Soon get called into Voldemort office after Snape confession

The summons came not with a knock, but with a sharp, commanding tap of magic against her mind, a spike of cold that cut through the dim warmth of her chambers. Rose flinched, her hand flying to her swollen stomach, a protective gesture that was now as instinctive as breathing.

Snape, who had been sitting in a stiff-backed chair by the hearth, rose in one fluid motion. His face was a shuttered window. "He wants you," he stated, his voice devoid of its earlier warmth. It was the Potions Master's voice again, cold and sharp. "Do not resist. Do not volunteer. Answer only what is asked. He is testing you."

She nodded, her throat tight. She pushed herself up from the bed, her body a map of aches and unfamiliar weights. Snape did not help her. He simply watched, his black eyes appraising, as she smoothed the simple, dark fabric of her gown. She was a vessel, an instrument, and she had to look the part.

The walk to Voldemort's office was a descent through the belly of the labyrinth. The very stones seemed to breathe a damp, cold air, thick with the scent of dust and dark magic.

She arrives and knocks.

"Enter," a high, cold voice called out.

The door swung open on its own, revealing the vast, circular room. Shelves lined the walls, filled not with books, but with sinister, glittering objects—cursed artifacts, skulls of unknown creatures, phials of swirling, malevolent light. In the center of the room, before a great window that overlooked a storm-wracked sky, stood Voldemort. He was not looking at her, but at a large, silver instrument on a pedestal, which emitted a faint, rhythmic pulsing.

"Rose," he said, without turning. "You are looking... Fertile. My heirs grow well within you."

"I am honored to carry them, my Lord," Rose replied, her voice carefully modulated to be subservient but not weak.

He finally turned, his red eyes narrowing as they swept over her. "I have had a most interesting report from Greyback. He is... displeased... that he no longer has access to you. He feels slighted." Voldemort glided closer, his robes silent on the floor. "Tell me, my dear broodmare. Do you prefer the Potions Master's cold touch to the wolf's primal hunger? Speak freely."

Rose told him the truth. "I prefer a mate who sees me as more than a piece of meat to be ravaged. I prefer a mate who understands the purpose of this sacred duty, and who will ensure your children are raised with the proper discipline."

A slow, thin smile stretched Voldemort's lips. "Excellent," he hissed. "Discipline. That is what Severus will provide. But discipline is not the only requirement for a mother of my dynasty. You must also be... aware. Aware of the movements of my enemies. Aware of the whispers of rebellion."

He stopped directly in front of her, so close she could smell the dry, ancient scent of his being. "I have felt... a tremor. A small, irritating flicker of defiance in my wards. Not an attack. Something more subtle. Tell me, Rose. You who were once the Light's greatest hope. What would you be planning, if you were them?"

The question was a scalpel, designed to peel back her mind and see what lay beneath. She had a split second to decide, the lie of the broken woman, or the truth of the cunning spy.

"My Lord," she began, letting her gaze drop to her hands as if in contemplation. "If I were Dumbledore, I would not try to storm the castle. I would try to poison it from the inside. Find someone who appears to be your most loyal servant. Someone you trust implicitly. Someone with a history of walking between both sides."

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