Henry Clark), and locked all his memories of what he'd done down as deep as he could bury them in his own mind.

A practice he had become good at over the last two and a half years. Boxing away and burying the memories that the Dark Lord was not to see and Occluding his mind were skills that he had worked hard to perfect. The act of doing so gave him a savage sense of pleasure; knowing that The Dark Lord could not have all of him enabled him to hold on to a degree of self-respect.

"No, when school resumes, I will go back to the castle," he said with a heavy sigh. Under the watchful eyes of the Dark Lord's most trusted servant and my best friend. At least there he didn't have to torture innocents, destroy homes, and haul families to the MRC. Moreover, Severus didn't care about his association with Dianne; he probably thought of her as his mistress, his plaything.

That and there was a lot of pressure for the pure-blood witches of eligible age to bear children, and pure-blood fathers were not ones to accept unwed mothers, especially their precious daughters. Cillian dreaded being forced into in a farce of a marriage to repeatedly impregnate a witch he didn't love. Sons to be raised into the New Order of Walpurgis, who would someday rise to the inner circle of the Death Eaters, and daughters who'd grow up to become breeders of more potential Death Eaters.

In a way he envied Severus; he had an eight-month reprieve yet before he had to begin breeding with whomever the Death Eaters' wives thought appropriate. Only, Cillian was certain that Severus had fallen for Hermione, that he truly loved her. When her usefulness was over, Cillian doubted that Severus would kill her. No, he will be in the same mess I am, trying to save an undesirable from her fate.

The whole situation was a fucking nightmare.

"Are you all right?" Dianne asked, leaning back to look at him.

Cillian smirked at her. "I love you," he said and kissed her as if it was the last time he'd ever be able to. He loved the feel of her lips, the taste of jasmine tea and lemon biscuits on her tongue and the way she molded into his arms. Kissing her was like breathing in life, although he'd never admit it to anyone, it made him feel whole.

When the kiss ended, he supported her until her legs gained their strength again, and she smiled at him. Even her smile warmed him from the inside out. Her arms tightened around his waist as she laid her head on his shoulder. He liked the way she fitted so well against him. He held her, closing his eyes and breathing in the smells of the trees, the lake and her scent.

He loved the fact that she'd let him just hold her without uncomfortable chatter and questions.

"Are you cold?" he asked after a while when he'd felt her shiver.

He felt her head move and her shoulders shrugged slightly. "No."

He smiled at her and chuckled softly. "Let's get you back to the house where it's warm."

She nodded but didn't move right away. "Or cast a Warming Charm on us."

He silently laughed, and his lips twitched slightly at her suggestion. "C'mon," he said, making her move so they could walk back together.

As soon as he and Dianne stepped through the shield and walked toward the patio, he saw Hermione's face momentarily in the window, and he groaned silently.

"What?" Dianne asked.

"Nothing," he replied, just an annoying Gryffindor who thinks she's right and isn't considering the consequences of what she's insisting on.

~S~

Severus landed on the island and strode purposefully up to the house. He adjusted the mass of newly harvested hide and the two horns in his arms so he could open the door and entered the entry hall, just as Hermione exited the large sitting room at the back of the house. "Hermione," he called out to get her attention. She stopped and turned, her expression changing from glad to see him to apprehensive. "What? No hug?" he asked with a smirk. "Come here."

She approached him, eyeing the hide and horns in his arms.

"How did it go?" he asked.

She shook her head. "Not so well," she replied, looking dejected. "I tried, really I did. I pushed, maybe a bit too much, but he became angry and ran off through a barrier."

I bet you tried, he thought, controlling his face to hide his smirk. "You'll have time tonight to try again," he said, dumping the hide and horns to the side of the room. He didn't have to use Legilimency to know how hard she pushed. Gryffindors are never subtle, especially when they want you to see things their way. They tended to be blunt and persistent, and Hermione was intelligent and good at vocalizing her thoughts. She'd wear Cillian down, and then he could finally have a serious talk with his friend.

When he stood up she said, "He's just walking back with Dianne," indicating the back door.

So she'd met Dianne. Good. "What do you think about Dianne?"

"She's a Muggle-born – like me," she said, eyeing his robes as he nodded. "I think you're right about Cillian, but I think she knows he's wavering. I think he has thought about leaving the Dark Lord, but won't – for obvious reasons."

The torture of your loved ones and, "Death," he said with a nod. Hermione nodded confirming his statement. So that came up? Interesting. He'd have to ask to see her memories of their argument; she might have missed something important.

The back door opened, and Dianne entered, followed by Cillian. "If I seem angry with you, ignore it," he said softly as Cillian, followed by Dianne, approached.

She hung her head and nodded. "Pretenses, right? You keep a lot of secrets." She didn't mean it as a compliment.

"Yes, I do," he said succinctly.

"What are you going to do with that?" Cillian asked, pointing to the greyish-purple hide and gold horns. He made a quick glaring glance at Hermione, then looked at Severus.

Severus raised an eyebrow and looked at Hermione, frowning at her. "The horns are going into my personal stores, although I may sell one," he said as he turned to Dianne, and his lips curved into a small smile, "and the hide I'm going to give to you."

"That's thoughtful of you," Cillian sneered. He was obviously in a bad mood. "What is she going to do with that bloody mess?"

"Whatever the lady wants, I suppose," Severus stated, indicating the hide on the floor. "It's hardly bloody – I cleaned it. I used the Scraping, Scudding and Fleshing Charms on the hide to remove the flesh, fat and membranous tissue, so it's ready to be salted." He'd cleaned up before returning, even tried to clean his robes, using that icy water to do so. He'd dried his clothes magically and warmed them with charms, but nevertheless he flushed slightly, knowing there were still some bloodstains on his robes.

"Really, Severus, and you just dump it in the hallway? True finesse," Cillian complained.

Dianne quickly interjected, "I'm sure that I can – I'm more than capable of dealing with the hide, Cillian."

"Dianne, I'll brew you the potions for curing the hide after we return," Severus said, grateful to her.

Dianne's gaze jumped from the hide on the floor to Severus with a quick snap of her head. "Return?" she asked.

"Yes, return," Severus said definitely. He looked at Cillian. "It's time to face the Dark Lord."

He actually felt sorry for Hermione when he saw her complexion pale and her eyes widen in fear.

~ H ~

Hermione stood just outside the doorway between the large hall and the Drawing Room where the Dark Lord was holding court, waiting until the Dark Lord called them forward. Severus and Cillian stood behind her, silently observant of everything around them. Hermione could hear the conversation being held between the Dark Lord and the men he'd identified as Rosenberg, Mengele and Vorster about the magical surrogate program and the experimentation of magical implantation of carefully bred fetuses into witches who'd been proved to be of proper wizarding blood. The implications were grotesque, even though the wizards tried to make it sound promising for the repopulation of the wizarding world.

The wizard currently speaking, Mengele, had a nasally voice with an odd accent, was reporting that many of the half-blood infants showed the early promise of magical strength. "I suggest that Death Eaters father as many children as possible, using as many half-blood girls as possible. It's possible that the pure-blood ancestry would be strong in these children, beating out the infection of the Muggle tainted blood. This would create strong, hereditarily viable magical children, and eliminate the number of squib defects. Also, if we segregate these children, use 'pure-bloodisation', raise them in good homes under proper guidance, they would grow up to serve you, Master."

Another voice spoke up, "I would like to set up maternity homes – a place of pride where women could give birth and receive care. We can press Healers into service, if needed, and the homes can serve as daycare facilities for the mothers so that they can propagate as needed and as frequently as possible to build up the pure-blood race."

"But according to the Magical Birth Registry, pure-blood births are declining, while the last copy of Hogwarts School Registry indicates that Mudblood births are on the rise," the Dark Lord stated. Hermione cringed at the irritation in his voice.

She recognized Macnair's voice when he spoke up, "My Lord, we could remove the children – take them to an improvised shelter – an orphanage or Vorster's maternity home perhaps, to be raised to serve you, as fighters for your cause." Hermione knew that Mengele and Vorster had been in put in charge of the Magical Children's Health and Welfare Office. "They would never gain proper status, naturally, but they could be used as soldiers—"

"This war will be over before they reach their maturity to fight," the deep voice she thought might be Rosenberg's said. "My Lord, another alternative is to make them available for adoption by Death Eater families or loyal supporters as foster parents. Properly taught, both in society norms and to know their place, they would grow in your service, loyal to you and your will. We would be able to then raise the children properly, from newborn infants to age of eleven when they would start Hogwarts."

"Who would want a Muggle's spawn? Don't we have enough Mudbloods to eliminate now? And we'd have to sterilize them to keep them from breeding," a gruff voice stated.

Hermione saw Draco walk over to his father. Draco glanced around the room, possibly taking note of who was in attendance, and spotted her, watching him. He glared at her, made to walk up to her but his father put a restraining hand on his shoulder. "You can speak to her later," Lucius said as he tried to draw Draco away. "If the Dark Lord sees fit to let her live."

Draco nodded and Hermione watched him turn to leave with his father.

A thin, pointy-faced man with a prominent nose entered the hall from the drawing room, stopping next to Severus. "Snape, Gwynek, you were not announced," he said saucily with a grin. "One moment while I rectify that." He turned heel and returned to the Drawing room.

"Might as well go in," Cillian stated, grasping one of Hermione's arms gently.

"Why not," Severus agreed softly and he grasped her other arm, his fingers relaxed but firm. Not that she was about to struggle or refuse to enter the room and face the Dark Lord, but if her knees gave way, at least they'd be holding her up.

Hermione saw the pointy-faced man bow before the Dark Lord, but Voldemort acknowledged them before the impertinent wizard had a chance to speak. "Severus, Cillian, I see you've returned Hermione to me," he said, his voice quickly becoming ominous. "Bring her to here."

She cringed at his sudden bitter tone but willingly went with the two wizards at her side to face her fate. Severus had said that that given the situation, once he saw her memories, she might come out unscathed. She hoped so.

She saw Bellatrix curled up, trapped in a magical sphere next to the dais where the Dark Lord's throne stood, the barmy witch glowering at Hermione as she approached. Belinda was lying on the floor in manacles and chains beside Bellatrix, apparently unconscious, her face bruised, and she had a small bit of blood oozing from the corner of her mouth. Hermione cringed inwardly at the thought of what could've happened to the witch. She felt sorry for Cillian, having to see his sister in such a state. She might not like the woman, and knew she'd tried to kill her a few times now, but seeing her like that, Hermione felt pity for her.

The Dark Lord stood and stepped down from his platform, radiating anger. "You left me!" he snarled venomously as both men shoved her ahead of them, keeping back a full step behind her on either side. "After all I did for you – the honor I bestowed upon you – you left me!"

Hermione kneeled as gracefully as she could. "Yes," she said, lowering her head in shame and fear. She could sense both men kneel behind her, and tried to force herself to breath normally, unable to look up at the angry wizard above her.

"That's it – YES?" the Dark Lord snarled furiously. "Extremus Gelidus" hesaid deliberately, his wand a blur before the tip pointed directly at her, and she instantly felt a rush of intense cold, beyond chilled-to-the-bone cold, envelope her body. Hermione fell frozen on the floor, screaming, her body jerking from muscle spasms and convulsions, feeling stabbing pin-and-dagger-like pain piercing every inch of her body. Each inhalation burned her lungs.

"She came back with me willingly, my Lord," Severus' calm, melodic voice penetrated her pain filled mind. "Given the choice – she chose to return. She chose to come back to you," he said.

The Dark Lord froze and ended the curse as he turned on Severus, his wand held casually in his fingers, ready to strike. Hermione lay on the floor, panting and shivering uncontrollably, never more grateful to him for speaking up.

"Show me," the Dark Lord demanded.

Severus rose, moved forward and knelt, lifting his chin like a supplicant so that he looked up at the Dark Lord's red eyes.

Hermione could only guess at what Severus allowed the Dark Lord to see. She pushed herself up and leaned heavily on her arms but was still too weak to get up properly, shivering uncontrollably from the cold of the spell. Time stretched as she waited in nervous anticipation, the bone-chilling cold barely dissipating.

The Dark Lord laughed out loud, his head thrown back and his high-pitched cackle filling the room. "Well done, Severus, well done." He turned on Hermione. "But still, you left me," he snarled at her.

She pushed herself to her knees as she pleaded, "I was being chased," ignoring the shooting pains as she did. "I thought I was in grave danger. I thought I had to go. I had to leave or I'd – I'd… Even after you said I was to be left alone – they – Belinda and Bellatrix – didn't," she stammered, kneeling deferentially, still so afraid she could only look up at his robes.

Bellatrix looked murderous. "I was only trying to stop the girl," she yelled from her confinement, her voice muffled from the bubble.

"She was – I believed she was going to kill me… I know it's – I wasn't thinking normally – I panicked," Hermione said, two tears falling unnoticed down her cheeks. "I – I had nowhere to go, and then when I did, I realized I had no way to find Severus—"

"You could have returned here," the Dark Lord snarled ferociously.

"I didn't think I could—" She paused, and she could literally feel his glare on her.

"Prove it. Show me, girl. I want to see it."

She forced herself to look up at him. She was terrified of the cold tone of his voice, the piercing anger of his gaze. She looked him in the eyes as best as she could, fighting back the compulsion to cower and lower her gaze. He shoved into her mind, and Hermione fell back at the impact. She offered up her memories openly: arriving at the Burrow and seeing it a charred ruin, knowing Severus was not there, then arriving at Grimmauld Place and getting by the Death Eaters in the street, hoping to find Severus in the house, then realizing he was not. She repeated her memory of walking into the garden of the Burrow, and the devastation of the house, emphasizing that she knew Severus wasn't there. She showed him images of her, Ron and Harry in the forest gorge, trying to fend off the graphorn, Ron defending her while Harry tried to free the sword, and Harry using the sword to kill the beast. She showed him the first moment she'd been aware of Severus' presence, followed by her telling Ron and Harry that she would go with Severus so he would not be killed.

The cruel pressure in her mind suddenly stopped and she gasped as she righted herself. "Potter has the sword?!" the Dark Lord raged at Severus.

"It's merely a copy, my Lord," Severus said with a smirk. "One to fool the students so that the sword you hold remains safe."

The Dark Lord turned on Hermione. "Why try to find Severus and not me?"

"I was afraid to come back here! I didn't know if I could – and if I did, I believed that you would kill me – I was certain of it. I thought that if I could find Severus he could, well, he might… I had to find him – but I irrationally thought he had abandoned me. But I couldn't find Severus anywhere…" she babbled, stammering nervously, almost incoherently.

"Enough," the Dark Lord snapped, and she cowered, bowing as low as she could. "See how dependant she's become on you," the Dark Lord said to Severus and then turned on her again. "Iwould have protected you."

"I believed you'd kill me," she pleaded emphatically. She wiped her face, only now aware of the wetness on her cheeks.

"I should now," he retorted venomously and then became coolly calm, "except I find myself surprisingly pleased with you at the moment. I can feel Potter's anguish. I knew he was enraged by something. I could feel his defeat, his loss and did not know what brought it on." He stood directly in front of her. "Get up you silly girl." Hermione struggled to her feet, surprised that she could stand, but hung her head, peering up at him from under her fringe. "Look at me," he barked and her head snapped up to comply.

He entered mind again, forcefully, but this time she was able to remain standing. He searched through her mind. She showed him the memories of the night she ran, her escape. It replayed in fragments, which she tried to sort out for him, starting with the end of her dance with Mr. Endfield, the fear rising to irrational levels, being hustled out onto the terrace with the other guests, panicking as she anxiously searched for Severus, and her terror-filled flight down the steps to the gardens. He pulled up the memory of her dance with Mr. Endfield again, even backing further, repeating the dance in her mind over and again, as if searching for the exact moment when she realized she was in trouble – in danger. He followed the thread of panic as she ran for the gardens and up to when she'd Apparated, examining it several times. She knew that he could feel her irrational fears and her desperation to find Severus. When the contact broke, Hermione slumped down to her knees, her whole body so weak she felt boneless.

He stood before her, staring down at her head and even though she was only looking at his feet, she thought that she could feel his anger begin to ebb. He reached out his hand. "Give me your left hand," he demanded.

Although fearful of his intent, Hermione placed her hand in his.

"Apparently I misjudged you, too trusting of your compliance." He twisted his wrist, turning her arm and aimed his wand at her arm. The materials covering her forearm ripped, exposing her flesh. "You will not run from me again, Hermione. Ever." He jabbed his wand into her mark, making it burn, a deep searing pain, and she screamed. When he was done, the snake in her arm moved.

He shoved her arm away from him, and she cradled it against her as she cried silently.

"Severus, your arm," the Dark Lord demanded.

Severus moved forward, opening his sleeve as he did. "You and she will be joined. If she runs again, you will bring her back to me immediately."

"Of course, my Lord." Severus held still, holding his breath as the Dark Lord jabbed his wand into his Mark. If it hurt him he showed little sign of it. A lion appeared, held trapped in the twisted coils of his snake.

"You can touch the lion and it will take you to her," the Dark Lord told him as he let go of Severus' arm. He turned to Cillian. "Cillian, you are her guardian, are you not?"

"Yes, my Lord, that is my task," he admitted solemnly.

"Then come here." The Dark Lord repeated the act, changing Cillian's Mark to include the lion. Like Severus, he inhaled sharply once but showed little reaction to the pain. When the Dark Lord was done, he stood back and ordered them to rise. "Take her and go," he said, "but I warn you, Severus, keep her close until school resumes."

Severus nodded respectively. "Yes, my Lord. She will not be out of our sight."

~~o0o~~

Author's Notes:

A huge thank you to my alpha reader, Arabellabloodgood for reading this over for me, Proulxes for the Britpick and for being my locations scout, and to Lady_Rayne and DuchessOfArcadia, for combing through this and helping me clean up my mistakes. I really appreciate the beta help. Thank you very much.

Chapter images: As I imagine it, Cillian's house is similar to the manor on Derwent Isle, only the part of the wall between the two bay windows on the left and the third window to the right there is a door and a nice large patio.

.

The island, if you could see it, would be like the Derwent Isle: the same trees, the same expanses of lawn behind the house but with a formal front garden, a Druid Circle and a pavilion. And there isn't a boat dock; wizards don't need boat docks.