Chapter 26

Chapter 26

Hermione stormed out of St Mungo's. She ignored the excited babble from the wizarding public in the waiting room, oblivious to the shocked gasps at the hair-raising tingle of barely controlled magic in her wake. She stalked into the nearest alleyway and Disapparated with a muted crack.

She emerged from the whirling squeeze of darkness at her destination: home. Or what passed for it ... She paused outside the gates, glaring up the long drive. After her poisoning, she just didn't feel safe within Malfoy Manor unless she was with Lucius, Dilly the elf, or preferably Severus.

'Pathetic!' Hermione scowled. No matter what she told herself, she still felt guilty that Tricksy killed herself. 'She tried to kill you, idiot. Think of what that would have done to Severus. And Crookshanks! She shut him in the aviary. If Lucius had caught him there, he'd have been skinned alive.'

Hermione shook her head and pushed Tricksy to the back of her mind. She didn't want to think about the pitiful twisted creature at the best of times, least of all after the day she'd had. She strode through the gates and started to make her way up the gravel path. Perhaps a walk was just what she needed, to calm down before inflicting her temper on anyone, and to get some fresh air. The cool breeze was pleasant against her flushed skin. Hopefully it would air out the mental cobwebs.

Maybe it would improve her sleep, too ... Every single night for the past week she'd jerked awake from nightmares. It bothered her more than she cared to admit that she couldn't even remember what the dreams were about, especially when the terror evoked would...if not for Severus...cling to her like her own personal Dementor. What the hell was her subconscious trying to tell her? Bad enough that it resulted in interrupted sleep for her, but it disturbed Severus's rest as well as her own. No wonder he was getting nowhere with the memory restorer, no matter what he said about not needing much sleep.

The only 'progress' Severus had made so far was to identify what would not work. If that luck held, he'd blow up more cauldrons than Neville in five years of Potions at Hogwarts. Perhaps it was time to give up her lost memories as just that, as even the miracle cure of phoenix tears proved useless. Her last memory before those lost was just as foggy as it had been before Fawkes' tears were applied as an antidote to the Basilisk poison.

As for her own progress ... Hermione consciously separated her teeth. She could almost hear her parents lecturing her on the evils of clenching and grinding one's teeth. Also, besides the potential wear and tear, she really didn't need a tension headache.

A month of fighting through bureaucratic red tape, and for what? Nothing. Oh, she'd managed to see the records at St Mungo's for herself, but apart from more details about the connection between love and magic, she had learned nothing new. Nothing that would further her quest for an alternative to the addendum, anyway.

A month. Wasted. She couldn't even fool herself that she'd find something useful in the hospital's records. While far better organised than the Ministry's, it had been thoroughly picked over by St Mungo's own researchers. They didn't like the law any better than she did...and no wonder, due to the demands it put on their resources.

The only part that had been worth it was defying Fudge in the process. Her difficulties in gaining clearance had his sticky fingerprints all over them. Kingsley and Severus tried to help her, but the decision to grant her access had to come from the director of St Mungo's: one of Fudge's cronies. Despite the fact that Severus did have access, he couldn't give her any information due to a confidentiality contract.

It had been a bitter and drawn out struggle to convince the director to capitulate. In the end, Hermione suspected that she 'succeeded' only because the wizard wanted her out of his greying hair.

'Think positive,' Hermione scolded herself. She had gained knowledge, even if that wasn't her top priority at the moment. And in future she could avoid making a fool of herself in front of Fudge and his cronies if a possible solution presented itself by checking her facts in St Mungo's archive as well as in the Ministry's.

Hermione stopped at the foot of the steps, gasping for air. She'd felt short of breath all day, but this was ridiculous! Surely she was not so unfit that a brisk walk up the driveway should leave her doubled over? Unless her poisoning had weakened her immune system, despite the dose of phoenix tears, and she was coming down with something? She certainly felt the tingle of déjà vu mingled with wrongness that normally heralded on oncoming bug.

Perhaps she should Apparate to Severus's potions lab and ask him for a precautionary Pepperup. Then again, maybe she was just unfit. Apparating everywhere was pure laziness. 'No,' Hermione decided. 'If I need to get to the lab, I can walk. If I felt so bad that I couldn't, I wouldn't be able to Apparate either.'

Hermione slowly started up the marble steps, her legs heavy, each breath more of an effort than the previous one. She tugged at her collar. So hot ... She shivered as an arctic chill swiftly replaced the heat, her skin clammy, her thoughts sluggish.

A temperature. Not good.

Maybe it would be best to Apparate to the lab? No ... The way she felt, she might Splinch.

She took one last hesitant step to bring herself up to the level of the front door. Pain lanced through her, jangling every nerve. Thrown off balance, she swayed.

Stinging ... aching ... throbbing ... it all blurred together, and worsened with each pounding beat of her heart.

The sting of a paper-cut...

Densaugeo and its aching, throbbing, tear...

Bellatrix's knife dancing over her skin, trailing fiery pain in its wake...

The breath-stealing burn of the Death Eater's purple-flame curse...

Hermione was dimly aware of her legs buckling under her. Too much.

The pure agony of the Cruciatus, Bellatrix's ruined face contorted with rage...

And beyond. She couldn't see scream breathe think...

* * *

Lucius emerged into his study from his secret hoard of Pensieve memories. He adjusted his trousers, satiated yet decidedly ill at ease. For the past month, every single time he viewed one of the memories of Hermione and Severus, he felt dirty. Guilty.

Although he hadn't added any more memories to his collection, Lucius knew that he would have if he could. That only made the guilt all the more insidious, to know that it was only down to an elf: Dilly refused to spy, and the other elves were banned from Severus and Hermione's rooms thanks to Tricksy's actions.

He was abusing Hermione's trust. If she found out about his stock of Pensieve porn – not that she could – she would be very ... disappointed in him. Severus, on the other hand, would just skin him alive.

Clearly his conscience was conspiring against him. Soon he would have to make a choice about which was more important to him if he was to feel comfortable in his own skin: the vicarious pleasure voyeurism brought him, or being trustworthy.

Perhaps the answer was to avoid the memories featuring Hermione and Severus? He did have plenty of other options to choose from, after all. But none of the alternatives were quite as ... interesting. Of course, that might be because his interests always had waxed and waned according to the current object of his desire. At least his guilty conscience did not plague him about that. To Lucius's mind, it would only be unfaithful to Narcissa's memory if he fell in love.

To lust after Hermione was only a betrayal so far as his friendship with Severus was concerned, and that had not held him back in the past. The only restriction now was to get what he wanted without breaking his word. A novel challenge, to seduce Hermione without actually doing anything.

The only way forward at present was to prove himself worthy of the happy couple's trust, and to strengthen the ties of friendship. That would provide a solid foundation for more. It would also take time, time enough to make her – or even them – want him. Hopefully the Malfoy charm would not fail him ...

Lucius automatically looked out of the window when the manor's wards twinged. A witch with privileged access had just walked through the gates ... Hermione. He couldn't actually see the driveway from his study, only one of the tall hedges flanking it. Odd that she was taking the long route to the front door rather than Apparating directly inside. That said, it was fine weather, so maybe she just fancied a walk. Perhaps he could join her.

As he passed his desk, that morning's Daily Prophet caught his eye. He'd been up earlier than Hermione and Severus, as usual. That gave him the opportunity to hide the newspaper, as Hermione would need her wits about her if she was finally granted access to St Mungo's archives...and if she'd read the headlines she would have been upset. The question was whether to show it to her now.

One thing for sure, he couldn't protect her from it forever. Within a few months, it would be all too obvious.

The Prophet had changed its tune and lauded the addendum a success, as it broke the news that every fertile witch in the country was pregnant.

Hermione would not be a happy witch. Doubtless she'd see it as a failure that she hadn't managed to come up with a viable alternative yet, and as a personal one, as well, since the news would only rub in the fact that she was infertile.

Of course he also had an ulterior motive to keep the news sequestered away as long as possible... an unhappy Hermione tended to mean something of his shattered. Hopefully one of these days things would settle down. Lucius had gathered from Severus that, as far as he knew, she never used to have magical outbursts before, so they were surely a sign of stressful times.

But there also was a reason to give Hermione the Prophet sooner rather than later: his recently acquired daughter-in-law would be pregnant too. Unless that pregnancy was why Ginny had not visited Hermione lately? Or was it him that she was avoiding? That diary debacle certainly didn't make for smooth relations with one's in-laws.

Hermione was also the sort of witch who would not appreciate having the truth kept from...

Lucius clamped his hands over his ears in a futile attempt to block out the shrill scream scattering his thoughts. The wards carried on their raucous alarm call until he barked 'Finite!', only feeling his own voice's vibrations until the scream blessedly stopped.

After Hermione's poisoning, he'd reactivated the long-dormant wards that warned him of mortal danger to a member of the household. Obviously he needed to tinker with them a little more, as they weren't much use if they deafened him.

'Merlin's tits, what am I doing?! No time to dawdle.' Lucius spun on his heel as he Disapparated to the origin of the ward's alarm. He arrived just outside the front door.

Hermione was sprawled in the gravel at the foot of the steps, her mouth open in a silent scream as she writhed in agony, her body wracked with uncontrollable spasms and twitches.

Déjà vu pulled at his memories. Lucius could almost hear his deranged sister-in-law's shouts as he impassively watched her torture Hermione.

The sight of blood pooling behind her head spurred Lucius into action. His wand out, he jumped down the steps to crouch beside her.

"Episkey," he murmured, staunching the flow of blood. He paused, agitatedly tapping his wand against his palm. He couldn't check for skull fractures while she was still thrashing about. Judging by where the ward's alarm had flared from, she must have fallen down the steps. He couldn't check for concussion either; her eyes had rolled back, only the whites were showing.

"Finite Incantatem!" Nothing happened. But then it couldn't be a curse ... Minutes had passed since Hermione passed the gates, and the Cruciatus had immediate effect. She wouldn't have been able to walk up the drive if that was the culprit. The wards would have registered an intruder, too.

Besides, although excruciatingly painful, being Cruciated was not life threatening. But that meant ...

The sickening sensation of déjà vu deepened. He'd definitely seen this before. Not with Hermione, with...

"Impossible," he choked.

Narcissa. Two weeks before the plague claimed her life.

No, no, no. It couldn't be.

It couldn't be. Hermione hadn't complained about being short of breath and having an elevated temperature over the last fortnight, or even over the two days it had taken for pure-bloods to succumb to the pain.

Yet Lucius knew the plague's seizure when he saw it. He relived it in his nightmares, watching, helpless, as Narcissa collapsed. Unable to do anything to save her. Just as helpless as he was now.

Crack.

Startled, Lucius narrowly avoided ending up on his arse in the gravel. He turned to see Dilly and Severus at the top of the steps.

For a moment Severus just stood there, his eyes riveted on Hermione as his sallow face drained of colour. Then he practically flew down the steps to kneel next to Hermione, drawing his wand in the same smooth movement.

There was a flash of red light and Hermione's convulsions ceased. Of course ... although neither of them knew the spell the Healers used to induce a coma, a Stunner would work temporarily.

Severus had her head in his hands...no, he was feeling the back of her head for the wound. Lucius cringed. He'd neglected to deal with the blood from the wound. If the sight of that had alarmed him, it must have given Severus quite a turn.

"Tergeo," Lucius murmured, his wand siphoning up the blood. "I healed it," he explained. "It didn't occur to me to Stun her, so I couldn't check for fractures."

"There are none." Severus's voice trembled as he shifted his grip on Hermione and cradled her to his chest. "Dilly, take us to my lab."

Lucius reached out and squeezed Severus's shoulder, frowning. "Why..."

Dilly obeyed the command and Apparition stole the rest of Lucius's words.

They emerged in Severus's labs, where Severus cast a cushioning charm before he laid Hermione down on the floor.

Severus staggered over to a cupboard, where he rummaged around before producing a bottle. He drank one mouthful directly from it before throwing it back inside to clink against its fellows. If not for Unbreakable Charms, they would have shattered.

"Calming Draught," Severus said shortly, finally meeting Lucius's questioning gaze. "I didn't want to risk Splinching." He dashed across the room to another cupboard, wrenched it open and flung assorted vials and potions behind him as he emptied it.

"What are you looking for?" Lucius yelped as he ducked one stray bottle. He readied his wand to keep any from hitting Hermione, though none even came close to her.

Severus lifted a wooden crate onto the nearest table and took one vial filled with sparkling clear liquid from it. He dashed back to Hermione and almost uncorked the vial before slapping his forehead.

He wrenched off two buttons from his shirt and Transfigured them into small vials.

Lucius's jaw dropped as Severus tore Hermione's sleeve open up to her left elbow.

"What are you doing?"

Severus did not answer. He pressed his wand against the crook of Hermione's arm, his eyes narrowed in concentration. The wand tip flashed red and one of the vials filled with...

Blood.

"Vampire," Lucius muttered. He sheathed his wand, going against his instincts to interfere. He had to trust that Severus knew what he was doing.

Severus picked up the vial with the clear potion in it again and prised the cork out of it. He tapped the vial with his wand, then held the wand to Hermione's elbow again. With a white flash, the liquid in the vial slowly drained.

"What was that?"

"The cure," Severus spat.

Lucius shook his head. "What's the point? It obviously doesn't work."

"It worked for six months," Severus snapped. "There's nothing else. Phoenix tears don't work against the plague. The point is that it should give me time to come up with a permanent cure."

Severus picked up the remaining empty vial and touched it to Hermione's elbow once more. There was another red flash and the vial filled with blood.

"What are you doing that for?" Lucius asked.

"The plague affects the blood, hence the intravenous application of the cure. These samples should allow me to check whether the cure is still functional." He stood up and walked over to a table with some sort of overgrown stationary Omnioculars. "This Omnioscope will allow me to see the plague. It appears in cellular form in the blood."

Severus bent over the Omnioscope, his lank hair dangling down. He twisted some of the knobs littering the instrument.

Lucius frowned. "Why did you take a blood sample before you gave her the cure?"

"Because the sample after the cure should have no plague cells remaining by now. Diseases can change over time." Severus's voice was hollow. He straightened up and turned to Lucius, his face as white as a skull. "The plague has mutated. The cure barely worked...is barely working." He glanced at Hermione, his throat bobbing as he swallowed hard. "Next time ... it won't work at all."

"I think you might need another dose of Calming Draught," Lucius said. "You can't be thinking clearly, you look like death warmed up."

"An overdose of that won't help matters." Severus spoke in the same deadened tone. "I compared these blood samples with ones I took from Hermione months earlier. There's no mistake, the plague has changed. Look if you don't believe me."

Lucius staggered back, stumbling as he collided with a table. "No, no, I believe you." He didn't want to see Narcissa's killer.

Severus crossed the distance between them. He moved jerkily, his normal grace as gone as his composure. He grabbed Lucius's robes and shook him. "Do you realise what this means?"

"What?" Lucius didn't struggle. Severus still held his wand, and the desperation in his voice coupled with his deadened eyes was unnerving.

"Hermione is going to die."

Right. Lucius shrugged off Severus's grip, snatched the wand out of his hands and backhanded him.

Severus clutched his cheek, his eyes wide.

"You can't give up. The cure is working this time, yes?"

Severus nodded dumbly, blinking at Lucius. "Barely..."

"It's still working. That means you should have another six months to refine it. You have those samples. You can use them to predict how it will change."

Severus kneaded the bridge of his nose. "Yes. I must. She needs me ..." When he looked up again, Lucius was satisfied to see that the light in his eyes was back, if subdued. "But I cannot do that yet."

"Why?"

"Hermione was among the first to fall ill. She is the only one of those surviving. That means every other witch is going to follow suit. I need to brew more of the cure, and I don't have much time. One of the ways in which the plague has changed is that the symptoms have accelerated." Severus swept back to the table with the crate and picked it up. "Here." He thrust it into Lucius's arms, snatching back his wand at the same time.

"Thank you." Lucius stared at the wooden box. There were seven vials. "What do I want them for?"

Severus ran a hand over his haggard face. "Number Twelve Grimmauld Place is the home of Harry Potter. In his post-war admiration of me, Potter saw fit to make me his Secret-Keeper."

Lucius made a confused sound in the back of his throat.

"Go to your son!" Severus barked. "Your daughter-in-law will need a dose, as will the Weasley wives."

Lucius flushed, mortified. Before he could Disapparate, Severus grabbed his shoulder, catching a handful of his hair in the process in a tug that made him wince.

"Wait! You need to warn them that whilst the plague is dormant, the cure attacks the blood itself. They need to wait until the third symptom appears; the pain."

Lucius felt his heart skip a beat at the implications. "But that means ..."

"I know," Severus whispered, his face contorted. "Go!"

* * *

AN: Many thanks to Kribu, Septentrion and JunoMagic for betaing.

If Omnioculars are magical binoculars, it follows that Omnioscopes are magical microscopes.