Chapter 24: Validation

The Love You Take

Chapter 24: Validation

She held the folded parchment gingerly in her hand, tracing with one fingertip the slanted, spiky handwriting showing her name, Hermione. Where had he gone? Why had he left a note for her?

With an audible pop, Scampy appeared at her side.

'Miss is awake,' the little elf squeaked, plucking the note from Hermione's hands and placing it again between the figures of Merlin and Nimüe. 'How is Miss feeling?'

'I'm feeling tired,' Hermione admitted, reaching again for the note. 'How long have I been asleep?'

The door to her room opened, and she was distracted, her eyes tracking Madam Prince as she entered the room. The old lady was looking a bit pale herself, and Hermione wondered vaguely if the illness which had befallen her was contagious.

'Good morning, Hermione,' Madam Prince said, walking to her side and taking her hand. 'You've given us quite a scare.'

Hermione managed a wan smile at her hostess. 'I'm not sure what happened to me,' she admitted.

Retaining Hermione's hand, Madam Prince seated herself in the squishy armchair pulled up close to the bed. 'My understanding is that you experienced an allergic reaction to an aggressive offensive spell...do you recall being cursed?'

Hermione nodded, a slight frown between her brows. 'Yes,' she said, not wanting to admit to the professor's grandmother that Morgen Singer had attacked her. 'It was the Cruciatus Curse.'

Madam Prince made a moue of distaste. 'Dreadful,' she murmured, pressing the hand she held. 'I am very sorry you were exposed to that, my dear.'

Hermione averted her gaze; she wasn't sure the extent of the old woman's knowledge of her grandson's affiliations. 'Where is Professor Snape?' she asked quietly.

Madam Prince placed Hermione's hand gently on the counterpane and picked up one of the two potions phials on the bedside table. 'Severus has gone out to attend to some business,' she said vaguely, pouring the foul-looking concoction into a cup.

'What is that stuff?' Hermione asked, belatedly aware that she sounded rather rude.

Madam Prince regarded her a bit haughtily. 'This stuff is the anti-spasmodic you're to take,' she answered. The old woman picked up the second phial and removed the cork.

'And what is that one, ma'am?' Hermione inquired, taking care to speak respectfully. She began to believe she knew where the professor had got his prickly nature.

'This is the narcotic muscle relaxant,' Madam Prince said.

'May I please not have that one now?' Hermione said plaintively. 'It will make me sleepy, and I don't want to sleep again just yet. I promise I'll take it later.'

Madam Prince eyed her speculatively and then nodded once. 'All right, Hermione. As long as you take it when Scampy gives it to you, we can leave off the second potion for now.' She turned to the waiting house-elf and said, 'Fetch Miss Hermione a glass of water, please.'

Hermione smiled in thanks and obediently swallowed the smelly brownish glop in the cup, quickly followed by the glass of water pressed into her hand by Scampy.

Madam Prince replaced the cup on the table and settled back into her chair, her sharp eyes intent on Hermione's face. 'Professor Snape desired me to tell you a bit about your illness,' she said, and Hermione straightened, suddenly attentive. With a ghost of an approving nod, the old woman continued, 'The school matron made a visit whilst you were unconscious; she diagnosed the allergic reaction and told us that a previous injury for which she treated you has damaged your ability to recover from Dark offensive magic.' She paused and studied Hermione's face. 'Do you understand what I'm saying?'

Hermione frowned. 'Madam Pomfrey never told me that,' she objected. 'I've not had this sort of difficulty recovering from duels before, and I've been hit with loads of spells in duelling practice.'

'But not Dark spells, surely?' Madam Prince inquired gently.

Hermione felt a sinking feeling. 'No,' she admitted.

'And perhaps in duelling practice you had a wand with which to protect yourself,' Madam Prince said bitterly, 'rather than being unarmed, as you were when my grandson took you before the Dark Lord?'

Hermione watched the old woman, who showed no emotion save for the angry fire burning in her blue eyes. She was a bit surprised that Madam Prince knew the details of her audience with Voldemort; did her professor share such knowledge with his grandmother?

'You're right, ma'am,' she conceded. 'I am always armed in duelling practice, and we don't use Dark spells.' She shifted a bit restlessly, her interest wandering. She didn't want to be rude to the professor's grandmother, but she really wanted to read the note he had left for her. 'Why didn't Professor Snape tell me about this?' she asked, her eyes straying to the parchment again, snugly situated betwixt the figures of the wizard and his young enchantress.

'Men are notoriously awkward when imparting information of a personal nature,' the old witch stated philosophically. 'We cannot expect more of them than they are capable of delivering, if we wish to be happy with them.' After a moment, Madam Prince said pointedly, 'You'll be happy with Severus, won't you, Hermione?'

Hermione jerked her head back to Madam Prince so quickly that the room tilted slightly; apparently, she was still a bit unsteady. 'Ma'am?' she said, unsure of how to answer such a strange question.

'You want to be with Severus, do you not?' Madam Prince said, elucidating her question. 'To have him for your husband?' she added.

Hermione felt her face burn. 'I ...' she began, too embarrassed to piece together a coherent sentence.

'You have no need to colour up,' the implacable old lady stated coolly, her piercing eyes unwavering. 'There is no shame in loving a good man and wanting him for your own.'

Hermione looked uncomfortably at her hands, now clutched across her stomach. 'I don't know how to answer you, ma'am,' she said with quiet dignity.

'You have an ally in me, Hermione,' Madam Prince told her. 'I have always...always...wanted Severus to have a witch who loves him and will stand up to him and stand with him when necessary.'

Hermione continued to look at her hands, wondering if she were dreaming. Why would this stiff-necked old pure-blood martinet want her grandson to marry a Muggle-born witch?

'Look at me, child,' the old woman said, and the naked entreaty in her voice was so compelling that Hermione was driven to raise her eyes. 'He will fight you,' Madam Prince said bleakly. 'He is proud and stubborn and self-denigrating. You must fight fire with fire if you wish to win your way with him.' She leant forward, lowering her voice. 'He gave you a powerful tool, Hermione. He didn't know he was doing it...I'm sure he never thought you might wish to use it to bind him to you...but don't forget that you have your Nexus.'

Wordlessly, never looking away from Madam Prince, Hermione's fingers sought and found the heavy silver amulet hanging between her breasts. Closing her fist around it through the thin fabric of her nightdress, she said, 'It's not a weapon.'

'Of course it isn't,' Madam Prince responded, her tone almost caressing. 'It's an implement...a means by which you can prove to him the authenticity of your love for him.'

Hermione shook her head slightly, as if to clear it of cobwebs, not bothering to deny the older woman's words. 'But how?' she said dolefully. 'How do I prove it?'

Madam Prince relaxed back into her chair, as if she had accomplished an objective. 'You'll know when the time comes,' she said, fatigue showing in her voice. Her eyes flicked to the parchment on the bedside table. 'Why don't you read your letter from him whilst Scampy prepares your bath?' she suggested. 'You'll feel much better when you've washed and changed into a fresh nightdress.'

Hermione smiled her acquiescence and Scampy, who had been standing at the ready, scurried into the bathroom to run the bathwater.

---

The girl's fingers seemed to quiver as she took the parchment into her hands. Madam Prince's lips curved into a tiny smile; she remembered well the excitement one felt upon the receipt of a letter from one's love. She laid her head against the chair back, pretending to rest her eyes, and surreptitiously watched the girl's face as she read the note.

Severus had once mentioned that the girl's emotions played across her face so readily that one scarcely needed Legilimency to know her thoughts; Madam Prince quickly saw this to be true. First, the wide brown eyes narrowed, then grew very wide, and soon a smile of beatific proportions touched her very pretty mouth. At last, the letter fluttered from Hermione's fingers to the bedclothes, and she stared into the distance, apparently completely lost to the world.

'Your bath is ready, Miss,' Scampy's voice proclaimed.

Madam Prince stood and pushed her chair back, moving out of the path to the bathroom. 'Allow Scampy to help you stand, Hermione,' she admonished.

The girl sat up slowly and leant heavily upon Scampy's strong arms as she cautiously rose from the bed. Madam Prince waited for the bathroom door to close behind them before lifting the parchment from the bedclothes.

Hermione,

I have been called, and I may be away indefinitely. In my absence, you will oblige me by doing as my grandmother asks. She has in her possession a very potent enchanted sleep draught to use in case of extreme need. Do not attempt to travel in your weakened state. Easter holidays continue for another week, and it is my wish that you recuperate at Prince House.

After the first of several paragraphs, Madam Prince looked up from her grandson's familiar handwriting and shook her head. Good heavens, was this the boy's idea of how to write a billet-doux? Had this drivel been worth wasting half a sheaf of her best notepaper and three broken quills, including an expensive Dicta-Quill? Obviously, she had sadly neglected her grandson's education if this was his idea of how to woo his lady-love.

'Grandmother?'

Starting guiltily, Madam Prince looked up to find her son's eldest standing in the doorway looking at her quizzically.

'Father sent me up to fetch you down for lunch,' John Prince explained, looking curiously at the parchment she held.

Madam Prince let the parchment fall to the bed and held out an imperious hand. 'Give your grandmother your arm down the stairs, John,' she commanded irritably.

Scrambling to do her bidding, John offered his arm, forgetting all about the private note his grandmother was not supposed to be reading.

---

Severus sat with perfect composure at the table in the Malfoy dining room, his demeanour showing no hint of the tide of anxiety crashing about in him like a storm at sea. In a clear, revolving bubble above the table, the naked form of Morgen Singer Leclercq rotated obscenely, her wrists and ankles bound, her mouth gagged. After one glance when he entered the room, Severus kept his eyes from the grotesque spectacle. He was very angry with Morgen, but this humiliation was not something he would have wished upon her.

His Lordship sat at the head of table receiving reports and issuing orders, very much an emperor instructing his generals in war. Severus watched and listened, cataloguing each piece of information for future use with one part of his mind whilst worry for the girl nagged at him with unflagging urgency.

Dolohov and Wormtail sat across from him; Dolohov appeared interested but detached, whilst Wormtail squirmed about in his seat as if he had boils on his bum.

At length, the Dark Lord spoke to him. 'Severus, your little Mudblood is well, I hope?'

Severus nodded tersely. 'She is, my Lord.'

The red eyes bored into his, and he flooded his mind with images of Hermione: kneeling in her bath, her mouth upon his cock; writhing beneath him in her Prince House bedroom; transported as he slowly rocked into her from behind.

'So I see,' the Dark Lord said, withdrawing from Severus' mind again. 'Very good.' With a spider-like, long fingered white hand, His Lordship flicked a bit of lint from the sleeve of his silver-embroidered black robes. 'I believe it is time for you to relay the information I gave you to the old fool.'

Severus rose with alacrity, relief at doing something...anything!... flooding him. 'As you wish, my Lord,' he responded, bowing.

---

The door closed behind the billowing cloak of Severus Snape, and Lord Voldemort turned his red-eyed gaze to those of his Death Eaters who sat across from Snape's empty chair. 'Do you know what you're to do now?' he asked.

Dolohov inclined his head and said, 'Of course, my Lord,' but his words were overborne by those of Wormtail.

'We're to fetch Snape's Mudblood to you!'

'Unharmed, Wormtail,' the Dark Lord reiterated softly, with menace. 'She is to be used as bait for the Potter brat, and I will have her in pristine condition, do you understand?'

The rat nodded eagerly, his eyes darting to the bubble above the table before he said, 'And afterwards, My Lord?'

'Afterwards, Wormtail, when Lord Voldemort is victorious, every Death Eater who served him will receive a boon,' His Lordship responded, turning from them dismissively.

---

Severus strode purposefully through the nearly empty corridors of Hogwarts, bearing down on his destination: Albus Dumbledore's office. Dumbledore was waiting for him in the open doorway when he reached the top of the moving spiral staircase. 'Hermione?' Dumbledore asked sharply.

Severus sneered and brushed past the headmaster. 'She is well,' he said curtly.

Dumbledore closed the door and stroked the head of his phoenix, Fawkes, once before crossing the floor to resume his seat behind the desk. 'Then, to what do I owe the honour?' he inquired uneasily.

Severus placed his palms upon the desktop and leant in. 'It appears the game is afoot,' he said. 'I've been sent to tell you that the Dark Lord will strike Hogsmeade tonight.'

Nervous energy poured from Severus, combining with the power he wore like a second skin to create a field of crackling might all about him. As he leant across Dumbledore's desk, each arm tensed like a spring, it seemed that the slightest provocation would release him from earth's gravity, and he would take flight, a terrible, purposeful bird of prey.

In spite of Severus' tension, the headmaster, with obvious effort, maintained his composure. For uncounted seconds, the silence stretched between them. At last, in a carefully modulated tone, Dumbledore said, 'And are you telling me so, Severus?'

Dumbledore's words seemed to be the catalyst, for Severus turned in a swirl of black robes and began to pace. 'Yes, an attack is coming, but it is merely a diversion...punishment for Morgen Singer, who will lead the raid. She is unaware of the diversionary nature of her assignment; the Dark Lord intends for her to be overwhelmed by Order members and killed in battle.' He turned on his heel and watched to see the effect of his pronouncement upon the old man.

With a show of irritation, Dumbledore said, 'This is all very interesting, of course, but if this is a mere diversion ... a diversion from what, precisely?'

'That, I don't know!' Severus spat. His shoulders sagged, the gravity of the situation claiming him once more. 'I have been unable to ascertain the rest of the plan, despite my efforts...for some reason, he's keeping it from me.'

Dumbledore's brows contracted. 'Have you done something to make him suspect your loyalties? Something when you took Hermione to him, perhaps?'

A harsh bark escaped Severus' lips. 'Other than manhandling her unmercifully, forcing her onto her face before him, allowing her to be cursed by a crazy bitch and leaving her lying in a pool of sick, I showed no further signs of humanity than any other Death Eater, I assure you.'

Dumbledore surveyed him steadily over the tops of his spectacles. 'Be that as it may, Severus, as you say, the game is afoot. You must ...'

Severus' lips twisted, and he bared his yellow teeth, forcing the words through them. 'I am ready.'

Unflinching, black eyes met blue, and he permitted the old man access to his mind, his disdain bleeding copiously into the grudging obedience he had ever shown to Albus Dumbledore. He withheld nothing, virtually daring his so-called benign master to know him, to give a tinker's damn about what Severus thought of what he had been asked to do. He was aware of the headmaster's glancing interest in his last interactions with Hermione, followed by the intense concentration with which he examined, with meticulous precision, the length and height and breadth of Severus' ironclad resolve to finish what had been begun so long ago.

At last, Dumbledore withdrew, and Severus turned away from him, sickened by the necessity of baring himself in such a way before anyone.

'I see,' the headmaster said, and Severus fancied that he heard sadness, as well as satisfaction, in the old man's tone.

Still, he remained with his back to Dumbledore, gazing out of the window into the deepening shadows of late afternoon.

'I shall put Aberforth in charge of the defence of the village,' Dumbledore said, his thoughts already veering away from Severus. 'I believe a small contingent of Order members and an Auror or two will suffice to organise the villagers.'

Severus swallowed, forcing himself to focus. 'Caution them to allow no outward signs of preparedness,' he said, turning to face his employer once more.

'Leave it to me,' Dumbledore said, rising with sudden energy. Advancing to Fawkes' golden perch, the headmaster addressed the beautiful scarlet bird. 'It is time, my friend,' he said softly.

Severus watched with fascination as Fawkes flew across the room, and it seemed the phoenix would fly into the wall. But as he flew, the wall dissolved, and a new room was revealed. Severus noted with some surprise that the numerous curious silver instruments which had always occupied places in Dumbledore's office had been moved into this space, along with their supporting spindly-legged tables. These were now arrayed about a larger table bearing several crystal balls, such as the ones in the Divination classroom, and large bowls of the size and depth of Dumbledore's Pensieve.

'My War Room,' Dumbledore said, answering the question Severus had not asked. 'I can monitor many different people and places from here.'

A wave of the headmaster's hand caused the crystals to fill with swirling mist. 'Taking up Divination at this late date?' Severus inquired sardonically, entering the room.

'These orbs are agents not only of prophecy,' Dumbledore replied, setting the waters in the deep, rune-inscribed bowls to gentle movement with a flick of his fingers, 'but also of farsightedness...they permit one to see events at a great distance.'

A feeling of unreality washed over Severus as the headmaster began to arrange about him the implements with which he would direct the coming battle, and he was unnerved by the sudden acute similarities he saw between this master and the one to whom he must soon return.

'I shall be back when I have further intelligence,' he said shortly, turning to go.

'Take care,' Dumbledore admonished him, but Severus walked out of the office without responding.

---

Hermione woke from her nap with a start. She had been wont, all afternoon, to doze off for short periods of time between bouts of wakefulness, during which she read and re-read the professor's hand-written note. Even now, it was clutched in her fingers, and she raised it, to peruse it again, as if she had not, already, committed the contents to memory. Skipping over the first bossy bit, she read,

It seems likely that you will soon be free of your current encumbrances, allowing you to freely assess your circumstances and to determine the course of your life, henceforth.

I wish to thank you for your thoughtful consideration of the difficulty of my situation in our late dealings. It has not been entirely unpleasant.

A fond smile curved her lips, and she traced the written line with one fingertip. Not entirely unpleasant? Why, from her dear love, such a statement was tantamount to a panegyric. She could hear him saying it, and closing her eyes, she imagined his face as his voice uttered those words, his hands upon her flesh as he spoke. She felt it as a blow to the body, a sudden twinge of desire so acute that she rolled to the side and curled protectively about her womb, which ached with the want of him. Rolling brought her close to his pillow, and she let the note drift to the counterpane as she pulled the pillow into her embrace, need of him throbbing from every pulse point in her body.

'Severus,' she whispered into the pillowcase, inhaling deeply, searching for the least sign of his physical presence. 'Come back.'

Rocking herself, his pillow pressed to her face, she remembered the next bit he had written.

It has not been entirely unpleasant...in fact, quite the contrary.

Her arms tightened about the entirely insufficient pillow, and she spoke again to its unresponsive goose feathers. 'Come back here and say it to my face, like a man.'

Ah, but the next phrase in the note ... the next phrase was the one which made her feel as if she were filled with light...made of light!

And curled about his pillow, she slept again.

And Scampy remained watchfully at her side, ready to act as necessary to follow Master Severus' orders: to protect Miss Hermione at all costs.

---

Dolohov and Pettigrew arrived upon the Prince House grounds and walked up the path to the front door. Standing upon the rather elegant stoop, they knocked upon the door and waited.

The door swung open and the two Death Eaters found themselves looking down upon an elderly house-elf. 'May Bandy help you?' the house-elf inquired politely.

Dolohov spoke curtly. 'Tell your mistress that Antonin Dolohov and an associate request a moment of her time.'

Bandy the house-elf bowed low. 'Bandy will ask Mistress,' he said, and without blinking an eye, he closed the door in the face of the wizards, leaving them standing upon the doorstep.

'Hey!' Pettigrew yelled, reaching past Dolohov to knock again, but Dolohov prevented him.

'Show a modicum of restraint, you fool,' he ordered.

Pettigrew sulked and did not reply.

---

Madam Prince showed little response to Bandy's announcement of her visitors, save for the tightening of her fingers upon the arm of her chair.

'I shall let the visitors in, Bandy,' she said, her voice steady. 'Go up to the guest room and tell Scampy that there are Death Eaters in the house.'

Bandy did not wait to bow, but scurried from the room and up the stairs to obey his mistress; behind him, he heard her walking slowly through the entrance hall to the door.

---

Hermione was startled awake, but this time Scampy was shaking her, and another of Madam Prince's house-elves was standing just inside the doorway, wringing his hands.

'Wake up, Miss Hermione!' Scampy said urgently.

Hermione struggled to sit up, feeling disoriented and thick-headed. 'What is it?' she mumbled.

'You have to go,' Scampy replied.

'Go?' Hermione said stupidly, rubbing her eyes with the heels of her hands. All day Scampy had been fussing over her as if she were truly ill, and now the little house-elf was trying to make her wake up and go ... where?

Hermione dropped her hands from her eyes and saw Scampy throwing things willy-nilly into Hermione's magical bag. As she watched, Scampy turned to Bandy. 'You go back downstairs,' she ordered him, as if she were senior to him, even though it was obvious that he was much older than Scampy. 'You go and make sure that those men don't come up here until Miss Hermione is safely away!'

Bandy scurried away as if he had just received an order from Madam Prince herself, and when the door closed behind him, Scampy was upon Hermione, tugging the nightdress up and over her head.

'Death Eaters are here, Miss,' Scampy said, her voice lowered. 'Master Severus told me to get you out of the house if Death Eaters came here.'

Hermione accepted the tee-shirt Scampy handed her and pulled it over her head, following it with a loden green jumper. At the mention of Death Eaters, her heart rate had suddenly tripled. 'Did Master Severus say where I'm to go?' she asked, taking the jeans Scampy thrust into her hands.

'Go to Hogwarts, he said, but use a Disillusionment Spell and don't let yourself be seen by anyone.' Scampy stepped back as Hermione stood to tug the jeans over her hips; when they were fastened, Scampy gently pushed the girl back onto the bed and began to fit her feet into her trainers.

'Why are they here?' Hermione said plaintively as Scampy tightened and tied the laces of her trainers.

'For no good,' Scampy said firmly, producing a phial of Pepper-Up Potion from within her neat tea towel. 'Master Severus said you're to take this for energy, but don't forget to take your other potions on schedule...Scampy has put them in your bag, Miss.'

Hermione downed the Pepper-Up and scowled as the resultant steam gushed from her ears. Scampy grabbed the figurine of Merlin and Nimüe from the bedside table and thrust it into the travelling bag.

'Hurry, Miss!' Scampy said, taking Hermione's hand and pulling her again to her feet. The house-elf whirled to the cupboard and took out Hermione's cloak; with the snap of her long elf fingers, the cloak was draped about Hermione's shoulders.

Hermione took the bag Scampy handed to her and accepted her wand, as well.

'Miss is to go to Hogwarts,' Scampy said again, as if instructing a very young child, 'without being seen, and wait there until Master Severus comes for her.' Very lightly, Scampy pushed against Hermione's side. 'Go now! Scampy's locking charm won't keep a wizard out!'

Scarcely had the words left her mouth before there was pounding at the door, and Hermione felt as if her heart was in her throat, pounding in her ears and obstructing her breathing. With crystalline clarity, she remembered being in a room surrounded by Death Eaters, and she suddenly felt as if she were made of nothing but fear.

Nevertheless, she slipped past Scampy and seized the letter from her professor from the bedclothes, tucking it securely in her cloak pocket.

'Open the door!' a harsh voice demanded, and Hermione did not need further instruction from Scampy: she clearly recognised the voice of Antonin Dolohov.

Turning on the spot, she Disapparated.

---

Madam Prince waited whilst her guests seated themselves in her drawing room before taking up the teapot.

'How kind of you to come to escort Hermione to Severus,' she said, pouring a stream of fragrant tea into a nearly translucent bone china cup. 'Cream?' she inquired, raising an eyebrow at the rat-faced one, studiously keeping her eyes from his silver hand.

Pettigrew nodded and said, 'And two sugars, please.'

Having passed a cup and saucer to the rat, Madam Prince focussed her attention upon the supercilious-looking Dolohov. 'How is your grandmother, Antonin?' she inquired innocently, firmly placing him back in the nursery.

'My grandmother is deceased, ma'am,' he replied thinly, accepting his tea from her.

'Oh, not your Grandmother Jones,' the old lady replied evenly, taking a sip from her teacup. 'I was referring to your Grandmother Dolohov...she was kind to me when I was a girl, you know.'

'I have not seen or spoken to her in over twenty years,' Dolohov said, showing some discomfort.

Madam Prince made a murmur of sympathy, knowing full well Dolohov's grandmother had disowned him when he had been arrested for the murders of the Prewett brothers. 'Your mother and father live in Exeter, still?' she continued. 'A lovely woman, your mother...she had her pick of all the boys in her year at Hogwarts, but for some reason, she chose your father.' Madam Prince pursed her lips, as if she were pondering that choice, and watched with utter enjoyment as Dolohov began to shift about in his seat; apparently, he was well aware that there had been much gossip and conjecture as to his true paternity. She found that she was rather enjoying herself.

'Did you know my grandmother, ma'am?' the rat inquired.

Madam Prince turned her icy blue gaze upon Pettigrew and stared at him. She did not speak, nor did she look away from him. After a few seconds, he began to fidget; after a full minute, his small, watery eyes dropped to the carpet. Only then did Madam Prince speak.

'No,' she said succinctly.

Dolohov placed his cup and saucer on the table at his elbow and rose to his feet. 'We must thank you for your hospitality, Madam Prince, but Peter and I dare not tarry any longer; you know how impatient your grandson can be. We must collect the young lady and take her to him, now.'

Madam Prince set her cup upon the tray. 'I was meaning to ask you about that, Antonin,' she said sweetly. 'Why did not Severus come for her himself?'

Pettigrew answered promptly, his façade of courtesy now put aside. 'He's busy with the Dark Lord,' he said. 'We told you that.'

'Did you bring a note from him?' she asked, ignoring Pettigrew and speaking to Dolohov, stalling desperately as she waited to feel the flutter which would mean someone had Disapparated from her home.

'He knew you wouldn't mind sending her with his friends,' Dolohov said, taking a step towards her.

Madam Prince saw the intent in his eyes, and she was pleased that she had sent her son and his family to Scarborough for the afternoon, to attend the wizarding faire; if Tiberius and his boys had been here now, wands would already have been drawn in her parlour. No, it was imperative to her plan that she be perceived as a defenceless old lady.

'You know young girls,' she said, picking up her teacup again. 'They take forever and a day to dress. Please, allow me to refresh your tea.'

'We'll just go up and fetch her,' Dolohov said, and he walked out of the drawing room with Pettigrew at his heels.

'No, please don't,' she called after them, infusing desperation into her voice. Then she picked up her tea and drained the cup, feeling she had done her part.

Next, she heard Bandy playing out his part. 'May I help the sirs?'

'Where is Hermione Granger?' Dolohov demanded.

As he had been instructed, Bandy replied worriedly, 'Miss is the third door on the right down the east corridor...but she isn't well...she isn't seeing visitors, sirs!'

When she heard their footsteps on the stairs, Madam Prince moved into the entrance hall and climbed to the first landing, pausing before the stained glass representation of the betrayal of Merlin by Nimüe, listening. Soon she heard it, the pounding followed by, 'Open the door!'

In the next instant, she felt the flutter against the wards she had placed on the house, and knew that Hermione had Apparated safely away.

'Thank you,' she murmured, laying her fingertips upon the cloak hem of the great wizard's stained glass replica.

Now it was all up to Scampy.

---

Morgen Singer Leclercq fell to the tabletop in a graceless heap, prevented by her bindings from so much as breaking her fall; her side would be badly bruised, but she was out of the bubble, and that was an improvement of her circumstances.

The Dark Lord sat in his throne-like chair, watching her with his cold, frightening eyes. 'How good of you to join me, Morgen,' he said courteously. 'Won't you have a glass of wine with me? I find we have something to celebrate.'

Morgen blinked at him, lying upon her side upon the tabletop, nude, unable to move because her ankles and wrists were bound; she couldn't speak to answer because she was gagged.

His Lordship chuckled. 'How thoughtless of me,' he said, and a lazy flick of his fingers freed Morgen's ankles.

Clumsily, she tried to sit up, but her long unused limbs refused to obey her.

'Dear me,' the Dark Lord said, watching her struggles as a boy might watch a turtle he has deliberately placed on its back. 'Help her, Lucius.'

From beyond the periphery of Morgen's vision, Lucius Malfoy appeared and pulled her from the table, supporting her when her knees threatened to buckle. Malfoy pushed her unceremoniously into a chair across from the Dark Lord and retreated again.

The Dark Lord waved his hand, and two glasses of blood-red wine appeared before him, one of which slid neatly to the edge of the table before Morgen, then it stopped.

'Let us drink a toast to you, dear Morgen,' the Dark Lord said, raising his glass to her in a mocking gesture, still without unbinding her hands or removing her gag so she could pick up the glass and drink.

Morgen closed her eyes for an instant. She had been bound and revolving in that damn bubble for perhaps thirty-six hours; she was so thirsty she thought she might die of it, and the Dark Lord taunted her with liquid she could not drink.

'Yes, I really must commend you,' the Dark Lord continued contemptuously. 'You may have killed my darling Bellatrix...the closest Lord Voldemort has ever come to having a mate, Morgen...but you have also provided me with a very useful trinket.' From between the white fingers, His Lordship produced a simple hair slide. 'I really must commend you on your pick-pocketing abilities,' he said in his cold high voice.

Morgen had no difficulty recognising the cheap clasp as the one she had filched from Severus' cloak pocket at their last meeting in the Three Broomsticks, a month before. The tiny engraved HG had identified its owner, and she had meant to use it against the Mudblood, if she could, but it had slipped her mind.

The Dark Lord stood suddenly, and Morgen flinched back into her seat, which brought a thin smile to the snake-like face. 'I will give you twenty minutes to prepare yourself for the task I have for you,' he said to her. 'If you succeed, I will honour you above all others, Morgen...I will curse you, as Bella was cursed, and you will become my lust-bound slave.'

Morgen felt the cold horror of the Dark Lord's pronouncement creeping through her veins, but she made no sound.

'If you fail,' His Lordship continued, his eerie red eyes staring into her green ones, 'your lieutenants will execute you upon the field of battle.'

To complete her humiliation, the Dark Lord entered her mind and brutally sifted through her thoughts and feelings, seeming to linger over her horror at the prospect of being imprinted upon him.

When he had satisfied his curiosity, he extricated himself from her mind, and his eyes flicked once, scornfully, down her naked body. 'And don't neglect to clothe yourself,' he added. 'Already, I grow weary of looking at your nakedness...no wonder Severus prefers the Mudblood.' He sighed gustily and turned to leave the room, saying carelessly over his shoulder, 'I do hope you're fond of snakes.'

Morgen sat like one Petrified, her mind playing over and again the Dark Lord's last words, until a Malfoy house-elf pulled her, unresisting, from her chair and led her away.

---

Scampy opened the door and allowed the two Death Eaters into Miss Hermione's bedroom, her tennis ball-sized eyes wide with simulated fear. 'Don't be hurting Scampy!' she cried, skittering back from the door.

'Where is the girl?' the taller Death Eater demanded, as the ratty one pushed into the bathroom.

'Scampy does not know,' she replied, wringing her hands. 'Miss went down the back stairs...she said she was going into the garden.'

She followed the wizards down the back stairs, chattering all the while. When they reached the kitchen, Scampy planted herself firmly in front of the cellar door and pointed to the door into the back garden. 'Miss went that way,' she said.

Pettigrew barrelled out the back door, but Dolohov eyed Scampy suspiciously. 'What's through that door?' he demanded.

'Only the cellar,' Scampy replied. 'Miss is not in the cellar.'

But Miss was also not in the garden, and the wizards came back into the kitchen...through the simple wards Scampy put up to keep them out...very angry. As she had been instructed, she followed them up and down the stairs, into and out of each of the rooms, repeating over and again that she did not know where Miss had gone. At last, they were in the kitchen again, and Scampy stood before the cellar door.

'What's in the cellar?' the rat-like one demanded, his irritation making his voice squeak like a house-elf's.

'Move, or I shall move you, elf,' the taller one commanded, his wand pointing at Scampy's chest.

'Sir does not want to go into the cellar,' Scampy objected, her voice trembling with fear. 'There is a dragon in the cellar!'

'Step aside, elf!' the tall wizard thundered, and at last Scampy moved away.

In an instant the wizards had broken the wards on the cellar door, and they moved down into the darkness with their wands held before them to light the way.

Scampy slammed the door behind them and warded it again, this time using her strongest elf magic.

'Well done, Scampy,' her mistress said, coming into the kitchen and laying a rare hand upon Scampy's shoulder.

Scampy turned to face Mistress, her green eyes burning with determination. 'I did what Master Severus wanted!' she said, as if awed by her own actions.

'You shall be his house-elf when he marries Miss Hermione, Scampy...that would make you happy?' her mistress said kindly.

Scampy burst into tears and covered her face with the tail of her tea towel.

'I'll take that for "yes",' Mistress said.

---

Arcticus sprawled upon the stone floor and looked about his realm, his tail moving about a bit like that of a big cat. He was a Miniature Cerulean Siberian...an ice dragon. The species had been cross-bred with the Siberian snow leopard for use in tropic zones, where even cooling charms did not always keep dairy products from spoiling. A Miniature Cerulean Siberian in the larder took care of that problem and provided the additional benefit of discouraging the presence of rodents.

Of course, dragon breeding had been outlawed nearly three hundred years before, and the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures would have bypassed the Dragon Research and Restraint Bureau and turned Arcticus over promptly to the Committee for the Disposal of Dangerous Creatures ... if they had been aware of his existence.

As it was, he lived in the Prince House dungeon, where he provided special climate control for a portion of the wine cellar, a level above, and where he was permitted to laze about and enjoy a life of eating and sleeping. Occasionally a small rodent found its way into his territory, and that provided an extra element of entertainment for him, but most of the time, he was content to interact with his house-elf keepers and await the infrequent visits of his mistress, who knew to a nicety just how to scratch the spot behind his cat-like ears, beneath his dragon-like scales.

---

After a fruitless search in the dark, oddly chilly cellar, Pettigrew was whinging like a girl, and Dolohov was furious. The door to the upper level was now warded so strongly he could not break through, and an Anti-Disapparition Jinx prevented him from Disapparating out of the cellar.

Worst of all, he had found no sign of Hermione Granger, and he feared the Dark Lord's wrath.

Cursing, he lifted his wand and shouted, 'Incandesce!' The light of ten thousand candles filled the cellar, and he began to investigate it minutely again, ignoring Pettigrew, who sat upon an old trunk with a petulant look upon his face.

He noticed an odd arrangement of boxes in one spot, and when he touched it, it moved easily aside, revealing a trap door beneath. 'Why didn't you find this, rat?' he demanded testily. 'Doesn't your kind root about through the rubbish?'

Pettigrew rushed over and grasped the iron ring on the door. 'Hermione is through here,' he said, pathetically eager.

Dolohov stepped back to allow the heavy door to be lifted. 'She had better be,' he said darkly. 'You go first.'

Pettigrew began to descend the stairs, light from Dolohov's spell showing the way down into the murky lower level. 'It's colder'n a Muggle's tit down here,' he complained.

Dolohov stepped onto the top riser. 'Be quiet,' he snapped. 'Listen for the Mudblood.'

Unseen by either Death Eater, the house-elf who had plagued them all over the house had Apparated into the cellar when the trapdoor had been lifted, and when Dolohov's head moved below the level of the trapdoor, it slammed behind them with floor-shaking violence.

'Damn it!' Dolohov swore as the light from his previous spell was cut off.

'I'll do it this time,' Pettigrew said, and at his incantation, the Prince House dungeon was fully illuminated.

The gale of ice pellets which struck them knocked Dolohov from the last step to the stone floor, his body transformed to a solid mass of ice. Pettigrew, in a desperate attempt to save himself, transformed as he fell, landing upon the dungeon floor with four rat paws, still never having seen what hit him. With the speed and agility of his kind, Pettigrew fled across the floor, heading for the wall, and hopefully for shelter.

---

Arcticus felled one of the humans on his first try; they didn't smell like food to him, and he never investigated them once he had dealt with them. Then, he sat back on his haunches, wondering where the first human had got to. His scaly tail flicked back and forth as he watched. Very soon, a rodent-like figure shot across the floor in a flurry of dust-coloured fur, smelling very much like food.

With a bound inherited from his Siberian snow leopard forebears, Arcticus leapt up and came down again on the rat with both dragon-clawed front paws.

---

Arriving in a small copse of trees just off the road to Hogsmeade, Hermione held onto the trunk of a small beech tree as she caught her breath and found her balance. Her illness had left her weak and a bit unsteady on her feet, that was certain. She allowed herself to slip to the ground, where she leant against the tree trunk to rest for a moment.

Staring through the stand of trees to the buildings of the village, she pondered her flight. Why were Death Eaters looking for her at Prince House? How could she have left there? Ought she not to have stayed to help defend Madam Prince? Why had Professor Snape left instructions with Scampy to send her to Hogwarts?

And where was he?

Thinking of him brought back the sharp, sweet ache and longing for him, a physical pain that had her wrapping her arms about herself as if to fend off the hurt. How long had he been gone? Eight hours? Ten? And how long had it been since he had made love to her? How long would she bear up and be able to continue beneath the scourge of the compulsion...how long, before her need of him drove her to incapacity?

She pressed her face to her pulled up knees, her arms now encompassing her bent legs. He meant for her to sneak into Hogwarts under a Disillusionment Charm and to wait for him there...but what was she to do whilst she waited? How could she help him, even though he was far away from her?

She knew it was weakness to dwell on his words so incessantly, but they filled her with light, and she could no more prevent herself from repeating them over and again in her mind than she could choose not to take another breath.

I wish to thank you for your thoughtful consideration of the difficulty of my situation in our late dealings. It has not been entirely unpleasant; in fact, quite to the contrary.

Despite my best efforts and intentions, I find life refreshingly new...and dare I say joyful?...because of your presence. I fear that I can only conclude that I must be in love with you, for there is no rational explanation for the inexplicable light in these terrible, dark days.

I thank you, Hermione, for I never thought, hoped, or dreamed I would find myself in this state, and if my life were to end tomorrow, I would feel it to be complete because of what you have made of me.

Until we meet again, my life, I remain,

Ever Yours,

SS

The joy that surged through her every time she remembered his words of love transported her again, and for a moment, she was entirely unaware of her surroundings; all that existed was her love for him, his love for her, and the certainty that she would see him again soon.

Still smiling foolishly against her upraised knees, it took her a full minute to process what she was hearing as a strangely amplified voice said, 'Morsmordre!'

When Hermione raised her disbelieving eyes, she saw the unthinkable: a spray of green sparks flew into the sky, and the Dark Mark spread malevolently over Hogsmeade.

---

A/N: This chapter was alpha read by Sshg316, beta read by Annie Talbot, and Brit-picked by Magically. Looks like two more chapters to go.