The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 13

By Pigwidgeon37

As Severus had foreseen, a new routine settled in rather quickly. The meetings at his house had been only a temporary routine, provided the oxymoron was admitted, but towards the end of August his days had assumed a pleasant rhythm that was far less stressful than he had been dreading. He had imagined that his apprenticeship would be more school-like, more regular, with some kind of timetable or precise schedule. Instead, it turned out to be a rather relaxed affair, as far as regularity was concerned.

Right after Lupin’s departure, McLachlan had explained that he had no intention to teach Severus any theory, for not only did he find it useless and tiresome, he was also convinced that theoretical knowledge was best acquired on an individual basis. He had outlined the vast array of possibilities to his rather awestruck new-acquired apprentice and told him that he was free to decide for himself whether he wanted to cover one or all of them after a bit of introductory reading, which should enable him to judge for himself. As far as the actual work was concerned, they had agreed that, for the time being, two mornings and two afternoons per week would be sufficient—two for learning and two for their research on the werewolf potion. Severus, who had already been picturing himself sitting there every day, eyelids drooping with fatigue from his nightly activities, taking notes and being bored, greatly welcomed this arrangement. His bookshelves, which already held the tomes he had brought back from Italy—he had made a second trip together with Clarissa and practically emptied both his uncle’s library and wine cellar—and his own, now unshrunk, treasures that had been hidden in his trunk for so long, were gradually getting crammed. Severus loved the sight.

He got on well with McLachlan, who kept their rapport on a strictly teacher-student level; after three weeks of apprenticeship, they had not exchanged more than two or three personal sentences. Those, however, had been important, above all because they had been spoken on a day Severus was sure he would remember forever. Tuesday 3 August 1976. The date of a most important, if not the most important discovery he had made in his whole life.

Like two days before, the encyclopaedia room—as Severus called it by himself—had been empty when he arrived. McLachlan was nowhere to be seen, and so Severus decided to treat himself to a more thorough tour of the room, sure that he would not find it monotonous even if he had to spend the whole day there on his own. Besides the books, paintings and carpet, there was a strange device he had not noticed the first time—maybe it had not even been here. It was black. A black box with a transparent lid. Severus gingerly touched it, after all he did not want to ruin anything, and when it came to objects of unknown shape and purpose, it was better to be cautious. But the shape and purpose of this box were not the only unfamiliar features that puzzled him. It was the material. True, the lid was transparent, but neither was it made of glass nor of crystal. Strange, he thought, and bent down to examine it more closely. When his nose was only inches from the object of his curiosity, he could clearly distinguish its smell. Nauseating would have been too strong a term to describe it, but it was certainly unpleasant and, above all, unnatural. Anyway, he thought, if the lid was transparent, it was meant to reveal what was underneath.

The contents of the strange box were even stranger: There was a perfectly circular, sleek black object, flat and rather thin, as far as he could judge, reflecting the light in the same way the calm surface of a lake reflected the moon. The disc had a diameter of about eleven inches, in its middle there was a tiny hole, out of which came a piece of metal, round, vertical and maybe a third of an inch long. The centre of the disc, the surface of which was not even but ridged by a multitude of infinitesimal circular lines, was covered by red paper, something like a round sticker or label, bearing minuscule letters and the strangest image Severus had ever seen: it represented a dog, maybe a Jack Russell Terrier, sitting on its hind legs and apparently listening to a… well, now he was really lost for words. The thing looked remotely like a funnel, only it was not in the correct, upright position, but inclined horizontally. Shaking his head in wonderment, Severus saw that, in addition to the disc, the box contained another object, seemingly metallic and remotely similar to a brush with a crooked handle and no bristles.

He had to admit he was at a complete loss. Which meant that his curiosity was increasing in direct proportion to his cluelessness. For a while he just stood there, staring at the strange object, as if daring it to reveal its secret, almost hypnotizing it into telling him what it was. To no avail, of course. And if he gave it a tap with his wand? Just one, brief, almost nonexistent tap, so gentle that the object would not even realize it had been touched? That could not do any harm, now could it? Hesitatingly, he drew his wand and smiled to himself because he felt the same excitement that had swept over him years ago, on his first outing past curfew into Hogwarts’s corridors, back in his first year. A deep breath, the slightest of taps, and—nothing happened. Then he saw that the black disc had started turning—the piece of metal seemed to act as a kind of pivot—and the strange, brush-like thing moved towards its rim, lowered itself and then the room was filled with… silence, yes, but not its own. It was as if another silence had somehow been inserted into it, a breathless quiet, swaying on the brink of sound.

And then, there it was, the sound, unlike anything he had ever heard before. Music, but… oh, Merlin, Gods and Demons, what was it? Not a melody—a rhythm, a soft, slow rhythm, like that of a reluctantly beating heart, and now, a melody became distinguishable, hovering above the heartbeat, abandoning it against its will, climbing upwards slowly, slowly… now it was joined by another that transcended it, because it had not been born out of that aching heartbeat and thus was able to ascend more easily… A melody of serene sadness, radiant tearful beauty—it was perfect, and Severus hoped it might never, never end. But it did. The two melodies descended, arm in arm, back towards the heartbeat, and he held his breath, was afraid, so deadly afraid that silence would take over again. But no. The heartbeat was still there, and now it gave birth to a chorus of human voices, male and female, that picked up the melody, oh so carefully, and sang it into life. He could not make out the words, but even if he had it would not have been important. It was the beauty of the music that counted, that perfection that made him hold his breath because perfection was impossible and could not last, it had to break, to be shattered sooner or later. But it did not break and it was not shattered. It continued, holding his throat and heart in a merciless grip of ecstasy.

The heartbeat and the voices died down, like the last breath of somebody passing imperceptibly from life to death, and for a brief moment there was silence. Then again, the voices, and this time Severus understood the words they were singing: Kyrie eleison—Lord, have mercy. If mercy was asked this way, it had to be granted. This new melody seemed deceptively plain, a single, strong thread, but then the next group added theirs, perfectly identical, but starting a little later, and then another one, and another one… and what had seemed like simple threads became a tapestry of overwhelming beauty, a tissue of sound where it was still possible to discern the single threads, but at the same time they formed a pattern, so complex and so simple, so sophisticated and so natural. A magic in its own right, just as the Bloody Baron had told him.

“Discovering the pleasures of music?” a voice behind him asked, and Severus whirled round.

McLachlan was standing there, arms crossed over his slightly protruding pot belly, hair spikier than ever, and looking at him with a contented smile.

“I… yes, I… I’m sorry, Sir, I didn’t mean to… What is this?”

“Mozart’s Requiem. One of the most beautiful pieces of music ever written.”

“Beautiful? That doesn’t even begin to cover it. It’s perfect, sublime… well, words aren’t of much use here, are they?”

“No,” McLachlan said, slowly shaking his head, “Words cannot express it, certainly not express it. But considering the effect music is having on you, I suggest you get yourself a stereo, Mr. Snape. It’s a Muggle invention, and highly useful, most useful indeed. But then, music is an essentially Muggle affair—it seems that our magical abilities are unable to coexist with artistic brilliance of whichever discipline. Do we have great writers? We don’t. Do we have composers? Not worth mentioning unless you count Paganini. In the very rare cases of artistically gifted wizards, it is painfully obvious that neither their artistic nor their magical abilities are beyond average. It is a mystery that will perhaps one day be explained, perhaps one day, who knows?”

Severus nodded, trying to bring order into his thoughts. “About the… er, device, professor,” he said then, “I suppose I have to go to some Muggle place to get it, right?”

“Yes, indeed. And you have to enchant it, or rather to replace some of the parts with magical substitutes.”

~~~~*~~~~

Pathetic as it sounded, even to his own ears, this had been a turning point in Severus’s life. The stereo was now sitting on a low shelf—already filled with records, of course—in his living room, the wires providing energy and linking the actual phonograph to the loudspeakers conveniently replaced by magical substitutes. He had chosen the records following both McLachlan’s recommendations and a history of music he had purchased at Foyles, where the shop assistants by now recognized and greeted him with friendly smiles.

It was difficult to keep up discipline, because listening to music was becoming an obsession that seriously rivalled his hitherto greatest pleasure of reading and studying. He tried to persuade his conscience that was perpetually poking him in the ribs with a long, thin index finger to acknowledge that this pastime was, after all, learning of some kind, even though not directly pertinent to what he was supposed to learn. But the long-indexed conscience was adamant and insisted that, however Severus preferred to call it, this was pleasure, pure pleasure, stabbed his ribs again and told him to go and finish “Occult Potions Of The Ming Dynasty”. With a sigh, he got up from his armchair and waited for an appropriate moment to interrupt Bach’s Passion According to St. John—a title that amused him to no end, for it always made him think of Lestrange and Tabitha engaged in fervent snogging.

He had just cast an unobtrusiveness charm on the stereo—something he always did because this was something he wanted to keep for himself, as a treasured secret, although he fully admitted that this was very petty behaviour indeed—and, with a last, longing look at this gem amongst his possessions, turned to leave the room, when he heard a well-known voice call him from the fireplace. Well-known as it was, it sounded more strained than he had ever heard it.

“Lucius,” he said, returning to his point of departure, “This is certainly a surprise.”

“The public is kindly asked to notice the carefully chosen neutrality of Mr. Snape’s words,” Lucius’s head retorted with a lopsided grin.

Severus sketched a mock-bow. “Always glad to show off my superior linguistic skills, Mr. Malfoy, and especially to you. As I am sure that this is not a social call—what do you want?”

“Bluntness, thy name is Severus. Did you lose your finesse in one of your cauldrons?”

“Careful, Malfoy, you just paid me a compliment, if only in retrospect. Has the impending doom of marriage totally addled what little brain you possess?”

The grin vanished from Lucius’s face. “Speaking of my wedding—may I Apparate over for a moment, or are you busy?”

“Why doth Lucius ask where Malfoy can command? Sure, come here, even talking to you is preferable to reading up on some whacky Chinese Potions Master from the fifteenth century.”

“Says the man who just owl-ordered Snape’s Guide To Insulting Compliments. Are you alone?”

“No, I just invited the Wimbourne Wasps over to have a game of Quidditch in my garden. Of course I’m alone,” Severus snarled, “And I assure you that after seven years spent in the same dormitory with you, it is sheer ecstasy.”

“Fine,” Malfoy said, “I’ll join you—”

“—in a second,” he finished, materializing at Severus’s side. Looking round the living room, he whistled through his teeth. “Nice house, Snape. More tasteful than I would have given you credit for. And very—Whoa, easy there, what the hell—”

“This is Elias,” Severus introduced the raven, who had soared past Lucius’s nose, almost stopped in mid-air and, after an elegant U-turn, had finally settled on the visitor’s—or, from his point of view, intruder’s—shoulder.

“Elias,” Malfoy repeated, holding out his left forearm for the bird to perch on, so as to have a better look at it. “Well, he’s certainly impressive. A trifle obsessed with black, aren’t you, Snape?”

“Not as much as with Potter, pardon the pun, but it was irresistible,” Severus shot back. “Anything to drink?”

Lucius checked his watch. “It’s almost dinner time, so I’ll have a whisky. You don’t happen to have a Laphroaig, by any chance?”

“Let’s see what Peggy can do for us.”

The House Elf nodded enthusiastically at Severus’s demand, popped out of view and back again in less than a minute, bringing the required bottle and two glasses. When the two young men were comfortably settled in their chairs, feet propped up on the magically heightened side table, Severus was beginning to wonder about the reason for Malfoy’s visit.

“What was that about your wedding?” he asked therefore.

Lucius’s mouth, relaxed into a smile at the contents of his glass, contracted into a thin line of anger. “I’m having problems with it,” he said tersely, “But now that I’m here, I’m beginning to have doubts whether you’re the right person to talk to.”

Severus raised his eyebrows. “Problems? You mean apart from explicitly counteracting Lord Voldemort’s orders?”

His eyes still fixated on the liquid he was now swirling around in his glass, Lucius replied, “Not exactly. Let’s say that their nature has… uh, changed.”

“Changed?”

“Yes, changed,” he snapped back, “What’s so difficult about that?”

Severus deposited his tumbler on the table with a hard ‘clunk’. “Listen, Malfoy. I have better things to do than play hide-and-seek with you. Either spill the beans or don’t, I couldn’t care less. But don’t try your stupid little games with me.”

“Okay, okay,” Mafloy said gruffly, “No need to go all touchy. Well, then. Voldemort, for reasons unknown to me, has finally accepted that my father wants the wedding to be done in the traditional way.”

Of course Lucius did not know why. Lord Voldemort’s acceptance was due to his, if not enthusiastic so at least satisfied, consent to the strategic planning Lucius’s father, Barty, Lestrange and Severus had done, and successfully so. Considering that the Malfoy wedding would provide the ideal occasion for drugging Stuart Wilkes with Imperius potion, it was justified, and thus Julius Malfoy had not been subjected to punishment anymore during the last two or so weeks. Hence Severus was truly curious what kind of difficulties might have arisen now that everything seemed to run so smoothly.

“Yes,” he said, “I know all about it. So what seems to be the problem?”

“The problem,” Malfoy replied slowly, “seems to be that our Master claims my wife, future wife, to be exact.”

Severus almost dropped his glass in surprise. He deemed himself to be well-informed, but this had to be a recent development of which he had not yet heard. “Claims her? In which sense? He doesn’t want to marry her, does he?”

“No, of course not. He claims the ius primae noctis. Needless to say that I am less than enthusiastic.”

This was certainly not a direction this conversation should take, Severus thought. Dangerous territory, very thin ice. This could also be a trap Julius Malfoy was setting for him, sending his son to lure him into some compromising situation in order to denigrate him to Lord Voldemort. He briefly pondered whether he should throw Lucius out instantly or play along. Deciding for the latter, he observed nonchalantly, “You don’t have to be enthusiastic, I suppose. I am sure Lord Voldemort will be completely satisfied if you simply comply.”

Lucius’s indignation at his comment, however, seemed genuine. “I don’t have any intention to comply,” he retorted sharply.

This reeked of trouble. “Lucius, I don’t think that you have any choice in the matter, do you?”

“I’m a Malfoy and I fully intend to have a choice, regardless of what it might cost me.”

‘I’m a Malfoy.’ As if that were the solution for his problems. “And why, pray, do you think that might interest me?”

“Because I need your help.”

“No.” Severus looked him straight into the eyes, defying the steely grey look.

“Severus—”

“I said no, and no it will remain. What’s your problem, Malfoy? You don’t love her, so what does it matter to you? I’ve lost count, but you had loads of virgins at Hogwarts, and you can have more of them if that is your desire. Or are you afraid that Lord Voldemort’s amatory skills might be so superior to yours?”

Lucius drained is glass in one gulp and poured himself another inch. Face flushed and eyes blazing, he said, “I have exactly two problems. The first is that she’s mine and no one else is going to touch her. The second is that she is a virgin and you know perfectly well what a powerful substance a virgin’s blood can be if used the right way.”

This, Severus had to admit, was true. “May I draw your attention to the fact that Narcissa may be your wife, but that doesn’t make her yours in the sense of possessing her. What about asking her opinion? If she doesn’t object—”

“Nobody. Touches. My. Wife. That is final. No discussion. He doesn’t want her because she’s pretty, he only wants the blood. Which means that he won’t be interested anymore if she’s loses her virginity before he can get his hands on her.”

“Perfect reasoning, Malfoy. Why don’t you go and shag her? That seems to be the solution to the problem, as far as I can judge it.”

“Great idea, Snape, really great. Congratulations. What happens afterwards? He will ask her who did it, she will tell him it was I, he will understand immediately why I did it, and I’m dead. Or one-armed and as good as a squib. Thank you for signing my death sentence.”

“Are you implying that I should do it? Come on, Lucius, be reasonable and don’t drink so much. It seriously impairs your mental capacities.”

“Yeah, that would be some help,” Lucius replied with a sneer. “No, I’m going to do it, but not as myself. And that’s where you come in.”

This discussion had definitely gone too far. Maybe his readiness to listen to those words of high treason was already sufficient for a subtle hint about himself to Voldemort, and he should never have let Lucius arrive at this point. It was high time to stop him now. “Malfoy,” he said as calmly as he could, “either you switch topic or you leave this house instantly. I don’t know whether you’re telling me the truth or whether this is a booby trap excogitated by you and daddy dearest. Whatever it is, I do not want to hear any more of it. Listening to what you are saying is already an act of disloyalty, and you may thank the Gods if I don’t report you to Voldemort, merely for old times’ sake.”

Had his goal been to see Lucius’s face assume an expression of utter disbelief—which was a very rare occurrence indeed—he could have been more than satisfied with the result of his words. “A trap?” he asked, “What kind of trap would that—Oh, of course, I understand. I can only assure you that it isn’t, but then, you probably wouldn’t believe me.”

“Exactly,” Severus confirmed with a grim nod.

Lucius gave a short laugh and passed his right hand through his hair. “What can I say? I guess I’m lucky if you keep your mouth shut, which I sincerely hope you will.”

“I believe I already made that clear.”

Malfoy lowered his head and, for a while, just sat in silence. When he looked up again, his face was flushed, and on his throat Severus could see the angry red blotches that betrayed extreme agitation. They stared wordlessly at each other until Lucius broke the contact and, with one swift, brutal movement, hurled his glass into the fireplace where it burst into pieces.

“Damn you, Severus,” he choked out, “Damn you and your bloody paranoia. You are the only one I could turn to for help. Or do you think I’d go to Lestrange or that stupid prick Barty?”

“Lucius, I—”

“The least you can do is listen without interrupting me, and I don’t give a fuck about whether you run to Voldemort afterwards and tell him everything. So shut that big mouth and listen. No, you moron, I’m not going to hex you,” he said with a malicious grin, seeing that Severus had immediately drawn his wand after he had produced his. “I’m only repairing the glass, for I need another whisky. Reparo!”

The glass, as good as new, flew into his hand, and he refilled it. “I am not in love with Narcissa—it would be preposterous to say such a thing. But I am about to marry her, and she will be my wife and the mother of my heir. As such, I respect her and have every intention to make her life as pleasant as possible. If Lord Voldemort takes her virginity and her blood, not only will it be an exceedingly unpleasant experience that will probably spoil her for sex for the rest of her life—you know as well as I that this kind of dark ritual is as painful as it is disgusting. It will also give Lord Voldemort power over her and, more importantly, over my heir. And here—” he took a large swig of whisky “—I’m not even taking into consideration the possibility that she might conceive his child. Now, I may be a loyal servant to our Master, but I absolutely refuse to give him any power over my wife and child. This is my domain, and I will do anything in my power for it to remain thus. If you refuse to help me, I will have to do it on my own.” He drained his glass and looked Severus straight into the eyes. “You know Narcissa. Would you wish for her to endure that ritual?”

Severus swallowed. “You know that this is blackmail, Malfoy. But I might have an idea. Wait here, I’ll be back in a minute.”

Gods, he thought, while going upstairs to his laboratory, this was really a most unpleasant situation. Unpleasant and dangerous. He opened one of the cupboards and took a small vial from the top shelf. It was the only option he had, and even so… he was not sure which possibility was worse: Malfoy telling him the truth and thus forcing him to make a most difficult choice, or Malfoy lying to him, which meant that he had to obliviate him. Why, oh why had he answered his call? Ten seconds later, and he would already have been out of earshot, and now he would be sitting there peacefully, stuffing his head with names of occult Chinese potions.

When he re-entered the living room, Malfoy was morosely examining his fingernails.

“Give me your wand,” Severus said curtly, holding out his hand.

“Fine!” Malfoy spat, “Who guarantees me that you don’t just disarm me and take me to Voldemort?”

“I can’t take you to Voldemort because I can’t Apparate,” Severus replied impatiently, “Now give me that wand.”

Reluctantly, Lucius handed it to him. “Here you are. What now?”

“Now you are going to take a generous dose of Veritaserum, although I have to warn you. I don’t know how it interacts with alcohol. But it’s take it or leave it. If you were telling me the truth I will see how I can help you. If you were lying, I will instantly obliviate you, which is why I took your wand. I don’t want to have a duel with you in my living room. So, what’s your answer? Take or leave?”

Lucius glared up at him, but his face gradually relaxed into a grin. “Take, you cunning bastard. Give me that vial.”

“No, no. You open your mouth and I’ll let the drops fall on your tongue. None of your dirty little tricks here.”

Severus gave him ten drops—a double dose, enough to make Dumbledore confess he was in love with Voldemort. He waited until Lucius’s eyes unfocused a little, and when his look was clear again, he asked, “Who sent you to me today?”

“Nobody. I came on my own.”

“Did your father send you?”

“No, I came on my own.”

“Do you love Narcissa?”

To Severus’s amazement, he visibly struggled. “Not really. I… I don’t know.”

Interesting, he thought. “Did you tell your father that you were coming here?”

“No.”

“Does he know about Voldemort’s wish concerning Narcissa?”

“No.”

“Did Voldemort tell you about it in private or was there somebody else?”

“There were just the two of us.”

“Where?”

“In Albania. He summoned me yesterday.”

“How did you react?”

Lucius sneered. “With perfect obedience, of course. I’m not that foolish.”

“Did he say anything as to when he wants to perform the ritual?”

“Right after the wedding, when we leave for our wedding night. We are to Apparate to Albania.”

“Will he perform the ritual alone or does he need somebody else?”

“Don’t tell me you haven’t read all about it, Snape!”

“Answer my question, Malfoy, what I have read or not read is irrelevant.”

“He’ll do it alone. He is powerful enough, otherwise he would need a second person. But I’m there anyway, in case he needs an assistant.”

That was all he needed to know, Severus thought. Although there was one more question burning on his tongue. And this was a unique occasion to ask it. “What does your father think of me?”

Lucius laughed out loud. “Good question. He thinks you’re a pain in the arse, but it seems that you had an important part in saving the same arse, so there’s some kind of grudging respect now.”

“Does he want me removed from my position?”

“He did, but I think he doesn’t anymore. If anything, he’s targeting Barty.”

“Glad to hear it,” Severus said, giving the wand back to Lucius, who hurriedly pocketed it. “And now tell me about your plans. I suppose that Polyjuice Potion will be involved, right?”

~~~~*~~~~

“Severus, how sweet of you to come!” Narcissa gave him a brief but affectionate hug.

“You were lucky I was at home,” he said, patting her shoulder. “What’s the matter, you look upset.”

“Well, I… promise you won’t laugh!”

“Why should I laugh? If it worries you enough to ask me to come over immediately, I guess it’s not funny.”

“No,” she said, giving him a grateful smile, “it isn’t. But you guys have a certain tendency to think we’re stupid little creatures, don’t you?”

If possible, she had become even prettier in the two and a half years Severus had not seen her. “I remember our conversations well enough not to regard you as a twittering female. Now tell me.”

“I think… I think I saw James Potter!” she blurted out.

“And…?” Severus prompted.

“That… er, is it. I think I saw James Potter.”

Severus cleared his throat. “Narcissa, don’t get me wrong. James Potter exists, and therefore can be seen. If you told me you saw Merlin, I would begin to doubt, and if you told me you saw a small dragon with fuzzy pink fur, I would advise you to pay a visit to St. Mungo’s. Seeing Potter might offend the eye, but it is perfectly ordinary.”

“No,” she said vigorously shaking her head, “You don’t understand. I saw him here.”

“Here? Where here?”

“Outside in the park, just before I called you.”

Screaming hurray inwardly, Severus schooled his face into a mask of anxious compassion. “That’s… well, it’s not impossible but highly improbable. What would Potter do here? He doesn’t even know you.”

“Well, not really,” she admitted, a bit hesitatingly, “But we… uh, met. At his parents’ funeral, you certainly remember that, don’t you?”

“Yes, but how—”

“He… um, seemed to be quite… uh, impressed—I know it sounds conceited, but I distinctly recall his look.”

“Mmh,” Severus said, wagging his head, “Well, all I can say is that if he seemed to be impressed, and considering the state he was in, he must have been completely lovestruck.”

“I don’t know… but anyway, he probably knows who I am, and he hates Lucius, I know that, and so… it might be a prank, but I’m a little afraid.”

“Yes,” he said, in a perfect imitation of absentmindedness, “Yes, I understand… I’m just thinking… do you think we should tell Lucius?”

Narcissa stared at him in shock. “No! By no means! We absolutely can’t tell him, please Severus, don’t—”

“No,” he interrupted her, “Of course I won’t if it makes you so anxious. You’re afraid he might get himself into trouble, aren’t you?”

“Yes. Because it might be just what Potter wants him to do. So it is better to keep it a secret.”

“Probably. But in that case, you can’t tell your family either. You know how parents are… things might get out of hand…”

And thus, the first step of their plan was successfully completed. It was a piece of cake compared to getting some of Potter’s hairs, though. First, they had tried to break into his house but it was so heavily warded that it would have taken them hours to get through, and they did not want to be seen by anybody. Thus, their only possibility was to get it from his dormitory at the Aurors’ Academy. What sounded like a difficult task was even more difficult in reality, for the building and grounds were heavily guarded, with sneakoscopes and foe-glasses in every corner. But they had succeeded, and the potion had been ready just in time, ten days before the wedding. They really had no time to lose.

Fortunately, school had already started so that St. John Lestrange was back at Hogwarts; Narcissa’s father, who had to supervise his business, was more in France than in England; Samuel Lestrange was working overtime at the ministry because of a raid the Death Eaters had conveniently perpetrated at a major railway station; and Narcissa’s mother had a lot of errands to run and calls to make on behalf of the imminent wedding. Narcissa was home alone more often than not. Come to think of it, things were running unbelievably smoothly.

~~~~*~~~~

It seemed that the whole British wizarding population was here. Everybody. Severus had never seen so many people gathered together, and hoped he never would again. Although the crowds were milling around outside, in the garden of Malfoy Manor, he was feeling slightly claustrophobic.

The wedding ceremony as such was to take place at seven a.m. but the closer friends and family had been asked to come for a drink and a chat already at five. Severus had, of course, been among them, as had all the other Slytherins of his class, and to meet them again had been quite a lot of fun. As much fun as it was possible to have when there was a slight possibility that these might be the last hours of one’s life, or at least the last hours one spent as a two-armed wizard. Lucius’s self-control was admirable but he was deadly pale, which was fortunately attributed to pre-wedding jitters and thus abundantly joked about. Tabitha was nervous as well, for she was the one who had been chosen to slip the Imperius potion to Stuart. Immediately after her arrival, though, she had told them all how nervous she was about seeing Lestrange again after such a long time, so that she did not have to worry if any of her agitation was noticed. Severus had decided to simply withdraw into himself, and nobody was surprised at an attitude that, considering it was he, seemed perfectly normal. Narcissa was nowhere to be seen, but then the bride was expected to show up only when the ceremony started.

The group of schoolmates had settled down a little apart from the other guests under a group of trees, discussing their plans and activities, exchanging gossip and watching the groups of guests forming and dissolving, people wandering from group to group, exchanging pleasantries, shoulder-clapping, cheek-kissing… Tonight, Severus thought, the black mass of Malfoy Manor was looking particularly gloomy; maybe because now dusk was rapidly approaching, and torches flared to life all over the garden, so that the basalt walls appeared even blacker, higher and more forbiddin, as they seemed to recede into the shadows.

At a quarter to seven, Lucius set down his glass with a trembling hand, cleared his throat and said, “You’ll have to excuse me now. I will see you after the ceremony.”

Severus watched his retreating back and noticed with surprise that he was feeling anxious for him. Then he thought of the state Narcissa must be in and found that he certainly did not envy her, either. He and Lucius had debated whether to obliviate her or not but then decided that it was better not to, for it was as good as certain that Lord Voldemort would break the spell, which might do irreparable damage to her brain. Furthermore, they would have had to do it with Narcissa’s wand, and a memory spell performed with another but one’s own wand was very likely to go wrong. Severus shuddered, thinking of the consequences of their actions. Not only would Lucius and Narcissa and very probably he, Julius Malfoy, Barty and Lestrange as well have to face lord Voldemort’s wrath; there was also going to be a huge scandal when it turned out that the bride was not a virgin anymore. What with Nathalie and possibly other reporters among the guests—after all, this was the biggest society event of the year—it was easy to imagine the headline of tomorrow’s Daily Prophet.

Somebody tugged at his sleeve and he looked up. “Come on,” Tabitha said with a nervous little smile, “It’s time to go to the pavilion.”

He nodded and stood up, trying to chase away the indistinct feeling that he was going to his own execution. While he trudged over the lawn in Tabitha’s wake he mentally checked, for the umpteenth time, whether he had removed every trace of incriminating evidence from his house, and berated himself for being a fool, an utter fool, for having consented to play a part in this absurd and above all dangerous intrigue. Why had he let himself be talked into this? Why had he not just obliviated Lucius and dispatched him back home? Certainly not because of anything akin to friendship or similar frivolities. Maybe because he felt sorry for Narcissa, the innocent pawn, who did not deserve to be subjected to the Immaculata Deflorata ritual. And maybe because, deep down, he understood Lucius’s desire to keep something for himself. Only these reasons were not enough to outweigh the undeniable fact that he had betrayed his Master. It made him feel awful. He hated himself for it. Even though it did not cause any direct harm or damage to Lord Voldemort, there was no way past the fact that he had consciously betrayed him. Out of his own free will. They were walking past the main entrance of the manor, and Severus looked up at the massive black door. Yes, he thought, that was where he belonged.

“That upper spirit, who hath worst punishment,” so spake my guide, “Is Judas, he that hath his head within and plies the feet without. Of th’other two, whose heads are under, from the murky jaw who hangs, is Brutus: lo, how he doth writhe and speaks not. The other, Cassius, that appears so large from limb.” The words had come to his mind unbidden, and he closed his eyes for a moment. Lo, how he doth writhe and speaks not. Indeed. This was a fight between himself and himself.