Chapter Text
Malfoy Manor - 5 September 1992
Lucius separated from his wife with a parting kiss to the back of her hand, giving her a reassuring smile to hide his nerves.
“I shall return in time for afternoon tea, my darling,” he assured and left before her knowing look could further shake his nerves.
The floo to their french manse was as dizzying as usual, and despite knowing he would not be seeing anyone of the living persuasion, he still siphoned the soot and smoothed his hair. His walk toward the sitting room in the east wing of the property was slow but purposeful, his posture straightening and spine strengthening the closer he got. When he made it to the sitting room, he did not allow himself any hesitation. To hesitate was to show weakness, and to show weakness to one's patriarch, even when they were dead, was a folly he had not made since his youth.
The man in the portrait had his back to him. His pin straight blonde hair moving gently in the false breeze coming from the window of the dark study in which he presided.
After only a few moments, the man turned slowly and moved to stand before his living son, his mercurial eyes bearing down on him.
“Lucius,” he drawled, his eyes turning to the windows just over Lucius’s shoulder, his expression cold and dismissive.
“Father,” he responded.
After a full minute of silence in which Lucius studied the portrait more than he’d ever allowed himself to, and Abraxas pretended that he was not there, the older man finally spoke.
“I have to admit, I find myself rather curious about what has finally drawn you out to seek my company.”
Despite his words, his father looked like he could care less whether he spoke to him or turned around and left. Lucius for just a moment considered doing just that, but images started flashing in his mind's eye that put a stop to it.
Narcissa’s trembling chin as she stared at the Black family tapestry. Draco and Theo’s terrified expressions as they explained what a Horcrux was. Severus’s pain. Hermione’s fear. Harry’s guilt. His own face as he bared his left arm in the mirror. The shackles of his own father’s doing. He reinforced his occlumency walls and pasted an arrogant and unbothered expression on his face before his father could return his attention to him.
“Our Lord’s return is imminent,” he said in a hushed tone that he hoped came across as reverent. He watched out of the corner of his eye as his father slowly swiveled in his direction. “I am in search of his other followers to see if they know anything.”
“Are you, boy?” His father growled.
Lucius fought the instinctual flinch that came from the address. He was a thirty-eight year old man with a vicious, beautiful wife and a strong and loving son, yet his father made him feel like a twelve year old child again, caught with a muggle magazine his housemate had snuck into his trunk.
“Severus thinks he left a pathway open to return should the worst happen, but we have not had any luck with finding it,” he continued, trying to ignore his father’s growing snarl.
“ Pathways ,” he spit. “You fools! ” Then he was laughing, a cold, dark chuckle that never failed to send shivers down his spine. “You had it at your fingertips!” He yelled, his laughs turning hysterical.
Lucius turned fully to face him and watched curiously as a lively flush spread across his gaunt father’s cheeks.
“You think I don’t know what you did with what I gave you, Lucius? What was my first lesson to you?”
Lucius lips twitched downward as he answered slowly, “A Lord always knows what is happening in his own family.”
“And I always did,” his father responded, his tone dripping in condescension. Lucius felt his fear and apprehension melt away as he watched the brush strokes that comprised his father’s mouth fall into an arrogant smirk. Arrogance was his father’s greatest weakness.
Lucius’s eyebrows twitched in mock confusion, “Then why was I never punished?”
“You were useless , so I handled it myself,” he hissed. “It was meant to raise our Lord’s opinion of you, yet I told him you were uninvolved. His opinion of you sank instead, and that was your punishment!”
Lucius fought off his incredulous laugh and averted his eyes to the ground, displaying an appropriate amount of shame.
“The elves were loyal to me. Not you. The stupid thing brought it straight to me as soon as you had handed it off. I kept it in my private study until the day I died.”
Lucius’s brow furrowed and his father scoffed.
“I’m assuming by that imbecilic look on your face that it is no longer there. The creature has found a worthy home for it then and was released from its orders,” Abraxas collapsed onto an elegantly upholstered settee and eyed him speculatively. “You think I am an idiot. That I will fall for your pedestrian play-acting . I would not have told you all of this if it was not already too late.”
Ice filled Lucius’s veins. “Too late?” He whispered.
His father stood again and stepped forward so fast Lucius instinctively shuffled backwards a couple feet.
“The Dark Lord will return, Lucius. When he does you will see the folly of your ways. Your boy is twelve now, is he not?” Lucius did not even have time to respond before the man was continuing, a manic sheen filling his silver eyes. “I am sure you have not begun the instruction that I gave you when you were a boy, but you will . The road you are currently traveling down will lead to nothing but ruin for our Ancient and Noble house!”
At that Lucius straightened and allowed his exact feelings to show for the first time since entering the room. “ You led our house to ruin! You and your blasted Lord!”
“You know not-”
“No! I do know! The Death Eaters killed just as many purebloods as muggleborns and half-bloods!” Lucius stepped forward again and snarled, “You raised me to believe that our family was superior. That we were to hold ourselves to a higher standard because we were the standard. Then you forced me to my knees in front of a monster who cares not for our traditions! For our customs and rituals! You made me follow orders and debase myself and kiss the robes of a wizard who knows not what true purity is! True magic!”
“What is this nonsense you-”
“I have seen true magic, Father. Seen it at its source,” Lucius’s voice calmed as he drew his wand from his cane. “Draco will learn. He will learn to respect our traditions… to follow our code, respect the covenant of Magic, worship at her altar, and inform the ignorant. Draco will learn. And as he and all of the children are learning… we will kill your Lord.”
Lucius did not hesitate as he pointed his wand toward the corner of the portrait and set it aflame.
Hogwarts Quidditch Pitch - 5 September 1992
Hermione, Luna, and Theo sat huddled over the most recent edition of the Quibbler in the grass outside the quidditch pitch on the first Saturday morning of the term. Hermione had wanted to wait up in the stands for the Slytherin tryouts to start, but Luna had insisted that they would want to be closer to the ground for now. After just five days of being acquainted with the illustrious Luna Lovegood, Hermione had decided it was best to ask very few questions or none at all when Luna gave her gentle suggestions. Theo on the other hand, asked many, many , questions.
“So these Blubbering Humdongs…” Theo started.
“Blibbering Humdingers, you mean?” Luna asked with an airy smile.
“Yes, quite,” he mumbled. “Are they actually found in the robes of particularly angry men?”
“Oh, yes. Indeed. But only on rainy Thursdays!”
“I see…” Hermione hid her smile behind her fingers as Theo scratched his head in confusion before turning and giving Luna a speculative look. “And particularly angry women on rainy Thursdays?”
“A Blibbering Humdinger would never!” Luna’s hand flew to the polka-dot fabric of her sweater in serious offense, and Hermione lost the battle to her giggles.
“Better do your meditations every Thursday to be safe, Theo,” Hermione grinned.
Theo blushed and looked between the both of them before turning back to the Quibbler and flipping the page with a huff.
“Rufus Scrimgeour is a vampire!” Theo shouted drawing the eyes of a couple Hufflepuffs laying a small distance away who stared at them with wide eyes before darting to a different spot further down the field.
Hermione’s laughs petered off when she saw who they had been waiting for heading toward them in non-descript Quidditch robes.
“Harry! Draco!” She shouted before jumping to her feet and running toward them as fast as she could in her satin robes while still looking like the lady Narcissa trained her to be. The two Slytherins were walking shoulder to shoulder, so it was easy for her to throw her arms around both their necks. “Are you ready for tryouts? What positions are you trying out for? Did you eat breakfast? You know how important breakfast is! I brought pastries just in case. Are you hungry?”
“I’m hungry, Granger,” Marcus Flint said from above them.
“Oh!” Hermione turned and Theo handed her the basket he must have grabbed when she took off. She opened it up and the smell of fresh pastries wafted out. She held it out as multiple Slytherins descended on her like a pack of hungry dogs, snatching pastries left and right. “Wait! Leave some for Draco and Harry!” They grumbled but ultimately listened, stepping around them and heading for the pitch.
“Min, we ate,” Harry blushed but still reached into the basket with a sheepish expression to take one of the last pastries. Draco did not blush nor look sheepish as he snatched the last two breakfast confections before taking off after the group.
Hermione nibbled on her bottom lip as Harry ate half of the lemon poppyseed scone in one bite.
“Sorry, that was a lot of questions.” She gave him one last hug before stepping back and walking by his side toward the pitch.
She opened her mouth to say something but her mouth slammed shut when her eyes got caught on the identical shimmer of the high polish broom handles on every Slytherin’s shoulder.
“Harry,” she hissed, tugging on the sleeve of his robes. “I thought Padfoot talked Uncle Lucy out of buying the brooms!”
Harry grimaced and avoided her eyes as he jerked his own brand new broom higher up his shoulder, “He thought he did, but you know Lucius.”
Hermione sighed and nodded slowly, “It just seems kind of… slimy, don’t you think?”
He turned to her with a smirk and said quietly, “Well, Lucy is kind of slimy.”
She gasped and whacked him on the arm, ignoring Theo’s and Luna’s snickers behind them.
Before she could retort a loud Scottish brogue erupted from the pitch.
“Flint!”
Hermione jerked and stared wide eyed as an enraged Oliver Wood dismounted his broom to stand toe to toe with a smug Marcus Flint. Hermione, sensing the large confrontation about to erupt, squeaked and separated from Harry, grabbing Luna and Theo and moving so they weren’t in the crossfire.
As Oliver started to rant, Flint leaned on his broom and chewed on his croissant at a leisurely pace, watching as the keeper quickly turned a deeper shade of red.
“Oh, wow! They’re deeply in love, aren’t they?” Both Hermione and Theo turned to look at Luna incredulously before turning back to study the interaction between the two rivals closely.
“Huh.” Theo hummed. “Actually…”
“No way!” Hermione gasped as she watched Marcus’s eyes drop up and down Oliver’s form as the Gryffindor leaned closer.
“I doubt it’s love, but a passionate affair seems likely,” Theo decided clinically.
Hermione and Luna leaned into each other and giggled as Marcus passed Oliver a note that had him so angry he went nonverbal in his exclamations before finally finding his words.
“New seeker tryouts!” Wood yelled before his eyes darted to the two Slytherins without the standard practice kits on. His gaze landed on Harry's broom first, then rapidly moved down the line to the rest.
Hermione moaned and gripped her friend’s elbows as she watched Draco perk up at the obvious attention, “Oh no!”
He opened his mouth, no doubt to spew superior nonsense, when Harry lodged an elbow into his ribs, sending the three of them a covert wink as Draco doubled over at the breath getting knocked out of him.
“What’s happening?” Hermione twitched at the voice of the youngest Weasley boy, watching as he stomped furiously onto the pitch, his eyes narrowing on Harry and Draco.
Hermione's head swung around to give the Gryffindor twins a pleading look. They both stared at her for a long moment before sighing and moving toward their brother.
“Come on Ronniekins.”
“We’ve got something to show you.”
“Oi!”
Hermione sighed in relief and sagged into Theo and Luna.
They finally started moving toward the stands when Oliver shoved the note into Marcus Flint’s ginormous chest and stormed toward the locker rooms in a huff, the Gryffindor team grumbling, but following suit.
The tryouts were brutal, and Hermione could hardly watch without her heart beating out of her chest, so instead she pulled out parchment to write letters to all of the adults in her life about her first week of second year.
To her Great-Grandfather, she focused on the conspiracies that Luna had shared with them that morning, knowing he would get a kick out of it and most likely obsessively search for the truth. To Sirius she focused on describing how Neville screamed when the Cornish Pixies lifted him into the air. To Remus, she asked for recommendations on books with information on seers and the sight, requesting he stop by her Grecian home to search those archives and check on Zeus, Poseidon and Hades (the three headed dog) when he had a moment. Her letter to Lucius and Narcissa was full of chastisements for the quidditch bribery as well as requests for Narcissa to send anti-theft charms for Luna’s things. She bundled the leathers together with a royal blue ribbon with plans to drop them in her box later.
The boys were stiff when try-outs finally ended and they met them outside of the locker rooms. She could tell just by looking at their faces who had made seeker. Harry was guilty and uncomfortable, but she could see the barely restrained glee beneath it, and Draco looked sullen and disappointed.
Flint came out just behind them and slapped a hand on Draco’s shoulder, “Chin up, Malfoy. You’re one of the best fliers I’ve seen.”
“Not good enough though,” he sighed.
“Not good enough to beat Potter out for seeker, but you were good enough to beat Vexley out for chaser,” he said firmly before pushing past them and heading toward the castle without a backwards glance.
“Oh!” Hermione clapped. “We knew you could both do it!”
Draco finally smiled, and Harry released the chains on his joy.
“We did it!” He shouted as they all converged on each other in a pile of gangly limbs.
Hogwarts - 31 October 1992
Hermione clutched Luna’s hand with one and gripped the back of Harry’s robes with her other as he rushed after the voice again. Luna seemed oblivious behind them as she hummed some nonsensical tune, but Hermione could feel a sick sense of dread building in her chest.
“I swear it’s coming from up here!” Harry’s voice said as he rushed around a corner. Hermione had believed him in an abstract way when he had said earlier in the term that he heard a voice. Now, after going to Nearly Headless Nick’s Deathday party (which was its own brand of torture for Hermione) at the behest of Neville, Harry was dragging the three of them through the castle at top speed. Sometimes, him being a Slytherin and not a Gryffindor didn’t make any sense.
She was yanked from her thoughts when he slammed to a stop, his arms flying up to block both hers and Luna’s view as they flew into his back. Neville tripped over nothing in his efforts to stop next to Harry and ended up sprawled beside them, groaning face down.
“Harry!”
“Oof!”
“Don’t move!”
Hermione struggled as Harry’s arm flew backwards and gripped her. Stopping her from getting around him.
“Luna, help me,” she hissed, but her blonde friend had side stepped Harry’s flailing arms and was now staring wide eyed beside Neville at what had stopped Harry in his tracks. “Harry, let me go!”
Her friend spun around and started to immediately hurd her back around the corner, but she shot under his arm as he moved and hopped to stand by Luna. Her breath immediately rushed out in a stuttering gasp at what greeted her.
She barely had any time to process it before Filch rounded on the scene from the opposite end of the hall and let out a heart wrenching wail, reaching for his frozen feline friend. Harry and Luna’s fingers twined with hers as students and professors alike joined the scene.
“Enemies of the heir beware…” Harry whispered. His green eyes wide and fearful.
The four of them were standing slightly separate from the rest of the student body with Harry slightly in front of them with his eyes fixed on the wall. Hermione was the first to notice when eyes started to turn suspiciously on them before landing on Harry, but Luna was the first to start pulling them all away.
“We should leave!” Luna whispered urgently, her gaze unwaveringly fixed on another first year.
Hermione followed where she was looking to see the youngest Weasley’s pale visage. She gazed at her speculatively as she slowly backed away. Something sickly and afraid was resting behind her blue eyes.
Longbottom Hall - 1 November 1992
Augusta stared at the three men sitting across from her in her morning room. If someone had asked her ten years ago if she could ever imagine a scenario which ended with Severus Snape, Lucius Malfoy, and Sirius Black calling on her together on a Saturday morning and calmly having tea, she probably would have hexed the person.
“So you are telling me that this message was written on the castle walls with blood, and that the caretaker's cat was petrified.”
“Yes,” they answered together.
“And Albus Dumbledore is unconcerned and refused yours and Minerva’s requests to contact the ministry or call the board.”
“Yes,” Severus hissed.
“And we can’t show up at the school anyway because you believe he is monitoring mail and omitting mentions of the incident, so there is no possible way we could know about it as far as he knows.”
“Yes,” the potioneer sighed.
“And Harry heard a mysterious voice in the walls right before it happened which Hermione is now convinced is a snake of some sort.”
“Yes,” Sirius groaned.
“And you think this has to do with the Horcrux your deceased father instructed a house elf to find a worthy home for which we have no leads on.”
Lucius sniffed rather than answering.
“The timing is convenient, I’ll admit,” she whispered as she dropped her tea cup onto the mahogany table beside her and steepled her fingers before mouth. “The worry is that if we allow this situation to fester, children will be petrified or possibly killed.”
The silence at this point was telling.
“Well, I see only one course of action available to us right now,” she said with a nod.
“And that is?”
“We research the Chamber of Secrets and a snake that petrifies and then wait for the first Hogsmeade weekend. Children will talk, and that gives us a feasible excuse to have found out what’s happening.”
“And if a child is hurt before then?”
Augusta’s lips thinned, but they could not afford to act like Gryffindors in this war.
“We pray to Hecate that they are merely petrified,” she eventually said and all men seemed unsatisfied with that answer, but their own lips had thinned in resignation as well. “We mustn’t show our hands yet, boys.”
Hogwarts Hospital Wing - 8 November 1992 (very early morning)
Hermione couldn’t sleep. She’d tossed and turned in her four-poster bed for hours, but something was at work in the castle tonight. She could feel it in her bones.
She climbed to her feet before she could second guess herself and slipped on her slippers and dressing gown.
The journey to the hospital wing was nerve wracking, but she somehow managed it without being caught. She was being reckless and foolish, but her magic was dancing under her skin. Her very first lesson from her mother had been instructions on listening to her magic, no matter the cost.
The possibility of a detention felt like a high price to pay for Hermione, but she would pay it nonetheless should she be caught. Something was wrong .
Harry was asleep with his arm held up at an awkward angle when she finally made it, and she felt only a little remorse when she woke him by sitting on the edge of his bed after carefully drawing the curtains closed around them.
He groaned quietly as he shifted on the sheets before his eyes flickered open and landed on her. Those emerald eyes went from groggy and pained to alert and concerned in no time.
“Min, what is it,” he whispered loudly and struggled to sit up.
“No, don’t!” She pushed on his shoulders and kept pushing until he stopped moving. “It’s nothing,” she mumbled. “It’s dumb. I shouldn’t have come.”
“Don’t be silly, Hermione. Something is wrong,” he whispered. After a few moments of silence where she picked at the stitches on the bed linens, he sighed and reached for her with his free hand. “What is it?”
She opened her mouth to say something but before she could a sound reached her ears.
She gasped and her and Harry shared a wide eyed look. She hesitated for only a moment and then cast a charm she had been reading about, shivering at the feeling of an egg cracking over her head.
“Did you just… but that’s-”
Harry cut himself off and laid very still as the doors to the Hospital Wing opened and two pairs of shuffling footsteps echoed in the room.
Hermione very carefully removed Harry’s grip from her now invisible dressing gown and edged toward the small gap in the curtains.
She covered her mouth with her palm at what she saw. Her breath came in short gasps.
They were carrying someone she recognized who was as still as a statue. It was the first year Gryffindor boy who had followed Harry around for a few days before Marcus Flint scared him off. His camera was still in his hands and when she studied his chest, she couldn’t see it moving at all. She listened carefully as Madame Pomfrey, Professor McGonagall, and Dumbledore spoke about petrification and the Chamber of Secrets. After they had all left, she waited just a moment before moving carefully out into the Hospital Wing, ignoring Harry’s whispered questions.
She crept closer slowly and when she was right beside him, her eyes filled with tears.
Colin Creevey. That was his name.
One of his eyes was squeezed shut while the other was wide open like he’d been looking through the camera viewfinder. She reached out with shaking, tentative fingers and very gently laid her hand above his heart. She couldn’t feel it beating, but she could feel the pulse of his magical core. Death wasn’t here, but it had brushed by him. She didn’t know how she knew that, but she did.
She got to her knees slowly and methodically at his bedside. She closed her eyes and started a silent prayer to her Mother.
When she was done, Harry was waiting to help her up. She didn’t know how he found her with her Disillusionment, but he did and was waiting.
“I must send a letter,” she whispered to him as he pulled her back to his hospital bed and they laid down facing each other under the sheet. She removed the disillusionment charm and conjured a bluebell flame between them.
“To Padfoot?” He guessed.
“To Lady Bones,” she corrected.
His mouth twitched into that silly grin that was too much like Sirius Black’s for his own good. “Yeah, that’s probably the smarter choice.” His smile dropped slowly, and he reached out his good, non-boneless arm until they were holding hands. “In the morning though, not tonight. The castle isn’t safe at night.”
“No,” she frowned. “Not at all.”
“And don’t think I’ve forgotten that you taught yourself a cool fifth year charm and didn’t tell me.”
“Harry, hush!”
Longbottom Hall - 9 November 1992
“Lady Bones will go in with Aurors, someone from the Beast division, Fudge, and a member of the Board on the day of the Hogsmeade visit. Nymphadora will be paying a social call to her former Head of House in The Three Broomsticks. Those twin friends of Hermione will sit close and very loudly discuss the petrified boy. Nymphadora will be honor bound to report the situation to her superiors who will go to the Head of the Beast Division with a list of facts and lead them to the correct conclusion. You will take this report straight to Fudge. Send word to the Greengrass fellow as a neutral party to represent the Board of Governors. You should be at Hogwarts no later than noon. Hermione says that her little seer friend has very strong suspicions that an unwilling Ginevra Weasley has something to do with what is happening, so start there. As for finding the Chamber, if Ginevra can not tell you, check all the places the petrifications happened. The last time the Chamber was opened a girl died in the second floor girls bathroom, so check there too. If the Horcrux is found, obtain it quickly and quietly. If you can not, at least we shall know where it is. It’s messy, but it will work. Lucius, make as close of a copy of the Diary as you can manage just in case. There’s a spell that mimics the effects of Dark Magic. Use that on it.”
The people surrounding her in her sitting room all blinked at her, and she scoffed.
“One question…” Sirius spoke up, his hand rubbing the stubble at his chin.
Instead of answering verbally, Augusta raised an eyebrow.
“Why weren’t you an Auror?” He asked.
She scoffed and clapped her hands before waving toward her floo.
“Shoo, you pests. I have a charity tea in an hour for poor, sad orphans,” she said dismissively .
Hogsmeade Village - 21 November 1992
Lady Bones charged up the path to Hogwarts with four of her Aurors, Cyrus Greengrass (as a representative of the Board of Governors), Gethsemane Prickle (as a representative for the Beast Division of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magic Creatures), and a reluctant Cornelius Fudge. Students and Professors alike were jumping out of the way of her warpath through the village and grounds, but she hardly spared them a glance. No one could stop her on this mission.
“Now really, Lady Bones… this is highly irregular! These are just school children. Surely you don’t take school aged gossip as serious reports everyday!” Fudge hedged nervously.
Amelia didn’t even dain to respond as they met the overly friendly Groundskeeper at the gate.
“Does Dumbledore know you are here?” He asked as he hesitantly led them through the grounds and into the school.
She didn’t dain to respond to that either. In fact, she didn’t respond to any inquiries from her odd collection of ducklings.
By the time they made it to the gargoyle that guarded the Headmaster’s office, Albus Dumbledore was standing beside it waiting for them. His hands carefully tucked into the large sleeves of his ridiculous lavender robes.
“Headmaster,” she greeted with a terse nod.
“Lady Black,” he said jovially.
“Bones, actually.”
“I’m sorry?”
“Bones is a Matriarchal house, and I am her Lady,” she said, her annoyance flaring at this useless banter.
She refused to flinch as he continued to stand still and silent before them.
“To what do I owe the pleasure?” He eventually asked.
“I was promised a Basilisk,” Gethsemane Prickle said tonelessly.
She took immense pleasure in watching the surprise and displeasure flash briefly in his eyes.
“Shall we take this conversation up to your office, Headmaster?” She asked cheerfully.
Azkaban Prison - 5 December 1992
The wind screamed against the cold grey stones and metal bars of the foreboding fortress. The freezing air of the cell was not something he’d grown accustomed to in the eleven years he had been there, and he was sure he never would.
Son lion used to tease him by saying he was someone built for the soft comforts of life, and it was a cruel irony that he was born into an environment least likely to offer it to him. As soon as the joke of a trial had started he had known he was never destined to have that life, but he imagined it now.
A lovingly knit blanket wrapped around him, a crackling fire just feet away… the sofa beneath him, one designed for comfort not aesthetics, perfectly surrounding him as he sunk into it. His favorite person beside him… looking at him from below the thick fringe of his dark lashes with such tenderness he felt the ache in his soul… He could taste the warming cider on his tongue, the calloused palm firmly holding his…
He was cruelly ripped from his mindscape by the creaky warbling of the monster in the cell in front of his.
“ Quelle est cette voix démente
Qui traverse nos volets?”
He couldn’t see her from where he curled in the corner, but he felt the haunting french melody down to his bones.
“Non, ce n’est pas la tourmente
Qui joue avec les galets:”
He curled tighter into himself and felt his bones creak as feathers ruffled against the hard stones below his slight form.
“C’est le grand Lustukru qui gronde
Qui gronde … et bientôt rira.”
In the recent months (Weeks? Years? He did not know…), the monster across the corridor had grown into a crackling, hysterical mass. He could feel the writhing presence of her fractured mind and magic from the mere feet that separated them. Being so physically close to what used to be a formidable witch had always been a burden that he could hardly stand. Her dimented glee and poisonous hate rolled off her in waves and choked him like a particularly cloying perfume. In most recent times, he was sure it would be the thing that finally killed him. There was only one thing that brought him any form of reprieve. Something that he had reluctantly and recklessly followed his better half into doing, and as the final line of the refrain filtered into his consciousness, he sunk deeper into the wild and animalistic part of himself.
“ En ramassant à la ronde
Tous les petits gâs
Qui ne dorment pas!”