A Walking Shadow

A/N: I bled this one. My gratitude to Luna305, Anastasia, Mimiheart, and the Potion Mistress, who all bled this one with me. Ladies, my Muse and I thank you.

Interlude: Destroyed But Not Defeated

He watched the light fade from her eyes, watched her eyes close, and counted, slowly.

The curse he held in check was a problem. If she moved before he redirected it...

Swiftly, he closed the distance between them, pressing himself fully against her, forcing her back firmly against the wall, releasing the pressure on her throat, sliding his hand behind her head to cushion it. Only when he was certain she could not even move involuntarily did he flick the curse that remained in his wand out and away, covering her face with his.

A nearby chair exploded, bits of wood and metal flying toward them. Most glanced off of his heavy cloak, but one large chunk bored into his left shoulder.

Ignoring the pain, he pulled back and examined her. Other than the impression of his fingers reddening on her neck, she was unharmed.

Finally allowing himself to breathe normally, he eased her gently to the ground. He sat, leaning against the wall, resting her head in his lap, and his expression softened.

"I've been expecting you, Miss Granger."

He smoothed a wayward curl from her face, tracing her jaw line with his fingers, his touch defining her. He had been waiting for her, although he had not expected her to appear on Potter's birthday. He'd assumed she would eventually connect the Horcrux with Regulus Black, and thus with the house-elf's cache of treasures.

"Good of you to come alone."

He pocketed her wand, closed his eyes and leaned his head back on the wall, warm blood on his cloak. He could heal his shoulder - he'd healed himself of worse, over the years - but it would wait. He listened to the young woman breathing in his lap, waiting for her to awaken.

He idly traced Arithmantic symbols on her forehead with his little finger, slowly, one by one, finally resting his hand on her hair as if he could impress them on her mind. A blessing. A benediction.

And, perhaps, a threat.

She will certainly see it that way, initially.

As the light faded in the kitchen, he began to speak.

"At this moment, I am the safest man in wizarding Britain. It's confusing. Your mind is adequate to the task. The Order does not come here often; I have ample warning when they do. Before he died - he was already dying, Miss Granger - Dumbledore and Fawkes branded me. Another brand. Invisibly, a circle of Phoenix tears over my heart, attuning me to this place, to its magical signature. It works like a Proteus charm. At the approach - by door, or, now, Apparition - of an Order member, the circle over my heart warms, and I know to Disapparate.

"A touching symbol. He had that flair.

"He was already dying. He is dead by my wand, but not my will; he was already dying when he collected Potter from his Muggle home last year."

Hermione stirred. He stroked her hair, and she quieted.

"I doubt the Order knows or cares where I am. They assume I am 'with' the Death Eaters, as though that were a place. You will have to change their thinking, Hermione. It won't be easy. I won't be there to help you.

"The Order is not nearly as powerful as the Death Eaters, nor will they be until Potter sorts things out. I am afraid-"

He touched her face gently.

"-that will be up to you too. But among the Death Eaters, I am safe. Ironic. For my success on the Tower, I was awarded the honor of punishing young Mr. Malfoy for his failure. A knotty problem. I had made an Unbreakable Vow with his mother to protect him. Had I refused the honor of punishing him, we both surely would have died. As the Dark Lord's scourge, I could at least control, perhaps offset, some of the damage. You will note that I didn't die; my decision to harm him was the best protection I could give him. I bit my tongue and nearly choked on my own blood and the lash in my hand sliced scars into the boy's perfect skin.

"There is a lesson there, Hermione. No; I can call you Miss Granger no longer. Do not ask it of me.

"We live in a tangled web of blood, scars, and protection, and I sit in the middle, watching, and waiting.

"I have been waiting for you, Hermione. Right now, for now, you are safe, although you will not believe me. It will be... interesting, to see what happens."

He regarded her softly for a moment, brushing her lower lip with a fingertip.

"I rent my soul on the Tower, Hermione, but it was not the first time. It is not new. I am almost certainly destroyed, but not defeated. In this moment, I count myself lucky."

He sat bleeding in the darkness, stroking her hair.

She should be conscious by now.

-------------------------

Hermione Granger was definitely conscious.

And furious.

And trying to figure out why she wasn't dead.

And why he was playing with her hair.

And what he had written on her forehead.

Mostly, though, she was furious.

And she had never felt so alive.