Chapter 27

Chapter 27

AN: Sensitive readers beware! Things take a dark(er) turn here. Specifically miscarriages, although none happen. Yet.

* * *

His fault.

He knew diseases could change over time. Just because the cure had been successful did not mean the plague would never return. He should have known. He should have seen it coming. He should have done something.

Now, because of his blindness, every single witch in the whole world was in mortal peril.

Worse, many of those witches would be pregnant by now. All of those would miscarry.

His fault.

Severus pinched the bridge of his nose to centre himself. The blame, the guilt ... facing his emotions would have to wait. He didn't have time for this. The witching population certainly did not.

His movements were stiff and mechanical as he set about preparing the saline base of the now temporary cure. Too slow. Distracted.

His eyes were drawn to where Hermione lay on the floor, deceptively peaceful under his Stunner. Within her veins the cure still battled against the plague, and would over the next few hours.

"Dilly?" At Severus's call, the house-elf stirred from where he was watching over Hermione. "She'll be more comfortable in her bed. Keep her asleep. When it is safe for her to be awakened, I will do it myself."

The house-elf bowed before he vanished, taking Hermione with him.

Severus turned back to his preparations. Much as he wanted to keep Hermione near him, he couldn't afford to be distracted. Although she was still very much on his mind, it was not possible to watch over her when he should be brewing. He had to trust Dilly to do so in his place.

He paused before he added the next ingredient. There wasn't time to brew enough of the cure before the plague came out of dormancy in more witches. If Hermione's case was anything to go by, the cure bought six months of borrowed time. Time that would run out for every other witch on the planet within two weeks.

If he had those full two weeks to brew the cure, he might manage enough doses for all of the witches in the country. But too many would need it long before then. Within the next few hours, knowing his luck. At the most, he had a day.

The way the plague had mutated to an even more aggressive form – and still mutated in the isolated blood sample – was ... worrying. It had taken six months for the 'new and improved' plague to come out of dormancy. The next, even more virulent strain might only need half that time to strike again. There was no way of knowing yet, not even by glaring down his Omnioscope at the plague cells, as it changed too slowly for him to see. He would have to wait days if not weeks to observe it under the time-lapse viewing mode.

There was not enough time. Not enough to brew the cure, nor enough to modify it.

'Idiot!' Severus rapped the side of the cauldron with his wand and applied a Stasis Charm. He could share the burden. The cure was a difficult potion to make, but there were others capable of it. And while the cure had been his brainchild, he hadn't been the only one responsible for the creation.

He stormed across the room to the storage cupboard and dug around in the chaos left by his unearthing of the crate containing the remaining cure. There should be a sample of it left even with the last emergency supplies of it gone with Lucius ... Where was it?!

Severus slapped his forehead. 'Idiot is not a strong enough term.' He drew his wand. "Accio plague cure." From the depths of the cupboard a single vial flew into his grip. Sheathing his wand, he stalked over to the fireplace.

He grabbed a handful of Floo powder from the bowl on the mantelpiece and tossed it into the fireplace. "The Minister of Magic's Office!" he barked before he dropped to his knees and pushed his head into the green flames. Anyone not keyed to Kingsley's wards who tried this would find themselves sucked through the Floo and into a Ministry cell. Fortunately for Severus, he'd been granted access almost a year ago when he became part of the international team working on a cure. It was not a privilege that he'd used before, disliking Floo travel. But with no time to spare, he'd use it.

Severus's head emerged in Kingsley's office. There was no sign of the occupant; if Kingsley was in his office, he was hidden behind the tower of parchment in his inbox.

"Kingsley!" At Severus's sharp call, the precarious pile collapsed.

Kingsley was now visible, staring at where the assorted forms strewn across his office had been. One of his hands was still poised above his inbox, where he'd apparently flinched at the sound of Severus's voice.

"You'd better have a very good reason to have your head in my fireplace," Kingsley remarked conversationally. One eye twitched spasmodically.

"I do, unfortunately." He passed his hand through the Floo connection to join his head and threw the vial of cure to Kingsley, who deftly caught it. "It's back."

Kingsley frowned down at the vial, bemused. His face froze; he must have caught sight of the label. "Shit!" The vial fell through trembling fingers to the desk, rolling until it stopped against the inbox. He dropped his bald head into his hands. "I really wish you'd just wanted to say hello."

"If only," Severus bit out. "It gets worse: the plague has changed, and not for the better. Hermione's just collapsed and she had no symptoms yesterday. I think we can expect every other witch alive to fall ill within a week or two."

"Fuck." Kingsley's head dropped even further, down to his desk, pillowed on his arms. "In other words, I need to warn my counterparts in other wizarding countries. St Mungo's too. They distributed the cure; they know who's capable of making more." Kingsley looked up sharply, his voice no longer muffled. "It does still work, doesn't it?"

"For the time being." Severus bit his tongue before he could voice a nightmarish scenario that just occurred to him: that the plague hadn't mutated in the same way with all witches, rendering the cure completely useless for some of them. If that was the case, there was nothing he could do. But misleading Kingsley would be cruel if he raised false hopes ... "At least, it did for Hermione.

"I need to get back to brewing more of that." Severus gestured to the discarded vial. "Remember the limitations. Do not give it to your wife before all symptoms appear, no matter what."

Severus pulled his head back through the Floo connection, hoping beyond hope that the cure would work. It had to.

He stood up and returned to his cauldron, ending the Stasis Charm. He hadn't been working for more than ten minutes when the fireplace flared green, and a Ministry memo flew through it, almost dive-bombing the cauldron before Severus caught it.

Severus unfolded the paper aeroplane. Kingsley's handwriting was even messier than usual, so much so that it was crossed out and followed by the easily read script of a Dicto Quill:

'Severus,

P.S. Thanks for the heads up and for the cure. I've sent it home to Rolanda with Gawain. He knows when to use it.'

Severus returned his attention to the cauldron before the partially brewed potion within it was ruined. He clamped down on his emotions, reeling in stray thoughts. He had to focus on the cure.

After an hour of intense concentration, Severus stepped back from the cooling cauldron and kneaded away the tension headache nagging at his temples.

Now he could start to contemplate what needed to be done to modify the cure, even if he could not actually do anything until the contents of the cauldron were safely bottled and sent to St Mungo's.

The problem, Severus mused, was that he had no way of knowing if the plague had mercifully – relatively speaking – mutated in the same way with every witch in this outbreak. And even if it had, there was no guarantee that it would next time. Modifying a universal cure would be impossible if there were thousands of different strains of the plague, even if it was possible to predict how the plague would mutate.

There wasn't enough time.

Severus exhaled a ragged breath. If that nightmare happened he would not let Hermione die. He'd find a cure for her.

But ... what if the plague did not mutate as expected? What if it was completely different to what the Omnioscope could help him predict?

Severus gripped the edge of the table with white-knuckled fingers. He couldn't afford to feel so helpless. Not when Hermione needed him. Not when there was no way of knowing what would happen.

What he needed – what the entire wizarding world needed – was an Arithmancer to calculate how the plague would mutate. Unfortunately that Arithmancer would have to perform Master-level equations. The cure development team did have Arithmancers, but no Masters. Why? Because Arithmancy Masters were technically Mistresses. It was one of the branches of magic that witches excelled at while wizards were merely adequate: good enough to pass the NEWT with flying colours, but that was just because the examiners allowed for the gender imbalance.

Arithmancy Masters and Apprentices had all been ill at the time the cure was developed. Now the situation was far worse: none of them had survived the plague. And those witches that had the potential to become Arithmancy Masters did not have the time. Brilliant though Hermione was, even she would need well over a year to become one, provided she could without a Master to learn from.

A year the wizarding world did not have. All Severus could do was attempt to do his duty to the best of his abilities and hope for the best.

Hope.

A commodity in ever shorter supply, but he could not afford to lose it. Not when Hermione would die within months if it failed.

Severus set about bottling the batch of the temporary cure, the slight tremor in his hands betraying his roiling emotions.

Hope...doubt...fear...resolve.

He could not, would not fail.

Failure was not an option.

* * *

Ginny staggered into the bathroom. Much as she hated Grimmauld Place, at least it was sympathetic to the pregnant wife of the master of the house, moving the bathroom to next door to wherever she happened to be. She dropped to her knees and performed her evening worship of the porcelain goddess.

A pair of solicitous hands held back her hair. Another rubbed her back and proffered a glass of water. Ginny took it and darkly contemplated throwing it over the husband in question. Instead she used it for the intended purpose of washing her mouth out, and resisted the temptation to turn away from the toilet and spit it out onto their feet.

After all, they hadn't really done anything to deserve it. Besides knock her up. And hover worse than her mother ever...

Ginny swallowed past the painful lump in her throat. That was the core of the problem. Harry and Draco were waiting on her hand and foot, something that her mother might have done if she'd lived. And ... her mum might have also been able to tactfully get Draco and Harry to back off. To explain that she didn't need so much smothering attention, at least not yet.

For the love of Merlin, she was less than three months along. Morning sickness and the fatigue were unpleasant, but she wasn't crippled, damn it! If they didn't stop anticipating her every need, real or otherwise, tact could fly out of the window. Maybe they'd stop it if she threatened them with Bat-Bogeys ... She'd certainly kick them out of their bedroom and its Emperor-and-his-harem sized bed if she didn't know that they'd have far too much fun commiserating in one of the many spare rooms.

A grim smile crept across Ginny's face as Draco and Harry herded her into the kitchen and began to lovingly prepare dinner. At least she had an ally in her quest: Kreacher was no happier than she was.

"Bad Masters! Let Kreacher cook!"

Enough was enough.

"Boys."

"Yes..."

"...Ginny..."

"...What..."

"...Can..."

"...I..."

"...Do?"

"Potter, she's talking to me!"

"No, Malfoy, she isn't!"

"Either of us might be the father, so let me do my duty!"

"Boys!"

Draco and Harry stopped bickering, their heads swivelling to face her.

"Let Kreacher do his job. I'm not an invalid yet!" At her words, Kreacher's ears perked up.

"But..."

"No buts! You can keep up the morning sickness service if it makes you feel better, but unless I ask for more, stop it."

"Ginny..."

Ginny stepped close to Harry and Draco and poked them both in the chest. "If it really bothers you two so much that I'm 'suffering', I'll look up the Fourth Unforgivable and make you experience it instead!"

The boys flinched in unison. Ginny softened her pokes to caresses.

"Harry, I know you have that saving-people-thing, but ... I don't need to be saved!"

She turned to Draco, who wiped the smirk off his face a little too late at Harry's rebuke. "And you, Draco, I think you're doing your 'duty' at least partly to prove that you've changed, by chasing after me like a house-elf – no offence, Kreacher. We know you're not the brat you used to be." She brought her hand up to stroke his cheek. "I didn't marry you just for your looks, you know."

Ginny put her arms around both of them and pulled them into a hug. They hugged her back gently. She rolled her eyes and growled, "I won't break, you kn..."

The fireplace behind Harry and Draco glowed green. Ginny tugged them out of the way as someone shot out of it in a cloud of ash, coughing, spluttering and swearing as he slid to a halt, sprawled on his back on the kitchen flagstones.

The boys spun around, instinctively shielding her with their bulk as they drew their wands.

"Scourgify!" Draco spat. Their uninvited guest was now soot-free, at the cost of spluttering on bubbles.

"I thought that was you under there, Malfoy," Harry snarled. "How did you get past the Fidelius?"

Draco Vanished the bubbles still tormenting his father, although Ginny suspected it was no act of kindness – just so that he could answer.

"Severus let me know, of course. And kindly do not hex me, at least until I've put this down."

Ginny sidled around behind her overprotective boys until she could see Lucius Malfoy. He sat up and set down a wooden box.

Harry shook his head and kept his wand trained on Malfoy. "He wouldn't do that. How did you really get in, and what are you doing here?"

"Harry, unless he saw one of the notes you have to let people in, Severus must have told him," Draco hissed out of the side of his mouth. "There's no other way to get the secret out of the Secret-Keeper."

"But..."

"It doesn't matter," Malfoy snapped. "We don't have time for this nonsense. I came here to give you this." He tapped the box.

Draco stiffened. "We don't want anything from you. Why don't you take your crate and go home?"

Malfoy swatted the 'suggestion' aside with an impatient wave of his hand. "Shut up and listen. I came to tell you that Hermione collapsed within the last half hour."

Ginny gasped, echoed by her husbands. She forced aside the pang of guilt that she'd avoided Hermione since the wedding. Hermione had to be okay. She had to be ...

"What?" Harry blurted. "Is she..." Ginny elbowed him. Interrupting would only slow Malfoy down.

"The plague is back."

Ginny felt the blood drain from her face. She felt faint; her legs gave way beneath her. She sat down heavily, vaguely aware that Kreacher only just managed to shove a chair under her.

She heard the boys' frantic questions as if from a distance, unable to tell them apart. At least Malfoy's voice still sounded different.

"Are you sure?"

"Is Hermione alright?"

"Severus took blood samples to be certain. He gave her the cure, and while it's not as effective as it once was, he was sure it would still work." Malfoy tapped the box again, which came through to Ginny's ringing ears as a hollow echo. A toll of doom.

'No ...' She shook her head numbly, her hands protectively cradling her stomach. 'Not like Fleur. Please, no.'

"He sent me with doses for the Weasley women."

"Tell him thanks. You can go now."

"Not yet: he also gave me a warning to pass on." Malfoy reached into the box and held up a small bottle. "This must be applied intravenously to work..."

"We know that, we even made sure to learn the spell months ago."

"Listen to me! If the plague isn't active, the cure attacks the blood instead. You must wait until the pain..."

"But that means ... The baby ... You're lying!" That was Harry. No one else could sound that self-righteous.

Malfoy shot to his feet and stood nose to nose with Harry, ignoring the wand pressed against his neck. "What sort of monster do you think I am?!"

Draco pulled Harry's wand arm down. "Harry, think about it. My father might have made some bad choices and done some bad things, but he wouldn't lie about something like this. Not about miscarriages. Not with our family history. And certainly not with a baby that might be his own grandchild."

"It's true." Ginny frowned at the sound of her own voice. It sounded like someone else, curiously detached. "I'm surprised you don't know, Harry. Dad filled me in after I got better. I thought he would've told you too."

"What?" Harry snapped. He'd better not take being kept in the dark as a personal insult!

"Oi! He did have a lot on his mind at the time. Mum died, Fleur lost the baby, Hermione escaped death by the skin of her teeth – the cure was only just made in time, you know – and I came too close for his comfort too."

"I know Fleur miscarried, but that was before the cure was invented."

"Yes, but Dad and Bill wanted to know if it could have saved the baby."

Draco and Harry moved to flank her, each resting a hand on top of hers over her belly.

"There must be something we can do!"

Ginny closed her eyes. "There isn't."

"The pain is what causes the miscarriage, isn't it? What if you couldn't feel it? Spells, potions, that enforced coma ..." Desperation rushed Draco's words.

"Fleur," Ginny choked, tears trickling down her cheeks. She shook her head, unable to keep talking.

"They tried," Harry said softly, wrapping his free arm around Ginny. "The Healers did everything they could, even the coma thing before the pain symptom started."

Draco's hand squeezed hers tightly – too tightly – before he snatched it away. He buried his hands in his hair and bit back a sob. "Why?"

"I'm sorry." Malfoy hesitantly laid a hand on Draco's shoulder. "The plague. It attacks organs regardless of whether witches are conscious of the pain it causes."

"I can't do this." Draco collapsed into his father's arms, his body trembling. "I can't lose Ginny, the baby ... I lost Mother, I ... I never said goodbye!"

Ginny turned away, burying her face against Harry. She couldn't watch, not when she was teetering on breaking too, herself.

"I know. I know ..." Malfoy crooned. "Draco, you have to be strong. Ginny will survive this, she will need you. There ... there will be other children..." Malfoy's voice choked off.

Ginny glanced back. She almost expected to see Draco throttling Malfoy. Instead, Malfoy's face was a mask of horror.

"What is it?" Harry asked.

Draco pulled away, his cheeks wet. He stared at Malfoy too. "Father?"

"Severus said something about the plague changing. That's why it's back. And it'll keep coming back unless he can come up with a permanent cure." Malfoy's eyes focused on each of them in turn, lingering on Ginny. "He thought it'd be back again in another six months."

Ginny couldn't speak. She hugged herself, both arms wrapped around her belly. It wasn't just this baby that was done for. It was all of her babies, unless Snape succeeded.

Worse, not just her, but every single pregnant witch.

Hermione and the other infertile witches were the lucky ones.

"There's worse. Severus said the cure won't work at all next time."

And if Snape didn't manage to make one that would ... Hermione wasn't so lucky after all. She'd be the first to die.

Malfoy cleared his throat. "I need to get back to him, either to see if I can help or to watch over my wife." He passed the dose of the cure in his hand to Draco, then picked up the box from the floor.

Harry slipped his hand under Ginny's arms to stroke her belly one last time. "Love you," he whispered.

Then Harry walked over to Malfoy and took the box from him. "I'll take it. And I know, I need to remind them about when it can't be taken." He turned to Draco. "Take care of her." With one last lingering glance at Ginny, Harry Disapparated.

"If there's anything I can do ... Call me if you need me," Malfoy murmured. He slowly walked back to the fireplace and took a pinch of Floo powder. Ginny watched him leave in a flare of green flames.

Draco stepped back to her side. "Ginny?" He sounded lost. Scared. Dread had him just as surely as it did her.

How much longer did they have? Hours? Days? Not nearly long enough.

"Hold me."

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