Outing Secrets

Disclaimer: I don't own the Potterverse, it belongs to J.K. Rowling and her publishers. I'm not making any money from this.

*A big thanks to Wartcap for stepping in to beta read this story! She also gets the credit for the chapter title.

Shades

By Orm Irian

Chapter 18: Outing Secrets

Harry had been making good on his promise to help the Ministry. During January and February, he had accompanied the Minister to two press conferences, was photographed by the Daily Prophet hobnobbing with Rob Ogden and his two top crime scene investigators, and had gone on three 'trouble calls' with a team of Ministry Aurors. And although Gawain Robards had staunchly maintained that Harry was accompanying the Aurors 'for training purposes,' he wasn't fooled. The assignments were all in public places. It was clear that the Ministry wanted their alliance with Harry to be as visible as possible.

Well, he decided, after yet another 'impromptu' walk through the Atrium with the Minister, if it gives people hope, then it's worth it. Spotting Ron on the far side of the refurbished fountain, he realized that once again, his friend had waited for him. He had watched helplessly as Ron was shunted aside by various Ministry officials on more than one occasion recently. But in spite of all the new attention Harry was receiving, his friend had not become jealous. For that, Harry was immensely grateful. In fact, a few minutes ago when Scrimgeour had taken Harry's elbow, diverting him through the Atrium, Ron had seemed almost amused. "Ron!" Harry called, lifting a hand in greeting to catch his friend's attention.

"Ready to go then?" Ron asked with a lift of the eyebrows. A slight smirk remained on his face.

Harry scowled. "You think this is funny, don't you?" he accused indignantly as they walked toward the fireplaces to Floo home. "It's bad enough putting up with the politicians and all their annoying hangers-on without you laughing at me!" His expression was so aggrieved that a chuckle burst out of Ron, in spite of his obvious effort to contain it.

"Sorry, mate," Ron said lightly (and not at all sincerely) between chuckles. "But you should have seen your face! Priceless, that was!"

Harry rolled his eyes, not deigning to answer, and stepped up to an empty hearth. "The Burrow!" he called out, throwing a handful of glittering powder into the huge fireplace.

Back at the Burrow, the young men tucked into one of Mrs. Weasley's excellent lunches. They were alone in the kitchen, the others having finished eating while Harry was detained by the Minister. They took advantage of the privacy, however temporary, to discuss the next phase of their mission.

"Have you got permission yet from Robards to investigate Macnair's house?" Ron inquired between bites.

"No. He says Ogden will have to clear it."

Ron frowned. "What's the point of putting up with all those Ministry bigwigs if you can't get some special authorization when we need it?" he asked rhetorically.

"Oh, I will," Harry said. "Soon, I think. But I have to build trust with all those bigwigs before they'll let me act independently."

"Well, when you finally get the go-ahead, make sure you have Kingsley assigned to go with us."

Harry merely nodded, not sure how to tell Ron that it was unlikely in the extreme that the cautious head of the Auror office would allow Harry to bring his friend – another non-Ministry employee – along. An uneasy silence filled the kitchen for a minute as both young men subsided into thought. Harry shot a look at Ron; his friend was scowling. I hope he doesn't suspect the truth, he thought fervently.

But when Ron spoke, it was clear that his thoughts were focused elsewhere. "I wonder what Hermione is doing right now?" he murmured distractedly.

"Dunno," Harry answered, although he wasn't sure Ron was even aware he had spoken aloud. "I would think that she's probably hard at work studying or practicing spells." Harry looked up, meeting his friend's eyes; the pain in them was clear and sharp.

"It's been so long since we've seen her or even heard about her from Krum," he said dejectedly. "It's ironic, Harry: it took us nearly six years to realize that we wanted to be together, then, right after we did, she was snatched away." He shook his head unhappily. "It's so unfair!"

Harry had no idea what to say. He thought privately that Hermione certainly hadn't taken six years to realize she liked Ron, but it would do no good to tell him that. Instead, he reached across the table to grasp Ron's arm in a silent gesture of comfort and support.

"At this point," Ron continued, "I would even welcome another of those Pensieve memories – just to be able to see her face."

--------------------------

"Finally!" Snape exclaimed, clutching the small brown package in his fist. The Siren's blood had arrived at last. Now I can complete the Dark Lord's wretched potion and move on to other things! It had taken him more than two weeks to locate an apothecary with the right contacts in North America – then another equally long wait for overseas delivery of the ingredient. Standing at the window, he watched the brown delivery owl disappear over the trees, a sense of satisfaction diffusing his typical morning disgruntlement. Turning back to the breakfast table, he saw Hermione watching him speculatively. He smirked but said nothing, knowing it would pique her interest. He wasn't disappointed.

"What's that, Severus?" she asked as he tucked the package into a pocket.

"Nothing that concerns you," he answered shortly.

"For your potion then, is it?" she retorted with a cheeky smile.

Snape refused to be drawn in, simply regarding her with a steady, neutral gaze. Her smile widened and Snape frowned. Blast the girl! She obviously knows that she's right, he thought.

For her part, Hermione had deciphered the meaning behind his array of masked facial expressions some time ago. It was simply a matter of prolonged exposure combined with close observation. Right now, he was trying to unnerve her with that implacable stare and a long silence. However, her awareness of his tactics gave her immunity against their effects. Only his genuine anger still had the power to derail her. But this morning she had no wish to provoke him, only to tease him. Having accomplished that, she deftly changed the subject. "Will you have time to show me that new nonverbal Transfiguration spell this morning?" At his affirmative nod, she reached for his hand, saying, "Come and finish breakfast, Severus. I'm eager to get started with my lesson."

He sniffed disdainfully. "Over-eager is more like it," he quipped. But he sat down and they finished their breakfast in companionable silence.

*****

Later that morning, Snape was able to finish the Impenetrable Potion. The last phase of brewing had gone without a hitch, and he finally, with great satisfaction, bottled a sample to take to the Dark Lord for testing. This had been one of the most challenging projects he had ever worked on, both because it was technically complex and because it had involved a great deal of translation and interpretation to decipher the source text. He was glad it was over. He was sick of trying to decode the antiquated language and colloquialisms of a delusional, medieval witch. The woman had the audacity to proclaim herself "the illustrious Morgan la Fey." Ha! She was nothing more than a harlot to her contemporaries. Although, he admitted privately, she was a dab hand at Potions. Regardless, he was relieved to be done with her creation. He decided that after his daily walk with Hermione, he would present the finished potion to his master.

--------------------------

"It needs to be tested, my Lord. But I have full confidence that it will perform as expected." Snape spoke with assurance, but carefully kept his tone free of arrogance so as not to antagonize the unpredictable and powerful wizard before him. "I suggest that we administer it to an animal first, and then if there are no detrimental side effects, try it on a human subject."

"Yes, that will be acceptable, Severus," Voldemort said carelessly. "Give me the vial."

Snape held it up and watched as his master took the vial in his long fingers to examine it. The rich blue fluid fairly sparkled as he held it up, reflecting even the weak light from the parlor windows. Voldemort's flattened nostrils flared as he brought it close to his face to test its smell. He seemed satisfied by what he found.

With a crook of his finger, he summoned a large eagle owl from its perch in the darkest corner of the room. "Imperio!" he shrilled, flicking his wand at the bird. "Drink," he ordered, offering the vial to the spellbound creature. The bird dipped its beak into the potion and took several large gulps as commanded. Again, Voldemort flicked his wand at the bird. "Stupefy!"

A golden glow enveloped the owl as the Stunning Spell met the magic of the Impenetrable Potion. The bird was unaffected, standing patiently on the mantle. Voldemort's eyes took on a maniacal light, as his high-pitched laughter rang out, filling the room. "I will be invincible! Potter will be crushed under my feet at last!" he crowed with glee.

When his laughter subsided, he turned back to Snape. "This is excellent, Severus," Voldemort shrilled in a cold voice that seemingly belied the words of praise. His red eyes gleamed strangely as he regarded his kneeling servant. But he did not, as Snape expected, invite him to rise. "Is there enough left in the vial for the second test?"

"Yes, my Lord. That is enough for one person to be protected for approximately an hour."

"I will test it later – perhaps on one of the new recruits that has displeased me. I will be able to determine precisely how long the protection lasts," he said with a reptilian smile. "But, I believe we have another matter to attend to, my most faithful servant." He advanced until he stood only inches from Snape. "I have it on good authority that your other project has come to fruition as well, Severus. According to Rabastan, you have successfully seduced the Mudblood. Is this true?"

Snape's mouth went suddenly dry. "Yes, my Lord."

"Why did you not inform me of your progress?"

"My Lord," he answered quickly. "While it's true that she gives me her body, she is not yet ready to give her loyalty. I did not think simply bedding the girl was worth reporting."

Voldemort bent forward until his face was level with Snape's. He grabbed his servant's chin, jerking it upward until their eyes met. "You know I am most interested in seeing you gain the trust of Potter's friend. This could be the first step. You will show me everything, Severus."

Snape had only a moment's warning before the Dark Lord's powerful mentality intruded into his mind. In that instant, he shielded what he could, and then figuratively gritted his teeth as his master rifled through the remainder of his most personal memories.

*****

Snape left the Riddle House, walking swiftly but woodenly, moving by force of will alone. His sense of violation was beyond anything he could ever remember feeling. The memory of his master's cold, inhuman observation of his and Hermione's intimacies filled him with disgust. It was the mental equivalent of rape, but as a 'loyal servant' of the Dark Lord, he'd had to submit. Submit or suffer the consequences. He stumbled on the uneven ground of the back garden as his mental aversion was transmuted into real, physical nausea. His knees hit the ground and he emptied his stomach, purging the remnants of lunch, but not his overwhelming sense of shame.

He was to blame; he had been totally unprepared for what had just occurred. Damnation! he raged silently at himself. Complacency is the enemy. You know this! He closed his eyes in anger and self-recrimination. But regrets were futile at this point, and he knew it. His master's mental intrusion had been so swift and powerful that he had been able to shield only two memories: the first night he and Hermione had spent together and the evening that she had told him she trusted him. The rest had been laid bare. And one of his most precious memories had been harvested for his master's use – a mere tool to goad Potter. That thought, in turn, reminded him that others, perhaps many others, would witness the scene that the Dark Lord had extracted. He felt sickened anew, knowing that what he prized as one of the very best memories of his life would be viewed with revulsion and horror by her friends.

I should have seen this coming. Rabastan's curiosity should have been warning enough for me! Abruptly, he stood, galvanized by a new realization. Regrets about the Dark Lord's actions may be futile, but there is one person who will answer for his actions, he thought with steely determination. A grim smile, more frightening than his scowl, overspread his features as he Disapparated with a decisive crack.

He materialized outside an ordinary-looking block of flats in London. How ironic, he thought wryly, that Bellatrix is forced to live among the Muggles she despises so fiercely. The building was an old walk-up; the Lestranges lived on the third floor. He strode into the entry hall and took the stairs two at a time. Their flat was cloaked with a Muggle Repelling Charm and warded against anyone not bearing the Dark Mark. Any Auror attempting to break the wards by standard Ministry methods would get a nasty surprise. Ingenious – but not an impediment to me, he noted as he rapped on the door in a complex staccato rhythm. The corner of his mouth turned up slightly as he felt the stroke of magic; he was being assessed. It was Rabastan – he would bet on it. Rabastan had always been the most cautious of the Lestrange trio and would want confirmation that it was not an enemy at the door, even after hearing the coded knock. With luck he would be home alone.

The doorknob rattled, turned, and the door was eased open a few inches to reveal a slice of the younger Lestrange's face. "Severus!" he cried in surprise, stepping back and opening the door fully. "Come in."

Snape managed a curt nod as he crossed the threshold, but didn't trust himself to speak. Rabastan would get a proper greeting soon enough.

"The others are out scouting a location for a strike tomorrow night," Lestrange explained as he shut the door with a snap. "A family of filthy blood traitors, I believe. So, what brings..." He cut off mid-sentence as he turned and saw the wand in his friend's hand. It was leveled directly at his heart.

Before he could voice the question that sprang to his lips, Snape's voice rang out. "Crucio!"

Lestrange fell to the ground, writhing and screaming in agony as Snape, an expression of savage triumph on his face, held the curse for a full minute. Lifting the curse, he summoned the other man's wand nonverbally. Lestrange was in no shape to object.

"You never were very good at dealing with pain, old friend," Snape spat derisively. "I hope the Dark Lord has already given you sufficient recompense for betraying me, because when I am done with you, you won't be able to enjoy your rewards for a while!" He pointed his wand at Lestrange's legs. "Diffi..."

"No, Severus! Please! I didn't betray you!" Lestrange shouted.

"Liar!" Snape roared, his face twisted into a fearsome grimace. "The Dark Lord himself told me he had the information from you!"

"I didn't tell him about you and Granger! He used Legilimency on me." Lestrange swallowed convulsively. "Severus, you know I've never been able to Occlude – and against the Dark Lord – I had no chance of concealing anything."

"You'll understand if I don't take you at your word," Snape replied nastily. "Legilimens!" He found the memory instantly, as it was right at the top of the other man's mind. Watching the scene play out, he realized that Rabastan was telling the truth. But the knowledge did not appease his anger, for he could see that Rabastan had been very careless: all the Death Eaters knew that it was risky to let your mind wander in the Dark Lord's presence. He pushed deeper, wanting only to hurt the other man. There! he thought vindictively, as he encountered a set of recent memories. Just what I was looking for.

Some minutes later he withdrew from Lestrange's mind. "Did you enjoy sharing that, old friend?" he mocked. "Tell me, how did it feel to have someone watch you in your most private and unguarded moments? That is what your negligence resulted in for me! The Dark Lord insisted on viewing all of the encounters he could find. Worse yet, he extracted one of my memories to send to Potter. The entire Order of the Phoenix will probably see it! Do you understand now what you have done to me?"

Lestrange hadn't moved from the floor, except to turn his head away from his tormentor. He was silent, except for his ragged breathing, but the revulsion on his face was quite clear. He was disgusted, both by Snape's intrusion and by the use their master had put his information to. "Severus," he rasped after a long pause, "I'm sorry. I... I never meant..."

"Save your breath!" Snape interrupted. "It's done. I may have exacted my vengeance, but I do not forgive so easily. Keep away from me from now on if you know what's good for you! And don't come around to the cottage; I don't need your interference with Hermione anymore."

"Hermione, is it?" Lestrange said in a low voice, pushing himself into a sitting position. Then a second later, understanding dawned on his face. "My God, you're attached to her! I never thought I would see the day when you would choose any woman, much less a Mudblood, over our friendship."

"What is between the girl and I is none of your concern," Snape hissed dangerously. "You will keep your speculations to yourself or I will be having a chat with Pansy Parkinson's father about what I witnessed in your memories." He noted with satisfaction that Rabastan had paled at his threat. "I daresay he would be very interested in those 'special training sessions' you've been having with his daughter." Walking to the door, he yanked it open, dropped Lestrange's wand to the floor and strode out, Disapparating as soon as he was clear of the wards.

-----------------------------

His intuition had been right: when he finally got the go-ahead to investigate Macnair's family home from Robards, the paperwork explicitly stated that only Ministry-employed Aurors were permitted to accompany him. Ron is probably going to go ballistic, Harry speculated as he stared at the long-awaited papers before him. He sighed. How am I going to break it to him? As he sat before the tiny desk he had been allocated in the Auror's section, an idea occurred to him. One thought followed another, and before long, he had a plan. Yeah, he decided. If I word things exactly right, this just might work!

*****

"Tell me again why this is a better way to find the cup," Ron grumped.

Harry rolled his eyes. He had explained the whole thing days ago, and at the time, Ron had agreed that Harry's plan was for the best. But now that Harry was actually getting ready to go to meet Shacklebolt and Dawlish without him, it seemed that Ron was regretting his compliance. "Come on, mate," Harry cajoled. "You and I both know how important it is to keep our search for the Horcruxes secret. This way, I'll have two professionals helping me find evidence of the stolen items, and an opportunity to question all the family members – all with Ministry approval. And no one but us will ever find out that Hufflepuff's cup is a Horcrux. What's more," he elaborated, "since the Macnairs will know that my investigation is officially sanctioned, they will be much less likely to challenge me when I go back with you and Remus. It's the perfect setup!"

"What I want to know," Ron grumbled with a frown, "is how you came up with such a bloody good plan. Your strategy is ruddy awful in chess! Tactics are supposed to be my strong point."

Harry grinned. "Necessity is the mother of invention, after all. Well," he said, tucking a final item into his back pocket, "I'm off. See you in a couple of hours."

Ron dipped his head in acknowledgement. "Be careful. And watch your back; that entire family supports Voldemort."

"Will do," Harry answered.

*****

They approached the Macnairs' large country home without impediment as there was no fence or wall encircling the large garden. Taking the initiative, Harry rapped on the door smartly, calling out, "Open up, in the name of the Ministry of Magic!" A few moments later the door rattled and began to open slowly. A house-elf so small that Harry thought it must be an elf-child looked up fearfully at the three imposing wizards. Before it could speak, Harry extended the authorization papers to the creature as he had been instructed to do by Robards. "Our search warrant and identification papers," he said crisply.

"Here, I'll take those!" a deep voice proclaimed. Harry looked up from the elf to see a heavyset man slowly approaching. He had a pronounced limp in his left leg, a craggy, but still-handsome face and long, black hair liberally peppered with grey. "You're dismissed, Peri. Go and see if your dam needs help preparing luncheon," he directed gruffly.

"Yes, sir," the tiny elf squeaked, disappearing with a pop.

The man, apparently the elder Macnair, took the papers from Harry's outstretched hand but did not glance at them. His eyes were fixed on Harry with a look of contempt. "A bit young for an Auror aren't you, lad?" he asked in a condescending tone that raised Harry's hackles at once.

"My age is not at issue, sir," Harry answered coldly. "We are here to conduct a search of your premises and to ask you a few questions. May we enter?"

Macnair sneered openly at Harry. "Now why would I kow-tow to some snot-nosed, wet-behind-th..."

"Don't be an old fool, Warren!" a melodious alto voice interrupted. "Can't you see that's Harry Potter? Age doesn't matter when you're the boy who defeated the Dark Lord as a baby!"

A middle-aged witch had come into the entry hall from a side door and was gazing past the master of the house to the threesome from the Ministry. She had a regal bearing emphasized by the elegant robes and upswept hairstyle she wore. As she gracefully moved to stand next to her husband, Harry was taken aback. Is this Walden Macnair's mother? he wondered incredulously. Since his first encounter with Macnair during his third year at school, Harry had always believed the brawny man to be the epitome of crudity. The contrast between the Death Eater and the woman now appraising the Ministry representatives could not have been starker. But Harry was drawn abruptly from his thoughts by the elder Macnair's next words.

"This is the savior of the Wizarding world?" the big man asked skeptically. "The Ministry's new golden boy?" He gave a short, derisive bark of laughter.

Harry tensed and opened his mouth to reply, but was stopped by Kingsley's hand on his shoulder. The Auror stepped forward. "Rosalind and Warren Macnair, I presume?" he inquired smoothly.

"That's right," the man answered. "Now see here, I don't have time to be reading all this tripe." He brandished the papers still clutched in his fist. "What is it the Ministry wants?"

"As Mr. Potter has already informed you, we are here to conduct a search and to get some information."

"I don't care what these bleeding papers say," Macnair replied belligerently. "I won't submit to an interrogation by the likes of you!"

"I'm afraid you have no choice," Kingsley retorted smoothly. "Now, are you going to let us in voluntarily, or do we need to use force?"

Grudgingly, they were at last allowed to enter.

While Kingsley carried out a standard Ministry interview with the master and mistress of the house, Harry and Dawlish set off to scan the place for interdicted items such as cursed artifacts, poisons, illegal potions and magical weaponry. Harry also used the spell that Remus had unearthed to scan for traces of Dark Magic. He noted several spots in the library and one in the dining room where Dark Spells were in use, but he did not find the particular magical resonance that he was now able to associate with a Horcrux.

After he completed his share of the rooms, he made his way into the kitchen in search of the family's house-elves. Unfortunately, trying to get information out of the creatures proved to be a total waste of time. The elves, a sharp-eyed female and her little son, Peri, were unwilling even to say where Macnair's sister was at the present time. The female became angry when he inquired about Walden Macnair's comings and goings around the time of Ollivander's disappearance, responding only with the typical elf refrain, "You is nosing, Mister! We keeps our silence and our Master's secrets!" The elf-child did nothing but squeak and hide behind his mother whenever Harry addressed him.

Harry left the kitchen in defeat. Stupid elf loyalty! Why can't more of them be like Dobby? He, at least, was willing to give hints when he couldn't tell me the information outright.

In the hall outside the kitchen, Harry met up with a grinning Dawlish. "Ha!" he crowed. "I hit the jackpot in the Death Eater's bedroom, Potter."

Harry's stomach contracted with apprehension; he hoped that Dawlish had not found the cup. He couldn't afford to let it fall into the Ministry's custody – there were just too many of Voldemort's informants within the Ministry. "What did you come up with?" he asked casually as he slid his wand partially out of its arm holster. If Dawlish had the cup, he would have to Obliviate the man.

Dawlish held up a small rack of vials. "Five of these contain poisons and two have venoms that are listed as controlled substances by the Potions Regulation Department. I also found this," he said smugly. In his hand was an object that Harry recognized instantly.

"A Time-Turner?" he whispered in awe. "But – I thought they were all destroyed two years ago, when the Death Eaters raided the Department of Mysteries."

"Apparently, our man Macnair is craftier than we gave him credit for. He was at the Ministry the night all the other Time-Turners were destroyed – the night You-Know-Who revealed himself. He must have stolen this from the Time Room before the place was smashed up."

Harry could only stare at the now priceless artifact in Dawlish's hand. The Unspeakables would be ecstatic to have even one Time-Turner back. They could use it as a model to attempt to make others. The creator of the Time-Turners, Broderick Bode, had died without passing on his secret fabrication process. When the entire collection was destroyed, so was the Ministry's last hope of creating more.

Dawlish seemed to be thinking along the same lines as Harry. "With this, the Unspeakables have another chance to deduce how to construct more. And," he added cheerily, "I'll probably get a commendation for finding it!"

Harry smiled ruefully. He couldn't begrudge Dawlish his ambition, or even his pride, as the man was an excellent Auror, but his self interest was a bit overwhelming. Someday, Harry predicted privately, he's going to make a formidable politician. "Let's go and find Kingsley and get that stuff back to the Ministry," he said aloud.

Kingsley was in the conservatory, which he had searched after he had finished questioning the elder Macnairs. "All clear here," he voiced evenly. "Did either of you find anything?"

"Not me," Harry informed him with a shake of his head, "but he's got a real prize." Harry hooked his thumb toward Dawlish.

Kingsley raised his eyebrows in interest. "Really? What is it?"

"I'll show you outside," Dawlish countered. "Come on, let's get out of this place."

As they made their way back through the house to the front entry, Harry reflected that the trip had certainly not been a total waste of effort. The Time-Turner alone made it worth their while. That and the other items that Dawlish had found would definitely instigate further Ministry scrutiny of the Macnair family, which Harry could use to his advantage. He had already managed to search nearly half the house. When he came back for round two, he would simply give the impression that he was continuing the Ministry-sanctioned investigation. With Remus, Ron and I all scanning this place for Dark Magic, we're certain to detect the cup!

-----------------------------

Hermione was puzzled by Severus' moods lately. Several days ago, the day he had received the mysterious package by owl post, he had disappeared into his lab for a few hours, only to emerge nearly smiling. She assumed that he had finally met with success on the project that had been absorbing virtually all of his time for the past three months. When he announced that he would be gone for a few hours, she was certain that he had finished his mystery potion and was taking it to Voldemort. Either he's just really happy to be done with it, or it's something that will please Voldemort and he is expecting to be rewarded, she speculated.

However, when he returned some hours later, he was in the blackest temper she had seen in months. For the next few days he was quite unpredictable, sometimes reverting to his former school master persona – snappish and curt – sometimes subsiding into sullen brooding. Gentle probing got her nowhere, as he either insulted her or simply refused to talk, depending on which state of mind he was in. Only at night did he unbend, emerging from his moods to lead her to their bed. Once they were truly alone, all the masks dropped from him and his eyes took on an agitated, almost fierce look. He made love to her with a kind of desperate intensity that, while physically satisfying, perplexed her a great deal.

One night, as they lay entangled together in bed, her body relaxed and mind drifting in post-coital languor, she inadvertently spoke her thoughts aloud. "I can't figure out what's bothering you lately. Has something happened?"

He answered in a sleepy voice that rumbled along her neck where his face was still burrowed. "I just don't..." Convulsively, his arms tightened around her for a moment, then he pulled back so he could see her face. "Hermione, I don't want things to change. I want you to stay with me."

"Well," she answered wryly, "it's not as if I can go anywhere." Then gazing into his eyes, she saw that the desperate look had returned. "Something has happened," she whispered. "Will you tell me, Severus?"

"It's... nothing has... nothing has really happened yet," he answered haltingly. "But, soon, I think, the Dark Lord will put his plans into action. When he and Potter meet for the last time, many things may change, regardless of the outcome." His black gaze dropped away from her and he continued in a low intonation. "If Potter wins, unlikely as that seems given his skills, I will be dead, captured or a fugitive. And if the Dark Lord wins, he will expect all those who remain to give him their loyalty."

Loyalty.

The word hung in the air between them.

So that's what Voldemort has wanted from me all along, she realized. The choice, if he won, would be loyalty or death. She looked away, her mind in a whirl of turmoil. What would she do if Harry was defeated by Voldemort? Could she ever swear loyalty to such a monster – or even pretend to? How about to save your own life... or to stay with Severus? a small voice whispered inside her. She pushed it away. It would not come to that. Surely, Harry would fulfill the prophecy with a positive outcome. Evil such as Voldemort's wouldn't be allowed to triumph. Who allows? Who forbids? her voice of reason asked. A sudden shiver of apprehension ran through her.

Snape drew her close, thinking, perhaps, that she was cold. "Shhh," he soothed, stroking her hair lightly. "It's not here yet. We'll deal with it when it comes."

*****

A week after Hermione's realization, they were working in the lab. Hermione was preparing another of the advanced potions from the N.E.W.T.-level curriculum. Snape was working on a long-shelved project to create an Invisibility Potion. By unspoken agreement, they had not discussed the future any further, both seemingly determined to concentrate on the present and take whatever comforts it provided. Fortunately, Snape's moodiness had mostly subsided and the atmosphere between them was much more relaxed than before.

A loud thumping reverberated through the little cottage, and Hermione's eyes jerked from her reading in surprise. She looked questioningly to her companion, but he had turned his head toward the door. Moments later, they heard the sound of multiple feet pounding up the stairs. Snape drew his wand. "Take cover," he growled.

As the work benches were all situated against the walls, he was the only cover. She scrambled behind him as the footsteps neared. Snape tensed, a hex on his lips, as the door burst open to reveal two black-garbed figures, masks dangling from their hands. Hermione's mind had a moment to register the two faces, Avery and Lestrange, before Snape's voice interrupted her forming speculations.

"You dare to come here?" he said, cold rage emanating from every line of his body as he stepped forward menacingly. "Get out now, while you still can!"

Avery, who was standing in front of Lestrange, seemed taken aback. "We're here for..."

"Dark Lord's orders, Severus," Lestrange explained, interrupting the other man.

That froze Snape's advance. Through clenched teeth, he asked, "What does the Dark Lord command?"

"Pettigrew has been spotted again," Avery responded. "A scout positively identified that hand of his and reported-in immediately. He's in an Irish Wizarding pub; we've got the coordinates." He held up a small slip of paper.

"I'll meet you downstairs directly," Snape informed the two men. After they left, he clapped his hands twice, summoning a house-elf. "I will be out for an indeterminate amount of time. Stay with her," he ordered, gesturing toward Hermione. Black eyes met brown for a few, intense moments. He gave her an almost imperceptible nod, then, pivoting sharply, he strode into the bedroom to gather his gear. A minute later, he was out the door.

Hermione stood motionless in the lab, listening as the sound of his boots receded down the steps.

***************************************************

Author's Notes

1. Warren and Rosalind Macnair: Parents of the canon character, Walden Macnair. J. K. Rowling has never mentioned whether he even has any living relatives, but I needed him to have a family for plot purposes. I choose Warren as the father's name simply because it is alliterative with Walden. Rosalind comes from James Michener's Chesapeake; she's a genteel lady, but a strong woman as well. Don't ask why I choose to make Macnair's mother his total opposite – just a whim, I guess.

2. When Hermione is considering whether fate could 'allow' an evil being like Voldemort to triumph, she thinks, "Who allows? Who forbids?" When these words sort of materialized (unplanned) on the page, I knew at once my brain had pulled a quote from memory. At the time, I was absolutely certain that it was from The Lord of the Rings, from the chapter entitled 'The Shadow of the Past' (The Fellowship of the Ring), where Gandalf first tells Frodo about his magic ring and about Sauron. However, a thorough read through of that scene (and several others) proved fruitless. Then, like the proverbial light bulb over the head, I realized that my memory was playing tricks on me. The quote is actually from Ursula Leguin's Earthsea trilogy (The Farthest Shore in the chapter titled, 'Orm Embar'), wherein Ged and Arren are discussing who may be responsible for the weakening of magic. Oh well, it was still the wise counselor advising the young hero. In any case, the scene I have quoted has several parallels to mine in that in both, the topic is evil and a protagonist must (eventually) realize that 'fate' is not a passive enterprise, but something that often moves through the actions of individuals. Arren certainly realizes that he must play his part in the struggle against evil in order to enact change (and there's a hint for any of you that actually read my lengthy author's notes...).