The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 1

By Pigwidgeon37

Had Severus still been at school, this would have been the first day of his summer holidays—the previous one, the one that saw the students travelling from Hogwarts to London, was too tedious and exhausting to count as part of the holidays. It was a kind of no man’s land. This day, though, was special in a very different way. It was the first day of his life.

Severus was standing at the open window of what seemed to be a country house, the location of which he did not know, to which he had travelled some minutes ago, not by portkey but by means of Lestrange’s Dark Mark, which had taken them to Lord Voldemort’s current dwellings, or headquarters—Severus was not quite sure how to call it. Lestrange had left him to wait for the Dark Lord, and so he was leaning against the sill of an open window, set in a wall so thick that the sill was almost a seat, deeply breathing the warm air that was heavy with lavender and thyme, and feeling strangely at peace, although he knew that he should have been nervous or at least excited. In a way, he was, but if there was such a thing as calm excitement, peaceful nervousness, he was experiencing it right now. The faint breeze and the perfumed air were actually lulling him into a slight trance of well-being. It was interrupted by a hand that came to rest on his shoulder, and by a rich, pleasantly raucous baritone he would have recognized among a chorus of thousands of voices, even if the last time he had heard it had been four years ago.

“Severus!”

Now his heart started to hammer in a maddeningly erratic rhythm, so that he had difficulties breathing—he wanted to fling himself into the other man’s arms, bury his head on his shoulder and close his eyes, savouring the feeling of having come home, finally home. But somehow, he found the strength to merely turn round to face the other and to say, with only the slightest of quavers to his voice,

“My Lord.”

Never breaking their eye contact, Voldemort took Severus’s face in both his hands—a contact that would have made him cringe, had somebody else been the owner of these hands—kissed him lightly on the lips, barely touching, just the ephemeral touch of an angel’s feather, and then rested his forehead against Severus’s for a short while. It was the touch of a lover, of a father, of a brother, of a friend, of death, of life. It was as if the whole universe were concentrated into the spot on the middle of Severus’s forehead where their heads touched, from where he could feel Voldemort’s energy pulsing into him, in slow warm waves, increasing the feeling of peaceful excitement a thousand times. Finally, the contact was broken, and Voldemort slipped his arm round the young man’s shoulders, guiding him to one of the low armchairs, motioning him to sit down. He took the chair opposite Severus and looked him up and down with a smile.

“It is good to see you, Severus. It has been a long time.”

There was a knot in his throat that made it nearly impossible to speak. “My Lord, I—”

“I think,” Voldemort said, leaning back and crossing his long legs, “That today, for the first and last time, we ought to make an exception. Today, let us put away the formalities. Call me Tom. You will have an entire lifetime to address me as ‘my lord’, after all. And you have certainly proven yourself worthy of that honour. You have already served me better than most of my Death Eaters, in spite of being barely eighteen and just out of school. How have you been in all those years? I heard many things from St. John, but I would be delighted to hear them from you.”

“You certainly have better things to do than to listen—”

“No, Severus,” Voldemort interrupted him, “This day is yours. Entirely yours. We will spend it together, and in the evening you will return to London, to begin your new life. Now tell me, Severus. Tell me everything.”

“May I ask a question first?” Voldemort nodded. “Where are we? This scent in the air… there’s lavender, and thyme, but also a hint of salt… I would say Greece, or maybe southern Italy…”

“We are in Albania. In the southern part, very near the Greek border, and not too distant from the sea. So your guess was nearly correct.”

Severus nodded. “I don’t know where to begin, my— Tom. I have no idea what you want to hear. And somehow, it all seems so distant now, I know that sounds awfully clichéd, but it really seems to belong to another lifetime. I know it will all shift back into place, after a little while, but right now…” His voice faded away. Voldemort did not prod him with questions, but sat there, calmly, without giving the impression that he was waiting.

“I could not even tell you,” Severus said, trying to pick up the thread of his speech again, “Whether I was happy or unhappy at Hogwarts. It all depends on how you define happiness, I suppose. I don’t have friends—”

“Which is a very wise decision,” Voldemort interjected.

“Exactly. Well, maybe you could count Lestrange as a friend. He has been supportive and always there for me when I needed him. I don’t know what I would have done without him. You know that, don’t you?” he asked, suddenly anxious.

“St. John Lestrange is one of my most faithful Death Eaters, yes. And certainly the one who finds himself in the most difficult position. How would you judge the situation at Hogwarts?”

“Well…” Severus said slowly, “From a student’s perspective it is a little difficult to say. Everybody knows that there is a resistance group that uses Hogwarts as its headquarters. But in spite of all the spying we did—”

“Who is ‘we’?”

“Mostly Lucius and I. Sometimes together with Owen McNair, sometimes one of us on his own—it depended on the circumstances. They had increased the security during our last year, due to the attacks at Hogsmeade. Teachers had to patrol the castle for the whole night whereas earlier, there was only Filch who roamed the corridors, he and his ugly cat. I suppose they were afraid that you might have infiltrated the school in order to attack it. Is there, by the way, any particular reason you didn’t?”

“I have not attacked and will never attack Hogwarts because I am no fool. I know as well as everybody else that it is impregnable, and could be taken only with enormous losses on the attackers’ side. Moreover, I find it far more amusing to actively help spreading the knowledge of Dumbledore using a school as military headquarters, thus endangering the lives of all his students. Those three attacks at Hogsmeade did nothing to persuade the anxious parents of the contrary, which by the way was the sole reason for those raids. All I need is patience. The eccentric old fool and his merry band of Muggle lovers will crawl out of their burrow sooner or later, it is all a question of time. And I have far more time than they do. So the members of this alleged resistance group do not declare their identity? They have more brains than I would have given them credit for.” 

“Obviously they have, for as I said, in spite of all our attempts at spying, we never actually saw anything of interest. Maybe the group didn’t even meet inside the castle, and even then, you know that there are more than a thousand possibilities of hiding without anybody being the wiser. Do they give you much trouble?”

“Certainly more than the Aurors. But on the other hand, they have to be very cautious, considering that they are working maybe not against, but certainly independently from the Ministry. So they cannot risk overt attacks or operations. They have to be content with trying to infiltrate the ranks of my followers—and so far, their attempts have been quite futile and certainly not successful—and to warn those they think we will attack. I imagine that old Dumbledore is getting increasingly nervous.”

Severus nodded and grinned. “Oh, yes, you can say that. His shining armour has got a few chinks, and the benign grandfather attitude has changed quite a bit. Not towards his beloved Gryffindors, mind you, and neither, I think, towards the Hufflepuffs. But he has definitely grown warier towards the Ravenclaws, and Slytherin he seems to regard as something like the devil’s spawn. You could easily recognize that by the way offenders were treated. He never bothered to call a Gryffindor or Hufflepuff to his office, except for major offences, but when a Slytherin as much as put a toe out of our quarters past curfew, or dared to say a wrong word to a teacher, he was immediately dragged to the Headmaster’s office for at least half an hour of questioning and talking.”

Voldemort slowly shook his head. “How incredibly foolish. But I would not have expected him to act differently. I have been informed that the Ministry, although I am sure it was Dumbledore’s doing, worked out my former identity at quite an early stage. Add that those two of my Death Eaters they have caught so far were from prominent Slytherin families, and you have a perfect reason to suspect all Slytherins. Which,” he said, stapling his fingers and smiling, “is of course greatly to our advantage. There has always been a prejudice against the house of Slytherin because of its founder’s ambiguous character, and by now everybody feels that it is justified. What that old fool does not see, though, is that discriminating a whole group on a base of superstition and fear is not likely to instil friendly sentiments—on the contrary. And it is another grave error to think that Gryffindors would never join me. The old man knows so little… But let us return to you, Severus. What would you like to do, now that you are free to choose?”

This was a subject Severus had already given a lot of thought to, and talked about it with Lestrange and the others. In fact, it had been one of the most discussed topics during their last year, unsurprisingly so. “I think the best for me would be to study Advanced Potions at Urqhart. An apprenticeship with Professor Lestrange is out of the question—”

“You have long surpassed him, Severus. I know—and I have to give him credit for not having tried to usurp this success for himself—I know that the Imperius Potion is largely your invention, not his. And you were only in your fifth year when you had that stroke of brilliance. From what he has told me, I also know that he has taught you everything he knows, which is a lot, I admit, but you are capable of achieving far more than that. Urqhart, you say? And why?”

“Well,” Severus replied, a little puzzled, “It seems to be the only possibility—”

“There is always more than one possibility, Severus. Keep that in mind. Who is the resident Potions Master there?”

“Jonathan Prewett. I read a lot of his publications, and they don’t seem bad.”

“No, they are certainly not bad. Quite the contrary, in fact. After all, Prewett studied with McLachlan himself, as did St. John.”

“I know, and honestly, I thought that was one more reason to—”

Voldemort leaned forward and put his left hand on Severus’s right. “You, Severus Snape, should not study with the pale imitation of the greatest Potions Master Great Britain has seen in a long time. You—” he gave him a brief squeeze and then retired again into the depths of his chair “—must study with the original. Not to mention that the pale imitation will not grace this earth with his presence for much longer. I have been closely monitoring him for quite a long time now, and do not like the way he encourages Muggle-born filth to study at a university that has already too many students for its own good. No, Severus, you will learn from the master himself.”

“You… you mean McLachlan himself? But, Tom, he doesn’t take apprentices anymore, he’s very old now and I doubt…” Seeing the glint in Voldemort’s eyes, he swallowed. “You… you have already contacted him, haven’t you? And he accepted me?” Voldemort nodded smilingly and Severus felt a hot wave of pride surge within himself. “Really? When can I start?”

“In August. You will have to sort out the details with him. Of course, it was not I who contacted him, for obvious reasons, but St. John. He painted your talent in such vivid colours that the old man could scarcely resist the temptation of running to Hogwarts and dragging you from there directly to his house to start teaching you immediately.”

“Will I have to live there with him?”

“No, he is too much of an eccentric loner to allow that. You will have to stay elsewhere. What is the matter, Severus?”

His anxiety had obviously shown too clearly on his face. Somehow, he had thought of the university campus as his home for the next years, his lodgings and the tuition fee would have been easily paid by the grant he would doubtlessly receive. Marvellous as it was, the possibility of studying with McLachlan had completely turned the tables. Lestrange might be more than generous, but his guardianship ended in four months’ time. What with the books he was going to need, the money his uncle had left him would never be sufficient for renting a flat or even a room.

“Nothing, really, I… I was just thinking about… er, how wonderful it will be to live on my own for the first time in my life.”

Voldemort’s face took on a very serious expression. “The one thing that makes me really angry, Severus, is being told lies.”

“It wasn’t a lie, I—”

“Was it the truth?” Severus shook his head, hoping the floor would open and swallow him there and then. “That seems to clear the matter. Now tell me what you were really thinking.”

Severus swallowed hard, but then managed to blurt out “I don’t have enough money to afford studying with McLachlan and renting a room.”

Voldemort’s eyebrows rose. “Unless I am very much mistaken, the Italian part of your family are not exactly what you would call paupers. There is an uncle, I believe—”

“No!” Severus interrupted him, “No, I—I can’t go to him for the money. I would do it if you ordered me to, but… please don’t make me!”

A thin, deathly pale hand shoved back the mass of black hair that had fallen over Voldemort’s face when he leaned forward to scrutinize his opposite. Severus had to fight hard not to cringe beneath the unwavering black gaze. “Tell me why you don’t want to turn to your uncle.”

Severus shook his head violently. “No. I’d rather go to him than tell you. It’s too… I simply can’t.”

Slowly and cat-like, never breaking the eye contact, Voldemort rose from his seat; two steps, and he was standing so near Severus that his robes brushed the younger wizard’s hand, clenched round the armrest of his chair. Severus would have expected everything, but he would never have dreamed that Lord Voldemort might kneel down beside him on the floor. Much as he wanted to look away, to deny those prying, dark eyes the entrance into his thoughts, his being, his soul, he was too hypnotized by the steady look to be able to move a fraction of an inch. The pale hand came up to circle the nape of his neck, and pulled him forward, so gently but oh so inexorably, until their faces nearly touched. Cool and dry was the hand, firm, reassuring and frightening, making him want to lean into what might be a caress, and at the same time escape what might be tender death, about to snap his neck in a last, loving gesture.

More than hear them, he felt Voldemort’s next words touch his lips, a gentle breeze. “You must not have secrets with me, Severus. Never. You must tell me. Always. Whatever it is. Now tell me, child—” and he pulled Severus’s head down to rest on his shoulder “—tell me why you cannot go to your uncle.”

It was so different from telling Clarissa. It was like pouring buckets full of filthy, muddy water into a sea that was so enormous, so indifferent to that microscopic amount of foul, brackish liquid that it could simply swallow it, dissolve it and remain untainted all the same, limpid and clean, cooling his arms that ached from carrying the burden for so long. When he had finished, Voldemort let him lean his forehead upon his shoulder a little longer, then gently pushed him back and stood up to return to his chair.

“We shall take our revenge,” he said. “Very soon, and you shall have your part in it, if that is your desire. No one touches one of my faithful followers and does not live to regret it bitterly. And it should also settle the financial question, although you do not need to worry about it in any case.”

Still shaken from the emotions his confession had set free, Severus said “The financial—But, Tom, I’m not his heir.”

“You will be. Does anybody else know?”

“Only Clarissa. You know, Evan Rosier’s younger sister.”

“And your girlfriend, I suppose?”

“My therapist would be more like it,” Severus said with a wry grin. “Will you accept her? She has been eager to join your ranks ever since we met at Malfoy Manor.”

“Do you think I should?”

Severus pondered this question for a while. He was sure that Voldemort had had enough information from Lestrange and was a sufficiently good judge of character to have made up his mind already, so that what he was going to say would be of little consequence for the final decision. But he wanted to give a truthful answer.

“Yes,” he said finally, “I think you should. Clarissa may not be the most skilled of witches, but she has other qualities, which fairly outweigh what she lacks in magical ability. Her intuition is quite astonishing, and that combined with a certain taste for inflicting pain might make her very useful for questioning.”

Voldemort nodded, apparently satisfied. “A very exact assessment. What about the others? Your classmates, I mean.”

“Will they all receive an… uh, invitation?”

“Those whom I have chosen have already received it, and I am very satisfied to see that they have followed my instructions not to mention it to anybody. So the answer is no, not all of them are fit to serve me. But your opinion is very important to me, Severus, and I would like to hear your judgment of each of them. I will see them only briefly and that will be enough. To know a little more than St. John was able to tell me might be interesting in any case, though.”

“Only briefly? Don’t you summon them all here and—”

“No, Severus. I summoned you because I have greater plans for you than for any of them. With the others, I will only conduct a brief interview. So, tell me about Mr. Malfoy.”

“About Lucius?” Severus had to admit that he was more than a little puzzled. Lucius would not have been overjoyed to hear it, but he was fairly obvious as a character. Surely Voldemort had noticed it as well, after all, he had seen him numerous times at his father’s manor. “I don’t know what to say on his behalf. There is nothing underneath the obvious—he’s intelligent far beyond average, powerful, authoritative, a born leader…”

It dawned on him what he had just said. The truth, yes, but a truth none too pleasant to Voldemort’s ears, probably.

If he was displeased, he did not show it. “I could not agree more. Lucius is a crown prince, and thus to be monitored very carefully. He might inherit his father’s crown but I will not tolerate any similar ambitions concerning myself among my followers. He will, however, be a most valuable addition to my ranks without any doubt. I have to deal with enough idiots to be glad about not only fresh blood but fresh intelligence. The next, then. Mr. Nott.”

“I thought you already had enough idiots?” Unsure whether this comment had not been a little too bold, even if Voldemort was very kind with him, Severus looked at the other wizard and, to his relief, saw him smile. “Not that I meant to question your judgement, I’m sure you have your very good reasons to want him to be with you. There isn’t much to add, though, ‘idiot’ sums him up pretty well. He’ll do everything he is told, though.”

“For some tasks, lots of physical strength in combination with the smallest possible amount of intelligence are required. Mr. Nott meets that exigency to perfection and will certainly feel very much at his ease in company of Messieurs Crabbe and Goyle.”

“Crabbe and Goyle? I know these names… weren’t they Beaters for the house team before I started at Hogwarts?”

“Yes, they graduated in 1969. And although they are certainly crawling somewhere at the bottom of the evolutionary pyramid, they are fairly useful once they understand what is actually expected from them. The perfect tutors for Mr. Nott, as it seems.”

“Sus suem instruit,” Severus muttered under his breath.

“Not only do I share Erasmus’s essential contempt for the human race, but I wholeheartedly agree with you. On to Miss Avery, then.”

“Heather… let me see. Still hopelessly in love with Owen, of course, who treats her like sh— like a House Elf. Apart from that, she’s everything but stupid and has developed quite an interest in human anatomy lately—other than Owen’s, I mean.”

Voldemort chuckled. “Yes, St. John told me that she has the intention of enrolling at the Oxford School for Mediwizards. Which might be just the thing we need. My Death Eaters are not invulnerable, and sometimes it is difficult to find a mediwizard willing to heal them and, above all, capable of doing so under pressure. Do you have any doubts as to Miss Avery’s loyalty?”

“No, not really. Above all because she would do everything Owen orders her to.”

“Then we might have to test her. My Death Eaters have to obey my orders, and mine alone. She will have to prove who is worth more to her, I or Mr. McNair.” He gave Severus a piercing look. “Any objections?”

“I… not objections, no. It’s just that… well, I didn’t mean to cause Heather any trouble, as I have no reason to dislike her…”

“Would you rather have her endanger an important mission because she puts Mr. McNair above myself?”

Severus cringed. “No, of course not. I merely dislike the thought of being the one who made you doubt her devotion to you.”

“Yes,” Voldemort replied calmly, “And it makes me appreciate your frankness all the more. I presume you have no such qualms concerning Miss Al Faruk?”

“Tabitha? Certainly not. She is determined to join you because of what she will be able to achieve. Above all since her family was ruined by the embargo on flying carpets. The day she got the news from her parents, I thought she would go and kill the Minister right on the spot, and all on her own. I suppose she would have done it, had we not held her back. She will be a most valuable ally, without any doubt.”

“Yes, she and St. John are quite an impressive couple. With enormous potential. Their wedding will be celebrated in due form, only they will have to wait a little longer than the young lady originally intended to. But we cannot afford to provide Dumbledore with any more reasons to suspect St. John, and a precipitated wedding certainly would count as such. The Malfoy wedding is going to take place at the autumn equinox, which will provide a very convenient scenery for meeting her again after three months of the strictest separation. Then we will arrange for them to be seen on various dates, holding hands and, later, exchanging chaste kisses, and next spring they may get married.”

Severus thought this to be a very reasonable plan, for Dumbledore was not likely to have forgotten about the incident in their fourth year and Potter and Black’s accusations against the teacher. Their conversation thus turned to the two Golden Boys, who were both about to enrol at the Aurors’ Academy, and their faithful sidekicks Lupin and Pettigrew.

“You see,” Voldemort said, “Lupin is a typical example for misguided Gryffindor charity. You may or may not have heard it, but none of the institutions of higher education accepted him, in spite of his quite passable N.E.W.T. results. They consider him a danger to his fellow students and are not willing to take a similar risk. A decision which, from their point of view, is entirely understandable—not everybody is as foolishly generous as Dumbledore. Only now the young man is bound to doubly resent being shunned by society. Which might make him a very interesting candidate for joining our ranks, so in a way I should almost be grateful to the charitable Headmaster.—Yes?” he answered a knock at the door.

Lestrange entered the room. “My Lord, your visitor has arrived.”

Voldemort nodded and rose from his chair. “You will have to excuse me for a short while, Severus. I leave you with St. John, as you will doubtlessly have a few things to discuss. Maybe you are also hungry. We may then continue our talk in the afternoon.”

“Well,” said Lestrange as they sat down at the table on the other side of the room, “I suppose you are quite happy with the news, aren’t you?”

An old woman clad in black, wearing a black headscarf that went down to her earlobes, which were as wrinkled as her face and adorned by heavy silver earrings, brought a plate with sandwiches and a jug of water. She reminded Severus a little of Signora Ragnatela, above all because she darted him the same baleful look as the old housekeeper had always done, and he waited until she had left the room before he answered the question.

“I was speechless when Lord Voldemort told me. To own the truth, I still am. I would have been perfectly happy to study at Urqhart, but this is of course more than I would ever have dared to dream of. How is he? McLachlan, I mean.”

Lestrange took a sandwich, examined its contents, pulled a face and chose another one, which seemed to agree with him. “I hate goat cheese,” he explained, “But they haven’t got much else here. The roast lamb is rather acceptable, though.” He took a bite and nodded in satisfaction. “McLachlan? He’s quite an eccentric old fellow, as you will doubtlessly notice very soon. Apart from that, he’s a genius with potions and not an unpleasant guy. Unfortunately, I couldn’t tell him about the Imperius Potion, but he was enthusiastic enough when he saw your paper for the Potions N.E.W.T., of which I sent him a copy.”

Severus quite liked the goat cheese and took a second one. He had not eaten much at breakfast—his stomach did not react too well to nervousness, and he had been quite tense this morning. “I imagine,” he said, pouring a glass of water for each of them, “that he isn’t with us, is he?”

“No, on the contrary. If you ask me, Lord Voldemort has been sparing his life for so long only because he wanted him as your instructor. I suppose you have been told that the financial part isn’t a problem? You’ll have to find yourself a nice little flat, which might suit you better than the campus at Urqhart, considering that you’re not exactly what I’d call a social animal.”

Curious to try the roast lamb as well, Severus helped himself to a third sandwich and decided that he quite liked Albanian cuisine. “The idea of living alone is so completely new and unexpected that I don’t even know what to think of it. But I suppose I might come to like it.” Lestrange nodded, looking dreamily at the magnificent panorama outside. Probably thinking of Tabitha, Severus presumed. He would have to stay separated from her for nearly three months, which had to be quite a setback after so many years of almost daily contact. “You miss her, don’t you, Sir?” he asked, surprised at his own boldness.

Lestrange turned his gaze back to him. “Yes, I do,” he replied gravely, “But then it is only a temporary separation, and for a very good reason. And don’t you call me ‘Sir’ anymore, do you understand? I’m St. John to you from now on. No more school formalities. Speaking of school—what about you and Clarissa? Are you going to live together?”

Severus nearly dropped the last bite of his sandwich. “No!” he said, almost indignantly, “Why should we?”

“It seemed to be the obvious next step.”

“No!” he said again, “We’re just… well, it would be a little hard to define, but we certainly aren’t lovers. I’m more than happy to have Esmeralda to live with me.”

“A confirmed bachelor at age eighteen? We’ll see. How Lucius will envy you!”

Severus snorted. “Yes, he doesn’t seem too happy about having to give up his freedom now that he has barely got it. I can hardly believe that he’s going to be a married man in less than three months.”

“Nor can he, I suppose. Above all because Lord Voldemort is not too pleased.”

“What can he possibly have against Narcissa?”

“Not against Narcissa, against the wedding ritual. Julius insisted on the traditional ceremony that has been in use in their family for centuries, claiming that the family has to keep up certain appearances. Our Master didn’t take that too well. In fact, he regards it as an act of insubordination, the consequences of which will weigh rather heavily not only on Mr. Malfoy, but on Lucius as well. It might serve his social prestige but will do nothing to strengthen his position amongst our ranks.”

Their conversation then returned to Severus’s immediate future, and after a while Lord Voldemort rejoined them. Lestrange took his leave, and the two wizards returned to the seats they had previously occupied.

Although he was feeling quite at his ease in Voldemort’s presence—which was all the more astonishing, considering that he had told him everything that had happened three years ago during his summer holidays—Severus was not sure what reaction he might get to the question he wanted to ask but was not quite sure whether he really should. It was not an impertinent question, but somehow he felt that Voldemort should be the first to address the subject. Then again… “Would you, uh, mind if I asked you a question?”

“You may ask me whatever you want, Severus. I shall answer your questions unless I have a very good reason not to, in which case I beg you’ll forgive me. I shall not, of course, lie.”

“What about my initiation? When will I get my Dark Mark?”

“So very eager!” Voldemort observed with an indulgent smile. “But this is certainly a question that highly pleases me, as does your keenness. I have given the matter much thought. On the one hand, we both desire that you be inducted as soon as possible into my brotherhood of Death Eaters. You wouldn’t need to go through a probationary period, as you have proved yourself and your loyalty to me beyond doubt. But—” he made a short pause as if to carefully formulate what he was going to say “—I do not have any intention of putting your education at risk.”

Severus, completely nonplussed, only managed a puzzled “I beg your pardon?”

“Potions-making, and you know that as well as I do, is a very accident-prone business, the most endangered parts of your body being, of course, your face and your arms and hands. Imagine that you blow up a potion by mere accident, which can happen to the best of us, imagine further that the substance is corrosive, so that you must immediately remove your robes and maybe also your shirt—and there you stand, with the Dark Mark clearly visible on your arm. McLachlan not only does not sympathize with us, he openly speaks against us. You would be thrown into Azkaban in less than no time, and I would have lost one of my best men. Which seems equally undesirable to both of us, if for different reasons.”

A wave of disappointment washed over him. “Does that mean that I’ll have to wait until I’ve finished my training?”

“Yes,” Voldemort replied gravely, “I am afraid that this is exactly what it means. It is a sacrifice, Severus,” he said, capturing the young wizard’s eyes with his, “and by no means an easy one. I know that, and I am fully conscious of what it must mean to you to know that an idiot like Cedric Nott bears my mark while you do not. Have patience, though, and wait until your time will come. You will be the first among them, and honoured far beyond them all. Will you sacrifice your pride to me?”

“Yes,” Severus whispered, “yes, of course I will. Anything. You know that, don’t you?”

“From you, I would not have expected anything else. Not after what St. John told me about your conduct when Dumbledore made you choose between expulsion and taking that infamous oath. You will have your reward and your revenge in due time.”

Severus returned to the Leaky Cauldron at sunset, his heart full of conflicting emotions and his mind reeling with anticipation. In hindsight, the day he had spent in Albania felt longer than all his seven years at Hogwarts. He refused dinner and went up to his room, opened the window and summoned a chair, to sit down and stare out at the black night sky. His future, of which he had got but a glimpse today, was vibrating within him, all the possibilities were spread out in front of him, ready to be taken, transformed into reality and hence to produce a new dazzling array of possible futures. More than ever, he was conscious of who he was, every single brain cell seemed to have sprung to life all of a sudden, presenting him with a firework of knowledge and skills he was now free to use. Finally, he had a life of his own.