Nest of Vipers

------

Lucius Malfoy was known as 'Lord Malfoy' for the twenty-five years he served Voldemort. It was during the years in which Voldemort's rule destabilized that he began to build the power base that would allow him to rule in the Dark Lord's stead. To the day of the writing of this document, the exact cause and manner of Voldemort's death remains uncertain, but it is largely accepted that Malfoy felt Voldemort could no longer rule, and killed him as a result.

For the country, this turned out to be a boon. Lucius was as fierce and unyielding as Voldemort had ever been, but during his short reign, he abolished the ill treatment of Muggleborns that Voldemort had considered necessary, lowered taxes, and crushed all rebel efforts so thoroughly that once a region had been taken care of, it would not need intervention again. He was considered to be a practical ruler for his efforts to treat British citizens fairly, but sedition or disagreement with his methods was still punishable by execution.

He was revered by many even after his death.

--- The New History of Britain, Book I

------

Inside the Ministry of Magic's headquarters, Charlie watched the growing crowd with a small amount of trepidation. "There are so many of them," he said to the man behind him.

"Indeed." Lucius allowed a small smile to cross his face as he watched the amazement flicker on Charlie's face.

"Many of them are Muggleborn." Charlie finally turned to Lucius, curiosity evident in his open face. "I'm surprised they came to give you support."

Lucius shrugged elegantly. "They have come not to show me support but to judge me. To see if I can turn their fortunes for the better."

"Can you?"

Lucius shrugged once more. "Does it really matter? Their lives are in my hands."

Charlie turned away again. "I suppose I should have expected that," bitterness shading his voice.

A warm hand clasped his shoulders. "Your father and I agreed on one thing, Charlie. That a strong ruler does not compromise."

He looked down dejectedly, finding it hard to believe that his father had agreed with Malfoy on anything. Absently he fingered the soft wool of his robes - new, of course, for as an officer in the Ministry, he was required to dress the part. A few weeks ago, Lucius had combed through his entire wardrobe and declared everything unfit for wear. But

Charlie had drawn the line at his dragon-hide boots, which Lucius had grudgingly allowed him to keep, if only because dragon-hide was an expensive commodity.

"Sir, if I may ask, why am I here?"

Lucius's eyebrows rose. "'Tis the day of my inauguration. As my assistant, where else would you be?" He dropped his hands and moved back to his desk.

"That's not what I asked." He stared into the cold eyes of the man who had ordered the deaths of his family but had allowed Charlie to live out of cold-blooded necessity, the man who had once said that all blood was worth spilling if there were a purpose.

"As I have already explained to you, it is of great importance that we preserve your bloodline. The Weasleys are a line as old as my own, and I cannot in good conscience allow that line to die."

A humorless laugh emerged from Charlie's chest. "But your good conscience allowed you to kill most of them."

A glimmer of amusement in the silver eyes. "Needs must, Charlie. Your father would have opposed this new government to his last breath, and I have better things to do than to deal with an opponent. Your mother was cut from similar lines, as were your brothers. As were you." He came closer, his limbs moving silkily. "But you were worth saving. "You worked with volatile animals - it shows much patience and cleverness on your part. It is the same with people." Lucius's voice hardened. You are smart enough to realize this battle is over. We are the policy makers."

"Politics was my father's domain, and it was Percy's."

Lucius waved that comment away. "They were ineffectual." His voice turned coaxing. "Come now, Charlie. Surely it will not be so bad - I promise, no reports on cauldron bottoms for you!"

"But you want me here because you want people to see that you won - that the son of your greatest opponent now serves you. That's why you want me to work here!"

Approval gleamed in Lucius's eyes. "Perhaps," he allowed. "But that was an astute observation you made, young Weasley, and that's why I need you here." He sighed. "It is difficult to make power lovable, Charlie. No matter who is in charge, there will always be someone who thinks he can do better. And there will always be people who mistrust him. There will come a time when I too must yield my place...but I would rather it be later than sooner."

"You have a lot of enemies, Lucius," said Charlie quietly. And I'm one of them.

The new Minister shrugged. "Yes, but enemies can only strengthen my position. Allies, on the other hand, would weaken it. Do you understand why?"

Charlie considered the question for a moment. "Because you are not beholden to your enemies, but you are to your allies."

Lucius gave him a pleased smile. "Yes."

"But what about Draco? Shouldn't he be the one standing next to you today?"

"He has other things to occupy his attention."

Charlie looked at the crowd again. "But people are expecting it. He's your son."

Lucius waved that away. "Blood is thicker than water," he quoted, "but politics is even thicker than blood."

"So I'm to be a pawn then?" asked Charlie in defeat, as he sensed all his avenues of escape were closed.

"Yes," said Lucius. "My pawn, to be exact." He approached Charlie again. "But you have played chess before, have you not?" At Charlie's nod, Lucius continued. "So you see what I am offering you. You are a pawn now, but all pawns have the chance to become greater than they are."

"Then how can you trust me?" blurted Charlie.

Lucius chuckled. "Who says that I do?" He became business-like again. "It looks like the ceremony is about to start." Lucius straightened his robes and pulled on his gloves. "Well?"

"I'm on my way, sir," said Charlie in defeat. He followed the elder Malfoy outside, where several guards were waiting to escort him to the speaker's dais. As Lucius took his spot behind the podium, Charlie looked around once again. The streets outside the Ministry were crowded with people, and many more stood on rooftops, and some were even on broomsticks.

"My fellow citizens," boomed Lucius, his voice amplified with the sonorous charm, "The war has been fought..."

The victor declaring the fate and way of life for millions of people...

"But the real battle is only beginning...this is our test..."

A test that we may fail...

"Now is the time for reconstruction..."

Not only of buildings but of lives...

"This is a time when all who live who under the ideals of the Founding Four must brace themselves and move forward..."

Into the gathering storm of stagnation and sterility...

"The future awaits us, in moments of transition..."

Deprived of all we had relied upon for guidance...

"We must face..."

A wounded nation...

"Together..."

Alone.

The applause was thunderous, but Lucius was skilled in oratory, so Charlie had expected no less. And afterwards, when the ceremony was over, Lucius stood and accepted congratulations from many of his supporters, as well as questions from his more cautious ones. Even Muggleborns crowded around the former Death Eater, many eager to be lulled into reassurance by their new Minister's promises. Lucius was a master politician, reflected Charlie. He somehow managed to look sincere and completely open while hiding as much as possible.

"He learned that trick from my father," said a voice to his side.

It was Narcissa Malfoy. "Mrs. Malfoy," murmured Charlie politely as he kissed her proffered hand.

She nodded in approval. "Narcissa, if you please." She accepted his arm as they walked toward where Lucius was standing with his cabinet members. "My father was the French Minister of Magic, and Lucius was his aide. That's how I met him." She flashed him a smile. "I have yet to decide if my life has changed for better or worse."

Not sure of how to respond, Charlie only nodded. "Lucius told me you were to arrive from France today."

"I could hardly miss his inauguration." She smiled at a few well-wishers. "He tells me that you are proving to be a capable student."

"To be honest, I'm not sure what exactly I'm a student of."

Another smile. "Do not let yourself be confused by Lucius's games, Charlie."

Games. "I have a few tricks of my own, Narcissa."

Narcissa paused in her step and looked at him closely. "Be sure that you do," she warned softly. Her countenance softening ever so slightly, she squeezed his hands. "I'm sorry for the loss of your family, but it was necessary. Do you understand?" There was no remorse in her eyes, no pity, but just a shade of concern.

"Yes, I do," he said. And he did understand, except his heart clenched every time he thought of them.

"Come," she said briskly. "Allow me to introduce you to the families of Lucius's cabinet." She led him through the crowd, and he followed, his heart shutting down because of cold necessity.

Arthur did not seem to notice that Charlie was behind him, watching him as he knelt down and gathered Fred's lifeless body in his arms. All his children were dead. Molly was dead. Percy, George, and Ron had been killed yesterday, and today, Fred, Ginny, Bill, and Molly were also dead. Charlie was alive, but he would probably be killed soon as well.

Arthur did not seem to care that his clothing was soaked in blood, that his skin was stained red from his own blood.

Between father and son. Between him and all his children.

Blood ties...Who had known then, as he had watched the mediwitches over the years in the birthing room wipe the blood from his children's faces? Who had known?

That he himself would have to wipe the blood away from these same faces. His face. His wife's face.

That he would never again be the good father, that he would never be the good father-in-law, the good grandfather.

That his children were never meant to be like their father. To be much better than their father. To be alive like their father.

------

The celebratory ball was held at Malfoy Manor, its lavish ballrooms and parlors providing enough space for five hundred guests - close friends and supports of the new Minister and his family. Lucius had spared no expense, as wine flowed without end, and delicate foods and sweets found their way to everyone's plates. Many of the guests were foreign, some hailing from as far away as Japan, Africa, and India.

Hermione fingered her new gown distractedly. Like Charlie, she had been forced to acquire a new wardrobe. Lucius Malfoy would have no pauper dwelling under his roof, so his solution had simply been to drop a sack full of galleons on her desk, accompanied by a stern order to clothe herself properly. She had done just that, indulging in luxuries she never would have even dreamed of in her past life. But as Snape had said, there was no point in punishing herself by denying her new wealth.

Which was why she was now swathed in a gauzy gown of hunter green, with silver slippers and a matching silver belt. She had even spent several hours performing complex charms on her hair, which was now coiffed elegantly around her head. Hermione would even venture to say that she looked pretty today, although in no way could she compete with many of the other beautiful women here.

Yet even if she had been the most beautiful woman in the room, no one would have spoken to her anyway. It seemed that even with the expensive clothes and jewelry, the people around her knew her for watch she was: a Muggleborn witch who had no more business being at the party than Dumbledore would have been. People would whisper "Mudblood" when they thought she was not listening - or when they thought she was, and many would sweep the hems of their dresses and robes aside when she walked past, as if afraid that her touch might soil them.

But Hermione was too proud to retreat to the safety of her room. She stayed in the crowded ballroom, perhaps proving to everyone else that she was not afraid, that Mudblood or not, she was here and they would have deal with it.

Unfortunately, that meant that Hermione had very few conversation partners that night. Snape had spoken to her briefly, but he had been swept away by some of his colleagues, Charlie had danced with her a few times, but he had been overwhelmed by the attention other women gave him. It had struck her as unfair that Charlie, the son of a poor wizard who had supported Dumbledore, was now accepted into the folds of upper class wizarding society, as if money and the support of Lucius Malfoy were enough to wash away the taint of his humble origins. But nothing could wash away Hermione's.

Not that it mattered, of course.

Surprisingly, it had been Blaise Zabini who had come to her rescue. Charming, handsome, and clever Blaise, who had been Head Boy, the only Slytherin she had ever respected. Blaise, unlike Draco, had been courteous and polite, and had never allowed the tensions in society dictate his professional relationship with Hermione. Being Head Girl had been a wonderful experience, something she owed to Blaise.

And tonight, he had once again forsaken the conventions of society by asking her to dance several times and engaging her in conversation. Around them, people whispered and glared, as if it were her fault that one of society's darling boys deigned to speak to a mere Mudblood. Whether Blaise was speaking to her because he wanted to or because he felt sorry for her, Hermione did not know, nor did she ask. Blaise had offered to anchor her in this sea of hatred, and after all, when someone is hanging off the edge of a cliff, she does not ask whose hand she is reaching for, nor why it is being offered.

Right now he was regaling her with stories of his recent trip to India. "Of course, the weather is ghastly, but that's India in its monsoon season."

"It's amazing, isn't it? That no matter how much we can control with magic, nature is out of our reach," commented Hermione idly.

He grinned charmingly, causing Hermione to admire him once again. Black hair that was slightly long, golden skin, and whiskey-colored eyes had caused more than one heart to flutter. "For now." He toasted her. "I'm sure you'll invent weather-controlling spells and potions."

"We'll see, won't we?" she laughed. "After all, my education ought to be good for something."

A cold voice interrupted them. "The only thing Mudbloods are good for is hunting."

They both turned to see Draco Malfoy standing a few feet away, with a pretty Indian girl on his arm.

Spots of color diffused across Blaise's cheeks, but Hermione, too used to the insult, placed a restraining hand on his arm. "It's alright, Blaise. That's how Malfoy deals with his inferiority complex."

This elicited a chuckle out of both Blaise and the girl, but Malfoy glared at her. Turning to Blaise, he said, "My father is asking for you."

"I'm sorry, Hermione," he said apologetically. "If you'll excuse me?"

"Of course," she assured him.

The other girl turned to Malfoy. "Draco, would you mind bringing me a glass of wine?" Hermione started at the sound of her voice. Taking a closer look, she realized it was Parvati Patil, except this Parvati now had far shorter hair. Malfoy gave Hermione a sour look before skulking off towards the refreshment table.

Parvati gave Hermione an uncertain look. "Hermione...you look beautiful tonight," she said sincerely.

"Thank you. But I don't hold a candle to you! You look amazing." And she did. Parvati, who had been gifted with long legs and an amazing figure, lovely brown skin, and shiny black hair, was now resplendent in a shimmery set of gold robes. "But your hair! You swore you'd never cut it."

"I know," said Parvati sadly as she fingered the short strands. "But my fiancé likes it, and it doesn't look too terrible."

Hermione smiled. "Fiancé?"

"Would you mind if we stepped outside?" asked Parvati, nervously glancing around them. "I'm feeling hot."

"Of course." Hermione followed her old classmate onto one of the balconies overlooking the gardens.

Once outside, Parvati sighed in relief. "I just had to get away. All those people..." Hermione nodded sympathetically but otherwise kept silent. "I'm glad you're alive, Hermione," she said suddenly. "I was afraid they killed you...like they killed Harry and Ron."

"They almost did, but Lucius Malfoy has other plans for me." Hermione looked at Parvati, her gaze hard. "How did you survive?"

"My family is an old one, Hermione." Parvati glanced away. "They didn't spare Lavender, Neville, or Seamus. I haven't heard anything about Dean. He's probably dead too."

Hermione clenched her hands in frustration. "They were very thorough, weren't they?"

Parvati placed her hands on the rail. "Yes, they were."

"But you're still here," said Hermione.

Parvati looked away again. "It was not easy, do you know? I thought that I was ready to die for The Cause, ready to lay down my life like the rest of you. But the urge to survive...it surprises you." She gazed out at the gardens. "And I found that I just couldn't, that I was not ready."

"You don't need to explain."

"But I need to say it." Parvati placed a hand on her stomach. "I made a choice. I never publicly grieved for my friends, and I have become engaged to one of Draco's cousins. Nothing less will prove the loyalty of a former Gryffindor - and once friend of Harry Potter and Ron Weasley."

Realization dawned upon Hermione. "And that's why you wanted to come out here. So no one would see us talk."

Parvati nodded regretfully. "Yes. I cannot be seen associating with a Muggleborn. Even when she is my friend and old dorm-mate."

"I understand, Parvati." Hermione clasped Parvati's hand. "You're trying to survive. Just like I am."

She sighed in relief. "I'm still your friend, Hermione. And maybe one day..."

Hermione smiled. "One day," she agreed. Parvati quickly hugged Hermione and left the balcony, most likely returning to the arms of her fiancé. But Hermione remained on the balcony a while longer in contemplation. Parvati was right. Loyalty was all well and good, but when it came to the crux of the matter, all that mattered was survival. It was survival that had caused both her and Charlie to accept Malfoy's offer. It was survival that caused Parvati to renounce her former way of life. And it was survival for Snape and Malfoy to kill their master.

Survival, survival, survival. It was not a very noble sentiment. The old Hermione Granger would rather have died than endure the shame of surviving. But the one that was now standing on Lucius Malfoy's balcony, wearing a dress that cost as much as all her old robes combined, accepted it.

At least I'm still alive.

Draco observed the still figure on the balcony as he debated on intruding. Parvati had long since disappeared, but Draco still had two glasses of wine, and he refused to suffer the indignity of walking back out with the glasses still full. "Did Cousin Parvati leave you?"

"It's 'Cousin' Parvati now, is it?" she asked without turning around.

He shrugged although he knew she could not see it. "Parvati is marrying the son of my father's cousin. She is family now." He went to stand next to her. "Here," he said as he handed her one of the glasses.

"For me?" Her eyebrow shot up.

"Well, it was for Parvati, but she isn't here," said Draco cuttingly.

Granger raised the glass. "Then I suppose I'll make a toast." She looked up for a few brief moments before saying, "To survival."

His glass clinked with hers. "An interesting toast."

Her eyes locked with his. "An important one," she clarified.

Silence fell, but neither of them felt inclined to say anything. Finally, "You look quite passable today, Granger." He smirked again. "It must be hard being so ugly."

"I manage. But all the galleons in the world can't hide your ugly personality."

He laughed at that. "Touché, Granger." He oddly felt charitable to her tonight. "Have you been down to the gardens yet? They are by far the best feature of the Manor."

"No, not yet." She finished her wine, the alcohol giving both of them a sense of exhilaration.

"It's because you spend all your time locked in your room." He placed his glass on the flat edge of the rail. "Come on," he beckoned. "We can climb down the trellis."

"You can climb down the trellis. I can't," she said, pointing to her dress.

He sighed. "I'll climb down, and then I'll levitate you down here with my wand."

"The last time you had your wand pointed at me, I was hexed," she pointed out acidly.

Draco held up his hands in a gesture of peace. "If I hex you tonight, I'll embarrass my father. And since this is the night of his inauguration...well, I would rather not risk it."

"The good thing about you, Malfoy, is that I can trust your selfishness."

He smirked again. "I suppose that's a yes." He quickly climbed over the balcony rail and climbed down the trellis. "Are you ready?"

"Yes," came the voice from above.

Aiming a levitating spell at Granger, he brought her down as softly as he could. "See?"

"I wish it were your father's inauguration every night."

Draco snorted. "And deprive myself of the pleasure of annoying you? Never." They slowly wandered down one of the paths toward the fountain. A few other people were also walking about, perhaps out for fresh air - or furtive conversations. "Did Snape tell you when you would be meeting the Dark Lord?"

She looked startled for a few moments before regaining her equilibrium. "No, he hasn't mentioned it. Why?"

"I was just wondering. He's going to call for you, you know."

"I know." Granger paused next to the fountain. "Among Muggles, if you drop money into a fountain, you can make a wish, and it will come true."

He scoffed. "It sounds like a businessman came up with that myth." Unable to restrain his curiosity, he asked, "What would you wish for?"

"Justice," replied Granger promptly. "I want justice."

"Justice?" Draco shook his head. "This world is filled with inequity. How can you ask for justice?"

Granger laid a hand on the cool stone of the fountain. "Then I suppose it's a good thing that a wishing well is only a myth." She ran her hand over the engraved inscription and bent forward to read it. "This is in Latin," she said as she traced over the word Proximitas. "What does it mean?"

Draco eyed the fountain. "The proximity of a desirable thing leads to overindulgence. On that path lies danger." Granger looked surprised, so he explained further. "My grandfather had that engraved on the fountain to remind us how easy it is to become lost in beauty and pleasure."

"On the path lies danger," she repeated.

Perhaps mentioning the Dark Lord had not been a good idea. "I think that we should head back in." He almost offered her his arm until he remembered that Granger was a Mudblood.

She must have noticed because she turned to regard him tiredly. "Some things never change, do they, Malfoy?" From the tone of her voice, he knew she was asking not just about his manners.

He gazed at the stone fountain, the cold water trickling over it peacefully. "No," he said, meeting her eyes. "Some things will never change." The finality in his voice caused her to nod in agreement.

"You're right. Some things will never change." She looked up again, as if the answers she sought were in the sky. "But some things do." And with that, she vanished back into the house.

Some things do, echoed her voice in his head.

He pulled out a knut from his pocket and dropped it into the fountain. "For your sake, Granger, I hope you're right."

------

The next few weeks found Hermione busy with work. Snape had given her several musty tomes to peruse for information. He was currently brewing an invisibility potion, but due to the scarcity of certain materials, he had asked Hermione to research acceptable substitutes.

Snape's study almost mirrored the one he had at Hogwarts - filled with books, scrolls, and vials of unknown substances. She had decided that there would be no harm in sitting on his desk chair - after all, he did say for her to read his notes - so she had sat down with a sigh.

Shaking her head, she began to peruse Snape's notes. So that's why he made me do so much research on hippogriff droppings last week. It might be a possible replacement of sea serpent scales, which are harder to find. She flipped through more of his notes, curious as to what her irascible mentor had planned.

But before she could begin translating Snape's illegible scrawl, a tapping at the window distracted her. It was a handsome gray owl that looked decidedly put out with the closed window. "Sorry," she murmured as she let the owl in. She was about to fetch Snape when she realized that the owl was holding out his leg for her. "Who would be sending me a message?" she asked curiously - especially since the people who had any reason to owl her were now dead. Snape, Malfoy, and Charlie had more direct means of communication, and Parvati had effectively promised not to acknowledge her existence.

She untied the scroll from the owl's leg and then watched him fly off. Returning to the desk, she untied the scroll with a small amount of trepidation. As long as it was not from Voldemort...

She nearly wept in relief when she saw that it was from Blaise.

Dear Hermione,

I hope you will not think me too terribly forward in writing you, but after seeing you a few weeks ago, I find myself inclined to renew our acquaintance - and dare I hope it may even progress to friendship?

I'm in Siberia now as I settle some Ministry business for Lucius. It's dreadfully cold up here, even though I'm using the most advanced warming spells I can think of. It is no wonder the Russians drink vodka all the time. Right now the fire is fully ablaze (that is not a deliberate pun, I promise), and I am currently bundled in a sweater and a warm pair of wooly socks.

I hope the end of summer is passing smoothly - and warmly! - for you. I will be returning to Britain within a fortnight, and when I do, I hope you'll indulge an acquaintance with an evening of your company.

Best wishes,

Blaise

Hermione felt a silly grin cross her face. The letter was charming and clever and so very Blaise. And-

"I had no idea that readings on hippogriff droppings could make anyone so happy. But you always were a strange child, Miss Granger." It was Snape, who stood in the doorway with a scowl.

"Professor, the owl just came and well I had to read it because I didn't know who it was from although I suppose I could have waited, which-"

He pinched the bridge of his nose. "No need to explain. I take it that the letter was not a summons or anything of that sort."

She shook her head as another smile appeared on her face. "Just a letter from Blaise."

Despite himself, Snape looked intrigued. "I was not aware that you and Mr. Zabini corresponded regularly."

"This is the first time..." Hermione composed herself and folded the letter into her pocket. "I did not mean to be distracted, sir," she said more formally.

Snape looked at her silently before beckoning her. "There is something I would like to show you." She rose from his comfortable office chair and followed him out the door. "Incidentally, if I may ask, what does Mr. Zabini's letter contain that causes you such joy?"

"It's not what he wrote, but the fact that he wrote it," she admitted as she distantly wondered why it was so easy to tell Snape. "All of my friends are dead except Charlie, and well, it's nice to know that I might be able to make a new one."

"An understandable sentiment," he said as he led to his laboratory. Although Hermione would never admit it, she loved the open mansion of Belvedere. Perhaps due to Snape's Italian ancestry, Belvedere was built more like a villa than a castle or manor. Last week, she had been delighted to discover that there was an atrium - with a pool and an open rooftop.

It was hard for her to imagine that Snape had been raised in such a lovely home - but then again, Draco had been born in beautiful Malfoy Manor. It was a trend, she supposed, that the worst of people were born in the best of places.

But Snape wasn't a bad man. He was mean, and he was abrupt, but he was not bad. Lucius Malfoy was, but even with him, the lines were blurred. Lucius had shown surprising deeds of generosity and kindness. It was he who had brought back Minerva McGonagall's body from the ruins of Hogwarts and had given her a proper burial. As Hermione's mother used to say, it was hard to judge a man who was both cruel and compassionate.

Pungent odors assault her nostrils as she stepped inside Snape's laboratory. "The invisibility potion?" she asked, referring to a boiling cauldron filled with a murky brown liquid.

"Yes, but never mind that," said Snape. He led her to the far side of his workroom, where a smaller cauldron stood over the flame. "This is the anti-Veritaserum potion. I have prepared this batch for you."

"He's going to summon me soon, isn't me?"

Snape nodded. "Yes. Within the next few days."

"What if he realizes that I'm lying?"

"Then I suppose you had better make sure he does not," he said unsympathetically as he stirred the potion. "Some weapons you cannot hold in your hands. They can only be held in your mind," he said softy.

Hermione felt sick as a sense of foreboding filled her.