A Matter of Blood

It was a boring evening just like all the others, at 12 Grimmauld Place, when there were no meetings. Hermione and Ginny were putting away the clean dishes, while Mrs Weasley was preparing the dough for next morning's scones. Crookshanks was snoozing on one of the top shelves, precariously hanging in front of a huge majolica plate, like only cats can do. He would have been purring in Sirius' lap, had he been there; but Sirius was dead and the silence in the kitchen was another sad remainder he would never again sit there, stroking the cat's thick fur.

All three women jumped, when Mrs Black's portrait yelled in the hallway, disturbed in her sleep by an unusually hurried Severus Snape, who stormed in, shouted: 'Granger, come with me, NOW,' and briskly turned around, heading upstairs.

She followed the fluttering edges of his black robe to the tapestry room on the second floor, without questions, without exchanging looks with Ginny. They were all accustomed to bad news; this one was for her alone, evidently, no need to share.

The room was empty, too warm and humid to be comfortable, even without Snape, Hermione thought. She was staring at him, waiting, a painful knot in her stomach getting tighter and tighter.

'We wait for Professor Dumbledore,' he told her, when he could not take the anxiety in her eyes anymore. They did not have to wait long. The door opened and Albus Dumbledore walked in, exchanged a tense look with Severus, and then turned to her.

'We need to talk, Hermione. Would you please sit down?'

Sure, anything, as long as the wait is over and you tell me who else has died, she thought, her mouth too dry to articulate a sound.

But Dumbledore didn't say a word either. He handed her a folded parchment.

* * * * *

This scroll is a Portkey.

Hold it in your hand and clearly pronounce 'Morsmordre!'

Your muggle parents will greatly suffer, before dying, if you do not come.

Lord V.

* * * * *

'He's never been renown for bluffing, but I went to your parents' anyway. They were not home. The Dark Mark was burned in the floor. We must assume he has them.' Dumbledore spoke softly, slowly, to get past her watery eyes, big and desperate.

'I asked Professor Snape to bring a counter-potion to the Veritaserum. You know a lot more than you should. It is my duty to protect the Order and all of his members, I'm sure you understand.

'We could not fathom what he wants with you, but if you can manage to have your parents released right away, then we will find a manner to free you. I promise.

'Please, drink it. It will make you fall unconscious if he gives you the serum. It is the safest way.'

She was crying now, in silence.

There was no other way.

Waiting is worse than going. If I wait any longer my heart will break right here. I must at least try to help them.

She took the vial Snape was holding in his hand, the knuckles white with tension, and gulped down the content without even noticing the stench of it.

'Remember, you found the scroll in the kitchen and thus went to Professor Dumbledore to get the counter-potion. You should not know it was I who brought it here.

'The Dark Lord is calling for a General Assembly, now. I will go before you do. I will have a hood covering my face but, if I have to remove it, you should look horribly surprised to see me there. This is very important. If you fail, that would be the last time you see me.' Having so said, Snape turned around and walked to the door. Before leaving, almost as if talking to himself, he added: 'He despises weakness even more than arrogance.'

Dumbledore had not accepted any of the youngsters into the Order, not even Potter, because he wanted to protect them, and now he was allowing her to go to a Death Eaters' gathering. He would have been happier to cut his own right hand than to let her go, with a pep talk for farewell, but he was getting used to it.

'Portkeys do not work in here; you must go outside. I will walk with you. You are a brave young witch, I'm proud of you, Hermione.'

She was not proud of herself at all, instead: she was desperate, terrified and very sick in the stomach.

One thing at a time: now I must take a lousy Portkey trip without throwing up the counter-potion.

She was quite good at concentrating on the subject at hand, in a stressful situation, like for the OWLs, two months ago. This was another test, unexpected and with deadly consequences, if she flaunted it. Just a test.

X X X X X

Very lousy trip. She hated Portkeys; flying, even worse. She was so much looking forward to being seventeen and licensed to Apparate.

Or maybe I will die tonight and never have to bother again with Portkeys.

Hermione had landed hard on an uneven stone floor and was taking her time to get up.

So, this is a General Assembly, when they are all here, wherever we are. Lots of them, indeed. She was doing her best to keep her mind working.

They were standing in small groups, talking quietly. She had time to wonder how they could recognise one another, while wearing those hoods, when one of them pulled it back, to reveal a bony face, pale, lighted by two red, slit eyes: Lord Voldemort.

'I have come. Please, let my parents go.' It didn't sound like her voice, but at least she had managed to utter something.

'Muggles, here? Preposterous!' An undecided laughter broke out, here and there, and then it was total silence.

'Your parents will not be harmed. You have my word.' Moving close, he handed her a goblet.

'Here, drink this.'

She took it, frowning; almost let it fall to the floor in the attempt not to touch his fingers.

This is easier than I'd hoped for, she thought while drinking the second disgusting mixture of the evening. But then, nothing happened. The Dark Lord was looking into her eyes. He started laughing, again.

'Really, did you expect I would go through all this trouble just to poison you in front of a lot of witnesses, Mudblood?'

'No - I was - I should - Dumbledore gave me an antidote - against the Veritaserum - I should not be -'

'Veritaserum! That's what he, and wizards like him, use when they want to ask questions!' He elucidated to the crowd in a conference-tone. They were all laughing, now. He went on.

'You need not to sweat so much. I didn't bring you here to question you.

'You know,' he continued in a lower voice filled with mocking complicity, 'one of my Death Eaters deserves punishment, and I thought it would be a lot more interesting if you punished him. The brew was just a little help, to make sure you will be effective ...'

Oh God, he wants me to kill Snape!

Luckily he was not staring into her eyes anymore; he had turned around and thrown a spell toward a small group. One of the wizards was hit and fell to the floor. Another spell, and four snakes materialized around him; they sunk their teeth into his wrists and ankles, then started pulling his limbs apart, very efficiently and painfully immobilizing him.

'Go ahead, Mudblood; are you not curious to know your victim?'

'I - I have - never - used an - an Unforgivable Curse. I - I don't -'

'I had no doubts about it,' interrupted Lord Voldemort, still amused. 'They tell me you are such an inquisitive student; have you not outgrown your Hogwarts' teachers, yet?'

She knelt by her 'victim', not sure of what to wish for anymore, and pulled the hood off the wizard's face. And froze there, hit by the silent hatred of his grey eyes.

'Malfoy?' she whispered, almost to convince herself.

'Yes. Surprised? Who were you afraid to see?' The Dark Lord paused long enough to let the panic grow back in her as strong as before. 'Now, I want you to kiss him, Granger.'

She was frantically trying to think. He couldn't actually expect her to do that! Lucius Malfoy was one of the worst of them, he certainly deserved to die, but he could not ask her to do it. Although she realized she had not been disarmed. If only she could do it. When they met in the Department of Mystery: then, maybe, during a fight ... Malfoy had managed to persuade everyone he had been forced to participate in that raid and now, less than two months later, here he was, the sneaking little viper ... She reached for her wand. If that was the only way out ... she could at least try ... show them she was doing her best to obey ... Voldemort was speaking again.

'Fear is a rotten classmate. It distracts you from paying attention to your teachers. I told you to kiss him, not to kill him. I don't want him to die, not yet.'

This time she looked straight at her 'teacher', shocked more than relieved. He wanted her to kiss him? Which kind of a punishment ... and then she understood. Of course, what could be worse, for an arrogant pure-blood racist, than to be 'soiled' by a Mudblood in front of all his chums? Brilliant! Why didn't he just say it? There was no need to kidnap her parents, she thought: this was an opportunity she wouldn't have missed for the world. She smiled, let the wand fall back into her pocket and leaned toward him.

Lucius Malfoy was a lot more accustomed than Hermione to deal with the unexpected. Still, there was not much he could do, besides fuming with hate, when she clumsily kissed him on the mouth.

He spat, unable to contain his disgust any longer. Not easy, being firmly tied to a stone floor, arms and legs stretched to the point of snapping the joints.

'My Lord, what have I done to deserve such humiliation?' He was pretending to be pleading, and not doing a very good job at it.

'You know what you have done, Lucius. Why don't you share it with us all? It may make you feel better.

'But don't let our idle talking interrupt you, Mudblood,' he hissed to Hermione.

Except, she had no idea what to do, next. One thing was to feel defiant and smash one kiss on the smug face of that despicable cheap excuse for a wizard, another to ... to do what? There was saliva on his hair and the smell of his spotless blood trickling through the floor's crevices was making her sick again.

'This is going nowhere.' A harsh female voice had spoken nearby.

'Patience, Bella. Give her a little time. How experienced were you, at sixteen?'

'A lot more than that, for sure. A lot more than him as well.' She had pulled the hood off and was grinning maliciously.

'Perhaps it was the waiting in line for my turn that was cooling me off,' replied Lucius, glad to have found a way to insult somebody, anybody but Voldemort. He still needed to work his way out of this one. So many of his deeds, big and small, could deserve punishment: he had no clue which one his 'Master' had discovered. Buying time was always the first step. His sister-in-law probably knew and was so crazed that she would certainly help him without realizing it.

'Well, you managed to generate a son: that means you pulled it through at least once, with my sister ...' she went on. He could always count on her to be out of control and talk too much. He needed her to keep talking.

'Your sister possesses the passion of an Egyptian mummy. Still, throughout the years, I have come to the conclusion that, when I feel like having fun with a dead body, I'd rather pick up a fresh one.'

Lord Voldemort had not gone through all the trouble of bringing her there to listen to a family quarrel either. Annoyed, he ordered Bellatrix to teach Hermione some of her juvenile perversions. To everybody's surprise, Hermione declared it would work better if she were under an Imperius Curse. She had tried it before and remembered only too well the eerie calm it brought to the recipient; she needed to relax, no matter how: she could not fight, could not escape, her only option was to comply to the best of her capabilities and hope that it would be enough to save her life.

Bellatrix cursed her, then she walked her through ripping Lucius' robe open and gingerly unbuttoning his black silk shirt. She thoroughly explained how she could use her tongue to play with his nipples. Hermione's hands were not two wet pieces of ice anymore: the calming effect of the curse was working fast. She caressed him, hesitantly. The jerking in his breathing was not due to the temperature of her hands, she was sure of that. He was simply furious.

'It is going to be a long night, Lucius. You might just as well start enjoying yourself,' commented Lord Voldemort after what felt like hours, to Hermione.

'I am not used to be the one tied up. I would certainly enjoy myself more if our positions were reversed, my Lord, and if Bella were to remove the Imperius from her.' He meant: 'Let's get this over with,' and Voldemort agreed. He told Hermione to walk to the altar, because she was getting married. An amusing prospective, it seemed: they were all laughing. Bellatrix removed the curse, but she did not let go of the feeling of unconcerned detachment, she could not let go of it. She kept looking around: this was in fact a chapel, dilapidated, probably part of an ancient castle. There were no benches left, or other items suggesting it was still in use, only the stone altar on which she was laying, Malfoy over her, raping her with the indifference of a goblin counting money in his stall at Gringotts.

It was quick and it hurt as expected. Lucius dismounted thinking he should not clean up just yet, to avoid prompting Voldemort to start it all over again. But his Master looked quite satisfied. He was broadly smiling as he addressed Lucius.

'Congratulation, you are going to have a son. You may be certain of this, since I had the potion prepared by somebody else, not by our trusted Potions Master Severus. The heir of the ancient and proud Malfoy family will be a bastard, born from a Mudblood. This is the last thought I want you to carry with, to your death.' Then he turned to his most dependable executioner. Also she was smiling, happy as a child on Christmas morning. 'I want his remains frozen and delivered to St Mungus, with instructions to keep enough for a paternity test, which will be needed about the end of May, if I'm not mistaken. The body must still be recognisable, understood?'

'Draco. Please, don't. It is not his fault - I beg you -' Now he was not pretending to be pleading, but it wasn't working anyway.

'I agree with you. It is not your son's fault. It is entirely yours,' replied Lord Voldemort slowly, savouring each word.

'WHY?' cried Hermione, the tranquillity of the Imperius Curse gone and forgotten.

'Ask him. Sorry, no Veritaserum, here.'

She grabbed her wand, then tried to find a reason, inside herself, for doing what they were waiting for. She was not feeling anything. Her eyes were as dry as her mouth. All she could see, inside, was the reflection of a father who had just condemned his own son to the same horrendous fate that awaited him, at the tip of Bellatrix's wand. So she knew what needed to be done, if she was ever to find respect for herself again, to feel again like a human being.

'Avada Kedavra!'

Lucius screamed, bent forward and fell, his cry fading into a death rattle. Bellatrix draw near him, surprised and definitely disappointed.

'Massive internal bleeding, he is in a coma. Not bad, for the first time. Pity you are a stinking Mudblood: you show some potential.'

Hermione was disappointed too. She was convinced it should have been much quicker and painless. She felt horrible, and that was a start.

'I still want to know why I carry Malfoy's son,' she said, to no one in particular.

'Because you want your parents to be at your side, alive and well, to welcome the bastard into the world,' replied the Dark Lord.

'I have earned more that this, tonight.'

'I didn't know arrogance was so contagious,' he spat back.

'Yes, amazing; and you did not even touch me,' she continued, because she was past pain and fear, beyond the place where something matters. Lord Voldemort was exceptionally good at detecting the breaking point of his opponents; it was his strength. He nodded to Bellatrix and turned away. So, she started explaining, while rhythmically kicking Lucius' bloated and limp body. Hermione's gaze was fixed to his chest - she was wondering how long he would keep on breathing: the sound of it was so loud, so overwhelming ... Then she realized Bellatrix was speaking of her niece, Nimphadora. She was saying Lucius had infiltrated her into the Order of the Phoenix ...

'... and in his foolish egotism, he kept all kinds of interesting pieces of information for himself: who were the wizards working for Dumbledore, what they were figuring out about us. Narcissa had been so right, in forecasting his fall. She always knew his arrogance would have, one day, caused ...'

But Hermione was not listening to her anymore. She noted activity, amidst the hooded shadows surrounding them. One of the wizards was moving forward, while uncovering his face. Professor Severus Snape was standing in front of her. She was a good student, a quick-study. She raised her wand. She would not disappoint him, not this time.