The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 14

By Pigwidgeon37

By the time they had arrived at the pavilion where the ceremony was about to begin, Severus almost believed it all to be nothing but a dream. The uniqueness of the event and the eerie beauty of the scenery intensified the feeling of being just a figure in an absurd oneiric drama, in some product of his mind that simply could not be reality. He sat down next to Tabitha on a chair in the second row; it was marked as his by a piece of parchment, bearing his name, that was attached to the backrest.

It was dark now; in the light of thousands of torches the grass looked almost green, and the perfume of the tropical flowers was becoming unbearably sweet and heady in the tepid evening air. From time to time, he felt a small breeze, almost imperceptible, just caressing the flames of the torches so that they swayed and sent an acerbic waft of pine over the gathered crowd; an aroma that seemed strangely incongruous amidst the luscious, sensual scent of enchanted lilies and orchids.

Lucius was standing with his back to the guests, facing his father who, clad in black dress robes and his face set in aristocratic composure, was waiting for the bride so he could begin the ceremony. To Lucius’s left, seen from the guests’ perspective, stood his mother, splendid in robes that seemed to be made of pure silver. Severus had never seen her other than with her hair cascading over her shoulders in a single, almost compact-looking sheet, but tonight it was swept up in a complex coiffure that accentuated her long, slim throat. The bride and her father were meant to stand at Lucius’s right, and beside their still-empty places Heloïse Lestrange had positioned herself. She did not have Yelena Malfoy’s suggestive beauty, being less vivid and very similar to a statue in her Greek-style dress robes of a creamy white akin to the colour of marble. But Severus found it hard to determine which of the two women looked more ravishing.

When Sinclair Lestrange guided his daughter down the central aisle and towards the pavilion, a chorus of Ah’s rose from the guests. She was wearing bridal robes of blinding white, embroidered with silver or platinum—it was impossible to identify which it was in the golden light of the torches—and covered in a bridal veil, equally white and strewn with thousands of tiny diamonds. The veil went down to her waist and thus her face was invisible, but Severus did not have much trouble imagining the expression of panic on her face. She had not told anybody—not that it would really have mattered, for the scandal would have erupted anyway, only one day earlier—and was probably dying a thousand deaths now. It was certainly preferable to what would have awaited her in Albania, only she had no idea of the ordeal she had been spared and merely dreaded the one that was looming above her head now.

When Narcissa had almost arrived at the altar, Lucius turned round to look at her. For a moment, Severus thought she was going to abandon her father’s arm and run. But it had only been a slight hesitation, and she continued walking until she stood at Lucius’s side.

Julius Malfoy drew his wand, and silence descended upon the crowd. The only sound was made by the small insects which were attracted by the blazing torches and ended their ephemeral lives as tiny supernovas, sizzling faintly before they fell into the grass. The bride began to tremble visibly when Malfoy directed his wand at her. The trembling became violent shaking when he pronounced the words “Revelo virginitatem!”

As all the other family members had their backs turned to the guests, Julius Malfoy was the only one whose expression of mingled horror and fury was visible to everybody. He almost dropped his wand, caught it in the last moment and stared at his son, who slowly shook his head. Severus saw Lucius’s right hand creep over and snatch Narcissa’s fingers. Mrs. Malfoy and Narcissa’s parents were obviously too dumbstruck to move. By now, even the insects seemed to feel the unbearable tension, for they stopped their suicidal flight. The quiet was complete, heavy and pregnant with apprehension. Malfoy cleared his throat. In the total absence of noise, it sounded like an explosion.

“Do you want to continue?” He had murmured it in so low a tone of voice that Severus more guessed than actually heard his words.

Lucius nodded, and a collective sigh of relief went through the rows. Severus was absolutely sure that everybody had understood, albeit without seeing the result of the revealing charm, what had been the cause of the interruption. In front of him, the ceremony went on, but Severus did not pay any attention to it. Lucius had predicted that things would go this way, for he knew his father too well to expect anything but a continuation of the wedding. Another man might have succumbed to the effects of shock and surprise, chasing away the bride and her parents and leaving it to them to bear the whole weight of the scandal. Not Julius Malfoy. Evidently, his son’s silent denial of guilt and equally silent assent to go ahead with the ceremony had been enough for him to keep up appearances despite the obvious obstacle.

It was not a long ceremony; in fact, it lasted little more than half an hour. Severus was forced out of his reverie by the cheers and applause of the guests when Lucius lifted the bridal veil to cup Narcissa’s face with both hands—thus surreptitiously wiping off her tears—and kiss her. Had everything been normal Julius Malfoy would probably have smiled. As things were, he watched the kiss with stony equanimity, and only his eyes betrayed that he was far from calm. When the applause finally died down, he raised his hands in a gesture that demanded attention.

“My dear friends, as many of you already know from your own experience, getting married is not only a joyful but also a very stressful event, above all for bride and groom. Therefore, I ask your comprehension for a slight change of plans. Lucius and Narcissa need a moment of quiet during which I hope you will excuse us. They will be back to join you shortly, so you will be able to congratulate them in due form.”

A murmur of surprise surged from the mass of guests, but then they slowly began to rise and make their way towards the Veelas waiting in the background, balancing trays with glasses of champagne and canapés. It had been a splendid idea to engage Mrs. Malfoy’s relatives, Severus thought, and especially now it proved to be very useful, for the men were literally stampeding towards them, whereas their wives were sufficiently angry with them to be distracted, at least temporarily, from making malicious comments about the bride. Trying not to look at the deceptively beautiful creatures, Severus got up as well and was about to join the others when he saw Lucius stride towards him. If possible, he was even paler than before.

“She wants you to stay with us,” he muttered.

He nodded and walked towards the family group, noticing that St. John Lestrange had already joined them. Malfoy acknowledged Severus’s presence with a short nod, his wife gave him a rather forced smile and briefly touched his arm. The Lestranges, with the exception of St. John who squeezed his hand, did not react to him at all. Instead of moving into the house, Malfoy simply cast a privacy charm over the pavilion and conjured eight chairs for them. Narcissa, who was now sobbing desperately, was the first to slump down into her seat, the others followed suit. Only Malfoy remained standing, his look riveted on his grief-stricken daughter-in-law.

“Give me an explanation, Narcissa,” he said, “And pray to whichever gods you know that I deem it sufficient.”

“I think,” Lucius said, rising to his feet and stepping to his wife’s side, “that I am the one who has to ask for an explanation here.” He put a hand on Narcissa’s shoulder. “Sit down, father, please. It is useless to further intimidate her.”

Not quite sure how Malfoy would react, Severus looked from father to son and was relieved when he saw the former press his lips together and incline his head. “As you wish,” he said curtly, and went to sit down next to his wife.

Narcissa slowly raised her wet, blotchy face and stared up at Lucius. “It wasn’t my fault, Lucius,” she blurted out, “You must believe me… all of you! It wasn’t my fault!” And she buried her face in her hands again.

Lucius heaved a deep sigh. “It is certainly a difficult thing to believe,” he said, “But maybe you could explain…”

“It was James Potter—”

“WHAT?” seven voices exclaimed; seven pairs of eyes glared at her incredulously.

“Severus, please… please, tell them…”

He did not feel overly comfortable but it had to be done. “I… suppose that part of the blame goes to me. I should have taken what she said more seriously… I should have told somebody. I… I am truly sorry.”

After he had finished his account, the others looked at him in silent astonishment. Their surprise turned into fury when Narcissa picked up the thread of Severus’s narration. “Yesterday afternoon he… he came into the house… into my room… I-I was reading, I didn’t even hear him open the door. And… and I was so taken aback I didn’t get my wand in time…” At this, Severus sent his fervent thanks to the Gods, all of them. “I would have defended myself, really, but he… he put Imperius on me, so I couldn’t do anything but… but…” The sobs took over again.

Julius Malfoy’s hands were balled into fists. “Potter!” he growled. “I’ll kill that bastard, I swear that I’ll kill him.”

“I suggest you leave that to me,” Lucius said. “Narcissa?” She tilted her head to look up at him, as if fearing that he might hit her. “Why don’t you go into the house with your parents, just to restore yourself a bit? We will have to meet the guests, there’s no way to avoid that, so you better calm down and do something for your face.—Would you be so kind?” he asked his parents-in-law, who nodded as if they had been put under the Imperius curse instead of their daughter, pulled her up from her chair and Disapparated. “Mother,” Lucius said, “I think you might want to join the guests, just so they don’t feel neglected. We’ll be with you in a moment.”

Yelena Malfoy raised her eyebrows and darted her son a half-surprised, half- angry look, but said nothing and quietly left the pavilion.

“It seems that we have a problem,” Lucius said to the remaining three wizards.

~~~~*~~~~

“I expected you and your wife, Lucius, not a delegation. What happened?”

None of the five men standing in front of Lord Voldemort—they had managed to find Barty and quickly filled him in on the details before they had Disapparated—pretended not to be afraid.

Lucius’s voice was shaking and he stumbled over the first syllable, but he managed to speak. Severus was not so sure he himself would have been able to articulate any coherent thought under similar circumstances, when every word might be the last one he was ever going to utter. It was easier to endure the unbearable tension, the dryness of his mouth and the raging headache if he imagined that Lucius was the only one in imminent danger. It helped him maintain an expression of mere anxiety, instead of the panic he was still successfully preventing from taking over and showing on his face.

“M-My Lord,” Lucius began, “I am the victim of an adversity that has deprived me of the privilege of offering you my wife.” He had obviously hoped for Voldemort to say something, but their Master simply held him in the grip of his unfathomable stare, and thus Lucius was compelled to continue. “When my father performed the revealing charm it turned out that Narcissa was not a virgin anymore.” He paused again and swallowed. Voldemort remained silent. “We… we proceeded with the ceremony because ending it would have caused an even greater scandal than the one we all expect in any case.”

A drop of sweat trickled down from Lucius’s temple over his neck and into the collar of his robes. He made no attempt to wipe it off.

“After the ceremony, Narcissa broke down completely and told us that the culprit was James Potter. She had seen him near the Lestrange’s house twice already, and yesterday afternoon he returned there, put her under Imperius and… and took her virginity. I am… I… I am sorry, My Lord.”

Still no reaction from Voldemort. Severus felt his nerve ends tingle—he wanted to burst into hysterical laughter, or sing, or do something, anything to break this leaden silence. When the Dark Lord finally spoke, his words paradoxically seemed to increase the silence instead of ending it. “You expect me to believe this preposterous tale?”

Severus decided that it was better to speak and be punished than to endure the tension, even if it lasted only one more second. “My Lord,” he said, “May I speak?” Voldemort did not even nod, but neither did he do or say anything that might be interpreted as a no. “Narcissa called me twice and asked me to come to Monrepos because she was afraid. She was alone in the house and told me she had seen James Potter outside in the park.”

Voldemort’s eyes narrowed imperceptibly when they abandoned Lucius, who visibly relaxed, and came to rest on Severus. “Indeed?” was all he said. It was enough to make Severus’s heart sink.

“Yes, my Lord. The first time I did not even bother to go outside and look whether there was anybody. The second time I did but found no trace. So I put it all down to her nervousness before the wedding and persuaded her not to tell her parents.”

“That,” Lord Voldemort said, “was a great mistake.” He drew his wand, and Severus felt himself go rigid with fear. “As you should know by now—” the tip of his wand moved slowly towards Severus “—I do not like mistakes. Crucio!”

During the few seconds before his mind succumbed to the pain, Severus noticed with surprise that the curse was both more and less bad than he had thought. More because he had simply not been able to imagine such an amount of purest pain, and less because the immensity of the pain it inflicted made it so unreal that it was almost possible to believe it was only an illusion. Almost. Until rational thought gave way to agony, exploding under its strain like a dam that could not hold the water anymore. Only then did it become truly unbearable. Neither burning nor throbbing, neither sharp nor numb; it was pure, unadulterated pain that devoured his nerve ends and made the marrow of his bones want to leave their prison and seep out through his skin. If possible, the searing agony was accentuated when he fell to his knees and then, unable to keep his balance anymore because his brain no longer held command over his limbs, collapsed on the floor.

The consciousness that it was over took a long time to settle in. Reality was back and with it the different, well-defined kinds of pain it usually brought. Head throbbing, lungs burning like fire, joints and tendons aching as if they were all broken and torn, abdomen stabbed by vicious jolts of something white-hot—he still existed. While next to him Lucius was screaming and writhing on the floor, Severus mentally recited potions recipes and dates of history, both to give himself a focus on which to concentrate besides the pain, and to make sure that his brain had not suffered too great a damage. When Lucius’s torture had ended he dared to open his eyes, but closed them again immediately. Although the room was only lit by candles, their shine was too much for his oversensitized retinae and hit them like a fist.

Concentrating on the twelve uses of dragon blood, he tried to stabilize his breathing that was too erratic and shallow to provide the badly-needed oxygen. It felt like liquid metal being poured into his lungs but he succeeded.

“My Lord,” he heard Julius Malfoy’s voice, “What do you want us to do with Potter?”

“For the moment,” Lord Voldemort replied, “You will not do anything. James Potter has deprived me of a most valuable good and thus, we will wait until he possesses something we can deprive him of. We have time, Julius. Much more time than any of them.”

“Of course, my Lord.”

“St. John,” the Master spoke again, “Was Stuart Wilkes given the potion?”

“Yes, My Lord. Tabitha told me she had successfully administered it to him just before we left.”

“Very well. You may go.”

Severus heard the soft rustle of robes right next to him, and Lestrange’s voice right above his ear, saying “Severus, try to get up.”

He almost laughed at the absurdity of the request. He had not even managed to keep his eyes open, how could he possibly get to his feet? A hand inserted itself between his left side and the floor, the other one grabbed his right upper arm, and he was hoisted into a sitting position. Hesitantly, he ordered his eyelids to rise infinitesimally. The light still hurt, but he willed himself to resist. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Malfoy lift the limp form of his son from the floor. Still holding him upright, Lestrange rose to his feet and pulled him up as well—Severus supposed he was trying to be as gentle as possible, but it still hurt like hell. Barty was nowhere to be seen. Probably he had already Disapparated.

“I suggest we all go to Malfoy Manor,” Lucius’s father said, “So we can give them the potion. I daresay they need it. I suggest we go to my own rooms, so we will be undisturbed.”

Lestrange nodded, held Severus closer to him and told him to concentrate. The next second, they were standing on a thick carpet, and Severus felt a cool breeze tugging gently at his hair. The two Malfoys arrived immediately after them. Through half-closed lids, Severus looked at the surroundings. The room—he supposed it to be Malfoy’s study—was dark and austere, dominated by a large desk and a fireplace of enormous proportions that provided warmth in spite of the fresh night air streaming in through the open windows. In front of it stood a single, huge armchair towards which Malfoy, with Lucius still in his arms, now directed his steps.

“Can you still hold him, St. John?” he asked while carefully depositing his son in the chair. “Just a moment, until I’ve adapted this for the two of them.”

Severus dizzily watched as the chair’s width and length gradually increased until it had reached the proportions of a large double bed, for which Malfoy then conjured cushions and two blankets.

“Come on, Severus, last effort,” Lestrange said, half-carrying, half-dragging him to the makeshift bed. “Here you are.” And he let him glide down onto the soft upholstery.

“How’s Lucius?” he asked, or at least he thought that was what he had said. But he had to repeat the question twice for Lestrange to understand.

“He’ll survive,” came Malfoy’s voice from behind him. “Here’s the potion, St. John, give it to him. I’ll try and wake up Lucius.”

It was one of the mysteries of potions-brewing that the viler a concoction tasted, the better it worked. To judge by the indignant screams of his taste buds, Severus thought that he should be able to do triple somersaults within the next ten minutes. Next to him, Lucius was groaning and opening his eyes. When he opened his mouth as well, his father deftly shoved the vial with the potion between his lips. Had Severus had any strength to spare, he would have used it to laugh at Lucius’s look of utter disgust.

“Do you think we can leave them alone for a while?” Lestrange asked while he freed Severus of his shoes and dress robes and unbuttoned the collar of his shirt, “It would be advisable to return to your guests. We’ve been absent for—” he checked his watch “—more than half an hour.”

“Absolutely. We cannot afford any more suspicions or rumours. Lucius, Severus, we will be back in about an hour. Try not to fall asleep and—” he conjured a jug of water and two glasses “—drink lots of water. The more, the better. If you feel that you might be sick, call for a House Elf. Come on, St. John, back to duty.”

The door closed behind the two men, and Severus relaxed into the cushions, trying to convince himself that the pain was slowly ebbing away. When he heard a strange noise from his left, he gingerly turned his head.

“Malfoy, am I delirious, or were you actually snorting?”

Lucius’s voice was hoarse when he answered, “I opted for snorting, as I’m too weak for laughing. Snape, are you aware that this is my wedding night, and that I’m spending it with you?”

~~~~*~~~~

Lestrange and Malfoy had returned later, just as they had promised. Lucius and Severus had been given another dose of the potion and finally allowed to sleep.

“No, you can’t go home,” Lestrange had answered Severus’s feeble protests, “The danger of having an epileptic attack or a stroke is far too great for you to remain alone. The guest rooms are full and Narcissa ought not to be disturbed, so you’ll have both to stay here for the night. Julius and I will take it in turns to watch over you.”

“It’s almost two in the morning anyway,” Malfoy observed. “I suggest three turns of an hour each for both of us, if that sits well with you.”

These were the last words Severus heard before drifting of into a light and fitful sleep that was haunted by nightmarish fantasies of pain and violence, some of it inflicted, some of it endured—he had to be woken twice, once by Malfoy and the second time by Lestrange. They made him drink some water and a very small dose of the potion. The third time he woke up, it was from the delicious smell of toast, coffee and bacon, and when he gingerly rose from the cushions, he saw Lucius already seated at his father’s desk, stuffing himself with scrambled eggs.

“Morning Malfoy,” he said, tentatively stretching his limbs, “I have to tell you that it was an incredible night. Was it as good for you as it was for me?”

“Snape, joy of my life! I never thought it could be like this,” Lucius retorted. “Have some breakfast, or aren’t you hungry?”

For a while, they sat munching in silence. Then Lucius darted him a sideways glance and said “I guess I owe you for this, Severus.”

“Understatement of the millennium,” Severus replied and shoved a carefully composed bite of egg, bacon and sausage into his mouth. “What are you going to tell Narcissa?”

Lucius shrugged and winced—Severus understood it only too well, considering that the small distance between the bed and desk had almost been too much for him to walk. “I’m not sure. I guess I’ll tell her the truth and then obliviate her. If she wants it that way, that is.”

“The after-effects of Cruciatus are wondrous indeed,” Severus remarked, “Are you saying that you’ll actually offer her a choice?”

“It’s not that much of a choice,” Lucius said, “She can either accept things as they are without asking any questions or get the whole story and have her memory wiped. Of both the story and James Potter, of course.”

“Sounds reasonable,” Severus agreed. “Do you think Lord Voldemort believed us?”

“I wish there was a way to tell. I’m not sure. And that uncertainty makes me feel very uneasy. The problem is that we don’t have any basis for comparison so that we could reasonably say that in this and that situation he behaves like this and that.”

“How very true. And we can’t ask anybody. So it seems we just have to wait, unsettling as it is. Hoping that the effects of the curse will wear off quickly. I have to call off my lesson with McLachlan today, as I’m in no condition for potions-making. My hands are shaking as if I were one hundred and fifty years old.”

Malfoy nodded. “I can’t believe that my father endured it so many times. He might be stronger than I—”

“You must be joking! He is stronger, a lot. He picked you up from the floor just like that, and you’re as tall as I and more than just a little heavier. But it’s still astonishing—”

The door was flung open, and Narcissa came in, followed by her father-in-law and uncle. Her hair was hanging over her shoulder in a loose braid, and she was still in her dressing gown—obviously she had just woken up. Severus thought that Lucius should indeed deem himself a lucky man because that was the sight that was going to greet him every morning from now on, but refrained from saying so aloud. Seeing her, Lucius’s eyes narrowed slightly.

“My dear,” he said, getting up from his chair, which had to cause him considerable pain, although this time he did not even wince, “I would prefer you not to be looked at by anybody but myself in this state of deshabillé. Please—” and he held out his hand which she took “—accompany me to our rooms, for we have to talk. Severus, do you think we might continue our discussion tomorrow at your house?” Severus, biting back a grin—he thought that Lucius’s sudden metamorphosis from a sex-crazed teenager into a dignified married man had definitely a very exhilarating side to it—nodded his assent. “If you would excuse us then, father, St. John.”

The couple left the room. Malfoy looked at the closing door with an expression of unmistakeable pride, then turned to Severus.

“How are you feeling?”

“Shaky but a lot better than last night. Do you think you could give me the recipe for that potion?”

“Of course. You will have to take it for two or three days, including today, then the after-effects should have worn off.”

He went to one of the bookshelves, pulled out a small volume and took it to his desk where he opened it—and the fact that he did not have to search the right page because the tome neatly parted at the page he was looking for told a silent but all the more explicit story about what his refusal of Lord Voldemort’s order had cost him. A sheet of parchment and a quill were placed next to the book, and at Malfoy’s murmured “Transcriptio!” the quill started copying the text.

“I am in your debt for what you did for my son yesterday,” Malfoy said, leaning on the desk and pretending to watch the quill’s progress. “I don’t dare to imagine the consequences had you not taken your part of the blame. It was a very honourable thing to do and I will certainly not forget it.”

“I did nothing but tell the truth,” Severus replied.

He felt nauseous when he uttered those words. It had been bad enough to have Lucius thank him for having betrayed their Master, but to hear his father’s praise of his abominable actions was more than he could bear. He had always been sure that Malfoy’s motives for joining Lord Voldemort were equal parts fear of the Dark wizard and personal ambition; an impression that had been confirmed by Malfoy’s stubborn refusal to acknowledge that his Master’s authority did not have to respect the boundaries of his own realm. The proverbial Malfoy pride would bend to anybody’s command only to a certain, well-defined extent, even if it meant torture or death. He, Severus, had joined because he deeply respected and maybe even loved Lord Voldemort. He owed everything to his Master, he understood the nature of the driving force behind his steady ascent to power probably better than any other of his followers. What he had done, that heinous deed he had let himself be talked into by Lucius, that kiss of Judas, that cowardly stab in the back of the man who trusted him, was taken as indirect confirmation of his own attitude by Malfoy. It made him feel sick with guilt and self-contempt.

He rose from his chair, suppressing a groan of pain. Every fibre of his body was aching, his muscles were sore from the spasms, and his joints felt as if they were filled with sand instead of synovia. “I think I should better leave now,” he said, “Thank you for your hospitality and your care, Julius, I really appreciate it.”

“It was the least I could do. Let me know when you have completely recovered so that we can start planning the next steps concerning Herbert Wilkes.”

~~~~*~~~~

As Lestrange had foreseen, Vincent Boulder did not survive the next Death Eater meeting.

Stuart Wilkes had been successfully given the Imperius Potion, the effects of which lasted three or four months, depending on the person who took it. Lestrange was currently working on a more long-lasting version, just to facilitate keeping track of the people who were currently under its influence, but the principle was going to remain the same: he kept a painstaking record of his patients, as he used to call them, and all he had to do was summon them to a safe place where they were given the next dose.

Vincent Boulder had not been able or willing to fulfil his duties towards Lord Voldemort, which would have consisted in gradually eliminating those employees of the Wizards’ Wireless Network whose sympathies were clearly with Dumbledore or the Ministry, or at least indicating their identities to his Master so that the Death Eaters could have taken care of them. All he had done in more than three years of allegedly faithful obedience had been to give Voldemort the name of one of the speakers, whom every child in Great Britain knew to be fervently loyal to Dumbledore because he always found a way of slipping derogatory comments on the Ministry into his texts, or cracking jokes about Lord Voldemort and his followers during his transmissions. But he had been killed more than a year ago—another mission commanded by Barty that had very nearly failed because of his faulty preparation. Their intended victim’s house had been heavily guarded by Aurors, and although the man was killed and two Aurors sent right after him, two Death Eaters had been gravely injured and left there by the others, as a defenceless prey for the ministerial emergency squads. Their public trial and lifelong imprisonment in Azkaban had considerably raised the Ministry’s morals.

Apart from that information, Boulder had been incapable of coming up with any useful intelligence. As soon as it was clear that Herbert Wilkes could be eliminated whenever Lord Voldemort wished and hence be replaced by his son, Vincent Boulder was practically a dead man. His body, from which the left arm had been neatly severed, was literally dumped at the minister’s feet when he left his residence in the morning of 2 October. The two black-clad figures on broomsticks who had been carrying the corpse were gone out of sight before the Aurors had even got airborne. But then, Lucius and Clarissa had not been excellent chasers for nothing.

When the Daily Prophet’s exhaustive coverage of the Malfoy wedding had not contained a single word about the embarrassing interruption of the ceremony, Severus had already concluded that Julius Malfoy’s little conversation with Nathalie Pierson had been successful. This suspicion was confirmed by the headline of the Prophet’s special edition of 2 October, which read “THE MINISTER GETS A PRESENT—BUT DOES HE HAVE A FUTURE?” The picture on the front page showed a very forlorn-looking minister staring at Boulder’s mutilated corpse—this and the deprecatory tone of the following article did nothing to increase the Ministry’s popularity or the British wizards’ trust in those who were supposed to protect them.

~~~~*~~~~

Despite his relatively young age of merely forty, Herbert Wilkes was a man with a meticulously planned daily schedule. With the exception of Sundays, he rose every day at seven o’clock sharp, left the house at eight and Apparated to his office at the top floor of the WWN building. Unless he was kept by an appointment he went to lunch at one a.m. and never returned to his office later than half past two. After three more hours at his desk, he Apparated home to have dinner with his wife and son, to return to his office afterwards for another hour and a half if necessary. Once a week, the Wilkes had guests at home for dinner, and once or twice they followed invitations from friends or business partners. Mrs. Wilkes accompanied her husband to some but not all of those social events, although when they were hosting a dinner party she was always present.

It had not been too difficult to gather this information; a few days of careful observation, some calls by Floo to Wilkes’s secretary, and a friendly conversation between Malfoy’s House Elf Dobby and the Wilkes’s elf had been enough to give a clear picture of an unspectacular, ordinary life. A life that had become a little busier after the demise of Wilkes’s partner Boulder, whose responsibilities had only in part been taken over by Stuart; the majority of his dead co-founder’s tasks were now resting on Herbert Wilkes’s shoulders, and he spent almost every evening in his office, working until near midnight. By that time the WWN building was already deserted, locked and warded—the last transmission ended at ten p.m. . Catherine Reynolds, Wilkes’s other partner, was an early bird who never arrived at her office after seven a.m. and consequently left in the late afternoon, always with an escort of two students of the Aurors’ Academy, courtesy of her brother. Severus, who had assigned the task of observing Wilkes to Owen, Tabitha and himself, had thus had the dubious pleasure of seeing Black, Potter and Lily Evans, clad in the red robes of Aurors-in-training—the colour clashed horribly with Evans’s hair—playing watchdogs and looking incredibly smug and self-important.

By the middle of October, it had become clear that the best strategy would be to kill Wilkes after ten p.m. in his office when he would be alone and easily overpowered. This choice of location, however, had a distinct flaw: the WWN was in Politic Alley, at a distance of about three hundred yards from the Ministry of Magic. Not only was the whole area heavily guarded, but the squad of twenty-five Law Enforcement Wizards permanently installed at the Ministry building constantly monitored all magical activities within a radius of five hundred yards. If they detected the signs of the group Apparating into Wilkes’s office—and it was highly probable that they would—it was more than likely that at least ten of them would show up there within the next five seconds.

“The obvious solution would be to send a single person,” Severus said to Lestrange, Malfoy and Crouch, who had yet again come to his house to plan Wilkes’s elimination. “The law enforcement probably won’t react if only one Apparition shows up—it could just as well be Wilkes himself, coming back for something he forgot in his office.”

“One person!” Barty exclaimed, “And who, pray, should that be? You?”

“If we can wait until 13 November, I would be honoured to go myself.”

The two young men glared at each other, but their staring contest was interrupted by Lestrange’s sharp voice. “No,” he said, “This is out of the question. First, we can certainly not wait until the middle of November—for all we know, Wilkes might already have taken in a new partner by that time, who could be a late-night worker like he. And secondly, this is too important a mission to be entrusted to only one person. We all know that Wilkes is a powerful wizard and more than able to defend himself. If there is the slightest problem with Apparating—after all, this is a closed space, and you might accidentally Apparate on top of his desk or a chair—you are as good as dead. Not to mention that the law enforcement might become curious all the same.”

“I agree,” Malfoy said. “The last we need is a botched suicide commando. No, we have to create a diversion shortly before we attack Wilkes. The only question is where and how.”

~~~~*~~~~

Autumn had come early this year, and 20 October had been an uncharacteristically cold day, with strong gusts of wind that chased people along the streets and took away their hats, tugged at their robes and nearly blew them over when they turned the corner of a street. In the afternoon, rain had started to fall heavily, so that only those who absolutely had to leave the comfort of their homes ventured out into the streets. Diagon Alley lay almost deserted, and Politic Alley, the buzzing life of which usually died down around six or seven o’clock, was totally empty, like the main street of a spectral nightmare town. It was eleven p.m., and Severus, Lucius and Lestrange, visible only to each other because of an invisibility spell, were standing at a distance of fifty yards from the ministry, on the opposite side of the street, and peering into the scantily lit darkness.

Suddenly, the few street lights went out, and Severus noticed that the air had become distinctly chillier. “I think they are coming,” he whispered, and the other two nodded.

“Yes,” Lestrange hissed back, “I can feel it too. Time to eat our chocolate.”

Severus and Lucius—the latter with much more enthusiasm—produced large bars of chocolate from the pockets of their cloaks, and obediently unwrapped them. Lucius and Lestrange were already munching, and Severus had just taken a reluctant first bite, when Lucius nudged him and pointed in the direction of the Ministry building.

“There they are,” he muttered.

A group of maybe thirty or thirty-five figures, at least seven feet tall and wearing hooded cloaks, was noiselessly gliding down the street towards the main entrance of the Ministry.

“So many,” Severus whispered, “where did he find them?”

Lucius shrugged. “I have no idea. But he has his connections, you know.”

Lestrange looked at them with furrowed brows and, putting his finger to his lips, admonished them to be silent. When the Dementors had reached the entrance, he drew his wand and motioned for the other two to do the same. The large iron door opened, and the silent procession glided inside. When green lights began to flicker behind the dark windows and screams could be heard over the restless howling and whistling of the wind, they took off the invisibility spell; Lucius, with a sly grin, put his arm round Severus’s shoulders to establish the necessary body contact, and on the count of three, they Apparated into Herbert Wilkes’s office.

Wilkes, red-haired and bespectacled like his son, was sitting at a desk littered with stacks of parchment, writing and completely absorbed in his work. When the three wizards materialized in front of him, he quickly grabbed his wand. He might have stood a chance against a single opponent, but against two disarming and one stunning spells even he was powerless.

 “Wake him up, Lucius,” Lestrange said, “If there’s something I dislike, it is killing people who don’t look at me. Call me sentimental, but I prefer to make it a little more personal.”

 “Pity we don’t have time for doing it properly,” Lucius said, “he won’t feel a thing. Enervate!”

 Wilkes opened his eyes and looked at them in horror. “Who are you?” he croaked.

 “The last ones to have seen you alive,” Severus said, and Lucius chuckled.

 Wilkes opened his mouth to answer, but Lestrange was quicker. “Avada Kedavra! Another attractive widow for Lester McNair to comfort. The old philanderer should kiss our hands. Severus, the Mark!”

 Still snickering at Lestrange’s joke, Severus went to open the window, pointed his wand skywards, and called “Morsmordre!”

While the shimmering green skull was rising higher and higher above the WWN building, Severus and Lucius were already sharing a nightcap and enjoying the much-needed warmth of the fireplace in the library at Malfoy Manor.