Nest of Vipers

------

Though most remembered for his brutal tactics and uncompromising philosophy, Voldemort was at heart a strategist who freely utilized the Slytherin tendencies towards guile and trickery. He practiced feints within feints and often manipulated those who swore they could never be manipulated. He became so practiced at deception that he deceived even his most loyal followers - and near the end of his life, himself as well.

--- Annals of the Death Eaters, Volume II

------

Lithuania

How the mighty have fallen.

Peter watched the moonrise with a rather unwelcome sense of melancholy. Behind him, the house was silent and dark, a testimony to the characters of its inhabitants. Soon it would be time for him to prepare dinner. The Lord was strict in such matters, and if anything were a second slower than it needed to be...it was best not to dwell on the Lord's wrath.

Peter ambled toward the kitchen, wondering once again why the promise of power had led him to be the lapdog of the Dark Lord. Was he not the most loyal of servants? After all, it was he who helped the Dark Lord resurrect himself, it was he who protected him during the day, when the Lord was at his weakest, and it was he who took the lowly tasks of seeing to his nourishment.

So why were Malfoy and Snape reaping the rewards? Why were they in their plush mansions but he in a rundown shack in the middle of Lithuania? He used to hope that it was because his master was saving the best rewards for his most faithful servant, but now he had been forced to concede otherwise. Peter frowned as he warmed the milk that the Lord would require. He knew that the Lord was weak from his recent battle with Dumbledore and Potter, and it was likely that he would never regain his full strength back - unless Snape finished those potions. But Snape was a loose canon, as unreliable as Malfoy was. Those two had always danced to their own tunes.

"Wormtail." The whisper was soft, yet it was still gravelly, and it hurt Peter's ears.

"My lord." Keeping his eyes downcast, he turned to face his master. "I have your meal ready."

His master nodded as he swept inside the room. "Excellent. Have you heard from Lucius yet?"

Peter nodded again as he handed the parchment over. "Lucius says that his inauguration has proceeded as planned, my lord."

"Good. Once that is over, he can finish cleansing the land, and then I can go back to England. And have Lucius send me that girl. Our meeting has long been delayed." Peter only murmured in agreement as he turned to leave. But just as he reached the door, his master's clammy hand latched onto his arm. Voldemort pulled Peter closer, his red eyes narrowed in examination.

Sometimes, Peter would act in ways that did not always reflect Voldemort's full desires. Naturally, the Dark Lord knew this, as he knew all the thoughts and intents of his closest minion. And though it was possible for Voldemort to put a stop to Peter's occasional discrepancies, he chose not too. Instead, Voldemort allowed and at times encouraged these thoughts, for these feelings made Peter an effective servant. He would act with complete obedience to his master's will, but he added a flair of individuality that acted as a safeguard against mistakes.

"I smell fear, Wormtail." He smiled maliciously. "That is well then, for if I can still strike fear into your heart, I can terrorize all the others." He released Peter, his slender hands disappearing into the folds of his robes. "Leave me."

The command did not have to be repeated. Peter fled, his heart thumping. Had Voldemort read his mind? Had the Dark Lord known what he was thinking? It was possible, he conceded to himself. Voldemort was known to bide his time before exposing treachery. But surely he had done nothing outwardly treacherous. He was resentful, yes, but who wouldn't be in his position? Being a maid was a far cry from what he truly wanted.

Perhaps it's time I have a talk with my dear friend Lucius.

Yes, the mighty have fallen.

But how the lowly will rise.

------

Brazil

"I'm here for my package," announced Severus impatiently. He was standing in a rickety ingredients shop in Rio de Janeiro, and tired and cranky from the journey, he wanted nothing more than to retrieve his package and floo back home.

The shop owner, a beady-eyed old man who had seen better days, seemed almost hesitant to speak. "Sir, I-"

Severus narrowed his eyes. "I trust that it arrived safely?" he asked calmly. But inside, the first threads of worry began to seize him. The ingredients he had ordered were contraband, and not even Lucius knew about them. That was why he had come halfway around the world to get them, and if they had not arrived...

The shop owner gulped audibly. "The package did arrive, sir, but it is no longer here. The Department of Magical Regulation came last night and took your shipment into their custody."

"WHAT?"

"I do not know how they were aware of it. I certainly told no one, and the ones who shipped it would not have said anything for fear of being fined."

Severus closed his eyes briefly. Those ingredients were important. Now where could he get more? It was obvious that he could not use this shop to obtain illegal ingredients any longer. "Did the Ministry officers identify the recipient?"

The shop owner shook his head. "No, they were unable to identify you. At least to my knowledge."

"At least my identity is safe." Severus buttoned his cloak. "If you so much as speak of word of this to anyone, you'll be very sorry." The menace in his voice was very clear.

The shop owner nodded his head eagerly. "Your secret is safe with me, Mr. Escobar."

"See that it remains that way." Without another world, Severus apparated back to his dingy hotel room. "Mr. Pablo Escobar" was the persona he had adopted for his more shady business transactions in Latin and South America, but now that the Brazilian Ministry was aware of him, the name was no longer safe. In fact, this room was no longer safe. Quickly packing the few possessions that were strewn across the room, he considered his options. The floo networks were not to be trusted, as the Ministry here was now actively looking for him. Severus was not fool enough to apparate to Britain, and riding a broomstick across the Atlantic...

Most definitely not.

Whom did he know in this country that owed him a favor?

Two hours later, Severus found himself in the river town of Manaus. It was a city filled with Muggles - indeed, the presence of wizarding folk here was next to none, except for Ria Valdez, that was. "Now listen to me, Severus. This boat will go down the Amazon, and it will dock in Cayenne, in the French Guiana. From there, you will take another boat to Venezuela. Once there, you can fly out on broomstick to the Caribbean, and then you can use the floo to go back home." Ria was a short Spanish woman who possessed a quick temper and an even quicker draw.

"Why can I not simply fly from here to Venezuela?"

She gave him an irritated look. "You come from a country with few people, Severus. In case you haven't noticed, South America is far denser, especially Brazil. You would undoubtedly be noticed if you fly, especially on a clear night such as this. Once you get

to the Ocean, do whatever you want." She dug into her pocket. "Here are the papers to get you through Muggle immigration."

He looked at the identity card. "Ricardo de la Puerta?"

She nodded. "Pablo was a stupid name anyway." Ria clasped her hands together. "For once, leave your snobbery here. You must be careful on the boats. They are often screened for illegal immigrants."

"Ah yes, I have heard of those."

"So you know of what I speak." She paused for a moment, and then, "After this, I consider the debt I owed you fully paid, Severus."

He nodded. "You do not owe me anything anymore." A few years ago, Ria's brother Juan had been arrested by the British Ministry for the use of an Unforgivable near London. At the time, Ria had been the lover of Avery's youngest brother, and after weeks of pleading with the irascible Severus, she had finally convinced him to break him out of Ministry custody before they sent him to Azkaban. It had been a perilous rescue, all for a man whom Severus did not know, on behalf of the lover of a despised comrade.

Ria had been repaying this debt for several years, but she was right. Tonight was her final payment. "Perhaps one day we will meet again, Ms. Valdez." He bowed suddenly, the gentlemanly action out-of-place in the crowded dock.

"I certainly hope it is under better circumstances, Mr. Snape." She shook his hand firmly. "Remember what I said. Be as inconspicuous as possible. Thank whatever kind god there is that this is Brazil and not Hong Kong, or else you would stick out like a dragon among a herd of kneazles."

"If there is a god, he certainly has my thanks."

Her dark eyes crinkled. "Too jaded to believe in luck?"

"No jaded, but experienced," he corrected. He touched his hat. "Goodbye, Ria."

"Safe journey, Severus...in all walks of your life." She stepped back from the dock as Severus boarded the boat. He kept his eyes on her small frame until she became a pinprick in the horizon. It was unfortunate that he could not publicly remain friends with Ria, but he did not want her to receive the attention that would surely come with his friendship. The Dark Lord would be curious, and the Dark Lord's curiosity was something to be avoided at all costs.

He shifted his mind to his current predicament. Where could be find another ingredients shop? He had exhausted his Latin America and Caribbean resources. He knew that there were some apothecaries in the Pacific Islands and in India, but he hesitated in doing business there. It was difficult enough to travel to South America incognito, but Asia was a different matter. Besides, he could not pass as a member of the populace, even if he did manage to pick up fluency in another language.

Briefly he wondered how it would be if he pretended his name was Rajashi Singh. Polyjuice was fine if he had to fool normal wizards, but it was useless at passing through magical immigration. I will just have to find another way. There must be a road I have not taken. He wished he could consult with Lucius on this matter. The elder Malfoy was clever and would probably have a solution tucked up his very expensive sleeves. But Snape was not ready to confide in Lucius just yet. He needed more time to make sure. There was nothing worse than an impatient Lucius, and though he would not reveal the secret, he would hound Severus night and day.

No, he needed more time to prepare his potion. If it worked, then the Dementers, Voldemort's most dangerous servants and the ones that Snape and Lucius could not control, would be eliminated.

He needed an answer fast.

------

Dear Blaise,

I hope your work is going well in Moscow. I was quite dismayed to hear that your time there has been extended another week for that business with their Ministry of Magical Exports. They have some of the best raw exports in the magical world, so I hope that both parties can come to a suitable agreement. I can understand their concerns - after all, in regards to the political upheaval in Britain, I can see why they would wish to reconsider their trade with us. No doubt they are currently evaluating Mr. Malfoy and wondering if he can benefit the Russians. Fudge did more damage to their economy by raising our import taxes, but Lucius is smarter and not filled with Fudge's bombastic pride.

Besides, you are clever and most likely charming those stodgy old Russians.

In other news - Snape has gone into the country to visit a sick aunt...or so he tells me. I doubt Snape has an aunt, and if I were Snape's aunt, I certainly would not want such a nephew visiting me. But he has his secrets, and I have learned not to pry. If I do, he assigns me even more unpleasant tasks. Narcissa sends her greetings, by the way. She is quite fond of you, and she wishes you would visit more often. I think she hopes that you will be a positive influence on Malfoy Junior.

I wanted to tell her that even a goblin would be a positive influence on that prat, but I stayed my tongue.

Malfoy Junior is currently flying around the courtyard, no doubt pretending to chase hapless Muggles. Any minute now, and he will bang on the window and ask me if I would willingly indulge him in a game of "Chase the Muggle."

He just fell off his broom!

I tell you, I have the best view in the entire Manor.

Until next time, Hermione.

Hermione, comfortably seated on one of the window seats in the Manor's library, basked in the afternoon sunlight that was most welcome on such a chilly day. Bundled in warm clothes, with a scroll and pen in hand, she felt quite relaxed. This had become a daily ritual of hers. She would return from Belvedere, shed her robes, order a warm cup of tea - quite reluctantly, for the Malfoys did not support her House Elf Liberation movement - and sit in the library to pen letters to Blaise. Ever since receiving his first letter, Hermione had maintained a steady stream of friendly communication with him.

Blowing over the parchment to speed the ink in drying, she looked outside the window once again. Apparently Malfoy was done flying because now he was standing on the ground scowling at something. The scowl was his trademark feature, in Hermione's opinion. The smirking he had done in Hogwarts had been left behind in the ruins of the school, and as his home now had a "resident Mudblood," he rarely smiled.

Lucius and Narcissa were much better in conveying hospitality. Mostly, they left her to her own devices, although at times, Lucius would seek her out and draw her into lengthy discussions on diverse topics ranging from the current status of non-tradable goods to whether magic should be used to prevent hazardous situations of Muggle origins - such as the nuclear standoff between Pakistan and India. After all, one did not attain the rank of Snape's Closest Friend without a certain degree of intellectualism.

Periodically, Narcissa would participate and often surprise Hermione with the depth of her perceptions. She had been one of the top students at Beauxbatons and later, the protégé of Herman von Stockelfurm - the world's foremost expert on magical poisons.

She must have been a prime candidate as a Death Eater and as Lucius's chosen bride.

Movement from outside caught her attention once again. Now Malfoy was walking back towards his home, his broom carefully tucked under his arm. She briefly wondered why he had not gone on to play quidditch - but she supposed that being a servant of the Dark Lord left little time for anything else.

"Miss Granger." Hermione looked away from the window to see Narcissa standing at the door with a tray in her hands. "You have already had your tea, I know, but it is a cold day, so I thought you might like another one." Without waiting for an answer, the blond-haired woman gingerly balanced the tray with one hand and shut the door with the other.

Hermione uncurled herself from the window and joined Narcissa at the table. Such acts of friendliness and concern were rare, and even when it occurred, Hermione knew from experience that there was a deeper motive in Narcissa's visit today. "Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy. I would like another cup very much."

"My sister sent these tea cookies from home." She pushed the plate towards Hermione. "Try some."

Slowly reaching out for a cookie, she wondered once again at Narcissa's friendliness - and remembered that Narcissa was a poisons mistress. "They smell like lemons," remarked Hermione as she dipped the cookie into her tea.

Narcissa nodded dreamily. "My grandmother's recipe. I love lemon cookies very much." She reached for a cookie of her own, allaying Hermione's fear of poison. "Severus tells me that you are quite a help to him."

Her eyebrows shot up. "Professor Snape surely exaggerates, Ma'am. He spends a good portion of the day listing everything I do wrong."

"That is his odd way of showing his approval. If he did not like your work, he would have tossed you out on your ear - or given you something more mundane to do, such as scrubbing the bottoms of his cauldrons." Finished with her cookie, Narcissa took another. "You have been working very hard, Miss Granger, and I assure you, your efforts are very much appreciated."

"Thank you, Mrs. Malfoy," said Hermione carefully. She was unsure of Narcissa's motives, and she hesitated in saying too much.

Narcissa flicked a crumb away from the collar of her dress. "Do not thank me just yet," her tone filled with regret. "Lucius contacted me less than an hour past." Her light eyes were very grave. "It is time, Miss Granger."

------

It was Snape who had been chosen for the unpleasant task of taking Hermione to her new lord. He arrived the night that Narcissa had informed Hermione she would have to meet Voldemort. With him, he had brought black robes and a silver mask, which he had thrust at Hermione with an order to get dressed. In a distant part of Hermione's mind, she figured that Snape's sick aunt was not doing well, judging from his harsh mood.

The robes were of fine quality, but she had expected no less. Death Eaters lived lavishly - it only made sense that they killed lavishly as well. The silver mask covered most of her face, except it left her mouth and chin revealed. She had eyed her semi-covered face in the mirror with trepidation. Voldemort would be able to see her mouth tighten, her chin tremble, her lips quiver - her emotions must be restrained, she realized. I am no Snape - how can I hide so much hate?

"Miss Granger." It was Snape on the other side of her door. "Are you done preening? We cannot keep the Dark Lord waiting. He is not lenient as your fool of a headmaster was."

She opened to door and allowed Snape to inspect her. Lifting a hand to her uncovered mouth, "I don't know," she admitted helplessly.

He nodded as he led her towards the chamber with main floo entrance. "The Dark Lord has learned that eyes can hide many things. But the mouth - ah, there is no more of an expressive feature." He put his own mask on. "I have learned not to hide the movements of my mouth - at least not the emotions I want him to see. Voldemort wants to see your anger, your hate, and any other dark emotion you have. If you came to him as a passive and devout servant, he would know something was afoot." He pulled a vial from his robes. "Here, drink this."

She held it up to the light. The liquid was an icy blue, clear and quite pretty. Drinking it, she discovered that it did not taste pretty. "Has this anti-veritaserum potion been tested?" she asked.

"Yes - in laboratory situations. But it has not been tested in the face of such danger, so I can only hope it works as well as I theorized." He stepped into the fireplace. "We are going to one of our safe houses in Wales. From there, we will use a portkey." He threw down the powder. "Dimault House!"

Hermione followed, glad that they were not going to Voldemort just yet. She needed to compose her thoughts and strengthen her mind against the oncoming assault.

Dimault House was a barren place, devoid of most furniture and paintings. It contained, however, several beds and blankets, as well as a large supply of medicinal herbs and potions. "Why do we need to come here first? Couldn't we have used the portkey at Malfoy Manor?"

They were currently in the dining room, where Snape was fixing himself another potion. "It is a rule that we never take a direct route to our Lord. It is a tactic that has been useful against aurors."

"Oh." Her stomach was clenching in nervousness. "What are you making?"

Snape sighed in irritation. "Have you regressed back to you your years as my former annoying student?" He pushed the cup towards her. "This will numb your muscles. Voldemort will most likely use the Cruciatus Curse - it's his favorite - so this will help with the pain. I used to take it before I went to Death Eater meetings." He gestured impatiently. "Drink up, girl! We haven't much time. I did not dare give this to you before because traveling through the floo networks with a muscle relaxant is extremely dangerous."

"But I thought I was supposed to show Voldemort my pain." Merlin, did everything Snape make have to taste so vile?

"I said it would help with the pain. Believe me, because this is the first time you will be subjected to Cruciatus, your body will be in such pain that you will lose all your senses. As time goes on, the body becomes more used to it, but still, the pain is overwhelming." He looked at the clock. "Veritaserum and Cruciatus are effective combinations. If the anti-Veritaserum potion I have prepared is not sufficient, then the pain will overwhelm you. Thus, I am giving you the ability to control your mind during Cruciatus. But take care to show pain, exaggerate if you must. Voldemort must suspect nothing." He pulled her from her seat. "We must go."

The portkey took them to a small, rundown cottage in Lithuania. Already weak from the muscle relaxant, the dizzying travel by portkey did not help any. "Brace yourself," whispered Snape roughly as he pulled her to the door.

Hermione was not surprised when Peter Pettigrew opened it. "Ah, my dear friend Severus," Pettigrew smiled thinly. "Master is quite angry. He doesn't like visitors who are late." His gaze shifted to the smaller form next to the Potions Master. "And this must be the newest recruit."

Snape pushed passed him. "Stop wasting our time, Pettigrew. Where is our Lord?"

"Follow me." Pettigrew shut the door behind them and then led them down a dark hallway to what must have been a parlor. Only a single candle was lit on the mantle of the fireplace, thus shrouding most of the room in shadows. "I will leave you here," announced Pettigrew unnecessarily.

"Thank you, Peter." The voice is so cold, thought Hermione as she resisted wrapping her arms around herself. She looked in the direction of the voice and saw a tall figure cloaked in black. Behind him was a long line of similarly cloaked figures with silver masks, all kneeling in deference.

Snape dragged her forward and then bent to kiss the hem of Voldemort's robes. "We are sorry for the delay, Master. I have no excuse for my behavior. I await your punishment."

Hermione's mouth tightened in disgust - and thought she saw a flash of reptilian eyes glancing at her reaction. "I have not the time to deal with your failures, Severus. Get up and stand with the others."

"Very well, Master." He rose and pushed Hermione forward. "Greet your Master, you impudent girl."

She glanced at Snape in surprise. He had not mentioned anything about this because if he had, she would have refused this meeting. Bad enough that she had to be in the same room as Dumbledore's murderer, but to kiss his robes? Hermione had her pride, after all.

"I will deal with her impudence, Severus."

It was clearly a dismissal. "Yes, my lord." He bent down and kissed Voldemort's robes once more before joining the others in the back. Snape did not even look at Hermione as he passed her.

"Come closer, child." Hermione gazed at the hooded figure in trepidation. "You are right to be afraid. But come closer." This time, the command was very evident in his voice. She picked up a scent from him, something she could not identify, but it smelled like old death, rotten and perhaps touched with a bit of mold.

She did, and she waited with a guarded patience as he looked her over critically. "Take off your mask, child. I would see your face." Again she complied, her hands shaking. "Such obedience must be rewarded," purred Voldemort. He reached up with scaly hands and removed his hood.

Harry had told her once what Voldemort looked like after his transformation. But nothing, nothing had prepared her for this. His skin was in clumps, partially falling off, his skull almost oblong, his eye slits in a flat face. She realized that Snape had deliberately allowed her to be taken unawares, that her loss of composure now would allay Voldemort's fear of trickery.

Feints within feints within feints.

"Do you think me ugly, Miss Granger?" When she did not reply, he continued in an easy voice. "I can still look into a mirror. I know what I look like. But think of this face as another mask. Just like you do not look like your mask, neither do I look like mine. But a mask must be worn during certain times." He lifted a scaly hand towards the single table. "Drink that."

"What if I don't?" she asked, her voice quivering with real fear.

Voldemort shrugged. "The choice is entirely up to you, of course. But there are consequences of refusing." He flashed a rather reptilian smile. "Either way, Miss Granger, I will get what I want."

This was the moment of truth. If Snape's potion were not effective, everything would be lost. And though she could not see it, she felt Snape's and Malfoy's eyes upon her. Hesitantly, she took up the cup and drank the potion. A numbing pain emerged from the back of her skull, and as the seconds ticked by, it only grew in intensity. She felt like her brain was being torn open, with all her secrets bared for Voldemort's perusal.

Yet she also found that there were "pockets" inside her mind. She found she could retreat from the pain with her most important secrets. Most importantly, these pockets allowed her to remain in control of her answers. However, she was careful to allow her eyes to glaze over, as if the potion really had taken effect.

"What is your name?"

At least he started out easy. "Hermione Margaret Granger."

The Dark Lord nodded. "A very quaint name. And where do you reside?"

"Malfoy Manor."

He nodded once again. "Now, tell me, Miss Granger, are you in the service of Albus Dumbledore's few remaining associates?"

Hermione was taken aback by the question. "No." Snape and Malfoy were definitely not associated with Dumbledore.

"Do you hate me?"

"Yes!" As if they were wrenched from her, she bit down on her lip.

Voldemort chuckled and looked over her carefully, his red eyes taking note of her tears, cut lip, and trembling chin. "Where are Dumbledore's resistance cells?"

She shook her head. "I don't know."

The questions continued for a long while, each one easier to answer simply because Hermione did not have any information. Voldemort was operating under the assumption that she was working for Dumbledore when in fact she was working for his two most trusted servants. It was a relief because she was not betraying anyone just yet.

And when the questions were done, she braced herself for Cruciatus...

Thus she was taken by surprise when Voldemort reached out and stroked the soft skin of her neck. "Such unmarred beauty. I had originally planned to use Cruciatus to verify my answers, but I cannot find it in me to ruin such beauty as mine once was." Voldemort dropped his hand. "There is another way." Without another word, he grasped her head with his scaly hands, his fingers biting into her cheeks and scalp.

Snape hadn't said anything about this! Out of the corner of her eyes, she could barely make out Snape's tensed form. Apparently he had not been expecting this either.

A strange shiver crept over Hermione as the surrounding world grew dim. A chill pressed its way up her spine, and for a moment, her vision darkened to the point that she could no longer see the muted candlelight around her. There was a presence invading her mind, a shadow of fear that was getting stronger every moment.

Voldemort is in my mind! She squeezed her eyes shut and attempted to separate herself from the encroaching darkness. She knew she was not strong or experienced enough to flush Voldemort from her mind, nor was she sure if she should do so. If she were effective in keeping him out, Voldemort would suspect that she had something to hide - and she did. But if she did not resist enough, he would grow suspicious.

Some weapons you cannot hold in your hands. They can only be held in your mind, echoed Snape's voice in her raped mind. Thankfully, the pockets of retreat were still left open, and she fled to them now, leaving enough of herself exposed so that Voldemort would not sense her hiding from him.

As her connection to the surrounding world was cut off, she felt his grip upon her mind increase ten-fold, and she became even more aware of his shadow as well as his hold over her thoughts. She could not hold him at bay forever, even with other memories as barriers.

But just as suddenly, he released her head, and she fell in a heap on the floor. "I have seen enough. This girl spoke the truth." He turned towards his Death Eaters. "I will summon her later. For now, take her back and make use of her."

Dimly, Hermione was aware of strong arms lifting her. "Stay still, Granger." It was Draco Malfoy. Too tired to reply, she tucked her head into the crook of his neck, not caring that he was probably shivering in repulsion. Her brain felt torn open with all its arteries ripped to shreds, and she wondered why she was not bleeding.

"We need to take her back home quickly." This was Snape...and was that concern in his voice?

"Portkey is too risky," argued Malfoy. "She is in a state of mental collapse."

Warm hands stroked her hair. "We cannot apparate. No, portkey is the only way. I will do what I can for her before we leave, but much of it is up to her." She felt Draco gingerly place her on scented grass. "Miss Granger, hear my voice and listen. Open your eyes."

She only scrunched up her eyes more tightly. What if all the blood from her brain poured out?

"Open your eyes." Why wouldn't he leave her alone? "Miss Granger, I will perform Cruciatus on you myself if you do not do as I say."

With a sigh, she cracked one eyelid open. She made out the haze that was Snape, and beyond him, Malfoy. "Good," said Snape with satisfaction. "I was worried you would not have eyes left." He pulled out his wand and muttered a few spells. "Regretfully, we must use portkey. We cannot stay here any longer, and you need certain potions I have only in my lab." Snape gestured to Malfoy, who lifted her once again. "I want you to hold on to Draco. Understood?"

Her jaws refused to move, so she only nodded. Catching Snape's eyes, she looked at the house. Understanding her unspoken query, he said briskly, "Lucius has to remain behind. The Lord wants details on the new government. Thankfully, our presence is not required." He held out a book. "Draco?"

Malfoy shifted so that he was able to grasp the book. Snape placed one of Hermione's hands on the book as well, and then pulling out his own wand, he activated the portkey.

It was the most horrible experience of her life. Once, when she had been very young, her parents had taken her to an amusement park, and she had insisted on going on the rides that spun the most. Afterwards, she hadn't been able to stand upright for hours because she was so dizzy. This was how she felt now, except it was much worse.

As soon as they arrived in the Manor, she began to gag. Draco knelt, and Snape, who managed to conjure an empty receptacle, held her head as she retched for several minutes. Even after the contents of her stomach were gone, she heaved for a while longer.

"You!" snapped Snape at a house elf. "Prepare Miss Granger's room and summon Mrs. Malfoy." The elf scurried off to do his bidding, and through the haze of pain, Hermione noticed Snape head towards the fireplace. "Draco, take Miss Granger to her room. I must retrieve some potions from my home."

"Yes, sir." Again Draco lifted her and quickly carried her up the stairs. "Mother!" he cried when his eyes fell upon Narcissa's approaching form.

Narcissa worriedly examined the bundle in her son's arms. "What happened?"

Hermione felt Draco's answer. "Voldemort did something. I don't know." He carefully placed her on the bed and turned away as Narcissa removed Hermione's robes and underclothes and placed a fresh nightgown on her, his respect strange to Hermione's dazed eyes.

"Suky!" demanded Narcissa sharply. "Where is the tea?"

Suddenly Snape's voice joined the melee. "Move away. I must see to her now." She opened her eyes and saw Snape peering down at her with concern. "You must not lose yourself in your mind. Voldemort is no longer there."

"I can feel him," she whispered.

He lifted her head. "Drink this."

Hermione braced herself for something vile, so she was pleasantly surprised to find it sweet tasting.

"Tasty," she muttered before falling unconscious.

------

In her wakeful sleep, she stumbled as she attempted to navigate in a world without light, completely reliant on Narcissa's touch and Snape's soft voice. And yet she had an idea of where she was going, for even as Voldemort had held her mind, she had briefly held a small part of his. Now, using senses that she did not understand and were mostly not her own, she moved around the new obstacles in her mind, seeking a way out of the darkness.

In what seemed like days later, Hermione opened her eyes.

"Welcome back, Miss Granger." Snape was sitting in a chair next to her bed.

"How long was I asleep?" she croaked painfully. Her throat parched, she eyed the pitcher of water longingly. Thankfully, Snape understood her request.

He raised her head and assisted her to drink. "Almost three days."

"Days?" Hermione frowned, the muscles in her face still feeling lax. "That long?"

Snape gave her an irritated look. "You were severely ill, Miss Granger. Of course you were asleep that long."

Inwardly, she sighed. For someone who just informed her that she had almost died, he was decidedly unconcerned. "Thank you for healing me."

"In this case, you thanks in unwarranted. You have done most of the healing yourself."

"I beg your pardon?"

"Voldemort did not attack you physically but mentally. Your sheer mental discipline is what kept you sane. Naturally, you are still young and untried in these arts, so of course you could not survive the encounter unaffected, but you managed tolerably well, Miss Granger."

A compliment, reasoned Hermione. Too tired to feel any pride over her accomplishment, she asked, "Sir, can you tell me what happened?"

Snape rose from his chair and stretched. He must have maintained a vigil on her bedside, and this time, the feeling of warmth did wash over her. "What do you remember?"

Her brows knit as she thought back to the Death Eater meeting. "Not much. I...remember being afraid." This time her composure nearly broke, and she shuddered as she looked at the glass of water in her hands. "Professor..."

"There is no shame in your fear, Hermione." Her given name acted as a balm to her wounded spirit. "This is your first encounter with the Dark Lord. I have yet to see any man or woman who did not shrink before the Dark Lord during his first encounter."

"No, but I almost gave in. If he had waited a few seconds longer, my defenses would have crumbled." She looked up at him bleakly. "I dropped my weapon," she hissed as she referred back to his earlier advice.

Snape shook his head. "You wielded them for a moment, and that in itself is a great accomplishment."

But she could still feel the despair inside. "Why am I still in shadow? Why have I not recovered?"

"Voldemort tried to paralyze you with terror and almost considered destroying you. His power and shadow cannot so easily be pushed aside." Snape sighed. "Child, be thankful that you have survived and are still in possession of your own mind. And be especially thankful that you have been given the opportunity to heal. Most do not have that luxury."

Hermione's hands clenched around the glass. "I don't think I can face such fear again."

Snape had clearly run out of sympathy. "You may not trust your abilities, but that does not change your obligations." His tone had ceased being gentle and had become harsh once again. "You are a key player in our rebellion, and you must take the necessary steps to heal and free yourself from the Dark Lord's taint as much as possible."

"But he's too strong. And the darkness inside me - I'm too afraid to fight it. I can't win against it."

"Miss Granger, stop your romantic notions at once and look at me." He waited until her fear-filled gaze met his. "The darkness inside yourself is made in part by the darkness of your own heart and your own thoughts. Regardless of what Dumbledore said, we are all part dark and part light, and there is good and evil in all beings - including in the late Harry Potter. There is nothing to be done about it. All people, Muggle or magical, are affected by this affliction. Through fear, Voldemort has augmented your own doubts and created an opening where your own shadows can be nurtured."

Hermione hesitated before whispering, "This shadow inside me...will it get bigger?"

"Yes," he answered softly. "It will get bigger every time you see him, every time you go on a mission for him, and every time you think of him." He leaned forward. "It will grow until your own image in a mirror makes your heart clench in grief. Such is your doom, as it is everyone else's. It is a losing battle, to be sure, but we must all fight it until there are none left." He removed the glass from her hands. "But you will learn how to manage the shadow, and it will make you stronger. You will begin to use your own shadow to battle against Voldemort's greater one, for now you know of his deceits and powers."

"I feel as if I paid a great price for this knowledge."

"You have, and as time passes, the price will rise. But for now, we try to resist the darkness and hold close what little hope we have." He took another cup from the table. "This is a sleeping draught. You may think you have slept enough, but you haven't. You must go back to the realm of your dreams and keep on fighting the shadow. That was not a request," he added sternly.

She stared at the clear liquid, and for a brief moment, she felt the darkness recede. "Voldemort tried to manipulate my mind," she suddenly stated. "And if there's one thing I prize more than anything else, it's the sanctity of my mind. He violated that sanctity, and now I'll make him suffer for it."

Snape smiled slowly and dangerously. "I believe you will."

------

Lucius eyed the people in his study. Narcissa, Draco, and Charlie stood gathered around his desk, each waiting for Severus to return with news of Miss Granger's status. "I don't understand why I can't see her," snapped Charlie.

Lucius bowed his head and raised a hand to his temple. Charlie had been incensed that Miss Granger had been hurt during his absence, as well as horrified by how she had gotten hurt. Though Charlie was turning out to be a capable assistant and all that Lucius could have hoped for in a successor, he still was a Weasley, which meant becoming too emotionally involved with people. Lucius made a mental note to cure Charlie of this affliction.

"Because, stupid, she's in a state of near mental collapse, and she can't handle any aggravations you would be causing." That was Draco.

Lucius closed his eyes.

"Boys!" Narcissa glared at both of them. "If you have a problem, take it elsewhere."

Lucius eyed the bottle of liquor near his desk.

Thankfully, Severus chose that moment to enter the room.

"How does Miss Granger fare, Severus?" asked Lucius as he ushered his old friend into a seat.

"She has just now regained consciousness, but I gave her another sleeping draught. It will take her a long time to regain her full strength. But I am pleased to note that her mental faculties are as sharp as ever." His mouth tightened. "I had hoped that this near brush with death would have eliminated all maudlin Gryffindoric tendencies, but some are still there."

Draco sneered. "Too bad." But it was obvious to everyone, Lucius especially, that his eyes showed the tiniest bit of relief at Severus's news.

"And she will soon be fit to travel," added Severus.

Narcissa raised her eyebrows. "Is she going somewhere?"

He stood. "If I might have a few moments with Lucius, please."

At first no one moved, but then Narcissa rose and gave Severus a light kiss on the cheek. "After you are finished here, come to the kitchen. You must be famished."

"Thank you." He caught her hand and kissed it.

"Draco, Charlie, come along now." She beckoned the two boys to precede her out the door and then shut the door behind her.

Lucius took note of his friend's tired features. "What is it?"

"While I was monitoring Miss Granger, I had some thoughts." Briefly, he went over his newly formed plan.

After Severus was finished: "You want them to go where?" Lucius stared at his old friend - once again doubting his friend's sanity.

"I am sending them to the Americas, not another planet," scowled Severus as he helped himself to the whiskey in Lucius's office. "I need Granger to recover poison specific to the indigenous snakes of the Plains, and Draco ought to mingle with the Americans."

Lucius wrinkled his nose. "Americans are such vulgar people." Lucius, in his early twenties, had gone on a recruiting trip to the United States in an effort to enlist international members for their anti-Muggle movement. However, American wizards had no interest in joining world politics - indeed, like their Muggle counterparts, they were content in maintaining their political isolation. Furthermore, several prominent American witches and wizards had protested the segregation, some even going so far as to call it apartheid.

American culture was simply too bizarre for Lucius to handle, for the strict codes that governed the magical societies of the Old World did not exist in the New World. Consequently, after a few days of arguing half-heartedly, Lucius left the United States and had not returned since.

"Crass they may be, American wizards and witches are by far the wealthiest. Their fortunes number into the billions of galleons. Gringotts practically belongs to them." Snape held the bottle up to the firelight. "Since when have you taken to drinking firewhiskey?"

Lucius tapped his forehead. "A gift from the Leaky Cauldron's new owners." The previous owner, a strong supporter of Dumbledore, had died a few months ago. Ironically, his death had not been the result of post-war elimination but simply an embarrassing accident involving a grindylow, a cauldron of bubbling soup, and a broomstick.

"Going back to the American situation, I feel that by mingling with them, we go against everything we have fought for. All American witches and wizards are Muggle-blooded. They simply have not been around long enough to earn pureblood status." This was an indisputable fact. When early colonials were settling the Americas, several Muggle-born witches and wizards had also fled Britain to escape persecution of their own. And while they had finally gained the magical freedom they cherished, they had underestimated their ability to blend in. Unlike Britain, where several safeguards were in place to keep Muggles from becoming aware of the magic around them, the colonies had no such system. Furthermore, the colonial wizarding community lacked the experience and strength to keep their activities secretive.

All of this culminated in the infamous Salem Witch trials, the repercussions of which led to a diminished magical influence in the Americas. Whatever magical people remained allowed their abilities to lay dormant, which led to their complete integration into Muggle society - the very thing that purebloods abhorred.

Today, American wizards used their magic for commercial purposes, thus allowing them to be very successful in business ventures. And while the magical communities in Western Europe looked down their noses at the bourgeois Americans, the rest of the world could not afford to mind. Countries such as Bangladesh, Kenya, and the Phillipines were dependent on American aid in order to run their magical schools and institutions. In return, American witches and wizards attended schools in these countries, for the United States was not a suitable place for a magical school.

This problem had plagued the American magical community for quite some time. But the American government was too sweeping in its power, there being no possible way a magical school could run undetected in a government known for its oversight. Worse was the fact that the United States, for all its talk about being the world's melting pot and the place of liberty, would never be able to accept the idea of witches and wizards, making governmental cooperation, such as in Britain and France, not possible either.

"I understand your point, Lucius, and I fully agree. However, we both must come to terms with the fact that our treasury is severely depleted. Even if we re-establish our commercial ties with the rest of the world, it is still not enough." Severus looked at Lucius bleakly. "We need a lot of money, Lucius, and right now, the Americans are the only ones rich enough for the role."

Lucius looked at the bottle of firewhiskey for a few moments. "I may as well drink myself senseless," he muttered. "Well, they simply aren't going to give us the money."

"Of course not. And that, my dear Lucius, is why you are the Minister of Magic. You will think of something clever. Maybe a fund for widowed witches or a joint education program. Some nonsense that we can use to get the money we need."

Lucius narrowed his eyes. "That is why you're sending Granger, is it not? The real reason."

Severus nodded in satisfaction. "The Americans think we are pureblooded monsters. They will not be expecting someone like Granger in such a position of esteem. Perhaps this will cause them to rethink their position on our government."

"Tsk tsk," admonished Lucius. "How vile of you to use your assistant in such a way."

"I still am a Death Eater," sneered Severus. "We both are."