Winter Solstice

In order to have the dates fit with my plans for the Christmas holiday events, winter solstice is the twenty-second thru the twenty-third of December.

Warning: There are some disturbing things mentioned in this chapter and some things implied that have gone on behind the scenes that may be a bit difficult for some readers. However, nothing that is implied is shown or described in full gory details, or will be.

A huge thank you to my alpha reader, Arabellabloodgood, for reading this over for me and to EverMystique and Dandru for combing through this and helping me clean up my mistakes. I really appreciate the beta help. Thank you very much.

Also, smooches and a big thank you to DuchessOfArcadia for my lovely banner! I really love it, doll.

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~o 31 o~

Winter Solstice

Cillian walked over to the windows and sat in the chair facing Severus. "So, have you decided yet, what are you doing with Hermione over Christmas?"

Both wizards looked up as Hermione entered the room. "Muffliato," Severus murmured with a discreet wave of his hand.

Severus couldn't help watching as Hermione plonked down on the floor by the coffee table and began busily writing on one of her essay assignments, surrounded by several piles of books. "Keeping her here is not the best option," he replied softly, even though his spell wouldn't have allowed her to overhear them. "I thought of taking her home with me, unless Pettigrew decides to spy on me again." He turned to look at his friend. "I'll find out where the Rat is residing at the winter solstice party tonight."

Cillian slouched in his chair and crossed his ankles. "I'd prefer to forget that party. Bell is undoubtedly going to force me to entertain Larissa Roquewood all evening." He jerked his head to indicate the girl revising quietly. "I brought her some robes. The elf put them in her wardrobe."

"Am I to assume they are appropriate?" Severus asked with a quirk of his eyebrow.

"They looked nice on the shop girl," Cillian stated, with a quirk of his eyebrows.

Severus smirked. "I'm sure they did. I'd thought I'd take her to my house for a few days, a break, but I have to justify removing her from her stronghold," he sneered the last word.

Cillian moved the drapes back to gaze out of the window. "If you do go to your house, I want to go see Dianne."

Severus wasn't the least bit surprised. He turned to look at Hermione. She was resting her head in her hand as she read from a thick book, stopping occasionally to write something down. She was so much like him when he was young. When her head turned, he noticed a smudge of ink on her pert little nose, and he forced himself not to smile. He turned his attention back to his friend. "It would be risky. Your absence might be more noticeable now that there are fewer distractions for our fellow Death Eaters."

"Life is full of risks, some more dangerous than others." Cillian glanced at him sideways. "I'll be careful."

Severus wondered if he was finally ready to admit his true loyalties. "Why are you putting yourself in such danger for a girl you cannot have?"

"You know why," Cillian growled.

Severus smirked at him. "Love. For a Muggle-born – typical Romeo and Juliet scenario – from wrong families, you cannot be together except through deceit."

"You're one to talk," Cillian snapped back, glancing quickly at Hermione.

"But, you know me so well. You and I are both breaking the rules – for love," Severus stated. He saw the flicker of sadness in his friend's eyes, but he recovered quickly. "They're to be purged from society, or did you miss that meeting?"

Cillian's expression turned stony. "If I didn't know you better I'd say you were on the opposing side," he hissed, his tone sharp.

"I tried that once." Severus prodded. He had to pull back; he'd gone too far. "No one can lie to the Dark Lord," unless you can anticipating or outwitting him by using beguile and misdirection, he finished silently.

"I'm not – I'm loyal," Cillian quickly denied, albeit too quickly. Cillian smirked at Severus' silence. "Severus, I thought Dumbledore was dead. You're not secretly hiding him anywhere, are you?"

"Naturally," Severus said sarcastically with a sneer, "in a frame on the wall in my office, so I can keep him close to me, always."

Cillian chuckled. "Still enamored of the old man?"

"He was every bit as manipulative as the Dark Lord – only he didn't Crucio those who displeased him." Severus watched his friend with feigned nonchalance. "Thinking about asking him for advice? I can make the arrangements."

"No thanks," Cillian said, turning to stare out of the window again.

"Pity, he's enlightening," Severus said.

Cillian head snapped in his direction. "Pardon me?"

He restrained from driving it home. He wasn't ready. "I'm sure that you can take a few days to see your witch, three – possibly more. Tell her I said hello."

Cillian nodded as he resumed his gaze out of the window. "Is there anything to worry about here," he asked, "besides the obvious."

"So far, no," Severus said, turning to watch Hermione. So far, she'd done exactly as he'd asked. She'd selected about a dozen or more books on each of her subjects, and they'd used a book trolley to bring all of them to the sitting room. "She's behaving, although she hadn't been as friendly with Draco as He'd like."

"They had a fight," Cillian stated, and Severus turned to him. "Hermione's been comparing the Dark Lord to some Hitlier, no, Hitler." He turned to look at Severus. "Her comparisons are... disturbing sometimes. It will not help our position if the students are tortured."

"No, it will not," Severus agreed, pleased to hear that Hermione was getting to him as well, how much influence her presence was having. "But every time I reign in the Carrows, they go whine to our Master."

A tic showed in Cillian's cheek.

"You disagree with me?"

"I hate seeing kids hurt unnecessarily."

Severus agreed. He'd been harsh as a teacher, to keep a tight control on his students and to prevent them from doing any antics that could result in fatal accidents. Fear kept people in line; the Dark Lord taught him that. But, he'd always stuck to cauldron cleaning or some disgusting ingredient preparation as a punishment. He didn't approve of Filch's recent use of shackles, chains, and iron cages, and it was all he could do to keep the rebellious teens from ending up tortured in Filch's more medieval devices.

He turned to watch Hermione, carefully keeping his face expressionless. Yes, he'd find a way to get her out of here, just the two of them. It was foolish, but he was tired of the constant strain.

~D~

Ever since Draco had come home, he'd known that things were amiss. The atmosphere was definitely strained around the manor. People stood aside, holding quiet conversations, or moved about with their heads lowered or angled slightly to avoid eye contact whenever possible. Well, except for those held in good favor with the Dark Lord. Aunt Bella never bothered to cower or whisper.

Among the whispers he did overhear, Draco heard that the Dark Lord had a dungeon magically constructed under the house, which was accessed by the manor's cellars. Draco had tried to ask his mother about it, but she'd adamantly warned him to stay away from the cellars and not to ask anyone about them or what transpired down there. This of course, only piqued his curiosity, but he still kept his distance from the cellars, just in case.

Draco headed for the family library to try to avoid some of the houseguests with a good book. Or six, should keep me sufficiently occupied. He shook his head. Good grief, I'm turning into Hermione, he grumbled to himself at the thought.

As he rounded the corner, he spotted four Death eaters, his Uncle Rodolphus, Macnair, Mengele, and one he didn't see the face of, exit the door to the cellars.

"Them transfusion tests are a waste if you ask me." Rodolphus said, wiping his knife off on a rag. "Does no good mixing it if they react like that," he sneered.

"Yeah, like exchanging the dirty blood for good blood would make a difference," Macnair sneered. "She's still a Mudblood."

That rang a bell and gave Draco a horrible feeling in his gut. He plastered himself to the wall, hoping to be unseen.

"They die anyway," Mengele said with a shrug. "I'm still waiting on the results of the surrogate pregnancies from Vorster and Rosenberg. That may be promising. Send the samples and tissues to Vorster. Let him study it," he added with a malicious laugh their voices faded as the men walked away.

Draco turned, walking cautiously to the door that led to the cellars, staying close to the wall as he made his way silently down the stairs. A large iron door stood in the wall across from the wine cellar where his family kept the everyday wines and the hidden doorway that led to the rooms where his father kept the more questionable artifacts. He smirked; the wine cellar where the good stuff was housed and the one with the expensive collection were farther down the hall. At the end of the hall were the house vaults, although Draco had learned that those vaults had been given over to the Dark Lord.

He reached out his hand and grasped the latch of the iron door, jerking back as a strong stinging sensation shot into his arm and throughout his body. However, he did he notice that his left hand was unaffected by the curse on the door. Using his left hand, he tired the latch again. The stinging sensation as he turned the latch and pushed open the door was painful, however bearable, and stopped at his Dark Mark, not affecting the rest of him as it had before.

He slipped into the dark tunnel that stretched into the darkness in front of him, and he was barely able see to the end. The tunnel was round and high enough for a tall wizard to walk down the center. Heavy iron doors with small windows sat in deep depressions in the curved walls, and candle wall sconces provided some illumination. Draco stopped to look though one window and could barely make out anything in the dark room. He tried the next one.

"Lumos," Draco said softly with a flick of his wand to illuminate the tip, giving him just enough light to see by, but hopefully not enough to alert anyone in the hall to his presence. He pressed the lighted tip to the window and cupped his eyes with his other hand. The center of the room held a metal chair, with thick leather straps for the chest, wrists, lap, and ankles. A metal cap with straps was attached to a device obviously meant to hold a head in place, and various steel tables with wheels lined the wall to his left. He extinguished his wand.

Following the tunnel, he stopped at the next door. In the dim light from inside the room, he could see what looked like a steel table with four leather shackles. Above it was an odd light fixture, and a second table stood near the back of the room with bins of instruments. Behind it was a metal cupboard with glass front cabinets containing all sorts of canisters and jars. He tried the latch, not surprised to find it locked.

Crossing the hall, he peered into the next room. It was too dark really to see anything through the small, dingy window. Draco tired the latch and smirked to discover it too was locked. Using a simple, Unlocking Charm he pushed the door open. "Lumos," Draco said softly with a flick of his wand again, careful to keep the illumination just bright enough to see by, but soft enough so it didn't extend outside the room.

In the center of the room stood what looked like two Muggle surgical tables with stirrups at one end, very similar to the ones that Alecto had shown them in class. Beside each stood a steel table on wheels with trays of odd instruments and gadgets. All along the back wall was a similar multi-drawer cupboard with glass front cabinets full of similar canisters and jars, but also had familiarly shaped potion bottles, jars, and tins.

Draco walked to the back of the room and looked at the cabinet attached to the wall, over a sturdy steel counter. In the one glass front cabinet and on the counter sat a series of small vials and small bottles. He increased the light of his wand slightly. Several vials contained some swirling silvery-white, iridescent substance; others held a similar looking substance that seemed to be much more opaque or that had the appearance of swirling liquid opals with shimmering golds, greens, reds, and blues. Others were darker; a swirling, dark bluish-black iridescent substance that reminded him of the insides of abalone shells. Each was labeled with a small tag.

Are they memories? He'd only ever seen the silvery threadlike substance that was viewed in Pensives.

He checked a few of the labels. HBI d. 2/11/97, JEK d. 5/11/97, SHR d. 12/12/97, SAN d. 26/11/97...

Draco took a step back away from the counter. The last one, one of the dark blueish-black ones, had felt cold and menacing in his hand. He picked up a chart and noticed that the columns on the page on the right almost matched the labels: Initials, Date of Death, Age, Sex, Color of Magical Essence...? He lifted the page on the left and gasped. The messy scrawl was difficult to decipher, but by concentrating very hard on the script he was able to make out: ... can siphon a person's magical essence while they die? ... help create a method or means to siphon their magical essence ... like the memory extraction of the Pensieve ... would then be able to use to enhance his own powers. Testing the method on the prisoners at Azkaban. Written on the page in thick letters in someone else's hand was: Unsuccessful. "Then what are all these...?" he asked in a hushed voice.

Draco replaced the chart and left the room, carefully locking the door behind him. It was surreal. He had to be mistaken in his assumptions; he had to be missing something.

Draco stopped at the first door and unlocked it. Inside was an office of sorts. On the top shelf of the low bookshelf sat jars of various organs and a few that held what looked like... fetuses, some that were grossly malformed in his opinion. Draco picked up a chart on the desk and swallowed back the bile in his throat as he read the neat, precise handwriting. It was a detailed description of someone's anatomy and measurements. Whoever 'Linda, age nineteen' was, she had been carefully examined, measured, and deemed 'unacceptable' for something. He picked up the next one that had been lying underneath. It was a similar report on a 'Wendy, age twenty,' who was 'acceptable.'

He thumbed through the stack of files. There were several such reports. The bottom of some of the reports was a summary of what the examiner had considered to be 'deemed to be hereditary' as opposed to what was 'deemed to be the result of environmental influences.' Several of the young girls examined were determined to be of 'significant magical ability and physical health, with good breeding, significant heritage, appearance and behavior to be placed in proper homes for proper upbringing.' The last few were stamped 'unworthy' in red. He put the charts back with a shaky hand. "She's right," he hissed, looking around, "about all of it."

Feeling a sense of sick curiosity, he moved to the next door. Even in the dim light, he could make out several forms either sitting or lying along the wall in the large room. He opened the door and drew his wand, igniting the wand tip with a soft glow. The stench of sweat, urine, excrement, and vomit hit him immediately. The bodies were slumped as if drugged and barely moved or acknowledged his presence, each bound in chains and shackles. He held his wand tip closer to the first person and was shocked to see Ollivander, the wandmaker. Next to him was a boy Draco remembered from three years ago, a Hufflepuff who played Chaser for two years. Howard Fortescue, son of the guy who ran the ice cream parlor. Wilberforce Wodehalle and Joaquin Schmidt, both sixth-year Gryffindors, Duane Saunders, a sixth-year Ravenclaw. Terry Boot and Stephen Cornfoot, both seventh-year Ravenclaws... and a few young boys he didn't know.

Draco stood, staring. He looked at the putrid water in the buckets and grimaced. If that is their drinking water, it's disgusting. He cast Evanesco and Scourgify on the buckets and filled them with fresh water from his wand. He left the room before he felt the need to hurl from the stench.

Dreading what he'd find in the next room, he was relieved to find it empty. However, behind the last door he saw several girls, likewise chained to the walls. Unlike the guys, the girls were sitting and talking, apparently unaware that he was watching them. Luna Lovegood, the sixth-year he frequently saw with Weasley and Wang, and a pretty girl with a long dark braid who looked to be about fifteen, were facing Megan Jones and Mandy Brocklehurst in the cell. Sidney Whitman, a half-blood who had a crush on Pucey in school, Sandra Netley, whose father Draco was sure worked for the Obliviator's office, Marietta Edgecombe, the girl who'd had SNEAK broken out on her face his fifth year, and Stephanie Bradley, whose mother worked in the International Magical Cooperation Office sat huddled with Hopkirk's daughter, what's her name... He couldn't remember her, but she was several years older than he was.

He stepped back, looking down the tunnel nervously. He wondered why they were all down here. He hoped that the girls were not being examined and measured in the room down the tunnel for their acceptability. But if not, why are they here? Prisoners? Surely that's all they are. That theory made sense since there was a cell of sorts for the guys. However, the girls didn't look to be any better off than the guys did, only they, at least, had plain, grey flannel robes and socks to wear.

Draco turned to leave, distressed by what he saw. It isn't right. What are they doing here? And why here? he asked himself, unable to find any plausible answer that wasn't horrific or unconscionable. First things first, he'd find out why they were not fed properly and given fresh water. He'd ask the house-elves and see to it that they were treated better. Then he'd find his mother and ask her what was going on... and why.

~S~

The dark outlines of the forest and the mountains stood dark and rugged in contrast to the subtle changes of the sky: as the dark night sky faded, the bluish pearl-grey diffused with soft peaches on the horizon gave way slowly to the rich blues infused with warm yellows of predawn. It was still his favorite time of the day, always had been. The castle was quiet, the air crisp and clean with the scent of the trees wafting on the breeze. It had snowed again last night, a fresh powdery blanket that frosted everything. Eaves, rooflines, wrought iron handrails, and arches were decorated with icicles. The real ones, not the kind magic produced.

Severus stood by the window, gazing out at the snow-covered grounds, finishing his breakfast tea. Normally he enjoyed winter at the castle, warm beds, good food, and the castle was kept at a comfortable temperature. But, Severus was not looking forward to the festivities arranged for this year, especially the party this evening. Not that he'd ever particularly enjoyed Christmas, but Christmas in the castle had always been preferable to Christmas at home. He hoped that the Rat would stay at the Manor, but he doubted it, since the Rat liked spying on him. Not that it had done Pettigrew any good to try; Severus could outwit the dunderhead, drunk, exhausted, and wandless. Still, Hermione needed a break from the stress of the castle as much as he did. She has been taking so much abuse and torment from the Carrows, tolerating her restrictions without complaint, and bearing it all so well.

Cillian had offered to have him bring Hermione to his cottage. The cottage, his grandfather's house, stood on an island in the Derwentwater Lake east of Catsbells surrounded by native oaks and tall pines. Besides the Fidelius Charm, multiple concealment spells and every known Muggle repelling and avoidance spell protected and shielded the island from Muggle invasion for generations, which kept the island off any known map of the area, whether Muggle or magical. Even the ferry drivers and tourists who traveled between Lodore to High Brandelhow across the lake had no idea that the island existed. It really was the perfect hideaway for a few days.

He just hoped that the Dark Lord would be fooled by his reasoning and that Hermione, in fact, would try to escape and meet up with Potter. That was necessary as well. He'd already placed a tracing spell on her shoes and the Skrewt bracelet she wore, although he didn't know if he'd been able to improve the range of the spells yet. So far he'd only been able to test it up to one kilometer, the furthermost distance she'd traversed away from him within the castle or on the grounds.

The sky was brighter now, bluer. It would be a full Moon tonight, one that brought with it an unusual occurrence: not only would there be a lunar eclipse as the Moon passed through the Earth's shadow; it would happen in the dark rift of the Milky Way, throwing the snowy landscapes into an unusual state of ruddy shadows. The Dark Lord was particularly looking forward to the event, which would start at midnight, considering it an important omen of his full rise to power. However, Severus was unnerved by the portents.

Sybill had stopped Severus on the seventh floor corridor the day after the students had departed, asking him if the castle would be unoccupied so that she might wander more freely. He'd warned her that she'd still be in danger, that the Carrows and the Death Eaters, with only shanty homes to return to, had opted to remain in the castle. But, before he could urge her to return to her rooms, she seemed to go into a fit. What she said next had plagued Severus ever since.

For seventy-two minutes, the earth shall be cast in ruddy shadow... For seventy-two days the Dark Lord will reign... Blood, sorrow, and pain, the innocent slain, the weak – af-ah-chew – betrayal of the discontented... But the ides of March shall cast light in the darkness... and in seventy-two – ha-kack – more the one who wins will die by the wand of the one he defeated... for seventy-two days the earth shall be in shad-o– kach-ah-chew...

"Oh, my goodness! Excuse me, Headmaster," Sybill apologized, covering her mouth with her hand.

That one bloody vague word 'more' irritated him. Dumbledore's portrait felt the prophecy was in increments of days; Severus felt certain that was merely hopeful thinking, convinced that the 'seventy-two more' to be weeks, since he was certain that Potter was nowhere close to destroying the locket, let alone finding and destroying any of the Dark Lord's other cursed objects. By his calculations, Severus was certain that the final battle would be the twenty-fourth of May, but Dumbledore's portrait disagreed, claiming that the event would fall on the fifteenth or eighteenth of March.

However, Sybill had made a sick, hacking sound, which obscured part of the prophecy's third and fifth lines, then coughed out of the trance near the end, taking up her pleading as if no time had passed at all. Yes, Sybill had a bad cold, and, of course, she had no idea what bodement she'd given, but it didn't help him decipher the new prophecy. When he'd asked her what she'd just said, she'd meekly repeated, "The cards tell me I can come forth. That the castle shall be empty and the corridors clear of impediments..."

Regardless of who was right, him or the painting, the final battle would be fought next year in the spring. He was certain of that; and depending on who won...

Severus felt a presence behind him, breaking him from his reverie. With a quick glance down, he could see Peren reflected in the glass, looking hopefully up at him, and one side of his lips curved into sly half smile at the house-elf.

"The house is all cleans and prepared for you, master, sir, as you asks Peren to do," she stated. "Does master needs anything else from Peren?"

He turned slightly so he could look directly at her. "Not at present. Just the two bags packed as I requested," he said kindly, and she nodded, bowing to him before leaving. "Peren," he said softly and smirked as she made a little hop, eagerly anticipating his request. "Hermione has a stack of library books on her bedside table as well as the books here on the coffee table. Please see that they are returned to the library for her."

"Yes, Master, right away, sir," Peren said and then tugged on her ear.

He knew the gesture and what it meant. "We will not be needing you for the next few days, Peren. However, if anything should come up, either Hermione or I will call for you. After the party, Hermione and I will go to visit Cillian. You know the place – the house on the island that others can't see." The sizable country house Cillian called a cottage.

"To the lady that Dobby goes to?" Peren asked.

Severus nodded. "Yes, Dianne Henley, to the place she is hidden." Cravenweld House. He couldn't say the location or name of the house, but that rascal Dobby had been able to go there for Cillian when he'd been unable to send things to Dianne by owl. "If anything goes afoul at the castle, come find me and let me know immediately. If you cannot find me, go to Nymphadora Tonks."

"The lady with the hair that changes?" Peren asked, nodding that she did in fact understand.

Severus smiled and laced his hands together. "Yes, the woman who changes her hair color. Do not divulge my association with her to anyone." Why she trusted him when few of the others did, especially her husband, Lupin, baffled him, but at least Tonks agreed to allow Hermione to remain at Hogwarts. The rest of them hated accepting Hermione's imprisonment at the castle; although, Kingsley, Minerva and Pomona did support the idea of her finishing her education. And the Weasleys, of course. Their reasoning was that if the castle was safe enough for their daughter, then it was safe enough for Hermione. However, they didn't approve of their hand-fasted bonding.

"Oh, no, sir," Peren said, shaking her head. "I keeps your secrets, Master."

Severus reached out and stroked her head. "I know you will. You are a good house-elf."

Peren smiled and ran from the room to collect Hermione's books. It was a huge risk he was taking, but if all went well, he'd find Potter and finally give him the bloody sword.

He walked down the stairs to his desk and drafted a letter to Nymphadora, Tonks, he reminded himself, updating her briefly and giving assurance that Hermione was well. He was still angry about the raid on the train, but at least, he'd known about the possibility beforehand. Tonks had sent him a list of those missing, and many of the names matched the one he had from Barcus Mordaunt, the assistant head of the Muggle-born Registration Commission. He just wished that he knew where the students had been taken. According to Tonks, no one in the Order knew, and no one in the Aurory knew for sure either. And he was responsible for explaining things to the irate and frightened parents of the missing students, as well as those who had received the letter stating that withdrawal from Hogwarts would not be allowed and that attendance for the rest of the students was compulsory. It was a bloody mess and added to his already enormous parchment load.

He chose not to tell Tonks that he was taking Hermione from the castle because he couldn't tell her where they'd be. It was better this way. He picked up a stack of parchments, the replicated pages of the School Registry that Minerva had given him. The Order already had the list, several days before the Dark Lord would. He'd sent a message to Bellatrix, telling her that he would make a copy of the Registry when Minerva left for her requested days off 'so the old bat can't manipulate the entries and then warn the Order,' (which was exactly what Minerva had done – both times), and he'd have the copy for her as a Christmas gift. The barking witch had actually been pleased.

Severus knew that this was the real reason that Minerva, Pomona, and Hooch had asked for a few days off, to help the Order hide those families.

He folded the letter, shrunk it to the size to fit inside one of the empty matchboxes he kept in his pocket, and walked over to Aetos' perch. The matchbox from a Muggle pub would alert the woman to the urgency of the message.

His owl hooted softly as he woke from Severus' soft touch on his feathers. "I have a delivery I need you to make tonight. Hide in the upper perches of the owlery until dusk and then fly from there. Go to her home, late, after dark. Do not be seen." He secured the matchbox gently to the bird's leg. "I will be at Cillian's grandfather's house, the house on the island that is hidden, if she replies. If not, wait in the owlery until I come get you. If you are hurt or hungry, seek Hagrid."

Aetos hooted in response, indicating that he understood. Severus carried him to the window and stroked his feathers again. "I'll have the house-elves save you some chicken parts from dinner. I know how much you like the heart and liver." Aetos hooted again in appreciation and spread his wings. "Safe flight, my friend."

~o0o~

Hermione stared at the small, black clutch in her hands. On the outside it looked small, just the size of her hand, barely enough to hold a few credit cards, driver's license and possibly a compact and lipstick. However, when Hermione had opened it and dropped her magical compact into the purse, the one that Dobby had brought her two days ago, it seemed to vanish, as if the clutch had been magically expanded inside. She slipped her hand in and tried to reach the bottom, finding that her arm disappeared into the bag, all the way up past her elbow.

She withdrew her arm and picked up the card; it read: Happy Winter Solstice from your friends in Slytherin, and was signed by Glenwynn, Felicia, and Adriana. Now I will have to get them something, she sighed, wondering what would be suitable. Still, the purse would easily fit into her pockets. Hermione retrieved her DA coin and the twin to the mirror Harry and Ron had, and placed them as well as a few books and some personal items in her new clutch.

The second present was from Draco, a scarf. It was soft like angora and smelled of jasmine. It went into her clutch as well.

The other package contained a lovely pair of chinchilla lined gloves made from a greyish-purple skin that felt very tough even though it was tanned to be rather supple. There was a small slip of parchment tucked into one of the gloves under the tag that read: fine-grained graphorn hide.

Graphorn hide is stronger than dragon hide and also repels spells! Hermione unfolded the parchment and smiled, then frowned.

Hermione,

Breanna

She tried on the gloves and they fit her perfectly. She sighed as she slipped them off and held them on her lap. She had nothing to give Breanna in return.

Peren had her robes for the party laid out on the bed. Hermione rose to inspect them. There were two to choose from: one, a strapless, white dress robe with multiple layers of a sheer filmy fabric that would float and sway as she moved. The other was a rich, emerald green taffeta and organza with long sleeves and a wide neckline that left her shoulders bare. She didn't want to wear either; she didn't want to wear Slytherin green, but the white one reminded her of a wedding gown and was exactly the sort of gown she'd have select for herself if her wedding had been her choice and not something that had been planned for her by Narcissa Malfoy on the Dark Lord's orders.

Not that she was complaining, Severus was a very attentive husband and an amazing lover, but at times, he seemed so aloof, distant and closed off. Of course that could only be because of the trouble he had with her friends' rebelliousness, his position with the Dark Lord, or even just his tendency to be private – but it irked her nonetheless.

She turned to look at her red wedding robes hanging on the wardrobe door. She was certain that she would have to wear the Skrewt jewelry, not that it would actually go with any of the three gowns. The scarlet crimson gown tastefully adorned with tiny crystals on the lace sleeves and bodice had looked wonderful on her. And it was red. Not exactly Christmas red, but a perfect shade for her skin and hair. Besides, she'd read about an old tradition: in the Victorian era, a woman of society was expected to wear her wedding dress for her first presentation after marriage, usually altered slightly such as shortening or removing the sleeves or making the neckline lower to serve as an evening gown for the first year. Not that she wanted to shorten or remove the lace sleeves, and she certainly didn't want to lower the neckline; it was already low enough. Any lower and she'd be exposing her breasts indecently.

Then there was the fact that Cillian still had her wand, or possibly Severus did, but she wasn't allowed to use it outside of class. She doubted that Severus would make the exception for her to alter her wedding robes. However, Hermione knew that it had been considered a compliment to the hostess of the event, party, whatever, for the bride to appear in her remade gown during the first year after the wedding. If she chose to wear her wedding robes, even unaltered, she'd actually be complimenting the Dark Lord and Narcissa Malfoy in a way, by showing her acceptance of her marriage. It was a custom, albeit an antiquated one, but the wizarding world liked all the old customs.

Decision made, she called for Peren.

~D~

Draco excused himself to change for the party. Not that he needed over two hours, but he wanted to be alone for a while before having to put on his party smile and fake being cheerful around all the household guests. He told his mother that he wanted to take a bath and rest for a bit, but she only nodded at him knowingly with haunted, disheartened eyes and maintained her self-assured pose.

He hated that look, hated the way his father looked at her for reassurance all the time. He hated the way the Dark Lord sneered and demeaned his father at every opportunity. He hated sitting across from that werewolf at meals, and hated seeing Pettigrew helping himself to his father's expensive cigars and liquors. And he hated watching his aunt debase herself, fawning and groveling at the Dark Lord all the time.

Up in his rooms, Draco showered, more to scrub away the dirty feeling that felt as if it had permeated his very skin than because he actually needed a shower. He closed his eyes, wishing he was back in the hovel of a house Severus called home. Right now, the place seemed like a heavenly refuge with it shelves of books, old cracking paint, and dusty beams. The house-elf had tried to make the home spotless, but after so many years of neglect, even ten house-elves wouldn't have been able to improve the place. But right now, this instant, there was nowhere he'd rather be. Maybe the ol' bat will sell it to me, he thought ruefully.

After washing his hair and wiping himself down three times with the loofa sponge and soap, he turned off the water. He dried himself off, wrapped the towel around his hips, and walked back into his bedroom. A house-elf appeared instantly. "No, come back in an hour," he said, falling onto the bed and placing an arm across his eyes, not caring that the towel gaped open, exposing his leg to his groin.

"Yes, master Draco," the house-elf replied and popped out.

He'd been delusional about the Dark Lord. All his life his father had told Draco what a powerful and dynamic wizard the Dark Lord was; how cunning, how brilliant, how right he had been about the true nature of Muggle-borns; and how he intended to bring the wizards, true wizards – the pure-blood elite – to their rightful places as magical nobility, even ensuring that wizards would stand beside the Queen of England herself as her counsel and right hand. His father had even implied that the Dark Lord himself promised him the honor.

However, nothing was as it should be. The Dark Lord was a self-edifying, narcissistic megalomaniac, a raging psychopath, who greatly enjoyed the sound of his own voice, and a sadist, who liked to torture people, using curses to control his followers, completely devoid of any normal human emotions. Instead of devotion, he used fear and pain to demand loyalty, doling out punishments or even death for disloyalty or merely disappointing him. Everyone tried to worm their way into his good graces by backstabbing each other, groveling, and pleading promises at the Dark Lord's feet – and he loved every minute of the display. Everyone was terrified of him, most distrusted him, well except for a raving few like his Aunt Bella, Belinda Morederk, and Belladonna Rosier.

Half of the pure-bloods elevated as favorites in the Dark Lord's eyes were nothing but pikey bogs, thugs and maniacs. Sure there were some who were of the better class: the Lestranges, Morederks, Gwyneks, Lockhavens, Roisers, Notts, Warringtons, Puceys, and many others. Draco had grown up socalizing with many of them. But then there were the Mordaunts, Carrows, Yaxleys, Rowles, Jugsons, Baddocks, Huhs, Thortensons, VanHalals and Pettigrew. Or that creep Macnair and idiot McFaul. Low class gutter tripe, thugs, and all maniacs.

And the Mulcibers, Crabbes, Wroithesleys, deFays – although Courtney deFay was an all right witch – produced offspring that were complete idiots. Some like the McFaul's brood, Trenton Gerund, Henry Malburke, and Ashton Bole could barely do magic better than Longbottom. Even the Roquewood girls were twits, and Travers' kids were hardly better than Squibs. How McDougal managed to produce two decent daughters was purely a miracle because his two boys were morons. Gregory Goyle would never win any scholastic trophies either. Except Vincent Crabbe was proving to be very good at Dark Arts, although he was as inept as Carrow in reversing or controlling what spells he cast.

And those dungeons off the cellar! Home was supposed to be a safe place, and it wasn't: the dungeons were just like a Death Camp secreted away under his house.

There was a soft knock at his door. "What," he called out, not bothering to rise or adjust his towel.

His Aunt Bella entered the room and sauntered over to his bed. "The Dark Lord – oh my, Draco. Impressive."

Draco moved his arm and glared at his aunt.

"You're wanted in the drawing room," she said, her gaze raking over his prone form. "Shall I tell him you'll be down in five minutes?"

"I'll need ten at least," he said coolly, tugging his towel over his nudity as he sat up.

"I'll walk slowly," she purred, smirking at him, then turning to go. "I'll have a house-elf up here to help you dress."

Gods, even the impending, extremely rare astrological event wasn't enough to lift his spirits. His life was already in a state of ruddy shadow and misery.

~S~

Hermione was in the bathroom when Severus came up to put on his dress robes. Although he hated wearing color, any color other than black, Narcissa had insisted that he wear something 'festive.' He'd opted for a rich, dark navy blue tuxedo-styled frockcoat and blue-lined black robes with his best black trousers. Since he and Hermione had enjoyed a long leisurely bath that morning, (well it started that way), he assumed that his hair was clean enough. He'd just finished putting on his highly polished boots when Hermione entered the room looking positively stunning in her wedding robes. Peren had pulled her hair up into a cascade of curls, and her makeup was dramatic, making her eyes look sultry. He'd forgotten how alluring the drop of the neckline was, how the corset emphasized her perfect breasts, but he well remembered that the dress left her entire back bare. It was sexy – too sexy.

He also recalled the looks the other men had given her on their wedding day, and he didn't particularly want to have to hex anyone tonight for ogling her. "What was wrong with the robes Cillian bought you?" he asked sharply and then scolded himself. "You do look lovely," he amended before she could answer, "but why are you wearing that?" She was also wearing his Blast-Ended Skrewt jewelry, which amused him. They didn't go with the robes; but his fellow Death Eaters knew about the charms, so that would make a statement.

She stood proudly in front of him, maintaining perfect posture with her shoulders back, which only emphasized her breasts to their full advantage. "I thought it was tradition for wives to wear their wedding robes for their presentation after marriage," she said defiantly.

He smirked at her gumption. "You were presented at the Halloween gala, if you recall," he replied smoothly.

She maintained her poise and her determination. "I thought it would be considered a compliment to the Dark Lord; show him that I have taken my role seriously and accepted my place as your wife."

Okay. "Very well," he said, indicating the door. "Shall we?" She walked ahead of him.

"Wait," he said, stopping when they reached his office and crossing to his desk. If she's going to wear them I might as well make two more... He pulled out a drawer, looking for the extra disks of the shell he had thrown in there. The little extra protection won't hurt... He finally found them buried in the back under some parchments. His gaze sought out two of the shiniest pieces of the creature's shell for his purpose. Looking at Hermione appraisingly, he used his wand to make the pieces of shell smaller, smirking when they bowled slightly. Grabbing a parchmentclip, he created posts for her ears and held the earrings out to her.

She accepted one, examining it and then looked up at him, saying, "The posts are too thick for my ears, and I'll need backs to keep them in place," with a smirk.

"Backs?" he asked, wondering, What in the world are backs? But apparently, she didn't expect him to know because she called for Peren.

The elf popped in and bowed. "Yes, Mistress. What does mistress need of Peren?"

She smiled at the house-elf. "I'd like my pink earrings, please, the ones that look like tiny flowers."

Peren disappeared, then returned in a few seconds and handed the two tiny flowers to Hermione. "Thank you, Peren." The elf bowed and vanished as Hermione took the earring apart and handed a small curled piece of metal to Severus. "Are you able to make the posts fit in this?"

Is she kidding? "I'll need to see the other half," he replied, and she passed the flower part to him. He slid the back onto the post and understood, especially noting the tiny notch that held the back in place. I can do this, sure.

After he made a few adjustments to make the posts fit into the backs of her earrings, Hermione put the Skrewt earrings on. "How do they look?"

"Fishing for compliments?" he asked, collecting their cloaks.

"Not really," she said with a smirk, turning as he moved to drape hers on her shoulders. "They don't really go with my dress."

"I am aware of that," he said, putting his cloak on, "but I appreciate that you are wearing them."

"Because they know I can't Apparate with them on," she replied as he opened the door.

"Because they will protect you," he replied, following her down the stairs.

She turned to face him as he exited into the corridor. "But they don't! Not at all! The Carrows' spells..."

"Amycus is in close range when he hexes or curses you," Severus said softly enough so that only she could hear him in the empty corridor. He knew that his voice was deep enough to carry well, especially in stone corridors. "Although he's an idiot, he is sufficiently determined in his intent when casting spells to cause harm, and he's using his full strength on you, no holds barred. So, imagine just how much damage he'd do if you were not wearing them?"

Hermione considered what he said and finally nodded in understanding. "But Harry had to get by one in the third task; he said that his spells just rebounded off the shell."

"Potter doesn't kill or like causing harm to others. His spells of choice are to disarm, stun, or immobilize his opponents," Severus pointed out, annoyed that she didn't understand the difference. "Amycus' favorites are the ones that kill or maim. But I might have been wrong about the extent of the coverage the necklace and bracelet provide you. When school resumes, you'll be wearing a belt as well."

She smiled up at him. "I – thank you."

They left the castle, taking a school carriage to the gate, and he Apparated them on the gravel path in front of the wrought iron gates at Malfoy Manor. Severus smirked when Macnair, Jugson, and Thortenson, who were apparently standing sentry, all jumped when they arrived.

"'Bout time you arrived," Thortenson grumbled as Severus raised his left arm to the gate. They must have done something to warrant being given the task of standing in the cold, checking the guests as they arrived.

"I'm right on time," Severus said as a quick, irritating shiver ran down his forearm, much like ice-cold fingers, and the grotesque face on the gate shimmered. He placed Hermione's hand on the crook of his arm, and walked through the gate as if it was only smoke, smirking as he led her away from the men.

The fact that Severus and Hermione arrived together at the manor alone, caused a bit of a stir among those loitering about the main entry, as well as the sight of seeing her in her wedding robes. Severus ignored them as he handed their cloaks to one of the Squibs serving as a butler, and he and Hermione walked toward the smaller drawing rooms that led to the Malfoys' ballroom.

"Oh, Severus, there you are," a feminine voice called out.

He turned to face the owner of the voice, and he resisted the urge to scowl at Belladonna Rosier and Bellatrix Lestrange.

"He has been awaiting your arrival," Belladonna said, indicating the large drawing room with a delicate flick of her hand.

Severus ignored Hermione's sharp inhalation or the stiffening of her body and led her confidently into the drawing room where the Dark Lord was obviously still holding court. Beside his ornate high-backed silver armchair was the huge reptile stand for Nagini; however, the huge snake appeared to be elsewhere. Severus waited until he was summoned, then led Hermione to the middle of the room and knelt. Hermione knelt down beside him, her head bowed low.

"Severus, Hermione, come," the Dark Lord called, issuing them closer.

Hermione's posture relaxed and her head remained bowed slightly. Murmurs and a few hisses could be heard from around the room as they both rose and moved closer. "Master," he said as reverently as he could, noting that Hermione literally lowered herself, kneeling in full supplication, shivering slightly.

"Severus, rise and tell me of the school," the Dark Lord demanded.

"There is not much to report; most of the students returned home for the holidays," he replied and gave what information he could. "As I wrote to Bellatrix, Professor McGonagall left the castle for a few days on personal leave. I'll be able to replicate the School Registry in her absence, and Bellatrix shall have the copies before Christmas."

"Excellent," the Dark Lord said and turned to Hermione. "And how is my Gryffindor doing?"

Severus was about to answer, but the Dark Lord stepped down from the dais and approached her. Hermione stiffened, her body still shivering and her lip trembled. "Rise, Hermione."

Hermione wavered slightly as she complied, rising slowly to her feet. "Have you been a good girl?" the Dark Lord asked.

"Yes, my Lord," she said with a soft tremble in her voice. "I've tried."

"But you are afraid," the Dark Lord stated, gripping her chin. "Look at me." Hermione glanced up, looked down, and then looked up at the Dark Lord, her bottom lip quivering slightly. They stood there, staring at each other, and Severus knew that her mind was being searched. "Why haven't you followed my wishes?" he asked, his fingers tightening on her chin. "Why do you resist Draco's friendship?"

"We argued, my Lord," she replied, lowering her gaze, the quiver in her voice relaying regret. "I don't think he's forgiven me... I haven't asked – begged him to forgive me, my Lord. I had hoped to do so tonight."

"I see," the Dark Lord said, letting go of her chin.

Hermione raised her gaze to meet the Dark Lord's red eyes. "The fault is mine; I angered him. It is I who owes him the apology."

"Very well," the Dark Lord said, smiling, holding out his right hand, and Hermione stared at it as he added, "I'm sure you'll have the opportunity this evening. Give me your hand."

She slowly raised her right hand, and he laughed at her. "I don't want to see your bracelet, girl. Give me your left hand."

Hermione placed her left hand in his, swallowing nervously, her gaze on their joined hands. "Have you decided, my dear?" the Dark Lord asked as he rolled her hand over, exposing her wrist.

She looked up at him as he stroked her palm with his thumb, her expression one of confusion, her eyes questioning.

"To be mine. Have you decided to accept your fate?"

"Yes, my Lord," she said softly, the confusion never leaving her face.

"Kneel," he demanded, and Severus' gut clenched, a lump dropped into his throat as he forced himself to remain poised, his face an inscrutable mask of indifference.

Hermione complied. As she lowered demurely to the floor, the Dark Lord made a languid sweep of his wand over their joined hands, watching her with a smug satisfaction at her acquiescence, both their actions making her sleeve fall back, exposing her forearm. "Then accept the Mark I've designed especially for you." With that, the Dark Lord pressed his wand tip into her flesh, and Hermione screamed in pain. Her cries grew louder as the Dark Lord continued hissing his curse, the spells that would bind her to him.

I'll kill him! If Potter doesn't, I will! Severus felt ill as he watched the Dark Lord brand her, fighting back the nausea that threatened, forcing himself to swallow, and feeling a sense of revulsion the likes of which he'd never felt before – even more than the act of killing Dumbledore to fulfill the old man's vow. He will die for this, I swear. How he maintained his rigid posture, his carefully controlled mask was beyond him, but he managed, even as Hermione's screams grew louder and echoed off the walls. Potter will win, so help me God.

"There," the Dark Lord said finally, releasing his hold. He faced those in the room, ignoring Hermione's sobbing whimpers. "She is mine. I have marked her as mine – mine to do with as I desire. No one is to question her place among you or my intentions for this girl ever again." He turned to look at Narcissa, who was standing beside Draco, both of them shocked and pale from the event that just unfolded. "Narcissa, take Hermione and get her cleaned up and fix her face. I would hate to have her look like this at my party."

"Of course, my Lord," she said and rushed forward, clasping Hermione's shoulders and Apparating her away.

"Severus, I believe this will give you some time to converse with your brethren," the Dark Lord said smoothly. "Or you may wait for your wife in the foyer."

Accepting the dismissal, Severus bowed, grateful that his hair hid the anger and animosity he felt inside. "As you wish, my Lord." He inhaled deeply, forcing his mask in place and stood, then exited the room with all the control he could muster to appear unmoved.

He walked slowly to the foyer, his back straight, his hair hanging down slightly obscuring his eyes, forcing his raging anger under control. He remembered that the day after their wedding Hermione had mentioned that the Dark Lord threatened to mark her, but he'd never believed that he would. He didn't dare go up to the family wing to search for her. He was furious, but only because he'd practiced controlling his emotions since he was seven, only because he could push his anger away, to keep every muscle in his face relaxed to hide any evidence of his true feelings, did he manage to maintain an outward appearance of indifference. He didn't turn or acknowledge those who whispered as they passed him, nodding or speaking only to those who greeted him. He didn't face the stairs, seemingly to watch the guests as they moved from the large drawing room to the smaller ones to his left. But he could see the stairs in his peripheral vision.

So he waited. He'd see the Mark soon enough. Not that he could do anything about it.

~~o0o~~

Author's Notes:

I found this on the internet and thought that it was pretty amazing and would have loved to have seen it. This actually happened in 2010, and was seen in North America, not England, but I thought it would be a cool portents for the story. The luster will be a bit 'off' on the twenty-second of Dec. the first day of northern winter, when the full moon passes almost dead-center through Earth's shadow in the Dark Rift of the Milky Way. For seventy-two minutes of eerie totality, an amber light will play across the snows of some parts of North America, throwing landscapes into an unusual state of ruddy shadow.