The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 3

By Pigwidgeon37

Long, lazy summer days...He had heard of them, of course, but never experienced the pleasure of just existing, dozing through the haze of midday on a deck chair in the shadow—only the first few days at his uncle’s house had borne some similarity to the way he was spending his days now. Here, in his own home, however, there was no elderly housekeeper barbecuing him with her angry glares whenever he dared to breathe within her sanctum. He had Peggy now, his House Elf, who was deferential but not overly submissive, and had taken an instant liking to him, strange as he found the thought. Although he never treated the helpful creature as badly as for example Lucius would have done, his conduct towards her was not marked by exaggerated friendliness, either. On the other hand, he did not deem himself beyond chatting with her from time to time, simply because he missed talking and also because he knew that House Elves had lots of knowledge they willingly shared with those who treated them with dignity.

No housekeeper, no uncle, no homework to do. He knew that he would have to prepare himself thoroughly before taking up his studies with McLachlan, but he had agreed with himself to enjoy two completely carefree weeks before starting serious work.

The first morning he woke up to in his new home had started at a rather early hour, for he was still accustomed to the sleeping rhythm from school. In spite of having opened his eyes at seven o’clock sharp, he had not jumped out of bed immediately, but treated himself to the pleasure of staying there, cuddling Esmeralda and thinking of what he was going to do next. An outing to Diagon Alley was inevitable. He needed some basic things he had completely forgotten to buy yesterday, which was understandable considering the rapidity with which he had advanced from the state of a penniless schoolboy to that of a comparatively well-off young man, proud owner of a house in Nature Alley.

While stroking Esmeralda’s back, relishing her contented purring and the feeling of laziness that was slowly taking possession of him, he made a mental list of things he was going to need. Floo powder. An owl. An equipment for potions-making. Robes, for his old school robes definitely belonged to the past. That would be enough for the beginning, then he could go home and call Clarissa via Floo net, show her his dwellings and brood over the question of furniture together with her. Somehow, he had the feeling that a girl, even if she had been living in the same secluded space as he for seven years, would have more and maybe even better ideas regarding the correct procedure of furnishing a house.

Trying to visualize how his living room was going to look when furnished, he dozed off again and was woken when Peggy popped into presence.

Eyes wide with horror for having disturbed her master’s well-deserved slumber, she squeaked “Master Severus, I is sorry, but it’s already half past eight, and I thinks you is already up!”

“No problem, Peggy,” he said, swinging his legs over the edge of the bed, “There’s a lot of errands for me this morning, so it’s better if I get up anyway. Breakfast would be fine, though.”

She nodded so vehemently that her ears made a very funny noise, flapping against her face. “Of course, Master Severus. But I has nowhere to serve it…”

“Give me ten minutes to wash up and dress, then I’ll come down and conjure a table. For the next days, it will just have to do. Don’t worry though, there will be furniture. Oh, and take Esmeralda with you, she’s hungrier than I, I believe.”

His initial fear that cat and elf might not get on together too well had been unfounded. When he had returned home last night with Esmeralda in his wake, Peggy had practically fallen over herself with sheer enthusiasm, and Esmeralda had reacted very well to her. But then, the ways magical creatures had to bond with animals were different from those of humans. It was fun to watch them, for Peggy was only some inches taller than his cat—he would have needed a giant black panther to create that impression.

Coming out of the bathroom, he was immediately lured downstairs by the aroma of eggs and bacon. Severus had not eaten too much at the Rosiers’, what with the constant tensions he sensed between the other four and himself he had not really enjoyed the meal, and thus felt suddenly very hungry. With his wand already in his right hand, he entered the kitchen and, under Peggy’s admiring gaze, produced a small table and two chairs out of thin air. Asked whether he wanted tea or coffee, he opted for the latter, and soon found himself eating a copious breakfast.

“Come here for a moment,” he addressed Peggy, motioning to the chair opposite his.

The elf gave him a nonplussed look and hopped up.

“No,” he said shaking his head, “We have to make this a little higher, all I can see are the tips of your ears.”

Finally, the chair had reached the right height, although it was looking more like a bar stool now.

“Erm, Peggy, where did you get all this?” he asked, gesturing to the generous amount of food on the table before him.

“I borrows it from Binky, he’s the House Elf at no. 10, next to us.”

“Ah. I see. And where exactly do you get food from if you don’t borrow it?”

Another wide-eyed stare. “I buys it, Master Severus, at the Magical Mega-Market, where all the House Elves goes to get food for their masters.”

Feeling exceedingly stupid because he had never given the matter any thought—which was, in a way, understandable, considering that at Hogwarts you never saw as much as a House Elf’s nosetip unless you went to the kitchens—Severus inquired further. “I, uh, suppose you’ll need money then?”

Peggy’s face was split by a toothy grin. “You has no idea about House Elves, does you, master Severus?”

He cleared his throat. “Well, I…it was a little different at Hogwarts, you know? The food was just there, and I never bothered to think where it came from. Besides, the elves were quite different. You are nowhere near as submissive.”

The grin was growing larger. “I explains to you if you wants me to.” Severus gave a grateful nod—to speak was impossible as it would have completely ruined the taste of the perfect bite of toast, butter, egg and ham melting together in his mouth. “All right. I is less submissive because I isn’t yet bound to you. You has to do that first thing after breakfast. Does you know the charm?”

Severus poured himself another cup of coffee. “I’m afraid I don’t. Do you—”

He was interrupted by spindly fingers, energetically waving a piece of parchment under his nose. “Is always has it with me. It’s all explained here. After I is bound to you, I behaves like the House Elves you knows.”

“Frankly, I’d prefer you as you are now. Isn’t there another possibility?”

“No, Master Severus, you takes it or you leaves it. When I is bound to you the money for the food disappears magically from your Gringott’s account. You doesn’t need to worry, though, when I is your elf, I only buys what you needs.”

Severus, who had had a brief vision of an empty Gringott’s vault and a living room filled with bottles of Dom Perignon up to the ceiling, gave a sigh of relief. “I see. I suppose that goes for everything else I order you to buy as well?” Peggy nodded. “Fine. So let’s do that binding spell, and then I must be off to Diagon Alley. Promise me anyway that you’ll try not to become too subdued.”

~~~~*~~~~

He had left the house shortly before ten o’clock, with Esmeralda in tow, whom he wanted to be present when he chose his owl. It would be absolutely senseless to buy a bird she hated, only to have to change it for another, more sympathetic one. It was going to be a hot day, for the sky was already like glazed over, not blue and not white, vibrating with heat and humidity. Everything seemed to have slowed down; children were playing in the gardens in slow motion, even the speed of sound had somehow decreased, so that the noise of their voices arrived at his ears wrapped in velvet.

Diagon Alley was almost empty. The street cafés had only just opened, here and there people were idling by the shop windows, not really looking at the goods on display, but too languid to move on. Under the pastel umbrellas blooming in a cluster at the entry of Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, two young witches were sitting, each with a toddler on her lap, into whose mouths they tried to force some not-much-desired chocolate ice cream. It was a strange atmosphere of half-dizziness, intense and distant at the same time. Severus decided to savour it a little longer than he had originally planned, went into Flourish and Blotts to buy the newest issue of Potions & Draughts—Esmeralda draped across the nape of his neck in perfect imitation of a fur collar, which was as incongruous for a day like this as it was hot—and make a leisurely return towards Fortescue’s where he chose a seat as far away as possible from the two mammals-cum-cubs.

Until now, he had only realized how fast time passed when he was researching or studying, but he saw, in wonder and astonishment, that it quickened its pace also when he was sitting in the shadow, reading for pleasure, sipping iced coffee and drifting towards noon on the softly undulating waves of a late summer morning. At eleven o’clock, he admonished himself sternly that it was time to leave, and decided to buy only the Floo powder and the owl today. The rest could just as well wait until tomorrow. The first item was rapidly purchased, and five minutes later he entered the owl emporium with Esmeralda again curled round his neck and evidently enjoying the hop-on-hop-off tour through wizarding London.

Currently, the shop was not too well-stocked, for there was next to no demand for owls and other pets right after the holidays had started. While Severus talked to the shop assistant, Esmeralda engaged in a hissing duel with two cats she would not even have dared to look at had she not been high up on Severus’s shoulder, with her opponents safely stored away in their cages.

“Stop it, stupid,” Severus said, “I’m not here to buy another cat.—Only three?” he asked the grumpy witch who had informed him of the number of owlish residents.

“Yes, I’m afraid so. And no young ones. But why don’t you take another bird? It’s quite fashionable these days not to have an owl. We’ve got pigeons—”

“I don’t want a fashionable bird, I want a bird that carries my letters,” Severus interrupted her, rather indignantly, “And certainly no pigeon. I hate them.” He thought of Turin’s main square, literally covered in those disgusting winged rats and shuddered slightly.

“You might want to have a look at them, at the very least,” the witch said, visibly offended. Apparently she took derogatory remarks about her charges personally. “They’re very nice, and fast flyers,” she added, indicating a cage containing two blinding white pigeons. Only their necks were circled by a thin black line that looked like a collar.

Severus had to admit that they looked nothing like their filthy urban relatives but the thought of sending Voldemort a message carried by a white dove very nearly made him laugh out loud. “Yes,” he said, “they’re nice enough but I… er, have to send small parcels from time to time and I doubt they’re able to carry those.”

The shop assistant nodded pensively. “Mmh, yes, they are only fit for transporting small letters. What about this, then?”

From the depths of the shelf, she pulled out a cage with a very sulky-looking raven. It was a large bird, about the size of a chicken, with an impressive beak and beady black eyes. Severus looked him over critically.

“I don’t know… he seems rather grown-up already.”

“I hatched him myself, he was born in February,” the witch explained with something like a mother’s pride in her voice. “They’re very intelligent, and bond with humans more easily than owls do once they’re grown up.”

Severus nodded. “Then let’s see what Esmeralda has to say about this.”

They took the cage to the counter, opened it and waited for the raven to come out. The bird shot a single contemptuous look at the open door, croaked once, and rather pronouncedly turned his rear end towards it. Severus thought that he quite liked this animal. He took Esmeralda, who had been witnessing the scene out of wide-open green eyes, off his shoulders and put her on the counter. Despite the raven’s awe-inspiring dimensions, she did not seem to be afraid but that, Severus thought, might also be due to the fact that she had not had much contact with other animals so far; Sybil’s kneazle had practically been her only non-human companion. As she stalked over the counter he drew his wand, so that he might intervene in time to stun the bird just in case it showed any aggressive tendencies. When Esmeralda gave a small meow the raven turned round. To his surprise, Severus noticed that his heart was hammering—one well-aimed peck of that enormous beak, and he would have a one-eyed cat. But the bird did not give any signs of hostility. On the contrary. It croaked again and, slowly and as dignified as possible, swaggered towards the open cage door. Esmeralda neither hissed nor arched her back, nor did her hackles rise. She was just curiously approaching the raven. Now she purred. Severus was dumbstruck. Cat and bird came closer and closer, until they were standing side by side, and Esmeralda tentatively darted her pink tongue over the black feathers. The raven took a beakful of her fur and, with the same characteristic movement birds showed when cleaning and oiling their plumage, he began treating her to a thorough toilette à la raven.

Severus and the shop assistant exchanged a nonplussed look, and finally the witch said “I don’t think you’ll have much choice in the matter, now will you?”

“It… er, certainly doesn’t seem so,” he answered, unsure whether he should feel left out or glad.

Deciding for the latter, he cautiously stretched out both hands, to caress Esmeralda with his right, and tentatively stroke the raven’s head with his left. None of them appeared to have any objections. The witch was watching them with a smile; obviously she had forgiven Severus for his comment about the pigeons.

“It’s always good to see people immediately establishing a relationship with their pets,” she observed. “So, how d’you call him?”

His hands still gliding over feathers and fur, Severus tilted his head to look at the bird. “Elias?” he ventured; after all, he had read the Muggle myth about the great wizard who used to live in the desert—at least that was what the Muggles saw—and had, according to their belief, been provided with food by two ravens. The bird gave a small croak. “Glad you like it,” he said, “Elias and Esmeralda. Quite a couple you make.”

There was a brief, friendly struggle for prime seats on his shoulders but in the end, Elias settled on his left forearm while Esmeralda occupied her former position round Severus’s neck. Feeling proud, but also slightly ridiculous, like a parody of St. Francis of Assisi, Severus returned to Nature Alley.

~~~~*~~~~

Elias was immediately employed to take a message to Clarissa and returned with the answer ten minutes after his departure. Ten minutes of anxious pacing for Severus, orchestrated by Esmeralda’s worried meows—they both feared that the raven might have discovered that independence and freedom were not so bad after all. But he returned all right, with a note from Clarissa attached to his leg. It read:

Speaking of sorcerers’ pet, eh? I’ll be there in 10 minutes. Step away from the fireplace. CR

When she stepped out of the green flames, Clarissa was looking much better than the other night, and Severus told her so.

“Yes,” she said, brushing some soot off her summer dress, “I’m also feeling a lot better. Aunt Nathalie has come to visit, and she always manages to dampen that bastard, who calls himself my father, quite effectively.”

“She’s your father’s sister, isn’t she?”

“No, my mother’s, but some years younger, seven or eight, I don’t know. So what? Are you going to show me that house or aren’t you?”

The house was duly admired, and Severus told her about his meeting with Voldemort—not in every detail, but enough to make her gape. “With McLachlan?” she said, “I suppose you are aware what that means, aren’t you? You’ll probably be his last ever apprentice, he’s something like one hundred and twenty—”

“One hundred and three, to be exact. And believe me, I really appreciate the privilege I’m given. Although I would have been perfectly satisfied to study with Prewett, to own the truth. But of course, the master himself is quite a different thing…”

They did a thorough tour of the house. “It’s beautiful, Severus. Really. Only it’s a bit difficult to imagine you as somebody who owns a house. It’s… a bit bourgeois. Are you going to become all middle class now, grow a pot belly, marry and have seven children?”

“Let’s see. What I’d really like would be some furniture. Do you have any idea how to get it?”

Clarissa wrinkled her forehead and bit her lower lip. “Not really,” she said after some time.

“Parturiunt montes,” Severus replied, “And I don’t even see a mouse. You’re such help, Clarissa, I don’t know how to thank you.”

“Don’t be such a bastard. And stop that Latin. But you know what? I’ll go back to fetch my aunt. She’ll know.”

“I… I don’t know,” Severus said hesitantly. “Your aunt? Really, I’m not—”

But she had already scampered down the stairs and when he came after her, she was just stepping into the flames. “Back in a minute!” she called over her shoulder and was gone.

An aunt… now really, he thought. What could an elderly lady with a grey bun and ample posterior probably do for him in terms of furniture? He did not want crocheted covers on his chairs and geranium pots on his windowsills, nor was he overly eager to see his mantelpiece decorated by porcelain figurines with sickeningly sweet smiles. Aunt Nathalie might be a very sympathetic old lady, but did Clarissa really have to force her upon him? Sulkily, he conjured a chair and sat down, immediately joined by Esmeralda whose frantic purring attracted Elias. The raven perched on the back of the chair and began to affectionately pull at Severus’s hair.

When Clarissa stumbled out of the fireplace and cheerfully announced her and her aunt’s arrival, Severus braced himself for the inevitable. The inevitable turned out to be a more attractive than beautiful, but certainly very good-looking lady in her late thirties or early forties, tall, lean, with short and curly black hair and dark blue eyes. Like her niece, she was not wearing robes. Which was, Severus thought, quite fortunate, for light grey linen trousers and a simple white blouse, half open and its tails knotted at her waist, certainly showed her wiry frame to greater advantage than even a masterly cut robe would have done.

“Severus, this is Aunt Nathalie—Aunt Nathalie, this is Severus Snape, a friend of mine.”

“You do that the other way round, Clarissa,” he muttered under his breath and, turning to Aunt Nathalie, he said “Pleased to meet you, Mrs… uh…”

“That would be Pierson,” she retorted, shaking his hand, “But just call me Nathalie, that will be more than sufficient.”

Severus’s sensitive ear was more than a little pleased with the deep, slightly raucous contralto timbre of her voice. It suited her well, he thought, all the while rummaging through his memories for he was sure he had already heard that name. Nathalie Pierson… Where the hell…

“Thank you, that is very kind of you. Can I offer you something? After all it’s lunchtime…”

Her smile made him blush, much as he hated to admit it. It was easy to imagine that this woman could best Charles Rosier and would not hesitate to do so —and the Gods have mercy on him if ever she found out what he did to his daughter. She would probably first castrate and then slowly torture him to death. There was an almost palpable poise and strength to Nathalie Pierson that made you doubt whether she was likely to recoil before any obstacle. Severus guessed the answer was no.

Tilting her head slightly, she looked at him, as if to form an idea about the young man standing in front of her. “Are you saying—” yes, that voice definitely deserved to be called erotic “—that an eighteen-year-old wizard without furniture does actually have something to offer?”

“More than you think,” he replied, blushing again when he became aware of the double-entendre, which she did not seem to mind, though, “There’s a House elf in the kitchen, eagerly waiting for an occasion to prove her superb skills. What about a nice lunch out on the terrace?”

Clarissa, who had been looking from one to the other in slight wonderment, nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, that would be great! Oh, come on, Aunt Nathalie!”

“Why not? Actually, it’s nice to see that not all Slytherins are crazy bullies. And we have to talk about the furniture anyway. So it’s yes, thank you, Severus, I accept the inviation with great pleasure.”

Silently wondering about her comment concerning the Slytherins, above all because he suspected her to be one herself—but then, maybe that was exactly the reason why—he called for Peggy. As he had foreseen, the elf was beside herself with delight, and five minutes later, they were sitting on the terrace, which was going to be out of reach of the sun for another two or three hours, enjoying a light lunch and chatting about the embellishment of no. 8, Nature Alley. Mrs Pierson was just suggesting to have a look at certain Muggle shops, offering her help in case Severus did not want to go alone the first time, when he suddenly slapped his forehead.

“Of course!” he exclaimed, “Oh, sorry to have interrupted you, Nathalie, that was, uh, very rude…” he concluded, a little sheepishly. She merely smiled and, with raised eyebrows, kept waiting for him to explain this sudden outburst.

“I knew that I had already heard your name,” Severus said, satisfied and embarrassed at the same time, for he had solved the nagging problem but been rather impolite towards his guest. “You remember the research we did for Binns at the beginning of our fourth year?” Clarissa merely rolled her eyes. “You were Head Girl in… wait… 1953, right? And you have something to do with the Daily Prophet. I distinctly remember to have consulted an immensely boring monograph on your behalf.”

“She doesn’t have ‘something to do’ with it,” Clarissa corrected him, her tone of voice reminding him very much of Professor McGonagall, “She’s chief editor.”

Severus was awed. She could not be more than thirty-six, and was already chief editor? Speak of strength and poise… That woman had to have the determination of a Niffler smelling gold and the impact of an infuriated hippogriff to have made such a career at so young an age.

“Severus, I can see all those little wheels in your brain go haywire. I’m fourty-two, and I was Head Girl in my last year, which was 1951 and 52.”

“Sorry,” he said, grinning guiltily, “I didn’t mean to—”

“Of course you did mean to,” she interrupted him, “Don’t we all? Curiosity is one of the most important qualities in a human being. To judge from what Clarissa told me about your glorious deeds at school, you certainly don’t suffer from a lack of this particular character trait. You would make a good journalist. Any propensities towards this noble profession?”

“I’m afraid not, but thank you anyway for a very tempting offer. Only I’ve been offered an apprenticeship with McLachlan, so I suppose you’ll understand…”

She gave him a look of appraisal. “Indeed. I didn’t know that the crazy old bat still accepted apprentices.”

“He doesn’t, as a matter of fact. But Professor Lestrange put in a word for me, and so he made an exception.”

“Ah,” she said, “well, who wouldn’t make an exception if asked by fair St. John.”

Clarissa giggled. “I thought you went more for the dark type, Aunt Nathalie.”

“As a general rule, I do. But when Michelangelo’s David comes your way, rules simply melt away together with your intentions of being a good girl. And believe me, being married to Alastor for exactly one year, three weeks and four days is enough to make you scream whenever a dark-haired man crosses the path of your life.”

Severus, who had the weird feeling of being de trop in what seemed to be turning dangerously into Girls’ Talk, thought he had not heard right. “Sorry to interrupt, but did you say Alastor? Like in Alastor Moody?”

“Indeed,” she said, holding out her glass for a refill of white wine, “I’m talking about Alastor Moody. Do you happen to know him?”

“Didn’t you tell her?” Severus asked Clarissa.

She shook her ringlets. “No, we didn’t see each other much back then. My mother and Aunt Nathalie aren’t exactly… uh, on good terms.”

“My dear sister,” Nathalie Pierson said with a rather nasty grin, “believes poor Alastor Moody to be one of my less fortunate victims.”

Severus snorted. “Well, I suppose she didn’t have her nose broken by him, that might account for a somewhat distorted view of his character.”

“What a pity,” Clarissa’s aunt said after he had finished his account of the Auror’s inquiry at Hogwarts after Easter 1973, “that I didn’t hear about it at the time. It would have been a delightful story—I so love to drag out all sorts of unpleasant details about our revered Aurors, that bunch of ruthless bullies.”

“And why—I hope I’m not being indiscreet, don’t feel compelled to answer, please, unless you want to—why did you marry him?” Severus asked, fascinated by the sudden cruel glint in her eyes.

It gave way to a dreamy expression when she answered, “My dear Severus, I was barely over twenty then and a young whippersnapper as far as life and journalism were concerned. The Prophet wanted to bring a background story about Aurors and Law Enforcement, and sent me out to do some interviews. Alastor was one of the first I met and I have to say that he was drop-dead gorgeous at the time. And seventeen years my senior, you know, all that stuff with experience and having seen the world and so on… To own the truth, I have never again had a lover like him… sorry,” she said, seeing Severus flush scarlet, “I didn’t mean to embarrass you.” The lewd smile she gave him said otherwise, though.

“It’s er… just the concept of Moody as a… lover—it seems somewhat alien,” Severus stammered, trying not to look as flustered as he was.

“Ah,” she said nonchalantly, locking her eyes to his, “that’s a relief. I thought it was the idea of my having a lover that gave you the creeps.”

Now he was truly dumbfounded. Was she flirting? Flirting with him, unabashedly, in the presence of her niece whom she might even know to have a crush on him? To judge from Clarissa’s somewhat pained look, his guess was not too far from the truth. For a fleeting moment, he wished he were back at Hogwarts, amidst giggling girls whom it was easy to cow with an icy look or scathing comment. On the other hand, he had to admit that this was not really bad. He quite liked that tingling feeling Nathalie’s provocative looks were causing him.

Trying to overcome the awkward moment, he inquired “And why did you divorce if your, uh, matrimonial life was so… satisfying?”

“Because I refused to kiss the ground he was walking upon. You might have guessed that I’m not the kind of woman who hero-worships her husband, only because he’s her husband and happens to be an Auror.”

Yes, Severus thought, that made sense. While he was still trying to imagine that Moody had once been married, the conversation turned back to the more urgent topic of furniture, and Severus joined in again, glad to be moving on safer territory.

~~~~*~~~~

“Now that’s what I call a tastefully furnished house,” Lestrange said after a tour through Severus’s home.

Three days had gone by after Nathalie Pierson’s visit, and Severus was rather exhausted but also satisfied with what he had achieved in so short a time. Not that the furnishing process was already finished, far from that. The basics and some little extras were there, though. The rest would follow in due time. There was no need to hurry.

“I’m glad you like it. How are things going at Monrepos?”

“Don’t ask me!” Lestrange said, rolling his eyes and letting himself fall onto the huge Chesterfield sofa. “Nearly three months to go till the wedding and the women are already out of their minds. I don’t even dare to imagine what they will be like one week before the big event.”

Severus nodded sympathetically. “You have my compassion. Anything to drink?”

“Yes,” said Lestrange, stretching out his legs and visibly relaxing, “That would be excellent. A glass of Ogden’s might be a substantial contribution to my well-being.—Hallo, beauty!” he greeted Esmeralda who had jumped up to inspect him. “And who’s this?” he asked when Elias sailed towards him in his feline companion’s wake and perched on the armrest beside him.

Severus introduced the bird. “He’s quite impressive, isn’t he?”

“Oh, yes,” Lestrange agreed, gently stroking the black feathers, “I think he’s bigger even than Abraxas, and that’s saying something.” Peggy popped up with a tray containing a bottle of whisky and two tumblers and immediately disappeared after having served them. “Listen, Severus,” Lestrange said, “I talked to Lord Voldemort yesterday, and we agreed that it was better if I informed you about our meetings. It is safer than sending a message by owl. Besides, you need me to get there, at least until you can Apparate, and even then it will be difficult, for the places are always warded.”

He took a sip of his whisky and briefly closed his eyes to savour the taste. Then he reopened them and took a small parcel out of his pocket, touched it with his wand to unshrink it and handed it to Severus, who eyed it in surprise.

“Your uniform, in a manner of speaking,” he explained. “The robes, cloak and mask of a Death Eater. You must have them, even if you don’t receive your Dark Mark for now.”

Gesturing at the parcel, Severus gave him a questioning look. Lestrange nodded. “Go on, open it. Remember, though, to always be careful to extinguish the lights before you put it on. The meetings normally take place in the dead of night, but you never know who might see you.”

The cloak was hooded and the mask corresponded to the description James Potter had given the journalists after his parents had been killed. It had a bluish, steely glint.

“Do we always have to wear them?” he asked.

“No, no, only at the big meetings.”

“What exactly are big meetings?”

Lestrange hit his forehead with his right palm. “Of course, you can’t know. All this has become so natural to me that I forgot you don’t have a clue. Well then, let us start with some explanations. Unless you have other plans, that is.” Severus shook his head in the negative. “Fine. You see,” he began, refilling his glass, “we are now forty-two, already counting you and your peers. For security reasons, it is not advisable that each of us know everybody else. It’s bad enough if a Death Eater gets caught and gives away four or five names. Not that it is likely to happen, but better safe than sorry.”

Severus wholeheartedly agreed.

“There are some of us, however, the inner core, so to say, who know all the other Death Eaters. I am one of them, then there’s Julius Malfoy, you, and Barty Crouch. We are honoured beyond the others, but we also bear the far greater risk.”

“Excuse me,” Severus said, a little breathlessly, “Did you just say Barty Crouch?”

“Yes, I did. Don’t tell me you didn’t suspect it.”

“I guessed, more or less, after what Mathilda told us about the rows with his father, and how he was treated. It was kind of logical, wasn’t it? I had to think of Iago when I first heard about it. You don’t scorn that kind of trusting and submissive love without consequences. No, what astonishes me is that he’s part of the Inner Circle.”

“Well,” said Lestrange, “I can’t say that I am overly pleased. But then, you know the old saying about blood and water…”

“I beg your pardon? Are you insinuating that they are… related?”

Now it was Lestrange’s turn to look at him in bewilderment. “You didn’t… no, of course you didn’t know. Very few people do. You figured out Lord Voldemort’s identity, but then you aren’t acquainted with those complicated family affairs. I would advise you, though, to have a good look at the Who’s Who. It might seem a trifle, but believe me, it is important to understand who is related to whom and why.”

Now that was an aspect of his new life Severus had never thought about. At school, his housemates had simply been this: housemates. Their family connections were seldom discussed and whenever the conversation had turned in that direction, he had not really paid attention. The subtleties of social life outside the Slytherin quarters had not even made it to the bottom of his priority list. Now he recognized that this disinterest might have been a bigger mistake than he would have imagined—he would have to catch up on a good deal of information.

“I’ll try to read up on it as soon as possible. But would you mind telling me about Barty Crouch?”

“Of course not. Let me see… Lord Voldemort’s maternal grandmother was a Boulder—”

“Yes,” Severus said pensively, trying to visualize the page of the Who’s Who, “I think I remember that. Sarah Boulder, right?”

Lestrange raised his eyebrows. “Impressive. Really. Yes, Sarah Boulder, that’s exact. This lady had two brothers, each of whom had one child, one of them being Danielle Boulder, wife to the venerable Head of Magical Law Enforcement and mother to Bartemius junior.”

“But that… that makes Barty Lord Voldemort’s second cousin!” Severus exclaimed.

“Indeed. And just imagine the kind of hell that broke loose at Crouch’s house when the Ministry finally worked out Lord Voldemort’s identity. Miss Reynolds doesn’t know it, of course, she only witnessed the after-effects which, I daresay, were bad enough. Of course it is not Danielle Crouch’s fault, but try to picture Bartemius Crouch’s feelings when he discovered that he is, in a way, related to the Ministry’s enemy number one.” Lestrange chuckled. “His world must have come down with a rather deafening crash.”

Still puzzled by this unexpected news, Severus nodded slowly. “I can imagine. But at least it offers a satisfactory explanation as to why he constantly tries to make the Minister loosen the few restrictions the Law Enforcement and the Aurors are subjected to. He simply has to prove that he’s above any suspicion.”

“Yes, and I don’t dare to think of what he would do to Barty if he were ever to find out… anyway,” Lestrange said, “You will understand why Mr. Crouch junior occupies such a high position within our ranks. So, as I was saying, we are the ones who know everybody. The others are divided into smaller sub-groups and only know each other’s identity. The smaller groups meet about once a week, either at Manor, at the McNairs’, the Averys’ or at the house in Albania. One of us selected few always has to be present. And then, there are of course the big, plenary meetings where everybody has to appear hooded and masked. We even use the Dissimulovox spell, to guarantee that nobody is recognized by their voices.”

Trying to process this amount of information, Severus asked “And when is the first meeting that requires my presence?”

“Tomorrow night. I’ll be here some minutes before two o’clock, so we’ll arrive at the McNairs’ at two sharp. And now I’ll leave you,” Lestrange said, rising from the sofa. “I suppose you’ll have enough to think about with the information I gave you. No need to overfeed your brain tonight. There is enough time to acquaint yourself with the situation without hurrying things. Good night, Severus, and thank you for the whisky. And, of course, for having granted me asylum.”

So much for having two carefree weeks, Severus thought, and poured himself another whisky before lapsing into deep thought.