The Sybil's Oracle Book Two

Chapter 15

By Pigwidgeon37

To remain hidden from the Muggles, Hogwarts had been heavily warded and enchanted to show their non-wizarding eyes nothing but a ruin they would not have desired to enter even without the sign telling them that the structure was in danger of immediate collapse, so dilapidated was its aspect. At Urqhart, a different method had been chosen: not only did the Muggles’ curious stares encounter a ruin, it was also a magical replica of the real castle that housed England’s magical university, situated on one of the not-so-easily-accessible banks of Loch Ness and protected by invisibility spells impenetrable to any but a wizard’s look.

During the last few years, the number of students had increased considerably, so much in fact that it was impossible to provide accommodation on the campus for all of them without drastic amplifications to most of the buildings. The Ministry’s charms experts had dissuaded the university governors from doing so, though, because such changes were probably going to influence the surrounding magical field and thus also the castle’s replica. Considering that to attract the Muggles’ attention by altering the appearance of one of Scotland’s most-visited monuments would be the last thing they wanted to do, the governors had heeded the experts’ advise. But it turned out that many students preferred to live at their own homes or with their parents, and thus the augmentation of their number ceased to be a problem before it had even become one.

Only the anti-Apparition wards had to be taken off, for it was impossible to have herds of students popping into sight outside the boundaries where everybody could see them. This posed, of course, a certain risk, and for a short time the governors experimented with two Apparition gateways, one for incoming and one for outgoing students. The experiment was cancelled after only one week, due to some serious accidents that had occurred when the gateways were blocked by mass affluence, and latecomers had Apparated right on top of their fellow students who were still stuck within the gates. Access by Apparition was now possible for everybody, and so far, nothing had happened.

~~~~*~~~~

After the successful execution of Herbert Wilkes, his place had been taken by his son Stuart, who, under the influence of the Imperius Potion, refused to take in a third partner. The WWN was now guided only by him and Catherine Reynolds, whose influence was subtly but constantly undermined. Things were going on satisfyingly, and thus Lord Voldemort’s followers were able to direct their attention at their next project: the elimination of Jonathan Prewett, who taught Potions at Urqhart Magical University. Term had started at the beginning of October, and about two weeks later, during a staff meeting on 15 October, an owl had delivered a letter inviting Prewett in unmistakeable words to reconsider his attitude towards Lord Voldemort unless he was ready to face the consequences of his disobedience.

Lucius, their agent provocateur who had just started his first year of Advanced Transfiguration and Charms, had reported back that a staff meeting was probably the best occasion to get the undivided attention of the people who really counted. There was no academic ceremony in sight, and the faculty seldom took their meals together, with or without students. Nor did lectures seem an appropriate possibility for conveying the ominous letter, because only students would be present. It was essential, though, to have as many staff members as possible witness the event, so as to obtain the desired effect.

The news spread like wildfire, and the uproar it caused was considerable. Everybody was indignant, from the rector down to the caretaker; everybody assured Prewett of their unfaltering loyalty, but it was undeniable that people began to keep their distance. Students excused themselves from his courses under the most threadbare pretexts; his six-year-old daughter Barbara, usually more than welcome to the students’ quarters, was kindly but firmly asked to stay away from her favourite haunts; and his wife Elsa was conspicuously not invited to an afternoon tea given by the rector’s wife. Lucius, who had been instructed to keep an eye on the Prewett family, greatly profited from his sneaking and spying skills acquired at Hogwarts. In the daily reports he was obliged to write for his father, he gave a very thorough account of Prewett’s desperation and, above all, disappointment at his colleagues’ and students’ attitude.

Shortly after Halloween, Prewett was called to the rector’s study. He had never been on especially friendly terms with Chuck Greenbaum, partly because he was slightly americanophobe but mostly because Greenbaum was a Magizoologist, held Potions in very low esteem and never failed to express this attitude to whoever did or did not want to listen to him. Fortunately Prewett discussed the outcome of this conversation with his wife late at night, when their daughter had already been sent to bed, the campus was shrouded in darkness and Lucius had taken up his nightly spying activities. Thus Voldemort’s Trusted Four learned that the Potions Professor had been given three weeks to order his affairs, take his family and leave Urqhart Magical University for whatever destination he chose, but preferably somewhere at the Antipodes. It was time to act.

Lucius was one of the non-resident students and thus could participate in the meeting that was held at Malfoy Manor for the meticulous planning of the attack without raising unwanted suspicion.

“Are you sure that there are no Aurors on the campus?” Lestrange asked for the umpteenth time.

“Unbelievable as it may seem, there are none. As I already told you,” Lucius replied, with a hint of impatience to his voice. The constant spying was beginning to take its toll on his nerves. He was becoming rather irritated—but never, Severus noticed with pleasure and surprise, towards his wife.

“What about plainclothesmen?” Barty asked. “Not that I heard anything of the sort at the Ministry, but then you know that I can’t be too openly curious.”

Lucius wagged his head pensively. “I’d rather say there aren’t any. By now, I know the whole staff and most of the students. And since the letter arrived, I haven’t seen many new faces. If there are law enforcement people, they must be terribly few. And certainly not near Prewett’s living quarters, for I would certainly have spotted them. To say the truth, I’m not even sure whether Greenbaum informed the Ministry. To me, he seems very much the That’s-My-Territory-So-I’ll-Handle-It type. Rather imprudent, if you ask me, but very much to our advantage.”

“Indeed. That would make the whole operation seem almost incredibly easy,” Severus observed.

“Easy, but not spectacular,” was Lestrange’s comment. “We wanted to have something really sensational, lots of dead and injured victims. Something the Ministry can’t just overlook. Yes, I know,” he impatiently forestalled Barty’s comment with a wave of his hand, “I know that they’ll be besides themselves because Prewett’s wife is related to Weasley, if only by marriage. But that’s an internal affair of their own, so to speak. A matter of honour. What we need is public pressure, and we can’t have that without a massacre.”

“Exactly,” Julius Malfoy agreed, “That’s why we had planned it like this: cause attention, cause people to congregate around their threatened colleague, and then strike. Who on earth could foresee that they are such a bunch of cowards?”

“In that case,” Lucius said slowly, “I might have an idea…”

~~~~*~~~~

It was difficult not to smile like an idiot, Severus thought lingering in front of the Ministry building, when looking at a site that was symbol of more than one personal triumph. It was 13 November, his eighteenth birthday, and he had just left the gloomy edifice with his Apparition license in hand—triumph number one. The cordon of law enforcement wizards forming a living fence around the building reminded him of the successful diversionary manoeuvre carried out to dissimulate the attack on Wilkes. And a few yards down the street, there was the WWN building, monument of yet another victory. Immobile amongst the crowds hurrying towards their offices, appointments or lunch breaks, he savoured this moment as long as possible.

This ephemeral satisfaction at what he had achieved did not completely cancel the still-nagging feeling of guilt because of what Lucius, in his usual nonchalance, called The Virgin Prank. But he had learned to live with it, more or less comfortably, and sublimated it, turning it into an incentive to do his best for his Master. Now that he had his license, there were no more limitations to this desire. He could fully participate in every mission Lord Voldemort entrusted him with and show his utter dedication to the cause.

~~~~*~~~~

The living quarters Jonathan Prewett occupied on the campus of Urqhart Magical University had previously housed a family of six and thus were rather large for three persons. Less than half of the faculty members were married, and Prewett was currently the only one with a child under fifteen, having married rather late for wizarding standards, at age forty-two. Thus his colleagues had been only too glad to leave him the spacious apartment at the very end of the long, two-storied building that accommodated the staff quarters. The noise of small children was not the kind of sound the occupants of this edifice welcomed. But they had to admit that Barbara Prewett was a model child, quiet and rather unobtrusive, more interested in sitting with the students and listening to their conversation than in wreaking havoc or disturbing the dignified silence they needed to concentrate on their work. This, and a lot more, was what Lucius had heard from Mr. Augustus Juniper, factotum and caretaker of the staff building. He had also learned that the Prewetts were already preparing their departure and would probably be gone earlier than had been asked of them.

Now that it was common knowledge that the Potions Professor was going to leave, teachers and students alike seemed to regret their previous reaction. It was on this fertile soil that Lucius sowed the thought of a big surprise party for Prewett and his family, as a gesture of solidarity and farewell. As Sunday was the only day of the week where not even the most conscientious professor used to teach or keep office hours, Saturday 13 November was universally acclaimed to be the ideal date for the celebration, for it was uncertain whether Prewett would still be a resident of the campus on the following Saturday. The preparations were carried out in total secrecy—Lucius’s leader qualities proving invaluable in the process—the only problem that remained to be solved was to get the family out of their lodgings about half an hour before the start of the festivities. Upon Lucius’s polite but unyielding insistence, Greenbaum grudgingly took it upon himself to summon Prewett to his office at 6.15 p.m. for yet another tête à tête. Then, Lucius had a heart-to-heart with Roger Lovegood, rector of the Aurors’ Academy where Mrs. Prewett taught Questioning Techniques and, using a massive overdose of the proverbial Malfoy charm, got him to promise that he would call her on urgent business on Saturday at 6.30 p.m. sharp. In case of such occurrences, the Prewetts never left Barbara at home alone, but usually asked Mr. Juniper to let her stay at his rooms until they were back.

Thus, as far as the preparation in loco was concerned, everything promised to proceed as smoothly as possible.

~~~~*~~~~

For once, Crouch, Lestrange, Malfoy Sr. and Severus were in total agreement: the Prewett mission had to be carried out without a single hitch. They decided that all four of them were going to actively participate, which was quite exceptional. Due to the number of people Lucius expected to show up at the party, it was necessary to bring at least sixteen more Death Eaters, not counting themselves. They had to be skilled duellers with quick reflexes and less than no scruples about using the Killing Curse, for the twenty of them would have to face approximately eighty persons. A one-to-four relation was difficult but feasible provided that nobody lost their heads.

It took the four men a lot of time and endurance to choose those sixteen Death Eaters all of them deemed quick and ruthless enough to be useful members of the group. Those unanimously labelled as idiots, like Nott and Crabbe, were to be excluded as were those with insufficient duelling skills. With clenched teeth, Severus accepted Karkaroff’s inclusion into the fold, while Lestrange’s protests at putting Tabitha at risk were easily overridden by both Severus and Barty, who argued that she could give most of them a run for their money as far as duelling was concerned. At long last, all four were satisfied with the choices they had made.

In the middle of November, it was extremely unlikely to find a single tourist near Urqhart Castle at 7 p.m. on a chilly Saturday evening. This consideration notwithstanding, Julius Malfoy had advised that they put invisibility wards on the location they had chosen for the Death Eaters to Apparate. In order to avoid any unwelcome complications, this had to be done between sunset and 7 p.m. on the day of the attack. Instructions were to be given after the whole group had Apparated in; each of the four leaders was to do his own part of the prep talk, so as to avoid the impression that any of them was less important than the others.

They were lucky indeed, Severus thought, putting on his mask in the dark living room. The weather was better up in Scotland than in London where heavy rain threatened to wash away the whole city. He had dreaded to find similar, if not worse, conditions at their destination, but when he had gone there earlier with Clarissa to cast the necessary wards, he had realized, much to his delight, that the sky was only overcast and did not look as if it were going to change during the next few hours. Still used to travelling by Floo powder, he had already opened the tin and drawn his wand to light a fire, but then reminded himself that he did not depend on this mode of transportation any longer.

Barty was already there when he arrived, almost contemporaneously with Julius Malfoy. Lestrange popped into sight some seconds later. They had agreed to be ten minutes early—it was preferable for the leaders to await the arrival of their troupe. This time, not a single Death Eater was late, and at three past seven—they had been instructed to Apparate at ten seconds’ distance from each other, to avoid collisions—the group was complete. Barty was the first to deliver his part of the speech.

“You know,” he began, pompously as was his habit, “that the success of tonight’s mission not only depends on your prowess but equally on our tactics. This—” he drew his wand and designed an oblong rectangle upon the grass “—is the outline of the building, and this—” he drew a line parallel to the rectangle’s shorter side, thus cutting off a small part of it “—is Prewett’s apartment. We are only interested in the ground floor, as people will be prevented from going upstairs. There is only the living room and kitchen. The windows of both rooms are at a distance of roughly four feet from the ground. The living room has three windows, the kitchen two. There will be two of us at each window, the other ten will use the main entrance, which fortunately is the only door.”

He gestured for Lestrange to continue.

“As you have already heard,” Lestrange said, “tactics are essential and so is timing. I controlled the exact time of arrival of each of you, just to assure that we’re perfectly synchronized. Now, everybody goes over there—” he gestured to the far side of their secluded space “—and one by one, you come over to us and take off your mask. We will divide you into two groups, one for the windows and one for the door.”

A little later, they had two groups of eight persons each, and Lestrange went on.

“The window group, led by Julius and Bartemius, will attack at precisely twenty seconds to eight, so as to create a chaos that allows the door group, led by Severus and myself, to enter.”

With a wave of his hand, he gave Severus a sign to take over.

He took a deep breath, seeing as his nerves were not quite as calm as he would have desired. “We cannot afford, under any circumstance, to lose one single person. Therefore, rule number one is to kill, and kill quickly. This mission is not for fun, so there’s no torturing or playing around. We’ll have to face more or less eighty people, which says enough in itself. Rule number two: We have got exactly five minutes. At five past eight, we leave. If any of us, including Malfoy, Crouch, Lestrange or myself, is too gravely injured to Apparate he or she will be killed. The enemy must not take prisoners. Is that understood?”

Sixteen heads nodded in quiet assent.

“Well then,” Malfoy said, “wands out for inspection.” He proceeded from black outline to black outline, pronouncing ‘Intactus’ over each of the wands held out towards him. “Excellent. Now, the voice-altering spell, if you please. Done? Good. Last, just to make sure everybody remembers: If you are injured, do not, I repeat not, seek assistance at St. Mungo’s or with any other mediwizard, even if you know him and are convinced you can trust him. Call one of us—” he pointed at Severus, Barty and Lestrange “—by Floo, and we will immediately contact a fellow Death Eater who is also a mediwizard. If you violate this explicit order, be sure that you won’t live to regret it.”

~~~~*~~~~

“Nervous?” Lestrange whispered to Severus.

Their group was forming a line along the narrow side of the building, completely hidden by the shadows. It was five minutes to eight.

“A little,” Severus answered. “You know, I have a feeling as if there were a lot more people than we thought. I just hope there’s nobody out in the corridor.”

“It wouldn’t make a dramatic difference. And don’t forget that they’ve been drinking for about an hour already. Considering that Lucius never ordered the sandwiches, they should be more than tipsy by now.”

Severus only nodded. He was more than just a little nervous. If truth be told, he was afraid. The previous missions he had participated in had been nothing in comparison to what was awaiting him tonight. To overpower and kill a single opponent was somewhat different from having to face a four-to-one majority—and maybe, unless his gut feeling betrayed him, even more—in a relatively small space. The risk of being hit by a stray or ricocheting curse was as high as that of being struck down by an adversary. It had suddenly dawned on him that he might die tonight, that the next ten minutes might be the last of his life. To die on his eighteenth birthday… what a ridiculous idea. He checked his watch. One minute to eight. Time to move.

Lestrange went first, closely followed by Severus. Lowering his head, so that he could not be seen from inside, Lestrange passed the first corridor window. Severus decided to take the risk and have a look—there was nobody standing outside, and the entrance door to Prewett’s quarters was closed. Silently thanking whichever deity was competent for Death Eater raids, Severus bent down and quickly went after Lestrange. The group paused at the two flat steps leading up to the massive entrance door of the edifice. It was open; the torches illuminating the corridor cast a mellow light over the stairs and the gravel path meandering off into the night. On the small patch of his skin that was covered neither by cloak nor mask, Severus could feel the warm air streaming towards them from inside.

At a nod from Lestrange, they entered the building. The flagstones of the corridor were covered by a thick, inky-blue carpet that muffled the sound of their footsteps. As they approached the last door at the end of the hallway, Severus was finally able to distinguish the noise of the party and found it oddly comforting. Twenty-five seconds to eight, twenty-four, twenty-three, two—ten pairs of eyes staring fixedly at the door—one… And hell broke loose. Screams, shrieks, bodies thumping against the door. Mentally patting Lucius’s shoulder, for he had succeeded in locking the door, hopefully without being seen, Severus counted the seconds, hoping all the while that Lucius had been able to place himself near the last living room window, so that his father could immediately stun him.

Four seconds to eight, three—he and Lestrange marked those last three seconds by nods—two, one… “Reducto!” The door, disintegrated into thousands of splinters, caused small but painful injuries among the already-panicking crowd. The rest was a mere compact blur of screams, blasts, flashes of red and green light, and ducking—firing—ducking—firing, like an aerobics lesson straight from hell. It took them two minutes and thirty-seven seconds to finish the party. When everything was over, they were literally wading in bodies. There was even enough time to examine the topmost layer; whoever reacted to “Enervate!” was immediately killed.

“Hey there, outside! Are you complete?” Lestrange called in the direction of the windows. The voice-altering spells were still active, thus it was impossible to determine who had confirmed that they were.

In the meantime, Severus counted his charges inside the living room. Including himself, they were ten. Complete. Nobody lost. “Anybody injured?” he asked.

An arm was raised. “Yes, but only slightly. I can see to that myself.”

Lucius, stunned but alive, was lying under the last window. Pretending to look out into the night, Severus approached the supine form, just to see whether he was all right. It certainly seemed so; there was neither blood nor any visible curse-mark. Making sure that nobody was looking, Severus unobtrusively levitated the nearest dead body and draped it over him. Like this, his being one of the few survivors would seem less suspicious.

Four minutes past eight. “Morsmordre!” Slowly, its size growing proportionately to its height, the Dark Mark rose into the night sky. It was over. They could go home. And he had survived his eighteenth birthday.

~~~~*~~~~

Maybe he had rejoiced a little too early, Severus thought when he heard the thunderous knock that, by the sound of it, was soon going to break down the entrance door. He was standing in front of the mirror in his bedroom, carefully examining his dress robes. After all, this was his birthday, and he had to Apparate to Malfoy Manor in exactly five minutes. Peggy, ears a-twitch, appeared with a crack.

“Master Severus, there is Aurors—”

That was all she could say before being interrupted by a well-known voice.

“That will do, elf, we can announce ourselves! What are you up to, Snape, getting ready for a post-slaughter celebration? And why is the mirror still intact?”

“Black!” Severus said, slowly turning round. “What an unexpected pleasure. As to the mirror, it’s still in one piece because I’m not a vampire, just ugly. And as to your unexpected visit, to what do I owe the pleasure? Has anybody ever told you that you really shouldn’t wear red?”

“Don’t let yourself be provoked, lad!” another voice resounded from outside the room.

Moody. This was going to require a lot more energy than he had thought. “Is there any explanation for your sudden and, if I may say so, unwanted presence in my house?”

Finally Moody had reached the top of the stairs and limped across the landing to the bedroom door. Leaning heavily against the doorjamb, he let his look wander over the chamber, taking his time. It was, of course, more a method of unnerving his victim than a real search. The game was on.

“Mr. Moody. This is certainly a surprise and not a pleasant one. I already asked Black here about the motives of your visit, but he doesn’t seem able to explain them to me. Would you be so kind—”

Alastor Moody did not even bother to listen. “Take those robes off,” was all he said.

“If that is what you’re aiming at, you should have gone to Malfoy Manor. Mr. Black has a certain faible for our common friend Lucius, so if this is about undressing—”

“Take them off, now!” Moody roared. “Or you’ll regret it!”

Should he or shouldn’t he? Severus decided that it was better to stand up to the old Auror. “Mr. Moody,” he said, stepping closer to the white-clad figure in the doorframe, “I know my rights as well as you do. And I can assure you that nobody, not even you, has the right to storm into my house, unannounced, and tell me to take off my robes. What is this all about?”

“This is an official investigation, so don’t fuss around and take off those robes. I won’t repeat it again.”

“An official investigation?” Severus asked while unbuttoning his dress robes. “Of what?”

“That’s none of your concern,” Black snarled from behind him.

Severus banished the robes to the hanger from which he had just taken them. “Satisfied?” he inquired, spreading his arms and spinning around once.

None of the other two men did comment.

“Give me your wand!” Moody demanded. He was sounding a little less self-assured than before.

“My… Listen, Moody, do you want to examine or to confiscate it? If it’s the latter, I have to protest in the strongest possible—”

The wand was snatched from his hand before he had finished his sentence. Severus watched impassively as the Auror, under Black’s impatient stare, performed the Priori Incantatem spell. Did the Ministry really think that Voldemort’s followers were that stupid? Each of them had two wands, the ‘official’ one, so to speak—the Ministry kept painstakingly exact records about which wand was sold to which person but this was of course only valid for Great Britain—and then the other one. The ones they used for their missions. They came from a very skilled wand maker in Argentina and were hidden within the batches of wood which Lester McNair’s enterprise imported to England. Well-distributed bribes assured that nobody ever took the trouble of actually looking any closer.

To Moody and Black’s obvious disappointment, it turned out that Severus had copied a potions recipe, mended an alembic, summoned several books and conjured a bunch of flowers.

“Who did you send those to?” Moody barked, keeping up the show but without much conviction.

“They are in a vase downstairs, in the living room,” Severus informed him. “I prefer those I conjure up to those cut from the garden, they’re much—”

It was apparently impossible for him to finish a single sentence tonight.

“I don’t care about your decorating preferences, you fairy,” Moody growled.

“I beg your pardon?”

“You heard me, Snape. I won’t repeat it, I’m not that stupid.” Severus raised an ironic eyebrow. “Stop that, you snotty brat! What about those dress robes? Why are you wearing dress robes?”

“First, I’m not wearing them, for you yourself gave the peremptory order to take them off. Second, today is my eighteenth birthday, and I should already have arrived at my friends’ for dinner. At my age, it still feels good to celebrate, you know?”

Deliberately ignoring the last words, Moody narrowed his eyes in suspicion. “Friends? What friends?”

“The Malfoys. We were very close at school, Lucius and I. And, of course, St. John Lestrange. He has been my guardian and almost like a father to me. Plus, he’s the uncle of Narcissa Malfoy.”

Moody whistled through his teeth. “The Malfoys and Lestrange. Well, there’s no need to hurry, my lad. Right now, they are all receiving visitors, just like you.”

“I would refrain from calling you thus, Mr. Moody. Visitors are invited or at least welcome. You are neither. Needless to say that the same goes for the silent, red-robed Gryffindor you brought along. Is this supposed to be a concentrated action against ex-Slytherins? And if it is, why don’t you have any visitors? Or do you only intrude upon your former wife’s ex-lovers?”

This last question elicited a snort from Black. Moody shot him a furious stare and then turned back to Severus. “You don’t know who you’re playing with, Severus Snape,” he rumbled. “But the next time I come to your house, I won’t bring only an apprentice. And I’m going to turn this snake’s den upside down, do you understand?”

Severus nodded. “Of course. If there’s anything in particular you’d like to find, tell me so I can hide it in plain sight. And don’t forget to bring a search warrant. Not a fake one,” he added with a grin, remembering a rather outrageous story the Daily Prophet had brought some days ago about a bunch of Aurors who had raided the home of a suspect, presenting a search warrant that turned out to be fake.

Moody blanched, then flushed scarlet. But he restrained himself with a visible effort and muttered only “You bet, my lad, you bet.”

He had to be frustrated, but nowhere near as frustrated as Black. Maybe he was only more skilled at dissimulating it. Black’s rage, however, was clearly visible on his face. Severus thought that this was quite a promising start for a pleasant evening.

~~~~*~~~~

Today was a bad day for House Elves. The one named Dobby that came running into the entrance hall of Malfoy Manor as soon as Severus had materialized there, certainly appeared to be near a heart attack—if House Elves did have heart attacks, that was. His eyes, already big and protruding as was common to his species, seemed to want to pop out of his skull; his big, bat-like ears, left up, right down, were quivering convulsively, and even his long, thin, pencil-shaped nose was twitching.

“Mister Snape, Sir,” he squealed, “There is… there is Aurors…”

Peggy definitely had the better nerves. “I know, Dobby. Now kindly take my cloak and announce me or Mr. Malfoy will kick you to the moon.”

The spindly fingers were trembling so violently that the creature had difficulties holding his cloak. “Yes, Sir,” he croaked, “Dobby is announcing you, yes, Sir, immediately…” And he scurried out of view.

Severus stood waiting, looking idly at the paintings of Malfoy ancestors that lined the walls. They seemed to be a little alarmed as well, for they were dashing in and out of their frames, apparently exchanging news about what was going on. Suddenly, the door to the grand salon was pushed open, and Julius Malfoy stepped out into the hall.

“Severus!” he exclaimed, holding out his hand. “It’s good to see you! Although this is a most distressing situation—”

“I know,” Severus said. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw a white figure approach the door. “”Julius, do you happen to know what this is all about? I was at home, getting ready for Apparating, when Alastor Moody practically broke into my house, demanded to see what I was wearing under my dress robes, controlled my wand and uttered all kinds of threats. And he told me that colleagues of his were going to be here as well. What happened? Has there been another attack?”

“Well, if this isn’t a touching, well-acted scene!”

The figure in white, who turned out to be Astraea Black, was emerging from the salon. Severus just gave her a deeply troubled look.

“Don’t I know you? You’re Black’s mother, aren’t you?”

“Indeed. Come on, both of you, we haven’t yet finished the questioning.”

“Quest—Mrs. Black, just for your information, I have already been questioned, without being told why. What on earth—”

As they entered the salon, Severus thought he had stepped into a particularly moving scene from a Greek tragedy: Yelena Malfoy was sitting in an armchair, doubled over so that her head was almost resting on her knees, and sobbing, while Narcissa, not much less dishevelled than her mother-in-law, was kneeling beside her on the carpet, trying to comfort her. Gordon Black was leaning against the marble frame of the fireplace, arms crossed, a contemptuous sneer on his face.

Now Severus was truly surprised. “What happened?” he asked again, turning round to Malfoy, “Why are they… Where’s Lucius?”

“Dead, I’m afraid,” came Mrs. Black’s voice from behind him. It did not sound sympathetic in the least.

Severus felt as if somebody had kicked him in the stomach. “Dead? But how…” He approached Julius Malfoy. Only now he saw that he older man’s lips were pressed together in a thin line and that his hands were trembling slightly. “Julius, tell me, please! What happened to Lucius?”

When he spoke, Malfoy’s voice was hoarse. “It seems—” he cleared his throat “—it seems that there was a Death Eater attack on the UMU. Lucius was there—”

Was this skilful acting or the truth? Unable to answer this question for himself, Severus decided to just play along. “Lucius was there? Why? It’s Saturday night, what business did he have there?”

Gordon Black, who had been silently watching the scene, finally decided to speak. “Your esteemed friend, Mr. Snape, was participating in a party at Professor Prewett’s house. There was a Death Eater raid, and he got killed, together with most of the other guests.” Black’s voice, dangerously low when he had begun, was now gradually rising. “Not to mention Prewett himself, his wife and his six-year-old daughter!” he shouted. Crossing the room with a few quick paces, he grabbed Malfoy’s sleeve. “How does it feel, Malfoy? Eh? How does it feel to have killed your own son?”

Wearily, Malfoy shrugged off the Auror’s hand. “Leave me alone, Black. You know as well as I do that I’m not one of Voldemort’s followers. I just lost my son. You might want to respect that.” He turned away from Black and covered his eyes with his hand.

Severus stared from one to the other, open-mouthed, silently hoping that he was convincing enough. But Malfoy did not seem to be playing games. He must feel terrible, having to endure the Aurors’ presence, having to watch his words, all the while cursing himself for having put Lucius at so grave a risk. And maybe, maybe it had been he himself to accidentally kill his own son. Severus swallowed. This was hideous. Truly terrible.

“Mr. Black,” he said, “Don’t you think you should leave him in peace? Lucius is… was his only son and heir—”

Black whirled round and looked at him with undisguised hate. “You! You made my son’s life hell at school! Don’t believe, not even for an instant, that you’ll get away easily with what you did! You were worm-eaten then, and you’re completely rotten now.” Severus opened his mouth to answer, but Black continued, “Don’t tell me that I can’t prove it for I know I can’t. Not yet. But I know what you are, Death—”

“What an exceedingly pleasant gathering,” a well-known, lazy drawl resounded from the open door. “I didn’t know you were invited, Black!”

“Lucius!”

Severus stepped back a little so as not to be run over by the two women, and watched, with a sardonic smile at Black, as Lucius was narrowly avoiding death by suffocation. The two Blacks seemed a little uneasy, to say the least.

Julius Malfoy was the first to regain his composure. His face white with anger, he approached Gordon Black. “You knew, didn’t you?” he said, barely controlling his voice.

Black, obviously recognizing that his game had come to a premature end, and not the one he had imagined, backed away a little. “It was… a necessary measure,” he said stiffly, “In times like these—”

He never finished his sentence. The impact of Malfoy’s right fist sent him tumbling to the floor.

“Pick up that piece of filth you call your husband,” Malfoy hissed to Astraea Black, who was standing as if petrified, “And leave my house immediately. Your superiors will be informed of this outrageous behaviour. Go! Now!”

Wordlessly, Mrs. Black levitated her half-conscious husband and, with his limp form hovering beside her, left the room, not without a last, hateful stare at the people assembled in the salon.

For a while, they all stood in silence, trying to process what had just happened. The silence was broken by a faint ‘plop’ and Lestrange’s amused voice.

“Well,” he said, “It definitely seems I missed something.”