Scented

I'm thrilled and honoured that Care of Magical Creatures has been nominated for four The New Library Awards:

Amortentia: Best SS/HG Romance

Gripping Charm: Best SS/HG Drama

Diffindo: Best SS/HG Angst

Engorgio: Best SS/HG WIP

I have also been nominated Best New Author.

More info and a fabulous list of nominated fics in all sorts of ships and genres here:

http://community.livejournal.com/tnl_awards/4104.html

As always, I must thank the lovely JKR for generously sharing her world with us.

As always, I must thank the patient and fabulous GinnyW for her outstanding hand-holding, bitch-slapping and other advanced beta techniques.

Again, I thank lifeasanamazon for her betawork on this chapter.

And last, I thank Juno Magic and Chenoah for being the last pairs of eyes to reassure a trembling author that, there-there, everything will be all right....

54. SCENTED

She clung to the darkness of her dressing room because her stomach roiled and her body quaked from the Portkey in a way it never had before.

Then she clung to the refuge of her dressing room because to move, to breathe, to even think risked revealing her presence to him.

Finally, she clung to the floor of her dressing room because she hurt, she hurt.... But if she held herself still, so very still...without moving or breathing or thinking...the pain would stop.

Stop.

She just needed it to stop.

Finally, she allowed the door to open just far enough...

Perhaps she only imagined it...but she could smell the ghost of his shaving soap.

On a gentle wave of eucalyptus and spearmint, she slept.

XX

He dreamed of her.

He rolled onto his side and pulled her against him, curl nestled into curl, and buried his face in her hair, her horrid, horrid hair, and cupped her breast with his hand, and sank deeper into sleep.

He slid his fingers into the snug, warm, fleshy place between her small breasts. He could almost feel the soft rise and fall of her chest, could almost smell the sharp tang of eucalyptus and spearmint, which would never be his scent again, but hers, all hers....

Red musk.

He winced, suddenly aware that he inhaled air, not horrid hair. That his hand clutched emptiness. That nothing of Miss Granger was there.

Not even her scent.

Especially not her scent.

Red musk.

His chest ached.

His eyes stung.

Something soft and wet dabbed at his cheeks.

"...still pink..." Narcissa's distant voice was tinged with concern.

He flinched, tried to get away from the cold cloth. Why was she doing this? Why wouldn't she leave him alone?

And then... she did.

Left him.

Alone.

With his dreams.

XX

She dreamed of him.

They lay in their bed, not on the hard floor.

They spooned the way they always spooned and she felt safe, so safe. The horrifying reality of what she had done only hovered; it didn't wash over her in a tidal wave of guilt and terror.

Her mind melted more deeply into sleep and her body settled more heavily against the hard, cold floor.

XX

Patchouli.

An ungentle arm raised his head and he struck wildly, but magic froze him and something poured down his throat.

He choked, coughed...

Bellatrix.

His mind flailed even though his body was held tight by magical bonds.

She raised his head higher. "Be still, Severus," she said sharply. "Unless you want this cold water poured over you."

"Wh...what?" His throat stung and he coughed as more liquid hit his throat.

"Water. That's all."

It tasted like water. But he didn't trust anything Bellatrix Black put in his mouth.

"It's water," she repeated. "Our Lord left me to give you water, so cooperate or else I'll...."

Her voice faded as he drifted back into sleep.

And into Miss Granger's arms.

Only to be roughly shaken back awake.

"Severus!" she hissed, holding a sweaty jug over his head. "Stay awake!"

He had the eeriest feeling that her dark glamours were dripping down, touching him, and he tried to knock her away but she had him secured.

"What did you do?" she asked, her voice a seductive purr. "What did you do to win his favour?"

He rolled his head away and closed his eyes.

His head finally hit the pillow as Bella jerked away from him with a snarl.

He felt the bonds melt away and felt an almost violent need to send the patchouli stench with them.

He fell back into blackness.

XX

Vetiver.

Lucius.

He clung to his dreams, but it did no good.

Again, he was hoisted. Again, threatened if he didn't cooperate. Again, had water poured down his throat.

"No house-elves to handle the menial work for you?" he grated.

Lucius simply sniffed in response.

Why were his eyes so wet? Had they spilled the fucking water on him? He tried to brush the moisture away from his face but Lucius caught his hand.

Soft linen wiped his cheeks dry.

"Clear," Lucius announced.

Severus shook his head, tried to make sense of it....

"The Dark Lord wants to know when your tears are clear."

"How long..."

"Two days."

He fought it, then. Fought the sleep, fought the bed linens that tangled around his legs, fought to get up...

But Lucius applied a firm hand to his chest and shoved.

Severus collapsed back onto his pillows again.

For a long moment Lucius stared down at him, his eyes cool and grey, his expression impossible to read. Finally he shook his hand free and wiped it with his linen handkerchief. Lucius gave a small nod and whirled away and out of the room, leaving him alone.

...when your tears are clear...

He'd been crying? In his fucking sleep?

Rage battled with despair within him, and the dull ache in his chest flared.

He picked up the half-empty water jug beside his bed and heaved it against the wall. It shattered with a satisfyingly loud crash and water and shards of glass went everywhere.

A house-elf popped into the room, fluttering in horror.

Lucius appeared at the door with Cissy close behind him, her distress obvious.

"Inform the Dark Lord I await his convenience," Severus said, leaving it to the three of them to work out exactly whom he was ordering about as his servant.

This time when he sat up, no one pushed him back down.

XX

Her eyes hurt.

Her face itched but her eyes hurt. They brimmed with tears and she rubbed at them, and it relieved some of the pain, but her face...something was wrong with her face. And...

Oh, god.

Humiliation burned her cheeks as she struggled to sit up in the dark.

She had no idea how long she'd been there, just that she felt and smelled the evidence that she'd wet herself.

Oh, god.

She shivered and listened tensely and heard no noise, no hint that she wasn't alone in her family's ancestral home. She allowed herself three deep, shuddering breaths and then tried to stand...

And fell back to the floor, her legs stinging and cramping.

Again she rose, this time, clinging to the doorjamb. She stood and pressed her cheek and ear to the cold wood, partly to catch her breath, partly to let her legs come back to life and partly to listen....

To the creak of the centuries-old structure settling in for the winter, to the soft and distant sound of wind whistling through a poorly sealed window.

She finally eased the door open. Her bedroom was almost as black as the windowless dressing room had been. And it was blessedly empty.

He isn't here.

She fought the despair, shoved it down, and instead strove to feel the relief that no one had discovered her hiding place.

She managed to get to her doorway and then through it to close the door behind her. Finally, she lifted her rucksack to her shoulder and prepared herself for the long, dark walk to her parents' wing.

Her limbs were weak and stiff. She dragged herself along the walls, carefully skirting the painted Gothic Revival cabinet that would have a silver urn displayed on it if the family was in residence, but now was empty.

Chest aching and hollow, when she turned the corner and entered the next wing, she froze in a shaft of light that spilled in from the window at the end of the hall. Someone had left the curtains half-closed. She rushed forward and returned to the darkness where she felt safer, a little, at least.

With the muscles in her legs quivering and her thighs and soft tissue chafing from her urine-soaked jeans, she found her mum's door, opened it, and ducked through.

Her heart pounded as she fell back against it, gasping.

And finally, she managed to make her way through the large bedroom, across the thick rug, past the vast four-poster bed and into the adjoining room and...

The toilet and bath.

And the faint, powdery smell of her mother's Chanel No. 5 talcum powder.

At least here she could turn on the light, for this room had no windows to cast a telltale glow into the night, to alert a casual observer (or not so casual, as the case might be) that the house was not empty.

One glance in the mirror and she realized what caked her face.

Dried blood.

She reached for a flannel but stopped. Did she really want to leave a bloody flannel behind when she left?

She'd wash in the bath.

The pipes rattled; the icy cold water started as a trickle but eventually gushed into the bath. Shivering, she sat on the floor and clutched her knees to her chest, waiting for it to warm up...

And realised the boiler would be turned off.

She stared at the cold water and braced herself, then heard Ron's voice. Are you a witch or aren't you?

Feeling relieved and foolish, she performed a warming charm with a flourish of her hand, then, clutching her chest in an attempt to still the sudden pang of pain, she scooped up some water to check it.

It was still cold.

She tried again. Again, the sharp pang.

Again, it was still cold.

She fought for air. It was because she was weak. She shouldn't even be doing such things in her current state. She should be reserving her energy, building it, saving it. Not squandering it.

And then a spot on her thigh burned. She reached into her jeans pocket and pulled out one of two Galleons and breathed a sigh of relief. It wasn't the DA Galleon. It was the one she'd charmed with Luna....

PS gone. Nobody knows where.

Professor Snape...gone?

She fell back against the wall, her eyes squeezed shut. Where was he? Was he still looking for her? Or had something happened to him?

Oh god oh god oh god.

The water was cold, so cold, but she stripped down and knelt in it and washed herself clean, her body shuddering at the assault of icy water and air. She rubbed water on her face until it was smooth under her fingertips and her cheeks ached with the cold.

Finally she wrapped herself in a towel and turned off the light and, dragging her rucksack behind her with hands shaking like leaves, managed to cross one last expanse of floor...

And climb into her mum's bed.

The covers were cold and heavy on top of her, but it was dark and nobody knew she was here....

Her teeth chattered and she rolled into a tight ball...

Trying to ease the hollow ache near her heart.

Searching for his arms.

XX

He struggled into his clothes without assistance. He didn't want anyone to know.

When he sank, trembling, on the side of the bed, he called out, "House-elf!"

At first it seemed he was being ignored but then a young female appeared, her eyes huge and entire body quaking.

He yanked his wand from his wand pocket and thrust out his free hand. "Take me to the Apparition Foyer."

She backed away from him, clearly uncertain, then reached tentatively for his hand. He stood, and she started for the door.

"No," he snapped. "We will Apparate."

"Mixte not supposed to..."

"Now!"

She gasped in a deep breath and...

They landed in the Apparition Foyer with a sharp crack.

He dropped her hand and didn't wait to catch his breath...that had been too loud and someone would be coming...

He stepped into a turn and...

Disapparated.

XX

He wasn't sure how long he sat in the chair in the dark room at Spinner's End breathing dust, fighting for coherent thought, fighting for any thought that wasn't how much he fucking needed her. How much he fucking needed to hold her, just hold her, that's all...

Just hold her.

And know she was still alive.

That was what terrified him.

The thought that she might not be, that this was what the hollow place in his chest meant....

His arm burned.

He jerked to his feet and only iron will kept him from staggering.

The wards at Spinner's End were being breached.

He peered through a shredded curtain into the garden and saw the dark figure silhouetted against the moonlight.

He dropped the wards immediately.

The Dark Lord entered without making even the softest pop.

Severus restored the wards with a flick of his wand and met the glowing red eyes without blinking for a long moment, before he bent carefully, took the cadaverous hand in his and kissed the ring.

He wasn't at all sure he could drop to the floor without totally collapsing.

"This is hardly awaiting my convenience," the Dark Lord said silkily.

"I felt a need to escape Malfoy hospitality." Severus reached for some semblance of poise but feared he missed it by a league. "Their attentions were rather... cloying," he finally managed to say with a curl of his lip.

He stepped aside and gestured for the Dark Lord to take the seat he'd vacated, then took the hard chair across from it. It would keep him attentive, at least.

The Dark Lord stared at him through narrowed eyes. "Have you worked out how imperative it is that you must find your bride, Severussss?"

Imperative. He knew that. He felt it in his blood, knew it on the most elemental level, but...what was he missing?

"When two are joined at the soul, they cannot be torn asunder without both dying."

Dying?

He was...

She was dying?

He lurched to his feet. He had to...had to leave, had to...

"Severusss." The claw closed over his arm. "You're stronger today than you were when you came to me with death on your mind."

A hard squeeze, and Severus forced himself to still, to wait and listen.

"I told you I'd take care of you, and I told you we'd find her. You must trussst me."

"You said she's in worse condition than I am."

"She is stronger, too. Through your connection, you are making her stronger. And yes, I told you I would help you and that we would find her, but you don't know what that means. You don't know what I expect in return."

"Anything."

"You can't speak for her."

"I can. I will. I do." He had to find her.

The Dark Lord's laughter was wet and rustling, like bloody leaves on a battlefield. "You forget, I have seen this witch, have tested her mettle and do not believe you can speak for her so easily, my boy."

Severus met his gaze without wavering. "The fact that you have seen her and tested her mettle proves what she is willing to do for me."

"Going to tea is not the same as sitting at your side when you attend me."

"Give me a chance to..."

"You will get your chance."

The vice squeezing his heart released much of its pressure. "Thank you."

"Sit."

Finally, he forced himself to sit again.

"Over the past two days I've pondered this situation and whether I dared trust her..." The Dark Lord idly pulled a piece of lint from his robes and then glanced up at Severus, almost casually. "Or trust you where she is concerned."

Severus froze.

"I've concluded that I have everything to gain and nothing to lose by allowing you to save your bride. Mudblood or not, she is a worthy partner for my... my most trusted servant. And do you know why I have found satisfaction in these conclusions?"

"Please. Tell me."

"With your connection comes great vulnerability," the Dark Lord said. He leaned forward and reached to touch Severus's chin with one long finger. His red eyes bored deep, and Severus didn't move. "Now that you are suffering so, now that you know the pain... neither of you will want to lose the other again."

Something lurched in his chest. Never. Never would he let anything separate them again, not if he ever found her, not if...

The Dark Lord leaned back into the chair and folded his claw-like hands and sighed almost happily. "And because, Severusss, as I was saying, with the link you have... if one of you dies, you both die."

Severus allowed his lips to twist in a bitter smile. "That seems to please you, my Lord."

"Oh, but it does, it does. It gives me the power to give you this gift, to give you your bride. What I thought was a terrible risk...too terrible...that I must let her live if I want you at my side...this becomes a weapon, doesn't it?

"You will do anything to live so that she can live. I can make you happy and know that you have every reason to make me happy. And your wife... I believe she will have to choose my side, Severusss."

His mouth went dry. Surely, surely the Dark Lord didn't expect... "My Lord, if you think to turn her against Potter... she would die first."

"I have no delusions about that. But in the aftermath, when Potter and the blood traitors are all dead, when she has no hope... she'll accept the inevitability of my rule. I like to believe, for your sake, that the connection you have will ultimately make her share your triumph. And if not?" The Dark Lord shrugged, and even in his horrid snake-like state, that shrug had its own kind of elegance. "She will be more malleable when she knows that to risk her life with an insurrection means risking yours, as well."

Severus stared into the cold fireplace. His warrior... his glorious warrior of a wife... shackled to the service of the Dark Lord out of fear for him.

Could she ever forgive him?

Could he forgive himself?

Bile rose in his throat.

"Do you have any questions for me, Severusss? Or are we ready to return together? It is time for you to take your place at my side."

"I think..." Severus said idly, his well-practiced tone concealing his consternation, "perhaps I should be asking what it is you gave me to drink?"

"Ah, yes, I wondered when would you would ask. It was only a restorative. Yet, the image of the mighty Potions master at my feet, drinking an unknown substance from my chalice. If I ever needed proof of your loyalty..."

Severus forced himself to meet the red eyes without flinching. "You had recent proof of my disloyalty."

"Did I? You said things to Albus that a spy would say to gain the confidences of his enemy. Now you're telling me that you meant them?"

Was the Dark Lord giving him an opportunity to back out of his faux pas with dignity?

Or did the Dark Lord not recognise the betrayal when he saw it?

In a moment of lightning clarity, Severus recognised he was perched on a precipice and the wrong move could destroy him, and in destroying him also destroy her. His Miss Granger. His girl, his woman, his witch, his bride... his everything.

He stood and lowered his head with the respect a second in command owed his leader. "My Lord, you must summon your followers. It is time to plan our attack."

"Hallowe'en is still over a month away."

"Albus knows about Hallowe'en."

The silence grew between them, grew taught and razor-edged.

The Dark Lord rose slowly and this time when he grabbed Severus's chin it was with anger. This time, his fingers dug in and his fingernails brought blood. This time he dived in with a vicious search...

And Severus offered it up like a tithe.

The Order of the Phoenix renewing their blood oaths.

Miss Granger's valiant and foolish act of loyalty.

The announcement that the attack would come on Hallowe'en.

The Dark Lord released him and stepped back.

"They are no match for you," Severus continued calmly, his heart slow and steady. "In number or in preparation. Especially when their preparation is for a date over a month away. We must attack, and soon."

"What kind of insult is this, to think you can betray me and then blithely tell me how to plan my battles? To think I should continue to trust you?" the Dark Lord snarled as he jerked the left sleeve up Severus's arm and jabbed the black mark with his gnarled finger. Severus almost convulsed as the pain arced from that spot on his arm throughout his body. "Oh yes, they are summoned; you can be sure of that."

Before he could prepare himself or brace himself in any way, the Dark Lord yanked him into a joint Apparition...

His body screamed as they tore through the wards.

XX

Hermione ate the first tin of beans standing over the sink, shoveling them into her mouth with a spoon, almost weeping with hunger.

The next eleven, she put into her knapsack along with the tin-opener. She heaved the knapsack to her back. With a water glass in one hand and the other hand available to catch her if she lost her balance...she was still so very weak...she began the long trek from the kitchen to her bedroom via the servants' stairs.

She had to stop twice to catch her breath and still her heart.

Finally, she reached her bedroom and entered her small dressing room. She had gathered all the candles she could find and had removed everything fluttery and flammable. All that remained was her dressing table (now a makeshift desk), the pillows and blankets she'd piled on the floor and, now, eleven cans of baked beans and a plastic bag for rubbish.

She lit a candle and firmly closed the door so that no light would leak into her bedroom and find its way through the windows and into the night.

She sat at the desk, uncorked the first pot of ink, and pulled the first blank parchment toward her. Her hands trembled less, now that she'd eaten. The hollow place was still in her chest, a low knifing ache, but she could...she must...soldier on.

Four coins were lined up in front of her, two Galleons, and the old halfpenny and a twopence her grandmother had given her so very long ago.

She didn't know how long she had.

She didn't know where he was.

She couldn't think about that. Not now. Not when she had work to do.

She lifted a finger to Summon the nearest pot of ink.

Then lowered it without trying.

Her heart pounded in her chest and she felt the walls of the small room pressing in on her.

As if I can't just reach for it, she scolded herself, trying to ignore the empty aching place in her chest.

She lifted the small vial of wizarding shaving soap from the corner of the dressing table and inhaled deeply from its depths.

His scent...his eucalyptus and spearmint...surrounded her and eased into her, and gave her strength.

Clutching it in her free hand, she reached for the pot, dipped her quill into the blood red ink and began writing, "Dear Luna...."

It was a short note, and all too soon she had blotted it and was reaching for the Galleon.

She held her breath as she touched its gold edge to the surface of the small piece of parchment...

And watched with a sense of relief as the words disappeared.

The magic worked.

She tried not to think about the fact that Luna had charmed the Galleon herself, not Hermione. That the magic that worked was Luna's, not hers.

She was simply weak, but getting stronger.

That was all.

XX

The ballroom at Malfoy Manor echoed with muttering and anticipation as more and more Death Eaters entered. Their noise was a low roar, even in the adjoining parlour where the Dark Lord kept Severus firmly at his side.

The Dark Lord drained a goblet of water, then shoved another at Severus to do the same.

"My Lord..."

"Silence!" the Dark Lord hissed.

Severus bowed his head and placed the empty goblet on the tray.

His mind raced, darting from insignificant thought to vital detail without pausing.

The Dark Lord's robes were immaculate.

Severus wore the same he'd worn when he'd arrived two...three?...nights before.

The Dark Lord was frighteningly pale and smooth-cheeked.

Severus's stubble had gone untended for three days. The thought of his wizarding shaving soap that she loved so well was almost enough to take his breath away, but no, he couldn't think of it. Such thoughts only led to thoughts of her.

Knowing she lived should bring him more comfort.

Not knowing what awaited him, and thereby her, eliminated any comfort he might have felt.

Nothing about this felt right.

His attempt to wrench control of an impossible situation had gone awry and now, now he awaited...

He would not name what he awaited.

He drew in a breath and fought for calm.

And when the Dark Lord rose from his seat and began moving towards the doorway to the ballroom, Severus met his gaze without flinching and followed.

As one, all dropped to their knees when the Dark Lord entered.

Not until the Dark Lord had taken his place in his throne-like chair on the raised dais and allowed Severus to kiss his hem, did he announce to them all, "Rise."

Lucius and Narcissa stood nearest, and on the Dark Lord's other side, Bellatrix.

Severus didn't know where...or whether...to stand.

He remained on one knee, head bowed.

"I said rise," the Dark Lord hissed softly.

He stood, feeling eyes...curious and resentful...on him. He stared blindly at nothing and waited.

"Is everyone accounted for?"

MacNair stepped forward from his spot near the front of the crowd. "Yes, my Lord."

"Severusss has come forward with a change in plans," the Dark Lord said coldly, his eyes mere slits of fire. "Perhaps you will honour us with an explanation, Severusss?"

So. The Dark Lord intended to toy with him before destroying him.

"If I might ask Lucius a question," he said, straining for calm.

The Dark Lord gave a sharp nod.

He looked into those pale grey eyes and found not a touch of warmth. "What is being said at Hogwarts?"

Lucius gave a cool smile. "There's quite the uproar. The Gryffindors are outraged. It seems they think you've made off with their Gryffindor princess."

Severus turned back to the Dark Lord, a tremor of hope finding its way into his bloodstream for the first time. If he could convince them to move now, before Miss Granger was found... "My Lord. Now is the time. They're distracted and disorganised and they think she is with me. But if I offer to bring her to Potter... if I offer to give her to him... if he'll meet me alone at Godric's Hollow...?"

He waited.

Confused murmurs sounded behind him. He heard the word, "Hallowe'en," mentioned more than once. Lucius glared at him through suspicious eyes.

Reading the tense silence, Bellatrix sprang forward with a flounce of her skirts. "Who is he to be changing plans, my Lord? He insults you and your wisdom!"

The Dark Lord allowed his gaze to swing from Severus to Bella. He smiled at her, beckoned to her, and when she drew near he stroked her cheek. "My beautiful Bella, so strong, so eager to defend me."

Bella leaned into his touch even as she slid a defiant glance at Severus.

"And you, Bella. What would you have me do?"

Even Bella recognized a minefield when it lay before her. After a moment's hesitation she finally said, "I would not presume, my Lord."

He let his fingers trail through her hair. "Then do not presume to interrupt when I am dealing with my subordinates."

She almost purred, then stiffened. Her eyes met the Dark Lord's with obvious trepidation, and she started to pull away, but the Dark Lord only patted her shoulder and indicated that she should seat herself beside him.

Severus's own muscles ached with weakness, but he stood stiffly even as he fretted inwardly. Did the Dark Lord expect a confession from him, an admission to those assembled that the reason for the change in plan was Severus's own breach of trust?

Was that what this was really about?

Was he to be torn to bits by Death Eater hexes?

He'd only thought to speed up the end, to force the final confrontation between the Dark Lord and Potter while she was missing, to keep her out of the middle of it.

What a fucking fool he was, to think he could reveal his betrayal without punishment. To...fucking hell...trust the Dark Lord's benevolence, his "twisted affection" as Albus had put it, and think he could survive.

"No one has ever questioned my tenderness for you, Bella," the Dark Lord continued, ignoring Severus completely. "They only had to look at you to know why I would elevate you to a place of respect amongst all others. Look at your beauty, your faithfulness, your loyalty."

Severus noted no reference to the husband who had an even greater claim on her beauty, faithfulness and loyalty. He struggled to keep his expression carefully bland...something that had never required struggle before.

"Many have wondered why I would bestow so much honour and respect upon my servant, Severus, however."

Fucking hell. This was it. He braced himself.

"Even you, darling Bella. Even you asked me why I wanted you to lure a gangling fourteen-year-old wizard into our fold when you were so much older, more sophisticated...."

Severus felt a ball of lead settle in his gut. Bella had approached him at the Dark Lord's bidding?

Bella's laughter was low and musical and filled with disdain.

Lucius was suddenly alert, his gaze darting between the three of them. This was clearly news to him, as well.

"I don't believe you found the efforts too distasteful, did you, my love?"

Bella seemed frozen between the desire to soak up the Dark Lord's tender words...so rare in public...and the fear of making a wrong move. She darted a glare at Severus and curled her lip, but remained silent.

Severus fought for control.

He didn't want to remember those times with Bellatrix, much less realise that it was all a ruse of the Dark Lord's to bring him into the Death Eaters by stroking his libido.

But why? Why had the Dark Lord even cared about a fourteen-year-old nothing with the stench of his Muggle upbringing still on him?

Warring scents suddenly made him dizzy, the worst of them all Bella's patchouli. His legs trembled.

"Bella, you asked me why, you even argued...yes, you dared argue...but you didn't think. You didn't recognise your opportunity. You didn't realise that if I wanted Severus you should simply do everything to bring him to me."

Bella's frown indicated she wasn't so sure of herself, but Severus took little comfort from that fact. What was the Dark Lord weaving with this long, circuitous ramble of reminiscence? What did he want?

More importantly, how could Severus give it to him?

"Would you believe, my children, that I once harboured a desire for the two of you to marry?"

They both recoiled at that, and the Dark Lord laughed. "Fortunately, I don't force my followers to my will in such matters. It was but a passing fancy I had, and it passed, but not without exposing some vulnerabilities of which I'd previously been unaware....

"My poor Bella came to me distraught, in dire need, and I helped her, didn't I?"

Bella cast a nervous glance around and turned beseeching eyes upon her Lord. "Please..." she whispered.

"You were young, too," he said kindly. "I realised I couldn't hold it against you, even as it spelled the doom of my plans. You had no idea that you were ridding your body of my heir... the heir you'd begged me to give you."

There was a stifled gasp throughout the room, and Narcissa stared at her sister in horror. "You aborted the Dark Lord's child?"

"Never!" Bella cried. "Never would I and never did I!"

"Really?" the Dark Lord asked, his hand trailing down her throat. "You didn't ask for an abortifacient so that you could bleed Severus's baby away?"

"But that was his...not yours! He was nothing but an arrogant, fourteen-year-old brat that you'd asked me to teach a few things about..."

"I brewed your contraceptive potions," Severus spat despite himself. "There was no reason to need an abortifacient." Hadn't that been the way she had first approached him? Beseeching with flattery and temptation, luring him with the promise that she could teach him so much if he would share his skill with potions...contraceptive potions in particular?

Two days later she'd taken him to her bed.

Two weeks later she'd taken him to the Dark Lord.

"Bella has often been careless," the Dark Lord said dismissively, his eyes now fixed on Severus. "This was not her only mishap, simply the only one that caused me discomfort."

"But...you only needed to tell me to keep the brat and I would have," Bellatrix cried in deep distress, clearly grasping at straws. She plucked at her skirts, frantic. "I would have done anything for you...anything...I still would!"

"Calm yourself." The Dark Lord reached for his crystal goblet of water, and Severus found himself transfixed by those bony white fingers. "He hadn't yet proved himself. He merely intrigued me. I speak of might-have-beens to view the irony, not to cause you pain."

The Dark Lord drank deeply of the water. "But Severusss, not only does he have an innate sense of giving me what I want, he even on this night dared show me what I wouldn't want to see. He is a brave man, our Severusss, and perhaps, foolish. Perhaps... not."

Those fingers...those skeletal fingers curled around that goblet...those fingers that delivered death like candies...had offered him hope, had held the goblet for him to drink....

The goblets.

The elfin crystal goblets.

Severus felt his world begin to shift on its axis.

He tried to breathe, to think, he desperately needed to fucking think...

"What did you mean," Lucius finally said, astounded, "when you said she rid herself of your heir?"

The Dark Lord rose to his feet, his gaze never wavering from Severus. "Surely you can work it out, Lucius. I sent Bella to bring him to me. I even thought they might marry. I was disappointed when I discovered that she was pregnant with his child and chose to flush it away."

He drew closer.

"Surely you can work it out, can't you, Lucius?"

But he wasn't speaking to Lucius.

He was speaking to Severus.

"Can't you?"

He held out his hand.

Albus's voice echoed, taunted faintly. Because, quite simply, if it were within his shredded soul to love anyone, he would love you, Severus.

The room swam around him.

"My father...my real father...was in Europe with his family," Severus said, his voice a husky mimicry of its usual power.

"I had no family," the Dark Lord corrected. "But it was a kinder explanation than the truth."

No.

"She was not a beautiful witch, your young mother. Not like our Bella. But she was clever and she was powerful and the wind snapped to her will when she was enraged, and I found her erotic beyond all reason. But only for a season, not a lifetime. And only to bed, not to father a child. I wasn't pleased when she told me, and I left her with money and excuses and nothing else. And she repaid me by binding my son to a Muggle with nothing to offer, not even a respectable name."

No.

"But she had little choice. The Prince family was proud and had no tolerance for the shame she brought upon them."

Now he was close enough to touch, his hand still outstretched, waiting... waiting....

No!

He couldn't. He couldn't be. He fucking couldn't be.

He stared at the outstretched hand, frozen, when to refuse it meant certain death...death for both of them.

To accept it...to accept what was being said...meant losing her forever.

She, who with her innocence and her decency and her blind belief in him could never...never...belong to him again.

This then, was the death knell of his hope.

From this moment forward, he was alone.

Somehow, he'd find a way to keep her safe.

Somehow, he'd find a way to protect her.

Even if he could never touch her with his filthy hands again.

And then, the scent of eucalyptus... of spearmint...

It surrounded him and eased into him.

Into his very soul.

She wasn't here, but she was with him, in him, and for her, he could do it, he could take the final step that...this time...betrayed her.

He would do anything for her.

Pain knifed up his legs as dropped to his knees yet again.

For my wife.

Pressed his lips to that sickly hand yet again.

For my Miss Granger.

And whispered one word.

For my Hermione.

"Father."