Hermione watched him from his bedroom doorway for several seconds before he became aware of her presence. That alone was enough to convince her, if she needed further evidence, that he was troubled.

He sat on the edge of his bed, fully dressed, in the tailored armour of his teaching garb. He held the disc she had given him in his hand, idly turning it between his fingers and staring blankly at the crest she had embossed upon it.

"You need me?" she asked him softly.

His eyes lifted to hers, showing deep regret. "I'm afraid I do," he admitted.

---

"Is this about that night?" she asked, coming to kneel on the rug at his feet and taking each of his hands in one of hers. "Or have you had some bad news I don't know about?"

Severus couldn't stifle his derisive snort at her words. She surely knew all about the reason for his state of mind. She was simply oblivious to how deeply her actions cut him... and yet she did care. It was plain to read on her face. There was love there. Not eros, not the love his soul craved, but perhaps storge or even philia.

---

"It is simply an old man's foolishness," he tried to reassure her, tugging gently at her hands and shifting along to make space for her to sit beside him. "Or more correctly selfishness. There are times when it is hard to continue, knowing that the world we are trying to forge is one where I will have no place."

"You have a place, Severus."

"Azkaban?" he asked with a wry twist to his lips. "Home sweet home."

"Believe me, the Ministry will regret it if they even contemplate sending you there."

"Remind me, exactly how many elves has S.P.E.W. freed?"

---

"That's not fair!" Hermione protested.

"It is eminently fair," replied Severus in a deceptively reasonable tone, smiling at the way her cheeks coloured with her outrage. "You would seek to mount a political campaign. We must assess its likelihood for success by looking at your last effort."

"Most elves don't want to be free. Are you saying that you want to rot in Azkaban?"

"It isn't undeserved. I had been resigned to such an end for some time."

"But now?"

"Now I find that, having known hope, even when it's gone, I can no longer face my fate with equanimity."

---

"You're not just talking about avoiding Azkaban," Hermione said, letting the silence between them drag out until it forced a reply.

"No, I'm talking about those things which make life worth living, things most men take for granted," Severus agreed. "Without them escaping prison would be a hollow victory..."

"But—"

"I will die alone in a cell, Hermione. No visitors. No human contact. That is all the future I have to look forward to. As far as our world is concerned, my name will die with me, and it will forever be reviled."

"Not if we find the child."

---

"There were twelve women there that night, Hermione," Severus spat back, "all hooded, none of them bearing his Mark, but all apparently willing participants in his eugenics experiment. Even if Percy's girlfriend was one of them, she could just as easily have been given to Dolohov as to me. There aren't even any guarantees that there is a child."

"You took the potion—"

"Yes, I took the potion, and he said the women had undergone fertility rituals."

"So, there's a child."

"Possibly... but even if I could prove that I was the biological father, under wizarding law it's irrelevant."

---

"It can't be," Hermione argued.

"Hermione, haven't you realised yet that in our world marriage is sacrosanct?" Severus demanded. "Voldemort would not accept any foster parents who weren't at least half-blood, so either those women are already married under wizarding law, or they have their own Percys lined up to 'do the right thing'. The child could have black hair, the Prince nose and snaggle teeth, but legally it would still be the husband's child."

"Won't the fathers be suspicious?" Hermione asked.

"You're assuming they don't know already," said Severus with a jaded grimace. "Most of them were probably there."

---

"But why would—"

"Think about it. If you're Crabbe or Goyle... and, no, neither of their wives are the right age... but if you're that type, and the Dark Lord tells you he wishes to honour you by having you raise a child destined to be part of the wizarding elite, are you going to tell him no?"

Hermione gave a gasp of comprehension. "So he allows the more competent of his followers to have more children than they would otherwise and prevents a third generation of inbred morons."

"Exactly." Severus nodded grimly. "I do believe you've got it."

---

"But, they're going to be able to recognise their wives, right?" asked Hermione.

"Of course."

"And, Severus, even in your robes and mask, the way you move, your voice... They must know."

"He used glamours," Severus demurred. "Of course, I could give you a list of fifteen names and be certain the twelve men were included, but until the children are born, no one will be able to tell. He wouldn't want any of his pure-blood mares to have a little accident because they'd been defiled by a greasy half-blood."

"Severus!"

"I'm being realistic. No pure-blood would want my child."

---

"Then pure-bloods are stupid." Hermione knew she'd said too much, but it wasn't as if she hadn't already told him she was in love with him. "You're the most intelligent wizard I know. You're probably amongst the most powerful. I know you don't like the way you look, but I do. It's distinguished. Okay, I wouldn't wish that nose on a girl, but I wouldn't wish my hair or my natural teeth on one either."

"But you were not brought up reading 'Nature's Nobility', and you are unaware that my father was not merely a Muggle but an alcoholic wife-beater."