Darkness Falls

But, knowing now that they would have her speak,
She threw her wet hair backward from her brow,
Her hand close to her mouth touching her cheek,
As though she had had there a shameful blow,
And feeling it shameful to feel aught but shame
All through her heart, yet felt her cheek burned so,
She must a little touch it; like one lame
She walked away from Gauwaine, with her head
Still lifted up; and on her cheek of flame
The tears dried quick; she stopped at last and said —

— from "The Defense of Guenevere" by William Morris

***

The silence was deafening. Agonised faces sat as if petrified in the Headmistress' round office, each too shocked and terrified to utter a sound. Only the dark-haired man and, ironically, a young woman who by all rights should have remained their student seemed capable of thinking and articulation. For his part, the man had been the one to deliver the news and the shock had mostly worn off ... mostly. As for the other, she had become so accustomed to accepting shocks and shocking circumstances that she simply allowed her detached logic to treat this the same as she had treated casualty lists, death notifications,1 and class organisations.

"Do we know how it will work?"

Minerva McGonagall roused herself from her stupor as Hermione voiced a question that expressed both her acceptance of the situation and her determination to fight it. But more importantly ...

"How? How did he get in?!"

At this the others seemed to snap out of their shocked silence. A flood of murmuring filled the room as everyone began to speculate on how Voldemort had breached the wards and re-entered the Chamber of Secrets without arousing any suspicion. Snape shook his head in disgust, his eyes slanting towards the only other person who had grasped the true implications.

"It doesn't matter how he got in," he snarled. "He's in possession of something that could kill an untold number of people, Minerva, something that can breach even the best wards. A containment charm like I use in the laboratory might work — but only if we never come out."

"A biological weapon," Hermione whispered. "How very Muggle of him."

Snape snorted. "Only too true, Miss Granger ... except that apparently this Plague that he has loosed on us was developed by Slytherin himself as a means to cull the herd, as it were."

McGonagall pinched the bridge of her nose in an attempt to ward off the ever-impending headache that potions no longer cured. "Very well ... Filius, take Vector, Hooch, and Sinistra to the foundation, Moody too if he's returned, and check the wards for any disturbance. If nothing else, if we can determine how he entered we may be able to prevent him from accessing the Chamber at a later date."

Those named filed out of the room leaving the three conversationalists with Poppy Pomfrey and Sera Sprout, the latter moving closer to the desk in an attempt to both attain a small measure of comfort from the others as well as to facilitate conversation.

Once the door closed, Pomfrey exhaled a long breath and asked, "What do we know?"

"Very little, Poppy," Snape replied wearily. "And what I did learn before I was discovered — "

"And tortured," the matron hissed, suddenly angry once again.

"And tortured, Poppy, but that was to be expected," he dismissed, ignoring the slight tremors that still lingered even three weeks later.

"Poppy," Sprout interrupted before her friend could retort. "You know he's right ... let it go for now. We need ... you need to know what we can expect."

Snape sighed. "That would be the problem. The information Slytherin provided was rather vague even for him. The notes were written in at least five languages, of which one was Parseltongue, and the form was that of a poem. He did not specify how this plague works, nor the speed at which it will spread, only that once released from its containment that it will destroy the unworthy."

"Unworthy?"

A nod was the only reply to McGonagall's question. The others glanced at each other, grim looks replacing shock as each one came to the same conclusion.

"Muggleborns," Hermione whispered. "He's found a plague that only kills Muggleborns."

"Hermione?"

She turned slightly, her reverie interrupted by a voice from the past now made manifest in the present, and found her mentor and former Head of House quickly crossing the room with a delighted smile blooming on her face. "Hermione, my dear ... I had heard, but until this moment ... "

Any response she might have made was cut off as she was enveloped in a tight embrace. Tears pricked her eyelids at this show of affection from the normally stand-offish and decorous Scotswoman, both at the emotions that her friend and surrogate mother produced as well as for the unconditional forgiveness and understanding that she knew the embrace conveyed. Hermione shuddered, exhaling in relief as a tension she had not acknowledged evaporated in the space of heartbeat.

How long the two stood wrapped around one another, enveloped in the mutual comfort that each provided, she was unsure. However, when the two broke apart it was to find that tears glittered on the cheeks of both women and smiles of genuine fondness graced their faces. Rather than adjourn to the chairs before the roaring fire that warmed the library, Minerva joined her former student on the curved window seat that overlooked the long and wide expanse of wild moor that surrounded Wrynsmere Keep.

"It's rather treacherous," Minerva said quietly, her head inclined toward the moors. "Dangerous and stark ... and yet it is strangely beautiful as well."

Hermione nodded, not trusting herself to speak quite yet. She understood, of course, that the moor was not the only thing to which the older witch referred; her words could just as easily describe Severus Snape. Or the Wizarding world, she acknowledged.

"And hard to navigate," she whispered sadly. "It's a harsh and unforgiving place."

"Harsh, yes," her mentor responded. "But not so unforgiving as all that, my dear, not once you accept it for what it is."

"I thought I had."

Minerva inhaled sharply. "So you know."

"Yes."

"Is that why ... ?"

"Partly, yes," Hermione sighed.

Minerva pursed her lips, considering, as she studied the woman before her. Ten years had added a certain maturity of form, that was to be expected, bringing her to an appearance that would — barring injury or other grievous harm — last for the next sixty or seventy years. Gone was the bright young girl who had both delighted and flummoxed her professors. Gone was the weary healer who had been a rock on whom so many had leaned, herself included, she acknowledged. Gone was the young bride and mother who had, despite everything she had seen, been so full of hope for the future. And yet at thirty-two she was still young even by Muggle standards.

Only her haunted eyes remained the same, eyes that had seen too much ... and now they were clouded with an understanding that had been missing the last time they had met. And that, she concluded, was somehow worse than anything else ever could be.

"I didn't know until it was too late," she admitted sometime later. A minute, an hour, did it matter? "I know you must know how I reacted — "

Hermione nodded.

"But they are, however much we may dislike and abhor it, in the right. I don't like it," Minerva concluded, her hands curling sharply in on themselves. "And each time a new child is brought back I have to force myself not to react. It's always worse for the older ones, the ones who knew their parents and family ... "

The two locked eyes and understanding passed between them.

"But there's no choice," Hermione echoed woodenly.

"No, there is not," her companion agreed. "It's a horrible choice to make, but it must be made and we all agreed that the Muggleborns had to be found and removed from the Muggle world as soon as possible. Even ... even Albus would have understood, Hermione. He wouldn't have liked it anymore than we do, but it's from him that I learned how to make hard choices."

The two sat in a silence broken only by the crackle of the fire and the distant cry of the wind on the moor until Minerva bestirred herself and turned stern eyes on Hermione.

"You're home, Hermione. Whatever precipitated your flight, however legitimate your reasons, you are home ... you do understand that, do you not?"

"I know," she sighed. "I've already had that beaten into me."

Minerva stiffened slightly and Hermione chuckled bitterly. "Oh come now, Minerva, surely you knew about that ... I was quite thorough in my study of the Law and you were with me for most of it."

"Be that as it may — "

"And you've had occasion to see another Gryffindor submit to it, haven't you?" Hermione pointed out, realising for the first time that it was not a question. Until now she had been of two minds about what Severus had told her, but after her meeting with Voldemort ...

The older witch sighed deeply. "Yes, yes I have. You know, then?"

"Only the barest bones," Hermione frowned. "Severus seemed to think there were more important things to discuss."

Minerva made a noise in her throat that could have been agreement or a smothered snort. Hermione, however, had long since termed it a 'Scottish noise' and left it at that. "I'm sure."

"Still," Hermione mused, "I can't see how it came about. Arthur and Lucius still positively loathe one another ... or they did ... "

"They still do," the other witch replied archly.

Hermione raised an eyebrow in inquiry, an expression so like her husband's crossing her face that Minerva had to repress the urge to shudder. However much she despised Slytherin's Law, at least young Ginny was free from the curse of Belonging.

"About four and a half years after you left," she continued, her voice softening a notch, "Ginny Weasley was accosted by Harry and — "

Mahogany eyes closed tightly, their owner expelling a hissing breath. "He didn't, tell me he didn't ... "

"No, he did not, Merlin be thanked," Minerva replied. "She was rescued by Lucius Malfoy before anything ... untoward occurred. Afterwards, Malfoy began to take an active interest in young Miss Weasley. Somewhat unexpected, I grant you, but with Narcissa and Draco long dead he was in need of a wife and heirs. He was older, yes, and there's an even larger divide than between you and Severus, not that it matters, but she's also a pureblood.

“And recent circumstances and discoveries notwithstanding, old prejudices are hard to break."

Hermione nodded, able to envisage the setting all too easily. A distraught young woman, abducted by a man she once counted as a friend — quite possibly more than a friend — is snatched from almost certain death by a powerful wizard with whom her family has a long-standing feud. That said wizard is still handsome despite his increasing age is all too apparent and Ginny, shaken by her experience, would have found it nearly impossible not to form an attachment. When she discovered that he returned her feelings, even if a modicum was all he returned, how perfectly permissible it must have seemed to accept his suit. That he was wealthy and powerful, able to give her things her father could not, would have been the icing on the proverbial cake. And in the ensuing haste of dressmaking and preparations, in the heady rush that overtakes a young bride … how easy to forget that this same wizard was once responsible for not only countless murders and rapes, but for planting the diary that nearly led to her own demise.

"Is she happy?"

Minerva McGonagall, one of the acknowledged powers running the Wizarding world, shrugged. "I do not know. For all intents and purposes she is perfectly content to remain with Lucius and raise their children, of which there are two. She continues her work with the Muggleborn children — we could hardly do without her — and she sees her family often but it seems as if no one knows her anymore."

"If we ever truly knew her," Hermione whispered, still reluctant to disturb the memory. Was this Ginny changed, she wondered, or had her life up until her marriage been a facade? Had marriage to Lucius turned her or had she simply stopped pretending?

Or was the Law of Slytherin taking its toll on vivacious Ginny Weasley?

"The Law of Slytherin, Severus?"

Severus smiled down at her, his sharp eyes taking in the fall of curls that were loose about her shoulders and the smudge of ink on the side of her nose. How lovely she looked ... how he regretted that the strict rules and sumptuary laws to which she would soon be required to adhere would subsume this freshness and naivete. Now that all the impediments had been removed he was free to court her as befitted a wizard of his station, although no one would dare to say that such a courtship was of any importance. Unnecessary at best and selfish at worst; she Belonged to him, thus negating the need for many of the formalities that governed the older lines. Added to that, the Wizarding world needed to repopulate itself as quickly as possible. However, he was determined to treat her as courteously as he would have had there been no Belonging and no terrible need to restore their world to its previous grandeur.

"I doubt you have heard of it, Hermione," he told her gently. "It is generally only adhered to by the older families of House Slytherin, although there are pieces of it that are being incorporated into the Device."

Hermione frowned at him for a moment as she tapped her finger against the open scroll of parchment on the table. "I know. After all the fuss Malfoy was making a few days ago I decided to do what I do best. And this Law is ... is this ... Severus, I don't want to sound, well, I don't mean to whinge, but is all of this truly necessary?"

"Yes," he replied as he joined her at the table, taking the seat across from her. "Especially now, when so much of our world is in chaos. Do you not see, Hermione, that an example must be set and rules invoked for our protection? The Law of Slytherin is a simple thing, really, and I will answer any question you have as regards it."

"Then answer me this, Severus," she murmured intently, lowering her voice so as not to be heard by any who might be passing. "According to the Law, a husband has the right to exact justice if his wife abandons him or is unfaithful. It completely ignores the fact that witches have an inherently unique power and position, whether single or as part of a mated pair. This law upsets the balance of power between witch and wizard."

A small smile curved his lips and his black eyes found hers and held them until she blushed and looked away, the smile turning to a smirk before settling into his usual expression. "The Law was written in a less civilised time when a family's succession was dependent on a witch's fidelity, a fidelity that could be breached very easily as you have no doubt discovered. The ruling families, led by Slytherin, crafted a code to ensure that a witch would be faithful until the heir was produced; afterwards the balance of power was restored."

Except in cases of Belonging, which the Law was created to mimic, his mind supplied as he watched her digest his words. And that by agreeing to adhere to the Law a witch essentially ceded her rights to that power within her marriage until and unless her husband and lord agreed to a redistribution of power.

"I've read the post-Camelot histories so I can accept that explanation," she murmured thoughtfully, "and I can see why Slytherin and the others would think that way even if I don't necessarily agree. But if that part is considered obsolete even by the Old Guard, why hasn't it been removed?"

"Because it is part of the tradition," he answered. "And all prejudice aside, most Slytherins agree that preserving our traditions is crucial to our survival."

"Which I suppose explains the sumptuary laws as well?"

The wry tone of her voice made him laugh. "Just so."

She sighed. "Will I be forced to wear that black cliché?"

"Only on formal occasions," he assured her. "And if I'm not mistaken there are alternatives that would suit you far better, such as the hennin."

A smile flitted across her face. "Like the one Sir Cadogan's lady wears in her portrait? That would be acceptable, I suppose, but will I be expected to wear one all the time?"

"Not at all," he responded, surprised that she hadn't researched sumptuary laws as well. "Whenever we are alone — which will be often given our admittedly reclusive natures — there is no need for any headdress, though I do seem to recall from my grandmother that witches often kept a scrap of lace on hand to transfigure should they have unexpected visitors. Otherwise it needn't be elaborate. Many styles have been deemed acceptable over the years and until my generation it was common for a witch to choose a style or two as a personal signature, if you will. Do you recall a certain vulture-hat?"

Hermione snorted. "Neville's grandmother's hat? Oh, yes."

"A perfect example."

"But I didn't believe that the Longbottoms were a Slytherin family."

"They are not," he said. "But Lavinia Gilforte most certainly is."

She started for a moment at hearing the imposing Madam Longbottom's name pass his lips. No wonder he always pushed Neville, she realised abruptly; with his very Slytherin grandmother waiting in the wings, Severus was probably trying to goad the boy she had partnered into finding his inner backbone. Or his inner snake.

"Oh. Well, what about the rest? The clothes themselves, I mean. Will I go to Malkin or — "

"A private mantua maker," he interrupted. "She'll come here next week to fit you for the first sets of clothes and you'll receive a detailed list of those things you must have in your wardrobe, such as appropriate headdresses and cloth of gold, things you may have and those you should avoid at all costs. I understand you and Minerva are arranging your attire for the handfasting?"

She nodded. "We read through the requirements and came to a reasonable compromise. It's ... "

Severus frowned at the look of sadness mingled with joy that crossed her face. "Hermione?"

"Oh," she shook off her thoughts. "The dress. It's just ... I'll tell you about it after the ceremony. Now, about the Law — "

But before she could say more he had reached out and pulled her across the table, scattering scrolls and loose parchment as his lips slanted over hers and cut off any speech. "Forget the Law," he whispered huskily. "It's not important just now."

Hermione shook her head to clear it and gained a sympathetic look from Minerva. This had to be hard on her, she thought, losing both of her favourites to old Slytherin families and all the baggage that entailed — even if it was in the best interests of the Wizarding world. Still, she thought as she followed her mentor's gaze to the hem of her dress, she hadn't completely lost herself, lush velvet robes in terre verte notwithstanding. The flash of the scarlet silk lining when she lifted the skirts of her golden gown was proof of that.

The two shared a small conspiratorial grin.

"Am I interrupting?"

Both looked up to find Ginny, arrayed in a rich gown of deep green with a black and silver sideless surcote in place of robes, standing just inside the doorway. Light from the torches in the passageway to her back seeped in through the open door and cast shadows in the darkened half of the room. The result made the silver veil on her matching truncated hennin appear white. She took a few steps forward and then seemed to hesitate for a moment before flinging herself at the two women, her arms encircling them in a rush of emotion that poured outward as if from a broken dam.

"Oh, Hermione," she cried happily, her mouth opening as if to speak again only to close as if bereft of words.

"We're all happy she's home, Regina, no need to gush," the elder of three murmured.

The redhead nodded, wiping her eyes with a conjured handkerchief. "Just so, Minerva. Still, it is good to have you home, Hermione," she continued, squeezing her former Housemate's hand. "And you've been home only two days and yet managed to do what none thought would ever happen!"

Minerva turned to Hermione with a questioning expression, to which Hermione frowned and shook her head. "I don't know," she said truthfully. "Ginny, what are you talking about?"

"It's Regina, Hermione," she returned, stressing her name. "And I'm talking about the adoption! The boy, Daniel, the one you've managed to convince Severus to adopt. No one ever expected him to adopt one of the Muggleborn children, especially not an older one and especially not after ... "

As she trailed off Hermione blinked and bit her lip, an old habit that had re-emerged during the decade she had spent alone. Not after she had left, she finished silently. In the early days of their marriage Severus had told her that he wanted to see their children born before discussing the possible adoption of one of the Muggleborn children, to which she had readily agreed, but never once had she paused to consider how her absence would affect his decision. If she was honest with herself, and she had henceforth sworn to be so, she had half expected to find that he had adopted in spite of her abandonment. It was practically required of all families, after all, but that he hadn't adopted had not shocked her. In light of that, Ginny's — no, Regina's — revelation was a surprise.

Seeing the shock written on the face of her erstwhile student, Minerva asked, "Have you discussed adoption with Severus since your return? Or is there ... has something happened ... ?"

It took Hermione a minute to wrap her mind around the question Minerva was subtly asking. Once she understood, however, she shook her head. "No, no, I'm fine ... perfectly healthy. I'm just surprised, that's all, I haven't had a chance to mention it to Severus yet. After my conversation with Lord Voldemort — "

"What has he to do with this?"

Hermione raised an eyebrow at the sharp tone of her mentor's voice. "I had an ... audience, if you will, with him earlier this afternoon."

Understanding flashed across Ginny's features even as Minerva asked, "Why?"

"The Law," Ginny replied curtly, though her eyes belied her curiosity. "It's required in ... in a situation like this. Approval of measures taken and what-have-you. Are you saying that you discussed this with Lord Voldemort before you mentioned it to your husband?"

Brown eyes narrowed at the slight accusation in her friend's voice. "Not exactly — "

"What then?"

"I asked about Amelia Peploe," Hermione answered tightly. "That led to a vague mention of a boy recovered from the same area later that night. When I inquired as to the name ... "

"Hermione, my dear, what is it?" Minerva asked softly.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "I'm just ... identifying, I suppose. With Amelia and Daniel both."

The former Head of Gryffindor forced back tears of sympathy even as she frowned. "Do you know them?"

"Yes," she answered, eliciting a slight gasp from Ginny. "Amelia only by sight. Daniel, though ... he and his family were my neighbours for five years and in that time I came to know him quite well. When I was told about what happened, I asked Lord Voldemort if he would send Daniel here, to me. He said he would speak to Severus ... "

"Oh," Ginny whispered. "Well, I suppose that all's well ... "

"Indeed," Minerva replied briskly, straightening her back and glancing toward the clock on the nearby wall. "If it's arranged, it's arranged. Better for him to be with someone he knows than with total strangers. Hermione — "

But whatever she intended to say was interrupted by a tiny gong that resonated throughout the house. Hermione smiled wryly and stood, asking, "Hold the thought? I do believe dinner is ready."

***

Formal suppers at Wrynsmere Keep were a lavish and elegant affair, Hermione thought idly as the final course appeared before them. Given that both Snapes were introverted scholars by nature they entertained on a large scale only infrequently; even small gatherings were held nowhere near as frequently as those hosted by their peers. However, it was well known that their largesse could be extensive when they so chose and it was this, coupled with the mystique that had long surrounded the famous (and in some cases infamous) pair, that caused an invitation to dine with them to be coveted far more than a similar invitation from the Malfoys.

Add in dinner guests such as the aforementioned Malfoys, the revered Headmistress of Hogwarts and Lord Voldemort himself, and there were wizards who would kill to receive an invitation.

On this night, however, there were no other guests to exclaim over the house-elves excellent fare and the Snapes' wonderful taste. Not that there weren't those who wished to be in attendance. According to Ginny, several Ministry officials and others of their station had desired to be present, but Severus had refused. He had referred to the evening as one for family, a term that would have seemed confusing to anyone who was not acquainted with the people in question. Hermione sighed inwardly. Yes, those with whom she was dining essentially were her family. Aside from the obvious inclusion of her husband there was Ginny — Regina, she thought again, must think of her as Regina now — who had always been more like a sister than a mere friend or classmate. Minerva had been their Head of House during school and filled the void left by their deceased mothers as well as she could, as she had never had children of her own. Lucius and Severus, despite the difference in their age, had both been Death Eaters and Voldemort, as their leader, could be seen as a twisted sort of paternal figure.

He certainly saw himself that way, she snorted to herself. And as such, he kept dropping little hints with their mother about reconciliation — forgetting, perhaps conveniently so, that there had never been a relationship between the two to begin with.

"It's his own twisted longing," Minerva sighed in answer to the question Hermione had asked just a few moments earlier.

Now freed from breast-feeding until Marius decided he was hungry once more, the young woman turned her nearly undivided attention to her friend. "How so?"

"Tom Riddle was just entering his fifth year when I returned to Hogwarts to apprentice with Albus," she explained. "And from the beginning he watched me. Everywhere I went his eyes followed ... or so it seemed. I never acknowledged his obvious infatuation or lust, but Albus must have guessed the reason for my uneasiness."

Minerva laughed bitterly, then continued, "It was for that reason that he watched Riddle more closely, you see, nothing else. Had I not been the focus of his usually concealed obsession I doubt Albus would have ever looked twice at the boy, let alone later suspected him of the crimes of which he was guilty."

Hermione's eyes widened. "So that's why - "

"He keeps making subtle and not-so-subtle advances? Yes. With Albus ... " and here her voice faltered for a moment. "With Albus gone, Voldemort believes that he is free to court me ... but I never wanted him, nor do I want him now. No, this Gryffindor witch has no desire for a Slytherin wizard — especially that one."

As she shook off another memory, Hermione noted that the conversation had shifted to recent events. In fact, had she heard —

"Yes, Potter," Severus was saying. "The tracking charm works beautifully, provided someone is paying attention to the maps."

"Harry?" she questioned. "He's been seen?"

"In a manner of speaking," Lucius drawled softly, his eyes once more skimming her face and studying her figure. Green and gold suited her, he mused, as both colours highlighted the warmth of her pale skin as well as the chestnut curls left exposed by the bejewelled French hood. The little Mudblood had matured into the elegant woman he'd known she would, he thought as he idly ran his finger around the rim of his goblet. Pity about the Belonging. He had been ready to take her himself, blood be damned, when Severus had dropped his little bombshell and ruined all his plans. And had he not done so, the blond smirked inwardly, he was sure that she would never have even contemplated abandoning her husband.

"The Voyager Elixir," Severus said smoothly, tugging on the bond until he was certain that he had his wife's attention. He smirked at Lucius' carefully concealed displeasure. While he doubted the older Slytherin would ever be so foolish as to attempt to dally with his wife, Severus was well aware that he did look on occasion.

Hermione tightened her grip on her goblet. The Voyager Elixir ... The one they'd concocted together, for —

"It works, then?"

"Just as we believed," he responded, nodding even as he noted her reaction. To be expected, he allowed. They had begun the research after discovering her pregnancy in hopes of developing a potion-delivered tracking charm that would not harm an infant. Insurance in case their son was ever abducted by certain ... parties.

"Oh."

There was a curious silence among the assembled party at that, broken only when Hermione roused herself to ask, "How did you manage to get Harry to drink it?"

"Potter didn't drink it."

The terse reply came not from Severus or even Lucius, but from Ginny. Hermione darted a look at the younger witch; her eyes were slightly glassy from the amount of wine she had consumed, but the alcohol had loosened her control just enough for strong emotion to slip through. And it was obvious that she was angry.

"Goyle was duped into drinking it at an underground tavern," Severus said quietly. "As he is with Potter more often than not, we felt it was the best we could do."

"Because no one can get close to the Boy Who Lived," Ginny added bitterly before draining her goblet and licking the stray drops from her lips. "Unless, of course, he chooses to let them — and he never does."

A dark look passed over Lucius' face and Hermione nearly winced. Oh, yes, if nothing else he and Ginny were well matched when it came to this. Harry Potter had been a source of contention when the hostilities ended, not because of who he was, but because he could not — or would not — reconcile himself to the fragile peace that was brokered when everyone realised neither side would survive without the other. Greater good or no, he had not been able to accept peace so long as Voldemort and his Death Eaters lived. With no war to wage and unable to leave Britain for fear of spreading the Plague, he and several others had declared themselves independent. The new government called them rogue wizards, outlaws.

Ginny Weasley had been devastated. For years she had adored and loved the Boy Who Lived and his actions following the announcement of not only peace but reunification had stung her deeply. Perhaps worst of all had been the revelation that he and Draco Malfoy were far more than friends ... and had been for years. And when forced to choose, the Malfoy heir had chosen his lover over his blood, leaving behind comfort and a burgeoning stability for a life on the run.

Lucius Malfoy had never forgiven either of them. But when the day came and he was brought the news of his only child's death he had mourned his son.

And vowed to destroy Harry Potter.

And given what Minerva had mentioned earlier, Hermione thought, it was little wonder that the two Malfoys had bonded over their mutual disillusionment. From what she had been able to infer, Harry had finally gone completely mad and the raids and attacks he and his not-so-merry-followers carried out were becoming increasingly violent. Apparently, they had all been wrong to assume that Harry would return to them once he had accepted the inevitable and, in a bitterly ironic reversal of roles, he had become the Scourge of the Wizarding world whereas Voldemort became one of its heroes.

"Not that you would know," Ginny continued. "Being that you've been flitting around amongst the Muggles and neglecting your husband."

Hermione stiffened, but said nothing. This was the reaction she had been expecting all along, not the joyful embrace from earlier. Apparently Ginny was as emotionally confounded as she was and the wine had served as a key to the lock that held her anger and bitterness in check.

"Really, Hermione," the redhead asked. "What were you thinking, going out among Muggles? You don't belong there and it was dangerous ... dangerous and stupid."

Once upon a time that little barb, that insult to her intelligence, would have had her out of her seat and retorting, Hermione thought bitterly. If nothing else, Slytherin's Law had taught her how to hold her tongue — that or her sarcastic mental retorts were the product of the bond she shared with her husband.

"Dangerous? Perhaps so," she allowed. "But I was thinking, Regina — as much as I was able, given the circumstances."

Ginny opened her mouth and closed it again, a speculative look entering her eyes as she recalled the months leading up to Hermione's disappearance. "You were upset, I admit ... disturbed, even, and there were days when your magic was nearly out of control. Then you fell and you withdrew ... " she trailed off, an expression of confused understanding crossing her face.

"Do you know why I fell, Ginny? Did they tell you the truth?"

"Hermione," Severus started, his voice urging restraint and caution.

Lucius looked confused and Minerva closed her eyes at the thought of what was coming. His eerie crimson eyes glowing with curiosity and full of anger at being denied information, Voldemort raised his hand and gestured for her to continue.

Hermione stood and paced back and forth before the hearth, the light from its flickering fire making the gold of her gown and jewels gleam with an unearthly light even as the surrounding shadows cast the green of her robes as black. She looked so horribly beautiful, Minerva thought sadly, like some tragic heroine about to face her fate ... or Cassandra about to prophesy.

"You work with the Muggleborn children, Ginny," Hermione stated softly, her voice barely above a whisper. "Do you ever wonder about their families?"

The younger witch nodded. "Of course. But they don't remember their losses, Hermione — they're Obliviated."

The simple innocence with which this statement was uttered brought sadness to the eyes of Minerva, resignation to Severus, alarm to Lucius, and interest to Voldemort.

Hermione just shook her head. "No, they don't."

Ginny looked confused and apprehensive.

"How could they?" Hermione continued. "How could they Obliviate everyone who knew the children, Ginny? Forget for a moment about neighbours and extended family, but what about doctors, nurses, and the other people in the hospitals — which is where many Muggle babies are born, by the way — and the paper or electronic trail left behind. How would they destroy that, make people forget? And each time? Half the country would be running around with gaping holes in their memories and sooner or later someone would notice. So they just kill them."

The ease with which Hermione uttered the last sentence made it that much harder for Ginny to catch what she was being told. She looked to her husband or Minerva to refute the statement and when neither would, she turned desperate eyes to Hermione. "Why ... how ... ?"

Hermione met those eyes and held them as she spoke again. "It makes sense. How else do you remove roughly one out of every twenty children born in Muggle Britain and explain the disappearances without raising alarms? Oh, I know it has to be done, Severus," she said with a glance to her husband. "I've accepted that."

"Just like that?" Ginny asked, her voice climbing an octave even as she rose from her seat. "How can you stand there and be so blasé?"

"Because I've had ten years to come to terms with it."

Watching the realisation dawn on her oldest girlfriend's face was hard, Hermione mused. Innocence, the last of Ginny's innocence, had been stripped from her this night and Hermione could feel no guilt for her handling of the situation. Perhaps it was her anger being vented on the wrong target. More likely though, she acknowledged, it was so that Ginny would hear it from the lips of a friend and not through a half-closed door.

"T-th-that's why," Ginny whispered. "You fell ... "

"Down the stairs," Hermione confirmed quietly. "Marius hadn't been dead three months and I was upset. As you mentioned, my magic was out of control again because of the pregnancy and I was looking for Severus. And I found him ... Circe, Morgana and Lilith, I found him ... with Lucius and the others planning and recounting and jesting about what they were doing to the families of the Muggleborns. I was so upset, confused ... I felt betrayed ...

"So I ran," she said abruptly. "And because I was so upset I didn't see that thrice damned rug at the top of the stairwell."

"You tripped."

"I tripped," she nodded. "Pitched head first down forty-five stairs and miscarried, on top of all my other injuries."

Ginny's expression was frozen in horror. Her own mind was in turmoil from Hermione's first little revelation, but this ... this was worse. She knew the pain of miscarriage and the pain of betrayal by the one you married — she knew all about Lucius' infidelities, after all — but at least she had been spared the pain of having both at once.

And all that just after the sudden death of her son.

The silence in the room was broken by Lucius and Severus trying to mitigate what Hermione had revealed, but their explanations were muted, seeming as distant and unclear as static to the two women who stood with their eyes locked. Finally something permeated the safe cocoon in which they had unknowingly wrapped themselves because Hermione turned to her husband and gave an inelegant snort. "Do you really believe, husband, that I accepted your explanation?"

Severus rose from his place and stared at Hermione, his black eyes glittering as his temper began to mount.

She met his gaze and smirked. "Did you really think, after what happened ten years ago, that I would believe that you kill them quickly and painlessly? Oh, I'm sure there are times you must, but how do you explain the attacks that look just like the ones perpetrated before? The Death Eaters never disbanded — after the war they discovered that their targets were suddenly sanctioned for death. And really, who else could kill with such ease?"

He had the decency to wince slightly at her remark, dripping as it was with sarcasm, but he did not refute her claims.

"No, Severus, it's not that you and the others kill the families," she whispered, her voice tight and full of repressed anger. "It's that you enjoy it! You and the others, especially Lucius, enjoy killing them. You can't visit your perversions and sadism on witches and wizards anymore because we are too few after the Plague — which was not at all what you expected it to be — so you turn your attention to the families of the Muggleborns. And then you have the nerve to return home and lie about it to everyone ... even those like Minerva, who know what's being done."

Anyone who spared the former Head of Gryffindor a glance at that moment would have been hard pressed not to cower at her thunderous expression. However, all attention was riveted on the couple before the fire.

"Did you ever stop to think, Hermione, that I might be trying to spare you?" Severus asked softly, his anger laced with silk.

"The thought had crossed my mind," she replied. "But why spare me the knowledge of their deaths? I was there the night the truce was called and I sat at Minerva's side as we laid down the terms of peace, of how to arrange things once we realised what had happened. No, all you wanted to protect me from was the knowledge that other children were losing their families the same way I lost mine. You thought I would identify with the children and that that would drive a wedge between us.

"And you were right. But the Belonging was there to keep me tethered until I had children, when I would stay out of love for them. Again, you were correct. But you miscalculated, Severus, because nowhere in your equations did you figure in the deaths of our children and what that would do to me."

Lucius looked grim as he rose and wrapped a hand around Ginny's arm, squeezing so hard that she yelped. "Come, my dear. We should adjourn until Severus and Hermione have settled their ... differences."

"Don't leave on my account," Hermione called as the Malfoys disappeared into the study for what, to judge by the re-emerging Weasley temper on Ginny's face, was a marital spat of their own.

Once they were gone, however, Hermione turned to those remaining and raised an eyebrow. "I wasn't born yesterday, Severus," she told him. "I allowed you to manipulate me and I allowed myself to live in denial, but once I knew the truth ... If you were lying about that, what else were you lying about? We may have a bond, but you are far better at shielding yourself than I am."

"As befits the dominant partner," Voldemort murmured as he carefully reassessed the woman before him. Clearly there was more to her than he or anyone else had realised.

Hermione snorted at that, but the look on her face was one of terrible sadness. "The dominant partner," she echoed. "Which makes me the submissive partner ... Severus' wife ... Marius' mother ... But who am I really, Voldemort? How much of what I feel, what I felt, is real and how much is Severus manipulating me?"

Minerva took a deep breath. "Hermione - "

"No, Minerva," she interrupted. "Just ... no. I didn't know what to believe or who to trust ... Ginny was innocent, yes, but at the time I didn't want to rob her of that innocence. I buried one of my best friends and lost another to madness ... I had no one to turn to when I really needed advice."

"And what about Severus?" Voldemort asked, glancing at the wizard in question. "He loves you, my dear."

"Does he?" she asked. "Or is what he feels simply a possessive obsession that's been smouldering since the day I was born?"

Black eyes watched her as she stopped pacing to stare at him in question. "You said that you loved me," he whispered, his hand reaching out to capture a stray curl.

"But do I really?" she murmured, her eyes clouding over as she remembered the tumultuous months when their relationship truly began. How often he had said those words ... and she had so needed to hear them …

"I simply don't know. Am I responsible for what's happening? Yes, I am, because I was there and I agreed. And no, because the truth was skewed and I was kept away, kept too busy to question what was happening."

She shook her head to clear it. "I don't know who am I. Aside from being a wife and mother, who am I? I couldn't answer that question then and I can't answer it now. But I'm no fool," she said as she opened the door hidden behind the arras next to the hearth and moved into the passage before the others could react.

"Checkmate."